Circumstance Confession.

January 26, 2022 by The Clogged Drane

Today is January 26. It’s my Dad’s birthday. Today is also 17 days since my Mom died. I haven’t actually been counting, I had to look at my iPhone’s calendar and do the math.

For the last few days, I haven’t done much aside from making my bed every morning per the usual, actually showering each night, like a hygienic human should, and binge-watching Girls on HBO Max, for the second time around, starting with Season 1, Episode 1.

I haven’t been going to the gym. I’ve been eating way too many carbs. I pretty much wear the same black leggings every day. Alas, I haven’t completely let myself go. Thank God I’m just crazy enough to need normalcy in the form of spatial tidiness (bed making) and self-cleanliness (bathing). That seems like a massive win to me, under the circumstances.

Right now, I’m watching Girls, Season 2, Episode 6. Actually, I have it on pause, and I’m just staring at an empty paper plate next to me on the couch, with the sad remnants of runny apple sauce from one of those kid’s snack pack individual cups, because it was the only apple sauce I had in my fridge that wasn’t moldy from being opened once and never used again. I was actually grateful we had the snack packs of just plain apple sauce and not one of those stupid flavored ones that I always buy because my kids prefer them, i.e. strawberry, peach mango, or blueberry; because, let’s be honest, who wants to ever eat potato pancakes without apple sauce? I tell you, not this girl. I don’t consider myself plain, boring, or basic, but it’s definitely how I prefer my apple sauce when eating latkes.

I forgot to mention, today, as I continue to pathetically rewatch Girls, I decided to eat mini potato latkes. With applesauce. I don’t really know why I even had mini potato latkes in my freezer. Clearly, a wild hair, impulse purchase from the frozen food section at Publix at some random point in time. I mean, I like potato pancakes, but it’s still weird to me that I actually had some on hand. Nonetheless, it was a thrilling find in my freezer drawer. Another win, if you will.

Maybe subconsciously I felt inspired to eat them today, because it’s my Dad’s birthday, and he too, likes potato pancakes with apple sauce. He loves them. This snack choice, lunch option, eating out of boredom behavior, it just seemed right for the day. The proverbial clanking of latkes just seemed apropos.

Happy Birthday, Daddy.

I miss you, Mom.

Ironically, as I sit here typing this, my Bible app decided to throw me a verse of the day on my iPhone. It read: Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses. -1 Timothy 6

I feel like I have done absolutely that, these last 17 days; maybe longer, actually – fighting the good faith. Abiding in the word, by faith, despite the circumstances. Never mind my mental and emotional comeuppance. And yet, here I am, in my good confession of semi-shame in binge-watching a comedy-drama series about trying to make sese of life (for the second time) all the while, trying to make sense of my life and living without my Mom, while still wishing my sweet Dad the happiest of birthdays.

But true confession, my witnesses, happy is hard to find at the moment.

Firm Foundation.

January 1, 2020 by The Clogged Drane

Photo by Olga on Pexels.com

It’s January 1st in the new year of 2020.

2020. It’s a good looking year, visually speaking. Balanced and très chic, in my humble opinion. As silly as it sounds, I like looking at it. I like writing it. I even like saying it. But, beyond the surface, looking past its printed poise, numeral know-how, and enunciated elegance, it is the very first day of a NEW year, and there is something so wonderful and hopeful in all of the newness.

I love January 1st… the clean slate, a fresh start, the excitement of what’s to come, every high hope for the days ahead, and all of the other romantic clichés that go along with starting a new year.

I usually set new year’s resolutions with the rest of the first-world, but this year I’m approaching things a little differently.

As I was driving to Orange Theory (my fitness center) this morning, to workout and work-off all of the holiday indulgence, out of nowhere, I was overcome with this immense feeling of joy and gratitude, and very oddly, an overwhelming sense of peace. I was smiling and joyful, but I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Everything was going to be great! Everything was going to be wonderful! This new year IS going to be great and wonderful. I don’t want to use words like magical or remarkable, but those are the words that I felt at my core when I was overtaken with these many emotions. The tears were flowing over all of these sweet feels, and yet, my eyes saw the passing world around me so clearly. Like, visually clear, which is poignant here, because side note, I’ve been having eye/contact lens issues for the last month, and my sight has not been exactly clear, focused, or to my liking. But even through the tears, everything seemed so incredibly and remarkably clear. Literally and figuratively.

So I am driving to the place where I have every intention of improving my physical health, which is by no means at its prime at the moment, and because of that, I feel lacking in many ways; but despite not feeling my best, physically, I began to think about my foundation and my roots, and I was overcome with such gratitude. I started to cry, again. And then I started thinking about the seeds that I want to plant, in myself, in my children, and in others. The tears came harder. And I started to think about the life of impact that I want to live and nurture, and the legacy of love that I eventually want to leave behind. It’s crazy how happy, joyful tears of gratitude can be so emotionally overwhelming, but I was truly overwhelmed.

And then, like some sort of divine crescendo, a song came on the radio called “The Bones” by Maren Morris and the lyrics began to speak to me in my moment of sheer thanksgiving and clarity. I love when songs speak to me. I love when God speaks to me through music. It happens a lot. This seems to be one of the ways I discern His word well, and clearly He knows this, so He uses it.

If you’ve never heard this song, the lyrics go like this:

We’re in the homestretch of the hard times
We took a hard left, but we’re alright
Yeah, life sure can try to put love through it, but
We built this right, so nothing’s ever gonna move it

When the bones are good, the rest don’t matter
Yeah, the paint could peel, the glass could shatter
Let it rain ’cause you and I remain the same
When there ain’t a crack in the foundation
Baby, I know any storm we’re facing
Will blow right over while we stay put
The house don’t fall when the bones are good

This year (both in and out of church) I heard a lot about the foundation of one’s faith. When your foundation is strong, nothing can break you.

