I'd take a snowstorm, a wicked 50 mph white out, 40 below, bone chilling blizzard to drive in anyday than having to drive in the rain out here. Back home, the first snowstorm does tend to bring out the forgetfulness in drivers. They drive like the roads are dry and the visibility is a mile, when it's exactly the opposite. This happens ONCE, people! Then the brain remembers the crazy winter driving and for the rest of winter, for the most part, people drive under the speed limit, with caution, and a trunk full of winter survival gear.
I wish I could say the same for the idiots (no offense to my CA friends) who drive the highways and biways out here. When I listen to weather and traffic in the morning, which has now become a must-do prior to my commute, I cringe when I hear the word rain. It takes all of ten drops to turn the freeways here into an oil-slicked skating rink, one in which every driver wants to be a part of. Well, I guess they don't have a choice in whether or not they want to be a part of it, but I get the feeling that many of them enjoy this type of weather-induced craziness.
My commute takes anywhere from 20 to 30 minutes, one way, on the 15 North. I have it down to a science now, since I've been driving this route for over a year. As soon as I merge onto the freeway, I want to be in the #1 lane. For those who drive on the INTERSTATE back home, that's the passing lane, the go lane, the hurry up and get by that dang slow driver lane. So, I have to make my way across three lanes of traffic to get to the #1. If I get stuck in the #4, don't ask me how I will get to work because it's a forced exit and I would be totally screwed. Once in the #1, I physically relax, sitting back in my seat, turn up the radio a bit, and start on my second coffee of the day.
That's on a normal day. Yesterday was anything but normal. See, those 10 drops of rain materialized overnight into lots and lots of rain. I knew as soon as I turned onto the off ramp that it was gonna be one of those days. A sea of brake lights was all I saw. So, my merge into the #1 took a bit longer than usual. I did the slow and go thing for quite awhile, sipping my coffee, checking my mirrors often for crazy drivers. When you are putt putting along you see all kinds of things. People on their cell phones, which is totally illegal and in my opinion, the fine is not nearly high enough; people eating their breakfast, and one chick was putting on her make up!
We finally get up to 65 mph which is good enough for me on rain slicked roads. Others are creeping along slower than that, causing many to go whizzing by them, shooting them a dirty look. Maybe even the finger. I know my license plates get me lots of dirty looks and no doubt, the finger. I still have my North Dakota plates on my car. It's so expensive to register a car here and as long as they continue to let me do it, I'm gonna keep on doing it. Now if only I could flash them my CA driver's license when they flip me the bird, maybe the dirty looks would stop. If only...
About a half mile from my exit, traffic starts to slow again, although only in my lane. This has happened before and totally freaks me out because I feel like a sitting duck out on the freeway, exposed to hundreds of cars flying by me. I'm hoping this delay won't be a long one. I leave early enough for work so at this point, no worries there. I just hate feeling like a target with a big bullseye on it.
The lane to the right of me has also started backing up and I see a huge line of cars behind me. This isn't looking good. We are moving at 1.5 mph, inching ahead, slowly. Not surely, just slowly. Many people probably use this opportunity to text somebody or update their Facebook status that they are stuck in traffic, but not me. I keep my eye on my rear view and side mirrors, looking for potential disaster.
A full 30 minutes later, I am finally off the freeway and at the top of my exit ramp, waiting patiently through the 10th red light. I still have no idea why traffic backed up like it did. This particular ramp is always kind of a nightmare. On days with no traffic problems, I do a little cheer when I get to sail through the green light on the first go.
Up ahead, I see the problem. And it makes me angry because this is not the first time it has happened. When we get a good dousing of rain, one of the stop lights on this street always goes on the blink. And I mean literally. Blinks red, red, red, red, red. Turns it into a four way stop, which is not a good thing on this street because it's a busy one. Trying to get people to behave in a civilized manner when they've just sat through 30+ minutes of gridlock, knowing they are probably 20 minutes late for work, for it is now 8:20, could mean tempers flaring and an accident or two.
Surprisingly, when I get to the dang blinking red light, it's a breeze. No stuttered starts and stops by anybody, no tires screeching or black marks left from somebody slamming on the brakes. Just a nice easy flow through the intersection. I shake my head, wondering if I'm really in San Diego, California or if I got dropped down onto a street back home. Sure, noboby was smiling and waving you through because they actually know your boss and are aware of the fact that you're gonna get a butt chewing when you get to work, but all the same, it kind of felt like it. It didn't quite give me a warm fuzzy feeling, but it definitely made me think about how I might react the next time some idiot cuts me off in traffic or does a quick lane change in front of me without using his blinker.
