Tag Archives: family

It’s been 350 Days…

27 Sunday Nov 2022

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…Since I logged out of Facebook.

Now, I owe absolutely no one an explanation. At the time I gave a brief (I think) explanation as to why I did it, on my personal page, and that was more than was required to give by any means. And to be honest, I have zero plans to go into it here.

I do, however, want to give a brief summery of what “life” has been like since I logged off.

Now, by “log off” I mean exactly what it says. I did not deactivate more did I delete my personal Facebook account. I logged off to avoid the ease of going back. I have kept my account on the offhand chance that someone might want to message me. I also communicate with my child’s daycare via Facebook messenger, and don’t want to lose that.

I have intentionally logged in probably less than ten times over these last 11+ months for various reasons. I added one of my managers so I can communicate with them via Messenger. I logged on to connect with a previously attached account (mostly Timehop). I have accidentally logged on via computer.

However, I still have my CrashdLanding Facebook page and the CrashdLanding Site Group. How do I manage those? Simple. A dummy account.

My dummy account is named based off a nickname given to me by a crazy old man that would come into RETAIL ESTABLISHMENT. Honestly he was in fact losing his marbles and I believe he passed away.

He had a joke, every time he came in. He always forgot he’d already told it to me. “Have you ever seen a catfish?” I can’t remember his version of the punchline, but here’s this:

Here

I learned that he told it to multiple people about every time he walked into the store. Well, he rolled into the store. He started having to use the electric shopping carts.

He was also a bit inappropriate but many of us chalked it up to old age and his slipping sanity.

Unlike the old man who recently saw me in the floor and said “on your knees is a good place to be this morning.” I’m sure an old eastern KY man’s intention was a reference to praying on your knees. You know what, I’m gonna let myself believe that.

Anyway, he got to the point where he started calling me Catfish. “What are you doing, Catfish?” Probably because I started either calling him in the joke, or outright telling him he’s told me before.

I’m not bothered by telling the same joke over and over. I told fifteen people the other day this gem:

“Why do ducks have feathers? To cover their butt QUACKS.”

Anyway, he started calling me Catfish and it stuck. To me, no one else called me that. But it worked since my first name starts with a “C”. He knew that too, and he had also told me it was a pretty name.

Anyway, that explains the “C.F.” The surname aspect of the dummy account came from a thing I found. See, I used to… hm… be the person… who said hello to customers, that’s why my joker always saw me. So, I often swept the floors near the front and cleaned debris and baby diapers (yes, I said diapers) from shopping carts.

One day I found what appeared the be the Velcro backed name tag from an army or military uniform. The likelihood that they were gonna come looking for it coupled with my hoarder personality, slathered with my frustrating habit of putting things in my pocket just to keep from holding it and the “Keathley” name tag came home with me.

Did… did I steal that? AM I A THIEF?!

That was all about 10-12 years ago. From the joke to the name tag. And it was how C.F. “Catfish” Keathley was born. She has a backstory.

I used the name to create a Facebook account many years ago, for the purpose of deactivating my personal account, which I’ve done in multiple occasions. I very rarely post to the dummy account, but I use her to maintain my page and group.

When I logged out of my personal account I hoped to avoid some of the negative energy that social media can bring. It has, in the past, caused me a not unnoticed amount of emotional and mental distress. While I do get less of that from Facebook, I still have acceptance and acknowledgment issues with the rest of my social media accounts. But nowhere near what I was suffering with Facebook.

While there are benefits to my Facebook hiatus, there are negatives as well. Like not knowing how close my brother came to getting sucked up by a tornado in Wisconsin until my sister told me she saw it on Facebook. But he’s fine and probably jokes about it now.

There have been multiple people who have seen me in person and either said, “where did you go?” Or said “I miss your posts”. What bothers me is that, one, if they’d do a little digging theif could figure out what happened and two, they probably no where to find me but haven’t tried.

I find myself wondering if they were ever really my friend or I was just entertainment. I mean, yes, I’m hilarious, but I’m a person, too. Dang.

Anywho, I’m considering going back? After I’ve surpassed one year, to simply clean up my account. Delete some unnecessary photos, unattached from accounts. But it’ll feel almost like breaking my fast from Pepsi. You know, at one point I went almost two weeks without a Pepsi? And then one bad day and it was all ruined.

