The Write Woman sees an Acorn, but Hits a HUGE Ice Cap (35 Days to Go)

You know when you fight to get out of bed, because you have things to do, and dress in the dark? Later that day, you realize your underwear are inside out and need to change them in a public bathroom stall. I had a day like that—but worse. Sort of like that Scrat from Ice Age that cannot get the acorn no matter what he does.

As my son and I left Ant-Man the other day, a fantastic movie, I ran into a kiosk with a jolly young fellow named David who had a help-wanted sign prominently displayed on his cart of weightloss product. He was seeking a sales consultant to work part of his shift, because he was a one-man show. The product was great, but the only way to describe his technique was—inexplicably bad? He spoke way too much, flirted with women passing by (who were far from needing the product), mentioned negative features of the food court he was stationed next to, and committed a bounty of other faux paus, such as video taping without a signed release form. I mentioned these to him as observations and gave him a few quick pointers. Then the thought hit me! I’ve worked for the big names in sales—the guys who sell sales—men like Robert Kiyosaki, Jack Canfield, and others. This would be a piece of cake—without the fattening frosting—using my skills and techniques to boost the sales of this company that only had one sale within two weeks. Everyone would win, right? Yeah, right.

When asked to return, I dressed in business attire, packed up my computer so I could show him how I could create the video he suggested, how I can conduct meetings (because I do all the time), how I’m a whiz at creating brochures, etc. and my ability to utilize numerous extensive programs. Then I spent over 2 hours explaining that getting the product into the potential customers’ hands is key. I spoke of positive reinforcement, and when to listen instead of speaking. I suggested he give my information to the head CEO of the company in order to save their dying business—honestly. He smiled and then blew my mind. He invited me to work for him, 100% commission, at a mall kiosk. I chuckled and told him I would work with his sales team in training them, get an advertising scheme together, and could practically guarantee a huge productive increase if the owner contacted me, but I would not work under his supervision.

When I got home, my FB notified me that the sales rep had looked me up and wanted to be friends.  I had just spent two hours letting some guy build up the nerve to hit on me.

So at the end of the day, the ever-elusive acorn was much bigger than it seemed. I didn’t need to fix my underwear, after all—my T-shirt was on inside out after spending over two hours ironing it, so to speak. Have you ever experienced this tragedy? I could say my time would have been better spent at home watching Ice Age, but I learned a valuable lesson. Be cautious to whom I donate my time.

The Write Woman Kills her Kids for Fun (39 Days to Go)

The female light of my life's birthday

Before I go into our explosive weekend and how I killed my kids, I've gotta tell you it certainly wasn't an easy task. These kids are full of energy! If you've ever been a single parent, you understand how difficult keeping up with them when you have your own things to do. You'd think with being on my own for nine years I'd have a handle on it, wouldn't you? But in case you don't have kids, let me tell you a secret -- "You will learn as almost as much as each child," as long as you bother to teach them. Every child learns a varied way, with a distinct skill set and it's up to sleuthing parents to find out what that skill set is and use it to educate your child, all while balancing your own responsibilities at the same time.

My kids are virtually opposite of each other in every way imaginable, except their father's birthdays are five years and one day apart (27th and 28th of September), and both of their given names are nicknames (Dave and Dan). My kids' birthdays come almost exactly six months apart either way, with my son's in January and my daughter's in July, four and a half years apart. Pretty weird, right? Their fathers are opposite, though. One slaves outside in a 70+ hour a week job outdoors and will do anything for his kid. The other, a white collar worker, has chosen no contact at all. The reason I bring this up is by describing the differences between the two personalities I have to juggle at home. The good news, thank goodness, is that both of my children are brilliant, although my son is entering his teen years and finally believes me when I tell him I don't know everything. In fact, now I must prove I'm right half the time, so he'll listen. It wasn't always like that. When we went to Disneyland, Universal Studios, and California Adventure Park, they both listened well, thank Heaven. I even wrote a commercial for school concerning Universal Studios. Here it is:

Universal Studios Script

Video	Audio
EXPLOSION FILLS SCREEN	Sound of eruption
SMOKE CLEARS DISPLAYING UNIVERSAL STUDIOS LOGO/ “SECRET” STAMPS ACROSS THE FRONT IN RED	A trumpet plays a royal introduction and then Female VO “Hollywood has a secret.”
PAGE TEARS DOWN FROM UPPER LEFT CORNER TO SHOW FAMILIES ENTER THE PARK PAST THE UNIVERSAL STUDIOS GATEWAY W/EXCITEMENT. ONE FAMILY OF TEEN BOY, ELEMENTARY GIRL AND PARENTS, STANDS OUT.	Female VO continues. “You may have been to Universal Studios, but have you joined Universal Studios on a real set?”
“VIP” STAMPS YELLOW IN LOWER RIGHT	Female VO “Now you can with the VIP Universal Studio Exclusive Tour.”
PATRONS, INCLUDE OUR FAMILY, CLIMB OFF THE TROLLEY/ENTER SET. FEMALE SMILES @ PATRONS W/UPRIGHT SWISH OF HER PALM
A SCENE ROLLS WITH FIRE AND POLICE CARS SITUATED. PEOPLE RUN FROM THE BUILDING AS A BURST OF FLAMES ERUPTS.	Actors panicky scream until the director yells, “Cut! That’s a wrap, people.”
OUR FAMILY BOARDS THE TROLLEY DISHEVELED. HAIR POKES UP, FACES SMEARED WITH SOOT. CLOTHING WRINKLED AND TATTERED. THEY SMILE.
MODEL WAVES GOOD-BYE TO THE TROLLEY. FAMILY WAVES BACK AND THEN SMILES WIDE. KIDS GIVE EACH OTHER A HIGH FIVE.
CU OF MODEL TALKING	Model says, “Your life will never be the same.”
CU OF MODEL WINKING/SMILING	Music grows louder
BURST OF FLAMES SWALLOW PIC	Explosion

 And your kids will drain you. They expect you to keep up with their energy levels and then have enough left over to cook meals, clean house, go to their soccer games, and still do you job/attend school, etc. My daughter isn't happy that I refuse to date -- Ain't nobody got time fer dat!

It's my job, as a parent, to ensure she feels a lot of love for her birthday, because she is the one whose

Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs?

father has elected not to participate.  Her birthday was Friday, but her big brother had soccer games spread from 10 a.m. to 7:00 p.m., so alternatives needed to be made. Wednesday we went to the zoo. They've totally redone the whole thing and despite it's increase in size, with the setup and added foliage the atmosphere somehow gives a more personal experience.

My daughter's ice cream cake got picked up between the games. After the games on Friday, at 9:00 p.m. we went to a drive-in with a few soccer kids and saw Pixels (2015). And yes, the film was just as disappointing as it looked in commercials, but we had fun. We had our blankets and chairs out, stereos cranked, when one boy threw up a few times. Someone pulled in 3/4 of the way through the movie and parked right in front of us in a big truck. No one could see, so I walked up and politely explained this to the man, his wife, and little baby. Okay, I didn't explain it to the little baby. But he apologized and moved his truck. When I came back, the boys were saying, "What did you say?" My writing skills kicked in and I made up a terrible lie about how I threatened him. They thought I was cool for a second, until I told them the truth and wrapped it up with how violence doesn't solve anything. I believe I slipped a few notches on their deity ladder.

Yesterday, we spent our final birthday bash at Boondocks, a family game park. We got to do a lot of things I haven't done since the horrible car accident nearly a decade ago! We bowled, raced go-carts, played video games, experienced a game of laser tag, and Cameron got a gusher bloody nose when we miniature golfed. We had a blast! This is them after they went on the boats at night, shooting water pistols at each other.

... and I got to watch from a dry standpoint

You may be asking yourself how I killed my kids with love, as the title expresses. As denoted above, I'm not always 100% on the nose when I speak, so I can't say I've literally killed them. But I can say that it's after nine o'clock in the morning and they're still not up. I very well may have killed them with love. There's probably no better way to go. And the memories are forever -- that's not something you can ever buy at the store.

