Aug

The Daily Prompt: The Inner Light

Everyone starts their blog for a myriad of reasons. A long time ago when everyone communicated through Myspace, I sort of had a blog on there to keep up with friends. Then as we have all become familiar with changing times, the latest fad in social media networking changed and everyone made the leap to Facebook. Unfortunately, the new writing format didn’t appeal to me on Facebook when I signed up in 2006. It would be a while before I returned to writing.

In 2010 I was put in touch with a small publishing company in St. Louis and as part of the requirements for being considered for a novel submission, you had to be a prolific writer on your own blog. The idea of having my own space to write about everything and anything was appealing to me. Eventually my idea for a novel (pitched as a graphic novel at the time) was turned down, but it opened up the door for me to consider myself a writer and develop my craft. I continued writing on the blog, most of it was absurd and a halfway attempt at being funny and witty. Then I went through a divorce and unfortunately the blog was one of the few places I was still attached to my ex. I could no longer blog about my personal life which became the main subject of that particular blog without getting some form of feedback from him or some former associates.

I was careful about the information I posted, censoring myself was new. I yearned to be lyrically free, to be verbose and to spring forth with ideas like I once did. Every story had a hint of being stifled, leaving my readers to read between the lines, some who knew me personally and some who did not, probably causing some confusion.

The second to last blog entry on my old blog was about getting a job back in my hometown and looking forward to the new adventure in an old familiar place I needed to move away from in order to grow up. The blog entry after that; I wrote about my grandfather’s passing. This is where I stopped. My life had taken a sudden turn. The job I had blogged about became a wash forcing me to look for a new job in my second week of being back home and now suddenly my grandfather had passed. It seemed as if my grandfather’s death was the finality of not only the blog, but solidified my life would be completely different. In terms of how to put it, it was the end of my era in St. Louis.

A month or so later one of my best friends passed away from Thyroid cancer. Life had become difficult. I was struggling to not think about family and friends in the life I left behind in the big city, feeling like I was missing out, feeling in a way, sort of alone and like I let them down by not being there for them in their final moments.

The itch to write came back. I wanted to connect with others, but didn’t want as a result to have any contact with my ex and any former cohorts due to me writing about my life. My grandfather and my bestie wouldn’t want me to write in fear. They loved me for my crazy self, the girl who always wore a smile and a flower in her hair. Being in a funk and depressed was not going to get me any closer to finding that woman I was and the woman I wanted to aspire to be in the future.

The solution for me, was to start this blog. Originally, I started out under the pen name Quirky Girl as a way of hiding. The funny thing about this blog, through writing it, I made the decision to make it positive. People talk about the effects of positivity and how it can change and influence your life. Making this decision to write something positive, influenced me to think more positively in my life outside of this blog. I became a tiny bit more social again, I started making friend requests on Facebook, as some of you know; which lead to my marriage to my amazing husband. However, had this blog not been posted to my Facebook, my husband might possibly have never taken an interest in me. As he put it, “When I read your blog I realized there was something going on between the ears.” Being positive lead me to all of this.

I made the conscious decision to write something positive, if being positive wasn’t going to happen the day I happened to be inspired to write, then at least it would be somewhat humorous. More importantly, to combat the loneliness, this blog was also a tool to connect with others and hear their thoughts on topics no matter how ridiculous they were. I was used to only getting a few hits here and there. The whole goal was to be a ghost writer and work the hard way trying to gain a following and gain readers. I liked the idea of famous anonymity. If fellow Missourian Samuel Clemens could write as Mark Twain, then maybe I could accomplish something similar.

Suddenly one day while I was out and about grabbing a sub sandwich I checked my phone to find my blog had blown up. WordPress made my blog a viral hit for a couple of days. I realized I could no longer hide, I couldn’t be afraid of people enjoying what I had to write and the ridiculous adventures that happen. If my ex found out about the new blog, then so what? He’s not going to find out anything new, except I’ve developed a fear of automated air fresheners and have recently been remarried in the last year.

The moral of this story dear readers, is when you have a light, you have to let it shine. You can’t hide it from the rest of the world, this is one thing you have taught me over the last year and I thank you for the lesson. Be you, be bold, be brave, be bright, be love.

Why did you start writing?

This is me, no longer hiding…HELLO WORLD!

May

Out of left field

Baseball was the first sport I ever learned; that is if you don’t count the “bop bag” where I partially learned how to box at the age of three. Both my parents were baseball fans growing up and often if we couldn’t watch the game on television my dad would listen to it on the radio while he worked in the garage or on another project. I grew up imagining I would one day become famous like Ozzie Smith.

Many summers were spent in backyards with neighborhood kids while we perfected our techniques. In our neighborhood, it was primarily boys and constantly the older neighbor kid two houses down was setting the bar as far as being a young athlete was concerned. He was one of the catalysts for my softball career in the summer of 1989.

That summer I felt like a real kid. All the other summers felt like practice leading up to this one, the one where I would become awesome. At least becoming awesome is what I thought was going to happen.