And for the record, I was about two minutes late for work. Boss was so busy she hadn't noticed that I had texted her that I was stuck in traffic. Hey, in my defense, I did this once I was off the freeway, waiting for an actual red light to turn green. I hear that is still an illegal use of a cell phone but there are billboards up here that tell you to call 9-1-1 if you see a drunk driver. Now that's just crazy talk. Report a drunk driver but get a ticket for using your phone to do it. Not sure it would actually happen that way but one never knows.
PS...My almost warm fuzzy feeling didn't even make it 24 hours. This morning, some bozo went around me in a turning lane and then cut me off! I can only imagine the words he was using. I'm sure they were similar to mine!
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
Louisiana Chicken at a Chinese restaurant
Saturday we had to go downtown. For those of you back home (when I say back home, I'm referring to you Watford City peeps but I think my friends in other small towns can relate), going downtown in San Diego is not something you do unless you HAVE to, for many reasons. In Watford City, we say we are going uptown, which usually does not refer to a trip to Meyer's or Larsen Service Drug but more than likely it is a Friday night and we have plans to enjoy some adult beverages and conversation with good friends at one of the local establishments.
You never know what traffic is going to be like on any given day so I'm always mentally prepared for some type of detour, accident, plenty of swerving to avoid potholes and maybe a bit of swearing at the idiot drivers on the freeway. Lucky for us, we managed to get downtown without any problems or delays. Things were looking good.
Until we actually got downtown. We've only been there twice since I moved here and I immediately remembered why. It's kind of like giving birth. As soon as it's over, you forget the pain. Until you go into labor with baby #2, and it all comes rushing back. Okay, so going downtown is nothing like giving birth, but it's all I got.
Where the flip are we gonna park? The street we need to be on does not allow parking on the street. What? Are you kidding me? There isn't a street back home that I can't park on, unless I'm driving a semi-truck. Here, on Broadway, there is no street parking. So, we start doing the circling, driving around the block thing. Which involves one way streets, lots of pedestrians who do not know how to use a crosswalk and taxis shooting all over the place. We circle a three block radius, twice, having spotted a possibility the first time around and were hoping it would still be there when we tried again.
Yes! It was still there. Problem #1 is solved. Oh and let me point out, CeCe does most of the driving. She's a pro at it, having lived here for over 20 years. Me, I'm a newbie and although I travel the freeway everyday, I'd much rather sit back and let her do the driving. So, we find the spot and we have to parallel park. Piece of cake, right? I admit, I'm a pretty dang good parallel parker but I wasn't driving so I just sat there quietly in the passenger seat. CeCe can drive a ten-yard (some big damn truck she drives at work) with a trailer and loader attached but for some reason, she has a hard time backing up my car. Says it's too wide or high or long or something. And she's kind of a perfectionist, which only complicates matters. There was some swearing involved, lots of shifting from reverse to drive and back again, but finally, it was deemed "good enough".
Then we both realize that we are in a metered parking place. I know you know what a meter is. And so we're digging through our purses and my emergency coin fund in the cubby to see how much change we can scrape up. Sorted through the Canadian coins I still have, took out the pennies because they aren't worth anything in a parking meter and managed to come up with a couple bucks worth. Should give us plenty of time for what we needed to do.
The meters here are kind of stupid. You think they would be self explanatory, but they're really not. You get 2 minutes 3 seconds for a nickel, 4 minutes 28 seconds for a dime and 12 minutes for a quarter. I have absolutely no idea why they even bother with the seconds. It's not like the seconds even show up on the time anyway. So, I throw in a few quarters and yet my time doesn't go past 15 minutes. Well, crap. That's not enough time. I read the tiny little info again and see that the maximum time is 15 minutes. Not only did I waste a couple of quarters but now we had to hurry the flip up!
See, the reason we are even venturing downtown is because CeCe needs a new pair of shoes. Well, boots really. We have looked high and low, over and under and in between every type of store in San Diego looking for work boots that will fit and do the job. The last time we were crazy enough to go downtown, we saw the Shoe Shop, stopped in, inquired about her need for a size 5 boot, found out they had them but didn't wanna fork over the cash for them that day. Hence, our trip today.
