Monday, February 25, 2013

Moody Myrtle here...

Omergarsh. One of my biggest pet peeves is being interrupted. I. Cannot. Stand. It.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m watching one of my favorite tv shows…because chances are, when you do, I’ll miss something vitally important that will keep me out of the loop the rest of the show.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to eat…It is inevitable, you will catch me with my mouth full of food, and as soon as you ask me a question, the food will grow in my mouth, and it will take me at least a minute and a half to try to chew it and swallow it because I’m trying to hurry. Plus, I will most likely be tempted to stab you with my fork.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m eating dessert. It’s my own little time in heaven…so shut the hell up already.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to text. I’ll end up effing the message up, because I’m trying to talk and text at the same time, and will get a response like “huh” back, and it will make me all mad again. Example: In trying to text Susie that Jim Bob has been running around on Lana, I end up texting Lana and get myself all sorts of fouled up.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m on the phone.

OMG, and don’t, DON’T, try telling me to tell so-n-so (whoever I’m on the phone with) something for you. I’m trying to have a conversation with the person on the phone…not be the go-between between you and said person.

Even if I look like I’m playing a game on my phone…I may be doing something like watching Jennifer Lawrence’s post-Oscar interview, and I may not really give a damn about what you’re trying to say at that very moment.

Don’t interrupt me when I’m shopping. Retailers…if I need your assistance, I will certainly seek you out. Otherwise, please for the love of pinto beans, don’t follow me around the store trying to “assist” me. It’s annoying, and honestly, it makes me not want to buy anything.

And don’t…don’t interrupt me when I’m trying to blog. I lose my concentration, my thoughts become fuzzy, and I don’t write as well…

That’s all for today folks…Moody Myrtle is running rampant today, and people are workin’ my last nerve.

Friday, February 22, 2013

I refuse to sink

This blog has been on my heart for a long time, but I was really hesitant to write it. I love posting things that people can smile about or can relate to. After I debated about writing this, I finally came to the conclusion…my life isn’t always funny, and sometimes I might need to write about the harder things in life in case anyone out there reading this is battling the same demons. I love that feeling when I read some posts, or quotes, or hear a song, and go “I SOOO get this.” It gives me a type of connection. So hopefully this will be helpful to someone, or someone will feel a tie to it and feel a little more understood.

As some of you may know, I’ve posted in the past about battling depression and anxiety. Although I had spurts of it through my teen years, it really hit home around the time I turned twenty-one. A few hard life lessons will knock you into that sometimes. For me, four deaths right in a row is what sent me over the edge.

I’ve taken medicine for mine in the past, but honestly, going to the doctor puts the fear of God in me. I’ll have a damn panic attack going TO the doctor. The last time I went to the doctor, because I was in a funk like no other and needed some serious help, I told him about my depression, and all he was concerned with was lecturing me about my weight. I left there more upset and worthless than I had gone in feeling.

Growing up, my mama was always of the mindset: “Why worry? It accomplishes nothing;” and “Don’t borrow trouble;” and “Sometimes you have to just put a smile on your face and just keep going.” Now, looking back, I can safely say, my dad and I were a lot more similar in this aspect. However, my mom is more understanding these days.

Depression is not a blue mood that you can just snap out of. Depression is a sadness that permeates through almost every aspect of your daily life. I often liken it to being in a dark hole you can’t seem to get out of. It can be a state of nothingness, where you’d just as soon stay in bed all day. I know that, for me, I lose interest in just about everything, because I’m hurting. And anxiety…I dealt with panic attacks. I wouldn’t be able to breathe, my heart would race, I would break out in a cold sweat, and I would break out in hives. Even when you knew your thoughts and worries weren’t rational, you couldn’t help but have them/fear them.

I’m a bit ashamed to admit that there have been times in my life where I have considered suicide. I have had those dark days where I couldn’t see past the crap to see what good things might lay ahead. I have had those days when I realized that I wasn’t making future plans because I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be in them. What an awful thing to admit. But it’s true. I try really hard not to get into that mindset, but some days it is tough. A lot of people would say to pray. There were days when, frankly, my heart hurt so badly, I was unable to even find the words. I have had those days when I ran from everything God-related because, frankly, I couldn’t handle it. I still have days like that.

Sometimes, I have to just take a deep breath, and struggle out of bed, get dressed, and go out into the sunshine…even when I don’t really want to. Sometimes I have to let a few tears fall while in the shower, or right before bed, as a release. Sometimes, I have to take it one day at a time.

Laughter heals a multitude of hurt.  So I try to laugh as often as I can.  And I believe in sunshine.  There is nothing as soothing as feeling the sunshine on your face.

