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15 MayI Am Woman – See My Zit

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If your body betrays you at every opportunity, is there really much you can do about it? Yeah, that’s what I thought too.

 

Dear Zit

You appeared a month ago while I was with friends in Dayton, Ohio at the Erma conference. One morning I awoke to find you, huge, red and swelling by the minute. Of course you were on my face and it was the final day of the conference. Thanks so much for that.

If that wasn’t bad enough you continued to grow for a couple days, just in case anyone missed seeing you. As if there were any chance of that happening.

But give me a break here. It’s been one month and still you remain. Okay, not all of you, but enough of you that prevents disguising you with makeup. Must you continue to plague me?

I just washed and moisturized my face and noticed you are still occupying space that belongs to healthy skin. Yes, I do moisturize. You seem to forget that I have not been a teenager in over 35 years. Can’t you move along and haunt them? Can’t you make their teens miserable instead of staking claim to a face that should be experiencing wrinkles and dryness instead of the likes of you?

Every time I am out in public you lead the way. Every time I meet someone new, they get to meet you first. Thanks for that.

I’ve tried everything I know of to eradicate the likes of you. Soap. Water. Antiseptic. Disinfectant. Windex. A bazooka.

You are still here.

You kill the skin that covers your existence. I know this because I peel it off on an almost daily basis. The redness and swelling are bad enough but what’s with killing the skin? Do you have some vendetta against me?

It’s Mother’s Day and I’m going to have lunch at my grandson’s church. I’m an invited guest. You are not. So, may I ask bitch, why are you tagging along?

Today you are dark and look like a sunken volcano on my chin. I didn’t have this much trouble with you kin and kinfolk when I was a teenager. Why now? Why when I’m a grandmother must I deal with you?

I sought advice from my dermatologist and have paid huge sums of money to discover your origins and why you have decided to root yourself on my skin. No amount of money or number of tests have provided a clue. Women love mystery but not from the likes of you.

So here I am, facing another special occasion and I get to spend it with you. I’m not sure where this path will lead us in the future. Each day I look to see if you are gone, but you’re still here.

Why do you linger? Are you waiting for the birth of a cousin on the other side of my face? Are you waiting for me to extend an invitation to become a permanent resident? Give it up. It’s not happening.

If you aren’t gone within the week I’m going after the big guns. Laser. Did you hear that? L-A-S-E-R. I’m a woman armed with a credit card and have a physician on standby. Move your happy little red bumpy butt or you shall feel the wrath.

Last warning.

 

From the life and mind of:

Wanda M. Argersinger

© 2012 All Rights Reserved

www.wandaargersinger.com

 

 

 

 

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07 MaySpeed Read At Your Own Risk

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What happens when you learn a new skill and then don’t use it for say, 10 years or more? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

When I was earning a living as a geek/network engineer I had to learn to speed read to keep up with all the technical magazines and management crapola that came across my desk each day. In the beginning it was easy, but as technology and computers in general began to change 2 or 3 times a day, my reading stack was reaching toward the sky and there was no stopping it.

I needed to learn how to speed read. I needed to learn how to speed read fast. It was a defense mechanism.

I will brag here and say I did quite well in my speed reading classes. It may have been a gender issue. I was in a class full of navy pilots and Blue Angels. I wasn’t about to nose dive around those cuties.

When you begin to learn speed reading techniques, at first your speed will increase but your comprehension will decrease. As you learn more the two will begin to move toward each other, or so I was told. If you stop using the skill, everything you ever knew gets put into a dusty closet without a key.

As predicted, on the first test I read about 278 wpm with 98% comprehension. Not bad for an average American Adult. Then things went all wrong. The flashing numbers looked like hangman figures. The numbers flashed so fast in front of my eyes I was afraid to blink which made my contacts dry out which made everything blurry and resemble standardized testing answer sheets.  My teacher, who taught Moses to read, used a thing called a tachistoscope that he salvaged from the Ark.

That machine could think and flash faster than the guy in the park wearing the trench coat. It flashed, and we were tested on what we saw. Rorschach would have been proud of me. I missed every one of them but I did come up with some pretty creative guesses.

Flash by flash most of us improved. Week after week we showed up to be trained in the art of deciphering blotches of black on a white screen. I thought it was much like teaching people with subliminal messages. We hadn’t a clue what we were seeing but we followed blindly.

And then the eyes and the brain began to communicate. Slowly the reading speed increased and so did the comprehension. By the end of the class I was reading 2100 wpm at an 87% comprehension rate.

I could now amaze people at cocktail parties and win bets with my impressive skills. Just don’t ask me to read books to children.

A few years after this marvelous feat I changed jobs and no longer used my skills on a daily basis. I read for pleasure and not for work.

I was a rebel.

I pronounced every word and enjoyed every second of it.

I would even go back and reread sections to enjoy a second time.

I let my mind wander knowing that I could re-read without being persecuted for my slowness.

I enjoyed my new liberated self.

Today if I read in a hurry I misread. It can make life interesting. It can also make you shake your head and wonder whatthefreaking thing did I just read?

