Christmas Miracles of The Write Woman (257 Days Left)

I'd like to discuss a bit of Critical Thinking to my readers, those in or considering university—especially the more elite schools. Public knowledge suggests future employers may investigate not only public records, but also social media, to cast an opinion of the type of personality they may be hiring. The same is said of admissions offices for universities. Now some people may say to themselves, “Oh, well I was just a kid going through some tough teenage years. They’ll get it.” The cold harsh reality is whether you’re a kid or not, when you threaten to hurt someone else, or drag someone else through the mud, don’t think your Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc. will state anything more than what you’ve said—FOREVER! Negative comments even mentioning your name by someone else reflect more than what’s on the surface. A critical thinking person, like a human resource administration or school admittance officials train to distinguish the good apples from the bad by using this information. So when your date dumps you and makes a fool of you at the office Christmas party, go home and beat the hell out of your pillow, but do it in private where the repercussions won’t come back to haunt you later and permanently. After all, everyone knows that if the announcement posts on social media, it’s a fact.

            My tidbit of advice goes to those charitable people who want to donate to the needy this holiday season, the way the story of Jesus depicts Him giving His life for others. For those who have been fortunate enough to find their dream job during this country’s financial crisis, good for you. I’m glad some of us are finding relief. I’m certain the search was treacherous and you’ve certainly earned it. But for those who have children and are sweating to figure out how much more you can water down the milk to make it last, I hope this next portion does justice for you.

            There are so many giving people who want to assist, but despite their efforts aren’t aware that Barbies and Transformers may not even have a place to reside after brightening the face of a child. After the child is surprised and plays with the toy for a spell, he or she returns to a bed oft times temporarily for the night. The only items these families can keep is what they carry, including their clothes and small children. In order to assist homeless families, the best way to help is by giving in other ways. Food is the most important. Now I’m not suggesting that you go through your cupboards to discover all the food with the expired dates to kill two birds with one stone. I’m talking about being charitable—not housecleaning by disposing of old food to people so hungry they’ll eat anything. Food that requires refrigeration is also not the best because it has a limited shelf life. If, for example, someone received six gallons of milk with an expiration date in a week, they may have milk coming out her ears and then nothing in the fridge a week later, so purchase canned or boxed food without an expired date. It’s too bad they don’t have gift cards for food. But they do have them for Walmart and other grocers.

            The best gift of all for parents is a working position with a couple of work appropriate outfits or a gift card specifying work clothes. If you know the sizes of the children, clothing is something every child needs. Wrap the gifts and give them to shelters. Then the workers don’t have the opportunity to pick through the gifts, not that all places do this, but some will unfortunately take advantage of their positions.

            Speaking from experience, when a kid attends school for seven hours a day in clothes that

don’t fit right or that have stains and holes, shame on the adults who criticize them for not putting their best foot forward in learning. How can they concentrate on learning when Johnny Big Buck’s expensive snow boots crush bare toes? And don’t even think for a second kids don’t notice and their grades aren’t affected. Other kids are after that kid like a prize hen is after aone-winged chicken. School is a lot more than the ABC’s and 123’s we think it is. It’s also how they learn to fit in and defend themselves, or buckle under the pressure of being unable to molt. Once a kid is labeled, the stigma follows.

            I did something I’m proud of and though it may seem small, to me it’s huge! Most of you probably have put together I’m an ex-invalid by now if you’re a returning reader. Yesterday, my seventh grade son’s online school went ice-skating. Because my third grader was still in class, he had to go alone. He skated around the ice several times with his hands crammed in his pockets before pausing to tell me he wished his sister were here so he wouldn’t have to be alone. I did something absolutely stupid! Without telling him, I walked out to put on a pair of ice skates, which I haven’t done since the accident. When he came back around, I gave him a thumbs-up and saw his smile light up the entire rink. He took me by the hand and we skated. My biggest fear was falling—not because I didn’t want a bruise, that’s expected—because I was scared to death that if I fell I would damage my back and end up unable to walk again on my own. But I did end up bouncing along a couple of times. After I finally tired, I came off the ice smiling bigger than ever and even walking a little taller. Watching my son skating more confidently now, even daring to spin a few times, I couldn’t help but grin enormously. 

