For a very long time, I've been told by MANY people, I should write a book based on "my life". I've gone through some pretty traumatic stuff. And for that reason, everyone thinks I should crank out a book. I can't tell you how many times people have heard what happened and then said, "OH MY GOD! THAT'S MOVIE MATERIAL!" I have a hard time wrapping my head around a concept like that...
Writing about that time of my life would be really difficult for many reasons. It would be painful to relive those moments, even if just in my mind, and I've tried really hard for many years to move past it. So why erase the progress (how large or small it may be), I've already made? That was between 17 and 19 years ago. During a pivotal time in life. I missed so many rites of passage...prom, homecoming, graduating with honors, going out with friends on the weekends, so many things so many other teenagers get to do. I missed them all.
When people are sitting around reliving their first kiss, first date, date to prom, etc., I'm trying to escape because those are all topics I don't want to discuss. It's time I can never get back, and it just makes me SAD. I WANTED to maybe be on the pom squad, I WANTED to go to homecoming and prom, I WANTED to go to the movies with friends on the weekends... Instead, I was locked in an abusive relationship and I was lucky to ever even see daylight, let alone other people. I was even torn from my family. They were made to be my "enemies". How twisted is that? I can't believe I FELL FOR IT. It's crazy what the mind can do...but I digress...
Even if I "wanted" to write about all of this, I'm not sure I could. I have forced so much of it to the furthest corner of my mind that I'm not sure if I want to, or even COULD, bring it forth again to write about it in detail. Some of the events will NEVER be erased or even dulled, but some of the day to day "normal" things are all but forgotten. What sucks is that, along with trying to mentally erase all of those day to day memories that were bad, also goes some of the good that happened during the same time. Birthdays, stories grandparents told me, family events, just "things" that I would have LIKED to remember...I CAN'T. Perhaps under a state of hypnosis I could, but really, would it be worth it? To maybe bring myself back to a state of sheer terror and panic and confusion? All to write a book for the world that may never even appreciate it for the lesson that lies within? And!! Do I REALLY want the world to KNOW *I* went through that? Am I ready to see my name and story in print? Will I want to rip every book off of every shelf out of embarrassment because I allowed such despicable things to take place? Could I really handle putting my entire life on "display"? Huh. I. DON'T. KNOW.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
THE MAGIC OF CIVICS...
If anyone had told me 20 years ago, that I would have spent the last 15 minutes before sunset walking across a hay field watching the skies for geese, inhaling the scent of Gio cologne wafting through the air that my crush from junior high was wearing, I would have told them they were completely insane. And yet, it's true. I did that tonight. I'm sitting here right now shaking my head and smiling, knowing my history with this boy.
It all started in my 7th grade Civics class. I scored a seat in the back corner of the room, right by the door. So when the "hall monitors" came to pick up the attendance for that hour, I had a prime view. Of course the teacher for this class was beyond cool...Mr. 'M' was young and had a knack for relating to the younger generation while still maintaining a necessary level of authority. He also thought it be "fun" to play on the "weakness" of a "little girl's" crush. He caught me gazing at this boy every time he came around. He'd even prolong my "agony" by holding him up with casual conversation. It was SO HARD not to just stare at this boy and soak up every feature, his sparkly eyes, his cute blond hair, his intoxicating smile...*sigh*....yes, this boy had everything a 7th grade girl could ever want or dream of. He was a year older than I, and hung with the popular crowd if I remember correctly; which meant a few things, one of which was that he was waaaa-haay out of my league. So I was left with nothing but my daily dose of the boy when he came to pick up attendance. And somehow, that was good enough for me. BUT...hoooo-hoooo, BUT--Mr. M, sensed that I wanted more. So during his "casual" conversation with the boy, I heard him mention my name along with "she's cute right?" All I could think was "Oh, holy fuuuuuuck." I don't think I looked at the boy for a week after that, for fear he would somehow think I had asked Mr. M to say those things to him about me. But I couldn't hold out any longer than a week. No way. I missed his eyes. I missed his smile. I missed his voice. I missed his laugh. And technically, he'd never know these things. And he never did.