I believe that everyone is here for a reason, including myself; therefore, I need to see it through. We each have the makings for a beautiful life. If you are having a hard time, I welcome you to use my mantra: “I refuse to sink.”

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Oh for the love of Spandex

Dear Girdle,

You deflate my spare tire…

You are my little bit of “suck it in, sister”…

Even when you are binding and constrictive, I know it’s because you want me to look my best…

When you’re pinching my thighs, I know, deep down, you’re just taking the jiggle out of my wiggle…

You keep my panties from falling down at relative’s funerals…

You’re my “hell no, jelly roll!”…

Even when you’re delivered to the wrong address…I will show no shame…

Because you, dear Spandex, are what makes this Pillsbury Dough Girl a little less doughy…

And I will always consider you “my gear”…

I love you so…


Punky the Chunky Monkey,
President of the Fat and Sassy Club

Tuesday, February 12, 2013


If you were to have never met me, and you were to read what I write THEN meet me in person, I probably wouldn’t be what you would expect. Really, it’s not so much that I’m different; it’s just that I have always been better at expressing myself through written word than through speech. In writing, I am clear and confident and my personality is able to shine through; and yet, speaking, I can become insecure, uncertain, awkward, and never fully able to express myself.

Writing is an outlet for me, a release. Even with my best friend, whom I love dearly, sometimes I am unable to speak the words letting her know exactly what I’m thinking or how I’m feeling. Sometimes, I just have to send her an email or text.

This being said, I am finding my voice. For this, I am thrilled. I feel more confident; bolder. I enjoy this form of expression. I am able to convey my thoughts as eloquently or down-to-earth as I feel like.  Sometimes my posts aren't all sunshiney and happy, but these are based on my thoughts, my words, my life.
I so enjoy the comments from those that take time to read my blog. One of my absolute favorite things to hear is that people find my posts relatable. That literally blesses my heart.

In summation, thank you to all that read my blog/posts. I greatly appreciate your support.

We have a winner...

In a time when a lasting marriage is exceedingly rare, I love to read about a couple still so in love after 34 years. Love is not just a feeling...butterflies...a quickened heartbeat. It is a multitude of small actions; doing for another, not that it will benefit you, but that it will be beneficial to your loved one. I feel like this love letter embodied what love truly is. My Aunt Rita submitted this love letter for my contest. It blessed my heart, as I’m sure it will yours:

Dearest Heart of Heart and Soulmate for life,

I am writing this letter because your great niece had a wonderful idea to promote love the old fashion way.

You came into my life so fast and we married 6 months later. Wow...and they wondered if it would last and we will be making our 34th year soon.

How do I love you....I cannot count the ways.

There is love in turning on the coffee pot so I can rush out the door always 10 minutes late. There is love in not worrying about what's for dinner and if I am late you can figure things out just fine. There is love in going to Walmart at 9 oclock at night for something, coming home, and volunteering to go back without a complaint. There is love in the smile across a crowded room that says "we will get through this and go home, hang in there". There is love in telling you when your son dies "we will get through this together". There is love in a big guy, kinda like a Hoss Cartwright, who in his way asks for nothing but gives so much, who despite his imposing size has a gentle spirit which flows through his every fiber of being. Who gives from his heart always , and on occasion from his wallet, Giving rosebushes instead of stemmed roses which fade so fast.; Giving a bowl of homemade soup on a rainy night instead of a box of chocolate; being the best dad to the son I had when we married and being the best dad to the beautiful daughter which is a blend of both of us.

Yes, I cannot count the ways but I am a better person, a softer human being but yet in juxtaposition a stronger woman for being his wife.

So Aleta, there are those men out there who come into your life suddenly and without plan. I hope for you someday to find the man who will love you and cherish you. Then you will know what I have come to know by marrying your Uncle Wayne.


Monday, February 11, 2013

In the eye of the beholder...

I found the inspiration for this blog on Saturday night, as I was pushing a buggy through walmart, all the while thinking: “Please Lord, don’t let me run into anyone I know!” As my luck would have it, I ran into several people I knew.

We’ve all had those moments. You know, when you’re rocking the two- (or three-) day hair and it’s looking a little nappy; you’re wearing “laundry day” clothes and you’re lookin’ a little crappy; and by God, you don’t have a LICK of make-up on. It is THAT day that you will run into your coworker; your pastor and his wife; the boy you’ve been trying to get to look your way for weeks; the mayor; at least three of your kinfolk; and your aunt’s husband’s sister who catches you in the very middle of the busiest aisle to tell you all the details about long-lost-so-n-so’s sordid affair, meanwhile everyone you know walks past catches a glimpse of you lookin’ your worst.

