After a year of family therapy

Well, my family and I haven't really been in therapy, but we have been talking through things for about a year now.

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Ring, Ring

Hello Gobsmack's residence.

Hey Mom.

Hi hon, what's up with the kids?

Nothing new.

Do you have their costumes ready for Halloween? You know your Dad and I are coming up next Friday.

Yessss Mom, I know you are coming. I'm calling to make sure you are bringing the truck, we should move me down that weekend.

Yeah, we're bringing the truck. What are you going to dress the kids as?

(this is where I am starting to get pissed off)

Mom! You understand that I am involuntarily leaving this city, selling my house and moving my entire family up there. And I've called you five times this week and each time all you seem to talk about is the kid's Halloween.

Well, you're going to let them go trick or treating right?

MOM! I never NOT let them go trick or treating. What the hell?

Well, your father and I just want to make sure they get to go.

Ok. Mom. Look. I am very scared about all of this. I am kind of having a mini-meltdown about it. I need you to say it'll be ok, I need you to be there for me and support me.

We are letting you move in aren't we? What more support do you need?

Mom. Look. Jeff and I are very very thankful that you are letting us stay in your basement until we can sell the house and buy a new one. But I need emotional support.

If moving bothers you so much then don't move.

MOM!!! look. You know how hard I have tried to find a job here. It just isn't going to happen. I have to move Mom you know this. I just need you to say it is going to be alright.

Sweetheart, you know your Dad and I aren't that way. We've talked about this. We are just more task-orientated than you. You deal with things by thinking about them. And going on about it. We are task people.

(silence for a while, I let it sink in for the fortieth time)

Yah, I know. I just have to give you lists. You can help me pack and move a bunch of stuff when you come up. Are you bringing the truck?

Are the kids going to be ready for trick or treating?

Yes.

Well, yes, we've cleared out the back for your dresser. And we are bringing up our Rubbermaid's to help you pack.

Ok Mom.

Ok Holly.

Love you.

Give those kids a big kiss and we love you.

See you Friday sweetheart.

True to their word, they had brought the truck and had no less than 6 big Rubbermaid packed when I got home from work on Friday.

And I know she will never read this blog, but,

Thanks Mom. Thanks for doing what you can.

Happy Halloween

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Now go, get some candy!!

I blog cause I love

My week thus far:

Leave house at 6.20 am, watch sunrise as I drive, arrive in thick rush hour traffic, arrive 10 minutes late for training that begins at 8 am. Sit through training for 8 hours. Drive home 15 lbs heavier because of the paperwork.

Long effing days people. Two more to go. Wee-hee!!

But I blog 'cause I love.

I am training in the same city this story occurred in. I haven't been back since really. This journey I take each morning, into this crowded city, is stirring all sorts of things in my belly and head.

But no, not now. No laying it bare right now. My dogs is barking.

Instead you get photos of the wee studio apartment that housed the pig's head. The walk in closet of the studio, housed my army cot. The main area served as living quarters for my artist friend. He of the pig instillation art piece.

Really, this city took my innocence. I was a babe in these woods. I was nineteen, decided to take a year off of school, had never seen an African American, was a radical feminist. I was very aggressive, yet kind and loving in so many ways.

I was easy pickin' for psychopaths and confidence men. I am lucky I made it out alive really. I use to smoke American Spirits and walk around at three am, all buzzy. I was without rules or obligations. It was a long, punk and naked year.

And then there was getting hit by a car. Seven fractures of the skull...Coma for a week . . Ya'll don't need to hear this. Not now anyway.

Ok back to the studio apartment. Again, the one with the pig's head that had a patch sewn into it.

PHOTOS!!

This is outside the wee studio apartment, through a window. The yellow bike was mine. It was on the first floor (duh). Take note of the back of the photo. You can make out a fridge and a stove. This will be important later. You can click the photos to make them bigger BTW.






Walking straight back from the first photo, you will find the kitchen. Note the sink. You could lean against the wall while you were doing dishes. The fridge was facing the stove. So you couldn't open the fridge and the oven door at the same time, lest the clang together.




BEHOLD: My first writing instrument, my beloved Brother word processor. The front folded down and was the key board (click here to see a picture of a Brother word processor.) The paper's taped to the front are from a journal I was published in (it was a local college journal).



It had it's own floppy disks. Mr. Hall lovingly transferred all my writing onto this very computer I am blogging from. Maybe I will find my older stuff someday. Alas, the Brother is no more. You can wikipedia the brother word processor if you would like. It makes me too sad to find it.


And, in the spirit of realizing all about the dark side and becoming quite coated in it.

The Toadies "Possum Kingdom"



I could write about any number of things from that time. Let's do some word association. Ya'll throw out random words and I will match a story to it from my year abroad. Limit three.

ROCK ON READERS and FELLOW BLOGGERS!!!

Here's to letting paying heed to the muse, even when you're tired and crabby.

The next Mr. Hall

Now is the time on Mrs. Hall when I type out stories I have spoken many times before.

When I was 13, all awkward insecurity, body of a woman, mind of a kid, we would take these long car trips to see relatives. Ten hours in the K car each way. Me, my Mom, my Dad and my brother.

During these trips, as was the fashion of the day, I listened to rap music. It was really popular back then. Yo MTV raps was one of my favorite shows.

And there was one man, one rap artist who I listened to more than most. And he spoke of himself like a God. I didn't know it was possible to talk about yourself like that. To think of yourself like that.