Then, one faithful day, September 1, 2009, as I was laying in the middle of a wheat field, on opening day of goose season, I was checking FaceBook. On my page, "the boy" had been my "friend" even though we'd never actually spoken. But we have mutual friends and went to school together--and well--you know how FaceBook works. So I see a post from the boy stating: Text me the goose report *cell number*. I half laughed and half cringed because, here I was, in the PERFECT position to communicate with the boy, but so I go out on a limb and actually DO IT?! Well, either I was feeling especially brave that morning or the lack of sleep caused a temporary lapse of good judgment in my brain because I just "DID IT". When I hit "send", I screamed inside and squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the backlash. It wasn't 10 minutes later that my BlackBerry chirped and I had one new text. Oh crap. My heart started pounding but I knew I had to finish what I started. The text read something to the effect of: "thanks, who is this?". Then I was like shiiiiiit. So I decided to bust out my wits and go to war with the boy. So I replied that I was the queen of the GOOSE MAFIA and he requested the goose report so who better to get it from than "ME"?? So eventually he nailed it down to who I was and we "joked" about a joint hunt someday.
WELL...turns out "someday" wasn't too far off in the future. We planned to meet out at the "D.O.T." In October, just about a month after our first contact. I was sooooo excited....but sooooo-oooh nervous. I'd say there were butterflies in my tummy but that would be completely inaccurate. It was more like BATS flop'n around in there. So finally, we meet he jumps out of his truck, and turns around, and this wave of heat washed over me. I was instantly that "little girl" back in 7th grade, with the crush on the 8th grade 7th hour hall monitor. His eyes, his smile...all fully intact. Damn him. But I had to get it together. So I tried my best and introduced him to the guys and got the hunt under way.
After that things just got better, our friendship grew and we even revisited the 7th grade crush incident. He claimed he didn't know. But I think he was just being polite as to protect my school girl crush memories. We even joke about it in front of everyone else, but it's more of an inside joke and a way for us to rip on each other. But I love it. I love those eyes. I love that smile. I love that laugh. The only difference is that, now he KNOWS about it...
It all started in my 7th grade Civics class. I scored a seat in the back corner of the room, right by the door. So when the "hall monitors" came to pick up the attendance for that hour, I had a prime view. Of course the teacher for this class was beyond cool...Mr. 'M' was young and had a knack for relating to the younger generation while still maintaining a necessary level of authority. He also thought it be "fun" to play on the "weakness" of a "little girl's" crush. He caught me gazing at this boy every time he came around. He'd even prolong my "agony" by holding him up with casual conversation. It was SO HARD not to just stare at this boy and soak up every feature, his sparkly eyes, his cute blond hair, his intoxicating smile...*sigh*....yes, this boy had everything a 7th grade girl could ever want or dream of. He was a year older than I, and hung with the popular crowd if I remember correctly; which meant a few things, one of which was that he was waaaa-haay out of my league. So I was left with nothing but my daily dose of the boy when he came to pick up attendance. And somehow, that was good enough for me. BUT...hoooo-hoooo, BUT--Mr. M, sensed that I wanted more. So during his "casual" conversation with the boy, I heard him mention my name along with "she's cute right?" All I could think was "Oh, holy fuuuuuuck." I don't think I looked at the boy for a week after that, for fear he would somehow think I had asked Mr. M to say those things to him about me. But I couldn't hold out any longer than a week. No way. I missed his eyes. I missed his smile. I missed his voice. I missed his laugh. And technically, he'd never know these things. And he never did.
Then, one faithful day, September 1, 2009, as I was laying in the middle of a wheat field, on opening day of goose season, I was checking FaceBook. On my page, "the boy" had been my "friend" even though we'd never actually spoken. But we have mutual friends and went to school together--and well--you know how FaceBook works. So I see a post from the boy stating: Text me the goose report *cell number*. I half laughed and half cringed because, here I was, in the PERFECT position to communicate with the boy, but so I go out on a limb and actually DO IT?! Well, either I was feeling especially brave that morning or the lack of sleep caused a temporary lapse of good judgment in my brain because I just "DID IT". When I hit "send", I screamed inside and squeezed my eyes shut waiting for the backlash. It wasn't 10 minutes later that my BlackBerry chirped and I had one new text. Oh crap. My heart started pounding but I knew I had to finish what I started. The text read something to the effect of: "thanks, who is this?". Then I was like shiiiiiit. So I decided to bust out my wits and go to war with the boy. So I replied that I was the queen of the GOOSE MAFIA and he requested the goose report so who better to get it from than "ME"?? So eventually he nailed it down to who I was and we "joked" about a joint hunt someday.
