Sunday, February 03, 2019

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

Many apologies, my friend.
I can't remember the last time I posted an update for you.
The truth is, college has drained my brain. After spending my days at a full-time job and my evenings doing homework, I have nothing left for blogging. Not even during summer and winter breaks.

Any of you ever give birth?
You know how between contractions you completely zone out and focus on recovering from the last one so you're ready for the next one?

Semesters have been like contractions.
And the breaks in between have been fully devoted to recovery and preparation.

Can you feel me?

But here's the good news:
After eleven contractions, I will give birth to a Bachelor of Arts degree in Communication with an emphasis in Public Relations THIS MAY.

"Pot of Old" by Roses - 2017
The painting to the right is the final assignment piece I submitted for an intro arts class two years ago. It's titled, "Pot of Old".
Can you tell that I was sad and tired when I painted it?
If you have trouble translating, those are all my classmates marching into the distance with the new jobs/gold balloons they got the end of their rainbow/college careers. That's me in the foreground wondering what's left for me; but all I get is the leftovers no one else wanted.

But I'm feeling much better about everything now. I've interviewed for several jobs already, and I think I'd have snagged one or two of them if only I'd been finished with school. The Husband is certain that the job I want will be mine once my schedule is truly mine again.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. It's so close, I want to run.
Every reading and writing assignment I complete is one step closer to that graduation date. So, I've been working ahead as much as I can.
I am counting down the weeks. There are 13 left.

And this morning, I had the thought that I'd like to get back in the habit of regularly posting here.
Maybe I will be stress-free enough, finally, that the ideas will come back.
And maybe those ideas will be funny again.

That would be nice.

So, I'm just sending a note from school to let you know I'm doing fine.
I look forward to seeing you in the spring.

Thursday, January 18, 2018

The Answer Is Black and White

Elder Son is studying Visual Arts in college. His semester began yesterday. We had this exchange...

Me: What class did you have today?
He: Lighting

Today was his second day of the semester. We had this exchange...

Me: What class did you have today?
He: (something I didn't quite hear but almost thought I did)
Me: Did you say Darkening?
He: No, "Marketing".
Me: Oh! Well, yesterday was Lighting, so hey, today you could have had Darkening.

He actually laughed at that one.

Sunday, January 14, 2018

Definition, please?

What exactly *is* an asshat?

Is it a hat one wears on one's ass?
Is it a hat worn on the head that resembles one's ass?

In either case, it seems the person wearing the asshat is the fool, not the person who *is* the asshat.

So why is it an insult to call someone an asshat?

Asking for a friend.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Hips Don't Lie

Proof that clothing sizes for women make no sense:

It is physically possible for me to wear underpants that are Size 8 inside jeans that are Size 4.

Monday, December 18, 2017

Professional Wrestler

My new co-worker wrestles professionally on the weekends. We had this getting-to-know-you conversation...

Me: When you wrestle, do you wear a costume?
He: No. Just tights and boots.
Me: I'm sorry. If you're wearing boots and tights, that's a costume.
He: Yeah, I think you're right.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

Gifts 2017

The Husband and I are doing our gift exchange differently this year.  We realized that gift giving has been getting trickier every year because the things we'd like to give each other are the kinds of things the receiver kind of needs to pick out for him/herself.

Example: The Husband wants a jack knife. But I can't buy that for him because he wants a particular style would be difficult for me to get just right.
Another: I want gloves, the kind that are like the ones I have but different.  How is he supposed to know what that means?

So, we've decided that we will each buy our own gifts this year, wrap them up, and surprise the other person with what they gave.

It has been fun so far.
We have had conversations like this...

Me: I'm leaving work now, but you're going shopping for me, so I won't be home till after 6.
He: Well, if the stores are anything like they were when you went shopping for me earlier today, I'm going to have trouble finding a parking space.
Me: Then maybe you'll drive by some stores first before you decide to shop.
Me: I don't know where I was shopping for you earlier today, but the stores where you shopped for me tonight were so empty, you thought they were closed.

And conversations like this...
He: You need to order a gift for me online today if you want it to get here before Christmas. Can I borrow your laptop?

And this...
Me: You seriously considered buying me a garden stone that comes with paints so I can decorate it anyway I want to, but then you thought about how much I hated that art class I took this semester and decided against it.
He: Yeah, that would have been foolish of me.


Me: You think one of the gifts you got for me is silly, but you the more you thought about it, it's the one thing you kept coming back to.

He and I are amazed at how much fun this turned out to be.  I know exactly what I'm getting for Christmas, but I still feel like I have a secret surprise for my darling man.

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

A Story with a Happy Ending

I met "Martin" about three years ago in a public relations class during my second semester of college when I was still dealing with self-esteem issues relating to being a really old woman in college.
Martin was the very last person to arrive for the fully-booked class, and the only empty seat was in front of me, so I could not NOT take notice of him.

But the reason I remember meeting Martin that day was because everyone in the class had to introduce themselves.  And when I mentioned that I had worked in radio and declared that it was kind of like having public relations experience, Martin turned around, pointed to himself then to me, and said, "You and me, we're partners.  Group project?  You and me."

