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Well Hi There!

I'm speaking in a syrupy sweet Southern drawl when I say that and it'll be funnier to you, maybe, if that's the voice you read it in. I don't actually talk like that...unless I'm drunk, angry, running a con, or got pulled over by the Po-po. I do, however, have legitimate claim to the accent. I am Southern, belle or otherwise. I hail from the swamp lands of Western Tennessee, land of Elvis, artists, and hot bed of racial tension. That last one is part of the reason I no longer live there. That and my family lives there, though my father's dead, and he was the one I wanted to get away from most.

So the style of this blog will mostly be stream of consciousness, at least for now.it's what I have time for. I needed a place to do high stakes stream-o's because I'm a bit of an exhibitionist and this journaling, writing 1000 words a day is a whole lot more fun if there's a possibility someone might see my thong. Kidding. Sort of. I'm a writer, bona fide with paid work for years and several poems and articles published and everything, though none lately as I've been preoccupied with raising my beautiful little youngun, and she has consumed me, body, mind and spirit. Literally. I breast fed her til she was three, and the only reason I stopped then was because I came down with Strep and Pneumonia at the same time and just didn't have the strength to feed her big appetite for what is apparently the best tasting thing in the whole damned world. I'm a wee bit on the hippie side, for a short way of explaining my reasons, though that term isn't really accurate either as i tend to absolutely hate "hippies." But I wear very little makeup, eat lots of plants, and prefer my food as close to original design as possible. And I don't use soap or deoderant, but you'd never know it. I don't smell. Believe me I'd know, cause I ask and I have some of the most brutally honest friends in the world...ahem, Connie and Kara stand out most prominently in the saying it like it is. i believe I actually even got kara to smell my pits one time. LOL, good thing I'm using no last names here, huh, Hellige? :)

Anyway, so now my angel is in Kindergarten and I finally have a chance to finish some of the projects I've started and stalled over the last five years, and even start new ones! I'll need a place to work out, so to speak, though. The title is so true as I'm on a quest to uncover the real me and for various reasons I'm not really sure who that is. Take the Southern accent for example. I used to talk with one humdinger of an accent. It wasn't the sweet, slow drawl of an Atlanta Belle, but the twangy slang-filled drawl of a farm girl who grew up running barefoot, sucking the nectar out of honeysuckle and climbing trees...when she didn't have chores, that is.

For various reasons I'll probably get to later, i ended up on my own at 16 and at that point who I was became a matter of survival. I won't say that I was completely fake, because I was still most definitely myself, but I adopted...clothing, we'll call it, that improved my chances of having someone buy me a car or pay my rent. Judge not. Finding a way to survive with no work experience and no support, well, you just try it. My options were to find a man to take care of me, dance in a strip club, become a whore, or become a con. I did work in a strip club for 3 days, but as a waitress, not a dancer. Let me tell you, the money was unbelievable. I just couldn't deal with the environment and the creeps...and the fact that it was something I felt ashamed of, though, now I think it's all a matter of perspective. Anyway, for the life I wanted, I didn't think sounding like a country hick would get me there, so I pymalioned myself and taught myself to speak more like Boston than Baton Rouge. Damned if it didn't work. Folks who had laughed at my opinions before suddenly gave what I said merit. It was weird. I discovered something similar with the way I dressed. I discovered that the way I dressed had a huge impact on the way people treated me and so i learned to dress for not just occasions, but for genre's. I was still me, but I took on more and more "accessories" to the point that 16 years later, I'm no longer sure who is who.

Greetings from The Sister

On The Sister and The Mister

I'm currently in the midst of a panic attack. Get used to it, it happens a lot. Anyway, I was recently offered a job and the last thing required of me was to hand deliver them a list of three people who would spew words of my greatness from their asses, better known as references. Unfortunately, my references are as follows:

1. An 83 year old professor who's is deaf and had to take a photo of me in order to remember my face in case I ever needed a letter of recommendation from him.

2. The graduate assistant to the aforementioned professor. He always scheduled me at 8am on Fridays and I always showed up hungover. Sorry, but I had things to do that involved getting drunk on a Thursday night on some poor saps dime.

3. A peer reference from a dude in my lab. This same chap asked me out for the majority of my sophomore year. I introduced him to a girl who later became his girlfriend. That same girl dumped him for another female. Oops.

Needless to say, I should have thought this through but in my excitement to start my new job that would help me purchase a shoe collection that rivaled Carrie Bradshaw's (or pay my student loans, whatever), I thought choosing supervisors and peer colleagues was the way to go.

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