Here it is, the last Friday of 2011. You would think I'd be writing profound words of wisdom, insight and helpful tips for the New Year. I'd be filling my blog with quotes from Ghandi and Mother Teresa, foretelling of changes and personal growth I plan to make in 2012.
I'm hungry so I'm not feeling it. As a matter of fact, I'm not thinking very clearly because I'm hungry. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't believe in becoming a better person, being gentler to the Earth, doing kind deeds to others. I do. I just don't believe in making resolutions any more. Except for the resolution to not make any new resolutions. And eating.
So, instead of spouting platitudes and citing inspiring sayings (my brain cells are just too tired to try to come up with any and I'm feeling too lazy to do a search), I'm going to write about something near and dear to me: food. Granted, food is the main topic because my stomach is rather rudely reminding me that coffee and tortilla chips do NOT make a good breakfast. I thought it was good at the time. Apparently not.
I am the perfect example for the Southernism "hangry," which is when someone becomes angry because they're hungry. Yep, that would be me. A huge serving of mad with a side of cranky, seasoned with a growl and a frown. To loosely paraphrase Patrick Henry, "Give me food or give me a gun." Picture the SNL Gap Girls skit, when Chris Farley is at the table with all of the food in front of him and he bellows, "Leave me alone! I'm starving!"
I really think "I was STARVING" could be used as a legitimate defense in court. "You see, Your Honor, I smacked him (or you can insert your action of choice) because I was STARVING." Perfectly viable!! It could also be considered a trigger for temporary ADD with me. Don't expect to have my full attention if you have a conversation with me, let alone say something and think I'm focusing 100% on what you say. My interpretation would be: food, I'm really hungry, what am I in the mood to eat, *insert random word spoken by the other person*, I could really go for a cheeseburger right now, do I smell pickles?, *insert random word spoken by the other person*, food, food, grumble, growl, food, food, GIVE ME FOOD!
My list of favorite things to eat could be used as the tail for a kite the size of Kansas. I like food. I have and will never be mistaken for one of those women who just orders salad and only takes a couple of bites. If I tried to do that, my stomach would reach up and give me a couple of bitch slaps and tell me NOT to try that again. I think my stomach might be part gangster, part Mafia, part unidentified beast. I've always had a healthy appetite and imagine I'll be the cranky and cantankerous old lady in the nursing home, spitting out the gruel and demanding REAL food! I know I'd probably go ninja and Chuck Norris on someone with my walker. Then, in addition to the daily stool softener pills, I'd be forced to take "behavior modification" medication with my liquid diet (Hmmm... I guess the only perk to being on a liquid diet would be the beer).
On the Bad List: Mushrooms, oysters, sushi, flaming hot peppers that would singe eyebrows, tequila aka to-kill-ya (trust me on this one!). No. No, no, no. That's pretty much the list of Do Not Like. I do reserve the right to add more at a later date.
Sadly, as much as I love to eat, I don't consider myself a "great" cook. Gordon Ramsey I am not, with the exception of the attitude! Don't get me wrong. I CAN cook. A lot of times it's quick and simple things from a box or bag merely because of the lack of time and energy. There are occasions I'll make something from scratch (where in the hell did that phrase come from to mean homemade??) and make elaborate dishes. I actually don't mind doing that and wish I felt like doing that more often. Ultimately I wish I had an in-home chef, but we all know that will never happen! LOL!
Now you have a better understanding of the absolute necessity of The Snack Drawer. Yes, it is capitalized. It is that important. The Snack Drawer helps appease the growling beast and keep the hangry away; it provides a sense of comfort and security (mainly for others); it keeps me (and my co-workers) happy. As I like to say, a much happier Ang makes the world a better place. Food + Ang = Happy Ang, which also = everyone else breathing a sigh of relief! :)
In 2012, I'll continue to eat. I'll continue to eat Ang-sized portions. I'll maintain my Snack Drawer (with help from my friends at times). I'll do my best to keep the grumbling beast from unleashing the hangry. And I'll enjoy my food. :) These aren't resolutions, just statements of fact.
Ahhh.... Almost as if it was a sacrificial offering so they could live, my co-workers have brought me lunch. Gee, I didn't think I was being snarly and snippy. Oh well. My chicken parmigiana sandwich has arrived. *nom nom nom* :) Happy eating!
Friday, December 30, 2011
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Let the Antics Begin!
Since this is my maiden voyage, I'm not sure where this blog will go. I'm just going to let my fingers do the walking and the final destination will be a surprise. I imagine I'll cover a gamut of topics, including family, work, personal things, inane tidbits, life in general. Since I try not to be a serious person (all of the time), I can guarantee most of my ramblings will be laced with truthful humor and fun poked at myself and others. Just remember, if I'm picking on you, I like you. I've written "personal essays" before, posted long-winded paragraphs about my thoughts, feelings, various points-of-view, related silly antics, but one of my real loves will always be writing fiction.
When people say, "You just can't make that shit up!" I say, "Yeah, I can." Although my fiction muse has been on hiatus (personally, I think she's in a drunken stupor on some tropical island, shacked up with the pool boy, the lucky wench!) for a number of years. On the rare occasion she'd send a postcard or even call, I'd pretend not to be home so I wouldn't have to deal with her. You see, when the muse comes calling and I respond, her whacked out ideas become cemented in my brain. So much so that a jackhammer souped up by Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor would barely nudge them. Those thoughts, ideas... the characters, the dialogue... They will not leave me alone. Once they're in my head, they stay, worse than a nasty booger you just can't flick from your finger. NOT that I have nasty boogers wedged in the gray matter. I like to joke (that should not be a surprise to anyone!) and say I have plenty of voices in my head, thanks. I don't need "Madam Muse" adding even more.