Take this morning’s offering of e-mails. As normal, I was perusing the subjects of my e-mails to see which ones I wanted to read first. Yes, I like my dessert before my vegetables.  I noticed one from a place I was not familiar with – House of White Bitches.

I then noticed the subject. The first four letters were RSVP. Huh? The House of White Bitches wants a reply from me? Really?

I often refer to myself as a Bitch, but only when I put Queen in front of it. I even lovingly call my friends ‘bitch’ from time to time (note the word lovingly. It is never derogatory.)

I did not however know there was a house for white bitches. And what’s up with the segregation. Is the year not 2012?

I hurriedly read through my chosen e-mails and then went to necessary evil ones, of which The House of White Bitches was last. The entire time that stupid e-mail sat giving me the evil eye. I summoned my courage and opened the damn thing.

It implored me to explore.

It beckoned for me to be a creative woman.

It solicited my involvement.

It offered me the option of joining a craft of the month club.

Huh? Crafts for Bitches? WTH?

I read again, this time with care and less speed.

It was from the House of White Birches.

I’m used to winning foreign lotteries. I’m familiar with e-mails selling enhancements for every part of the human anatomy. I’m even getting used to my long lost relatives who live in Nigeria asking for monetary assistance. But this – this came as a surprise.

I’ve decided it would be wise to give up speed reading unless I’m surrounded my navy pilots. They understand lunacy.

 

From the life and mind of:

Wanda M. Argersinger

© 2012 All Rights Reserved

www.wandaargersinger.com

 

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02 MayI May Be Slow, But I’ll Get There Eventually

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Giveaway Time

The nice people at PrintRunner are allowing me to giveaway a set of custom printed labels. To win all you have to do is follow my blog during the month of May and comment on the posts. There will be at least one post per week, but there may be some surprise posts, so stay tuned. If you read and comment on every post your name will be entered in to the drawing for the labels.

Thank you to PrintRunner for providing us this giveaway.

I May Be Slow, But I’ll Get There Eventually

What do you do when you attended the same conference as so many other hilarious writers and they post everything about it on their blog before you begin to recover? Yeah, that was my thought too.

The 2012 Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop has been over for a week now. I have watched, read and laughed from all the brilliant words attendees wrote about what they learned there. I have been amazed at how witty they are in relaying the happenings from Dayton. I am late and I am in awe. What’s left to be said without regurgitating so many wise writers?

But still I feel obligated to write about the workshop. I don’t know why I have this feeling. Call it paying a debt. Call it homage to the first – Erma. Call it BS. But being who I am I will write about it. I will take the road untraveled and enlighten you with some of the things I didn’t learn. Hang with me here, I promise you’ll laugh, perhaps cry, and completely understand my perspective by the time we’re done.

1. I did not learn how to travel to Dayton without encountering airport ninjas and having at least one body part injured before I arrived. My first trip there, in 2010, resulted in a trip to the ER. I didn’t even make it to Dayton this time. (Tears for the injured writer appropriate now.)

2. I did not learn that only other people who are much smarter and better writers than moi will always win the Erma Bombeck writer’s contest, leaving me once again – a loser relegated to the bar to drown my sorrows and laugh with the other non-winners. (I got honorable mention – shut up inner critic. I told you I could do it.)

3. I did not learn how to use GPS on a tablet computer to get around Dayton. Neither did my driver. We took the scenic route from the library back to the hotel which gave us lots of time to talk, laugh, and plot – books and stories, not plot maps.

4. I did not learn that sharing a room with someone you know mostly from the internet leads to trouble. My friend Crystal and I often stayed awake until 1 a.m. just talking. If she was uber excited, we were also up very early. She talks in her sleep, but I won’t divulge what she says.

5. I did not learn that all margaritas are good ones, especially if they are made with rum. Ooops, who made that mistake?

6. I did not learn that humor in written form is dead. On the contrary, it is more alive today than ever, and with the world the way it is, we need it more now than ever. My theory has always been, the world is a scary place, so I’m going to laugh and hope you do too, even if you are laughing at me. (Wish I had a photo of me sprawled on the tile in the Atlanta airport. I’d even share it with you on my blog. I’m just thankful I didn’t have a drink in my hands when I fell. That would probably go viral bringing me the fame I so justly deserve only for the wrong reason.)

7. I did not learn to give up. Markets are still alive, more opportunities are waiting for me to find them, and more fun and strange things can be done to bring readers to my blog. Things such as use video of yourself in your robe and bunny slippers or however you dress to write your blog. People will connect with your face (and hopefully forget the rest of you.)

8. I did not learn that the family that tries your patience should be left out of your writing. They have probably played the biggest part in your life. Why not let them play the biggest part in your writing? (Besides, pay back is the best form of revenge. Change their names and then tell all the family secrets.)

9. I did not learn that heels are the only shoes that can be worn in Dayton. I made a fashion statement in 30 degree weather by wearing my jeweled flip flops. Strange looks, certainly, but fun, absolutely.

10. I did not learn that friends from earlier conferences will forget you. The ladies of the bird table were often seen together, with and without the bird. Love you all!

From the life and mind of:
Wanda M. Argersinger
© 2012 All Rights Reserved
www.wandaargersinger.com

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