Last Post Here

It's like getting a haircut.

At least, that's what it's like to my mind. The endless staring at the mirror/screen because you're just not satisfied. You know you have to get rid of it, you have to show that things are changing, but you don't want to lose all of yourself, or disappoint the people who have gotten used to you the way you are.

Change is good and chaotic and haphazard and it happens.

So I am changing to here with a few things here and here and if you wish, you can keep up with my antics in my hometown here.

Panther

It's weird when you talk to people your own age and realize just how much younger than you your husband really is.

And by you I mean me, of course. 

Yes, he is only 4 years younger than me, nearly five, and most of the time, it is no big deal. We both think alike, we both share the same interests, the same goals, we both want the same life, etc.

It's the little things, like what grade he was in the first time he heard Korn's debut CD or not knowing who Carol Burnett is, or not remember my generation's Doctor Who (#4, played by Tom Baker) because his tenure ended one year after he was born (granted, it ended when I was 4, but given that I caught up when I was 13 and my husband 9, I think you see my point). 

The thing that reminds me the most of our age difference is the years he remembers doing things. In 1994, I was running down Comm Ave in Boston, MA listening to the first Korn album, a freshman in college. In 1994, my husband was stomping pie into the new band room carpet because his band director hated him, a freshman in high school. Again, I think you see my point.

I'm not one to talk, mainly because I'm completely anachronistic. I listen to music from the 20s to today. I know television programs that existed decades before my birth. I watch shows generally delegated to the young and/or the elderly. I have odd habits that put me, at different times, with different groups of people. It may explain why my husband and I get along so well. Sure, we don't have a vast age difference, like some people do, but we do have a little trouble communicating culturally when I have to explain Tim Conway's ad lib style on the Carol Burnett show because he's never seen it. 

Musically, my husband is just as anachronistic. He knows music from the 60s and 70s like people who lived during those times. I'm out of the loop when it comes to the music he loves, but somehow, we make it work, even if he doesn't know who Mrs. Wiggins and Mr. Tudball are. 

Moving Again...

Anybody want to help?

Well, it's that time again, when a young couple's fancy turns to saving money. They have to move out of their lovely apartment to a different apartment and now they needs to find someone to rent their old lovely apartment.

Does that sound like something that should happen every spring? I'm hoping one day the "big move" will be the permanent one. But also, I love to travel and if I had to keep moving, I don't think I would mind. I just wish I had the moola to pay someone to move the big stuff.

It's been a long few weeks (months?) since I last wrote. Nothing much has happened. How do you make nothing interesting?

I mean, the most interesting, devastating thing that's happened is the tornado(s) that ripped through Macon, causing a state of emergency, an 8pm curfew (which I have yet to adhere to) and lots of destruction. I haven't even seen it all. I haven't been on Mercer, I don't know what Monroe county looks like, I haven't seen what my families' houses might look like, it's ridiculous. The worse we got is lost power for more than 12 hours and a piece of bark on the sunroof of the car. It was a big piece of bark. The front yard of the parent house (the house my current landlords live in) looked like the trees shed their skin or something, but the street I'm moving to, Magnolia, looked like nothing happened... well, almost. 

Washington Park looked a bit messy, but not too bad and a couple of branches came off a few trees at the top of the street. Yet just a mile up, destruction, no power, no water, and looting as people took advantage of some people's lack of power. A friend of mine works for a Big Store and she had to go to work that day - no one was about and the boss didn't understand. It couldn't have been that bad, he said, because it wasn't on the news. Well, I didn't have power, I wouldn't know. All I know is that I got lots of checking on me calls that morning and I sent out a few of my own. 

It was a good day for sleeping and when we couldn't sleep anymore, we went to a friend's house, later played kickball in gale force winds trying to figure out where we would run to if a tornado touched down again, and then going back to eat, sore, exhausted, ready to go home once the lights came on. 

So yeah, nothing much has happened. Maybe I'll have something interesting to say in August when I get back from South Africa. 

Speaking of Babies...

Lauren or Michael?

Damnit!

Baby Shower

I was invited to a baby show. I don't usually go to those things because most of my friends are guys and guys don't usually GO to those things. But this particular friend has a fiance like me (which may be why I like her) and she had a shower that was both sexes.

The night before, I find out that a friend of mine and his wife will be there. He and I were chatting and as we discussed the shower, we hoped there would be beer. Then we realized that, for what we might be about to put up with - a baby shower, possibly only knowing each other and the mom and dad, and a baby shower - there had better be beer. 