In the very vain society that we live in, you’d think we’d have sense enough to “paint the barn” (as my preacher would say) before walking into the Walmart that serves the Tri-County area. Lord knows, by now, we should know better.

But that’s not exactly what this blog is about…I’ve been wanting to write something about perception of beauty, the Walmart thing just happened to inspire it.

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

For women, that is a loaded question. We tend to not see the beauty in ourselves, only the flaws when we gaze into the mirror. We pick ourselves a part. We don’t see the beautiful eyes God has given us, we only notice the fact that our skin is breaking out. We don’t see our pretty smile, because we are too busy noticing the crow’s feet that are beginning to show around our eyes.

Why do we do this?

I’ve given a lot of thought to this. As women, our negative self-image not only affects ourselves, but sometimes unbeknownst to us, it is projected upon our friends, our sisters, and our daughters. When you start worrying aloud about the few pounds you’ve gained, suddenly, your best friend becomes more self-conscious about her weight because she is heavier than you. When you talk about your “Watson Watermelon head” or “huge Sheffield feet” or “the Arrington hips” perhaps your daughter overhears this and immediately starts comparing her attributes to her friends.

A few months back, a friend told me that her little girl had asked something along the lines of “Mama, am I pretty?” My friend had worried if she had asked that because she had been told otherwise. The little girl was three at the time. Three. It hurt my heart to think that she was questioning her looks that young. To me, she is one of the most beautiful little girls in the world. I want her to grow up seeing herself as beautiful.

God created us all different. We come in all different shapes, sizes, skin tones, heights, etc. Every single one of us is beautiful and unique, and it’s time we see ourselves this way. In doing so, maybe we can pass a better perception of beauty onto the next generation. Perhaps we could project a better self-image onto our friends and loved ones.

So, even when we feel like we are looking frumpy, in sweats, with our hair clipped up, with no make-up on in the Walmart; remember…we are still beautiful.

Friday, February 8, 2013

He and I

So, I've asked y'all to join my love letter contest, and because of that, I wanted to share a bit of my's not a love letter, but it's my story.


I wasn’t ready. But looking back with a slightly more ripened perspective, I’m not sure I would’ve ever been ready. Sometimes the greatest things in life come in rather boisterously…yet, when they leave, they leave with a whisper; a whisper that is only felt over time as its lasting effects ripple through every aspect of your life and being.

It all started with a summer party. My head was filled with decorations, party favors and food; little did I know that within a week, my world would be shaken.

Later, long after that week had come and went, while I was looking at the photos from the party, I remember looking at a picture of myself smiling. Looking at that photo knocked the wind out of me. I so longed to tell that girl that thought she had forever, “Prepare yourself! A storm is coming.”

They say that the frontal lobe in our brain is to blame for the feeling of being invincible in our youth, because it isn’t fully developed. We tend to not understand the value of time until it has passed. I guess I had just thought that my time with him would be infinite; he would always be there.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t written in the stars. It was never meant to be. Sometimes the people we spend today with, we aren’t guaranteed tomorrow with. Losing him broke my heart and broke my spirit; but loving him…loving him was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

So here is my declaration of love:

I loved his voice; the deep Southern drawl that drew me in.

I loved his eyes; I loved watching him watching me when he had a million other things he needed to be doing.

I loved his smile…and the dimples, God I loved the dimples.

Beyond all of this, I loved his mind. His thoughts would make me laugh, make me think, or fascinate me.

I loved seeing the tender, compassionate side of an otherwise manly man.

I loved his heart. Despite the sometimes tough exterior, in it there was an honest, good man’s heart.

I loved the way he made me feel. Sometimes in an utter foul-mood funk, he would say something that instantly made me feel better.

I loved the way he made me feel strong, funny, confident, and attractive.

I loved that he never ceased to make me laugh.

I loved that when I felt like my life was in the midst of utter turmoil, he could say "Aleta, it's going to be okay," and I believed him.

I loved the way that he made me feel beautiful.

I loved and cherished the times he would open up and tell me his most personal stories and thoughts.

I loved the way that, even without the words having to be spoken, I knew how he felt about me.

I loved hearing him say “I love you.”

I still can’t bear to part with the ring that has the date that I realized I loved him engraved in it. Sometimes I wear it on my necklace so that it’s close to my heart. I wear it as a reminder.

Of course, I have been interested in others, but no man has ever measured up. How can you settle for mediocre, when you’ve loved someone so great?

People sometimes pity me. From the outside looking in, I am 26 and alone. Yes, I am 26. Yes, I am alone. In turn, I pity those that change lovers like they do their underwear. I have loved. I have loved hard. I have loved in the purest form. Don’t pity me. I was one of the lucky ones.