My dream job

First off, let me say that I GOT A JOB! Actually, it’s a contract, a very LEAN contract, but it pays more than unemployment so YEAAAAA! But, boy, working sure cuts in to my TV viewing time. I’m going to have to let go of all those series that I had collected to watch in my durance vile (Yes, google it, I’ll wait.) And I’m starting to feel like a functioning human being again instead of a zombie whose only light in the world was the glow of the tv screen. And my finally-not-so-sluggish thoughts turn towards posting in my blog again.

So I have a job. But it’s not my dream job.

My dream job would involve something that is near and dear to my heart. It is a hobby of mine. I luvvvvvvvv to paint.

Ah, but what do I paint, you ask?

I paint faces.

No, not the carnival/festival/cartoon face painting where someone, usually dressed as a clown, paints cute pictures on kid’s faces and prays that the mom is right and the kid doesn’t have any allergies that might kill them on the spot.

I put makeup on faces. Well, to be a little more precise, I only put makeup on my face, at least right now. But I would love to put makeup on everyone’s face. Yep, my dream job is at Sephora.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have painted in the more traditional sense. My first love is pastels, those luscious colored sticks of fine powdery substances that you rub across the paper and use your fingers to blend just right.

But after a long day at a very creative job I just don’t have the creative juices and energy left to come home and paint like that any more.

But I do have the time and energy to take 10 minutes in the morning and work that same magic using my face as my canvas. And all those gorgeous luscious colors are available in makeup too.

So I paint my face every morning, trying different palettes and techniques, just for fun. And maybe some do I’ll do it for someone else.

I think I’ll think about what it might take to make that happen. Any suggestions?

Camellia

One of those polls

I have been accumulating some posts and, before posting, was trying to put them into some kind of logical order, this thought followed that thought, and so forth. But I don't have the time to do that without pulling out my hair so I'm just going to post them. If they seem a little out of order, well, don't say I didn't warn you.

What’s your favorite past vacation? Honeymoon in Hawaii – new place, new husband.

What’s your dream vacation? Somewhere with animals and trees and creeks and no people.

What’s your favorite food? Anything rich and creamy, like fettuccini alfredo or clam chowder.

What’s your favorite book? Seriously? ONE book? You must be joking. How about my favorite series – the Valdimar series by Mercedes Lackey. But then there is the military science fictions series by Elizabeth Moon. And the Harry Dresden series by…well, you get the idea.

What’s your favorite movie? The latest Star Trek. No, wait – Iron Man. No, no, how about the first Transformers movie. I know! I know! “Much Ado about Nothing!”

What’s your favorite weekend past time? Ohio RenFest.

What’s your favorite athletic activity? Dancing.

What’s your favorite type of music? Hmm. I like many genres, but my all-time favorite CD is Paul Simon’s ‘Negotiations and Love Songs’.

What’s one good thing that’s happening in your life? I GOT A JOB.

Who would you have lunch with if you could (dead or alive)? Queen Elizabeth the First. Although she would probably find me boring.

What’s an occupation you would love to try? Interior Redesign.

What’s an occupation you would never try? Anything to do with health care.

What’s your favorite sound? Ducks quacking.

What’s your least favorite sound? The squeal of brakes.

What’s your favorite holiday? None. To me holidays are a time of unrealistic expectations forced upon me by people who punish me when I can’t meet them.

Describe an image that inspires you. Sunshine splashed over anything.

If you could be a wild animal, what would you be? A black panther like Bagheera in Jungle Book.

If you won the lottery, what would you do with the money ($10 million)?

Travel the world to see the art museums.

If you could live anywhere – and money was not a worry – where would

you live? Italy.

What’s the best piece of advice you’ve ever received? When you drive, stay in your own lane. That way you won’t have a problem when you round a curve and encounter a vehicle coming in the opposite direction (I learned to drive on two-lane winding country roads). I find this advice is good in many life situations, though. Stay in your own lane, tend to your own business...

What is the best piece of advice you’ve ever given? Don’t wear anything that is wider than it is long.

What was your first job? Waiting tables in a local greasy spoon for a dollar an hour.

