Terri's Little CornerTerri's Little Cornerhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012-05-30T18:33:23ZSquarespaceA-fictionally-yourshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/30/a-fictionally-yours.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-30T16:09:37Z2012-05-30T16:09:37Z*********

Observations

Maria sat in the booth of the hotel’s lounge, nursing her drink and checking her phone for email every few seconds.  She was on another business trip, sitting in another hotel bar, and drinking yet another watered-down gin and tonic.  This was her life, five days a week on the road.  She’d been locked in the same routine for ten years now, never really having an incentive to change.

Most of the time, Maria barely noticed other patrons from the bars, but tonight was different.  The whole room seemed to take on a new life when a certain woman walked in.  Maria noticed her immediately.  She wore a dark blue business suit, tight skirt, and four-inch black pumps. Her flaming red hair was done-up in a French-twist. Wisps of hair had escaped and were hanging seductively over her face.  She was stunning and Maria felt things stir inside of her that had been dead a very long time.

The redhead walked with self-confidence and attitude, seeming to know that she would catch everyone’s eye wherever she went.  She certainly had caught Maria’s undivided attention.  “She could make my night so much more interesting,” thought Maria.  Smiling to spite herself, Maria gulped her drink, and immediately got up and walked over to the bar to order another.  The woman was seated at the bar, her long legs crossed in such a fashion that couldn’t help but draw an appreciative eye. 

“Another gin and tonic, please,” said Maria.  She unobtrusively looked over at the woman and nodded hello.

The woman smiled and said, “Hello.  You probably should order a double.  They water the drinks down here.”  The woman smiled and shifted her position to indicate she would welcome conversation.

Maria sat down on the stool beside her and said, “Thanks. I’ll do that. I need the buzz. Been a long week.  Are you here on business?”

The woman said, “No I’m meeting my husband.  Or rather my ex-husband as of today.  We’re going to celebrate our divorce.  Is that weird?”  The woman laughed, and Maria was fixated on her full lips and bright teeth. Then she extended her perfectly manicured hand to Maria and said “My name is Susan, by the way.  Nice to meet you.”

So Susan was freshly divorced and probably not looking for new adventures at this juncture in her life.  Too bad.  Maria would just have to enjoy this woman’s charming company for a little while and then go back to her gin and tonic, and her email.  

“I’m Maria,” she offered, and took Susan’s hand gently, probably holding on a little too long.  However, Susan didn’t pull her hand away, but rather smiled and looked at Maria with unmistaken curiosity.

“Hi Maria.  Are you married?”

“No.  I think I may be allergic to marriage.  Besides that, I’m gay and it’s not legal, so that gives me an out,” said Maria.  She let out a nervous laugh and thought it really didn’t sound like her at all.  Why was she trying so hard to impress this woman?  Was she a glutton for punishment? 

Susan’s right eyebrow rose in the most alluring manner as Maria's infatuation increased.  She really was breathtaking.  How could her husband ever have consented to divorce?

Susan didn’t skip a beat. “Well you’re not as safe as you may think. Gay marriage is right around the corner, you know.  And as gorgeous as you are, women will be lining up!”  Having delivered the compliment, Susan reached over and put a hand on Maria’s shoulder.

Tiny bursts of pleasure rocked through Maria’s body, even though the show of affection was obviously only a token offering of friendship.  Whatever it was, Maria felt it and wanted more.

Maria smiled at Susan. “Thanks.  I hope I live long enough to see such a day!  But in the meantime, I’m not looking.  Too much baggage and pain.  Being in love takes a lot out of me.”

“I hear ya!” said Susan, and then she downed her drink. Her phone chirped and she picked it up to check a new text message. 

“Well it looks like my brand new ex is not gonna show tonight.  He obviously can’t wait to start his new life."  This didn't seem to bother her that much as she looked over at Maria.  "Can I buy you another drink?”  She waved the bartender over.

“I’d like that,” said Maria. She said a silent thank you to Susan's ex.

“And let’s get a booth.  What the hell.  I’m ready to start my new life too!” exclaimed Susan.

Maria smiled as she followed her voluptuous new friend over to the booth in the corner.  The night was still young and she had a new spark of energy.  

Susan looked up at her and suggested, “Scoot in over here by me. No need to sit way over there.”

Maria sat down next to Susan.  She put her phone in her purse and took a drink.  Emails could wait.

 *********

 

]]>Grand Social - Memorial Dayhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/28/grand-social-memorial-day.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-28T17:11:26Z2012-05-28T17:11:26Z 

Today I’m linking up with the lovely Lisa from Grandmas Briefs, for a Memorial Day tribute.  I’m actually linking an old post from last year, one describing a bit of my Air Force Basic Training experience.  Although things have changed a lot, Basic Training is still Basic Training, and every single Airman, Marine, Soldier and Sailor has to go through it.   So come along with me as I describe how clueless and wet-behind-the-ears I was at eighteen, but how proud I was to serve my country. 

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They used to call me Airman

And sometimes Gomer

I was looking at old pictures, which is not something I do often. But when I do, it always turns into a sappy blog post.   So get ready, because here we go again.   Did you ever wonder why there’s such a strict age limit on entering the military?    No, it’s not because old folks can’t do combat!  That’s just silly.   Obviously, you haven’t seen Grandpa chasing rabbits with old Duke and his sawed-off  shot-gun.  And, obviously, you haven’t seen Grandma jet-setting all over Europe with her old sorority sisters in their big Red Hats.   Seventy is the new forty, you know!   Or so I’ve been told.   I’m not seventy, quite yet.

So back to my old pictures.

I found one of me in my uniform and sat there admiring my legs.  Gosh I had nice legs.  They’re all lumpy and stubby now.  And my boobs?  They were amazing.  Now?   Lumpy and stubby, and annoying.   Seriously….I hate the extra time it takes to corral them into my bra and make sure they’re both pointing front and center.  It’s not easy.  I get one positioned just right and the other disappears somewhere under my arm pit.  It’s enough to wear me out, and usually does.   I really think we should start out life as an old woman or man, and get younger.  I would appreciate my youth a lot more now than I ever did when I actually had it.

Oh yea, the pictures. 

So I was looking through the pictures and thought it might be fun to share with you what Basic Training in the Air Force at Lackland AFB, Texas was like way back in 1971.   And I will warn you, it is exhausting, so you might want to sit down…..and have a drink.  Stay hydrated.  It’s good for you.

Just another perk of reading my blog…..the healthy advice you get!

On October 22, 1971, I entered the Air Force, was sent to Lackland AFB, Texas, and was the youngest woman in my flight.  I was also the fastest runner in my flight, which really proved nothing because there were no races.  It was all about the marching.   I was also the only Southerner in my flight.  Everyone else was from New York City.  True Story.  My fellow Airmen (yes we were called Airmen) called me “Gomer”.  (Gomer Pyle, get it?  Southern accent?  Gomer had one. God I’m old).

For those of you non-Air Force types who are wondering what a flight is….it is like a platoon.  And for you non-Army types who don’t know what a platoon is…it’s like a group of 70 or so people, in this case all women, all marching together, showering together, exercising together, eating together, cleaning together, sleeping together (and not in a fun way) for 6 weeks of Basic Training hell.

We got up at 5 am, learned how to get showered and dressed in 20 minutes and in-formation outside by 5:30 am.    Then we’d march to the chow hall for breakfast.   Then we’d march back to the barracks and change into our PT clothes and get back into formation.  Then we would march to the workout field where we would do lots of working out, followed by lots of running laps.  After that…..you guessed it….we’d get back in formation and march somewhere else.  Usually it would be to the academic building for military studies classes, but sometimes we’d have to march to the clinic for shots.   And then there were the times we would march just to practice marching.

Lunch time came, and of course, we marched back to the chow hall for lunch.   After lunch, we might have training or cleaning detail back at the barracks.  And how’d we get there?  Anyone?  Anyone?    Yes We Marched!   In the course of six weeks, I managed to wear out my tennis shoes and a hole in the side of my low-quarters leather (frumpy black clodhopper) shoes.   I marched my butt off.  We even had to march to church on Sunday.  First of all, I didn’t want to go to church on Sunday because I wanted to sleep in.  My cranky old Sergeant would have none of that, though.  We marched our butts to church.

We did manage to turn it into a “flirting” opportunity, however, as the men also had to march to church.  So we primped extra nicely before leaving the barracks.  There was some mega bra-stuffing and skirt-hiking, as I recall, but the Sergeant was one step ahead of us and confiscated all contraband prior to entering the Lord’s house.  We were a bunch of heathens for sure.   Well, they were.  I already had big boobs and really couldn’t leave them behind.

And so life went on at Basic Training for six long weeks.  Upon graduation day, we had to march (of course!)  in a big parade and salute the General.   The only difference was we had our Dress Blues uniforms on and we were strutting our stuff.   It was a proud day.  I don’t think anyone who has ever been through Basic Training would disagree that the last day was filled with Pride.

 

In a small way, this was my little tribute to our men and women serving their country and keeping us safe.     Keep these people in your thoughts and prayers, along with all of our fallen service men and women. 

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten things that describe my Homehttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/27/monday-listicles-ten-things-that-describe-my-home.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-28T04:09:20Z2012-05-28T04:09:20Z

Happy Monday!  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is Ten things that describe my Home.  I had no trouble with this list at all.  I love my home and enjoy hanging out there.  So here's why:

********

 Home

Where I find Respite. Sanctuary.

Where living is Easy does it.  No stress. No pressure

Where I can be Lazy if I want to. 

Where Anything goes.  Burps, farts, lousy singing, ugly bathrobes.

Where I find my Xanadu.   My happy place.

Where I can be Alone and find the quiet.  Sanity.

Where I take Time to refresh and renew.

Where I can dance like nobody’s watching. At least I hope they aren’t.

Where Ordinary is OK.  I can be me with no excuses or apologies.

Where I can be Naked, Naughty, Nice or Nerdy anytime I want.  Nobody’s business but mine.

 

 

]]>I don't even know what I don't knowhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/26/i-dont-even-know-what-i-dont-know.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-26T16:34:05Z2012-05-26T16:34:05ZThis week I reached another one of my “come to Jesus” or “shut up and suck it up” moments.  It was a moment of discovery and a lesson in humility.  It was hard to swallow, a gag-reflex, if you will.  Not to be confused with the standard lesbian affliction.  But that’s another subject. 

Today I speak to “an author’s first edit”.  Yes, that sobering moment when the editor of your very first soon-to-be-published work tells you that you actually made some grammatical and punctuation errors.

What the Fuck?

You mean I’m not perfect?  Oh my gosh, was I ever embarrassed.  I had heard of this first, most clarifying and peel back my skin and suck out my heart revealing moment, but hadn’t realized the impact it would have on the pristine image I held of myself. 

I was taken aback.

I was jolted into reality.

Had stupidity always been my middle name or had I only recently acquired this distinction when I decided to be a serious writer?

All those thoughts of self-doubt and fantasies of fingers around editor’s throat  realization that I wasn’t being  “all that” after all….well they flooded my brain and what was left of the few brain cells I possessed just disintegrated into a virtual Grammar 101 abyss. 

Whew.  It just about did me in.

But here’s the thing.

Once the waters parted, and the dark clouds circling my head dissipated, I actually heard my editor.  I didn’t just listen.  I heard what she was saying.

Even a gifted golden goddess of gab, goofiness and the written word, such as myself, needs a little direction now and then.  Being the stubborn, control freak that I am, this was a real breakthrough for me. 

And my editor’s still alive.   That’s a plus.

So bring it, Karla.  Give it to me straight (another really tough direction for me).  Let me have it. 

Because I know you love me and you want my Stuff to Shine.

Now I’m going to do some research on “modifiers”.  Apparently I mixed some up or misplaced some or some kinda shit.  I have forgotten way more than I remember about grammar.  Thank gosh for my editor! 

My advice?  And you know you want some, don’t you?   My advice is to listen to your editor.  She’s got skills, people, and you can reap the benefits of her knowledge.  So shut up and take it like a woman.

Now go out there and have yourself a wonderful Memorial Day Weekend! 

*******

And while you’re at it, take a minute to remember and reflect on those Soldiers, Airmen, Marines and Sailors who have served and are still serving you and our great country.  And if you are or have been one of those military personnel?  Thank you for your Service!