So as a single mother, sometimes it's necessary to pull out all the stops and say, "Screw it! We deserve a great time!" And then do it.

The Write Woman’s Plan B for a Type A Personality (42 days to go)

Real writers must thrive on rejection. Many people are curious as to all the parts coming together in the creation of a movie and where the writer fits in. I certainly don’t have time to get into all the credits, but I can tell you why the directors and producers gain most of the notoriety in creating the film over the writers. The basic concept of the film, after painstaking attempts to perfect it with numerous rewrites, resumes hashing by the aforementioned producers and directors when the writer finishes the creation. At this point, with the purchase complete, they can slice and dice the film however they see fit. While this concept stinks, and I’ll probably cry my eyes out after my first sale, that’s how the industry works. My goal consists of ensuring my vision takes over.

Speaking of visions taking over, I’ve been submitting to positions at such a ramped rate I haven’t even placed all of them in my spreadsheet. I get excited, I suppose. And the resume I submitted through school, after countless times of resubmitting over the course of over a month, has only had one hit. I went back and investigated the resume and found I have one semi-repetitive sentence, however I’ve come to discover my resume cannot be replaced without even more chatter to my less-than-cooperative liaison. This guy makes it a point to answer my emails just to talk down to me, I swear. Because of this waste of time I’ve already dedicated, in addition to searching on my own to no avail, I’ve decided to wad up the plans and start over. My phone number, I’ve tried like hell to keep private, has apparently gained submission onto several calling lists who continually call me offering sales positions; everything from posing as a food vendor at Costco to selling car wax at Sam’s Club. I’ve tried advertising agencies, but as soon as I walk in to see the young and hungry, working-out-for-my-lunch-break bodies, I understand I don’t belong. I’m a behind-the-scenes personality. So, until I can sell a screenplay, my future says I’ll continue substitute teaching. There are several reasons: I can still take grandma to her doctor’s appointments once a month; I can take the kids to their doctor/dental appointments without having to request time off; and the schedule suits me dedicating at least two hours a day to writing. This means I can work my ass off on Vermill!on Beach and submit it to various platforms. Of course I own the copyright, and will place it on my professional webpage when  I have an ample amount of samples perfected and placed, but here’s the logline:

After a century of cryonic sleep, a modern Joan of Arc finds herself leading a revolution against a tyrannical government—risking everything for future generations, if she can escape. 

Meanwhile, with tomorrow as my daughter’s ninth birthday, her option for a gift consists of an hour with a tortoise at the zoo. Go figure, but it’s her dream. Because her actual birthday isn’t until tomorrow, I’ve reserved a BR ice cream cake tomorrow night, and she’ll also receive a lovely pair of howling wolf earrings. Okay, they’re pretty inexpensive and purchased from eBay, but she’s a kid.

My son thrives as one of the star players on his soccer team, unhappy that his coach would prefer he be goalie because he wants to be out in the action. I told him if the rest of his team sucks, he’ll have plenty of action, right?

The Write Woman Creates “Tiffney meets Michelle” (57 Days Remaining)

Here’s a tidbit of information for those a bit unfamiliar with a recovering amnesiac -- in addition to forgetting what you may know with anterograde and retrograde amnesia, additionally there is no idea who you are—this includes the appropriate way to present yourself. Sure, you have work and “artifacts” surrounding you that you have touched or perhaps made, but these are all foreign to you now. This is a big deal for career searching, which is where I am with my graduation right around the corner. I’m just extraordinarily grateful I’m able to retain information enough to establish decent grades. I also write everything down out of habit.

Forgetting (July 24, 2007) Wikimedia

Immediately following the amnesia, I needed to work so I could support myself. Sure, I was staying with my family for a while, but I was an adult and needed to get out on my own. What does someone do for a living to pay the bills when unable remember anything? Art! Art is always from the point-of-view of the artist. Since my mother enrolled me in dance classes from the time I was four up through junior high, I figured I ought to get something out of it, so I did. I made good money at exotic dancing, too. My stage name was Tiffney Johansen. Tiffney was not at all like my Michelle personality, which is my actual name and the unyielding title I struggled to achieve, "Like unto God."

