Is that you're home all day. Which means you're home when the doorbell rings. I've had two solicitation visits this week from people selling weird "natural cleaning products" (they really need to do that door to door?), one from a sketchy guy selling "magazines" (I saw that one coming and told him I didn't know how to read), and this afternoon, one from two Mormons on bicycles who wanted to know if I'd be interested in discussing the fact that there is a prophet on earth.
Nothing against Mormons - I actually know a few progressive Mormons and they're nice folks - but I don't like home visits from religious types, especially if they're part of a religion that almost singlehandedly helped raise the most money to support Prop 8 and defeat legal same-sex marriage in California.
So when the LDS boys showed up on my doorstep, I didn't invite them in. I let them begin their spiel earnestly before I held up my hand to interrupt. "Nothing personal, guys. I'm sure you're very nice people. But your religion isn't inclusive. In fact, your church donates millions of dollars to make sure gay people will never have the same rights as everyone else. Therefore, I don't want to hear what you have to say."
They both just stared at me. "Unless that's something you're willing to discuss before you leave me with a bunch of pamphlets about LDS?"
I got a mumbled "thanks ma'am" from one of them before they backed down the steps.
Honestly, if I hadn't been in the middle of a project that required my full concentration and if it hadn't been the 4th time this week I'd been interrupted by people ringing my doorbell, I might have invited them in if they'd been willing to discuss why their church hates gay people. I might have told them that some of my very best friends are gay, that my sister is gay, and that I think there is something very wrong with a religious organization putting a great deal of money into a campaign against equality (particularly in this economy - aren't there other things the Mormon church could have done with all of that money instead of taking out hateful anti-gay ads?). Also, my gaydar works with almost 100 percent accuracy and I think I picked up some vibes from one of those LDS guys, so it might have been an interesting discussion. I actually enjoy debating theological issues.
If I worked in an office, they never would have made an assumption that I had the time to listen to their story of a prophet that walks the earth, of the Book of Mormon, or read their pamphlets. But because I work from home, they probably think I'm a shut-in, a housewife with some time on my hands, or independently wealthy and extremely bored.
Maybe I was a little mean about it. I hadn't realized how much pent-up hostility I've been carrying about the issue. And I still don't understand how same-sex marriages is going to "lessen the validity" of heterosexual marriages, more than 50 percent of which end in divorce anyway. In fact, I believe I just heard that notorious religious zealot and bigot Mel Gibson and his wife are divorcing. Even though his church "doesn't believe in divorce." Are there any religious groups left on the planet that aren't comprised of stunningly ignorant hypocrites?
To sum up, I'm going to ignore the doorbell during the day unless Fedex or UPS truck is outside. Because I don't want to be responsible to marring the psyches of a couple of young, earnest, naive LDS "messengers."
Also: I know I have a good thing going. I get to work for myself in my pajamas most days, come and go as I please, pick and choose the projects I work on. And I'm happy. But don't think that means I'm going to stop bitching about day-to-day bullsh*t. Because I am fairly certain I will always do that. A Zen mind is a lifetime pursuit, yes?
Friday, April 17, 2009
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
You're fired!
I'm quoted in an article in this week's Charleston City Paper (photo & all...you know how much I love having my picture taken). It's a good piece and I think a lot of people will identify with some of the stories, especially if you're one of the hundreds of thousands who show up for work every day wondering if today is the day you're going to get laid off. Also, I'm thrilled they mentioned my book!
Read the whole thing and see photos here.
Read the whole thing and see photos here.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I love my neighborhood but it is getting on my nerves today...
I live in gorgeous Wagener Terrace about 3 blocks away from Hampton Park and 2 blocks from the water. I love it here and, despite having to make cutbacks due to lack of a regular day job, I'm making do with freelancing so I can keep paying rent here just so I won't have to move. That's how much I love it. My neighbors are great (even though I never spoke to a single one until I got the puppy in December - now I know at least the ones with dogs) and it's such a diverse neighborhood with lots of "creatives" close to my age working from home too.
However, I've been trying to work all morning (since 7am, BTW) over the noise of my neighbors across the street with a hired crew jack-hammering their walkways so they can build new ones. There are two huge work trucks right across from where my home office is and between the jackhammers, the trucks beeping, and the workmen shouting, my usual lovely day with windows wide open has turned into Noise City. Also, the puppy has gone completely insane from the noise and won't stop barking, so I can't even make phone calls.
Two, there's a sort of meth-head older dude from down the street who is living in a house while he "fixes it up" (that's code for smoking crack in a house that someone is letting him "borrow"). He walks up and down the street during the day and I've said hi/bye in passing just to be nice, but last week he started asking me for cigarettes. This morning, he came over when I had Lou out in the yard and asked for money for the bus. And to use my cell phone. And for a ride somewhere (because I told him I didn't have any cash, which is true - I rarely carry cash). He stood in my front yard scratching his arms while I was ON MY CELL PHONE asking me to use it. Um...no, no, and no. One of my other neighbors told me he's like a stray dog - give him anything and he'll camp out on your doorstep. Don't get me wrong: I have feelings. I feel for his being in a poor financial situation. I feel for him not having reliable transportation. But I don't like to feel like I'm being taken advantage of for being nice. So I had to show my bitch side this morning and that's not a great start to my day.