  

 

 

Image from Google Images

]]>WTFriday? Hot and Botheredhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/25/wtfriday-hot-and-bothered.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-25T16:12:16Z2012-05-25T16:12:16Z

May in Las Vegas is supposed to bring forth gloriously warm weather with light breezes that tickle one’s fancy and leave one with dreams of tropical getaways.   Not May of 2012.  This month has brought record high temps and an unwelcomed preview of the months to come. 

Anyone have some cheese because I feel a whine coming on?  Stay if you are suited-up with armor for such rants; else you might want to make your exit quickly.  And quietly please. We don’t want to disturb the others’ power naps.  

LIL Sis, is that you snoring?  WAKE UP.  I can’t do this alone.  I’m weak from the heat and tired from the fucking 30 and 40 mph wind gusts. Ever try walking against those types of gusts?  And I’m not exactly built to foster wind-worthy dynamics.  Imagine if you will, an elephant trying to pee in a thimble. 

Yea it’s like that.  Only without the pee.

I forget where I was going with that analogy.  So sue me.

WTFriday?  It’s the heat, I tell ya.

I don’t even want to think about the next power bill.  I may have to sell my body once again. 

Bwwwahhhhh.  What? 

It could happen.

Somebody out there lusts for will settle for my tired broke ass sexy senior stuff.  Don’t knock me until you’ve tried me. 

But I digress.   I felt like it was about time to interject that old reliable phrase.  It’s a lot like me, overused and under-appreciated.

If you’re feeling nauseous, just tilt your head back, apply a cool wash cloth, and think about cute little teddy bears or mountains of chocolate.  That doesn’t do it for me but I’m stretching to be nice here.

 

It’s the heat, I tell you.

It makes me think bad things.  Naughty things.  Unthinkable things.  Like vagina.  And Jennifer Lopez.  Notice I didn’t really put those two in the same sentence…vagina and JLo?  I thought that might be inappropriate.  Just because I may have been thinking about the two together.  Still, I’m nothing if not cognizant of my reading audience.  And fair.

So George Clooney.  And penis.  How’s that?  Again being respectful enough to separate the two by a period.

You see?  I told you I was fair.  Now everyone’s happy and I can go on with my fucking heat stroke.

The previous few paragraphs have absolutely no redeeming value, and yet I still have a reason to post. 

Why?

Because I’m in hell and I need the company. 

Thanks for taking this journey with me.  If you should desire to have further proof of my Hell, then turn on your oven, and stick your head in for a few seconds, until you build up a good sweat.  Then turn your blow dryer on high and point directly into your face for another few seconds.  After that, relax and enjoy those hallucinations.  If they don’t come right away, repeat the above process.  Have patience.  You will soon imagine freaky and wondrous things.

It was good for me.  Was it good for you?

 

 

Images from Google Images

 

]]>One for the Bookshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/23/one-for-the-books.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-24T04:41:43Z2012-05-24T04:41:43ZSometimes I get all excited.  But then sometimes I get downright giddy.  Today, I’m excited and giddy all at the same time.  And why?  Because one of my favorite people is “in the house”.  Karla Telega, my bloggy buddy for almost two years now, is a woman of many talents:  blogger, author, humorist, CFO of her own company, and all-around nice person.  And you know what else?  She’s here to make an announcement!  And it involves yours truly, so listen up people. This is going to be good! 

 And now, please join me in welcoming the lovely Karla..

 One for the Books

My thanks to Terri for inviting me to introduce a relative newcomer on the Indie/Small Press Publishing scene. I’m co-founder and part owner of Escrit Lit, LLC, and its premier imprint, Adoro Books.

Let me share a few realities about publishing. Seventeen new books are published each hour in the U.S. alone. That’s 408 books per day. If you’re thinking about an indie/small press publisher to give you that extra push to get your book noticed, you should know that most new indie publishers close their doors within six months of incorporation.

I know of a small press that was recently caught stealing art from the web to use on its cover designs. The company had been pumping out books by the dozens for unsuspecting authors. Can you imagine the legal nightmare?!

Indie publishing has very little regulation, and business models are as innovative and varied as you can imagine. If you strip away all the window-dressing, the question is still, “Where is the money?” Is the publisher asking you, the author for money, or is he paying you? You know that a publisher who is paying the author has a vested interest in the success of the book. He doesn’t get paid till the author gets paid.

So far, in our first year Adoro has only published seven new titles. That might seem rather uninspiring, but it’s all part of the company’s business plan. Unlike book mills, that crank out more books than they could possibly ever market, Adoro is committed to turning out a quality product and getting it into the readers’ hands. We’re excited to announce that our current project is Terri’s own novella, Sara’s Sleep.

Those of you who have been following Terri’s blog know what an outstanding storyteller she is. We’d like to invite you to an online launch party for Sara’s Sleep on July 1. Watch for details here, or you can go to Terri’s author page on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/TerriSonoda and show her some “like” love over there. I’m personally thrilled that Terri has put her faith in Adoro Books to help others discover her amazing writing.

You can learn more about Adoro Books at our website    http://adorobooks.com/

 ****

Karla, thank you for gracing my place with your guest posting, for considering my work publish-worthy, and for being my friend.  

Please visit Karla over at her blog titled “Telega Tales and Tart Cookies” and check out her awesome and hilarious book, Box of Rocks.

 

Images courtesy of Karla Telega

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten things a husband should dohttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/20/monday-listicles-ten-things-a-husband-should-do.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-20T20:41:32Z2012-05-20T20:41:32Z 

Buuwwaaahhhh! 

Oh hello.  Don’t mind me.  I’m still freaking out over this week’s Monday Listicles subject. Thanks a lot, Stasha’s husband.  You succeeded in scrambling my brains.  What's left of them.

Uh, I don’t have a husband.  Uh, I have a wife.  Uh, does that make me the husband?  Uh, no.

So.

Questions. Hair-pulling.  Where’s my happy pills?   I.Am.Stressed.

But.

I am always up for a challenge!

So.

I’m listing.  That’s right.  Right along with you ladies who have husbands and actually know what you’re talking about.  And how am I going to approach this monumental writerly task? 

I’ll just make shit up.

So here goes…

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Ten Things MY Husband would do, IF I had a Husband...

(Title slightly altered to fit my particular situation. Or lack thereof)

 

  • If I had a husband, he would Cook.
  • If I had a husband, he would Clean.  The toilets. The windows. The baseboards. The floors. My car.

 

  • If I had a husband, he would go to work and make enough money so I could stop looking for a freaking job.
  • If I had a husband, he would rub my feet.  My wife will not do this.  I'm suffering.
  • If I had a husband, he would wash his own damned stinky socks and underwear.  Yes, I was married to a man a hundred years ago, and can still smell the afterglow.

 

  • If I had a husband, he would understand my need to eat chocolate and drink merlot while crying over the Grey’s Anatomy’s season finale.  In fact, he couldn’t have any of my chocolate, but I would share my wine and drippy tissues with him.  Yea, I have a big heart like that.
  • If I had a husband, he would go kick some ass in whichever direction I pointed.  Cause he loves me.  And he’s all butch like that.  Come to think of it, my wife already does that.  Never mind.
  • If I had a husband, he would sleep on the couch because I cannot stand the snores and the farts.  Seriously, mine are bad enough without adding testosteronic mutations (is that a thing?).
  • If I had a husband, he would be kind, sharing, gentle and loving like my Dad.  Only not just like my Dad because that would be creepy.  But you get what I’m saying.  He would be a real gentleman. 

And finally…..

  • If I had a husband, he would gladly consent to a sex-change operation.  Because I'm sure as hell not jumping the penis fence.

Oh.My.Goshness Batman!  This old broad is outta control!

Don’t blame me. 

Blame Stasha’s husband for coming up with the subject. 

Now go out there and have a super Monday.

I’m heading back to my corner, to lie in wait for next week’s Monday Listicles subject.   Go ahead.  Bring it!

 

 

 

Images from Google Images

]]>Eva's Got a New Book!http://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/19/evas-got-a-new-book.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-20T06:30:59Z2012-05-20T06:30:59ZMany of you may know of the very entertaining blogger Eva Gallant from Wrestling With Retirement.  But?   How many of you know that she has published several eBooks?   Well she has and I’m dedicating this blog post to singing her praises.

***

Eva’s newest book, Welcome to Singles’ Night, is her best yet, in my humble opinion.  This book is a helluva romp that takes the reader through fun, romance, excitement and yes, even one-niters. It left me with a feeling that I was part of it all and also triggered some fond memories of my long ago party life. Young adults to old whippersnappers will enjoy this read.

The action takes place in a bottle club called ‘Country Connections’ where anything can happen on Singles Night and usually does.  The singles frequent the establishment for various reasons from seeking a life partner to just finding a one-night stand.  Sandy, Liz and Ginger become regulars looking for fun and sometimes flirting with danger.  They meet and interact with a variety of men from different backgrounds and with different intentions, and not all honorable.   This book is a fun and exciting romp from beginning to end.

***

Eva Gallant’s Biography: Eva Gallant is a Maine native, a retiree, a wife, a mother, and a grandmother. She was a teacher in public schools for 17 years, and spent most of the rest of her career in banking and finance.

Writing has always been a part of her life, whether freelancing for small town newspapers, or writing for her personal enjoyment. The latter led her to blogging. She started her blog Wrestling With Retirement in 2009 and has posted nearly every day since the first post.

 ***

Eva has five books published on Kindle: The Blogger's Fictionary, Hospitalized and Heartstruck, Assorted Verse and Worse, Welcome to Singles' Night,  and The Best of Wrestling With Retirement. She is working on more books, hoping to add to her book shelf selection. Some of her writing is in the humorous vein, although she also enjoys writing fiction.

Click here to view more information about Eva Gallant’s books and purchase copies on Amazon.

***

Thank you, Eva, for providing daily entertaining reading over at Wrestling With Retirement and for sharing your humor and fiction for us to enjoy!  

Everyone hurry on over to visit Eva at her place and also grab your copy of her latest book, Welcome to Singles’ Night.   You can thank me later.  Or now.   I’m flexible that way.

 

]]>WTFriday - Own It. Say It. Suck It Up.http://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/17/wtfriday-own-it-say-it-suck-it-up.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-18T03:34:59Z2012-05-18T03:34:59ZI have stuff on my mind today.  WTFriday? 

Stuff other than sex.

What?  It could happen. 

The first thing on my mind:

Own it.  WTF does that mean?  I’m talking about writing.  Or sketching.  Or painting.  Any form of self-expressionism, really.

In my humble and highly unsolicited opinion, if you create it and you have the balls to put it out there, own it.   And don’t get your panties in a wad when someone has something to say about it.   If someone does come back at you with uninvited critique of which you may not agree or that makes you want to scoop out their eyeballs with a spoon…tell them.  You have a voice.  And by that I mean you have an “I don’t have to be squeaky-nice when responding to your comment because I fucking do not agree with you” kind of voice. 

Which leads me directly into the second thing on my mind:

Say it.  WTF does that mean?  It means use your voice.  Participate in meaningful and thought-provoking informational exchange and/or debate.  Critique others, but only when invited.  There are exceptions to this unofficial rule, of course:  For example, if both commenter and responder know each other’s preferences (to critique, not to critique, safe words, use of handcuffs, feathers etc…) then they can go at it like snickerdoodles in heat. Just don’t hurt the onlookers, ok?  My eyes bleed easily.

However.

Some of us (some of you I mean.  I’m just writing this and minding my own damned business.  Don’t give me a second thought, really) can’t keep our big mouths shut no matter what the subject and we are always right, aren’t we?  So of course we have to make our “rightness” known. 

Not necessarily.  There’s a line to be drawn, and if you must always be right, then you are stuck with drawing that line.  If you want any friends or followers, that is.  Or in my case, stalkers.  We all want them, don’t we?  I love my peeps.  But I am one smart cookie.  I know where and when to draw that line.

I don’t respond to a post with critique unless specifically asked for “writing critique”.  I go for the content, baby.  I read for the content.  I absorb your wisdom and wit like a sponge.  Why would I critique your writing when I am so entertained by your content?  I wouldn’t.  I just enjoy you, and my comments reflect that.  As my writerly friend Kimberly would so aptly put it, “You rock my face off”. 