My parents officially enrolled me in our local summer softball league. In small towns the teams are usually funded by local businesses, therefore whatever team you are placed on, you are wearing a shirt emblazoned with the logo of the sponsor on the front with a random number on the back. I had never been so thrilled in my life to be a part of something bigger than myself and to wear the number six on my back.

My first and only summer as a softball player started out with a bang. One game I managed to get an R.B.I. and often I would do well but somehow half way through the summer I hit a slump. My bold promise of becoming awesome resulted in me being called “meat-head” by one team member, but not for my baseball skills or lack thereof, but for trying to join in on conversation I wasn’t welcomed in on apparently.

This is when the slump started, when I tried to be more social. My parents having noticed the decline in my skills tried to help me. Often times we would practice in the back yard working on throwing and catching and last but not least, batting and batting stances. My lack of awesomeness in this category resulted in an umpire feeling threatened. Let me explain.

My parents are very supportive, and at times potentially loud supporters when sports are involved. My first name is not a common name but apparently my name was also shared by the umpire that night. There I stood at home plate holding my bat barely above my shoulders. My parents were in the bleachers just behind the dug out screaming, rooting me on, when all of a sudden they yell my first name followed by, “PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” Unfortunately I couldn’t hear them the first few times because I was concentrating, and again they shouted my first name followed by “PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”

The umpire, looking very confused from behind home plate slowly started to put her hands up only to realize the people threatening and yelling at her to put her hands up, were actually parents talking to a plain looking tom-boy, wearing a Batman baseball cap with a poor batting stance. After the game a lot of explaining was done and even though everyone laughed off what happened, it didn’t earn my team extra points.

So, I wasn’t the greatest batter and maybe I just needed practice. Maybe my path to greatness was not meant to be discovered for my hitting abilities but maybe for what came later in the summer. The coach placed me at home plate; I was going to be a catcher.

When we would arrive for a game, typically we would go a few fields over, find a partner and practice catching and throwing with them until game time, we would get warmed-up. Just before the game, and after warming up, is when I found out about my fate. This was the first time, in my entire life I ever remember getting butterflies in my stomach, except they were less like butterflies and more like tiny mildly agitated badgers poking my stomach from the inside out.

You see, on my team, our pitcher was a young lady whose birth name was that of a well known muscle car and she had the throwing arm to match the speed of the car she was named after. Now you can see the cause of the butterflies in my stomach. This would be the first time anything has ever come toward me that fast with my whole body and my left gloved hand as the target. As the night grew on the pain in the pit of my stomach wouldn’t go away. With each growing inning I crouched at home plate afraid her fast pitch was going to channel itself through my stomach leaving a burrowed hole through my backside, through the chain-link fence behind me and into the audience where they would have to duck and cover as if a smoking meteorite were heading their way. Luckily nothing eventful like that happened, but it took forever for the butterflies to go away.

Just like Thomas Edison found 10,000 ways to not make a light bulb, I found 10,000 ways to not be awesome that summer. Everyone has a path, everyone has their own awesomeness, I was on the path, it just wasn’t my time yet and certainly not through baseball.

What path did you expect to lead you to awesomeness as a kid? What did you think you were going to be great at because you had a love for it only to find out through the process of trying, you were terrible?

Apr

Anthropological uselessness

Recently my husband and I have been talking about the possibility of going back to school to attain different degrees. Many articles have been popping up on-line as if pointing me in the direction I need to go.

When these articles first started popping up, they were titled something like, “top ten reasons not to go back to school” or “useless degrees”. Among the top of the useless pile was my degree; Bachelor of Fine Art. This was a real blow to the ego.

Here lies the problem. When you find the degree you worked so hard for has no future, you start looking for a second chance to go back to school and hope that the one you go back for also doesn’t become useless.

Unfortunately for me, all the degrees I would be great at, are useless. Are they enriching? Yes these are enriching degrees.

At the university I went to we were supposed to complete a certain amount of hours for general education in addition to the degree we recieved. I guess whoever designed this system, figured as a safety net, in case the future of the United States economy corroded, those of us who already had degrees or those of us who were working towards one, would have a good idea of what would make a great secondary career. This would have been great, however they forgot to plan for people like me. At least I choose to believe someone who went through the great depression had the fore site to plan for something like this for the life of the University’s continuing student body.

I know what you are asking dear readers, ” What degrees would you have possibly gone for?” Well let me first tell you what I did try or consider. I tried for Graphic Design but found this path to be too lonely. This involved sitting in front of a computer for hours on end by yourself not being social. Briefly I considered Animation, but then due to my childhood education of sitting for hours in front of the television and admiring the likes of Looney Toons and Animaniacs, it miffed me the professor contradicted one of the very lessons of diabolical cartoon characters; the lead character can come back after a major dismemberment or catastrophe. One semester I tried out the business end of school. This was not a wise decision for someone completely right brained. Even though I met some interesting characters there my grades did not fair well. It became more of a social observance and interaction with people completely diffent than myself, much like Jane Goodall when she decided to observe other primates.