Growing up, Michelle was told when to eat, sleep, and hand over her babysitting money. My parents did nice things for me once in a while, but it never made up for what my expectations of myself should have been, as well as what I needed as a person from others. I was taught self-sacrifice to a fault. I was never taught fighting for what should have been mine, but punished for attempting it.

Galilla, (2014) Chaps, Flickr

As an entertainer it didn’t take me long to lose the church attire and throw on a sequined bra and panties. Along with a couple of drinks the first few times and a couple of animal print dresses I was a shimmering, yet clandestine, hit. I figured out that who I was onstage was whomever I decided to be, and people accepted my self-identification. Within a month my clothes were predominantly black leather and metal-heeled stilettos, occasionally with spiked chokers. I was a mean bitch that nobody messed with, including men. For a while, Jerry Nelson’s club Paradise didn’t have a bouncer so I handled all the discrepancies for my fellow dancers. I was a good enough dancer I competed in a Las Vegas dancing contest as Cat Woman. Even though I didn't win against the top national dancers and Canada's finest, I learned about the real work that goes into these competitions. What I learned more than that was that it was okay to not be reliant on men for everything. My mother had been wrong all these years. I could be independent after all. I gave up dancing after getting my wits about me and moved into a new line of “respectable” work—nearly a decade later.

Unfortunately when I changed back to my “normal” life, my normal instincts also returned. I again became reliant on men and soon married. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying I’m against relationships—I’m most certainly not. But what I am against is unhealthy relationships. Girls, you don’t need them to be complete. Get where you feel complete and then get into a relationship—don’t give someone you love an unfinished product. Feel complete and then grow even more in the same direction. Be able to be independent together after you're finished with your education.

The other day, I saw a televised show with Howie Mandel experiencing hypnosis, and my children and I discussed the process of how it works. No one can hypnotize people into doing things they normally wouldn’t do, but the hypnotist does something more powerful by speaking to the

Hypnotic Spiral (26, August 2014) Wikipedia

subconscious. This way, they’re re-emphasizing a thought or feeling that’s already in existence and pre-approved by the subject. The only reason I am aware of this is because in high school, I volunteered to be hypnotized, determined to prove his farce. After fully acknowledging to my friends that I was completely aware of what he expected, I waited for him to touch his tie. When he did, I recalled I was supposed to “jump out of my seat,” along with another kid. I also knew I wasn't about to be a laughing stock. As he spoke, he teased the audience by nearing his tie with his hand, but gathered chuckles of anticipation when he didn’t touch it. My friends waited with eager expectation, and staring at me. When he touched it, I knew I must remain in my seat because he had instructed me to feel a charge of electricity when he did. I held onto the arms of my chair, more eager than ever to outdo the entertainer. It didn’t work. I shot out of the chair as if tiny magnets above me pulled on my skin until my feet left the floor. Not at all painful, but absolutely a surge of extreme energy forcing me out of my seat.

Now you’re probably wondering what the hell stripping, relationships, and hypnosis have in common? At the risk of sounding self-centered, they all have me in common. I’ve decided in order for the success I deserve to be granted, I need to change my personality to the strong and durable Tiffney the exotic dancer, and Michelle the loving mother, into cerebrally diverse MJ, the reinforced and confident mentor. Besides the amnesia clearing my mental slate I have new tools I can use to redefine myself now. Please don’t misunderstand me, the 20-some odd years it’s taken to recuperate, if given a choice, is absolutely not the worthy of the mental hell I’ve been through. I’m definitely more respectful of the no-holds-barred personality I’ve become due to the tragedy—and believe me when I say it was a tragedy. Starting all over when your mind can't grasp anything isn't a good time.

I’m too advanced in age to spare time in making errors now. So what I’ve done is ordered a book entitled, “E-Squared: Nine Do-It-Yourself Energy Experiments that Prove Your Thoughts Create Your Reality.” Although there are skeptics out there, because there always are, I’ll let you know what my results are after I read the book and begin processing myself. Out of 2,689 reviews, Pam Grout's book receives 4 ½ stars, which is noteworthy. It should arrive soon! (Trying, unsuccessfully, to hide my enthusiasm.) Perhaps one day I'll make a movie about this, but it's highly unlikely as grasping the reality is far to frustrating for me still.