²⁴“Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock. ²⁵Though the rain comes in torrents and the floodwaters rise and the winds beat against that house, it won’t collapse because it is built on bedrock.”-Matthew 7:24-25

I wouldn’t say my foundation (up to this point) has been built on sand, but it hasn’t exactly been on bedrock either. I was given a very good (faith) foundation in childhood – thank you, Mom! And despite choosing to walk away from a daily walk for many years, my spiritual foundation always remained intact, just waiting for me to return.

Over the last 13 years or so, I have been more consistent with my walk, and reaffirming, renewing, and strengthening my foundation. I want it solid. It needs to be solid. I will definitely have setbacks, and the floodwaters will rise and the winds will beat hard, but I am not crumbling or collapsing, and I do not intend to, so there is peace and hope in that truth.

“The house don’t fall when the bones are good.”

This year, in 2020, I want to be the BEST me. I always want to be the best me, but this year, I want my FOUNDATION to be the strongest and the BEST it can be. That’s where my new year’s resolution approach is a bit different from past years. I’m not resolving to individually: eat healthy, exercise consistently, lose weight, be more patient with my children, be kinder to myself, love others, seek and focus on the good… etc. Sure, I want all of those things, but this year my focus is my foundation. I am committing to my spiritual FOUNDATION, and I know that everything else on my “life list” will be firm in that foundation, too!

And therein lies my joy, my hope, my gratitude, and my peace.

Thank you, Jesus!

¹¹For no one can lay any foundation other than the one already laid, which is Jesus Christ. –1 Corinthians 3:11

How and Char

February 14, 2019 by The Clogged Drane

Today is Valentine’s Day. Most of you already know this.

Today is also something else. My grandparent’s wedding anniversary.

This year is the first year my Gram is spending her anniversary without her beloved. My sweet Pop passed away last May, and I was reminded of their deeply-rooted love when she told us all how angry she was, because they were “supposed to go together.” He wasn’t supposed to leave her. She said they made a promise to each other.

That’s true love, friends.

My precious Gram is mostly bedridden now and her memory is certainly not what it once was. Presently, she may have moments of not even knowing he’s gone. Her beautiful mind fails her most days and ironically, I grew up with her always sarcastically, but humorously (in truth) saying, “Your mind is the worst thing you can lose!”

I definitely do not want to come off as a downer on Valentine’s Day, because I very much appreciate a day that in totality, celebrates love. This may seem like a sad memory, but it’s really not. Every Valentine’s Day, I think of my grandparents, married on this very day. Such a sweet sentiment. Such a sweet memory. And they were married for well over 65 years! I wish I knew exactly how many years they were married… I think it even borders on 71 or more! I’ll have to ask my Dad the next time I talk to him.

My Pop is now gone, their anniversary is a mere memory, but I will still think of them on Valentine’s Day, for the rest of my life. Even when my Gram is no longer in this world, this day, is their day.

My grandparents were the epitome of LOVE. Ohhhhhh, through the eyes of an adoring granddaughter. I always thought it was so romantic that they were married on a day that celebrates love.

I, myself, love LOVE. I love everything about it. And I love that I have my grandparents’ love, and their long and loyal marriage to dwell on during this day that so many deem silly and sometimes even unnecessary. You don’t have to have a Valentine to celebrate LOVE. Just celebrate it! Every single day, in every single way. Love is all around us.

I miss my Gram. I miss my Pop. I miss them, together. Especially, today.

Thinking of them with immense love, admiration, and appreciation.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

So, there’s that.

January 17, 2019 by The Clogged Drane

selective focus photography of jelly beans on jar

Photo by Graham Walker on Pexels.com

Sometimes, I just want to smoke a cigarette. In my own house, and not give a shit about who knows or who finds out, or what they’ll think, if anything at all. When this happens, it usually feels like some awkward, little secret chance that I’m not willing to take in the moment. Why do I even care? But maybe even more than that, I don’t want to worry about the actual after. What horrible smells will remain on my walls, curtains, and carpet. Not to mention my clothes, hair, and hands. I mean, one cigarette isn’t going to permeate my home or self with permanent evidence or damage, but let’s be honest, it stinks. Literally and figuratively. Nobody likes to smell bad, especially me. And while I’m being honest, it probably wouldn’t be just one cigarette. It would probably be two or three, and eventually, the entire pack. In this very moment, without a single cigarette in my possession, the want is great enough that I am actually able to physically feel the cigarette between my fingers, and taste the tobacco on my tongue, and feel my slow exhale of smoke into the air, and even with that said, I truly hate the aftermath of cigarettes. No regret, just the inconvenience. So why even run this ridiculous scenario through my head? Because it’s often just there, in my mind, looming and lurking. Because sometimes, I just want a damn cigarette.

I love my home. The creature comforts of my environment. I feel safe, in every sense of the word. Not always content, but most of the time, secure. I guess some would call me a homebody. Okay, maybe nobody would call me that, but I would. Not proudly. I have pride in my home and pride in who I am, just not the fact that I’m a self-proclaimed homebody. I mean, I love adventure. I love to visit new places. I love new experiences. Yet, I am often comfortably restless, here, in my safe space. It is a feeling of familiarity in feeling numbingly stagnant, here, at home. Yet, I often don’t want to go anywhere. Like today. I love the idea of jet-setting. I love the idea of spontaneous circumstances and to some degree, reckless abandon. Even still, while I wish I wouldn’t, I pass on free bird opportunities more often than I care to admit. I am a genuine, stay-at-home gypsy.