Because my heart and brain could not separate from the desire to draw and paint and because I realized I love working with people, the logical decision was to go into art education. With this degree there was mild success but the door on this path also closed.

There was no other option left but to go back to square one where I originally started; a degree in Fine Art with an Emphasis in Drawing.

My path continued, getting a useless degree while exploring other fascinating subjects, one of which was Anthropology. The first time around with this class, the teacher was from England and a Prima-anthropologist. She discussed how some Chimpanzees were observed grooming leaves, then they would throw them on the forrest floor for no reason. Honestly, I think the chimps knew what type of intense, neurotic person she was and did it just to driver her crazy. I pictured her story being like a Far-side cartoon where she was behind the bushes with a set of binoculars while the Chimps spoke in their own language talking to each other about how they would make something up just to throw the spying human off.

Honestly, in her class I don’t remember the rest of the semester, I only remember certain risqué behaviors of Binobo monkeys and her talking about her and her family’s first experience of eating corn on the cob here in the states which she felt was bizarre and probably ape like.

That semester was a particularly tough one for me personally, so I wound up retaking the class later with a different professor in hopes of a better grade. Not only did I better my grade but it made me more interested in how cultures form, how humans have traveled throughout time to get to where we are, how some cultures started others, how fertile crescents were started and the roots and beginnings of words and where they stemmed from. This class was different, the professor was alive, bubbly, excited and made jokes including the students in on the curriculum. This was a plus for me, this engaged the right side of my brain and it gave me the opportunity to be the smart alec class clown who helped to progress the other students’ learning of the curriculum with the questions I asked along with the other smarty pants in the front row.

That semester I was on fire for classes shaped in this style of curricula. My modern Art History class was similar, we were allowed to ask questions and shout out ideas on what the artists were trying to prove, make or antagonize for and from the viewer. This teacher was from Scotland and was also a sculptor in addition to knowing artists and their modus operandi. In other words, she was cool. Often times in this class my friends would hide behind me as they weren’t awake yet and weren’t confident enough at that hour in the morning without coffee to say what was on their mind. The teacher was onto them. She would call them out and suss out the answer for the rest of the class to hear. No idea was too stupid to contemplate or to think about when it came to art, everything was fair game. Art was open to interpretation for her.

If I had to go back or could go back, these are two areas I would love to strengthen, get better at and educate others about. However, given our current economy, becoming a Prima-anthropologist isn’t something to get myself out of debt, and my efforts probably would not help advance the human race as we know it. In fact, baboons don’t even like me, one mooned me at the St. Louis zoo, scratched his bald behind in my face, turned around, bared his teeth and walked off. This degree is definitely off the list, especially since I stared down the wrong end of a baboon’s derriere.

I still love working with people, however another article online specified Anthropology was next in line after Fine Art as far as useless degrees go. The next one is Art History, my only beef with this is why study what other people have done? Some may argue in order to keep history from repeating itself you have to know what has come before you. However, I have seen it time and time again, when people continually observe work done by others, rather than just drawing inspiration, they are bound to accidentally clone the style they observe and love. Why spend your life studying others when you can concentrate on being you, being original and getting out there changing the world with your art? Oh yeah, the whole reason I started exploring this in the first place, if you teach it, you will make money. To be an artist and be successful you have to die a usually tragic and horrible death or be a womanizer and dead. I’ve got the first part down of being an artist, but I’m not dead and certainly not a womanizer.

Maybe being an Art History professor is the way to go? Then again maybe I should fulfill my destiny of becoming a massage therapist. Who knows, however I think all of this was a fancy way of being able to tell you all I was once mooned by a baboon scratching its posterior.

What would you change your degree to if you could? What degree did you always want to have? Have you thought about going back?

Mar

Thank you note for the insight

A few days ago I was checking the stats on this blog. Sometimes its helpful as a writer to know where your audience is coming from. As it turns out, some of my viewers are coming from other readers’ blogs upon their recommendation.

Last June I had a great thrill when I found out Diary of a Quirky Girl had been featured on the Freshly Pressed page here on WordPress. It came at a time when I really needed a boost, I had just moved from St. Louis back to my small hometown with humble roots and felt alone. When you move from a place you have known for 6 years, coming home can be a bit of a reverse culture shock.

When the blog was featured, suddenly I didn’t feel alone and felt finally like I belonged somewhere. Still to this day people are viewing that particular entry and I’m still working on responses as a promise to my readers. However I dropped the ball. Suddenly when the blog hit it big, so did my life, a door opened up in the form of a date, an open invitation with open arms to a love that I had been looking for my whole life. Hopefully dear readers, you can forgive me as I get back on the ball here, respond to your replies still even yet and write crazy new stories and observances for you to read.