Fortunately, we are only a half block from our destination. She to the boot place, me to Payless, hoping to score some cute sandals for spring and summer. Just so you know, you really could wear sandals or flip flops here every day of the year. I choose not to as some days it's a bit chilly in the morning. My two pair of decent sandals have seen better days and I have no problem buying shoes on the cheap, so Payless it is. To my dismay, I find nothing. Sure, friendly staff and a decent selection but just not any that call to me, beg for me to buy them and wear them on a beautiful sunny day here in America's finest city. I leave the store, a little downtrodden, but hopeful that CeCe found what she was looking for or this outing will be a total bust.
At the Shoe Shop, CeCe is just being handed a pair of boots to try on by the clerk. Now, I think clerk is being awfully generous because this boy, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt looks not a day over 14. I look around for an adult. Sure, there's an adult, but he's a customer, looking for his own new pair of shoes. CeCe tries on the boots, while the "clerk" keeps up a running sales pitch, telling her that the reason they are a little tight in that particular area is because of the laces. WHAT? He says they will stretch out if they are a bit tight, suggest the next half size up if she's not happy with the fit. I'll admit, the young guy has it goin' on when it comes to selling shoes. I'm pretty sure his dad is around here somewhere, maybe peeking out from behind a curtain, watching his young son, smiling when he hears CeCe say she'll take them.
We leave the store, boots in hand, a smile on both of our faces. Her, because she finally has a pair of boots that do not have holes in them, rocks in them that found their way into the holes. Me, because she finally has a pair of boots. Period. For me, this means no more listening to her complain about her lack of decent footwear, as she does have the type of job that requires sturdy shoes. The day is a complete success.
Back at the car, we have four whole minutes left to shop. Nah, that's enough of downtown for me until next year. I figure we are averaging one trip per year, although we did say we are going to Padres game this summer and that means another trip downtown. I'm hoping the pain of this past experience will be gone by then so I can enjoy a wonderful, skip work, go to a day game, kind of day.
As we are pulling away from the curb and heading towards the intersection, I look around, like I always do when we drive. I thoroughly enjoy sitting in a car, being the passenger, and checking out the world around me. Downtown is cars, people, tall buildings, trash, no parking, and cold. And restaurants. As we are driving away, I look to my right. A Chinese restaurant, with advertising in the window, all lit up in neon, says "Louisiana Chicken". Really? At a Chinese restaurant? I don't get it and I'm pretty sure I won't venture back downtown to find out what that's all about.
You never know what traffic is going to be like on any given day so I'm always mentally prepared for some type of detour, accident, plenty of swerving to avoid potholes and maybe a bit of swearing at the idiot drivers on the freeway. Lucky for us, we managed to get downtown without any problems or delays. Things were looking good.
Until we actually got downtown. We've only been there twice since I moved here and I immediately remembered why. It's kind of like giving birth. As soon as it's over, you forget the pain. Until you go into labor with baby #2, and it all comes rushing back. Okay, so going downtown is nothing like giving birth, but it's all I got.
Where the flip are we gonna park? The street we need to be on does not allow parking on the street. What? Are you kidding me? There isn't a street back home that I can't park on, unless I'm driving a semi-truck. Here, on Broadway, there is no street parking. So, we start doing the circling, driving around the block thing. Which involves one way streets, lots of pedestrians who do not know how to use a crosswalk and taxis shooting all over the place. We circle a three block radius, twice, having spotted a possibility the first time around and were hoping it would still be there when we tried again.
Yes! It was still there. Problem #1 is solved. Oh and let me point out, CeCe does most of the driving. She's a pro at it, having lived here for over 20 years. Me, I'm a newbie and although I travel the freeway everyday, I'd much rather sit back and let her do the driving. So, we find the spot and we have to parallel park. Piece of cake, right? I admit, I'm a pretty dang good parallel parker but I wasn't driving so I just sat there quietly in the passenger seat. CeCe can drive a ten-yard (some big damn truck she drives at work) with a trailer and loader attached but for some reason, she has a hard time backing up my car. Says it's too wide or high or long or something. And she's kind of a perfectionist, which only complicates matters. There was some swearing involved, lots of shifting from reverse to drive and back again, but finally, it was deemed "good enough".