You can’t put a value, especially a writing-critique value, on that sort of entertainment.  So don’t.  Just my advice.  Enjoy the blogs you read, and if you feel like expressing your pleasure, please do.  I get all tingly just thinking about it.  But critique when you know it is welcomed.  As for me?  Critique me anytime you want.  I can take it.  I have a special pillow that, when placed securely enough over my face, snuffs out all my screams.  It works for me.

I recently had a conversation with a friend/blogger who expressed disdain at a few comments she’d received on her blog.  Of course, I had to visit said post and see for myself.  Sure enough, there were some rough comments on there.   However, she had invited critique.  When I pointed that out to her, she responded that she really didn’t mean it that way. 

Uh, make it clear what you want, people.  If you say critique, then prepare to “duck and cover” because you’re gonna get critique.  The blogosphere is plentiful with brilliant (and some not so much brilliant as mercifully clueless) writers who are ready to pounce with their advice.   I mean, look at me, here I sit giving you my brilliant advice. 

You’re welcome!

Which leads me directly into my third thought:

Suck it up. WTF does that mean?  You put it out there.  You take the hits.  So lick your wounds and put some more out there.  Or hobble into the bushes never to be heard from again. 

A very important person in my writing life recently pointed out to me that my sketches were not professional enough to include in ePublishing of my written work.  Said important person knows her shit, so I listened and will not be using my sketches.  I knew I should have spent that money on art lessons instead of those fucking slot machines.  Did my witty-bitty feelings get hurt by her words?  Like a flaming sword through my heart.  Nah.  I was fine.  When I put my sketches out on my blog, I did not ask for critique; however, when I decided to ePublish, all bets were off.  I wanted to hear the truth.

Own It. Say It. Suck It Up.  Good advice?  You decide.  I leave you with a quote by Elbert Hubbard, an American writer, artist and philosopher who lived a way, long time ago: To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.   Sure puts it in perspective, doesn’t it?

****

That’s my story and I am sticking to it.   Wine at 5, 7, and 9 pm.  Film at eleven.

 

What The ?

 

(Image from Google Images)

]]>Welcome to my place Pamela Hutchins!http://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/16/welcome-to-my-place-pamela-hutchins.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-16T15:09:11Z2012-05-16T15:09:11ZToday I have the pleasure of hosting a fabulous woman who is about as busy as any woman could ever get.  Pamela is an attorney, Mom, wife, writer, author, Indie publisher, and the list goes on and on.  She’s also one of the sweetest ladies on the blogosphere.  I’ve know Pamela for almost two years now…as long as I’ve been blogging.  We’ve been bloggy buddies.  She’s helped me with important research for my studies and been a friend I could lean on, even though I’ve never met her. 

Today she’s going to talk about Indie publishing, something I will be venturing into in the near future.  She’s also just published five new books and busy writing more.  Whew!  Makes me tired just thinking about it all.

Ok, Pamela take it away!

**** 

Is the Indie journey for you as a writer?

 Let me 'fess up, here: I'm one of those indie authors. You know the kind: writers who pursued traditional publication but didn't get picked to dance with Prince Charming at the ball. I became a writer at the wrong time with the wrong material. I came on the scene post digital publishing boom with not a single word about sparkly vampires or boy-wizards. Um, I write witty women's mysteries/thrillers and my nonfiction follows a similar bent. Sheesh, what was I thinking, right?

I tried to find an agent for a few years, and I had a lot of gratifying interest, but I didn't land one. Yet every book I wrote won the writing competitions I entered them in: novels, short stories, and nonfiction. My writing was praised up one side and down the other, for all the good it did me. I didn't seem like a "sure thing" to agents.

I got it. I didn't like it, but I got it.

I had a choice, though. I could change what I wrote, or I could take control of my destiny and sell MY stories to MY readers. I could go indie.

Ooooooo, indie, that's a sexy, dangerous word. Used to be, it was the height of vanity to eschew tradition in publishing, mainly because only someone seriously vain would spend the kind of money it took to produce and line their garage with their own books. Books that had failed, from a writer that had failed. If they hadn't failed, the books would line the shelves of stores instead, and some big publishing company would fete the author. Self-publishing wasn't a serious business choice, back then.

I suspected I had an audience, though. If I was still spent my own hoarded pennies buying adventurous women's fiction and nonfiction on similar topics, and if my online (blog) readers did the same, then it stood to reason there were more of us out there. This is where the publishing revolution caters to the reader: if the agents aren't signing people like me, and publishers aren't publishing books like mine, then how is someone who loves to read these kinds of books to get satisfaction?

Well, duh, through independent digital publishing. If one is brave or foolish enough to try such a thing.

The stench of vanity and failure still lingers in the air when writers talk about indie or self-publishing, but it's smelling better by the second. Smart, talented writers realize they have choices, valid business choices. Sleep-deprived, wild-eyed artists of the written word know they can immortalize their words, without undue cost. And, yes, crappy writers who should really pull their fingers away from the keys have figured this out, too. Any of us, all of us, have a choice. We can make no money from our writing because no one else will publish it, or we can make no money from our writing because we publish it ourselves. :-) With option b, we realize our dreams. And we could make some money. Who knows? I'm a risktaker, so this appeals to me.

So I chose. I self-published. I went rogue. I released five nonfiction books in May 2012 under the imprint SkipJack Publishing (which also puts out an indie publishing blog), a publishing co-op company my husband and I own. After four years of writing incessantly I now realize I am just beginning my journey. I'm in the starting gate with Amazon and Barnes & Noble. I'm chomping at the bit. Anything is possible And I couldn't be more excited and energized about it.

****

Pamela Fagan Hutchins writes. And writes and writes and writes. She lives with her husband and the two youngest of their five children in Houston, TX. She is the author of five seriously funny and helpful books, Hot Flashes And Half Ironmans, How To Screw Up Your Kids, Love Gone Viral , Puppalicious and Beyond, and The Clark Kent Chronicles, and she can't wait to publish her novels, starting in November 2012.

 ****

Thank you so much, Pamela!  Be sure to check out Pamela's blog, Pamela Fagan Hutchins, Author.  Pamela is offering a Giveaway of one of her new books, Puppalicious and Beyond, with this posting. 

!!! WE HAVE A WINNER !!! If you’d like to enter the drawing, all you need to do is leave a comment letting me know you’d like to be included. The drawing will be held on May 23rd.   That’s it.  And, in the meantime, you could hop over to Pamela’s Face Book page and give it a big LIKE.  Go ahead.  It’s virtually painless!  And while you're at it?  Have a wonderful Wednesday!

!!! WE HAVE A WINNER !!!

 First of all, MY APOLOGIES for being a day late in the Giveaway Drawing.  In my defense, I have actually landed a few job interviews and been scurrying to and fro and fro and to….um, to try and get myself employed.  Time will tell.

But, back to the Drawing.  So this is how I did it.  I took everyone’s name and assigned a number and put them through a random number selector.

And the Winner is…..

Wild Child Mama!

Please email me at tsonoda148@gmail.com and I will supply you with the details.

Congrats to Wild Child Mama and thanks to everyone one who entered!  And thank you Pamela for offering the Giveaway.  Everyone have an AWEsome Thursday!

 

]]>So long Sara, for nowhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/15/so-long-sara-for-now.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-16T04:39:26Z2012-05-16T04:39:26ZI'm sorry and I'm pleased.

I'm sorry to report that I have removed all traces of Sara's Sleep from my Blog.

I'm Happy to announce, however, that Sara's Sleep will return soon.

Where?

Well, Sara's Sleep will soon be available on eBooks.  Details forthcoming.

Suffice to say that....

I am one excited old broad.

I know you wish me and Sara well and I hope you will march all your friends over to purchase a copy of Sara's Sleep when it comes out.

There will be free drawings and other cool stuff like that as well.

Gosh, did I say I'm excited!

I am fucking stoked is what I am!

Oh, what do you know..........it's WINE Thirty!

 

]]>WTFriday - Never thought I'd see the dayhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/10/wtfriday-never-thought-id-see-the-day.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-11T02:40:27Z2012-05-11T02:40:27ZFor today’s WTFriday, I’m going to change gears a bit, and instead of blogging silliness, I’m going to blog happiness.  Blissful, proud, surprising happiness. And hope.

 As I’m sure all of you have heard, President Obama recently voiced his support for gay marriage. 

Bravo,  Mr. President!  Bravo!

I don’t talk much about my relationship with my partner on my blog because, for one, she’s not ok with it.  She doesn’t like me to make a big fuss.  She’s a lot quieter than I am.  Heck, I’m lucky she puts up with me at all, truth be told.   Another reason I don’t talk much about me and my partner is because that’s not what this blog is about.   However, just for today, I’m making an exception.

 Joan and I have been together 14 ½ years, and if that’s not marriage, I don’t know what is.  We’ve been through good times and bad times.  Through sickness and in health.  For poorer and even poorer. Well, you get the idea.  She’s been stepmom to my  kids.  She grabs up my grandson and hugs him just as hard as I do.  She taught my younger son to drive when I was too nervous to even get in the car with him.  She suffered through a massive stroke three years ago, and a long recovery, and never complained about life dealing her lemons.  She went back to work and now her paycheck is what is keeping a roof over our heads.  Yes, we are married.  We just don’t have a piece of paper that has been blessed and sanctioned by the government. 

And.

Just because I don’t talk about being a lesbian all the time doesn’t mean I’m not proud of who I am. 

So.

Today I talk about being a lesbian and what it means to me.

It has not always been easy for me, let me tell you.  I left a marriage when I was 35 because I could no longer run from the truth about who I was.  That was one of the hardest times in my life.  My children suffered.  My husband suffered.  None of them deserved to suffer. 

But neither did I.   And I was suffering most of all.

You may be asking if I knew I was gay before I was 35.  Yes, I most certainly did know.  In fact, I knew since I was in high school that I was attracted to women.  However, I am from the South, and I was in high school in the late 60s/early 70s.   I’m sure I don’t have to stress how gays and lesbians were not tolerated much at all back then.   Hell, women were just coming into their own at that time.  I went in the Air Force in 1971 and dealt with an enormous amount of sexual harassment.  There was no recourse back then, either, but thank God things were changing, and within just a few years, women found their voices.   I guess in that respect, I can be proud, because I’m an important part of history, the evolving of women’s equality.  Pretty astounding when you think about it, how far things have come. Some things, that is.

But back to my story.

When I married my first husband, I loved him.  However, I was also attracted to women.  I was a mess back then, let me tell you.  Confused doesn’t even begin to define it. However, I wanted the American dream.  The husband, 2.5 kids and the white picket fence, and I was going to have it, the hell with my sexuality!

I lived in that denial through 17 years and two marriages.  I had two sons with two different husbands, and because of my boys, I wouldn’t change that part of my life for anything.  My sons kept me sane, and as I did them, they breathed life into me.  They still do, even now at 29 and 38.  They are my pride…my heart.  So, no, I don’t regret marrying twice and having children with men.  Both my husbands were and still are, amazing men and we are friends to this day.  They both accept my lifestyle and embrace my partner. 

Weird huh?   I’m lucky, I know.  A lot of gays and lesbians don’t have the transition I had.  Some of them, especially those in my age demographic, never left their “closets” and never realized the kind of love that I have found.  I feel badly for them because I remember it was not easy.  In fact, it took a very long time for it to become easier. 

Nowadays, things are as normal as they can be for two women living in a committed relationship.  We still can’t marry legally, but I’m beginning to believe that we will be able to do that soon.  Things are changing for the better.  I’m holding on to that. 

I don’t want young people to ever have to worry about “coming out of the closet”.  I want them to “live out of the closet” as if there was never a closet.  I want them to be able to love and not be beaten to death by some hate mongers because of who they love.  I want them to NEVER consider suicide because they can’t live in this world that belittles and hates them.  I want them to walk proud and be who they are, beautiful, productive human beings.    

What if your child were gay?  What if your grandchild were gay?  Would you embrace them and support them and accept them?   He/she is still your child/grandchild.  Gay/lesbian doesn’t change that, so why should it change your relationship?  It should not!

Remember, it is not our choice to be gay.  It’s who we are.  The sooner people understand and accept that very real fact, the better off everyone will be.   It’s not easy being who we are, so why would we “choose” it?  