WELL...turns out "someday" wasn't too far off in the future. We planned to meet out at the "D.O.T." In October, just about a month after our first contact. I was sooooo excited....but sooooo-oooh nervous. I'd say there were butterflies in my tummy but that would be completely inaccurate. It was more like BATS flop'n around in there. So finally, we meet he jumps out of his truck, and turns around, and this wave of heat washed over me. I was instantly that "little girl" back in 7th grade, with the crush on the 8th grade 7th hour hall monitor. His eyes, his smile...all fully intact. Damn him. But I had to get it together. So I tried my best and introduced him to the guys and got the hunt under way.
After that things just got better, our friendship grew and we even revisited the 7th grade crush incident. He claimed he didn't know. But I think he was just being polite as to protect my school girl crush memories. We even joke about it in front of everyone else, but it's more of an inside joke and a way for us to rip on each other. But I love it. I love those eyes. I love that smile. I love that laugh. The only difference is that, now he KNOWS about it...
Monday, August 30, 2010
THE END.
6:30 PM An hour and a half separating me from my weekend. Friday nights are usually pretty slow after 6:00. I was hoping tonight was no exception. Maybe Harold would close up shop early like he does some times when it's slow...I think he's just as anxious as I am to get the weekend going. Not much time had lapsed when I heard the familiar "RING" of the bells above the glass entry doors. I heard some boyish banter and laughing. When I rounded the corner I was relieved to see it was only my younger brother and some of his friends coming for what was undoubtedly, their usual Friday night fair, frozen pizzas and soda. But what happened next was not what I expected. When my boyfriend walked through the doors and our eyes met, I know mine sparkled with excitement as my breath caught in my lungs and I smiled as brightly as I could. But he didn't return the sentiment...no...indeed he did not. Instead his smile quickly turned to a look of anger and his eyes were transfixed on my now confused face. I suddenly had this pang of fear and doubt run through my body...as he approached, my heart rate picked up; not like it normally does; when my body is all "aflutter" with my tragic love for him. This time, it was strictly out of FEAR. When we were finally face to face, and the other boys were out of ear shot, he said to me in a hushed tone, "you look very pretty tonight...is that a new shirt?" Unclear of his intentions, I meekly whispered, "yes." He took a deep breath, looked around once more and then with all the restraint he had in his body he whispered angrily, "DON'T. EVER. WEAR. IT. AGAIN." I, of course, didn't know how to respond to this. I could feel my whole body go weak, and I swallowed hard. Just then, the other boys and my brother came wheeling around the corner laughing and joking around as usual. I shook off what had just transpired to the best of my ability, and plastered a fake smile on my face, while holding back the inevitable flood of tears that otherwise would have occurred. I took in the natural "ribbing" from the guys, and 'he' acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary. As the boys left, he threw a frightening glance over his shoulder, just as he disappeared through the doors... That, was the beginning of the end.
Monday, August 16, 2010
WHAT LITTTLE GIRLS ARE MADE OF...
When I was a little girl, I never wore dresses or painted my nails or did anything normal girls that age wanted to do... "Be a princess!" OH HELL NO! Thinking back, I don't think I ever possessed an ounce of "typical little girl" status. I always hung out with the boys. Mostly because the majority of my family consists of "boys" and therefore, I didn't have a whole lot of choice in the matter. Getting the boys to conform to the idea of me tagging along with them was the issue. I had plenty of girl friends who I spent time with on a regular basis, but quite frankly, they were fucking boring compared to the time spent with my brothers, my cousins and their friends. I was the redneck girl thrashing through the mud on a quad with her cousins laughing like a maniac! To this day, I'm still the little girl, wanting to tag along with the boys on their dangerous adventures rather than go to the mall or try on absurd amounts of clothing "just for the hell of it." 90% of my closet is dedicated to Fox Racing apparel, and the other 10% is split between Harley Davidson, camo and custom clothing made for the hunt club I co-created, "THE GOOSE MAFIA" (TM). No Gap or American Eagle or Banana Republic for this chick...NOPE. Don't get me wrong, I DO retain a fair amount of feminine status--this girl likes to look good...in and out of the field. My hair has its very own reputation to uphold. It's my favorite feature. See? I really AM a chick *Wink*
I'm the girl all the boys love--and the one all the girls love to hate. I'm a huge fan of any and all forms of weaponry (guns, bows, etc.) and hunting, fishing and explosives. Yes, this girl loves her a little T-N-T! Therefore, I can closely relate to most guys and that is awesome for me and awesome for them and COMPLETE hell for their girlfriends. *Laughs* I think it's funny.