Then we both realize that we are in a metered parking place. I know you know what a meter is. And so we're digging through our purses and my emergency coin fund in the cubby to see how much change we can scrape up. Sorted through the Canadian coins I still have, took out the pennies because they aren't worth anything in a parking meter and managed to come up with a couple bucks worth. Should give us plenty of time for what we needed to do.
The meters here are kind of stupid. You think they would be self explanatory, but they're really not. You get 2 minutes 3 seconds for a nickel, 4 minutes 28 seconds for a dime and 12 minutes for a quarter. I have absolutely no idea why they even bother with the seconds. It's not like the seconds even show up on the time anyway. So, I throw in a few quarters and yet my time doesn't go past 15 minutes. Well, crap. That's not enough time. I read the tiny little info again and see that the maximum time is 15 minutes. Not only did I waste a couple of quarters but now we had to hurry the flip up!
See, the reason we are even venturing downtown is because CeCe needs a new pair of shoes. Well, boots really. We have looked high and low, over and under and in between every type of store in San Diego looking for work boots that will fit and do the job. The last time we were crazy enough to go downtown, we saw the Shoe Shop, stopped in, inquired about her need for a size 5 boot, found out they had them but didn't wanna fork over the cash for them that day. Hence, our trip today.
Fortunately, we are only a half block from our destination. She to the boot place, me to Payless, hoping to score some cute sandals for spring and summer. Just so you know, you really could wear sandals or flip flops here every day of the year. I choose not to as some days it's a bit chilly in the morning. My two pair of decent sandals have seen better days and I have no problem buying shoes on the cheap, so Payless it is. To my dismay, I find nothing. Sure, friendly staff and a decent selection but just not any that call to me, beg for me to buy them and wear them on a beautiful sunny day here in America's finest city. I leave the store, a little downtrodden, but hopeful that CeCe found what she was looking for or this outing will be a total bust.
At the Shoe Shop, CeCe is just being handed a pair of boots to try on by the clerk. Now, I think clerk is being awfully generous because this boy, dressed in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt looks not a day over 14. I look around for an adult. Sure, there's an adult, but he's a customer, looking for his own new pair of shoes. CeCe tries on the boots, while the "clerk" keeps up a running sales pitch, telling her that the reason they are a little tight in that particular area is because of the laces. WHAT? He says they will stretch out if they are a bit tight, suggest the next half size up if she's not happy with the fit. I'll admit, the young guy has it goin' on when it comes to selling shoes. I'm pretty sure his dad is around here somewhere, maybe peeking out from behind a curtain, watching his young son, smiling when he hears CeCe say she'll take them.
We leave the store, boots in hand, a smile on both of our faces. Her, because she finally has a pair of boots that do not have holes in them, rocks in them that found their way into the holes. Me, because she finally has a pair of boots. Period. For me, this means no more listening to her complain about her lack of decent footwear, as she does have the type of job that requires sturdy shoes. The day is a complete success.
Back at the car, we have four whole minutes left to shop. Nah, that's enough of downtown for me until next year. I figure we are averaging one trip per year, although we did say we are going to Padres game this summer and that means another trip downtown. I'm hoping the pain of this past experience will be gone by then so I can enjoy a wonderful, skip work, go to a day game, kind of day.
As we are pulling away from the curb and heading towards the intersection, I look around, like I always do when we drive. I thoroughly enjoy sitting in a car, being the passenger, and checking out the world around me. Downtown is cars, people, tall buildings, trash, no parking, and cold. And restaurants. As we are driving away, I look to my right. A Chinese restaurant, with advertising in the window, all lit up in neon, says "Louisiana Chicken". Really? At a Chinese restaurant? I don't get it and I'm pretty sure I won't venture back downtown to find out what that's all about.
Friday, March 18, 2011
Life isn't always easy plus potential disaster averted...
Friday is garbage day on my street. Every other Friday is recycling day as well, because you know, California is so progressive in its quest to save our Earth. We recycle in our house, mainly newspapers, junk mail and laundry detergent bottles. Oh and aluminum cans and plastic bottles but those items get sorted and saved for a trip to the recycling center. So on Thursday nights, we clean out the fridge, empty all the trash cans in the house and haul our HUGE, industrial strength, city provided, thank goodness it's on wheels, can down the alley to the street. We live in what's called a back house, a house behind a house, so our curb is not right outside our front door. It's not something you normally consider when you are looking for a place to live but believe me, it's on my list for our next domicile.