That being said, if I do break my fast, it’s gonna e after I’ve made it a full year. I will pride myself on that one thing, at least.

Hope You All Had A Great Thanksgiving

24 Thursday Nov 2022

Posted by in Holidays, Non-Fiction

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Here’s a picture from today with absolutely no context:

My sister out cooked me but only because she over does it. It was absolutely delicious and I ate entirely too much for someone whose digestive system doesn’t work quite right, I got to spend time with some family, and the stuff I made got good reviews.

However the Kid is asleep next to me with what appears to be a mild fever, and I’m writing this with one eye closed because I’m sleepy and they like to focus on two different things when I’m tired.

So goodnight, and have a great Friday! And if you plan on shopping be kind to retail workers and your fellow customer! OR ELSE.

The Purple Purse

31 Wednesday Aug 2022

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I was once asked if not having a place to go to “visit” my mother’s remains, like a gravesite, was hard.

I’ve thought about her a lot lately. I think about her every day, but it’s usually a small blip of, “oh that reminds me of her” or “she would have liked to see The Kid do that”. But lately it’s more significant, more tangible.

I was going through my closet, searching for things to rid myself of, the clutter of life collected after 37+ years of living. I happened upon a tote full of purses. There was a Dooney and Burke handbag my mother in law gave me, a Coach duffle, that’s probably fake, and a purple purse.

This purple purse has significance to me. I eyeballed this purse for a month. Told myself I didn’t need it, couldn’t afford it. But it was only $35, I think. I wanted it badly, but knew that I only carried purses for a little while then stopped.

I eventually convinced myself to get it, it’s not a fancy brand name, it’s not the best looking purse. But I got it and told myself I’d carry it forever. I think I did for a long time. My iPad fit in it and so it became a briefcase of sorts.

I eventually bought a pretty floral wallet and pouch to match—purse organization is important—and was so proud of it. But eventually, like every purse, I stopped carrying it. I got bored of packing one, it got too full and heavy, I just didn’t need all that stuff.

But guess who decided they wanted to borrow it? Yep. My momma.

Mom was a purse lover. She was very particular about the purse she carried. And apparently the purple purse suited her needs. So I loaned it to her.

She was also a smoker, however. Up until the last four months of her life she smoked heavily. I knew the purse would come back to me reeking of the smell, but being the daughter of smokers, I’ve learned how to get rid of it. So it didn’t bother me much.

By the time she died one April, I’d completely forgotten about the purse. I don’t know how long she’d had it. But after her death, we were going through her things as a family, and there it was, still in good condition, with the wallet and pouch still in fine shape as well.

And it did not reek of cigarette smoke. It smelled like the faux leather it was made of, the house it was stored in, and by association: her.

Everyone has their own unique smell. A combination of bodily chemistry, and the things we surround ourselves with. That’s why perfume can smell different on one person than it does another. Just like everyone, Mom had her own unique smell. Her bodily chemistry, the house she lived in, and yes even the cigarette smoke.

The thing is, I never smelled the smoke on her, unless she was actively smoking. and even after she quit completely, I never smelled anything but her.

And when I opened up that tote with those purses just a few days ago, I didn’t at first recognize that smell. It was a nostalgic smell, a scent of dusty old memories kept in an enclosed container for far too long. And it had been so long, more than four years in fact, since I looked at that purse, I didn’t realize the significance of it.

But then I opened it up, after having tossed it aside to view the fake Coach duffle (I’m pretty sure it’s fake based on the format of the serial number don’t tell my mother in law it’s fake). Inside that purple purse, was the wallet and pouch, but also another reminder of my mother. Two unused bottles of Vanilla Fields perfume, still in the box. Her signature scent and absolute favorite.

Our last Christmas with her I’d purchased her four bottles, it was just a few dollars a bottle—a Christmas special—I gifted her some every year. And every year she was absolutely thrilled to have it. She’d open one up and immediately spray some on her neck and wrists.

Also in the purse were two tubes of lipstick, one I’d given her and one she’d purchased herself. Both had been used and both, being at least five years old, weren’t in the best of shape. Like the perfume, the lipsticks have gone off too.

Of all the things I’d gathered up that day to put in my mother-in-law’s yard sale, that purse, and it’s contents, will not be finding a new home. Between that being something I had to convince myself to buy, and her being the last to carry it, it stays.