The shower turned into a reunion of sorts. It turns out that A., the mother, knows some of the same people I know. So we all grab a beer, Newcastle (A., the dad's, favourite) and we stand around the food table talking and laughing. All the guys but one were husbands of someone. all the girls but 2 were the wives of someone. Every woman at the shower were all women who don't usually have other women as friends, so it wasn't so bad. I lasted nearly 30 minutes laughing and talking in the living room with them before I started to yperventilate and went outside to hand with the guys. They laughed at me, then we went in to watch A. open her gifts. I would like to say that part was fun, but we stood around in the back of the room talking undour our breath and drinking more Newcastles.

My gift was not in a pretty bag with a card. I realized then that I need a wife who would make sure that all that stuff was right for other people. As it were, my gift was more last minute than I would have liked. I mean, I was sick for two days preceding. That should be some kind of excuse, right?

In the end, it was a great time. I got to drink a few beers with friends, I got to eat some great food, had some really excellent chocolate cake (it was a baby face, complete with pacifier - very cute, if you're into that sort of thing) and to say a good time was had by all would be making light of a great time.

Being Away

First of all, I am typing on a keyboard that is set up very different - the outside keys anyway. I can't connect to the internet because neither one of us knows the other language well enough to get the same information from his windows computer to my mac.

Anyway. you know how it is when you are away from home. You like that you are gone, you enjoy your environment, but you really miss the things of home. Not things like food. but things like hanging out with your friends every Thursday and watching LOST together and waking up snuggled next to your husband or just walking around your own house.

We are on day 8 of our 10 day trip and although I love being here (here, right now, is France!!!!!!!!), I really want to go home.

This Is Why

I think the reason I try so hard to get better and be good at what I do and hopefully, eventually, be the best is because one day, when a meteor is heading towards the earth and all of humanity is panicking and the President of the United States calls for all the best of the artists and great thinkers and orators and all of that to be put in the special underground bunkers specifically designed and stocked up for just such a disaster,  before they hold a lottery for everyone else, I want to be called to go to the underground artist hideout to ride out the impact.

Cause I've never played the lottery in my life and I don't like my chances otherwise.

No Fun

Lately, all I've done is work, do extra work to make some money for my trip, and sit at Joshua Cup doing all my web surfing while my husband works. 

I watched the show Quarterlife and I think I'm going to start a videoblog as well. Although mine won't tell about the lives of all my friends, because I don't have any.

I'm only kidding - all my friends read this blog, so eventually, they will comment and out themselves with only slight nudging from me.

I'm too excited about going to Europe. And then after that, I'm going to Africa with commenter bigben and his lovely wife. 

I'm becoming addicted to word games. I've been playing Scrabulous on Facebook with a couple of friends. I have three games going. One I'm doing okay, the other I just started with the guy who graduated as the salutatorian of our high school... I graduated #7. Then I'm getting my ass kicked by someone I met online a long time ago. The score is 273 to 237 and I have seven letters which all have a base score of 1... basically all vowels and I've been adding them to words here and there. That game sucks... I've already lost one game (also against bigben) and that sucks even more, because it shows the score and if I lose them all, then what kind of writer am I? I feel like I'm lagging behind, even though I still consider myself a word nerd. 

I'm also playing this game called Eight Letters Word Game. That's getting to be addictive. And always, when I'm on whatever is the highest level and I can't figure out what the 8 letter word is so I'm trying to string together as many words as I can to make my points, someone comes up and talks to me. Even in my own home. I hate feeling rude, but I gotta increase my score! It's a fun little game though.

So, yeah, all I do is sit and do things at the computer. Sometimes that includes writing, sometimes not. I got good advice from Chris Offutt and that was to write for one minute every day. I can do that. It doesn't seem like a lot and it keeps stretching into longer periods of time. I mean, there are days when I'll be writing for hours, but then there are days when I don't touch the keyboard for the purpose of storytelling. So one minute a day is getting me into a habit I should have developed long ago - writing something everyday.

Okay, I'm done boring you.

Kville Is Probably Cancelled

Just so you know - and by "you" I mean everyone who ends up at this site because they are trying to see if Kville is cancelled (and by the way, I didn't realize that show was so popular!) - Kville is probably cancelled.

Why?

Anthony Anderson is in talks to move to Law & Order since Jessie Martin is reportedly leaving. So, although there has not been an official cancellation, it is probably cancelled. Unless Fox decides to carry on without Anderson.

Just for "you" guys.

Behind the Times

Funny things happen to me all the time, but I can't really think about them by the time I get on here. I was going to try to publish at least once a day - but I guess I'm going to have to include all of my blogs for that. 