I am definitely a daydreamer. Always have been. And as the rest of the saying goes, I’m also a night thinker. Not by choice. My mind rarely shuts off. I think that’s common, though. We live in a nutty, wonky world. Someone has to think about everything, right? Might as well be me, in the safety of my own, loosely speaking, rational mind. However, if I could pour out my head’s own craziness right here, in front of you, like a spilled jar of jellybeans, or something in a similar vein of fun, messy, and colorful, you’d see untapped creativity and self-ignored ideas by the dozens. There would be piles of genuine passion, love, and hope. Waning wisdom, wavering faith, unfaltering aspirations, whimsy, wit, absurdity, and unconventional thoughts and theories. Taboos, too. I’m all over the place and my dropped jar of countless jellybeans would be absolutely everywhere. I bet it would overwhelm you the same way that it overwhelms me, every day.

Trapped in a fog most days, unable to concentrate on any one thing, everything is important to me. Everything is like a relentless and demanding lover. Not everything has value, nor should it, and yet, everything is a personal worry of mine. Everything is all-consuming. Everything takes hold of me, tightly. Everything; from dust to death. It is all falsely on the same level of importance. It commands my attention all the same. Not really, but it certainly feels that way on a very molecular level. This proverbial “everything” scale is balanced with untruth and irrational fear. Rational me knows that death is far from dust and should not elicit time, thought, or worry, however, both stir up a discomfort and struggle within my being. The struggle is real, well beyond a reasonable boundary. It’s me, not you.

Granted, a cigarette is not the cure, but a mere distraction. Distractions welcomed? Meh. It sounded like a good idea before it joined the rest of the jellybeans scattered on the carpet that currently does not smell like cigarette smoke, thank goodness. So, there’s that.

Believe in the greater good. Part 2.

September 25, 2018 by The Clogged Drane

Yesterday’s post wasn’t just a soapbox rant. It was very real. Today, it’s very raw.

You know what? I didn’t tell because I was afraid. I was embarrassed. I had been made to feel like it was somehow my fault. There was shame and a sense of immense loss, and often confusion. Why me?

I was threatened not to tell or else. And the “or else” believe it or not, almost seemed worse.

I was taken advantage of by a caretaker. (Outside of my family.) Statistically, it’s rarely a stranger. But in the end, it’s all the same. Family, friend, colleague, stranger, whoever… there is no difference, because a gross violation of my body and being had been committed. He was a perpetrator. And I was his victim. End of story.

I felt that it would all just eventually go away. But you know what? The assault may have ended and the vicious cycle may have stopped, but it NEVER truly went away. Abuse lives on in so many unexpected ways, often for a lifetime.

And not just for girls. All the same applies to women. Grown, adult women. I was 6, but whether you’re 16, 36 or 66, it does not matter… sexual assault is NEVER OK. And whether 6 hours, 6 days, 6 months, or 37 years have gone by since the crime occurred…it’s NEVER TOO LATE TO TALK ABOUT IT. Do not overlook, disregard, or disrespect me if I decide that NOW is the time to speak up. It’s not for you to judge. Not even a little.

I wore those heart-wrenching shoes, so DO NOT even try to decide what is right or appropriate for me, as a victim that experienced such a painful, unwanted, life-changing walk.

Somewhere, sometime, a piece of crap person got away with destroying my innocence and stealing my right to speak up and speak out about my pain. Past or present…it should not matter. SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!

Whether my silence was an intentional choice or a cowardly threat, I am a victim that was shrouded in secrecy and pain, that needed support…and yes, belief.

Yesterday, today, tomorrow… I believe.

And I believe in the greater good!

Believe in the greater good.

September 25, 2018 by The Clogged Drane

Photo by Designecologist on Pexels.com

With the whole #BelieveSurvivors movement happening right now and a timely court case that I had to briefly listen to this morning at jury duty – a criminal, sexual assault case involving a young child and an adult man, which thankfully I was not chosen for – I felt compelled to write this out. It’s a bit of a soapbox rant, but it was on my heart and I thought it was worth sharing.

You know what? Girls don’t tell because they’re afraid. They’re embarrassed. They’ve been made to feel like it’s somehow their fault. There’s shame and a sense of immense loss, and often confusion. Why me?

Some have even been threatened not to tell or else. And sometimes the “or else” believe it or not, almost seems worse.

Some have been taken advantage of by a supposed loved one or trusted influencer or caretaker. Statistically, it’s rarely a stranger. But in the end, it’s all the same. Family, friend, colleague, stranger, whoever… there is no difference when a gross violation of another human being has been committed. They’re all perpetrators. And the girls are victims. End of story.

Some girls merely feel that it will all just eventually go away. But you know what? The assault may end or the vicious cycle may stop, but it NEVER truly goes away. Abuse lives on in so many unexpected ways, often for a lifetime.

And not just for girls. All the same applies to women. Grown, adult women. Whether you’re 6, 16, 36 or 66, it does not matter… sexual assault is NEVER OK. And whether 6 hours, 6 days, 6 months, or 6+ years have gone by since the crime occurred…it’s NEVER TOO LATE TO TALK ABOUT IT. And it should never be overlooked, disregarded, or disrespected if a woman does decide to speak up. It’s not up to us to judge. Not even a little.

Unless you’ve ever walked in those heart-wrenching shoes, DO NOT even try to decide what is right or appropriate for any victim that has experienced that painful, unwanted, life-changing walk.

Somewhere, sometime, a piece of crap person got away with destroying a girl’s innocence and stealing a woman’s right. And so it appears, a right to speak up and speak out about past pain. Past or present…it should not matter.

Whether silence was an intentional choice or a cowardly threat, there is still a victim shrouded in secrecy and pain, that needs support…and yes, belief.

It’s disgusting, the support of “smear campaigns” and “statute of limitation” that I’ve been reading, and the sheer dismissal of a female’s absolute right to talk about her experience at any point she feels necessary. It’s not for any of us to judge or further silence.