This all really hit home when I saw traffic coming in from a blog written by two young women named Araz and Diana. On one of their featured pages they had a list of “blogs I follow”. Diary of a Quirky Girl was one of them, not only was it one of them, they put it at the top of the list right under theirs.

Another promise to you dear readers, I will try to write at least one blog a week, even if its something trivial, but I want it to be something open and inviting for you to contribute to the conversation. The reason the writing here of late has been sparse is due to life changes, career changes and many other things. In spite of all of that I lost sight of a duty to you. When times change and the pace of life gets picked up, I know as a reader its frustrating when you feel the work you are reading isn’t up to snuff. As we all know time is one thing you can spend but never earn back.

One of my favorite comedic actors Mike Myers commented he would never turnout a movie he didn’t feel had quality, because he felt that is a lot of time and effort you’re asking the audience to invest in your project just to see it. If it isn’t quality then you are wasting their time. This my friends is what I want to avoid. You came to me in my time of need, at the very least I owe you quality writing for your time, hence another reason for the sparseness.

I can’t wait to write to you, hear and read from you all later!

Sincerely,
Quirky Girl

Jan

The same thing we do every night…

Here the last few days I’ve been contemplating life. What is important, what needs to be purged and what I need to let go of that I’ve been holding onto for a dumb reason. Now is the time to purge the ten dollar clearance jeans with the Andy Warhol Pop Art version of Twiggy’s face down one side, now is the time to purge my closet of the Joker converse sneakers I wore in fifth grade, now is the time to let go of art I’ve made for others that I have no personal use for.

My life has changed forever, my husband has finally found a job close to where I live and has come to live with me. As you can imagine I am filled with insurmountable joy. It is because of the joy he brings in my life that I truly want to concentrate on what is important…us.

Recently a news show did a segment with four roommates they asked to go for a while without their phones, without their computers; they were to live a life without technology from this century. They could barely stand it, they had to check themselves in on Facebook to let everyone know where they were before they turned everything in to the news crew doing the experiment. One girl even complained of having withdrawal and started getting headaches.

Seeing this segment made me think this was a genius idea. I started contemplating taking down my Facebook account. Taking down my account would solve the problem of exes being able to track me down, find me and being able to revel in any of my losses over the years. It would solve the problem of constantly being turned down by a best friend for a request of lunch and once raucous, laughter inducing conversations; only to log to find out they have better things to do like hanging out with other mutual friends and my ex-husband.

Facebook has been the source of great anguish in my life, however, it has also been the source of great joy. Joys like; family and friends announcing a birth, someone getting a promotion, or just someone simply wanting to spread good vibes to those around them. Then I started thinking about the greatest joy Facebook has brought me, the ability to reconnect; to reconnect with long lost friends from grade school and reconnect me with my husband. If it weren’t for Facebook I wouldn’t have been able to spread the joy with family and friends near and far how well the first date went, how good the world suddenly seemed and that life was definitely looking up for yours truly.

Still even with all of this I contemplated again taking down the account to avoid distractions. Then today it hit me, we still need social media…for us.

We needed it to get us together…now we need it to start us as a married couple as entrepreneurs in the comic book world. We need it so we no longer have to be dreamers but can be DO-ers!

As of today starts my plight to get us off the ground, my plight to turn our creative endeavors into our retirement, our kids’ future and our charitable fund to help others like us, or others who in general are in need.

Today my husband and I hatched a plan which we soon plan to unfold not only on this blog, but on Facebook, Twitter and any other social media useful to writers and artists.

So for now dear readers, I will have to keep you in the dark until March about our big plan, but for now I will just say this, thank you for reading and God Bless Mark Zuckerberg.

What was something you contemplated giving up but instead found new use for? What is something that has been a source of pain for you but then later you realized it was something you needed to learn a life lesson?

Nov

Is it Vegas yet?

The sun was beating down and we were dressed in the same clothes we wore on our first date. We had just come from the marriage license bureau downtown in Las Vegas and we soon learned why Daffy Duck and Bugs Bunny always pictured an oasis in the middle of the desert. At mile marker three, the man soon to be my husband had developed a limp from a swollen knee and I had developed a wobble that resembled an old woman with two hip replacements. We soon learned why there once was a Mirage hotel, and we realized landmarks are not closer than they appear in the desert.

He had to help me down the dips in the sidewalk just to get to the next sidewalk or street corner. During one part of this adventure I literally had to hold onto a chain link fence down the main stretch of boulevard in Las Vegas while wearing high heels. During our walk, a woman looked at me and said, “Oh honey, just take them off! ” I couldn’t. There were questionable light poles used as restrooms in the night and gum on the sidewalk left over from the year 1953; possibly slapped out of someone’s mouth by Frank Sinatra himself. How did we get here? How did we get to this point?

Those on the outside might think this seems sudden. However, it isn’t sudden. We met over a year and a half ago at a best friend’s apartment warming party. It was before the friend and I had become truly best friends, it was the start of becoming “bests” in eachothers’ lives.

