Be Gentle, It's My First

I was tickled pink to learn I had received my first ever blog award but even more elated to find it came from Monda over at No Telling. At the risk of going all "Sally Field" on you, let me just say I am honored to have someone of her caliber paying even the slightest bit of attention to me; much less, bestowing the renowned Kreativ Bogger award upon me. Talk amongst yourselves, I need a moment here.

There is so much I don't know about this macrocosm we call the blogosphere. I am a new kid in town, afraid to go out and venture too much but secretly dying to know all there is to know. There are tools and tricks of the trade, of this I am certain; however, I am equally as certain I don't know a single one of them. At present, I must simply sit and write because when I am writing, I am where I am supposed to be.

We all write for a reason or purpose. Because of this - there is a sense of community within the confines of bloggers. I picture us all sitting in an exceptionally large circle, attending our weekly meetings for BA - Bloggers Anonymous.

Hello, I am Zen Mama and I'm a blogger.

Hi Zen Mama.

I have been blogging for a few months now and I can't stop. I think about it all the time. I make lists of potential topics. I carry a notebook so I can jot down ideas when they strike. I observe people, places and even inanimate objects like never before. I can't wait until I get my next follower. Sometimes I break out in a cold sweat with mild convulsions if it's been too long between comments. I think I might be addicted.

Yes, Zen Mama - very good, you have taken the first step (applause, tears, women placing their hands over their hearts). Now let us recite the bloggers prayer, "God grant me the serenity to accept that I am a blogger, the courage to keep posting even if nobody's reading and the wisdom to never end a sentence with a preposition."

Thank you Monda for welcoming me into this community. I am out, loud and proud to be here. Here are the rules for the Kreativ Blogger award:

1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting. (see below)
5. Nominate 7 Kreativ Bloggers.
6. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

The Nominees:

Robin Thomas at A Nest With A View
Sweetie Pie at Not As Sweet As I Used To Be
Queen of Quite a Lot at A Southern Belle Trying Not To Rust
Sharon at Bump In My Boob
LB at Wait, She Said What?
Carrie Chaney at Carrot Speak
Girl Interrupted at A World So Small

Seven things you might find interesting about me:

1. Electronics seem to mess up when I am near. Example: Long line in the DC Metro station, everyone swipes their Metro Pass with no incident - I swipe mine and the thing breaks.
2. I consider my good girlfriends to be family. I have kept in touch with many of them since childhood and have been fortunate to reconnect with those that were lost through Facebook.
3. I like a strong man in body, mind and spirit but I truly believe for the most part, women are the stronger sex.
4. I was raised to be a lady but have recently fallen from grace.
5. I had a near death experience 10 years ago where I actually heard and saw my deceased father. He came to tell me not to be afraid as I would not be coming with him. Spooky, huh?
6. I don't know how to swim.
7. I've been married three times but the first one didn't count. It lasted less than a year and he subsequently went to prison for murdering his bookie. Can we talk?

Okay, there you have it. I hope my nominees enjoy this award and the exercise involved as much as I did. Now I must get back to more Kreativ Blogging. Ya'll come back now, ya hear.

Don't Get Your Spanx In A Wad

I am adding a new label to my blog log today. I thought of it while driving home tonight just after I discovered I had been wearing my dress backwards all day. Seriously, how does someone manage to pull that off? My office is small - we're all fairly close, that's to say we're close as in a) we seem to like each other and b) there are very few actual walls in our office.

Granted, the dress looks virtually the same from the front or back. I shouldn't have expected anyone to notice but why did it take ME to the end of the day to finally stop and realize the darn thing was choking me. The higher cut back was riding up my neck like a dog collar while the lower cut front had surely exposed my bra straps during that brief stint when I took my blazer off to deal with the stagnant air in our tight-knit little community of unobservant, preoccupied desk jockeys.

If I am ever so lucky to be able to publish my musings in a format other than this, I should like to title my work, "Don't Get Your Spanx in a Wad". It's a way for the sisterhood of backwards-dress-wearing, crazy ass, powerful women to relate to each other. You have to laugh and accept these oddball happenings and love yourself to death for all your human frailty.

I can't begin to imagine what the uptight "Brookfield Betty's" ( local term -utilize your own euphemism for the perfect people in your community here) would think of a woman who embraces this kind of decorum. I not only embrace it, I revel in it - you hear me? It's time for us one and all to unite and admit we can rule the world with one black pump and one navy blue pump pulled from the closet during the early morning haze of burnt toast, fussy children and a make-or-break presentation you're supposed to give later that morning.

You will give that presentation and you will dare them to say something, just one thing, about your clashing clodhoppers. Hold your head up high, take a deep breath, click your mismatched heels three times and then consider yourself blessed to be a part of the sisterhood of the unraveling spanx.

Damaged But Not Broken

I have a reputation for many things - both good and bad. In some cases, my best traits can lead to the worst of circumstances; like when I forget my limitations and try to repair my own shit. A kitchen chair crashes to the floor in the middle of a girls night at my house with my best friend in it. Or when I tear down a game system, thinking I can repair it on my own. I recently messed up this very blog in a desperate attempt to make it more visually appealing.

My boyfriend, who has been called a tech-genius in my presence, who has all the tools and knows how to use them - offered to fix a few of these items for me but it came with the caveat that I promise to keep my mitts off them after they have been restored to working order. He loves me. He appreciates my confidence and applauds my tenacity. He can see my gutsy determination and he knows it's a good thing in spite of the damage it can leave in its wake. He likes that I'm a spunky little scrapper. Right baby?