*Smiles bigger* I've also got sort of a brilliant, genius, maniac, lunatic "cousin" as we call him. He's in the military and has served 2 deployments in Iraq...not SHORT ones either--18 months a crack. He's home now. Safe and sound....well....I use that term loosely. He's as safe as a licensed pyro can possibly be. *Laughs* I remember him coming up to my grandparents almost every weekend for YEARS while I was a teenager and he was always causing some kind of chaos--wait--that's a lie--it was complete and pure pandemonium! ...and funnily enough, I always wanted in on the action. I idolized this maniac. We did some heinous things, but all in good fun, no one was ever hurt (that I'm aware of) and they are some of the funniest memories and most missed times of my life that I can recall. I'll give you a "milk and marshmallows" sampling of what we did--we paint balled the neighbors cows in 3 or four different fluorescent colors. *shakes head laughing* We were so fucking juvenile!! And the worst part is, if you put a loaded paint ball gun in my hand right now, I'd do the same damn thing without thinking twice. I do believe there were some M80's and a particular river/culvert incident too...that made me giggle. *shakes head* Ever since then, spending time with that crazy cousin of mine, and being in such close proximity to weaponry and explosives, and his constant fucking encouragement of my usage of such mechanics, I now consider myself to be a fairly warped individual. And I'm pretty sure some of my girf friends question my sanity on a regular basis. I saw a pro pyro show a couple days ago put on by the PGI (Pyrotechnics Guild International) and my cousin was head of security at this particular shindig. I had temporary VIP status and got to go behind the scenes...I saw and felt things NO ONE else ever could or will. It only fueled the flames! *Laughs* No pun intended, really. I love playing with fire. LOVE IT. It's a complete rush. Everyone plays with fire in their own way, mine just happens to be in the literal sense of the word.... There's something about that trademark "THUUUUNK!!" when a 12" shell ignites and the way the concussion resonates through your chest while watching sparks fly choreographed and synced perfectly to the beat of music. It's like being thrown into an alternate universe... if you just let yourself "go" it's like falling through a magical tunnel of stars that sparkle infinitely. It's how I imagine HEAVEN. Instead of traveling through this metaphorical heaven, I want to CREATE it!
I'm the girl all the boys love--and the one all the girls love to hate. I'm a huge fan of any and all forms of weaponry (guns, bows, etc.) and hunting, fishing and explosives. Yes, this girl loves her a little T-N-T! Therefore, I can closely relate to most guys and that is awesome for me and awesome for them and COMPLETE hell for their girlfriends. *Laughs* I think it's funny.