Today feels like a wash. I can't concentrate to work and am afraid to hang out in the yard because I'd rather avoid Johnny Crackhead than have to tell him to f*ck off.
On a positive note, it could be worse. If I lived a few houses up I'd be next to the duplex that rents to college students who have nightly front AND backyard hootenannies that go on until the wee hours. I've walked Lou late at night past that place and there are college girls puking in the front yard, drunk frat douchebags screaming "I love you man," and 50 cars parked half on the road, half on the sidewalk. I feel for the people who live next door to those assholes. I know them and they've called the police multiple times, but apparently one of the college kid's mom owns the building so they're not in danger of being evicted.
So all I have to deal with is a day of heavy construction (god, I hope it's just today) and avoiding Johnny Crackhead. And I still love my neighborhood.
Update p.s.: So not kidding. Five minutes after I wrote this and posted it, I took Lou out and Johnny Crackhead made a beeline down the street towards my house. He apparently didn't get enough bitch this morning. We're going to change our walk route today.
However, I've been trying to work all morning (since 7am, BTW) over the noise of my neighbors across the street with a hired crew jack-hammering their walkways so they can build new ones. There are two huge work trucks right across from where my home office is and between the jackhammers, the trucks beeping, and the workmen shouting, my usual lovely day with windows wide open has turned into Noise City. Also, the puppy has gone completely insane from the noise and won't stop barking, so I can't even make phone calls.
Two, there's a sort of meth-head older dude from down the street who is living in a house while he "fixes it up" (that's code for smoking crack in a house that someone is letting him "borrow"). He walks up and down the street during the day and I've said hi/bye in passing just to be nice, but last week he started asking me for cigarettes. This morning, he came over when I had Lou out in the yard and asked for money for the bus. And to use my cell phone. And for a ride somewhere (because I told him I didn't have any cash, which is true - I rarely carry cash). He stood in my front yard scratching his arms while I was ON MY CELL PHONE asking me to use it. Um...no, no, and no. One of my other neighbors told me he's like a stray dog - give him anything and he'll camp out on your doorstep. Don't get me wrong: I have feelings. I feel for his being in a poor financial situation. I feel for him not having reliable transportation. But I don't like to feel like I'm being taken advantage of for being nice. So I had to show my bitch side this morning and that's not a great start to my day.
Today feels like a wash. I can't concentrate to work and am afraid to hang out in the yard because I'd rather avoid Johnny Crackhead than have to tell him to f*ck off.
On a positive note, it could be worse. If I lived a few houses up I'd be next to the duplex that rents to college students who have nightly front AND backyard hootenannies that go on until the wee hours. I've walked Lou late at night past that place and there are college girls puking in the front yard, drunk frat douchebags screaming "I love you man," and 50 cars parked half on the road, half on the sidewalk. I feel for the people who live next door to those assholes. I know them and they've called the police multiple times, but apparently one of the college kid's mom owns the building so they're not in danger of being evicted.
So all I have to deal with is a day of heavy construction (god, I hope it's just today) and avoiding Johnny Crackhead. And I still love my neighborhood.
Update p.s.: So not kidding. Five minutes after I wrote this and posted it, I took Lou out and Johnny Crackhead made a beeline down the street towards my house. He apparently didn't get enough bitch this morning. We're going to change our walk route today.
Monday, April 06, 2009
Lowcountry Dog love...
My little Lou is in the April/May issue of Lowcountry Dog! The print edition hits the streets starting tomorrow, but you can see the issue online here. Click on the flipping pages to open a reader and you can see Lou on page 16 at the bottom of the page (wearing one of her Old Navy sweaters).
Follow Lowcountry Dog news on Twitter here!
Follow Lowcountry Dog news on Twitter here!
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Twitter ate my blog...
No, I'm not really blaming Twitter for my slacking off on the blog posting. But it's just so damn easy to do my navel gazing in 140 character spurts than it is to sit down and write a blog post. I won't lie and say that the idea of shutting my blog down entirely hasn't crossed my mind. I have friends who did it and they don't seem to regret it. I miss reading their blogs, but if they're on Twitter I can still keep up with their goings-on.
It wasn't until I realized I was writing an email yesterday in "Twitterese" (abbreviating, leaving out pronouns) that it hit me: relying on Twitter to communicate so often not only takes away from my blogging time, but also that it has impacted my ability to think and write in complete sentences. I'm still writing essays, so I know I haven't lost it entirely, but I've also noticed that some of the editing I've had to do with my essays lately is different than the editing I did a year ago. A year ago, to get a 900-1200 word essay, I'd write about 2000 or 2500 words, then tighten everything to get my final, shorter word count. Now I write almost exactly to word count and during the editing process find myself having to flesh out sentences, change abbreviations, clarify thoughts, and basically translate Twitter-esque sentences into something that the general public will be able to read and understand. And I've been on Twitter for just about a year now.