You may not agree with the comparison, but not so many years ago, the very thought of mixed marriage was taboo and completely frowned upon.  Can you even imagine that?   I’m from the south, so I can actually remember snide and prejudice remarks made within my own family against mixed marriages.  Now?  My family has mixed marriages throughout. Now it’s not called “mixed marriage”.  It’s just called marriage.   

I wonder if there will come a day when no one gives a second thought about gay marriage and it is just considered marriage.  Wouldn’t that be a hoot?

So, after our President took his stand on gay marriage, I took a deep, satisfied breath, and thought “I never thought I’d see the day.”   But I did.  And I have to say, once more:

Thank you Mr. President!  

I have always been proud of who I am, but now I’m hopeful.  For others like me. For all the generations to come.

OK, I’m going to find the ladder and climb down off my rather tall soap box now. 

Happy WTFriday everyone!   

 

Images from Google Images

]]>My ABCshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/9/my-abcs.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-09T17:11:55Z2012-05-09T17:11:55ZThis week I became the stalker of Ducky.  Ok that sounds weirder than it really is.  Let me back up just a step or two.  

Ducky is a blogger.  Hilarious blogger.  She’s a youngun, somewhere in her early 30s I think.  She visited my blog one day and I fell in bloggy love.  She’s way past funny; she’s a master at the humor craft, that one!  I’m in awe. 

OK enough gushing about Ducky.  But her website is called Batcrap Crazy.  I think that’s really all that needs to be said. 

Except.

I don’t normally blog on Wednesday, but I’m feeling especially generous with sharing myself today.  You lucky people!   However, I want to make it quick because I have homework, job hunting, exercise, shower, and finishing The Hunger Games to do today.   Yes, I’m probably the only person in the universe that has not finished said book yet.  So sue me.  I have to study and that requires a shitload of reading.  I get sick of reading.

Until I picked up The Hunger Games.  Oh my goshness!  I am so hooked.   We are going to see the movie Saturday and I cannot wait.

So back to today’s post.  I give you the ABC's of me. Stolen from Ducky who stole them from Donna. Um, just the context not the content. I kept most of the subjects, but also added a few of my own.  I'm a rebel like that. 

So here we go:

The ABCs of me

Age:  58  and somewhat comfortable in this age. I could do without the arthritis and occasional sneeze-piddles though.

Bedsize:   Queen.  Suits my lofty and pretentious attitude.

Chores that you hate:   Not enough room on here to list.  The one I hate the most is vacuuming.  Fucking Freaking hate it with a fucking freaking passion.  Fucking Freaking vacuuming.  I’m in a bad mood now.  Thanks.

Diapers:   Not yet.  Good thing, too, since I couldn’t afford them.

Essential start to my day:  Caffeine and a crane, to get my broke-ass outta bed.

Favorite Color:   RED.  Baby, I love me some red.  A curvaceous woman in a long red dress.  OY

Gold or Silver:  Yes and Yes.  Yes to Diamonds and sapphires too.   Hells yes.

Height:   5’6”.   I used to be 5’7 ½” but got in a rollover when I was 38.  Compression fractures.  Ouch. 

Instruments you play:  I can pick my nose rhythmically.  Does that count?   Oh yea, and I can whistle with my fingers.   I had a butch friend teach me that right after I came out.  So far it hasn’t gotten me laid.  Dang.

Job Title:  My job is looking for a job.  I am 2.5 years into it now and have reached the Expert Level.  Go ahead, test me.

Kids:  I have two sons, 38 and 29 and three grandsons, 6, 10 and 16.  Still waiting and hoping for a granddaughter.

Living:   Yes, thank God.  Considering the alternative.  I’m happy with my current status.  Alive.

Music:  My iPod has everything from hot Jennifer Lopez to Smokey Robinson and the Miracles to the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack.  I am a music fan of gargantuan proportions. 

Nicknames:  Terri, now.  Growing up it was Katie.  Or Shithead when my mom was drunk.

Own or Rent:   I own my soul.  I own my mistakes.  I own my opinions.  I own my successes.  You can’t rent that stuff people.

Pet Peeves:  Whiny bitches, liars, tailgaters, know-it-all’s.  Oh yea, and food-smackers.  Keep it shut Paaalllease.

Quote from movie or TV Show: "I like it a lot”  from Dumb and Dumber.  Don’t judge.   It totally fits in so many instances.  Think about it.

Righty or Lefty:   I’m always right.  If you don’t believe me, just ask me.  I’ll corroborate.

Siblings: The cutest little 4’11” Sissy you have ever seen.  She is freaking adorable. 

Time: - Need more.  Never get enough.  If only we could Clone time.  That would be awesome.

Underwear:  Yes, for cryin out loud.  And?  Sometimes Granny panties.  Shut up.  But.  I apologize for the visuals.  Send me your eye-doctor bill.

Vegetable you hate:   OKRA

What makes you run late:   Never EVER late.  That’s the one part of Type A personality I seem to have adopted.  Everything else gleans from my B side.  Thank God.

X-rays you've had:  You name it.  I’m 58.  Do the math.

Yummy food you make:  My family loves my mashed potatoes, gravy and biscuits and meat loaf.  I love it when I don’t have to cook.  I win most of the time.

Zoo animal:   Bengal Tiger.  Grrrrrr.  Fits my personality.  Or at least my “made-up” one.

 

So, what are the ABCs of you?  Hmmm?  I’m dying to know.  Give it up.

Image from Google Images

]]>Monday Listicles - One hour in the day of an old unemployed broadhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/6/monday-listicles-one-hour-in-the-day-of-an-old-unemployed-br.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-07T05:46:31Z2012-05-07T05:46:31Z 

 

Happy Monday!  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is supposed to encompass one hour out of our day.  My life is so exciting it was really hard to choose which hour to share with you, but I finally settled on my first waking hour of the day.  Brace yourself folks, because it is riveting.  Trust me, you'll be talking about my hour at the water cooler for days. I'm truly a legend in my own mind.  Anywho, I hope you enjoy my list:

**************

6:30 a.m.   I wake up.  I don’t use an alarm unless you count my built in “Igottapee” meter.

6:31 a.m.   I don’t exactly spring out of bed, but rather inch my way to the edge and slowly begin the rise upwards until I’m fully vertical.  Then I take my morning pills.

6:35 a.m.  I put on the coffee.  Most important step of the entire day.

6:37 a.m.   Morning bathroom routine.  I don't want to frighten the squeamish but my routine may or may not include a three-way mirror, a jackhammer, and pork rinds.  What?  A girl has her beauty secrets!

6:45  a.m.  I turn on the TV.  I  have to be ready for Good Morning America.  It’s my thing.  Don’t judge. The comedy is top-notch. They talk about the unemployment rate improving.  I get a really good laugh when they do that.

6:46 a.m.   I pour myself a cup of coffee.  I take a sip.  Ohhhh.  Yea, that’s what I’m talking about. At 6:46 a.m., I can honestly report that coffee is better than sex.  Yes, I just said that! I'm shocked too.

6:47 a.m.   I pour a glass of orange juice and heat water for my oatmeal.  Every. Single. Day. Of. My. Freaking. Life, people. Oatmeal, orange juice and coffee.   Boring? Yes. But. I never need a laxative.  Just sayin..

6:55 a.m.  I connect up to my coffee IV and take my breakfast into the living room to eat and watch Good Morning America. Robin Roberts is kinda hot, in a butch kinda way, don’t you think? This is where I realize I seriously need to get out more. People have jobs and go on vacations and eat out, according to this informative show.  I can’t look away.  It’s mesmerizing.

7:15 a.m.  I wait for a commercial to come on and then I take my dishes to the kitchen, unhook the IV and drink the rest of the coffee straight from the pot, and then sit back down and multitask. I check my blog, email, face book, twitter and the job boards. I look for a job online.  I can type, take shorthand, juggle, dance, tell bad jokes, do a couple card tricks, tie a knot in a cherry stem with my tongue, play air hockey like a pro, and cook.  Employable skills?  You betcha!  Anyone out there hiring?

7:30 a.m.  I am out the door for my morning walk.  Suddenly, I realize all is right with my world after all.  I am loving the fresh air and the new promising day that’s ahead of me.  Will I get that job today?   Maybe.  However it turns out, it’s a good day to be me.

 

]]>WTFriday - Follow Friday Faux Pashttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/4/wtfriday-follow-friday-faux-pas.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-04T15:59:31Z2012-05-04T15:59:31ZIf you’ve read me, you know that I have to include some flashback moments in every post and comment I make.  I try to relate my crazy life to others but fall short most of the time.  But not without a few carefully placed laughs, that’s for sure.  You gotta laugh right?   I do.

That being said, I grew up old school (because I’m old and stuff) and when she wasn’t drunk, my Mom was adamant about teaching me manners.  I know how to act around my elders (all two of them).   I know how to be in polite society, how to eat and drink properly, and even how to hold my tea cup.  I was taught to walk straight by walking around the house with a book on my head.  Sometimes I would even do that while reading a book.  Not the same book.  That would be impossible.  Try to stay with me, folks.

So I have manners.  When I had kids I tried to teach them manners, too.  Not the book on the head manners.  They were boys, and I spent most of my time and energy just trying to catch up with them and their antics.  I did teach them to be polite to their elders, hold doors and pull out chairs for the ladies, and generally, just be kind.   And they learned.  And they are.   Kind, that is.  And they always hold my door for me when the occasion arises.  Good boys!

Today, all those manners I learned seem to be moot, outdated and old-fashioned.  I am a woman of manners. But I am also a modern woman.  I thrive on change. Therefore, I needed me some new manners.

So.

Every Friday, I get on Twitter and show some love to my bloggy buddies.  What’s that got to do with manners?  Nothing really.  But I told you, I digress, and sometimes it’s ugly and not pertinent at all.  Just bear with me ‘um kay?

WTFriday?

There’s this thing on Twitter that people do, called Follow Friday.  What you do is, you type in the hashtag #FF and then proceed to add your favorite twitter friends as space allows.   And please, don’t ask me about hashtags.  I just know #FF is a hashtag and I don’t care what it means.   Anywho, for example, I might tweet the following:

#FF @northhorizon

My son’s gonna hate this, because that’s his Twitter name.  Bawwwaaahhh!

So I continue doing this until I’ve added all my friends.  I do this every single Friday.  It’s actually not even popular. Not many people do it anymore.  They’ve all gone on to the 21st Century and other tweetie thingys.  Not me.  I like Follow Friday.  I’ll be doing Follow Friday until the Twitter people find out and take my handle away.  It could happen.  I don’t think Twitter is for old people.  But I’m sneaking in there and doing my Follow Friday as long as I can get by with it.   I’m cool like that.

So.

What’s my Faux Pas?   I’m so glad you asked.

My faux pas for Follow Friday when twittering or tweetering, or tweeting or twatting (no that can’t be right) or twittereeting (just pick one)  is that I always forget at least one important friend every Friday.

And?

Most times it’s either the lovely Ally at Just a Normal Mom or snake-charmer Arizona neighbor Sandy at Flying WG.  I’m sorry ladies.  I love you both.  I don’t know why I keep doing that.  I’ve actually forgotten Ally more times than Sandy, but today was Sandy’s turn. 

So how do I make up for this modern-day miss-manner catastrophe? 

I’m slick, that’s how.

When I figure out I forgot someone, I make a spectacle out of it by giving that person her very own #FF tweet, with a little paragraph on her awesomeness.  I have no idea if it works, but it’s all I got people.

I don’t want to be caught with my Miss Manners knickers down, so to speak. 

I’m nothing without my Manners.  Unless I have wine.  That trumps manners.

Thanks a lot Mom.  See what you caused?

So what’s your latest Faux Pas?   C’mon, you know you have one. Or two. Let it out.  Confession is good for the soul.

And while you’re at it, get on Twitter and follow @sandy_webb and @NormalMomAlly.  Why?  Because it’s Friday and I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.

 

 

 

Image from Google Images

]]>Mega Bloggers forget us small frieshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/5/2/mega-bloggers-forget-us-small-fries.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-05-02T17:28:49Z2012-05-02T17:28:49ZAre you one of those successful, mega bloggers who have dozens (or hundreds) of followers and commenters?  Do you have guest bloggers knocking down your door?  Do you have sponsors and constant invitations to provide sponsored content on your valuable space? 