*Smiles bigger* I've also got sort of a brilliant, genius, maniac, lunatic "cousin" as we call him. He's in the military and has served 2 deployments in Iraq...not SHORT ones either--18 months a crack. He's home now. Safe and sound....well....I use that term loosely. He's as safe as a licensed pyro can possibly be. *Laughs* I remember him coming up to my grandparents almost every weekend for YEARS while I was a teenager and he was always causing some kind of chaos--wait--that's a lie--it was complete and pure pandemonium! ...and funnily enough, I always wanted in on the action. I idolized this maniac. We did some heinous things, but all in good fun, no one was ever hurt (that I'm aware of) and they are some of the funniest memories and most missed times of my life that I can recall. I'll give you a "milk and marshmallows" sampling of what we did--we paint balled the neighbors cows in 3 or four different fluorescent colors. *shakes head laughing* We were so fucking juvenile!! And the worst part is, if you put a loaded paint ball gun in my hand right now, I'd do the same damn thing without thinking twice. I do believe there were some M80's and a particular river/culvert incident too...that made me giggle. *shakes head* Ever since then, spending time with that crazy cousin of mine, and being in such close proximity to weaponry and explosives, and his constant fucking encouragement of my usage of such mechanics, I now consider myself to be a fairly warped individual. And I'm pretty sure some of my girf friends question my sanity on a regular basis. I saw a pro pyro show a couple days ago put on by the PGI (Pyrotechnics Guild International) and my cousin was head of security at this particular shindig. I had temporary VIP status and got to go behind the scenes...I saw and felt things NO ONE else ever could or will. It only fueled the flames! *Laughs* No pun intended, really. I love playing with fire. LOVE IT. It's a complete rush. Everyone plays with fire in their own way, mine just happens to be in the literal sense of the word.... There's something about that trademark "THUUUUNK!!" when a 12" shell ignites and the way the concussion resonates through your chest while watching sparks fly choreographed and synced perfectly to the beat of music. It's like being thrown into an alternate universe... if you just let yourself "go" it's like falling through a magical tunnel of stars that sparkle infinitely. It's how I imagine HEAVEN. Instead of traveling through this metaphorical heaven, I want to CREATE it!
M
Sunday, July 25, 2010
LIFE'S MOST EMBARRASSING MOMENTS...
This program needs a spell check function. I bet I misspelled "embarrassing" in the title. I'm actually a pretty anal about spelling and grammar and when I go back and read my posts I just ache with remorse over the crappy simple mistakes I made. OOOYYYYY!! Going forth, I'll be more thorough, and I'll even spend more time...I wanna take this more seriously, since I've been getting positive feedback and because I'm thinking of taking this to a "new level", thanks to some encouraging words from a few great friends and even a couple surprise sources. :). Hang on people...together we ride...
Thursday, July 15, 2010
I'LL NEVER GET TO FIRST BASE AGAIN...
Sometimes life pulls you in so many directions at the same time, that you feel like you're just going to tear into shreds. How does one deal with it? 'Tis my struggle...
My Grandparent's house has been in our family for over 100 years. Grandma's father and her brother built the house, first a small square of a home, and little additions as they could after that. Eventually, it turned into a beautiful 2 story white farmhouse, with a brown roof, a covered porch in the front and back, and 4 separate "wings" upstairs and just as many bedrooms. I always loved the "slanted" ceilings when I was a kid...my love for them has only grown over the years. I can't tell you how many Christmas trees I have been entranced with and how many times Grampa has trapped me for tickles and kisses under the mistletoe. Or how many birthdays or Easters or just plain dinners have been spent there. Playing in the front yard all summer, climbing the maple tree, all of us kids eventually carving our names somewhere within the bark. Catching minnows in the creek. Eating watermelon on a hot summer night. Listening to Grampa yell at the tv during Brewer games. Always finding an endless array of the most fabulous baked goods that my Gramma had constructed. Her pies, could never be matched....I could stand side-by-side with her, and do exactly what she did, and STILL....it never turned out like hers. I've tried a zillion times since then, and although I've gotten closer, I still haven't quite figured out what kind of magic that woman puts in her pies...
It's more than just the pies...it's that HOUSE...it holds SO many memories...so many sentimental moments in time...historic moments in time. And now....it might be gone...in a heartbeat.
Speaking of heartbeat....mine beats a little faster these days. It's been awhile since it has fluttered the way it does right now...it's exhilarating....and terrifying all at the same time.
Mom and Dad are "re-landscaping". I use that term loosely...they are pulling the old bushes out and replanting new ones in their places. When we were kids, my little brother and I played kickball almost every summer night (that our parents would allow) with the neighbor kids. She was like my sister, and he was like my brother's brother. One of those bushes was first base. It was big enough that if we were charging toward first hard enough, we could crash into it, it's branches and foliage safely catching us like a soft pillow slipped beneath us. I don't know who was more sad to see that bush go...me or my dad...I swear I saw him shed a tear or two when he started the chainsaw to cut it down. I'll never get to first base again...
I miss my childhood a lot. So many times I wish I could turn the clock back, and pick out the moments I wish I had appreciated a little more at the time. Talk to those I've lost, apologize to those I've hurt, play with those I cherished, pet my kitty one more time....