I spent this past Labor Day weekend with some friends of mine at their gorgeous, relaxing lakefront home. They freely accept me and even seem to like me a lot in spite of the mixed-up laws of nature that seem to plague me. They know me as a leader in my industry, a self made woman who had no help getting there. No sugar daddy, no wealthy parents, not even a child support check - just me and my chutzpah making our way in the world.

I think they get a perverse pleasure in seeing this remarkably talented, successful woman make a fool of herself. Who wouldn't? In this case, it really must have been a sight to see. I had begged them to let me ride one of their scooters around the lake. This was no sissy Moped - it was big, and red and dangerous. Well, perhaps not so dangerous but they knew it COULD be in my hands.

I received a tutorial from Dave - the motorcycle mad man - on how to go, stop, turn - you know, the basics. I placed my helmet on and mounted the machine while making jokes about finally being a biker bitch. I felt powerful and ready to tear up the road. Cue the music....Get your motor running.....wait, take a few pictures for posterity, okay let's go. Not willing to send me out on my own, Vicki led the way.
We turned left out of the driveway and came to our first stop. It was shaky, coordinating the brakes with my hands while knowing when to put my feet down - but I did it. Vicki then informs me we're going to make a slight left, then a sharp right ahead to get around a curve. She takes off slowly with me putzing along closely behind her. I remember my brain thinking we were turning left but my hands were not receiving the message. Turn, baby turn. Turn you mother fucker.

By this time, my eyes have locked on to the ditch that now seems to beset me. I have lost all cognitive reasoning - you know, that part of my brain that should have accessed the aforementioned braking skills. It was gone. Suddenly, it felt as if I were under a gravitational pull. It's the same gravitational pull that takes over when I tee off near a body of water or a sand trap. The ball is drawn to the obstacle just as I am now being magnetically drawn to the ditch.

The rest happens in slow motion......there's gravel under my tires.....I'm still thinking turn.......I'm still forgetting the brake option.......the tires are now past the gravel.....I scream "VICKI"...........into the ditch.......still no brakes.......hit the bottom......now coming off the bike.......over the handlebars......into a wooden fence.

Vicki is there with concern in her eyes. She's got to be thinking - dumb ass bitch just ditched my scooter but she's not letting on. She helps me up and brushes me off. There are clumps of dirt and grass now stuck in the sides of my cool biker bitch helmet. She tells me she's going to call Dave to come get us. No, I insist - no way. I've got to get right back on and Vicki, I say, Vicki uhm.....this time, I think we need to go faster.

I could quite clearly hear the misfires occurring within the synapses of Vicki's brain as she struggled to process this new request of mine. Her eyes were darting back and forth quickly as she continued to filter through the warning messages flashing in her mind's eye. You have encountered a fatal error in this program, do you wish to delete? She couldn't speak, so I continued. See Vicki, if you had gone faster then I would have been able to accelerate and then I could have turned to avoid the ditch, see - don't you see it? I need to get back on and go faster.

Vicki had to be thinking, "no (pause), no you would have just gone into the ditch faster"...but she didn't say it. She was still at a loss for words.

While this is happening, the neighborly man across the street had come out of his house and pulled the bike out of the ditch. Realizing she had no choice, she let me get back on and drive back to their house. We had been gone for a span of around 10 minutes. Dave met us in the driveway. His spidey senses were telling him something wasn't right. As a former paramedic, Dave insisted on checking me out. No shock, no broken bones, just bruised, battered and still bitchin'.

He finished picking the dirt and grass off of me, cleaned up the scooter; which like me, was dirty but still worked. He placed my helmet back on my head and told Vicki to take me out again and this time go faster and stay to the right. No more left turns. We went around the lake several times, stopped at the diner to visit with the locals. I showed everyone my biker wounds. I was told I was now a member of a select club. See, I knew I was secretly a biker bitch.

Later, we drove back to ground zero hoping to find my sunglasses. They were still there - hanging askew from the fence I had nearly impaled myself upon. They were damaged but not broken. Exactly like me.

Note to Bill Gates

If I were a God, I would smite thee, Bill Gates. I am not a God, not even a Goddess. I'm just a frustrated mom with a large chip on my shoulder. Actually, it's more like I've got the entire mother board on my shoulder. I have donned my armor and charged into battle against the red ring of death while you, Bill Gates, are happily esconsed in Xanadu, enjoying your eco-friendly mansion. I am wondering if any of the elaborate rooms in your earth-sheltered abode are sporting an XBox 360?

I suppose you don't really have to worry when (not if) the red ring of death comes knocking on your door. Do you keep an extra supply lying around for just such occassions or do you have the units specially manufactured without all of the internal problems? I'm just askin'?

I am not technologically savvy or even technologically aware - I am tech challenged at best. The last time I was considered on top of the tech game was when commands like "C> dir a:*.ex" meant something. I was once the DOS queen. Now I am hopelessly lost in a sea of windows that do not open for me. I get angry sometimes and I forget my limitations. I try things that I shouldn't try. I get pissed, then I get dangerous.

I watched countless Youtube videos on how to repair your vile invention. I learned about X clamps, CPU's, GPU's, heat sinks, and RF modulators. I invested in new tools, an arsenol of Torx screwdrivers, a heat gun and a tube of arctic silver thermal compound. I went to war with these implements and you fucked me over. You scoffed at me while you were playing XBox live in your faux fur slippers.

I feel much better now that I have vented. My son wants me to buy another XBox 360 so he can play one of the many games from his now useless collection. He is heartbroken and I am still pissed. They say the failure rate in the electronics industry is typically 3% to 5%. Depending upon the study or the source cited, your systems fail between 52% to 100% of the time. How DO you sleep at night?