I'm not what people would call a "flowery" writer. Which goes right along with my personality - I don't hold back & tend to give you my opinion even if you don't want it. Sugarcoating is for candy. I don't (and won't) give you paragraph after paragraph of how purple the flower petal is. To me, that's crap. A waste of time and a nose-thumb at the reader's intelligence. Some description is necessary, yes, and it's good to give a sense of the environment and details to establish surroundings. However, in my opinion (be it ever so humble) it is the writer's job to allow readers to think and create visualizations themselves. The writer coaches. The reader makes the play. The better a writer is at allowing readers freedom in perception, the more a reader will become attached to the story. When that happens, the reader becomes a fan.
*putting my Writer's Soapbox away*
In truth, I've missed my muse. I've missed the people in my head vying for attention, demanding their story be told. I've missed the feeling of fingers flying across the keys, yet always a few steps behind the conversation. I've missed the words, the entire creative process, the combined feeling of accomplishment and sadness when a story is finished and "the end" is typed.
I don't know if I'll pursue writing as actively as I did before. At least not that type of writing. Right now, I realize I can't allow myself to become consumed by the muse's wiles, to become so ensconced in putting pen to paper (so to speak) I wouldn't be able to do anything else but write. There's a balance I need to find, one I'm not sure I'd be able to manage at this point in my hectic life. I'm committing to blogging, and, as a wise person reminded me of what a wise person once advised them, to write at least fifteen minutes a day. I do know that writing has always been something I enjoyed, something I not only understood and could do very well (some people refer to me as the Spelling Nazi and Grammar Police - I even have a badge!), but also something I felt very passionate about.
Oh, look... it's a postcard from my wayward (and obviously very suntanned) muse. The heifer. Scrawled across the back in large writing: "Wish you were here." Here would be a white beach near crystal blue water, palm trees and an umbrella drink near the hammock. I can do without the umbrella drink. I don't do sweet. I will, however, substitute a beer in the picture instead. Ahhh, yes... much better. Wait... there seems to be something else my muse has written at the bottom of the postcard. "Welcome back."
When people say, "You just can't make that shit up!" I say, "Yeah, I can." Although my fiction muse has been on hiatus (personally, I think she's in a drunken stupor on some tropical island, shacked up with the pool boy, the lucky wench!) for a number of years. On the rare occasion she'd send a postcard or even call, I'd pretend not to be home so I wouldn't have to deal with her. You see, when the muse comes calling and I respond, her whacked out ideas become cemented in my brain. So much so that a jackhammer souped up by Tim "The Tool Man" Taylor would barely nudge them. Those thoughts, ideas... the characters, the dialogue... They will not leave me alone. Once they're in my head, they stay, worse than a nasty booger you just can't flick from your finger. NOT that I have nasty boogers wedged in the gray matter. I like to joke (that should not be a surprise to anyone!) and say I have plenty of voices in my head, thanks. I don't need "Madam Muse" adding even more.
I'm not what people would call a "flowery" writer. Which goes right along with my personality - I don't hold back & tend to give you my opinion even if you don't want it. Sugarcoating is for candy. I don't (and won't) give you paragraph after paragraph of how purple the flower petal is. To me, that's crap. A waste of time and a nose-thumb at the reader's intelligence. Some description is necessary, yes, and it's good to give a sense of the environment and details to establish surroundings. However, in my opinion (be it ever so humble) it is the writer's job to allow readers to think and create visualizations themselves. The writer coaches. The reader makes the play. The better a writer is at allowing readers freedom in perception, the more a reader will become attached to the story. When that happens, the reader becomes a fan.
*putting my Writer's Soapbox away*
In truth, I've missed my muse. I've missed the people in my head vying for attention, demanding their story be told. I've missed the feeling of fingers flying across the keys, yet always a few steps behind the conversation. I've missed the words, the entire creative process, the combined feeling of accomplishment and sadness when a story is finished and "the end" is typed.
I don't know if I'll pursue writing as actively as I did before. At least not that type of writing. Right now, I realize I can't allow myself to become consumed by the muse's wiles, to become so ensconced in putting pen to paper (so to speak) I wouldn't be able to do anything else but write. There's a balance I need to find, one I'm not sure I'd be able to manage at this point in my hectic life. I'm committing to blogging, and, as a wise person reminded me of what a wise person once advised them, to write at least fifteen minutes a day. I do know that writing has always been something I enjoyed, something I not only understood and could do very well (some people refer to me as the Spelling Nazi and Grammar Police - I even have a badge!), but also something I felt very passionate about.
Oh, look... it's a postcard from my wayward (and obviously very suntanned) muse. The heifer. Scrawled across the back in large writing: "Wish you were here." Here would be a white beach near crystal blue water, palm trees and an umbrella drink near the hammock. I can do without the umbrella drink. I don't do sweet. I will, however, substitute a beer in the picture instead. Ahhh, yes... much better. Wait... there seems to be something else my muse has written at the bottom of the postcard. "Welcome back."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)