Perhaps one day, when I’m feeling like carrying a purse again, instead of shopping around for a new one, I’ll dig into that closet, to the bottom tote in the middle, the black one. I’ll open up that lid, letting the smell waft out and permeate the air, and pull that purse from storage.

But then it’d start to smell less like her and more like me, and I don’t know that I’m ready for that.

Is not having a gravesite to visit when I’m thinking of my mom hard? No. Not only do I have a purple purse that smells of her, several pairs of earrings that belonged to her, but also, a small glass bottle of her ashes. I also have her with me, in my heart and mind.

These fleshy husks of skin and bone and tissues aren’t going to last forever. These are not who we are. These are what carries us around this mortal world. When our bodies finally reach their expiration date and spoil, we leave them. 37+ years in and I still don’t know where the rest goes, if anywhere. But I know that she is not those ashes or a body that those ashes became. She is the memory that I have, triggered by the smell of that purse, those bottles of Vanilla Fields. And I can visit her, and talk to her anytime I want. She may not answer back (I’d question my sanity if she did) but I know I can remember her anytime I want to.

Memories

07 Sunday Aug 2022

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You ever think about random things?

Like today at work, I started thinking about the most random thing.

I saw some dude carrying a six pack of Ale-8. If you don’t know, I’m from Kentucky, and Ale-8 is, to some, a state treasure. I’m not a fan, but if this says anything, my dad put it in my nephew’s baby bottle. I mean he was old enough but still.

Anyway I saw that dude carrying that six pack, and I thought, “that’s a good alternative.” You know, to alcohol. I don’t have anything against anyone who drinks. I just think that it can make smart people do stupid things, and can become a problem for some.

He was carrying that, and I remembered the most obscure random memory I haven’t thought about in ages.

One time, my mom came home from grocery shopping and I guess my brother had been asking her to buy beer? And I remember he was showering and she brought home a six pack of Ale-8. And I thought it was so funny that she’d want to go in there and tell him she got him a six pack, and trick him, that I followed her through the house to hear his reaction.

Oh to go back in time and relive the days when something some simple could bring me joy.

And then something else made me think of that golden time, just after I graduated college, and before I got married. My then boyfriend had proposed to me with a Nintendo DS, and a few months later, for my birthday, he got me a new game, Mario Party. I took a picture of us with a digital camera, sitting on the couch. I can remember the shirt I was wearing, what my hair and glasses looked like. We were just hanging out at my house (before I moved out of my parents’ house) and just each other’s company.

Oh, and those times my sister and I would just start laughing and we couldn’t stop, and we’d get so loud that in the next room that dad would yell at us to be quiet. But we couldn’t stop and tears were rolling and it just made us laugh harder.

Or that time it was just me and mom, and we sat with a jar of Lay’s Ranch Dip, not long after it was first available and we’d sit and enjoy that dip and watch tv together. Or when we house sat for neighbors when they went to the beach (and took my sister). Or when I’d spend the night with her when she stayed with the elderly bedridden woman, she took care of

Sometimes I think about all these memories and feel happy. Sometimes I’m sad. Sometimes I wonder if there will be any memories like these for my child, memories that make her happy and sad and long for simpler days. Or will they just all be iPad this and iPad that? Or will there be “mommy was at work so daddy took me to the park.”

She’s under ten, so maybe the lasting memories haven’t been made yet. But what if when they are made, my body has finally said, “You’ve ignored my warning signs for too long, I’m useless now and cannot be repaired.” Then the memories will be tainted with me being more broken and tired than I am now.

What are some of your core memories? Memories that make you a little happy and a little sad at the same time?

I’m really trying to engage with my readers here. I know there’s about five of you!

BMB: YouTubers The Kid Watches

28 Thursday Jul 2022

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Day 28: In Which I Research

LogDotZip

Like any good, well-intentioned parent I told myself, before I had kids, that I would not let my child spend its time with its nose in a device.

And like most parents that was a bold faced lie. “No devices” is a fib we unwittingly tell ourselves because we want nothing but the best for our children. But then we ourselves spend all our time with our noses in a device. And guess what?

THEY LEARN FROM US. Children learn by seeing and hearing someone else do it. That’s one of the first ways humans learn. So they see us with a device and they want one too!