So, I have a bunch of blogs right now. My tv one at http://thetubechick.blogspot.com - my traveling one at http://dispatchesfromtheroad.wordpress.com - my Macon one at http://angelcollins.wordpress.com - and I may be moving my personal blog to a wordpress blog in the near future. We'll see.

I feel like I don't see you guys anymore!

Some things are in the works... I'm not real sure how they're going to work out, but I'm pretty excited about the prospect. 

I'm going to Europe in a few weeks and I got my passport last week. I'm pretty excited. I need to brush up on my French and completely learn Italian. (Anybody got any flash cards?)

Ummm, what else? I don't know... maybe when I know more what to say, I will say it. 

You should be so lucky!

The God I Believed In Part 2

So, of course, you don't realize all the ways you have become "churched" while you are in the midst of it. My rude awakening came when I moved to California.

I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that God told me to go there. There has always been a God voice in my head since the first encounter with Him and the cavalier way he'd asked Abraham to sacrifice his son. As I explained, the God voice has been there amongst all the voices, but now, I was no longer 4 or 5 with only my mom's ideas or my own drifting in and out of my head. I was filled with the words that had been taught me for the past 9 years I'd been engaged in religion. Like I said, God's voice is lost in all of that, but occasionally, He would tell me to do something.

I remember one night, I was working for Americorps. I was doing a reading program at this inner city school. Someone came to the school looking for me because they needed information that I hadn't finished. I had to go back to my office. At that time, I was the only body in my office. I told them I would get them the information tomorrow and planned to go the next day. But The Voice told me to go that night. I walked into my dark office and the radio was on, which put me on alert. I turn off everything when I leave for the day. The person talking was the director of the writing program I eventually applied for and I was accepted. I spent a month in California learning about writing for television and I found a church there that I loved. This church was full of information, like my church at home, but for the first time, when I sat through a service, I didn't have that familiar tightness in my chest. I didn't feel as if this church was about striving or determining things for others. The people that invited me to go with them loved God, but I met them over drinks at a restaurant, then we went to a bar to play pool and continued drinking. They weren't worried about what others were thinking of them and they weren't afraid to talk about God and religion to us or anyone around us.

When I got back to my southern town, I knew I had stared into the beginning of a lesson about God that I am still in the midst of. I knew that nothing was the same. I was no longer satisfied with my church, with what I was being taught. I wasn't instantly better, but the series of events that led to me going back to California gave me what little insight I've been able to offer about myself and how I believed in this series of posts.

Even going to California was one of 5 total times where The Voice said something to me. Only once would I say The Voice ever came close to being a physical voice. Every other time, it was an inclination so strong that I didn't know where it came from and it was for something that had not been a concern until that moment. Living in California was one of those time.

Churched people always tell you that if God tell you to do something, that He will provide for you. If He doesn't provide for you, then maybe you didn't hear God. In California, I was on welfare, sexually harassed at the first job I got, had to go back on welfare, finally got a part time job that paid enough, and got in a car accident. Those are the negatives, the things I remember first when I think about that year in Cali. I did go back to that church that was so restful to me, I made new friends whom I loved, I connected with old friends whom I loved and I solidified my relationship with the man who is now my husband. When I wrecked my car, one of those old friends gave me a car, which got me back home when it was finally time for me to leave. But despite the good, the overwhelming tone of my time in Cali was negative. My mom told me that if it was that bad, God must not have told me to go, I heard wrong, and I needed to pray.

But I know, even in the middle of my confusion, that the only reason I was in California was because of God. He wanted me to know that what I had been told about Him was only half truths, dogmatic beliefs of people who didn't want to know Him, even as they bragged about their comprehensive knowledge of Him. They wanted to be an authority on the Bible and, even as I fought this thought, even as I clung to my churched beliefs, I began to know that what my church family of 9 years knew about God was less than what I'd learned in those 9 months... that my knowledge of God grew in that short time more than it had in the past nine years. I was finally getting back to that God I first believed in.

Saving My Life

I recently went to an event at the local college where Chris Offutt talked to us, ostensibly to talk about writing for television (HBO in particular), but really about how little he knew about writing for television (this was his first foray into that world). He learned how episodes were outlined on the board, learned how the writer's room worked and learned that if he asked for gatorade and chocolate, that it would magically appear the next day.