CeCe usually gets the job of getting the can ready to wheel out and after supper we take a leisurely stroll, in our comfy clothes and slippers, under the cover of darkness (depending on the time change) and go park that bugger near the curb, facing the correct direction, otherwise the trash would not make it into the garbage truck. Oh, we don't have guys who ride around on the back of the garbage truck like we do back home, hanging on for dear life while their buddy speeds around corners, jumping off at just the right moment to grab our neighbor's assorted hodge podge of receptacles, launching the junk into the gaping mouth of that hungry machine waiting for it's next meal. Our garbage trucks, here, in the land of millions of people and tons and tons of trash, is an automated one. It requires only one person and a cool contraption that lifts the cans, heaves them into the air and dumps them into the back end. Okay, it is way cooler than it sounds. Easy, economical and nobody gets their hands dirty or risks broken limbs to do the job.
Driving through my neighborhood on my way to work on Fridays, I almost always see at least one person who depends on recycling Fridays, probably getting up before the birds, walking the same route, relying on the people of Normal Heights (our cool, eclectic neighborhood) to throw out something worthwhile or at the very least, to put cans or water bottles in their recycling bin. This is their livelihood. Their job. What they depend on to get themselves through the week. The gentleman I saw today had his cart, fully loaded with the aforementioned cans and bottles, big black garbage bags stuffed, moving from blue can to blue can, lifting the lid, hoping against hope that there would be something in there to help him buy his next meal.
I can't read the minds of the people I see doing this. I can only assume that they are doing this to survive. As most of you know the economy is really in the tank out here. Sky rocketing unemployment leaves thousands of people homeless here in San Diego, living on the streets, in their cars, under car ports, in friend's garages, and if they are lucky, at a shelter. Makes me thankful for what I do have.
Which leads me to the 'life isn't always easy' part. We bitch and moan and complain about this and that, him and her, government, politics, the weather, traffic, bills to pay, what to eat for supper, the dogs, the kids, and everything else. Seeing somebody foraging through other peoples left overs made me think about the good things in life.
I have a job that I like, a car that runs, clothes on my back, food in my belly, a roof over my head and people who love me. I can pay my bills with a little left over for other stuff. My family has been blessed with no serious illnesses, disease or death. Soon there will be a new baby, making my sister a grandmother, ensuring that our Fish genes live on. Life is good for me. And for you, if you think about it. So, do just that. Think about what makes your life a good one. Not the things you own, but the people you have. Family, friends, co-workers, neighbors. Be grateful. Be thankful.
PS. The title indicates that a potential disaster was averted. This story needs to be told right now! Last night, CeCe discovered the carton of eggs we had in the fridge was dated February 20! How they lasted that long in there is beyond me because she is kind of fanatical about throwing out food that has outlived its usefulness. The can had already been wheeled to the street so the nasty eggs were put in a plastic bag, set by the door with the promise that they would be personally delivered to the curb in the morning for a proper burial. Well, this morning came, her rushing to get ready for work, me with blog thoughts screaming through my brain and my body needing caffeine. The eggs were left on the dog food thingee, you know, the $40 unit I bought to store the dog food. Kibble something or other. I got ready for work, gave the pups their treats and headed to the gas station for smokes. As I'm already thinking ahead to the freeway and the thought of crazy traffic, an image of those eggs, in the plastic bag, sitting on the dog food thingee enters my mind. OMG! If left there, Bella will surely get into them, dragging egg yolk and shells all over the house, giving Gracie a reason to wake up and Maisy an excuse to quit scratching her ears! The mess would not be mine to clean up, as CeCe gets home before me, which would be a DISASTER! She loves the dogs, let me just say that first and foremost, but man, does she hate their messes and this one would have been a doozie! So, another reason to be thankful today. I saved the lives of my dogs...and my own!
CeCe usually gets the job of getting the can ready to wheel out and after supper we take a leisurely stroll, in our comfy clothes and slippers, under the cover of darkness (depending on the time change) and go park that bugger near the curb, facing the correct direction, otherwise the trash would not make it into the garbage truck. Oh, we don't have guys who ride around on the back of the garbage truck like we do back home, hanging on for dear life while their buddy speeds around corners, jumping off at just the right moment to grab our neighbor's assorted hodge podge of receptacles, launching the junk into the gaping mouth of that hungry machine waiting for it's next meal. Our garbage trucks, here, in the land of millions of people and tons and tons of trash, is an automated one. It requires only one person and a cool contraption that lifts the cans, heaves them into the air and dumps them into the back end. Okay, it is way cooler than it sounds. Easy, economical and nobody gets their hands dirty or risks broken limbs to do the job.