While our friend was occupied by her guests and room mate, another bestie who came with me to the party ventured with me into the crowd on the balcony to say hi to others and mingle. Thats when he approached.

He approached with a huge smile, freshly shaved head and an outfit in black with some punk rock features. My first thought when meeting him was, “He doesn’t match his clothes.” He was too friendly and too talkative to match his dark attire which normally is worn by those who wish to be left alone. His smile and attitude were a direct contradiction to his attire. He made myself and bestie feel comfortable in a room full of strangers.

As he continued to talk I couldn’t help but notice his beautiful eyes, and be bashful. I couldn’t figure out why he was paying so much attention to me until about two months later our mutual best friend clued me in to what was going on. She suggested he was single, which explained why he continually came through my check out line at work. I waited for him to give me his number, which never happened.

A series of events happened which lead me to move back home from St. Louis. It wasn’t until a year later from when we spoke at his birthday party we reconnected; again through our best friend.

This friend is how we wound up in Vegas. She invited both my groom to be and myself before we ever even started dating, to her wedding. He was going to be the photographer and I was going to be the bridesmaid. We didn’t know the other was invited.

Late in June I had an inside joke while texting with my St. Louis bestie. It was about men and my lack of luck thereof with them. Suddenly she texted back, “There’s always ______” . Did she just say what I think she said? I couldn’t believe it. Did he like me? Would he be willing to do a semi-long distance relationship? Would he even entertain the idea of dating a woman who wants to make comic books for the rest of her life while simultaneously becoming a boxer? Does he like silly women who sometimes are at a loss for words and speak in nothing but sound effects? When I say silly I mean REALLY silly…

Her reply, “Facebook friend him and find out.”

I nervously friend requested him. You all know that moment; the moment where you hesitate because you’re a little intimidated by someone for some reason, but something pushes you to friend them anyway. I hit send. The next morning I awoke to find he had accepted said request, and suddenly I had a few more hits on my blog than normal. He had been reading this blog, and replying. Suddenly we were emailing everyday as if we were pioneers on chuck wagons writing back home. Every time I read his emails in the morning I would blush and cover my face as if someone had actually heard the sweet things he had just written; that was a first for me. In fact I’m sure I was even blushing on lunch break when I would check my email then; my coworkers knew something was up and new.

Over the course of three months, the man that would become my husband and I joked about Vegas and getting married there. Whether our friend realized it or not she had planted the seed of thought since he and I went on our first date.

That first date lead us to wandering around trying to find the perfect destination in Vegas to get married at, the perfect scenic venue. We had to stop into a friendly little Chinese food diner just to get something to drink, we were tired and sweaty and many miles away from our desired location. Quite a few locals along the way spotted us carrying our papers and said congratulations. We weren’t married yet and were already acting like it apparently, which is a good sign if people can spot it blocks away…and again they probably also spotted the papers. We finally made it to the Bellagio. We wanted to get married in front of it because of the historical movie significance and because across the street was a gorgeous view of a fake Eiffel tower and hot air balloon.

We called the wedding place in Vegas that promised to pull up curbside and marry you on the sidewalk of your choice promising to get the scenic pictures you wanted against your favorite Vegas back drop. The place was booked until 9:30…P.M. We were so deflated, mentally and literally in a physical sense that I decided to finally take my shoes off and take it easy for a bit. We walked too far and too long to just not get married immediately. That is when we realized it didn’t matter where we got married, the important part is that we were getting married; to each other.

In a fit of tired genius my fiance called our hotel to ask if they could squeeze in a marriage ceremony for us at their chapel. They said, “Sure, when is good for you? We have a two thirty and four thirty available.” We asked for the two thirty appointment, and hopped in the next cab we could get. We couldn’t have asked for a better or friendlier cab driver. He imparted words of wisdom during our car journey, and wished us well. We made it upstairs to the chapel, we filled out our forms, and walked down the aisle together like two old souls. Then again maybe we just felt like two old souls because we had wandered seven miles in a city in the middle of a desert in dress shoes and high heels. As we hobbled down the aisle together, the imperfection of that moment is what made it perfect.

In the end, the next night we finally did get pictures in front of the fake Eiffel tower; while wearing more sensible shoes…which was another adventure in of itself.

What major event happened in your life, turned out better the way it did than you had originally planned?

Sep

The Smoking Shoe

The other night my boyfriend and I were leaving separately from our rendezvous middle point between our two cities. The weekend prior he had accidentally left a pair of shoes at my parents house, which I had intended to return to him this weekend. In doing so, he pointed out to me at the end of the night, “Yes, I am wearing two different shoes”…because this usually happens when you go to the local park and traipse through a sand pit and try to put your shoes on in the dark.

This is when it hit me; a light bulb came on above my head. It may not be the most brilliant of schemes, it may be unconventional, but it just might work.

“Well if you want to get your other shoe back, you will have to quit smoking then”, I said.

“What?”

Again I repeated myself. His response wasn’t him being defiant, he just honestly didn’t hear everything I said.