He was very entertaining. He'd written a few books, a couple of books of short stories, a novel and a memoir. I bought a book of short stories called Kentucky Straight and had him sign it. He wrote "To a fellow writer - keep writing. Writing will save your life and keep you sane." When I first read it, I almost laughed. Writing is driving me crazy. All the things I want to say, I can't articulate with my fingers. If it came down to it, my thoughts and ideas would disappear into the ether rather than reveal themselves for immortality on paper. But the very next second, I knew he was right. I thought about my blogs and how they have been my glue. Even if I couldn't write a short story or a spec script to save my life, I could always come here or to my previous incarnations and talk about it. I could talk about the crazy things happening and sometimes, even make fun of myself when in real life, that was very hard to do.

Saving my life... that's something I would never had said about writing before, but in a way, every thing in my life has been processed through writing. I was first and foremost a journaler. I wrote about the things going on just to gain some sort of insight into myself. It never came right away, but it did come as I re-read my journals from years ago, the juvenile things that happened even after I'd long aged to maturity, the hopes and dreams I had that I didn't think would be realized, but have. The friends I've lost are forever captured between those pages, recalling times that I want to say were better but which I know for a fact were not.

Now, if only I could talk to people without putting my foot in my mouth or making them feel dumb (which, to those of you who know me is completely unintentional - I promise!), maybe I will feel like I'm getting somewhere.

The God I Believed In

In the world of Christianity, especially the small world of Bible Belt southern Christians, there are two worlds. Churched and Unchurched. Now, people will tell you that Unchurched people can be "saved" that ever ambiguous term that Christianity clings to with all its soul, but most will agree that it is highly impossible for someone to be "saved" and not going to Church.

For the first year of my Christian life, I was Unchurched. I was in college, making friends, partying, going to classes, the normal thing, but there was a difference. I made friends easier, I was nice, I truly enjoyed being around people and they truly enjoyed being around me. I started helping out at our Catholic ministry on campus (all protestant services were off campus) with my roommate, I loved the people I met, the Catholic priest that ran the ministry was very unorthodox to say the least and he welcomed me as well. In a sense, it was very like the thing you would think God wants from us, to get along with everyone, to really enjoy being with people, anyone from classmates and roommates to the homeless people we ministered to. I don't know how many times I got asked out by homeless people because I was as open in talking to them as I was to my friends. When I left school that year (financial and personal home crisis abounding) I came home a depressed woman. I missed the freedom and ease of being there. I was going to church but getting nothing because my goal was no longer just gathering information. I wanted to be impactful.

I wanted people to feel at ease around me. I wanted people to not feel judged. That first part of my salvation was a breath of fresh air from God, the part that made me love being a Christian because I could be there for anyone and I didn't judge anything. I didn't know how. I didn't have those tools in my Christian arsenal.

We decided to leave the church we were going to, which I was glad of and started going to another church. This church was so welcoming and they were different. The pastor didn't scream and yell, he had insight into the Bible and went deeper than face value. He taught us how to read the Bible. He told us he wanted us to be able to discern truth from fiction. These were learned men teaching us "the Word". I had a few disagreements (I have never been anti-gay, although I did learn Church speak so that my fellow parishioners wouldn't realize that and, eventually, couldn't separate what I should believe as a Christian from what I actually believed).

Somewhere in there, while I was trying to learn, I became Churched. It was more than showing up on Sundays and Wednesdays, teaching a class, being there, basically, whenever the doors opened. Yes, I went to church. But I became Churched. I learned how to hate while saying that I was doing something in love. I learned how to judge others, the standard being me and my understanding of God's word (which, also, was in accord with the rest of what my church believed). I learned how to use the Bible against people. I learned how to use the Bible to help me. I was discerning and I used that against people, getting my way because I was learning the tricks of the trade. Being a Christian could be powerful.

There were still a few things in there, things I learned outside of my church. My church taught me that just because someone didn't believe what I believed didn't mean they weren't Christians. This stayed with me and made me much more tolerable to others than I should have been. I believed God could interact with me personally (my church believed God only spoke through the Bible) and my prayers, although I see it now as being a bit self focused, my prayers were answered. I will say always answered because I do not remember any prayer that was worth something going unanswered. In my life, I have gotten everything I've prayed for. I have been sustained financially even though I'm bad with finances. My health is good, I am in love with my husband and he is smarter than me (in many ways) and funny. I don't hate my dad anymore and I have love and patience in my heart for my mom and the rest of my family.