Another mom was dark-skinned and gorgeous, grinning from ear to ear. She and a group of girls had long skirts on with their skates, so I imagined their beliefs were very different from my own. The woman was holding her cell phone up to take pictures. The doorway wasn’t very wide, so I asked her if I could take a picture of my son and she politely stepped aside. She explained how her daughter had never skated before and I was stunned. Aside from holding onto the side with hand, her daughter was extremely graceful. I asked her if she wanted my son to help her daughter skate. (Cameron stopped along his travel to ask each person who fell if he or she was okay.) She laughed and said her daughter probably wouldn’t want to, so I asked her myself. Taking Cameron’s hand, her daughter smiled and the two of them skated around and around, laughing the whole time. Her mother turned to me and said her sixteen-year-old daughter had never held a boy’s hand before, so she accomplished two new things today. All in all, the day was an absolute gift. Cameron’s hands stayed out of his pockets and his smile remained glued to his face the rest of the day.

 

            Now you can enjoy my latest story about a girl who, through one individual error, changes the rest of her life called Humpty Dumpty.

The Write Woman Considers a Gun (260 Days to Graduate)

          

“Okay Ernie, I’m going to spin the wheel,” I say with the fingers of my other hand crossed behind my back for good luck. Bending over the platform, I grab the metal peg and give the wheel a whopping shove. Rotating a gazillion times the wheel finally comes to a halt on one hundred thousand dollars.

The audience roars and it’s no wonder. That’s quite a chunk of cash.

            Ernie could blow his nose with that much money without giving it a second thought. Still, he appears pleased with this bright yellow card for his contestant. He picks the triangular card up and hands it to me. “Okay, Rebecca. What is the next letter?”

            Looking at the game board on the wall with Peggy poised elegantly to the side as she pauses to readjust her bra that has dropped on one side, I think extra hard. “Is there an N?” I ask, half squinting my eyes, fearing it’s the wrong letter.

            “That’s correct!” Ernie announces as Peggy turns the final letter around in the word ‘gun.’ The room thunders with eagerness and the clapping is full of electricity.

            The cue cards flash that the show’s breaking for a commercial and then the lights on top of the cameras flash off. The conversation, however, continues.

“Peggy, did you know that in this country, anyone is allowed to own a gun of his or her choosing such as a Bushmaster .223-Caliber Assault Rifle without a special permit?”

            “No,” she says, placing her hand over her mouth. Her eyes blink huge with exaggeration. She strolls, using long strides, over to Ernie standing relatively close.

            “Let’s be honest, Peggy.” Ernie drapes his arm across her shoulders and she giggles a little. “If you could have any gun you want—any gun at all—which one would you want to have in your home for protection?”

            Rolling her eyes around as if she’s giving the question considerable thought, Peggy finally says, “I would want a great big cannon.”

            “Wait a minute,” Ernie answers pulling back and shaking his head in disbelief, “A cannon like they used in the war—the type that protrude from the side of a pirate ship—that kind?”

            “No, the kind that are high on the castle wall protecting the princess from the dragon and witches,” Peggy says, twisting her pose to the other side and smiling with her hands in the air in a giant V. “Besides, those Bushmasters are for shooting multiple targets at once, like the shooters at post offices, schools, and shopping malls. Why would private citizens need them unless they’re farmers overrun by a herd of crows?” She swings her arm in front of her face as if shooing away a fly.

            “Herd of crows?”

            “Of course I’ve heard of crows. I wasn’t born yesterday!” Peggy feigns ignorance and insult. “Something else I heard was that it’s time to get real with the wheel!” Jumping up and down she claps her hands wildly and the audience joins in. Turning on her heels, she meanders back toward the wheel.

            I pipe up. “Peggy, are you suggesting that private citizens don’t find it essential to use automatic weapons in their every day lives, as opposed to military or other guarded servicemen?”

            “That’s exactly what I mean.” Peggy stops and half turns, looking over her shoulder. “Ernie, speaking of military servicemen, did you hear the one about the CIA and their torturing methods? That’s a little confusing to me.”

          

    Ernie looks at me as if I will have the answer. Fortunately for him, I do. “Yes, their torturing methods are unconstitutional and too mean. They are searching for a way to get information without hurting their feelings. Maybe since they’re into positive reinforcement, they can offer them something useful for the information.” I tap a finger on my chin and turn my eyes to the ceiling, as if in thought.

            “Oh, we know that answer don’t we Peggy?” Ernie’s enthusiasm is amazing.

            Bending one knee, Peggy places a hand on her hip and one in the air—sort of like a teapot. “If they give a right answer, Ernie, we sent them home in a spanking brand new car!”

            The audience applauds with passion. Whistles break out from the back.

            “Seriously,” I say interrupting the cheers from enthusiasts, “If we can’t rely on our own government, what are we supposed to do, call some other country to come to our rescue?”