And.

Did you get there from hard work?  Did you visit hundreds of other blogs and leave your thoughts and subscribe even when you didn’t have enough time in the day to think? 

Well.

Then my message is for you.

I am not a mega-blogger as everyone knows who ventures to my site on occasion.  God knows I’ve tried and just haven’t been successful.  

I’m not making excuses and I’m not apologizing.

I’m not a mommy or grand mommy blogger.  I don’t have a serious illness that I know of, unless you count chronic unemployment-itis.  I haven’t had a horrible thing happen in my life.  Oh wait, I have, but I don’t want to build a blog around it.   I don’t have money to hire someone to make my site pretty, and what you see is what you get.

I'm not dissing those who do, either.

That being said.

I have a list of a few dozen bloggers that I adore and I frequent as often as is possible.  Some of you are Mega-Bloggers and you know who you are.  Some of you visit my blog maybe once a month if I’m lucky.  I’m always happy to have you, but I’m not blind and I've been doing this for almost two years now.  Some of you are actually IRL friends and you still can’t take a minute out of your busy schedule to acknowledge my work. 

It is work you know, my writing.  I am a serious fiction writer, and will continue to write. 

I’m just not sure that being in this blogging business and trying to support so many people who don’t have the time to support me is really the wise thing to do.

I would like to say that I don’t care if you visit, but I do.  I would like to say it doesn’t matter if you don’t support me, I will always support you.  Up until now that has been the case. 

However.

I’m spending a lot of time supporting people who probably don’t give me a second thought.

If you no longer want or need my support, please email me.  Use the Contact Tab on my site and let me know.  I will not be upset. 

But let’s get real, shall we?   I love you all, but if you don’t need my help, I can direct it towards others like myself who really need the support and will reciprocate, at least occasionally.

Sorry to be Debbie Downer, but I’m busy too.  I spend hours each day trying to get work and the other hours studying for my Masters.  These things are important to me.

Enough said.  Have a good week. 

Much love coming from…

Terri’s Little Corner

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten things I am good athttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/30/monday-listicles-ten-things-i-am-good-at.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-30T13:48:12Z2012-04-30T13:48:12Z 

Happy Monday!  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is Ten things I'm good it.  I have to admit it was kind of tough cutting the list down to just ten, but I managed.  It's hard to be humble, ya know?  Anywho, I hope you enjoy my list:

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  • I am good at making lists.  But not nearly as good as the lovely Stasha.  
  • I am good at making up stories.  Must be from all the little white lies I told as a child.  I got into a lot of trouble.  Which leads to the next item.
  • I am good at getting into trouble.  I don’t look for trouble.  It finds me.  It knocks on the door.  I let it in.  It makes itself at home.  I suffer the consequences. 
  • I am good at playing air hockey at the arcade.  I am serious.  My own sons won’t play with me anymore.  That’s how good I am.  Go ahead. Try me.
  • I am good at drinking wine.  Some things you shouldn’t be so good at, probably.
  • I am good at being organized.  Twenty four hours of the day, in fact.  Our refrigerator is literally covered with magnets  (not maggots…please! Focus..).   They didn’t get perfectly aligned, alphabetically by mistake people.  That takes organization.  And to do it at 3 am in between checking the buttons on the stove and making sure the toaster is unplugged.  That takes OCD talent.  I got skills. 
  • I am good at bullshitting.  This could be a whole post all by itself.  I’ll make a note for a future visit of this subject and move on.  I could be a bullshitting rock star. Just sayin..
  • I am good at procrastination.  I continuously invent new and bazaar reasons not to do something.  It’s a challenge for me and I’m competitive that way.  Is that like challenging the challenged?  Is that even a thing?   Should I just move on?   Ok…
  • I’m good at flat-ironing my hair.  You younger ladies may not see this as something of which to brag, but trust me, it’s a big deal.  I started flat-ironing my locks almost two years ago and have gone through three flat irons, burned both my ears, neck and fingers numerous times, invented new cuss words, and gained yet another addiction.  Yes folks, I’m addicted to my hair.  At least making it flat.  

Anyone got a life?  I think I need one.

And finally, I’m good at love.  Not being a lover.  Although….Uh, never mind. 

  • Seriously, when I love someone…my kids, my grandkids, my partner, my little sister, my best friend…I love them with everything I have.  There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them within my power.  I believe that’s the only way to love.  Don’t you?

So what are YOU good at?  I can’t wait to find out!  

 

]]>Top Ten Reasons I'm Still Awakehttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/28/top-ten-reasons-im-still-awake.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-28T07:58:48Z2012-04-28T07:58:48ZIt’s midnight and I just got back up.  I tried to go to bed at 10ish, but tossed and turned and fought with all 20 of my pillows.  It’s amazing what one’s brain can produce when  it’s rebelling from the “go to sleep now” command.  I’ve been known to finish a couple chapters of my book, write my grocery list and arrange my calendar to accommodate oil changes for my car for the next two years. Sometimes I even schedule appointments to get my cat shaved and groomed. And I don’t have a cat. Yea, I get a lot accomplished.  Only problem is, I completely forget everything once I get up. 

I have no trouble at all sleeping during the day as long as I’m sitting straight up in my easy chair.  I have some stellar naps in that chair.  Ah, The drool.  The dreams.  The numbness of the limbs.  The urgency to pee.  What more could anyone want?  I am living the dream, people.  Living the nightmare dream.

So, on to my list.  I’m all about making lists in my head, but let’s see how I do a little past midnight, sitting in my easy chair, wearing my horn-rimmed spectacles that are not strong enough, and sporting a tank top and Denver Broncos boxers.  I’m a fashion plate.  Don’t hate.

Oh yea, and I may or may not have had a wee bit of the grape.

Top Ten Reasons I am Still Awake

10.  I could not get comfortable.  I kept feeling things that were not there.  A bit like The Princess and the Pea.  Only lose the princess, add an old broad, and then the fact that I had to pee.

9.   Got up to pee, went back to bed, but my legs kept walking.  Yes, they were going 90 in the slow lane and no traffic cop in sight.  If only…

8.  After my legs slowed down to a tolerable speed where I wasn’t getting sheet-burn, I thought I’d drift off to sleep, but NO.   The whole traffic cop scenario entered my thoughts.  She was about 5’8” tall, long legs and tight uniform.  She was just about to arrest me for speeding with a shit-eating grin on my face when I had to pee again.  Damn.

7.   Got up to pee.  Went back to bed.  The hot lady cop was gone.  Damn.  The legs had stiffened up and were aching from all that freaking exercise.   I took a pain pill, which would make anyone else cut some serious ZZZzzz’s.  Not me.  I got the munchies.

6.  Got up.  Turned on the TV.  Got myself a small glass of skim milk and sipped it slowly while trying to find something funny in anything David Letterman had to say.  He just doesn’t do it for me.  Neither did the skim milk.  I toasted a pop tart and nibbled on that through the rest of David’s monologue.  I’m such a party girl.

5.  Went back to bed.  Actually drifted off to sleep when suddenly I couldn’t remember whether I had unplugged the toaster or not.  OCD is my friend, but that’s another story for another time.  So I got back up.  I checked the toaster, lined up the refrigerator magnets, and went back and checked the toaster one more time just to be sure.

4.  Went back to bed.  This time I tried a different position.  My legs have arthritis issues and often-times I can’t find a comfortable spot.  Reminds me of a dog turning in circles, round and round, until he finds the perfect spot to sleep…or poop depending on the situation.  Thank goodness that thought didn’t bring up any poop notions.  I did, however, have to go pee.  And then the circling, round and round.  I figured if I never found a good spot, maybe I’d just pass out from the dizziness. 

3.  Finally found the perfect spot, my legs did not ache, my mind was clear, the toaster was unplugged, and the pain killer kicked in.  For about a half hour, all was right with my sleepy world.  Then the sirens went by.  There must have been a fire, a high speed chase and a heart attack close by all at the same time.  There were sirens coming from all directions.  I covered my head with the pillow but it was too late.  I was awake. Again. 

2.  Sat up in bed, flipped on the light, found my text book, donned my reading glasses, and proceeded to administer sleeping aid the natural way.  By studying.  It worked, too, because within minutes I was snoring.   Sitting straight up.  I think that takes some talent. 

1.  The snoring woke me up.  I had a dry mouth.  I took a gulp of water.  I got choked and coughed and coughed and coughed.  Then I had to pee again.  On the way back from the bathroom, I made a detour to the kitchen to check the toaster and grabbed some crackers and a little more skim milk.  I sat down in my easy chair and here I sit.  The Late Late show with Chris Ferguson is on now.  He cracks me up.  So I gotta go finish watching him.   I’ll get to bed after that.  I promise.  Who knows, maybe I’ll dream about that hot lady cop…

 

 

Images from Google Images

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten favorite bookshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/22/monday-listicles-ten-favorite-books.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-23T04:22:52Z2012-04-23T04:22:52Z 

Happy Monday!  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is Ten favorite books.  My list consists of some of my faves over the years.  You won't see many current titles on my list because I never have time for pleasure reading anymore.  Grad school gives me all the reading I can stand.  However, I do manage to keep up with my favorite blogs!  Anywho, I hope you enjoy my list:

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1 - Scariest book I ever read.  Swan Song by Robert McCammon

2 - My favorite of the Harry Potter series:  Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone by JK Rowling

3 - My favorite Jane Austen book, Sense and Sensibility.   Actually, I may be "old school" but I love all her work.

4 - Green Eggs and Ham by Dr Seuss. My favorite book to read out loud to my kids and grandkids.  It was all about saying the words, the fun of the rhyme, and the silliness.  I enjoyed it even more than the kids.  But then, I am quite a ham.   So to speak.  Sam I am.

5 - Favorite book about writing, hands down:  Stephen King's On Writing.

6 - Favorite book assigned reading in school.  Walden by Henry David Thoreau.  Yes high school for me was back in the dark ages, but I still remember this book.  I was nerdy and corny way back then, too.

7 - First lesbian romance novel I read after coming out 23 years ago.  Curious Wine by Katherine V. Forrest.  A poignant love story, beautifully and tastefully written.  


8 - Sacajawea by Anna Lee Waldo.  One of my favorite adventure books of all time.  This one had it all.  Action, adventure, sex, history, violence.  You name it.  Good reading!

9 - Yea I know,  everybody's read this one.  Well, me too!  Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  This one appealed to my girlie, earthy, adventurous, romantic side.  And yes I do have all those sides plus a bag of chips.


10 - I saved the best for last.  Island of the Blue Dolphins by Scott O'Dell.  This is a children's book, over 50 years old, considered a classic and has won many awards.  My fourth grade teacher read this beautiful book to us, a chapter a day, and I was mesmerized.  When the library stocked this book, I checked it out over and over again.  I couldn't even tell you how many times I've read it.  A dear friend gifted this book to me for my 50th birthday, and of course, I read it again.  And then when my grandson entered the 4th grade, I presented him with his own copy of this book, and signed it for him to keep and hopefully pass on to his grandkids.   Island of the Blue Dolphins was truly one of the best memories of my childhood.


]]>WTFridaythe13th? I'm not skeeredhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/12/wtfridaythe13th-im-not-skeered.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-13T00:44:19Z2012-04-13T00:44:19ZHere it is, once again, Friday the 13th.  This most unholy of holidays comes around at least once (and if we’re really unlucky, twice) a year.  I am not fond, nor am I frightened of Friday the 13th.  Truth be told, every one of my days have been Friday the 13th  worthy lately.  It seems like Jason has been following me around for so long, lurking in the dark and behind obstacles, he’s starting to feel like one of the family.  If he’d just show his face (cough cough) I’d ask him in for tea.   Laced of course, as I’m not one to be outdone by a dude with a mask and an attitude.

Don’t be frightened, however, as I’m not headed toward the dark side.   Unless, of course, my host looks like Morticia from The Adams Family.  Then where do I sign?  Lucky man, that Gomez!   Just visualizing him making tiny kisses up Morticia’s arm while speaking French in an American accent was a real turn on.  Not because I wanted Gomez to do that to me.  No, I wanted to BE Gomez!    