When you were in first grade – what did you want to be when you grew

up? A ballet dancer.

Who is your hero? Myself. I have overcome so much.

What’s your favorite season of the year? Spring.

If you were stranded on an island with one person – who would it be? Heheheheheheheheh…Christian Kane.

What’s your favorite car?  A pickup truck.

What makes you laugh? My husband’s off-the-cuff humor, most of which is unrepeatable in polite society.

Which core value speaks most to you and why? If it’s not yours, don’t touch it. On a personal scale, I am very territorial, so hands off – and I do the same for everyone else. On a large scale, if everyone adhered to this principle it would solve just about every problem in the world.

What’s the most innovative idea you’ve ever heard? Just about everything I see on QVC, seems like.

Camellia

Quip on the draw

In my last post I talked about the attention I received from men. This came, not only in physical form, but verbal form. Sometimes as the so-called “double entendre”. Sometimes as thinly veiled sexual comments. And sometimes as blatant propositions.

And during that time I discovered how to ‘confuse and defuse’ men in these situations. I simply reply as though the man has made a perfectly sensible and straightforward comment. Let me give some examples.

From a co-worker: ‘”I saw you on my way to work this morning. What’s a nice girl like you doing standing on the corner like that?” Spoken with that familiar leer.

My response was to – say it with me – treat it like a sensible and straightforward question - and give him a discourse on how economical it was to take the bus to and from work each day.

He made a gaping fish mouth for a few seconds then wandered off without even having made a reply.

See? Neatly done. No voices were raised; he didn’t get embarrassed; and he didn’t have the opportunity to say “I was just joking! Can’t you take a joke?” The (male) co-worker sitting next to me said, “I thought you would take his head off for saying that!” And I said, “No need to. He won’t do anything like that again.” And he didn’t; he treated me with respect during the rest of my tenure.

Or how about the question asked while staring at my chest: “Are those real?” I say, “Of course they are real. I am not one of those women who wear glasses just because they think they are a cute fashion accessory! I wear glasses because I need to!” (Insert evil chuckle here. There’s juuuuust not much they can do with that one.)

You get the idea. Try it sometime. It can be quite a fun thing to do, watching that confused look come over their face as they try to figure out what just happened.

Camellia

Are you Beautiful or Ugly?

Whoever said “Beauty is only skin deep,” was wrong.

Whoever said “Pretty is as pretty does,” was only a bit closer.

Whoever said “Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes to the bone,” was actually on the right track. They just didn’t realize it applies to both beauty and ugliness.

The truth is, beauty starts in the heart, or, more accurately, in the emotions. And so does ugly.

We hear a lot these days about how airbrushed photos in magazines and other images of impossibly beautiful women affect girls’ self images, but most times those poor self images start way before that.

If we are unloved, unwanted, and abused we know there must be a reason, and we come to know that the reason is because we deserve it. That we are unworthy of being loved and cherished. Children who are loved and cherished by the adults around them grow up with feelings of self-worth and self-love. And they rarely think they are ugly. At least, not the Ugly that goes bone deep. The Ugly so Ugly that it deserves a capitol letter.

By time I hit adolescence I thought that the only reason men were interested in me was because I was Ugly. That they believed that, since I was Ugly, I would be so grateful for their attention that I would have sex with them. Or at least let them feel me up.

And who were “they”? “They” were the construction workers who frequented the local diner where I waited tables from the time I was fifteen. The manager of the grocery store who offered to “lift me up” so I could reach the item on the top shelf instead of reaching it down for me as I had asked. The clerk who had to cup my hand in his to give me my change. The men in church who couldn’t talk to me without touching my hair or putting their hand on my back – and then sliding it down to my waist.

A lot of girls like us do go for sex because it is the closest thing we can get to love. But my reaction was different. I felt humiliated. And manipulated. And I scorned their attention.

In retrospect I think that was a good thing. It kept me out of trouble, kept me from being used, abused, and tossed aside once they were done. It left me some pride. But I still thought I was Ugly.