I had hounded my dad when I was kid to quit smoking, and my mother had tried to get my grandfather to quit smoking. Needless to say, not only do I come from a line of smoking family members, I come from a line of people that care if those smokers quit too.

Some of those smokers turned to chewing tobacco, some turned to gum. My dad turned to pipe smoking, then hard candy after a cancer scare and none of these options are exactly decent substitutes as they can be addicting themselves and have other consequences; like rotten teeth and an expensive dental visit. Lucky for dad he was blessed with extremely good dental genes.

With that in mind from previous experience in helping someone quit smoking, it has become my mission to find unconventional ways to help my boyfriend quit smoking.

On the surface, yes it sounds crazy forcing mismatched shoes on someone. However, let’s take time to think about this. Everywhere he goes, he will have to explain why he is wearing a shoe on each foot from two different sets of shoes. You can’t go to the gas station just to fill up your car and get coffee without being asked about your shoes. You can’t go to work with one work boot and one everyday shoe on without being harassed by the guys. Then when you go to hang out with your friends; especially those that really care about you, they will inevitably grill you about your mismatched shoes and how they came to be on your feet.

With enough people hounding him about his “odd couple” shoes, and asking why they don’t match, he will get tired of explaining “why” from all the questioning and change his smoker ways. At least that is the hypothesis to this scientific, yet social experiment.

Yes, he has other pairs of shoes, but those are dress shoes. Both sets of these shoes described in this story can be for work or play, and these are the only two specifically used for this purpose! (In case anyone wanted to thwart my theory.)

In the end I caved and wound up returning both sets of shoes, but the next opportunity I get I am stealing at least one left from one pair and one right shoe from another set he uses every time he has to take a smoke break.

Hey it’s not the worst idea out there.

What eccentric thing have you done in the hopes of helping or bettering someone’s life?

Sep

Iron your Umbros

In the summer between 8th grade and freshman year I acquired my first pair of umbros. It seemed that just about everyone at school had a pair, and generally they were primarily worn because you could throw them on without having to worry about waking up extra early to iron them and still look like a million bucks.

Everyone had at least two or three pair. My traditional wardrobe was shorts made from worn out pairs of jeans, or jeans I had grown too tall for and a t-shirt. I was 12 now, on the brink of womanhood, I wanted to be “in” and fashionable, I wanted to care about my appearance and what my outward self said to others, I wanted to be…cool.

My summers were previously spent playing baseball or some form thereof with the neighborhood boys or pretending to be the Veronica to my friend’s Betty. (as we all know from a previous blog post, really she was the Veronica.) This summer was different, I was going to establish an identity with the neighborhood kids that would hopefully translate into the coming school year. One way to make sure this would happen; get a pair of Umbros. Not just any Umbros you see, clearance Umbros.

These shorts were waiting there for me at the local Footlocker on the clearance rack like an apple ripe for the picking. The orange shorts with the purple trim and drawstring beckoned me in all of 5 seconds. These were my ticket to being cool; to being one of the cool kids. Forget that I was the awkward goofy tomboy who was always one of the guys, I was going to be a womanly tomboy with a new image on the road to adulthood.

Little did I know, that would all be removed in one evening after this fine purchase of brightly clown colored soccer shorts.

I had been invited over for a game of football at my friend’s grandmothers’s house. Not only would my friend be there, but so would her really cool older cousin (who we later found out had already kissed a boy and could read our palm), but so would some of the neighborhood guys who had grown up with me as the awkward nerd who was into things that most were not. It seemed at times the neighborhood kids took pity upon me or asked me over to play mainly because there was no one else around. This time, these umbros were going to change that perception, instead of taking pity upon me or being the last person asked, these shorts would inevitably turn me into the first kid asked and the least pitied kid on the block; until I got stopped before going out the door by my mother.

I told my mother of these plans. Well, I told her about playing football with friends, not necessarily everything else. It was just after dinner when she said, “Let me iron your shorts before you go.”

This was preposterous! Why would my mother thwart my plans like this? How did she not know ironing your “supposed” to be wrinkled shorts was a death sentence for anyone trying to fit in and be cool for once? Could she not read my pea brained thoughts?

Then to make matters worse, she had to iron the semi-matching shirt that accompanied the shorts. The shirt featured a very 90’s looking geometric alligator with a purple background. Bear in mind, I was only 12, but I thought it was pointless to iron something when you were going to mess it up and wrinkle it in the process of an impromptu neighborhood football game. This didn’t matter to my mother. As far as she was concerned you could come back as wrinkled as a piece of notebook paper, but you had to go out looking as neat as a bed sheet.

We had finished dinner, I was still getting ready, the only thing missing was the clothing. My friend called the house wondering where I was. When I was trying to reply, I didn’t want to lie, but at the same time I didn’t want to tell her the embarrassing truth. I bit down and told her,”I was waiting on my clothes to be ironed.” I could have just told her I got sidetracked or better, that I got tied up trying to tame a lion that escaped from the Dickerson Park Zoo and had to transport it on the back of my bicycle. No, instead I told her the truth and like all childhood best friends, she laughed.

