The 1800's Were Dangerous Times

Through my genealogy research, I've discovered that the 1800's were dangerous times, which kind of surprised me. I mean, we're talking southern Alabama here, not the untamed wild west, right? Or at least that's what I thought...

For one poor soul, his final exit was undertaken by the fine folks down at Clio Furniture (of Clio, Alabama), who not only sold some pretty fine furniture, but had a fair price for a funeral as well.

One (two?) of my favorite deaths so far is that of a woman named Jessie and the local sherrif. From what I've been able to glean, there was a bit of a land dispute between Jessie and a neighbor, so the sherrif came out to settle things. As it turned out, Jessie took issue with the sherrif on some point or another, and she shot him. Apparently this happened right about the time he shot her.

As it turns out for Joe Barrus, late of Barbour County, Alabama, 1827 was a particularly dangerous year because the cause of death listed on his death certificate was "shot by wife". Now you just know that if he'd listened to her just a little more often, then she wouldn't have had to shoot his sorry ass, right? Even way back then southern women didn't take any crap.

Patting Myself On My Back

I'd like to think that I'm not usually one to brag about things that I do. And even if that's not the case, I want to think that it is, so please don't burst my bubble. However, I've changed a couple of things in my life lately and just wanted to share them with you, the lone person who's subscribed to my blog, and the occasional computer literate homeless person who hangs out at the library when it's cold.

Since August 13, the day school started this year, I've lost 33 pounds and weigh, for the first time in a very long time, less than 200 pounds. (I realize that posting that on the internet increases the chances of me being laughed at or made fun of, but what the hell, I have no secrets anyway.) I've done it mostly by watching what I eat, eating slowly, listening to my body and stopping eating when I'm not longer hungry versus when I'm so full I want to puke. Also, I indulge myself from time to time. If I want pizza, it's okay for me to have a slice or maybe even two, but the days of eating 3, 4, or 5 pieces are over. I still crave sweets though, and I've discovered a wonderful thing: Weight Watchers desserts. My favorite is the chocolate chip cookie dough sundae and it satisfies my craving and is low calorie, compared to "normal" food and doesn't sacrifice taste. Ugh! I sound like I'm preaching, so time to change the subject.

The other thing that I've done is that I've quit smoking. Again. It's only been 3 weeks, but I think this time it's for good. I'm taking wellbutrin, which works great to help you quit and has worked well for me in the past. It's also an anti-depressant, so it helps to keep me on a more even keel and hopefully I'm less bitchy as I go through withdrawal. About 3 years ago, I quit for 4 months and the reason I started back was that several boulders fell on me at once (going to court with Kenin's ex, Kenin getting a new job, trying to find a new place to live, and then moving, all within a month's time) and I gave in. This time I feel much more ready to quit and I think I have better coping skills to deal with stress. Besides, I wasn't smoking a whole lot anyway, so why smoke at all? Keep your fingers crossed for me. I will beat this thing yet!

Favorite Quotes

I was cleaning up an old website I'd made and came across these quotes. I hope you like them as much as I do!

The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits.

~Albert Einstein

Women complain about premenstrual syndrome, but I think of it as the only time of the month that I can be myself.

~Roseanne

Women need a reason to have sex. Men just need a place.

~Billy Crystal

Instead of getting married again, I'm going to find a woman I don't like and just give her a house.

~Rod Stewart

See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.

~Robin Williams

Ah, yes, divorce, from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet.

~Robin Williams

Some people say that I must be a horrible person, but that's not true. I have the heart of a young boy -- in a jar on my desk.

~Stephen King

I believe in looking reality straight in the eye and denying it.

~Garrison Keilor

I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.

~Mae West

Sex on TV isn’t bad for you unless you fall off.

~ Unknown

Support bacteria. They're the only culture some people have.

~Unknown

If you can’t beat your computer at chess, try kickboxing.

~Unknown

Everyone has a photographic memory; some just don’t have film.

~Unknown

The fact that no one understands you doesn't make you an artist.

~Unknown

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

~Unknown

Spotted on the back of a T-Shirt worn by an LAPD Bomb Squad member: If you see me running, try to keep up.

And This Is Why I Stay Away Fom NASCAR Races

Thursday morning Ashlyn left to visit her dad in Georgia for 10 days. For me, that means 10 glorious, teenager-free days. For Ash and her dad, that means 5 of those 10 days will be spent sleeping with God knows how many other friends and relatives in an RV parked in the infield of the Atlanta Motor Speedway. I couldn't do it because I'm such a homebody that I prefer to be away from home for no longer than, say, oh, 12 hours or so. But they love it for some odd reason. And I mean they really love it. They take off work, fly Ashy down special just for the occasions (October and March, in case you're wondering how often the track gets a major workout), and make a big shindig out of it.