We live in a lost and divided world. I honestly cannot get over the amount of justification people will do or say to support their own ideology or worse yet, what people will do or say to defend their side, because God forbid they display even an inkling of “the other side’s” ideology. It’s not that black and white. It’s not about Republican and Democrat. It’s not about Conservatives and Liberals. That false divide is what’s killing this country.

Humanity! It’s about being decent human beings. It’s about loving yourself and loving others. It’s about community and goodwill. It’s about self-respect and being respectful of others. But pride seems to be the ultimate divide these days. And I’m not talking about honorable pride of country or of nation. I’m talking about self-pride, which is ugly and damaging.

It’s ok to disagree. It’s even ok to agree with someone you disagree with. There’s no shame in that! But don’t choose disbelief of another or shame another, just because we don’t understand them. We’ve never walked in their shoes. We don’t know their truth. Heck, we may barely know our own?!

I, personally, believe that if we each live our own truth, that’s a great start.

The truth will always prevail! I defiinitely believe that.

Live your truth and let others live theirs, however that looks. Believe in the greater good.

Believe what you say.

April 15, 2016 by The Clogged Drane

heart bubble I had to share this. I just had to. I think you’ll understand why.

Yesterday I went to the doctor, again, but it was completely unrelated to what has been ailing me since January. Over the last three weeks, I have been suffering with some pain in/under my left armpit and yesterday, I began to experience numbing and tingling in my left arm and hand, so you can imagine what was going through my head, especially after google searching “left arm pain and tingling.”

**NOTE TO SELF: STAY OFF THE INTERNET AND AVOID SELF-DIAGNOSIS!!!!

While I hesitated to go to the ER (I have ZERO faith in our local ER) I decided in the last second to head to the walk-in clinic, instead, which was right around the corner. I felt confident in my decision and in the end, it was the right one and it saved me $130, possibly more! And in the end, it was fine. I saw a really great, kind and understanding doctor. (Those are few and far between.) And long story short, everything is OK. For now. But over the last several months, I’ve been to the doctor more than I ever have. They are still trying to sort out exactly what is going on with me internally. I’m a medical enigma at the moment. My doctors are perplexed, as I am passing all of my tests, and my labs and scans are coming back normal, with little abnormalities, and so for that, I’m eternally grateful, but I still don’t know what it is making me feel so bad on the inside. And any little thing (ailment) that pops up in the meantime is magnified, because I can only wonder is it coincidence or is it related to what’s going on with me already? I just don’t know? So the panic sets in.

As a result of everything, I’ve been reflecting a lot lately.

What’s it all mean? (The big question, right?!)

Since having children, I’ve thought more about my mortality than ever before. Having young children, I fear death greatly. I know that we will all die one day, but just like almost every living person on this planet, I’m not ready. I’m not done. I want to be here, in this life, to see my girls grow up and have families of their own. I want to be here, for them, through everything and anything that life throws their way, because they NEED me and I NEED them. I am in constant prayer to keep them safe. I so desperately want to grow old with the man that I married and get wrinkly, gray and ornery with him and only him! I am in constant prayer to keep him safe, too. I can see our future. I can! My most beloved treasure, here on this earth, is my husband and my children. And my utmost need, in this life, is to be here with my family, to love and be loved. It’s all that matters, really. And because I am a firm believer that your greatest desire will come to be, so long as it is in line with His greater plan, I am confident that I will be here, for a long, long time. I pray for this, too. It’s just that the doubt creeps in and takes hold. It’s a strong grip sometimes.

My hope and faith is important, no doubts there, it just doesn’t change that fact that we really have no way of knowing what our life will bring each day or if we are even promised tomorrow. I can only hope and believe it to be so. I can only hope and believe that it all aligns with His grander plan for me. And for my family.

I left the doctor yesterday, somewhat relieved, but still scared. I know that may seem silly, since my appointment was overall, reassuring. I was not having a heart attack! I just can’t help how I feel, you know? And feeling crappy, physically, hasn’t exactly helped with the mental or emotional components. They all have to work together to fight the fear. FEAR. Fear really has beaten me down these last few months, if I’m being completely transparent here. It dwells within me, nonstop. It consumes me, when it shouldn’t. I have faith, I believe, but fear trumps that sometimes and I don’t know why?

As I was driving home, trying to pep talk myself into just believing that I WILL GET THROUGH THIS, even after hearing yet another doctor tell me, it’ll be ok… I doubted. DOUBT is the worst thing, ever!!! (Worse than cilantro!)

Then a song came on the radio. I was driving my husband’s car and he has his radio set to WAY FM (a local Christian radio station) and this song that I had never heard before played… and it was beautiful. And I felt every line was being sung directly to me, in that moment, like a loved one that was simply trying to calm, reassure and encourage me. And as a person that is (and was) fearing haunting, paralyzing thoughts of mortality, to hear the line, the song lyric: “Because your story’s far from over and your journey’s just begun” meant more to me in that moment than 4 doctors’ continued reassurance. Truly.

I bawled the whole way home. Tears were just flooding my face and I could barely see straight. You see, days leading up to yesterday, I’ve prayed a lot, apologizing to God, for my lack of faith. For not trusting Him, completely. I mean, I do, trust Him, but I’m also human. I worry with the best of them. But despite the fear, I really do continue to give daily praise and thanks, despite feeling like my world is falling apart at times, because really, I’m here. I’m alive. And THAT is exactly where and what I want to be! I already have that. So why the blubbering?! If only it were that easy. As a result, there’s been a lot of self evaluation going on, too, which is good.

When I got home last night, I was telling my husband about the song, but I forgot to look it up online, because my night was cut short. I was struck by such a severe panic attack. I was convinced I was having a heart attack, based on my earlier symptoms and the new ones that came upon me so suddenly after returning home. My husband was so wonderful and understanding, trying to calm me with his mere presence and touch. He just listened and responded as needed. I was a crazy lady, lost in crazy thoughts. So much so, that I was afraid to go to sleep, worried that I would not wake up.