Needless to say I was the neatest looking well kept kid in “should” be wrinkled shorts and t-shirt. I was so unwrinkled they could have called “Ripley’s Believe It or Not” when I arrived skidding in on my turquoise blue splatter painted Huffy bike. I then had to explain to the neighborhood kids what caused my delay thus further taking away any cool points I might have earned having my new and only pair of Umbros.

Needless to say, I solidified my nerd status, but at least I did it in style.

What hope did you have as a kid to change what others previously thought of you?

Jul

Inspiration

No Dragonflies were hurt in the process of this date…

Earlier this month after having published my last post, WordPress popped up with a congratulatory salutation and a quote by Anais Nin. It read, “My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living.” I immediately wrote the quote down because as you know, this is typically the inspiration for my blog. I rely on my own experiences for literary fodder.

Hopefully, after reading the above quote and the following explanation, you can forgive my slight absence and hiatus from Diary of a Quirky Girl. This last month seems to have felt like four for me. Each week seeming longer than the last and like each one was a month in of itself. This month was jam-packed full of adventure, stories, and relating to another based on our life experiences and talents.

The month began like most months for a single, quirky, hopeless romantic female who just wants someone to understand her and find her snort laugh endearing. Unbeknownst to said quirky female, she didn’t know what the following month would have in store for her. She didn’t realize she wanted more than just someone; anyone, to find her window shattering cackle funny, but wanted someone who understood her past, her pain, where she had been and more importantly; where she was going and the positivity she wanted to bring into the world.

It all started with a shopping trip for a bachelorette party, a text conversation with a best friend in St. Louis followed by a Facebook friend request to someone like myself, who had been searching for something very real.

The ONLY downside to finding something very real, is putting yourself out there, with the possibility of making a fool of yourself, and hoping the other person accepts you as you…and stepping in goose poop. Actually the first part of that sentence isn’t really a downside, and actually when you’re in the process of getting to know someone, it helps you to find out who they really are in response to your idiosyncrasies and quirks.

Luckily for me, this person wanted to join me in exploring quirks like (in no particular order):

Contemplating the idea of scaring a sleeping old man dressed like someone out of a barbershop quartet with a straw hat over his face, on the sun porch of his beautiful home.

Waving at small children you don’t know.

Talking with your hands while forgetting you have a cup of coffee in one of them and thus spilling it everywhere.

Getting lost after having just left the coffee place you came from on foot.

Going to an incredibly funny play, laughing hysterically at the witty banter and slapstick humor and getting to sit uncomfortably close to one of the actors in the balcony as part of their “schtick”.

Trying real Sushi for the first time…and enjoying it.

Wearing dress clothes and pretending to be the next American Ninja Warrior on a jungle gym in the middle of the town you both decided to meet in.

Seeing a flock of geese from the car after having taken off your heels and dress shoes, running like crazy towards them screaming like a wild person and accidentally stepping in goose poop. Meanwhile a woman in a burka smiles after she had just fed said geese.

Scaring every frog and dragonfly in the process of chasing aforementioned geese.

Getting lost AGAIN while trying to find the darn hole in the wall coffee-house you left for the jungle gym and getting sidetracked by geese as a side product.

These are just a handful of things that happened on our first date. As you can see, after that first date, this is why the two weeks that followed felt like two whole months, not only for me, but for the quirky partner in crime that joined me on that adventure as well. In the weeks after, we were still following up with each other, wanting to know more about the other, what inspires them, and encouraging the other to be crazy and creative, which is something we seem to be best at and are even better at being both when we’re together.

Literally I can not do justice in words with the fun experience we had on our first date, it was one of those things where, “you had to be there”.

The quirky partner I just mentioned, also surprised me by being available to come down for the weekend to briefly meet my parents, and go out and commit more random acts of foolishness and kindness towards informative children at a bowling alley. Secretly I think the children were computer programming geniuses crammed into a 7-year-old body trying to con us out of more tickets to get the whoopee cushion they were saving up for but that is another story for another time.

Let’s just say, this person, these times we’ve been spending together, is the creative push I’ve needed to make something of myself. As a side note, yes, my family and friends are very encouraging, but it’s very different coming from someone who has the same goals in life as you and you share the common bond of being the oddball and black sheep. Seeing and knowing what he does creatively, artistically and in a literary sense, makes me want to be better, and not just be better at my talent, but be a better version of myself. His creative and life nudge said to me, “Hey, if I can do it, you can too, why are you letting your past hold you back?”