Anyway, Ash called me this morning, totally unapologetic about the fact that it was only 8 am, so that she could tell me it was snowing in Atlanta. Snow. In. Atlanta. During. A. NASCAR. Weekend. Hmph! Of all the nerve! I have to admit to a certain amount of satisfaction in the fact that my beautiful child refused to pack a coat because, "Mom, it's going to be 75 degrees down there!" Apparently there is such a thing as poetic justice after all.

While she was standing outside the RV and we were talking about the weather, she remarked to someone standing near her that "Well, at least Bill has a shirt on now." That sounded just a wee bit odd so I asked her what she was talking about. She said that the only things "Bill" ever wore while they were at the races were boxer shorts and cowboy boots. I could feel my head begin to explode just a little bit as I wondered if this was the same guy who, last October, was so drunk that he fell off the roof of the RV.

UPDATE: According to Ashlyn, no, Bill is not the same person who got drunk and fell off the RV. My thought though, is that now I know for sure that there are two idiots out there instead of just the one. Scary, no?

The Other Me

Have you ever felt like, as you grew older, that along with the so-called wisdom you've gained, that you've also perhaps lost a little bit of yourself as well? I know that sounds a bit confusing, so let me explain. As I slowly (though not quite slowly enough) waltz toward my - ack! - 39th birthday, I find myself comparing me now to the me that was 10, 15, or 20 years ago.

Twenty years ago I was, what I would like to think, though I'm fairly certain I'm living in denial, a fairly typical 18 year old. I was pretty responsible in that I had a job, an apartment or mobile home depending on which part of my 18th year you choose to examine, and a car. I loved to go out with my friends, "cruise the square", and just have fun (all while totally sober and straight, if you can believe that). I enjoyed being carefree and having no responsibility for anyone other than myself. I didn't always make the best choices, but I lived through the bad ones and learned a lesson or two. I wasn't looking into the future because I was, as most all 18 year olds are, immortal and invincible.

Fifteen years ago I was the mother of an almost 2 year old absolutely beautiful little girl, and I can say that because I'M NOT BIASED AT ALL. I also had a part time job, a really nice home, a husband, and I was completely miserable so I got out. I couldn't tell you what I wanted, but I knew that what I had wasn't it. So off I went in search of something different, still responsible for my daughter, but still young enough to have the guts to go out and get what I wanted, even if I wasn't quite sure what that was.

Ten years ago, I was the single parent of my daughter and a totally smart and handsome 1 year old little boy, and I can say that because I'M NOT BIASED AT ALL. I worked a full time and a part time job, had a car, a townhome, and knew that I loved not having to deal with another adult in my life, other than at work. I was happy, even though I lived in a town where 3/4 of the residents were related in some way to my son's father and refused to even acknowledge that I existed. That was okay for me though, because I now knew that I wasn't a doormat and didn't need to have anyone with me to make it because I could do it myself.

I'm now a wife, the parent of 4 children (2 of them are 'step', though we refuse to look at it in that manner), I work full time, have a home, a car, and I wonder where the fight in me went. I've discovered that I'm passionate (Kenin says OCD) about the people and things that I find enjoyment in and in the things that I think. I hate that I'm so in tune with people that I sometimes must sugar coat the things that I say to the point that sometimes what comes out of my mouth is a twisted, almost-untrue version of what I really wanted to say. Why is it that in my life as a wife and mother I don't feel like the me that was? Is it that I've become such the caregiver to others that that's all that I am now? Has the me who takes care of everyone else has overrun the other parts of me? Do the old me's even exist anymore, or is this current me all that I am? Where did all the other me's go to?

Don't think I'm depressed, because I'm not, or at least I don't think I am. I've just been thinking lately about the me that is vs. the me's that were. There are days that I wonder just how in the hell I got where I am, and days that I'm thankful I'm not where I used to be.

Yes, I Know, I Suck

Yesterday it was about 70 degrees here, a beautiful, sunny, warm day. This morning I woke up and it was snowing, with about 4 inches already on the ground, and the high temperature is supposed to be 32. Since this drastic weather change messes up any plans I might have had outside of the house (I didn't really have any plans like that, but in case I had, they'd now be ruined) and I really don't want to spend my day cleaning the inside of the house, I decided to blog so that I wouldn't disappoint the sole person who's subscribed to it. (See, I don't even know who you are, and I'm blogging just for you! :) ) Like I said, I know, I suck for not posting more consistently.

I'm still into the ancestry thing, and am having a blast. I've actually been in touch with a real, live relative who I'm related to from about 10 generations ago. Of course, I wouldn't know her if I ran her over with my car, but it's kind of cool to discover just how big my little world is. It turns out that the Riley side of the family is actually from England and not Ireland, as I'd thought, so now I can't go around touting the 'I'm full-blooded Irish' bit anymore which sucks, but whatever. I've traced the Riley side back to about the 1400's in England, but some of the dates are incorrect on the info I have. For example, someones child is born before his/her mother was born. That would be kind of cool, don't you think, if it were true, but I'm fairly certain that kind of thing is physiologically impossible. Anyway, I've upgraded my membership on the website to being able to look at documents from all over the world so I plan on figuring all that stuff out and making sure that what I do have is correct.