We talked about life. God. Heaven. My fears. Worst case scenario for me and our family. It was all very stressful, and very scary, but my husband felt it was necessary. And it was. Peace can rise from fear.

I eventually fell asleep. And today, I feel alright. I’m taking some meds for the pain in my arm, which was diagnosed as a pinched nerve of some sort. (The doctor used a fancy medical term, but I’ll just call it a pinched nerve.) Stress and fear does some gnarly things to your body. I’m living proof. Just trying to breathe easy and stay grounded, today.

This afternoon, I finally had a moment and looked up the song that I heard yesterday in the car. I didn’t know who sang it or even the title. I simply did a google search for the line that stuck with me: “Because your story’s far from over and your journey’s just begun” and I found it.

It’s called, “Tell your heart to beat again” and it is sung by Danny Gokey, whom I loved and watched on American Idol several years ago.

I clicked on the first link that I saw and there was a video of Danny telling the story BEHIND the song. Ahhhh, so much more beautiful than I could have imagined and so perfect, for the moment. Everything has been like this lately. *Signs. Little signs, out of the blue, when I need them most. And I joked with my husband that it’s God telling me to cut the crap, because He really has given me ample “signs” that everything is going to be alright, yet I still doubt.

I really need to cut the crap. And cut the doubt. I do. I know this.

I shared a lot here, my thoughts were a bit all over the place, but it was important for me to get it all out. Writing has always been therapeutic and cathartic for me. And if you read this far, the main thing I want you to take away is: 1) watch the video in the attached link below and listen to Danny’s story 2) listen to the song that completely touched my heart and blew me away yesterday, and 3) BELIEVE, because HE is with us all. Always. He is seeking you, so seek Him, too!

Oh, and another *sign… TODAY…my April 15^th Jesus Calling devotional read (among other poignant and speakable truths) “Say yes to the ways I work in your life. Trust Me and do not be afraid.”

YES!!!!

Just cut the crap, Jenny… CUT. THE. CRAP!

I BELIEVE that my story is far from over and my journey has just begun.

Here’s the link to the video: Tell Your Heart To Beat Again by Danny Gokey

Golden Glory {full of holes}

February 24, 2015 by The Clogged Drane

Let’s talk Academy Awards 2015.

So I missed last night’s Oscars Red Carpet arrivals, because I was working a local consignment sale here and decided to run a few errands afterwards, since I was sans children. {Rare and joyful times for this Momma.} But after arriving home, kids already in bed, sitting down for a quick dinner with my Hubbs, releasing the internal demons, and changing into some comfy clothes, I was snuggled up on my couch, in time to start my DVR, being only 30 minutes behind the live show.

While a half hour doesn’t seem like much, I was VERY behind my girlfriends and their Facebook banter of the night’s ballyhoo. (Four of us had agreed to live chat our Oscars comments and observations back and forth to each other via Facebook messenger, since we were unable to get together for a real, face to face, Oscars shindig this year. We thought a live chat would be the next best thing, aside from an old school party line, to share the night’s excitement and all the buzz/cringe-worthy moments together.) Facebook messaging and live chatting… it’s the 2000’s, people. It’s what we (dare I say, middle-aged) Mommas do.

So I was a bit behind in current events and my girls were typing fast and furious. As was I, actually, but just shy of being on trend and in their wheelhouse. It was a message thread that just kept coming and going, and going and coming. I wanted to be current. My brilliant commentary of already seen show moments were being lost in the rapid fire of exchange. Every back and forth was filled with lots of sass, humor, wittiness, some choice language, and lots and lots of Facebook emojis and emoticons, and I needed to be on the same page as everyone else. It was dire. So being the team player that I am, at the urging of my girly-girls, I fast-forwarded through the show to live time, with the intent of watching the missed portion at a later date. (Like, immediately the next morning.) I’m a good friend like that… choosing to now sit through the monotony of commercials and the litany of award show lulls that I would typically fast forward through on the DVR, all for the sake of friendship and personal entertainment. (First world problems, right?) But my position of being current in time was absolutely necessary for a cohesive {live time} commentary and of course the ridiculous, girlfriend, sidebar conversations between the four of us.

Here is some of my commentary from last night’s Oscars show. Would you agree?

I’m over song intros. I can’t believe musical theatre lover me is admitting this in such a public forum, but it’s true. Sorry, NPH, you didn’t do it for me. I’ve seen better.
Gone Girl lady’s red dress was gorge! (The first one I really got to see, having missed the red carpet arrivals.) I know Joan would have approved, too!
Oprah’s boobs wore their own dress to the show. Wowza! I couldn’t really see her behind her girls.
Lady Gaga was wearing a dollar store wig, much like the one that I bought my 7-year-old daughter. Gaga really does have terrible taste in wigs. (If that’s even a thing.)
I hated Lupita’s (Nyong’o) dress. It looked like she crafted it with supplies bought at Claire’s. A mall store, craft nightmare.
14 minutes into the show I was already bored, sadly. I love the Oscars. I mean, I love them and I look forward to it every year. I’m a Hollywood entertainment junkie and as a friend of mine described it so perfectly last night in her Facebook status, “It’s my Super Bowl!” I would absolutely agree with that statement, normally. But last night, it very quickly (too soon) turned into more like my Snoozer Bowl.
Liam Neeson was dressed like a shadow.