All I can do now is sift through the photos of times gone by with a fondness that can never be matched. Let the memories wash over me sometimes, and just block out everything else, almost like reliving them....enough to make things feel tangible again.
Make it count. Now.
My Grandparent's house has been in our family for over 100 years. Grandma's father and her brother built the house, first a small square of a home, and little additions as they could after that. Eventually, it turned into a beautiful 2 story white farmhouse, with a brown roof, a covered porch in the front and back, and 4 separate "wings" upstairs and just as many bedrooms. I always loved the "slanted" ceilings when I was a kid...my love for them has only grown over the years. I can't tell you how many Christmas trees I have been entranced with and how many times Grampa has trapped me for tickles and kisses under the mistletoe. Or how many birthdays or Easters or just plain dinners have been spent there. Playing in the front yard all summer, climbing the maple tree, all of us kids eventually carving our names somewhere within the bark. Catching minnows in the creek. Eating watermelon on a hot summer night. Listening to Grampa yell at the tv during Brewer games. Always finding an endless array of the most fabulous baked goods that my Gramma had constructed. Her pies, could never be matched....I could stand side-by-side with her, and do exactly what she did, and STILL....it never turned out like hers. I've tried a zillion times since then, and although I've gotten closer, I still haven't quite figured out what kind of magic that woman puts in her pies...
It's more than just the pies...it's that HOUSE...it holds SO many memories...so many sentimental moments in time...historic moments in time. And now....it might be gone...in a heartbeat.
Speaking of heartbeat....mine beats a little faster these days. It's been awhile since it has fluttered the way it does right now...it's exhilarating....and terrifying all at the same time.
Mom and Dad are "re-landscaping". I use that term loosely...they are pulling the old bushes out and replanting new ones in their places. When we were kids, my little brother and I played kickball almost every summer night (that our parents would allow) with the neighbor kids. She was like my sister, and he was like my brother's brother. One of those bushes was first base. It was big enough that if we were charging toward first hard enough, we could crash into it, it's branches and foliage safely catching us like a soft pillow slipped beneath us. I don't know who was more sad to see that bush go...me or my dad...I swear I saw him shed a tear or two when he started the chainsaw to cut it down. I'll never get to first base again...
I miss my childhood a lot. So many times I wish I could turn the clock back, and pick out the moments I wish I had appreciated a little more at the time. Talk to those I've lost, apologize to those I've hurt, play with those I cherished, pet my kitty one more time....
All I can do now is sift through the photos of times gone by with a fondness that can never be matched. Let the memories wash over me sometimes, and just block out everything else, almost like reliving them....enough to make things feel tangible again.
Make it count. Now.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
THE ASPEN HOLDS MY WORLD IN ITS...Errr..RADIATOR???
I remember it like it was yesterday. Pushing the passenger front seat forward so that I could slide in the back seat of that old Dodge Aspen. It was by far the coolest car to me. I never even minded going to church if I got to ride in that car with my dad. It was painted pumpkin orange.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dodge_Aspen
The time for the Aspen was cut short however, it was taken out by a black cow on a foggy morning. I think I cried harder about losing that car, than I did about not getting the Barbie corvette for Christmas that year! Who knew, that at such a young age a girl could become so attached to "a set of wheels".
Maybe that's still true to some extent today. I've always taken great pride in my ride, and since I haven't been able to drive for over 3 years, my ride has suffered considerably. I don't drive it anymore. I don't even feel like it's mine. Pat has inherited it. Just by default and since the Ford has completely tanked, it's just the obvious option.
I feel sad every time I get in that car..."The Grand Slam" the "GT 4 ANGI". No longer exists. I always held out hope that I would get my driving privileges back and that I would get my "baby" back too. But after 3 years and a handful of months, the bottom has sorta dropped out of said hope.
Then when GM axed Pontiac from production, I swear a part of my heart got axed too. Pontiac was my vehicle of choice since my first new vehicle in 1999. What kind of car would I like now? The Chevy (which, per GM you are not to use as phrase anymore, it's "Chevrolet, NOT "Chevy...so unless you wanna put money in a cuss jar, Chevrolet it is...) Has not one vehicle I'm interested in. I fell into a tizzy of despair. How freakish is that?