Hunter turns 11 tomorrow and is disgustingly excited about getting older. I guess at the age of 11 that's okay, but I gotta tell ya that at the age of 38, I'd be pretty content if I quit having birthdays. Wait, I don't really have birthdays anymore; I have anniversaries of birthdays. So that means that in August, I'll have my 19th anniversary of my 20th birthday, which is, in my not so humble opinion, much better than having another birthday.

Who Am I and Where Did I Come From?

A few weeks ago, I got a junk email from Ancestry. com, and instead of adding it to my junk pile like I would normally do, I actually clicked on the link. I figured what the hell. After a recent visit from my cousin, who I hadn't seen in over 10 years, I began to wonder a bit about where I came from and how I became me. There are some pretty obvious answers to those questions, and one of them begins with "When a man and a woman are really in love...", but that's not quite what I mean.

Once my mother died, I kind of lost touch with her side of the family. I guess that's as much my fault as it is theirs, so no blame shall be laid on that doorstep. But I do have questions about both sides of the family and unfortunately, those who might have been able to answer them are no longer around. So, blah, blah, blah, I went to Ancestry.com and plugged in what little information I knew. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit - there are actually other people related to me! And they're out there in cyberspace!

I've found out a couple of interesting facts; the first one being that one of my ancestors on the Blake side of the gene pool came over to America from Ireland (okay, lots of them came from there), only to quite literally run off and join the circus, or at least run off with a man who was part of a circus. The other interesting tidbit I learned was that my great-grandmother on the Riley side was one of 11 children and apparently not a single one of them ever moved away from southern Alabama. EVER. FOR ANY REASON.

According to my father, one of my great-grandmother's brothers, Billy, was about as nutso as the day is long. I'm really going to see if I can find documentation to prove that, because I'd love to pin my crazy days on some long lost ancestor. ;)

Now, there is one little and potentially scary drawback to all this geneology stuff. The other night, just a couple of days after I discovered there are a bunch of potential southern cousins - way far removed, of course - Kenin and I were watching a show on Tru TV about the beach patrol in Panama City Beach, FL, which is a favorite exotic destination for those in south Alabama. Lo and behold, there was a redneck (I can call him this because he had a mullett haircut and it was obvious from the look of it that the old Billy Ray Cyrus was a hero to this guy) who was wearing rebel flag swimming trunks. Because he was, well, a dumbass, he decided to flash his rear to the beach patrol officer. Naturally, the officer wrote him a ticket and impressed upon him the importance of leaving his home in Luverne (pronounced Lu-vern), Alabama, and returning to Panama City for his court appearance. Now, it just so happens that Luverne is really, really, really close to Greenville, where my mothers family was from and it occurred to me that THIS COULD BE MY RELATIVE.

Maybe this geneology thing isn't so great after all.

And This Is Realistic?

Huffy awoke at 3 am, as usual, for work this morning and my brain heard the alarm as well and decided to begin functioning, depriving me of sleep, which really sucks because I took today off from work so that I could have a much need Mental Health Day. Once I'm up, there's no going back to sleep, so I began to peruse the gossip pages (are there any other kind?) at people.com. I came across this story in which actress Sophia Bush talks about how she's Italian and food is supposedly such a big part of her life. She says:

"[Food is] such a part of my life and family time and enjoyment and a source of
real pleasure. It’s not something I’d ever give up. I’m very happy to be a
[size] 2-4 [rather] than a double 0."

She's kidding, right? I mean, how can food be that big a part of your life if you're only a size 2 or size 4? I'm afraid to even hug someone that small for fear that I might break them. I guess if someone's super duper petite, then being that small may be okay, but there's only about 10 people in the world who are naturally like that.

According to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services, the average U.S. woman is 5' 3" tall and weighs 152 pounds. More than 50% of the women in America wear clothes that are size 14 or higher, but the ideal body, as portrayed by the media, is totally unrealistic. I'm 5'8" and at my smallest adult weight, I weighed 162 lbs. That may sound like a lot, but folks, I wore a size 10 so, no, I wasn't big at all. If I were to weigh less than 150 lbs., I'd look horrible, but that's what so many people (women in particular) want, to be skinny. I've fought and lost the battle of the bulges for years, but am happy to report that I've lost 30 pounds since August, and I hope to continue to lose another 20, but I'm doing it in a healthy manner.

I'm not aiming to be a size 2, 4, or even a size 6. And if I'm ever a size 0, you can rest assured that it'll be because I'm dead and all the flesh has rotted off and there are only bones left.