{At this point I fast-forwarded to catch up to the live broadcast}

Not sure who the person was – I didn’t note her name – but she was wearing a white dress and it elicited my response of “What the fruit?!” I did not like it one bit. However, I did note that I love African American women in white. And yellow. Don’t ask. I have no idea.
Totally bummed at this point that I couldn’t fast forward through commercials, I began to banter back and forth with my friends, which made me miss the next intro, so I was confused for a good portion of whatever moment happened. I focused on fashion. And the audience… and…
In that moment, I noticed John Travolta in the audience. Hello, plastic mannequin. What in Nutella’s name happened to him? I. Can’t. Wow.
Also in making other audience observations during this time, I noticed that Oprah was not amused. Not at all. I actually couldn’t stop looking at her, just waiting for a crack of a smile during NPH’s set/bit, whatever it was. Her smile eventually came, but wow, it took a while. She looked ticked. I think her dress was too tight in the bust and it was preventing facial movement. Just a thought.
Then came Gwyneth Paltrow. My favorite. NOT! Anyone who knows me, knows that I can’t stand her. I L-O-A-T-H-E her. I called her a choice word (one that I often call her, but very rarely call women, in general. The word just doesn’t fit for women… but Gwyneth, she’s one in my book. She just evokes that feeling.) Hint: it rhymes with gas pole. Anyway, I was relentlessly complaining about her, but I did mention that I liked her dress. I hated admitting it, but I did. Darn you, Gwen. So girlfriends and I were spending entirely too much time going back and forth on someone I can’t stand and then Gwyneth FINALLY introduces “her friend.” By the way, EVERYONE is her effing friend! Every time she is on an awards show or of the like, she says, “my friend.” I don’t buy it. No way, no how. She certainly is no where near being Hollywood’s little darling… not EVERYONE is your friend, Paltrow. To which my wonderful and witty friend Julie replies, “I’m not her friend.” To which my sassy and gorgeous friend Heather replies, “bleep bleep.” {Censored, to protect the innocent!}
My next audience (fashion) observation was Julianne Moore. I think I liked her dress. It was hard to tell at this point, as she was seated, but she was dressed to win. (Which she later did!)
NPH in his underwear. Let’s discuss. That didn’t bother me as much as his nipples did. They made me REALLY uncomfortable. And of course there was discussion amongst the live time chatting, about his “special delivery” that needed to be attended to, if you catch my drift. Someone call UPS or FedEx, please, NPH has a shipment.
Is red lipstick a trend?
The lady with the black dress with 3 bows… the one on her neckline… that looked stupid. I love a good black bow in fashion, but this one was a no way. Heather said, “prairie ish” which I totally agreed with. Or Amish. Or Quaker Oats man.
We talked about the set designs – which were great.
We discussed British accents, which everyone seems to love and want. So I decided, at that point, to type in one… a British accent. I’m doing it now. Did ye hear it?
The next winners… two, old guys… completely reminded me of Waldorf and Statler from The Muppets. {Shout out to my BFF and Zeta sister Sherry!} She’ll understand.
Waldorf and Statler totally thanked “quinoa” in their acceptance speech. Just saying. I can dig it.
Bradley Cooper always brings his mom to events. I think it’s cute. He’s cute. Nothing more to say.
Jared Leto – again, what the fruit? His split ends were offensive. So was his tux.
I hate how Keira Knightly talks with her teeth closed. (Referencing the film clip they showed of her.)
I loved the Lego Oscar. (At this point, I hadn’t seen the “Everything is Awesome” bit, so I had no idea why there was a Lego Oscar in the audience, but even then, I thought it was awesome! Word usage intentional!
My friend Heather noted that, “Meryl Streep looks like a realtor.” I added, “…from Clarksville.”
Patricia Arquette, once she put her glasses on, ironically, looked like Meryl Streep. She also has terrible teeth. Sweet friend Julie thought it was lipstick on her teeth. I just reminded everyone she has effed up teeth. Sorry, Patricia. I’m a teeth person.
It was nice, however, of her to thank me in her speech. “…women who gave birth…” She thanked many of us! It was a nice, political moment. What’s an awards show without one?
My friends were unsure of who Rita Ora was. I know she’s a singer. I know some of her work, i.e. Black Widow with Iggy A., but really, I don’t even know who she is. I think she dated and cheated on Rob Kardashian at one time. She’s very ethnically ambiguous, no?
Again, scanning the audience shots while completely bored, I wondered, is Diane Warren a lesbian?
Lots of silly back and forth at this point, between us 4 girls… the show was dragging and losing us all, I think. More talk about other things, other than the actual show. After openly admitting to tooting out of sheer boredom (TMI, I know) I brought it back with having no idea about what was going on (on the show) and who was talking and did it have anything to do with an awards show? I threatened to leave a few times… I was that bored. But we all brought it back with our observation of boobs being all over the place. Boob, boobs, everywhere! Some good, some bad, some fair, but boobs were the star last night, no doubt.
There was talk of the ball shawl. (I had fast-forwarded that part, so I had NO idea what was being discussed.) I have since seen the lady with the balls (as of this morning) and I have to agree with NPH… it took balls to wear that dress!
Having to watch commercials, without a DVR FF option, I was playing “Name that voice” with the (apple?) commercial. (I think it was an apple commercial, but I’m not 100% in this moment.) Anyway, I like to do that from time to time. If it’s a famous person as a voice over and you never see them, I like to guess who it is. This one was Martin Scorsese. I have no full proof, however, as the commercial never credited him or showed his face, but I think I won that installment of my own game creation. Just saying.
During the In Memoriam segment, which came rather quickly, I thought, I posted literally every sad emoticon I could find. Partly to be entertaining, slightly to be annoying, and partially because I really was sad to see some of those faces in the montage. At this point of our live time chat, we asked for silence… Shhhhh… let’s watch.
“Didn’t that person die years ago?”
“I thought he was already dead.”
“Oh no… she died? When?”
“How did I miss that one?”
Happens every time like that, doesn’t it?
And who chose that odd photo of Robin Williams? I didn’t even recognize him. When I thought he had been left out, my friend Heather said, no, he was there… so I had to rewind to see it again. So odd. I expected more.
Not even J Hud did it for me. She looked great, but her performance was just meh. She was blinking a lot in her performance. Like, a lot, a lot. Such a distraction. I once heard or read or something, that blinking a lot is a sign of lying. Jennifer was totally lying to us. She sing lied to us. Sung lied to us. As my friend Julie said, “She slied.” “Lyrical deception,” from Heather. Tsk, tsk.
During this portion of the show, I shared a fun Jenny fact… that I wanted to go to college for mass communication (which I did) so that I could one day edit montages for the Oscars, to which my friend Heather replied, “How cool. She wanted to work one day a year.” (I LOLed for a long time because of that comment!) Despite failing that dream, I really did want to be an editor and work the awards show circuit. A different path came a calling, so no regrets. (But Heather, I’m still laughing…)
Benedict Cumberbatch looks like an alien. Or a bug.
The show got really boring here, so I shared more fun Jenny facts, one of which was, I once sat across from Terrance Howard at a terminal gate, while waiting at LAX for my flight to NYC. And he ended up being on my flight. I’m of course sharing this story, as Terrance Howard is on stage, talking. I thought my fun fact was apropos.
SIDE NOTE, NOT OSCAR RELATED: I also shared the story about the time I got drunk on wine with Sally Struthers at a house party and that of course opened a flood gate of all sorts of pokes and jokes from my girlfriends. (Good times, Sally, I’ll cherish them, always, despite what my friends think of you!)
Somehow “whore ads” from the SNL 40^th Anniversary special got referenced on my part… I have no idea why I brought that up, but it just proves that my mind was anywhere but the Oscars. Sadly.
We chatted about Common and John Legend, but honestly, nothing was impressing me last night. Meh. Just meh.
At this point, I was ready to sign off. So sad.
So I told my girlies good-night and signed off from our 4-way live chat. At that moment, Idina Menzel took the stage to introduce John Travolta and of course I had to jump right back on and scream my sheer shock and disgust over his face! What happened, John? Seriously? Age has not been kind to you. Neither have your surgeons. Ooooof.
I watched the remainder of the show on my own, no longer taking anymore notes, because quite frankly, I was drained of anything clever to say. I said a few things to my husband, who was doing some work on his computer, but nothing memorable. I enjoyed Lady Gaga’s Sound of Music performance, but I wasn’t blown away like most were. Her hair annoyed me the whole time and the way she would constantly grab her dress was very distracting, as were her very visible horn tats waving at me from her inner arms. Quite frankly, I spent more of my time thinking about her new, very good-looking fiancée, Taylor Kinney, during her performance! But her dress was gorgeous, she sounded great and I LOVED seeing Julie Andrews come out on stage and relish in the moment. That was beautiful. Julie is stunning, even after all these years! A total highlight, right there.
I like Sean Penn as an actor, I really do, but he’s lucky he’s an actor, because he looks just like your average southern dude that lives in my town. Seriously.
Did anyone else think Sean Penn’s comment announcing the Best Director winner was derogatory? I said aloud to my husband, “Jeez, I hope they’re good friends!” With that [green card] comment!
I think my favorite part of the whole show – as stupid as this might sound – was at the very end, when Birdman won Best Picture and Michael Keaton took to the mic and suddenly morphed into Beetlejuice, unknowingly to him, I’m sure! That. Was. Awesome! It made up for the fact that he was chewing gum like a hungry cow in every camera shot that he was in during the entire night. I was just waiting for it to lose flavor so he’d spit that crap out… I bet he was armed with an entire pack of Orbit, because it never ended. But I did absolutely LOVE the unintentional Beetlejuice cameo! So great. If you missed it… try to find the clip of the acceptance speech… you’ll know exactly when it happens.

