The primary reason I started this blog was to get away from the blog clutter that had taken over my life. I was tired of what blogging had become and I needed an opportunity to say what I needed to say without fear of retribution or the dreaded "anonymous" comment. I had forgotten how long it takes to build a readership when you aren't constantly promoting yourself and you just let things happen organically. It's a very new feeling to be here with only 2 or 3 readers who show up on a regular basis. I feel like I'm failing, like nobody is listening. And then it kind of hit me like a truck. I spent so long not saying the things that I wanted to say I forgot how to say anything at all. This is how my day goes. I write, I read, I edit, I delete. I am afraid. But afraid of what? Not being accepted? Not being liked? Offending someone? Well guess what. Today I am throwing my hands up in the air and saying "Fuck it!" I am not a major publication. I don't have to vet my facts. I am not required to see all sides. Sometimes it's just my side and I want to speak it. Sometimes, I really don't want to see your side. It is really exhausting to have to filter every little thing all the time for fear of.....what? Being a human who says things?

It's been a week since Thanksgiving, and I bet you are just dying to know all about mine.

Growing up, holidays like Thanksgiving, Christmas and Easter were full fledged family affairs. Someone hosted, everyone cooked and brought dishes pot luck style, everyone ate at a big table or two, conversated, laughed, ate some more. Kids ran around the front yard, back yard, upstairs downstairs, down the street, up the street. Dishes were done by all, naps were taken, movies watched. Those days were drama free and looked upon with great affection.

At some point though, people went all Martha Stewart and things got out of hand. Turkeys had to be perfectly glazed, and vegetables perfectly roasted. Cranberry sauce from a can was no longer acceptable. Tables contained cloth napkins folded into little turkey, craft tables and guided activities were set up for kids, and heaven forbid you ask your "guests" to assist with anything. It's exhausting and a chore. I don't like chores, not since, like, ever.

So that's why, for the last four years, we get Cracker Barrel for Turkey day and sit at home, in our PJ's, just the three of us. If you follow me on Instagram you might have seen the extras I cared to make because:

a. I like fresh cranberry sauce;
and b. nobody else in my house will touch the stuff.

What you didn't see was the big fat box that contained everything one needs for a happy day of anti-social isolation. Just the way I like it. I think Cracker Barrel should reconsider their marketing and call it Big Box of Eff All ya All, We're Staying Home in our PJ's. 

Any who, I hope you had a good holiday, Christmas is coming. Just a friendly reminder in case you were unawares.

p.s. The fresh cranberries I used to make the sauce were spoiled, except, I didn't know that. Thankfully, I am the only one in the house who ate them. I say thankfully because if 3 people were in the situation I found myself in we might have had to have the toxic waste clean up team to our house for the holiday. Carry on.

Just got finished reading a blog wherein the author is receiving long-term disability benefits from her employer, presumably until she dies, because she has Lupus. She went to court and she won, in her words "the right to continue to collect my long-term disability benefits, as contracted to me by my employer".

Because that's what all employers sign up for when they hire employees and offer them perks like health insurance and vacation days. Lifetime payout because someone happened to be on their clock when they contracted (or already had) a debilitating disease that will prohibit them from working for the rest of their lives. That's so awesome.  It's one thing to be injured or affected on the job and be unable to work, but this, this is just wrong.

There is a lot to be said on this subject I think, perhaps I might find the time to expand upon it. Next week, or next year. Who am I kidding? This post will probably be the only time I talk about it.

Politely decline requests that will take you away from family. 

Play more Christmas music.

Donate gently used items to a thrift store. 

Go Christmas caroling. 

Say thank you as often as possible.

Schedule a night to help another person or family.

Call someone you normally wouldn't to wish him or her a Merry Christmas.

Delegate some holiday preparations to children or other family members.

Trim the gift list.

Simplify a traditional activity.

Write down great memories as they happen.

Set and stick to a holiday budget.

Forgive a grudge.

Music holds an incredibly large portion of my heart.  For as long as I can remember, music has been there, making me feel in ways that nothing else does.  My earliest memory of really feeling something and connecting with music is riding in the car with my mother while she belted out Journey’s Lovin’ Touchin” Squeezin’.  She would lean over to me, one hand on the steering wheel the other on her Virginia Slim and sing with passion and emotion, especially the Na na na na na na part.  She included me in her experience, even though I had absolutely no idea what the lyrics meant, the moment was connection between me and my mom. It was kind of our song. Whenever it was on the radio we would join in together and sing it with everything we had. Of course, many years later I would learn that my father was a lying cheating bastard, so, ya know, clearly this song had a lot of meaning for my mama.  