Knowing your potential, and seeing it in someone else, and knowing you can be something bigger and better than you are, is the best personal gift he’s given me. (Next to the art piece he made for me to wear in my hair and the Superman cape he thought to win for me while he was with his family at Six Flags…)

So to my fellow readers and writers out there, I apologize again for the absence. I had to be away from my keyboard to get back to living, feel alive, stoke the fire of creativity, and come back to write with a basketful of inspiration. Thank you for being patient with me and soon you will be reading about the effect this relationship is having on my art career and other areas of my life. Again, words fail me at the moment but that is the artist in me talking. Sometimes it takes me a while to calm down and let the feelings process into words in the left lobe of my brain; rattle and ricochet around and then spew out like water from a faucet where the handles have been broken off and there is no plumber around to fix it. In that instance that is when I figure I may as well play and jump in the puddles created from this beautiful chaos of the creative process. At least, for the time being that is the best way I can describe it.

What or who inspires you? Who has inspired you to be creatively better than you imagined? When have you had an awakening to your potential?

May

This boxer’s rebellion

Its funny when opportunities present themselves. Opportunities usually present themselves when you are ready for them, not when you want them.

Put em’ up, put em up…

Since moving from St. Louis I’ve been struggling to find an adequate gym supporting women’s boxing. One looked very promising, but then unfortunately once I moved here, it was so far out-of-town it wasn’t worth training there after spending the gas money to get there.

The search for a new gym began; by phone at least. One call a drunk man answered slurring. I asked him how much the gym was and he said, “For you its free.” There was a hint in his voice that said he possibly wasn’t taking me seriously. At the time, I didn’t know if it was possibly a promotional thing for the gym; like a first time is free kind of thing like my old boxing gym in St. Louis. I replied in a Polly Anna like regard, “Really?”

(Yes, I know what you’re thinking, “Why did you continue to talk? The slurring should have been your first clue.” To this thoughtful inquiry of yours dear readers I reply, “I like to give people the benefit of the doubt.” That and maybe the man was a professional boxer and had suffered one too many blows to the head, hence his slurring. Some of you are probably still wondering why I continued to talk, because if he was any good he wouldn’t have received so many blows to the head. To that I say, just deal with it, I’m too polite to immediately be rude to anyone.)

The man went on to say something without any discernible syllables or letters, with some slight laughter. I hung up on him. He then realized I was serious, called back, I hit ignore on my phone and he left a slightly more sober message with gym details and prices.

The search continued. I had called another gym I found online and they offered classes specifically for women. When calling this place I inquired with the nice sounding (a.k.a. not drunk) man on the other end of the phone. He questioned, “Are you asking for your children?” For some reason that stung a little bit. Obviously he could tell I was older, and obviously old enough to have children near the age to start training for something like boxing. Seeing as I have no children, I had to realize his question was an honest mistake, and then carried on.

“No, I’m asking for myself.”
“We don’t offer those classes anymore.”
Surprised I asked, “Well but you say you do online?”
“Well we used to but the ladies quit showing up, we just can’t get them to commit.”

Then he went on to say how they, “the ladies”, liked to change it up and do Pilates or Yoga, claiming this is why they quit. I assured him saying, “Well to be honest, I’m very dedicated, I was going three to four times a week when I was living in St. Louis.” (Bear in mind this was before the depression had hit sometime around September.) He had asked what my goal was by going through this training, and I told him honestly; to become an Olympic boxer. He then started to pressure me and asked when I could come into the gym. At that point in time my life was so hectic I didn’t want to make a promise that could not be kept. He then replied, “See, we can’t get the women to commit!” Again I assured him of my dedication, and he realized he had messed up and missed his opportunity to possibly train a female boxer.

After that particular phone call I felt defeated. Again I had entered a world that was not normal for someone like me. Boxing is typically not a female sport, I get that. However, it is no reason to laugh at someone or put them down for wanting to pursue a dream.

In the past couple of months I entertained the idea of getting a new bag and getting a stand to accompany it, however it was a bit costly. Fast forward to last week. My mom and I were having a conversation about points we had racked up on a rewards card. Knowing I had just paid off one of my cards I realized, “Hmmm, maybe I have some points?” I checked and sure enough there was quite a bit on there. Enough rewards points for a boxing bag, or enough for a stand but not enough for both. I still had them send me the rewards in the form of gift cards because I knew at some point I could use the gift cards for something.

Somehow miraculously, today my parents on a whim decided to go shopping at Goodwill. Guess what was there? An elongated Muay Thai like boxing bag, much like the one I was accustomed to boxing with in St. Louis; in the color blue. It’s close to the blue color I recently put in my hair, coincidence? I think not.

Also today, in the mail…were the gift cards. Now that I have a bag, I can get the stand virtually free and get back to doing something I missed, loved and needed to do. I think maybe this was all a planned matter of timing for a path I’m supposed to take in life. Maybe this is someone’s way of saying, “Get back to being you.” Boxing is something intrinsic to me, just as much as writing and doing artwork is. When life is out of balance, it is hard for me to do any of these three things. Something tells me, I’m in the blue (in a very good way) and things are going to start looking up very soon.

What “gifts” have you received in a matter of good timing? Do you think it was by your own work and perseverance or coincidence?

Diary of a quirky girl

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