Don't get me wrong - I love Twitter. I love being able to keep up with friends, find great links, find new blogs to read, and communicate faster online than ever before. I'm definitely a #twitteraddict. But if I don't keep up my regular writing here, I'm going to end up writing and speaking in 140-character bursts and completely forget how to express myself like a normal human being. Or a writer. It reminds me a little bit of "IM speak," something I fell prey to a few years ago myself to the point where (I admit this with some embarrassment) I actually SAID "O M G" and "I D K" (yes, out loud). I'm over 30 and shouldn't talk like a teenager. I blame my nieces and modern technology in general for that phase. And cheerleader movies.
This isn't an excuse or a promise to blog more often. This is the ultimate in navel-gazing: Me telling ME that I need to step it up. I still plan on Tweeting about what I had for lunch, about my puppy's behavior, about the weather. When you work from home and have little contact with people during the day, Twitter is like a group of online co-workers. But I also know I need a little self-intervention in the form of writing in full paragraphs. I also have VisualCV, LinkedIn, Facebook, MySpace, and my other blog for my book to keep up.
I hope blogs aren't dying. Watching print media take a dive has been bad enough. I still love reading blogs and my friends are funny as f*ck, so I hope they won't stop writing them. I've had this little corner of the web since 2003 and I'm not going anywhere soon. I'm going to keep navel-gazing, making lists of things that make me happy, rambling on about my lack of cooking skills, curing my social phobia, mocking family members (my mother hasn't managed to find my blog in six years, my younger sister still doesn't have internet access at home, and my nephew can't read yet), and bitching about politics, the neighbor's dinosaur that won't stop pooping in my front yard, how much I love naps, and my television addiction.
p.s. I was going to write this yesterday, but I was almost finished with Kate Christensen's "The Great Man" and couldn't put it down.
p.p.s. I was going to write this earlier this afternoon, but decided to give the dog a bath instead so she would smell like apples instead of wet dog ass.
p.p.p.s. You can find me on Twitter here.
It wasn't until I realized I was writing an email yesterday in "Twitterese" (abbreviating, leaving out pronouns) that it hit me: relying on Twitter to communicate so often not only takes away from my blogging time, but also that it has impacted my ability to think and write in complete sentences. I'm still writing essays, so I know I haven't lost it entirely, but I've also noticed that some of the editing I've had to do with my essays lately is different than the editing I did a year ago. A year ago, to get a 900-1200 word essay, I'd write about 2000 or 2500 words, then tighten everything to get my final, shorter word count. Now I write almost exactly to word count and during the editing process find myself having to flesh out sentences, change abbreviations, clarify thoughts, and basically translate Twitter-esque sentences into something that the general public will be able to read and understand. And I've been on Twitter for just about a year now.
Don't get me wrong - I love Twitter. I love being able to keep up with friends, find great links, find new blogs to read, and communicate faster online than ever before. I'm definitely a #twitteraddict. But if I don't keep up my regular writing here, I'm going to end up writing and speaking in 140-character bursts and completely forget how to express myself like a normal human being. Or a writer. It reminds me a little bit of "IM speak," something I fell prey to a few years ago myself to the point where (I admit this with some embarrassment) I actually SAID "O M G" and "I D K" (yes, out loud). I'm over 30 and shouldn't talk like a teenager. I blame my nieces and modern technology in general for that phase. And cheerleader movies.
This isn't an excuse or a promise to blog more often. This is the ultimate in navel-gazing: Me telling ME that I need to step it up. I still plan on Tweeting about what I had for lunch, about my puppy's behavior, about the weather. When you work from home and have little contact with people during the day, Twitter is like a group of online co-workers. But I also know I need a little self-intervention in the form of writing in full paragraphs. I also have VisualCV, LinkedIn, Facebook, MySpace, and my other blog for my book to keep up.
I hope blogs aren't dying. Watching print media take a dive has been bad enough. I still love reading blogs and my friends are funny as f*ck, so I hope they won't stop writing them. I've had this little corner of the web since 2003 and I'm not going anywhere soon. I'm going to keep navel-gazing, making lists of things that make me happy, rambling on about my lack of cooking skills, curing my social phobia, mocking family members (my mother hasn't managed to find my blog in six years, my younger sister still doesn't have internet access at home, and my nephew can't read yet), and bitching about politics, the neighbor's dinosaur that won't stop pooping in my front yard, how much I love naps, and my television addiction.
p.s. I was going to write this yesterday, but I was almost finished with Kate Christensen's "The Great Man" and couldn't put it down.
p.p.s. I was going to write this earlier this afternoon, but decided to give the dog a bath instead so she would smell like apples instead of wet dog ass.
p.p.p.s. You can find me on Twitter here.