Gomez, aka  me:     Je t'aime belle femme. Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

Morticia:               Oh Gomez….er I mean Terri! You rascal you!  More More ! 


Now where was I ?   Sorry, I went away for awhile.  Oh yes, Friday the 13th.  I was trying to make it a happy-memory day by fantasizing, which is my usual go-to-technique for happy memories.  That’s why I’m so good at making up stories…because I can fantasize like crazy.  Not much I can’t imagine if given the opportunity and the mood.  And sometimes a marital aid or two. 

 


Let’s just move on, shall we ?

As Friday the 13’s go, this one is not so bad.  I’ve had worse.  One year I was in a rollover in Utah with seven other people in a van, ended up in intensive care with compression fractures and was out of work for months.   A few years later, again on Friday the 13th, I was back in intensive care after having a blood pressure trauma, which is just shy of a stroke.  Don’t cry. I’m fine. But where were you back then, when I needed you ?  Hmm ? 

Yes folks, not a big fan of Friday the 13th.  But like I said before, I’m not afraid.  It’s just another day.   I just don’t go out in public, shop, work, exercise, walk under ladders, pet cats (any color), look in mirrors, step on cracks, play the lotto, or attempt to get frisky (don’t ask).  What ?  It doesn’t hurt to play it safe.  I also hide all sharp objects and lock up the knives, just in case someone goes all exorcist and needs validation.  Hell, I’m not even Catholic so leave me  out of your demon-extractions, thank you very much !

I’m just doing a little preventive Friday the 13th..ing.  Don’t judge.  It wouldn’t be unheard of.  Some people set up alarms along the perimeters of their homes, dig moats and fill them with paranha, wear garlic necklaces and bullet-proof vests, and even invite their in-laws for sleepovers.   Why the inlaws, you ask ?  Obvious.  So they’d have someone to throw on the lawn for a sacrifice, to keep the zombies and wolves at bay. 

OK, I reckon people don’t really do all those things in fear of Friday the 13th, but wouldn’t it really be cool if they did ?    I’d invite them to do all those things at my house, then I’d charge admission.  I’d be rich and have an excuse for an awesome party.

Any excuse for a party, right ?  And on the menu :  Pizza and wine for the live guests and worms and garlic martinis for the zombies.  Party Party !

See, I told you I have quite an imagination.   Having said that, I hope you have a lucky Friday the 13th, and I leave you with a bit of my really bad advice best poetry :

Beware of Jason, ladders and cats.

Stay out of dark alleys and don’t feed the bats.

Friday the 13th is just like any other day.

And if you want to press your luck, that’s ok.

But if you’re like me at home you will be hiding.

And into a wine-induced stupor you’ll be sliding.

Bring it, Friday the 13th cause I ain’t skeered.

I live in Las Vegas.  Nothing seems weird.

 

**Images from Google Images

 

 

 

]]>Monday Listicles - Road trip memories with the kidshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/9/monday-listicles-road-trip-memories-with-the-kids.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-09T13:38:06Z2012-04-09T13:38:06Z 

 

Can’t believe it’s Monday already.  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is Ten somethings about the Road.  I decided to make a quick list of the "fonder" memories I have from those road trips with my kids OH SO long ago.  Some things you just never forget. I'm sure you can relate to some of my list, even today.  Back then we didn't have DVD players and iPads to keep the younguns busy.  We played road games like "spot the VW Bug" and "Count the Cows".  Yea, a real party it was!   My youngest used to count the cows by exclaiming, "One hamburger, two hamburger, three hamburger..."   Gotta love that boy!   Anyways, here goes:

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Road trip memories with the kids - Circa approximately 1975 to 1990 or thereabouts:


 

 

Mom!   I gotta go pee!

Mom!   I gotta go pee now!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 Never mind Mom.  I don’t have to pee anymore.

 Mom, can I get another Happy Meal?  My toy broke.

 

 Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom.  Mom. Mom.


 Mom does Grandpa have Atari?  I can show him Space Invaders!

 

 

 

 

 

 Mom I’m bored.

 Mom, are we there yet?

 What?   I don’t smell anything.

  Mom, did you eat all my Tootsie Roll Pops?  Mom! 

]]>WTFriday? Where's my eraser?http://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/5/wtfriday-wheres-my-eraser.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-06T01:24:47Z2012-04-06T01:24:47ZLife would be colorless and boring without descriptors, wouldn’t you agree?   Adjectives are sexy and we writers enjoy the abundance of choices available in our beautiful English language.   But what happens when a word is overused?   What happens when a word is misused?   Over and over again?    Thinking further, what happens when said overuse and misuse becomes the rule rather than the exception?  

Don’t you want to pour Drano in your ears?

Or maybe you’re not especially fond of bodily harm, so don’t you just want to erase the word from the English language?

Yeah.  Me too.  

Three words come to my mind that fit the descriptions of either overuse or misuse, and all three make me want to use that Drano or eraser in order to get rid of those ear-numbing words. 

The first word is AWESOME.  Everybody says it.  Everybody thinks that everybody else says it way too much.  Take yours truly, for example.  I am the AWESOME guru.  Keeper of the AWESOME.  A regular AWESOME Houdini, if you will.  I will produce that word under any and all circumstances.  I will make it fit, even when there’s not a speck of awesomeness to be found for miles. People have even politely pointed out to me that I use too much AWESOME.  Oh I heard them.  I just didn’t listen.  You see, back in the olden days, when I first found my AWESOME, we bonded in a most unique and intimate way.  I could never leave my AWESOME because then I’d just be plain OK.  AWESOME is so much better than OK.  Ever try to use the word OK to substitute for AWESOME?   That would not be OK!

So we’ll just let AWESOME have a pass shall we?  I can’t give it up yet.  I am hoarder of the AWESOME.  An AWESOME hoarder, if you will.

WTFriday?

I think I’ll just go on to the next word.

The second word is AMAZING.  Personally, I don’t use this word nearly as often as other people.  You know, because I already have my own word with which to annoy others.  I don’t need AMAZING.  Other people, however, make me freaking nuts with their overuse of AMAZING and their apparent lack of any other descriptive word that might fit.  Hell, I would lend them AWESOME if they’d just stop using AMAZING so often.  People?  Not everything is AMAZING!   Not everyone is AMAZING! And?  Just because your new puppy finally took a poop outside instead of on your Persian rug, that does not necessarily warrant an AMAZING.  You want to know what AMAZING is?   I’ll tell you.   AMAZING is winning the freaking lottery.  AMAZING is writing a best-selling novel.  AMAZING is getting your partner to agree to a threesome. Actually that’s not AMAZING - That would be a miracle.  (No she did not just say that!)

Ahem.  Let’s press on, shall we?

The third and final word is one that is used mostly by our youth.  And by youth I mean anyone younger than me. Uh, basically everyone.  I’ve been hearing it for a few years now, misused as a term of positivity.   The word to which I am referring is SWEET.   For those who don’t know, SWEET was not always used as an exclamation of glee just because someone showed up at a boring party with some weed.   No, seriously, SWEET was formerly used to indicate how sugar tastes.   Now, if one really wanted to stir the proverbial pot, one could say SWEET when eating something that tastes sweet, but not because it’s actually SWEET, but rather because it’s AWESOME.  That’s the only way I can figure to explain this whole mess.  You see, I really hate it when SWEET is misused.  To me, it’s like nails on a blackboard or popping pimples or picking one’s nose in public.  It grates on my nerves and makes me batshitcrazy.  (Props to Rachel for my new favorite word.)

So there you have it.  Three words that just shouldn’t be.   They are misused and overused and tired and we need some different words.  For example, try substituting a different but equally as effective word for AWESOME, AMAZING or SWEET every time.  Yes, you might need to actually use a dictionary or thesaurus.  It wouldn’t be unheard of.  In fact, it would be freaking AWESO….

Uh I mean wonderful.

And wouldn’t expanding your vocabulary impress your friends and family?  That would be freaking AMAZI…..

Uh I mean fabulous.

And afterwards you could all go out and get ice cream to celebrate!  That would be SWEE…

Uh I mean delicious.

WTFriday?

Actually, you know what?  It would be SWEET.  A freaking AWESOME and AMAZING kind of SWEET!  

But now that word FREAKING is starting to get on my nerves.

Where’s my Eraser?

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What overused and/or misused words get on your nerves?

 

 

(Images from Google Images)

]]>I saw it in their eyeshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/5/i-saw-it-in-their-eyes.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-05T15:02:23Z2012-04-05T15:02:23ZLast night I sat in my chair in the living room and wrote my heart.  My hurting heart.  Then I posted it.  Then I took it down for fear of gaining sympathy.  That’s not what I’m looking for.  I wanted to share my feelings at a very raw, painful time in my life.  I read countless blogs of wonderful writers who share their inner-most pain, but I just usually try to entertain.   That being said, I’ve decided to repost last night’s blog because I don’t get any more honest than I did when I wrote it.  I’m posting, not for sympathy, but for awareness.  If you know someone who’s been discriminated against, please share, and/or please pass this along to others.  Thanks.

Today I sat in a little room, dressed in my best business outfit and humbled myself in front of a person much younger than me, because I needed a decent job.  The interviewer herself didn't bother to dress up.  She wore “trashy casual” and her hair was a disheveled mess.  I actually felt sorry for her.  For about half a second.  Until our eyes met and I saw it.  She had already discounted me before I even had a chance to speak.  She had dismissed me and had no intention of hiring me.   I saw it in her eyes, and as much as I tried to ignore it and do my very best to interview well, her prejudice permeated the room and my existence.  I shudder as I write this because I still feel it. 

Welcome to my world since September 2009 when I was laid off my job due to downsizing.  Ever since that perfect, nicely paying job, I have crashed, head-on, smack into the middle of age discrimination.  Now I’m sure none of you want to read my bitching, because you don’t come here for that, and you can leave if you want.  But this post is coming from my core.  And right now my fucking core is red hot.  Tonight I am not about fiction or humor.  Tonight I am fighting mad.

Yes, I’ve landed a couple of very low-paying, sub-par, entry level jobs over the past two years, and I’ve tried to stay with them as best I could.   Now all I hear on TV is how the economy is improving and jobs are being created and better jobs are out there.   I’m just trying to get back into the workforce.  But I have to tell you, I am sick and tired of being treated like a decrepit old woman, when I am anything but that!   I am so ashamed of corporate America, I can’t even begin to express my sadness and my angst.  

Where are those people who profess to being liberal, tolerant, caring and compassionate?  Well, they are certainly not interviewing prospective employees.  It’s one thing to claim age discrimination is wrong (or any other type of discrimination for that matter), but it’s quite another to back it up with action.  I have a keen, quick mind, a shitload of education, and a world of experience….and it is all going to waste!

Will someone out there tell me why this is happening?   I have literally tried everything short of having a full-body transplant and I am still just viewed as a nice little old lady.   I’m supposed to bake cookies and smile a lot and have a house full of cats.  OR whatever?

This forced aging of my psyche has tainted my outlook on things to the point that I don’t even know how to be funny anymore.   I don’t even want to blog anymore.  It’s not like I get many readers anyway.  I refuse to be pegged into a one-subject blog-role.   Yes, some of us old folks do enjoy variety. 

I am 58 years old.  I have been around the world.   I am educated.  I am compassionate.  I am liberal but poised and diplomatic.  I know manners.  I love young people.  I love babies.  I love old people.  I like all kinds of music.  I love to dance.  I AM funny.  I can write.  Oh HELL yes I can write.   

And I feel.  And it hurts when all someone sees when they look at me is old.   God it hurts so much.  I don’t put young folks into categories.  Why would I ever want to do that?  I would be missing out on knowing so many beautiful souls.

But people?  I am so fucking sick of crying.   When I look back at today and so many other interviews I have had, I always pick apart each second of the interview, trying to figure out what went wrong.

I dress very professionally, so that’s not the problem.  My resume and references are impeccable.  Not the problem.  My interview techniques are polished and practiced.  Again, not the problem.  However?

I have a bad back and knees, so I walk with a limp, a little bent over.  Today, I tried so hard to straighten up when I walked through the door.  I must not have accomplished my goal.   I also have some gray hair and my teeth are not good.  They are not brown, but they are spaced.  And?  I have wrinkles I didn’t have two years ago, from aging and worrying and life being so very hard.  I’m also overweight but I can still fit through the door, for crying out loud.