Driving through my neighborhood on my way to work on Fridays, I almost always see at least one person who depends on recycling Fridays, probably getting up before the birds, walking the same route, relying on the people of Normal Heights (our cool, eclectic neighborhood) to throw out something worthwhile or at the very least, to put cans or water bottles in their recycling bin. This is their livelihood. Their job. What they depend on to get themselves through the week. The gentleman I saw today had his cart, fully loaded with the aforementioned cans and bottles, big black garbage bags stuffed, moving from blue can to blue can, lifting the lid, hoping against hope that there would be something in there to help him buy his next meal.
I can't read the minds of the people I see doing this. I can only assume that they are doing this to survive. As most of you know the economy is really in the tank out here. Sky rocketing unemployment leaves thousands of people homeless here in San Diego, living on the streets, in their cars, under car ports, in friend's garages, and if they are lucky, at a shelter. Makes me thankful for what I do have.
Which leads me to the 'life isn't always easy' part. We bitch and moan and complain about this and that, him and her, government, politics, the weather, traffic, bills to pay, what to eat for supper, the dogs, the kids, and everything else. Seeing somebody foraging through other peoples left overs made me think about the good things in life.
I have a job that I like, a car that runs, clothes on my back, food in my belly, a roof over my head and people who love me. I can pay my bills with a little left over for other stuff. My family has been blessed with no serious illnesses, disease or death. Soon there will be a new baby, making my sister a grandmother, ensuring that our Fish genes live on. Life is good for me. And for you, if you think about it. So, do just that. Think about what makes your life a good one. Not the things you own, but the people you have. Family, friends, co-workers, neighbors. Be grateful. Be thankful.
PS. The title indicates that a potential disaster was averted. This story needs to be told right now! Last night, CeCe discovered the carton of eggs we had in the fridge was dated February 20! How they lasted that long in there is beyond me because she is kind of fanatical about throwing out food that has outlived its usefulness. The can had already been wheeled to the street so the nasty eggs were put in a plastic bag, set by the door with the promise that they would be personally delivered to the curb in the morning for a proper burial. Well, this morning came, her rushing to get ready for work, me with blog thoughts screaming through my brain and my body needing caffeine. The eggs were left on the dog food thingee, you know, the $40 unit I bought to store the dog food. Kibble something or other. I got ready for work, gave the pups their treats and headed to the gas station for smokes. As I'm already thinking ahead to the freeway and the thought of crazy traffic, an image of those eggs, in the plastic bag, sitting on the dog food thingee enters my mind. OMG! If left there, Bella will surely get into them, dragging egg yolk and shells all over the house, giving Gracie a reason to wake up and Maisy an excuse to quit scratching her ears! The mess would not be mine to clean up, as CeCe gets home before me, which would be a DISASTER! She loves the dogs, let me just say that first and foremost, but man, does she hate their messes and this one would have been a doozie! So, another reason to be thankful today. I saved the lives of my dogs...and my own!
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Do you think anyone will read it?
After reading a friend's blog from back home (more on her later), I felt like maybe I might have something worth writing about. The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. Ideas were flying through my brain, bouncing off each other, generating another new and better idea. I couldn't wait to do some research on how to go about writing a blog.
As excited as I was to get things started, doubt started pushing its way into my thoughts. Really, Laura? You fancy yourself a good enough writer that people are going to want to read what you have to say? Your life is that exciting in California? Remember, you post weather updates as your status on Facebook and your friends tend to get a little ticked off. What makes you think they want to hear about your glamorous life? Oh, if they only knew, I fired back. Yes, I'm talking to myself, although not loud enough for anybody to hear me.
A second opinon was definitely needed here. Enter CeCe (names have been changed to protect the innocent. Sorry, I couldn't resist that one!). CeCe is the reason I am a small town girl living in the big city. She is the one who gets praised when things are going good here, which is the majority of the time and blamed when life sucks, which is ocassionally. I see a whole post devoted to her in the future, where a proper introduction will be made, but now, back to the whole "you're gonna write a blog?" idea...
When I get home from work, CeCe has plans, which I'm excited to hear because they involve a drive, some money, maybe an adult beverage, and a good time had by all. My wallet enjoys these little adventures, some days more than others, but for the most part, they are a good time. That's probably not enough information for you to figure out what those plans are...should I tell you now? Hmmm, I see an idea for a future post. You think about it and see if you are right, later on down the road.