When I was in my mid 20’s I moved 2000 miles away from home.  I was sitting in a bar in New Orleans with two or three new friends, feeling home sick and I mentioned this song, waxing melancholy.  Moments later, the house band started in with the familiar blues rock intro and before long, the entire establishment joined in to sing. I was so happy in that moment I could have sprouted wings and flown away.  I don’t know who you were awesome stranger who was eavesdropping on our conversation, but good God, I love you still to this day.

Lyrics and music are my connection to the world, always saying out loud what I can’t seem to find the words for.

Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'"

You make me weep and wanna die
Just when you said we'd try

Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other
When I'm alone all by myself
You're out with someone else
Lovin', touchin', squeezin' each other

You're tearin' me apart
Every, every day
You're tearin' me apart
Oh what can I say?
You're tearin' me apart

It won't be long, yes, till you're alone
When your lover, oh, he hasn't come home
Cause he's lovin', who he's touchin',
He's squeezin' another

He's tearin' you apart
Every, every day
He's tearin' you apart
Oh girl what can you say?
Cause he's lovin', touchin' another
Now it's your turn girl to cry
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na

Let's go ahead and address the rainbow unicorn kitty in the room (the room being the United States of America, the kitty being Ferguson, MO)

but first, my #whitegirlproblems opinion. It would appear to me, based on the limited facts that I have available, that a police officer was doing his job and felt his life was in danger so he utilized lethal force, as he is permitted to do so in accordance with his job description, therefore, the grand jury worked precisely the way it should have in respect to how the legal system works in America. End of story. Justice, in the accordance with the legal system, is served. 

People in Ferguson do not agree. People in Ferguson say they are tired of being killed and harassed by cops based on the color of their skin.  “JUSTICE! JUSTICE!”, everyone is screaming, but isn't it time to call a spade a spade? Listen, the top 25 most dangerous American cities where violent crimes like homicide, rape, armed robbery and aggravated assault are predominately non-white.  I teach my daughter that people will judge her by the company she keeps, so choose your friends wisely. You could be the Virgin Effing Mary but if you hang around with a bunch of skanks people are gonna think you're a skank.

Our nation is moving toward two societies, one black, one white--separate and perceptibly unequal. But is that true? Do non-whites have any less opportunity in this society? Aren't we all given the same opportunity to succeed and fail regardless of race, religion or socioeconomic status?  

In the early 1800s, women were second-class citizens who were expected to restrict their sphere of interest to the home and the family. Women were not encouraged to obtain a real education or pursue a professional career. Women did not have the right to own their own property, keep their own wages, or sign a contract. In addition, all women were denied the right to vote. Only after decades of intense political activity, peaceful protests, and public education, did women eventually win the right to vote and to be treated as equals, kind of. And let's not even start with how the Jews were oppressed by the Egyptians, or the Irish by the British or the Muslims by the Christians or the Christians by the Catholics or the entire Middle East thing. Fact of the matter, this really isn't just a black issue. It's a people issue. I think it's time that we take a good long hard look at our society and our humanity and how we interact and engage as humans. It's time to stop being a victim of perceived circumstances. Perhaps “The man” is indeed holding you back, or perhaps the choices you make and the lifestyle with which you associate are holding you back or propelling you forward. It doesn't matter if you’re black, white, purple or a fuzzy rainbow unicorn kitty. We are all humans, living on the same planet, we're gonna have to figure this shit out pretty soon or the human race is headed toward extinction. 

Oh blogging! How you have changed. It seems to me, that blogging has become less about the personal story and more about the sponsored post, the blog hop, the analytics and the capitalism.  What used to be a fun way to wile away some spare time and engage with others who you may not have ever met, has become more like watching network T.V, in which blog posts are scripted and editorialized.  I am not a fan.  I miss the connection and the sharing of things with my blog friends, stories, advice, joy, tears, unedited photos, posts about how the cat thought that the Swiffer was the enemy and tore it to shreds, not a post about what a great job Swiffer did on your floors because Swiffer sent you some free stuff in exchange for your “honest” opinion.  I think it's time for a little reflection bloggers. Why do you blog? Honestly?

That is all.