Did that woman size me up because of those things today?  I can’t say for sure.  All I can say is that I saw something in her eyes that I’ve seen at almost every interview. 

A dismissal.  I was being dismissed.   For my age?  For my appearance?   Both?

How the hell does anyone fight back?

How do I get the message out there so people like me won’t be discounted and dismissed?

I just don’t know anymore.   May as well throw my hands up in the air, give up, find my rocking chair and learn how to knit little booties for all my cats.  I have no cats, but as an old person, I’d need to get some, I suppose.

I’ve just had it, can you tell?  No, I’m not paranoid.  And, no I don’t want sympathy.  I’m just really pissed off and need to let off some steam.

And tomorrow I’ll get up, dust myself off, and do it all over again.

 

 

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten Guilty Pleasureshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/4/1/monday-listicles-ten-guilty-pleasures.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-04-02T04:30:47Z2012-04-02T04:30:47Z 

Can’t believe it’s Monday already.  I’m linking up with the lovely Stasha over at The Good Life for Monday Listicles.  This week’s list is Ten Guilty Pleasures and was chosen by Miss Marina Star.  I try to make it a practice not to feel guilty about many things…..especially things that bring me pleasure.  I did manage, however, to put together a list and I hope you will enjoy:

********************

Cooking shows.  Paula Dean.  The Barefoot Contessa. The Iron Chef.  Chopped.  30 Minute Meals.  Not My Momma’s Meals.   So many good shows.  So little time.  And?  I never try the recipes featured on any of the shows.  I just like to watch.   (There’s something about that Barefoot Contessa, don’t you think?)

Pedicures.   I go to The M Resort Spa Mio here in Vegas for my pedicures and it’s like walking on a cloud right into heaven.  The technician is gorgeous and she brings me delicious fruity beverages and massages my feet.  She smiles at me, even when my feet are so rough from wearing flip flops that she has to scrape them with an industrial-strength-sandblasting-tool.  She treats me in the manner to which I would like to become accustomed.  

In-N-Out Burger.  Best.Burger.Ever.    I try to keep this guilty pleasure under control because of the obvious calorie overload.  I do, however, treat myself a couple times a year.  YUM-E-Liscious.

Dancing while nobody’s watching.  Yes I do this.  Yes I’m 58.  Yes I don’t care what anyone thinks.  I love to dance and it’s not hurting anybody’s eyeballs because I do this in private.  And?  I got moves like Jagger.   And?  You’re welcome for the visuals.

Tootsie Roll Pops.  Don’t you remember how good those were?  Seriously a suckful of pleasure.  And NO, I’m not too old for Tootsie Roll Pops. Neither are you.  I say the hell with how it looks, Suck On!

Sara’s Sleep, my continuing fiction saga.   I am in love with Sara and all the characters in my soap opera.  Why a guilty pleasure?  Because I spend a lot of time each week, perfecting the story and stressing out over the sketch that accompanies said story.  I could be doing other things, but I don’t want to. 

Handbags.  I am a self-proclaimed purse whore and I am not ashamed.  I can’t afford the fancy ones like Louis Vuitton;  however, I will full-on body-slam any little old lady who gets between me and that perfect handbag at Kohl's. 

Watching anything George Clooney is in.  Yes, I know I’m gay.  Don’t judge.  Everyone thinks about jumping the fence now and then.   That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Sappy movies on Lifetime Channel.  Sadly I have no explanation for this one.  Sometimes I just go astray.

Adult book and “toy” stores.  WHAT?  I suppose it’s really a Naughty Pleasure.  Close enough.  Am I right?

 

]]>WTFriday? Grammar Schmammerhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/29/wtfriday-grammar-schmammer.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-30T04:11:06Z2012-03-30T04:11:06ZThe more I blog, the more I realize what a complete idiot I must look like at times.  I consistently and carefully peruse my finished work before posting it, for typos, spelling and grammatical errors.  Sometimes, granted, I write poorly on purpose, in order to be humorous or drive my all-important-save-the-world-and-then-pass-the-potatoes point home.  See?  I just did it.  I took sentence-structure and grammatical liberties in the interest of making you people chuckle.   And?  I shall continue to do so.  Why?  Because I like it when you like it.  And?  Sometimes I don’t know any better. And other times?  I’m a rebel.  Or.  It’s just how I roll.  Or.  It is what it is.  Or.  Just pick a cliché.

For example, anyone out there in Bloggyland know the proper usage of affect versus effect? 

Anybody?

Anybody?

Yep, it makes me crazy, too.  I always knew how to use their, they’re and there correctly, and I finally figured out how to use the mind-numbing tenses of lay and lie, albeit I still think they are stupid.  But? Affect and Effect make me want to do very bad things to dictionary.com and all grammar books in general.  Mean pre-meditated, Not-nice things.

But I digress.  Don’t you hate it when people write that?  We do it for effect.  Uh, or is that affect?   Oh shit, I’ll be right back.

WTFriday?

Ok, ok I got it now.  We do it for effect.

I think that’s right?

Let me double check.  Hang on…

Yep, yep that’s right.   Effect.

So you see how crazy this makes me?

I finally gave up on dictionary.com and resorted to the only other reasonable website I could think of:   Grammar Girl. 

According to Grammar Girl, Affect is always a verb and Effect is always a noun.

Except when it’s not. 

Except when it’s NOT ?

WTFriday?

Apparently, there are a couple of instances where you’d use affect as a noun and effect as a verb.  You can read up on that and get back to me, ok?   Exceptions suck.

If you go to the link for Grammar Girl I supplied, you can read her explanation. I read it and I was almost convinced, until she started going on and on about animals.  Hard-to-spell animals.  She just about lost me.

But I pressed on.

Grammar Girl wrote something to the effect that if you can remember aardvark, you can remember when to use affect and when to use effect.   Uh…huh.  When I read that, I immediately thought, “Oh! It must have something to do with spelling aardvark, right?  It’s supposed to trigger the memory!”

Nope.  Not even close.

Actually you not only have to remember aardvark in order to know how to use effect and affect, you also have to remember several steps in between. 

WTFriday?

Several steps, you say, Grammar Girl?   And that is supposed to make it easier  HOW?

I’m still back trying to remember how to spell aardvark without looking.  And I don’t even know why!

This whole rigmarole is affecting my inner peace and the effect is a little unsettling, I must say. 

Did I get that right?

Let me check…

Yep, nailed it!  But I had to look it up.   And the sad fact of the matter is, I will always have to look it up.

So basically I’m screwed.  And without even one kiss. Just not the same effect.   

Ha!   I didn’t look that one up.  It is correct, isn’t it?

Are you sure?

Am I sure?

OH HELL, I’m looking it up.

You see?   I learned virtually nothing, my brains are scrambled, my inner peace in turmoil, my chakra no longer in balance, AND I bit my fingernails clean down to the quick.   So what did I end up doing?  Well, I sat down and wrote a note to Grammar Girl, and it went something like this:

Dear Grammar Girl:

Seriously?  I ask you, was it your intention to affect me this way?  Over this past year, I’ve given you lots of attention, been loyal, sung your praises to anyone who would listen, and visited you often (sometimes late at night). 

And what did I get? 

I (pronoun?) got (verb?) confused (adjective?).   So thanks for nothing Grammar Girl!

~signed 

Terri,

Your Ex  (follower)

P.S.  I want a divorce.

 

*****

Was that correct?

Oh hell, I gotta go look it up. 

                 

 Disclaimers:

** The above was purely for humorous purposes.

Grammar Girl is actually an excellent reference for all grammar-related questions.

 

 

]]>Blog Bash - It Took Me 57 Yearshttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/28/blog-bash-it-took-me-57-years.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-28T17:10:34Z2012-03-28T17:10:34Z 

Today I’m linking up with Ado of the Momalog and Alison at Momma Wants This for the big Blog Bash.  We are supposed to link up our favorite post ever.   I’m usually all about the fiction, but my favorite post ever was written last year, and brought me over 225 comments and the Freshly Pressed Award from Wordpress.  I was beside myself with glee.  I am posting said article below, sans the comments.  If you’ve read it, please enjoy once again.  I believe the message is timeless, and I’m not just bragging.  It was written from my core, and you can’t get more honest, raw or personal than that.  If you haven’t read it, I hope you will keep an open mind and heart and let me know what you think.  Thanks Ado and Alison for this opportunity!

 

It Took Me 57 Years

 

Artistic expressionism.  Drive.  Passion.  I get it.  I finally get it after 57 years and 9 months.  And I’m one of the lucky ones.  Many people go their whole lives without getting it.   Many people go through their entire lives in robotic motion, sans emotion, taking up space…wasting precious time.  I don’t want that to be me.  That will not be me!

I saw a beautiful human being rendered a crying, hopeless, helpless mess on a reality show this week.  The show was called, “So You Think You Can Dance”.  The man was so engulfed in his dancing that he failed to connect with his audience and, unfortunately, came to this realization mid-performance.   The poor soul ended up in a pitiful crying-heap, mid-stage, with not one understanding or compassionate comment offered to soothe his pain.   He simply gave too much of himself and we, the viewing audience, were ill-equipped to accept this raw and disturbing emotion, and consequently did not know how to respond.   What a shame!

This set me to wondering how often this behavior triggers negative/confused/hurtful response from people in everyday life…to those just trying to share their passion, to express their feelings in the one way they’ve discovered does it for them, whether it be dancing, writing, acting, art, poetry, sculpting, singing, mothering, loving or speaking...by those who want to open their minds but haven’t quite grasped the means by which to do so.   How do we all come together?   How do we all understand one another?   I just wish I had the answer.  I can only ask the questions, and hope I open some minds and lubricate the thought-processing mechanisms that are our brains.

Fifty Seven years is a long time to walk this earth and not have a passion, not have a voice, but somehow I managed it.  Fifty Seven will forever be my very favorite age because at 57, I discovered writing.  I discovered my voice.   For those of you who do not have a passion, you will not comprehend my journey, and I would strongly and desperately advise you to find that passion.   For those of you who know how it feels to write something that moves you to tears…those of you who know how a poem represents your sadness, in a way nothing else can….those of you who know how drawing a picture of the clouds viewed from your bedroom window completes you and helps you sleep at night…don’t waste your discovery, your passion!  Use it to fulfill you.  Use it to make your life sweeter.  You’ll never use it up, as long as you keep using it.   It dries up when you quit.  Funny how that works.

Tonight I write from my heart, and to my friends with love.  Don’t worry about me because I’ve found my voice, my passion, and my life is so much sweeter because of it.  If you haven’t found that passion, look for it.  Find it and embrace it.  You won’t believe how much fuller your life will be when you find your voice.

Much love from a happy 57 year old writer/mother/grandmother/sketcher/humorist/lover/friend/daughter/human. 

 

Please feel free to leave your thoughts on my thoughts.      

 


  

 Image from Google Images

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten things that make my life easierhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/25/monday-listicles-ten-things-that-make-my-life-easier.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-26T01:17:59Z2012-03-26T01:17:59Z 

 

Today I'm joining up with the Monday Listicles hosted by the lovely Stasha at The Good Life.  This week's list was to be Ten things that make my life easier. It was my idea.  i'm all about Not over-exerting myself, so this list was pretty easy. 

1.  My rice cooker.  I had promised a picture of this most wondrous of kitchen aids, but my camera died.  Not. Kidding.   Instead of using my phone camera which is crapola, I offer up a canned googled picture for you of said rice cooker.  Hold on to your spatulas and grab your credit card cause you’re gonna want one of these little beauties.  It makes rice (any color…it does not judge).  You add rice and water.  Put the lid on and flip the little switch.  Walk away.  Get a nap.  Get a little.  Whatever.  In 20 minutes you’ll have freaking perfect rice.  Restaurant quality.  Seriously.  I would not lie to you about a thing like this. 

  

 

  A thing of beauty, no?    And!  This is a simple cheap model.  They have mondo ones that do wondrous things like......Well, I'm not sure what.  Maybe they warm your buns or somehting.  It could happen.  

2.  Naps.  Don’t judge.  I’m 58.  A nap puts the wind back in my sails.  I need wind.  Not to be confused with breaking wind.  Of course, I need that too.  Sometimes.   