Okay, the plans involve a drive, at which point I wait until it's my turn to share about my day. I tell her about the friend's blog and throw my idea at her, kind of quietly, thinking maybe if I don't share it out loud, it won't sound so CRAZY. She remembers my friend's blog (getting real tired of saying that, her name is Jessie, dang it and I'm going to put a link in so the rest of you can read it). Anywho, she remember's Jessie's blogs and did hear my whispered idea. I throw some possible subjects at her, which I'm not going to mention here as I know the suspense is probably killing you and I'd hate to give it all away in my first post. The subjects are met with enthusiasm, which leads to a discussion of more possible topics. Then the question...
Do you think anyone will read it?
The mother lode of all questions. The question that could make or break this creative outlet idea. The question that could tear my self esteem apart. The question that every writer asks themselves. No, I don't fancy myself a writer, but it fit here, so I'm keeping it. The question...
I look at her hopefully, waiting, holding my breath, knowing what she will say, if only to assuage my fears, soften the blow of what is sure to come, should I dare to publish for more than just her eyes. She turns, looks at me, and says "Of course, I'll read it. It will be great. I'm sure other people would like to read it, too."
It takes everything I have not to shout WHO ELSE, so I don't. I smile, tuck that good feeling away, and think about a title, font, pics, links, and all of the other little things that will enable me to actually do it...
I just breathed a big sigh of relief. The first post is in the can, so to speak, although saved for a second opinion, for now.
Link to Jessie's blog, my former student, my inspiration :)
http://veederranch.com/
As excited as I was to get things started, doubt started pushing its way into my thoughts. Really, Laura? You fancy yourself a good enough writer that people are going to want to read what you have to say? Your life is that exciting in California? Remember, you post weather updates as your status on Facebook and your friends tend to get a little ticked off. What makes you think they want to hear about your glamorous life? Oh, if they only knew, I fired back. Yes, I'm talking to myself, although not loud enough for anybody to hear me.
A second opinon was definitely needed here. Enter CeCe (names have been changed to protect the innocent. Sorry, I couldn't resist that one!). CeCe is the reason I am a small town girl living in the big city. She is the one who gets praised when things are going good here, which is the majority of the time and blamed when life sucks, which is ocassionally. I see a whole post devoted to her in the future, where a proper introduction will be made, but now, back to the whole "you're gonna write a blog?" idea...
When I get home from work, CeCe has plans, which I'm excited to hear because they involve a drive, some money, maybe an adult beverage, and a good time had by all. My wallet enjoys these little adventures, some days more than others, but for the most part, they are a good time. That's probably not enough information for you to figure out what those plans are...should I tell you now? Hmmm, I see an idea for a future post. You think about it and see if you are right, later on down the road.
Okay, the plans involve a drive, at which point I wait until it's my turn to share about my day. I tell her about the friend's blog and throw my idea at her, kind of quietly, thinking maybe if I don't share it out loud, it won't sound so CRAZY. She remembers my friend's blog (getting real tired of saying that, her name is Jessie, dang it and I'm going to put a link in so the rest of you can read it). Anywho, she remember's Jessie's blogs and did hear my whispered idea. I throw some possible subjects at her, which I'm not going to mention here as I know the suspense is probably killing you and I'd hate to give it all away in my first post. The subjects are met with enthusiasm, which leads to a discussion of more possible topics. Then the question...
Do you think anyone will read it?
The mother lode of all questions. The question that could make or break this creative outlet idea. The question that could tear my self esteem apart. The question that every writer asks themselves. No, I don't fancy myself a writer, but it fit here, so I'm keeping it. The question...
I look at her hopefully, waiting, holding my breath, knowing what she will say, if only to assuage my fears, soften the blow of what is sure to come, should I dare to publish for more than just her eyes. She turns, looks at me, and says "Of course, I'll read it. It will be great. I'm sure other people would like to read it, too."
It takes everything I have not to shout WHO ELSE, so I don't. I smile, tuck that good feeling away, and think about a title, font, pics, links, and all of the other little things that will enable me to actually do it...
I just breathed a big sigh of relief. The first post is in the can, so to speak, although saved for a second opinion, for now.
Link to Jessie's blog, my former student, my inspiration :)
http://veederranch.com/
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