Meanwhile, my daughter and I went to see Inside Out the other day and it was pretty cute. I got a little bored, but then I’ve already lived the growing up lessons displayed. Still it was great recognizing the voices of the characters from shows I’ve seen. She's eight and she totally loved it! This weekend we’re going to see The Minion Movie. If you’d care to see the reviews of the newer movies, always check my LinkedIn site; for older shows you can refer to my Friday Night Reviews page.

The Write Woman Distinguishes between a Job and a Career (64 days left)

Make a list of all you have to offer a company

Believe it or not, there are people who apply for employment and never consider turning any position down. They’re thrilled that someone would be willing to take them under their wing and pay them. Sounds sad, but I used to be one of those people, even when I had skills up the wazoo! The thing is, because I didn’t have a formal education, I never considered it worth mentioning because I assumed everyone else probably has the same skills. Untrue! Now I understand that even before my university education, I still knew more than most people about computers. I worked several years for a computer company named Packard Bell before they went under and became Compaq. This introduced me to the process of the motherboard, RAM, hard drives, ROM, etc. and the functions of them before I even owned a computer. Now consider I’ve worked in a daycare, as an exotic dancer, as a construction worker, dump truck and even over-the-road, all the while meeting and talking to different people. This isn’t even touching on teaching, giving presentations and writing, mind you, all learned as I made my way through life. I am a curious person. (Meaning I’m a dabbler in things, not necessarily I am weird.)

Yesterday I had a few job interviews, but with one of them, I was pretty proud of myself after. I drove an hour and a half to get there, dressed professionally and felt confident. The school was an academically acclaimed arts elementary and junior high with a focus on the theater, music, etc. in high school. Yeah! The perfect way to meet people in “the business,” right? Not to mention the possibility of casting my own creations with sets, etc.

The parking lot was huge. The inside had the appearance of a receiving room with a built-in desk and plastic chairs lining the walls, and curious scuffs across the walls and floor. I figured since school wasn’t in session, they were probably in the midst of cleaning. I met the

How many words in a lifetime can one type?

interviewer who led me through to her office. In passing all the rooms, I found them in the same dilapidated condition. This sort of confused me because summer is half over, but I followed her into a small room where a woman sat in front of her desk with her laptop propped up on it, typing away. She was dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, matching the woman I’d followed, like daycare workers. I was informed they currently share an office.

The interviewer asked me what computer knowledge I have. I described a few basic programs such as MS Word and explained I have presentation skills if they ever come across a time where they may need them, as well as film experience. Both women laughed, and then she asked me if I understood data entry. “I can type about 55 wpm,” I said, “I’m a little rusty, but I’m sure it will come back to me. I’m used to writing whatever’s on my mind.” The expression of confusion and the tilt of her head made me think we were speaking different languages. Then I found out we were when she said, “Speed doesn’t really matter, as long as you know data entry. You know, when you look at a form and copy the words into the computer? You don’t need to be smart.” I sat for a moment, my furrowed brows were closing in on my cheeks as my eyes shifted. I could feel it. Her eyes burrowed into mine and she said, “I don’t really get computers and all that other stuff you’re talking about.”

“Yes,” I said, losing my affirmation of all the hopes and dreams I came into the building with just moments before, “I can type.” My mind was asking my feet why they weren’t creating a new 440 dash in high heels record, although there is an actual world record set for such a “feet.” Get it?

So people, don’t sell yourself short. Even if you don’t have the education you deserve yet, take the information you have and be proud enough of it not to sell yourself short. I drove the hour and a half home, sad I had wasted so much gasoline, but wondering if it had been wasted after all. This was the first time I’d laughed, climbing into my car, after an interview, because someone out there is still waiting for me to contact him/her with an alert to my availability and prowess. Now, I just need to keep the search on. You don’t deserve a job, you deserve a career.

As my hero Gru from Despicable Me says, “That’s what I’m talking ‘bout!”