3.  Friends.  Life would be very hard without good friends. I cherish my friends.  Friend me. Or send me cookies.  Either one is nice.  

4.  Walking cane.   I have a bad back and sometimes I use a cane when at the post office...sometimes gets me free jumps-in-line.  Also good for whacking away the old geezers vying for my attention. Why not just tell them I’m a lesbian?  Those old coots can’t hear a thing!   Sheesh.  

5.  Smart phone.  Angry Birds, Words with Friends.  Oh yea, and you can call people on it.  

6.  Wine bottle opener.  No brainer.  

7.  A really good joke.  Laughing makes everyone’s life easier.  Feel free to leave me a funny joke in comments.  I loves me some funny.  

8.  Reading glasses.   If I couldn’t read, I’d make everyone suffer.  You don’t want to test me.  

9.  Money.   If only…..Am I right?  

10.   Vibrator.   WHAT?  I have a sore neck.  Often.  Now, in fact.  So bye.

 

]]>WTFriday? How Research Goddesses are madehttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/23/wtfriday-how-research-goddesses-are-made.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-23T07:29:14Z2012-03-23T07:29:14ZToday is my first day of school break and I’m sitting here all “wine’d up” hoping to dazzle and delight you with my witty repartee.   Or I could just tell you about the library.

In January 2011, I began my Grad School journey with Hawaii Pacific University, online.  I was so excited, as working toward my Masters had been a dream of mine for many years.     Once accepted into the program, I eagerly collected everything I needed to be a stellar student, to include a whole bunch of highly over-priced textbooks and a notebook computer.   I was all set.

And then came the homework.  We weren’t assigned a few chapters to read per week -- we were assigned whole books to read per week.  I’m a slow reader, or at least I was.  I’m pretty damned fast now.   I learned the faster I read all the assignments, the sooner I could get back to watching “American Idol” and playing on my smart phone.   Important stuff.  So I learned to read fast.

However, that first year, the bane of my existence was the freaking research we had to do for all the gazillions of papers we had to write.   And?   Internet articles were not good enough.  We had to have published professional journal articles.  That meant yours truly had to go to this big scary place I hadn’t been in years.  Yep, the library.  And it was indeed scary.  There were freaking books everywhere.  It was like a….well, library!   And for me it was like being in a foreign country and not knowing the language.

The first time I went, I was too overwhelmed and embarrassed to ask anyone for research help.   I just saw a bunch of encyclopedias and sat down and looked stuff up in those.   All the while, I kept thinking, “I could just do this on my computer at home, right?  Just go to Wikipedia.com.  Problem solved.”   I did look around the library for magazines.   You know, the ones that would have all those journal articles in them, like “Journal of Psychology” and “Journal of Human Resources” and “The Journal of Stupid Old Broads who Don’t Know How to Use the Library”.  

And what do you know; there was not a magazine to be found.   I remembered there were magazines in the olden days, back when I went to the library to check out books and allow the geeky boys to take in my awesomeness.  There were lots of those magazines back then.  I always looked for “National Geographic” because they showed naked people from native tribes in other parts of the world.   It was.  Ummm.   Educational. 

But that was then.  This was now and there were no freaking magazines at the library.   Turned out, everything’s on their computers.   I had to drive over to the library (a lot) and get on their computers and look up professional journal articles, write down the ones I wanted, take the list to the research librarian and wait.   And sometimes wait a long time.  And most times, they didn’t even have the articles I wanted.  So then it was back to the computers and more searching for articles.   After awhile, I just about forgot why I went there in the first place.

This madness continued for all of 2011.  I would receive my research assignment from Professor.  I would dutifully drive to the library.  I took hours upon hours just trying to locate suitable articles.   I drove back home and spent days upon days writing various types of papers, using the research I had found.  

I was busting my ass people!   I was spending money on gas.  I was making copies.  I was spending money on Double Vanilla Latte’s in the library coffee shop.  I was researching and making more copies.  I was spending money on sticky buns in the library coffee shop.   What?  I needed something to compliment the lattes, right?

And so became my life that year.  

And then 2012 arrived.  The year of enlightenment!  The year of new frontiers.  The year of discovery.

The year I discovered how to finally use Hawaii Pacific University’s online library. 

Yep, turned out I never EVER needed to set foot in the Green Valley Library in the first freaking place.  I could have found all the professional journal articles I would ever want through my college’s online platform. 

WTFriday?

Now, I ask you, how does one go through life with no common sense?   I seemed to have accomplished it, so far.   How did I Not know I could get the research I needed online?  Who doesn’t know that?

Apparently, moi.

Sooooo.

Now, in 2012, I do my research in the comfort of my pajamas, sitting at my PC.   And?  I come up with some freaking amazing research, too.    There are journals out there for everything.   Seriously. 

First came God.  He made up a word.  Then came a professional Journal written all about that word.  Apparently, just about anything can be dubbed “professional” and made into a journal.   

Journals with titles like,

“The Journal of the American Medical Association”

And

“The Journal of the American Dental Association”

And probably, if you look hard enough:

“The Journal of Making a Rubber-Ducky Association”

And maybe even:

“The Journal of International Monkey Business…Uh…Association”

There are a lot of journals is all I’m saying.  A whole lot of people had a whole lot to say and decided to write it down.  BOOM.   Another journal.   Most likely, every two seconds a new journal gets its wings.

So, now I have just three semesters left in my Masters program, and a thesis coming up that will require research to the depths of which I’ve yet to experience.  But I’m not scared.  And why?

Because I’m a 58 year old Grad Student.  It is 2012.  And I FINALLY learned how to use the library.

You may now call me the Research Goddess.

Thank you. 

 

 

 

(Image from Google Images)

]]>Monday Listicles - Ten Reasons it Rocked to be a Kidhttp://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/18/monday-listicles-ten-reasons-it-rocked-to-be-a-kid.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-19T01:56:14Z2012-03-19T01:56:14Z 

Today I'm joining up with the Monday Listicles hosted by the lovely Stasha at The Good Life.  This week's list was to be Ten Good Things About Being a Kid.  Being a kid was really different back in my (stone age) days.  And?  I was really good at it!  So much so, I'm still a Big Kid!

And?

Turns out, I have been given the privilege of naming next week’s list.  Thanks Stasha!   I’m honored!  

Next week, let’s make a list of Ten things/people/services that make our lives easier.  For example, we eat a lot of brown rice at my house, and my Rice Cooker makes perfect rice in a snap.  YEAH!   For an extra spicy list, add photos if you want.  Now, I’m off to capture the perfect shot of my rice cooker, for your viewing pleasure.  You’re welcome.

 *************************

 

Monday Listicles – Ten Reasons Being a Kid Rocked

  • Chasing the ice cream truck.
  • Christmas morning.
  • Catching lightning bugs.
  • Rollercoasters.
  • Slumber parties.
  • The first day of school each year.
  • The last day of school each year.
  • Saturday matinee with my friends.
  • Hanging upside-down on a tree limb in my back yard.
  •  Turning cartwheels and doing hand-stands for hours with my friends in the front yard.

 

 

 

]]>WTFriday?http://www.terrisonoda.net/imported-20111214183104/2012/3/16/wtfriday.htmlTerri Sonoda | Author | Freelance Writer2012-03-16T15:35:18Z2012-03-16T15:35:18ZI’m all about new stuff.  I’m one of those old broads who welcome change.  I not only accept change; I reach out for change, and I revel in it.  I am a Change Goddess.  That being said, I’m changing Fridays up in here and adding a new weekly adventure to my already awesome repertoire.  Oh, I can just hear the moaning and groaning out there among both my fans.   You’re asking, “Why mess with perfection?”

And to this, I must reply, “Pretty simple really.   I love attention.”

So, in order to obtain more of said attention, I have founded WTFriday?

It will be a little bit of everything and a whole lot of nothing.  I will scamper around in my writerly knickers (no pictures, I promise!)  and come up with brilliance amazement wonderment spectacle something or other that will tickle your funny bones.  After all, it really is all about me you.

Unless it’s not.  About me, that is.  And I realize that does happen, once in awhile. 

And so?  I’ll try to cover things of which have nothing to do with me, also.  If I must. 

Where was I?    Oh yes, so ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses to Terri’s Little Corner’s newest addition:

WTFriday?

 I think it might be a new thing.

And couldn’t we all use a new thing?   I certainly could.  Use one.  A new thing, that is.

 Is anyone still following me?  

WTFriday?

Most of my Fridays are pretty uneventful.  I start my morning with my usual oatmeal, orange juice and coffee, followed by a walk around the apartment complex, then more coffee, a short nap between yawns, and then a little writing.  A real Ho-Hummer of a morning, really.   I do try to get into the “spirit of Friday” like everyone else seems to be.  But Friday just doesn’t do it for me. 

Except for today.

Today I got my hair cut.  What’s so special about getting my hair cut?  Well, if you knew me and my relationship with my hair, you might understand how a simple hair cut could either make or break my Friday.   Ever since I grew my hair out, it has become yet another of my addictions/obsessions.  I can’t do anything half-assed.  I have to Over-Doo everything.    And that includes my Doo.


I walked into the salon this morning, put my name on the list, and then sat down to have a personal interlude with my smart phone.  I was having withdrawals, having not checked my phone for a full 20 minutes, since I had left the house.  You see, there’s a new law here in Vegas.  No phones while driving.  I know it’s an important safety rule, but I gotta tell you, it took some getting used to.   Seriously, people, I had tweets to return and important Words With Friends 5-letter plays to make.  A girl has her priorities.

So I was right in the middle of intimately selecting just the right letters to offer up to a complete stranger when BAM, the hair stylist called my name.   Mildly annoyed, I stowed my phone and hurried on over to her station.  She draped me, toweled me, pulled at my hair, smacked her gum, and said, “So what do we want done today?”

WTFriday?

 I looked around and, sure enough, I was in a hair salon, so I am quite sure I wanted my hair cut.  Duh.   Anyhow, I replied, “I’d like about an inch cut all around, no layering please.”  Pretty simple right?  

Nope, not apparently.

“So, your front is longer than your back.  Would you like me to even that out?”  she asked as she tenderly held my locks in her fingers.

WTFriday?

 “She is still talking about my hair, right?”  I thought, as I looked down at my 58 year old boobs.  Otherwise I might have to kick her ass with my 58 year old, size 9 Feet.  

But I am a woman of class so I politely replied, “Yes, thank you.  That would be perfect.”

BUT, hairdresser girl could not leave it at that. Nope, she had to press on.  And press on she did.

“So would you like a coloring today.  I notice your roots are showing a bit and we do have a nice special going on.”   My boobs and now my roots?   Yea, I knew right then I would be blogging about this bitch.

Gritting my teeth, I managed, “No, just the cut today, thank you.”   I swear if she kept me from my smart phone one minute longer than she needed to, there would be consequences.

She finally shut up and cut my hair.  

Not one inch.   She cut at least two inches off all around.

WTFriday?


I didn’t notice until she was almost done because I had my eyes closed.  I do this thing when I get my hair cut.  I close my eyes and make my grocery list.   Then I play a little game later at the store, trying to remember everything on my mental list.   It’s a nerd thing. Sometimes I go home with some really weird stuff.  But that’s another story.

Two inches?   I was again annoyed, a little more than mildly this time.   “Uh I only wanted one inch taken off.  What happened?”  I asked, politely I’m pretty sure, but I could have been growling at the same time.

“Oh I’m sorry.  I had to take off a little more to even it all out.  It looks really nice, don’t you think?  You have very healthy hair!”  Hairdresser girl suddenly turned into Mary freaking Poppins…a spoon full of sugar and all that crap.

Oh really.   That’s the best you got?

So, short story long, I paid and I left.  And yes, I even tipped the girl.  I have manners.  I am from the South and we are cursed with good manners.  Besides, being the highly compassionate and caring person that I am, I didn’t want to ruin MY day by causing a scene.  

My hair did look fabulous, after all. 

So WTFriday?

Heck, I may even go out and find an unsuspecting person and be kind to them.   Or pay something forward.  Or smile once or twice.

OR

I could just go home and play with the complete strangers on my smart phone.

Yea, I think I’ll do that.

 

 

(Images from Google Images)

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