I had no clue that they were interested because I was built like a brick shithouse. Even though many of “them” had told me that. Not to mention I had that long, gorgeous blonde hair. That many of “them” commented on. Looking back on photos of myself I can see that I really was a walking wet dream. As many of “them” had called me.

So I got a lot of attention from men and that didn’t stop when I was married at nineteen. To a man six years older than I, who I met in collage. Who I thought only loved me for my mind. Because he told me so. And I believed him. Because I was so Ugly it had to be true.

It took a lot of years for me to understand that I was “physically attractive”. That’s the best I can get. Attractive. But at least it’s not Ugly. And when my now-husband Lionheart sees that it’s me calling on the phone he always answers it, “Hey Beautiful”. Capitol letter. And some days I almost believe it.

Camellia

Farewell, Daddy

http://www.cesarsway.com/news/daddy-memoriam

Farewell, Daddy. Even though I only knew you through that ephemeral medium called television, you somehow found your way into my heart. I weep while writing this, and I think I weep for the loss of never having someone as solid and calm and patient as you in my life. Your presence brought peace wherever you went, and I would smile and feel better just by watching you.

Camellia

Round Two!

So much for my vow to post more frequently. I have actually had two, count’em, TWO interviews, each with multiple applicants interviewing for the same position. It is truly a “buyer’s market” out there in employment land. I have received a ‘thanks but no thanks’ for the first position and am waiting to hear about the second. And my mind is so bashed right now that I really have nothing to say, so I thought I would just comment on the photo that accompanies my blog.

Yes, that is really me. You can see that I come by the blonde curly hair naturally. And by the intent way I seem to be examining whatever it is in my hand you can probably guess that I am a rather intense person and that I tend to bring this concentration and focus to many areas of my life. (Take note, possible employers.) This was taken on a beach in Florida and it took me thirty-four years to get back there. That probably says something about me needing to take more vacations. (Ignore this, possible employers.)

And now that I take a closer look at this picture, I realize that I have a larimar ring that I wear on my right hand that is a copy of this beautiful sky with its puffy fluffy clouds. I receive a lot of compliments on this striking ring and have always called it ‘my summer sky even in winter’ but I never realized how truly accurate that was. And speaking of those clouds, doesn’t the one in the upper left corner look like a pair of lips? I think so, and I think they are about to swoop down on me and plant a great big kiss on my curly little head. MWAAAH!

Yeah, it’s been that kind of week.

Camellia

Widdershins - One More Time

What a journey this has been. Since my last post, I have survived my surgery and recovered to the point where I can begin job hunting again, although there are still stitches in my throat and swelling when I talk for more than a few minutes. Not to mention a four inch scar on my neck that looks like a slasher had a go at my carotid artery. I have helped a good friend through her discovery of breast cancer and her subsequent surgery. And I have buried my only sister.

But now, at last, my energy is returning and I think there is a light at the end of the tunnel. My goal for this blog is to resume regular postings as soon as possible. And for starters, here are some things that have gotten me through this time:

Jello - which I hope never to see again in any form.

My daughter Bar, who sent her husband to the store to make sure I had an adequate selection of jello.

My cat Sassy – she always slept on my bed between the two bed pillows, but after my surgery, when I had to sleep only on my back, I would wake up trying to turn on to my side, only to find that she was laying on my shoulder and holding me down with her not insubstantial weight (16 lbs.) When I had healed enough to be able to safely turn on my side she went back to sleeping between the pillows. File this under “Things that make you go “hmm…””

Any song sung by Christian Kane.

Past episodes of “Leverage”.

Current episodes of “The Big Bang”.

And a special tribute to all those forgotten series that show up on cable, for when I felt too bad to even hold a book for reading.

Rereading all the books in Robert Jordan’s “Wheel of Time” series, when I finally felt well enough to hold books for reading.

My husband Lionheart – who would remind me how debilitating major surgery is, when I would get upset because I couldn’t just bounce up and instantly resume my normal life. And he should know, since he has survived seven of them.

And now we are preparing to celebrate my grandson’s first birthday. The Wheel weaves at the Wheel wills. Life goes on.

Camellia