            “It won’t be Britain,” Ernie says with a smirk, “Unless they have a year to plan ahead. James Bond is that country’s number one defense, but the script has been hacked and the movie isn’t even ready to be released for a year.”

            “That’s Sony’s fault, not Britain’s,” Peggy says in Britain’s defense. “The Sony agents aren’t very smart at all, if you ask me. In fact, they are on the forefront to delivering another September eleventh U.S. catastrophe for Christmas.”

            “Hmm, that’s odd.” Ernie stares intently. “How can movie productions have enough clout to start a war?”

            “Well,” I say, “When the movie entitled The Interview is released, James Franco and Seth

Rogen can be credited for smearing our country’s name. The film insults North Korea, poking fun at their leader Kim Jong-un. While the aim may have been junior high level comedy, this isn’t a good time to point at North Korea and laugh. They’re considering pointing right back at us over this, unfortunately not with their fingers.”

            “Wow,” Peggy says, “I always thought Sony Pictures Entertainment was a big named movie producer with a lot of smart people running the place. Perhaps I could get a job there, Ernie.”

            “I’m not so sure that would be a good move,” Ernie says, tugging the bottom of his jacket down. “I don’t think they have a place for you, unless you took the letters on the board with you. I have a feeling Sony either needs to buy a lot of guns or admit they’ve had a good run and close up shop. It’s not looking good. In fact, their own employees are suing the company and say they've been plunged into an epic nightmare, much better suited to a cinematic theater than to real life.”

            Peggy’s eyes tear up. I remove a tissue from my purse and wave it at her. She receives the tissue and wipes her eyes. “Wow, Ernie. All those bright careers flushed down the tubes because of a few stupid people trying to make a buck from our country at the expense of our country. That’s messed up.”

            The director tells us the show is back on in three… two… one. The lights on top of the cameras light back up.

            “Did I win?” I hope the game is over because I’m growing uneasy standing around talking about this when I ought to be preparing for the war.

            “Yes you did,” Ernie says, pointing to the lit up numbers in front of me. “You’ve won seven-hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Not quite a million, but a far cry from what you started with.”

            “Thank you.” I smile, my eyes welling with tears.

           Peggy claps her hands and beams from ear to ear.

            Ernie directs the next question to me. “Can I ask what you’re planning on doing with all that money?”

            I look out over the faces in the audience and I see teachers, store clerks, college students, and a lot of futures that won’t matter until something changes. We still have so much to share.

“Guns for everyone,” I shout. “We’re going to need them!”

Now, if you’re considering a story that is a bit on the twisted side, you’ll want to read “Delilah in the Dark.” Make sure and express your thoughts after.

             

           

           

The Write Woman has Balls with 267 Days to GoI

            I didn’t plan on letting the cat out of the bag until I felt confident. That day is today. No, I’m not releasing some big secret about having a higher testosterone level than other women, although that’s probably true. I don’t feel it necessary to test until I grow a mustache and sideburns, but in my studies of discovering myself I found a new way to self heal and it’s so freaking incredible I’m going to share. It’s all in the balls—not the gonads.

            Speaking of gonads though, when I shared this information with my male friend, all I managed to get out was, “I have these little balls I use…” and was cut off by, “Ben Wa Balls?” As soon as I realized where the conversation was headed, I immediately interjected. “No, no, no!” Then I explained the purpose of Chinese Meditation Balls was to relax, not heighten a mood. On the days I don’t work out at the gym, I make it a point to participate in meditation. Boy does time fly! An hour seems like fifteen minutes. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m so deep into meditating, or I’m so excited to get away from real life. No matter the reason, time slowing down while I’m doing something good for myself is always welcome. Maybe I’ll get a set for him as a Christmas gift. I just hope his wife doesn’t find them and think they’re for her. Little kids in Walmart will follow her around searching for Santa’s reindeer.

           

Did you hear about some of the activities our youth are doing to promote giving for the holidays? It’s really too bad they’re leaving the adults in the dust when it’s the adults who should be teaching the kids. One teenaged boy gathered needy families’ information to provide turkeys for Thanksgiving. One little girl is making crocheted purses for families containing gifts so they can have Christmas this year. The fact remains that kids are setting the example. Anna, coincidentally the same name as the character in my story, sets a shining example.

At our house, we won’t be having a Christmas, so to speak, but I feel as if we’ve outgrown “The Season of Giving.” After all, shouldn’t we give every day? Instead we concentrate on all of the goodness we are grateful for, a little bit more than usual, and the time we have together. But in the season of giving, I certainly hope you enjoy my latest story called The Pouch.