But I was very judgemental. As I look back now, I didn't even realize how easy it was to appear humble even as I made myself the standard. I worked hard to be this way or that way, according to God's Word (the Bible) and God's standard. You should too. You either did things the way I thought they should be done, or it was "on you" when you had to suffer the consequences of your own bad decision making. I would tell people who they should or shouldn't be with, I would tell people what they should or shouldn't do. I even told people what God would or wouldn' t do. I would make sweeping proclamations against anyone and anything that tried to step on the God I believed in.

I promise you, that God was very different from the God I started out with.

I Am A Coward

I was going to write something different here, something banal and not very interesting, even to me, just to keep up the illusion of blogging consistently. I was going to talk about how angry I get while driving, knowing we all have those moments. It might have been funny, but the real reason I was writing here instead of writing creatively was because I was being a coward.

Now, I can be pretty confident. When I was growing up, guys that might have liked me were afraid of me because it seemed like I didn't need anyone. I can be pretty intimidating if you don't know me or if you already don't like me. I have been mistaken as a bodyguard when I went out with my female friends. Well, I'm pretty sure it wasn't a mistake since I tend to get overprotective when I think some idiot is bothering my friends. But that's another post. The signs of other's people fear of me has usually come out in anger, but in the end, once people who are willing to give me a change get to know the real me, I am not THAT intimidating. Often.

I'm not afraid of much. I'm afraid of my husband dying. I'm afraid of dying in horrible pain. I'm afraid of mushrooms and spiders. Yesterday, I discovered, I'm afraid of the empty page. I took out my notebook to write, to jot down a few lines for a short story that's been rolling around in my mind. I stared at that blank page for nearly ten minutes, my mind wandering all over creation. Even now, as I'm writing and remembering, knowing I need to keep writing this and then start on my spec script, I want to pick up the sock I'm knitting, my second sock so I can finally have one pair of socks I knit for myself.

As my mind wandered last night, I played solitaire on my phone, I checked my email twice, I added new buttons to my home screen, I moved things around... I didn't open my computer because of the distractions, but then I let my phone take the place of the computer.

I know that some people have encouraged me to just write whenever I feel led to creatively and not beat myself up because I don't feel that way everyday. Some people have told me that I am talented, that my writing is growing, but it's not growing for myself. It is growing for others. I know that means that I am growing, but I'm growing in a new type of writing for me that I never expected to and I want to grow in my chosen field. I enjoy the writing I do. I love it. I love coming up with new ways to bring notice to my words, even if that comes with the unwanted knowledge of who I am. But in this town, that's important. If people know that I'm "my byline" then they will read and tell people they know "my byline" and my name would spread and so would my readership.

But more than that, I want to actually get my scripts written. I want to get these short stories out of my head. I want to be as creative as I once was, where I could sit down, at any time, and write. Maybe it would be bad, but it would come out and go down and it would be more than a sentence here and a sentence there.

Ah well, this coward is feeling sorry for herself. Carry on.

New Post

Because you've waited long enough.

And by "you" I mean I. I've been working on the next segment of the saga of my life. It sucks that I'm working so hard and all you'll get is whatever comes out in the end. And by you, I mean I.

I'm dealing with a bunch of shite, mainly self imposed, but I'm working on loosening my own mind to let me just be, to learn to grow, to not be so worked up, as I most often am.

My husband and I have a sign for when I'm all worked up. It can happen anywhere. In the car, in the coffee shop, in my home, on the job. It starts with idiots and it always ends with my head exploding (to borrow a phrase from a friend). If my anger was my superpower, my head would be aflame, like Ghost Rider. Okay, the sign is my hands going beside my head and then me miming that my head is catching on fire, complete with the whooshing sounds of a fire catching (that's my favourite part).

Anyway, my journey to look at my spirituality comes at a time when I don't even know what I believe. I mean, I have a few things I'm holding on to, but to let go of the things that I feel has led me so completely off track, I have to go back to the very first time that I began to have a glimpse into something spiritual. I have to replay where it led me, I have to replay where I stepped off of the road. I have to decide if I've even stepped back on. I have to decide if there is even a road.

I'm trying to be completely naked, but there is something about revealing yourself in a way you haven't even revealed to your own self that makes things like blogging risky. I mean, if my mom, God bless her, were to actually find this site (I hear she's emailing now), I'd have a lot of disappointed lecturing to endure (mainly because of this sentence). We already don't agree that the Harry Potter books will go into the annals of history as one of the greatest works of child lit ever.

Well, I have to try to shave a few inches from my thighs. And by "my", I mean you. You know who you are. I'll check in with you all later.

Halloween: A Story in Pictures (and words)

Finally, after wasting much time, I have put together the photo album for my pictures for all you nice people.