Someone thought I was valuable? Someone wanted to work with me? Someone chose me?
I immediately wanted to be his friend.

A few weeks later, Martin started missing classes. I overheard another classmate mention that Martin hadn't been showing up in another class either; the rumor was that Martin's girlfriend was pregnant, and he had to drop out of college.

But, just last year in another public relations class, I found Martin once again occupying the seat in front of me. We didn't talk much throughout the semester. (I can tell you from experience that in college, you pay very little attention to classmates sitting behind you.) I also suspected he had long forgotten about wanting to be my partner in group projects.  However, Martin learned my name and gave me enthusiastic greetings whenever we passed elsewhere on campus.  He was charming, and nice, and as far as I could tell, a darned good student.

During that semester, an off-campus apartment building caught fire leaving most of its tenants homeless for several days.  I ran into Martin later that week.  He told me he lived in that apartment building, and now he and his wife and two-year-old twins were living in a hotel for a few days while repairs were being made.  He said they didn't need anything, but it sure was inconvenient.

Young guy.  Married with twins.  Home burned. Still grateful.

That's when I looked him up on social media and sent him connection requests on every medium. He accepted them all.

Martin graduated this past spring, but I ran into him in the campus library today.  He was walking with someone, and I got the impression he was helping this person find something.  As we passed, Martin held out his hand to me in greeting. As we shook hands, he leaned over and whispered to me, "I'm working in the library, Roses!"  He said it with the same awe that a small child would have told you that Santa Claus had come.
I had enough time to reply, "That's awesome!" and he was gone.

I turned and watched him walk away with the person he was helping.
And I wondered...

My friends, I was vague about the job I applied for in August. I told you it was a position at a library, but I didn't specify that it was at the campus library at the university I attended.
Could it be that I had been in competition with this brilliant fellow student?
I thought about it for a moment, and I quickly found the idea very pleasant and realized that I felt very good about the idea of having lost this job to Martin.  If anyone else was going to get it, I'd want it to be someone just like him.

Oddly enough, I had awkwardly bumped into the campus library director (the person in charge of hiring) just last week and exchanged a quick "Hi how are you" with him.
So, today, when I had a slightly less awkward run-in with the same library director, I asked him, "Did you hire Martin?"
The answer was yes.
I gave the director a sincere smile and congratulated him on the fine choice.
And the moment Martin wasn't busy, I went over and told him how happy I was for him.

I informed him that I had also applied for the same position, and we both conceded that it was an honor to have had such fine competition.

I sit here tonight feeling very happy for Martin.
I feel SO happy for Martin, that I've forgotten that I felt sad not getting that job.

His words, so full of joy and amazement, keep ringing through my mind.
"I'm working at the library, Roses!"
And I can't help but smile.

This is a story with a happy ending.
It's not my happy ending, but it is truly happy nonetheless.

Monday, October 09, 2017


Family game night.

Image resultElder Son:  I'd like to play either Uno or Sorry!

Me:  I'd like to play SorryNotSorry.

Elder Son:  That's pretty much what the game *is*, isn't it?

Me:  It was a hashtag before there were hashtags.

Sunday, September 24, 2017


The discussion was about social media apps, and I decided to be funny.

Me: I thought Tumblr was Tinder for people trying to find other people who love beverages.
He: You mean, like, a dating app for alcoholics?
Me: Yes.
He: I'd use it.

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Campus Hijinks with Younger Son

Younger Son and I are students at the same university. No, we do not commute together. No, we do not stop and chat on campus.  We learned early that a) he does not want to look like he needs to hang out with his mother, and b) I do not want to look *like* someone's mother.

So, we just don't.

We do cross paths once in a great while.  Usually, we make eye contact, Younger Son looks briefly horrified, and we move along without any other acknowledgement.

I asked him how much it bothers him that I'm at the same school as he is.  He said it doesn't bother him at all, said he forgets I'm there until he sees me.
Same for me.

One day as I crossed campus, I received a text just as I turned toward the library.  The text said, "Mwah-ha-ha."
And out of the corner of my eye, I saw Younger Son walking past.  He had been following me the entire way.

Another time, I was making my way from the parking lot to class when I saw Younger Son traveling perpendicular to me.  I quickly assessed that at our current speeds, we'd not only cross paths, but also likely bump into each other physically.
I pulled out my phone and texted, "On your right."
Neither of us broke stride as I watched him check his phone. He glanced up, and went back to his phone and sent, "Thanks."
He sped up, I slowed down, crisis averted.

Today after class, I spied him on a bench wearing earbuds and watching something on his phone. He was completely emersed in his little screen.
"I could totally sit next to him, and he wouldn't know it was me until it was too late," I thought to myself.
I got halfway to him, but turned around. While the action would be funny, it would break our unspoken rules of engagement. Eye contact, okay; direct contact, not okay.
Texting a message, okay; speaking a message, not okay.
I suddenly realized that we have somehow created a weird hybrid game of hide and seek and tag.
So, rather than take a seat next to my son, I took the longer route up a hill behind the bench.
I texted, "Smooch," then "Behind you." And never looked back.
His reply was, "Ugh."