My first cassette of his did not have an "A or B" side, rather "Bigger and Deffer".

If he ever shows up at my door and says, "Hey, baby, come on now", I'll say, "Give me five minutes to pack", and if he says, "No baby, I gotta go now" Then I will be gone.

;)

Either way, his music gave a voice to use. A way of being comfortable.

Ladies and Gentleman, put your hands together for James Todd Smith,

Also known as LL Cool J.

This is "I'm Bad" and it's still my personal anthem.




Favorite Lyric "Forget oreo's eat Cool J cookies"

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If you will have none of this--try this on.

And remember, her bikini was small, heels tall, she said, she likes the ocean . .



Extra potter's ground points if you can name the porn star and music producer in this video.

Salad days of yore

First day of my new job went well. Well, it was 8 hours a sitting through orientation. Power point, power point, power point . . . . two more days like this. Man o man!

Can't complain though, no longer will I have drive, drive, drive. No more home health. No more flicking roaches off my red back pack.

This looks to be a thin week in terms of blogging. In fact, I may have to slow the train a bit overall. At my new job, I will be responsible for all sorts of things. No more blogging on company time. After all, I don't have the company laptop anymore.

People come to me now. They come to see me and I will charge them. I am thusly responsible for 'production numbers' aka seeing a certain amount of patients in my office each day. They and their insurance company will get their monies worth!

I can't wait to see my office. (squeek!)

But, what I will lack in quantity of posts, I hope to make up for in quality (I hope anyway). The salad days of slacking at will are over. ;)

So for, let's entertain ourselves with this little ditty. And remember the salad days of Miss Holly Madison.

:)



RRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVVEERRRRR!!!!!!!

White people with dreadlocks

When I started posting videos like this, I know it is time to go back to yoga. I went and had a couple of epipha-trees.

Wherever I am, geographically, work wise, what have you, I bristle. I actively engage in rebellion. Of course, being a productive and stand up citizen, it is subversive rebellion. Subterfuge sabotage.

For instance, at work, when I am handed tasks that I don't want to do, or I disagree with, I don't do them. I never say this out loud or complain about it. This is an advantage I have being a nurse. There is a LARGE shortage of nurses out there people. They need all the help they can get.

Sometimes, I work with nurses that are of questionable quality. This does not apply to me. I am a fantastic nurse.

I do what is important and do it really well. I spend my energy wisely like that. After, I play dumb about the stuff I don't want to do. And because they need me, and because both the nurses and the nurses in management are overloaded, I get away with it.

Mhwah haa haa! (That's an evil genius laugh right there)

Rage against the machine, old school style

Also, I never, ever raise a fuss. I don't bring emotional drama, rage against the machine energy, or active substance abuse issues to the office. (This is what I mean by questionable quality). Overall, I am a very, very low maintenance worker. My former employers love me. My former coworkers love me. LOVE ME.

Even if I never learned how to do those TPS reports.

This subterfuge sabotage happens outside the work. I live in a very liberal town right now. There is a large percentage of white people with dreadlocks.

Ok, let me say that again....

and please click on the word for visual proof...

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS.

Thus, I subtlely poke fun of the hippies.This is very very easy. Their inherent rage against the machine is always churning, always ripe for the picking. Very easy to get someone all riled up. Just compliment Sarah Palin.

And why can't people just lighten the fuck up about politics and religion? Ya know, we all have a choice here.

IT CAN BE FUN OR SUCK, YOUR CHOICE!

In the core of me, deep down, is a glowing orb of happy and positive. I see the absurdity of it all. And really, I know what can and cannot be done. The universe is filled with ugly and good. I do good, very good. However, there will be no conquering all the evil. And no, this does not make me mad or make me want to rage against the machine. It is what it is. The truth.That truth was another epipha-tree during yoga.

My glowing orb of happy makes me smile and make jokes. People seem to like me. If I let them. Positive confidence, friendliness and charity--this attracts people. People are attracted to me.

Yet, there is this subversiveness. This urchin quality to me. I don't accept the invitations from others, usually. And when I practiced the Bikram Yoga I asked myself why. And as always, I had the answer in the end.

Nothing, and I mean nothing except the tribe called Hall, is permanent for me. Even this move, this new job. It will be for two or three years tops. I will aways be a nurse turned nurse practitioner. Just not in the same place. Honestly though, I want to settle into permanent outside the tribe, it just won't happen until I can set down roots.

Thus the poking fun of the white people with dreadlocks.

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS PEOPLE!


Making fun or playing dumb allows me to keep a small and sturdy wall up. Yet there is a change coming. I feel it. After all, I try not to write posts just to state the obvious status or me and mine. Well, at least not anymore.

Time will tell if I can stop being a brat. I will however, never ever stop making fun of

WHITE PEOPLE WITH DREADLOCKS!



I mean, what the hell! Dude, that is sooooooooooooo nasty. ug.

I heart the talking back

Not much to say today.

I do like hearing what ya'll say. I really like the comments. It meets my unmet social needs. That's right, I said it. This blog community provides some social interaction. I have kids. They are all consuming. It is hard enough to socialize with the guy I actually sleep with.

I will say that I like to comment. I try to add something to the conversation when a thought is sparked or if the post is plain awesome. But, I will hold back if i've nothing to say.

So, enjoy the past posts. Comment at will. I enjoy hearing from you. And I certainly hope you enjoy your stay, however brief, at La Blog de Senora Hall.