But it's okay...this story has a happy ending...I saw the light...or rather, the 2011 Ford Mustang commercial. It was love at first sight! Lucky for me, Patrick has always been a Ford man, so there's no twisting his arm to make this happen!
All we have to do, is wait for the good Lord to bestow upon us a financial windfall. The powerball would be great...we're not greedy...we don't need to win those 300 million pots...just a measly 1 million will do! And ya know what the worst part is? We are not the greedy type, so if ever we DID become so blessed to win such a huge pot, there would be so many winners besides ourselves...every member of our immediate family would be cared for for life...our nephews would go on to a college of their choice and they would never want for anything. My Grandmother would live out her remaining days in a fabulous mansion with the best caretaker and personal chef. My parents would own log home on large piece of property as would Patrick's parents. And I would start more than one no-kill animal shelters and rescue organizations with people whom I KNOW care more about the mammals well-being than their own. Like me, who pays pet's vet bills before my own doctor bills. Plus I'd live on a large piece of land with my husband/best friend and we'd have a large pond and his friend George would have a huge guest house to live in and take care of our property and to be our chef and friend. Funny, he and Pat already discussed that!
As for me, it would all be about dreams fulfilled. Traveling the world, getting more education. Owning my own businesses, take care of those I love. I know others say those things, but I would sign a contract right now as the only piece of solid proof I could offer!
So cross your fingers tonight...it's not just me that has something to lose, it's my whole world!
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dodge_Aspen
The time for the Aspen was cut short however, it was taken out by a black cow on a foggy morning. I think I cried harder about losing that car, than I did about not getting the Barbie corvette for Christmas that year! Who knew, that at such a young age a girl could become so attached to "a set of wheels".
Maybe that's still true to some extent today. I've always taken great pride in my ride, and since I haven't been able to drive for over 3 years, my ride has suffered considerably. I don't drive it anymore. I don't even feel like it's mine. Pat has inherited it. Just by default and since the Ford has completely tanked, it's just the obvious option.
I feel sad every time I get in that car..."The Grand Slam" the "GT 4 ANGI". No longer exists. I always held out hope that I would get my driving privileges back and that I would get my "baby" back too. But after 3 years and a handful of months, the bottom has sorta dropped out of said hope.
Then when GM axed Pontiac from production, I swear a part of my heart got axed too. Pontiac was my vehicle of choice since my first new vehicle in 1999. What kind of car would I like now? The Chevy (which, per GM you are not to use as phrase anymore, it's "Chevrolet, NOT "Chevy...so unless you wanna put money in a cuss jar, Chevrolet it is...) Has not one vehicle I'm interested in. I fell into a tizzy of despair. How freakish is that?
But it's okay...this story has a happy ending...I saw the light...or rather, the 2011 Ford Mustang commercial. It was love at first sight! Lucky for me, Patrick has always been a Ford man, so there's no twisting his arm to make this happen!
All we have to do, is wait for the good Lord to bestow upon us a financial windfall. The powerball would be great...we're not greedy...we don't need to win those 300 million pots...just a measly 1 million will do! And ya know what the worst part is? We are not the greedy type, so if ever we DID become so blessed to win such a huge pot, there would be so many winners besides ourselves...every member of our immediate family would be cared for for life...our nephews would go on to a college of their choice and they would never want for anything. My Grandmother would live out her remaining days in a fabulous mansion with the best caretaker and personal chef. My parents would own log home on large piece of property as would Patrick's parents. And I would start more than one no-kill animal shelters and rescue organizations with people whom I KNOW care more about the mammals well-being than their own. Like me, who pays pet's vet bills before my own doctor bills. Plus I'd live on a large piece of land with my husband/best friend and we'd have a large pond and his friend George would have a huge guest house to live in and take care of our property and to be our chef and friend. Funny, he and Pat already discussed that!
As for me, it would all be about dreams fulfilled. Traveling the world, getting more education. Owning my own businesses, take care of those I love. I know others say those things, but I would sign a contract right now as the only piece of solid proof I could offer!
So cross your fingers tonight...it's not just me that has something to lose, it's my whole world!
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