So there you have it, my Oscars commentary, in all its golden glory.

Golden Girl.

August 13, 2014 by The Clogged Drane

“Don’t gain the world and lose your soul; wisdom is better than silver or gold.” – Bob Marley

If you know me well, on a personal level, you more than likely already know that I’m a letter writer. I write letters for everything. If I really like something, I write a letter. If I really dislike something, I write a letter. I think it’s important to send companies and brands letters on both occasions. They need to know when they are doing something good and something right, in addition to the negative of messing up and annoying the consumer.

I have a long history of writing letters, with much success in the end result.

If you’re my friend on Facebook, you may recall when I posted several weeks ago about having my Starbucks gold card status revoked, because I apparently didn’t spend enough money in my allotted year. I apparently didn’t drink enough grande lattes and delicious frappuccinos to Starbuck’s liking. Why, you ask? Oh, I don’t know… because I was PREGNANT WITH TWINS from September 2012 to May 2013! And The Buck gave me a big ‘ol slap on the hand for following a healthful diet of none to little caffeine and coffee while preggo. I indulged a few times in those 9 months, but not enough to retain my status of gold. {Pfffft}

I was bitter. I was going to charge a personal boycott against them. But I didn’t. I just stayed angry and still bought coffee. I’m a sucker, I know.

Even after all these weeks and months, I was still annoyed. So I finally wrote my letter last night. I was nice. Charming as one can be in this situation. Humorous. Sincere. Engaging. Entertaining, to say the least. I explained my plight. My woes. My societal status of NOT GOLD in the world of coffee drinkers. I even threw my husband under the bus, to make a valid point of course, because after all, he obtained his gold status from a combination of SOME dollar purchases AND mostly star codes and promotions. You know the codes I’m talking about… the “Enter this code and get 5 stars” kind of thing. He’s virtually a non-coffee drinker. He’s a social {coffee} drinker. He doesn’t even know the sizes at Starbucks. It’s not small, medium and large, dearest husband! He can’t even tell you why he likes what he does… a caramel macchiato, for the record. And he orders a HOT drink in the dead middle of summer! WHO DOES THAT?! So yeah, not a coffee drinker, yet he walks around with a Starbucks gold card in his wallet. Ummm, no.