So until you hear Santa’s bells ringing, I might suggest getting a set of meditation balls to soothe your mind and help you think more clearly. That’s what I’m doing and it’s working wonders!

The Write Woman Cries “It isn’t fair!” (268 Days Left)

          

  When men lose weight, the fact their girth is less is a good thing all over. When women lose weight, their stupid bodies choose where the weight will come off—breasts first, ass last. It’s a treacherous fact of life and for those increasing their health, it’s a crime. I work out between one and two hours a day, at least five days a week, and I’ve got a lot of butt to work off, but is that where the results are apparent? No sir! In school I was known as “Bubbles.” I naïvely thought my personality was the cause, but no such luck. Some say it was because of my breasts and others say it was because of my derriere. Either way, now I resemble a water cooler with bubbles on the inside—praying someone will refer to me as Bubbles because of my exuberant personality.

            Last weekend, my daughter and I took a hiatus and had a healthy junk food celebration of togetherness. We played a terrific round of “Cashflow for Kids,”by Robert Kiyosaki. Nikki caught on quick. We talked about investing and why spending money on items such as candy and toys isn’t usually a good idea. It was a ton of fun and we didn’t eat anything while we played.

            But Friday night we ate this terrific fruit platter with chocolate dip. I was even pretty good and didn’t dip too much. Then I pulled out the cashews and dipped my banana before adding nuts. Oh my gosh! I was in so much heaven, we didn’t even stop to eat our typical Friday night pizza. Instead we ate huge turkey Dagwood’s and watched Maleficent and a Scooby Doo Frankencreepy movie from Redbox. BTW, when you rent from Redbox and reserve it on the computer, your time starts from when you reserve it, NOT when you pick it up. I found out the hard way. What was my opinion of the movies? Since my children are easily frightened, they like mysteries to figure out without being so scared I need to walk to the restroom with them. I would give this show an eight star review.

            Maleficient? Eh, although Angelina Jolie is an outstanding actress, she just isn’t good enough to change from a long flowing dress to a black shiny unitard and then back again without the audience noticing. I also thought Elle Fanning is cute, but as Snow White? I’ve always pictured Snow White with skin as white as snow, lips as red as blood, and ebony black hair—a bit more than dark brown eyebrows. All in all, I was impressed with Isobelle Molloy as the younger Maleficent and have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot more of her in the future.

            This brings us back to what I was saying at the beginning of this article. Angelina Jolie has had a double mastectomy and still looks incredible. If I could afford the surgery—nah! I wouldn’t change a thing. But if my butt could somehow be shifted to my breasts, we’d be onto something. Maybe standing on my head would help? Gravity is having a tug on everything else.

       

     Speaking of artificially tweaking things, my daughter ate part of her apple last night and this morning I found it half-eaten on the table. Was it yucky brown in the center with the peel curling on the edges? No discoloration at all. Can you believe that? This scientifically enhanced food can’t be good for our bodies. So in honor of this discovery, I have written a story for you to enjoy. It’s called Beautiful Girl, after the Van Halen song. Remember that? Have a peek!

The Write Woman Succeeds (with only 273 days to go!)

...to boldly go where no man has gone before.

Okay, here's the lowdown on the showdown as far as The Write Woman is concerned. I finally found out I will be graduating next year. The road was arduous and long, but the financing went through for my final year. What that means is I will be set to graduate on my birthday next year, in 273 days. Yippee!

What else has happened since I wrote last you ask? That's a great question! First, I've written other blogs. This isn't my first rodeo. It's probably my most important though. I've been getting better as I go.

Speaking of getting better, my weightloss is going splendidly! I've lost fifteen pounds since I started exercising and I'm pretty stoked about that, but nobody's perfect. That means that no matter how gorgeous I get, or how much education I have, I'll never be perfect. But for the handsome prince who still searches for me, slow down there. I'm not quite finished. 

I've decided to move forward with becoming a substitute teacher. Sure, I needed to pay for a test and a background check, but I suppose that sort of weeds people out from the sincere to the ones of a passing phase. (It also weeds out the more intelligent from the um, not so able.) The materials took several days to go through, but I did it, arriving at the end with a score of 89.73%. I contemplated taking one of the tests again in order to gain that extra .27 percent, but decided I was being silly. After all, you only need a 70% to pass and I was nearly 90%, right?

So there's a lot going on in the news right now. Orion was supposed to be launched by NASA, but due to bad weather they've postponed the launch until tomorrow morning. But I've decided to take you to new heights with my own story, Mission Complete, in commemoration of the prepping for the historical event. Go ahead, enjoy a good read while you wait for the new discovery. You'll be glad you did!