I know the above makes me sound like a complete brat, and I even acknowledged that in my email to Starbucks, but I don’t care. I earned my gold status with spending dollar bills, y’all. No promo codes or get 5 stars for being wonderful you. Seriously. I spent my money and put a hole in my budget, all for the love of a skinny, iced, vanilla latte and the occasional cranberry-orange scone. I’m loyal, friends.

I wrote Starbucks Customer Service and shared my first-world tragedy. I’ve been a long-time customer, yadda, yadda, yadda. I mean, if referring to them as “The Buck” didn’t put me in the category of something more than just a casual customer acquaintance, than I just don’t know what to think and perhaps I need to refocus my caffeine affections elsewhere. This isn’t just a business partnership, Starbucks, this is a relationship. With history.

So long story short, coincidentally, I was in the Starbucks drive-thru this morning, waiting on my usual… (I know, I know, I’m a sucker) …and I was thumbing through my emails on my mobile phone… (I just wanted to write mobile phone) …and what do I see? A reply from Starbucks Customer Service. It read:

“Hello Jenny,

I just finished reading your email and appreciate you taking the time to share your concerns with us.

I’m sorry to hear you were not able to visit Starbucks as much due to reducing your caffeine intake and lost your gold status. I would be frustrated by this as well. I went ahead and re instated your gold status.”

Oh, Starbucks, you really know how to win a girl over.

I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that. I thought that maybe I’d receive an apology and a credit of some kind on my account, maybe a few Buck bucks; so in the end, I was pleasantly surprised. It’s nice. All is well in the world again. I can finally let that stupid anger go.

Friends, when you’re ticked off about something and you absolutely feel as if you were wronged, write a letter. The worst that could happen is you’re told no. You’re denied. And you remain pissed off. But then again, you could redeem your lost status, move on without the anger, drink your coffee without the bitterness, and continue to pour your hard-earned money into the big coffee cup in the Starbucks sky.

Happy ending today, with a treat receipt to boot.

The Goody Bag. {the debut and demise}

May 30, 2014 by The Clogged Drane

With May ending tomorrow, I thought I’d better post this today. I want the theme to be current, even if there is only one more day left in the month!

For those of you who are my Facebook buddies, you may recall me mentioning my writing-gig plight – the {crappy} local, community magazine in which I pitched a small business/gift guide & shopping segment, just to get the run-around from the {very} unprofessional Editor who made many requests, and in the end, I found out (without any notice or call or email or anything of any kind) that the magazine folded and my colorful bit would never come to be.

Needless to say, I was bummed. Really bummed. And annoyed.

Many of my Facebook friends encouraged me to post my piece anyway. I took the time to find the items and write the segment, so why not share it? Especially with my local friends, who might enjoy it. So I thought I’d do it here, in this forum.

This debut was going to be for the May issue – so I themed it: “April showers bring May flowers.”

Without further ado, I give you The Goody Bag

{The Editor asked that I write a general intro to what would potentially be a monthly segment for the local community-niche publication. This was my introduction…}

Welcome to the debut of The Goody Bag! Your guide to local shopping.

I love to shop. I’m a woman. It’s in my DNA.

I also love to shop locally and support small businesses. I excite with sheer joy and undoubtable curiosity whenever I discover new, quaint shops in my very own neighborhood, filled with trinkets, treasures and goodies galore! And I love that they are all owned by passionate, hard-working residents of our very own Clarksville community. I admire an entrepreneurial spirit and Clarksville has many, from home-based crafters to storefront owners.

In the world of retail royalty, the big (often franchised) names rule, but they don’t have to. We, the consumers, choose where we spend our money. Shopping small and buying locally puts money back into our community and allows for the continued retail growth and success of the Mom-and-Pop shops that grace our streets and bring that singular characteristic of charm to Clarksville. It is our local, small, independent, family-owned businesses (mom-and-pops) that make Clarksville truly unique.

So say good-bye to common, cookie-cutter purchases and hello to consumer goods that are uniquely you and uniquely Clarksville.

This Shopping & Gift Guide is your roadmap to discovering the joys of our local retail community. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed curating these fabulous finds.

Happy Shopping!

“You can’t buy happiness, but you can buy local, and that’s kind of the same thing!” – Author Unknown

{I was also asked to write an introduction to the May issue theme and this was it…}

The saying goes, “April showers bring May flowers.” I think we can all agree that spring is absolutely lovely in Tennessee and flowers are synonymous with the season’s spirit. To get you into the flowery spirit, here are a few floral items I found while shopping small [businesses, that is!]

It is truly fun and fascinating when shopping on a mission. Or in my case, procuring with a purpose! And believe me, I was on the hunt. I visited several local, Clarksville shops and was delighted by my findings. All of the unique treasures that I came across and mention here are items that I would personally purchase and gladly gift to someone special in my life. I might even keep one or two for myself!

When I first began to ponder my Spring shopping theme for XXXX magazine, I set out to find items of a floral nature, which wasn’t particularly hard to do with the current season at hand, but while looking for what I thought would be the obvious, it was actually the unusual and whimsical that caught my eye every time. I enjoy the curious and unexpected, and I think keeping that as a rule of thumb when shopping, makes for great gift-giving etiquette. Who wouldn’t love a memorable, one-of-a-kind gift? Think about how exciting it is when you find something so perfect, that fits the occasion and the recipient, and they too know the heartfelt thought that went into such a special gift, picked just for them; a gift that can only be found in the inspired, narrow scope of small, neighborhood businesses.

Just one more reason I prefer shopping small and local… because it is there that you may discover not only the extraordinary or the next, best thing, but you just might stumble on your newest, favorite thing!