My child divides her (device) time between YouTube Kids and Roblox. I have her Roblox account set (I’m pretty sure) so she cannot communicate with strangers. I need to double check that.

But YouTube Kids is pretty well half decent filtered content. But as a grown adult person who has used and posted on The Tube, I have seen some things that can slip through the cracks.

So I decided I would “look into” some of her favorite YouTubers. My first victim—I uh mean subject is LogDotZip.

What’s The Kid Think?

Of course my child’s opinion of the YouTuber in question is important. Of course I could have just written down what she had to say. And of course it would have took less time. But why would I deny you the sound of my child’s sleepy voice? That’s all you get, internets. Her voice.

Who is ‘LogDotZip’?

Image “borrowed” from Tubefilter.com

Before getting into the deep research into who this feller is, let’s first state what I know. By side-eyeing The Kid’s device screen, I can gather that he is an expressive, chatty, Minecraft player. He has made her laugh a few times, and his videos are some of the few that she will either watch in their entirety or over again.

When you google “LogDotZip” the first things that come up are, of course, links to YouTube videos. The next thing that comes up is Google’s helpful “People Also Ask” feature. And the first thing right off the bat is his name. “Who is Tyler Pappas?”

Of course I knew his real name isn’t LogDotZip, which, by the way, google has informed me is his gamer tag, which he derived from “LordofGods” which comes from “Yu-Gi-Oh”. After he tweaked it so as to not offend anyone, and added .zip, it became LogDotZip.

To be perfectly frank, the first time I heard The Kid say the name I thought it was jibberish. Lucky for him he picked something super unique.

Mostly because he turned a fun time with some games into a business.

Tyler Pappas now owns what appears to be multiple companies, all because he became popular playing games on the Internet.

I also found an article from 2018 on Tubefilter.com, where he discussed starting out playing RuneScape at 14 years old. It took years for him to start playing Minecraft where he really developed a fan base.

The four year old article also talks about some plans to work with Microsoft (who own Minecraft) and the original creators of the game. This turned out to be his own game, which was released on MineCraft Marketplace, called Block Island. I can only assume my child doesn’t know about it, or else she would have said, “Mommy I wanna play that.”

But lets get to the real dirt shall we? What’s the fastest way to find out what you can about a perfect stranger? Social Media of course! And Mr Pappas has an Instagram!

I have learned several things scrolling through his instagram. First of all dude is in his 30s. I would have guesstimated him to be mid to late twenties at the most. That means half his life has been on YouTube in some form.

Second. He as a beautiful family, who he spends lots of time with. He posted an image from December 2021 where he met some fans. LogDotZip, which is the name of his company, hit 30 staff members that same year.

A quick glance at the only valid next social media site, Twitter, shows me that he is religious. As someone who is decidedly and wholly open about being absolutely not religious, I’m not mad. Or judging. From what I’ve seen he doesn’t seem to put any of it into his videos. But he does display it, not overly, in his social media presence. Which he has every right.

Okay, so I’ve found absolutely nothing to tell me to immediately go block this dude from my child’s YouTube Kid’s account. The next logical step is it *shudders* watch his videos.

The Viewing

While I enjoy playing Minecraft myself, I tend to not watch videos about it, and I also don’t typically watch videos that might be made for kids. That’s not to say that I don’t watch absolutely ridiculous stuff there either. But, it’s time to stop avoiding the high possibility that I will completely ruin the YT algorithm and search for LogDotZip.

The first video that comes up is one from four years ago.

This video is about the number on piece of advice one has for a newbie playing Minecraft. DON’T DIG STRAIGHT DOWN, and when to completely ignore it. To make this short and sweet, you should never dig straight down because you might land yourself right into a situation that, well, might kill ya. From lava to a ravine. This particular video has over 33,000,000 views. If this man made a dollar off each view that’d be over 8 million dollars a year. I don’t know how getting rich of YouTube works, clearly, but that’s a lot.

This post is not about the things you should and shouldn’t do in Minecraft (I mostly just like to build and craft things), it is about the creator of the video. And the first thing I must make note of is one of the things briefly mentioned by The Kid in my video. Tyler Pappas’s voice. Dude has a voice fit for voice work. He has a unique voice that makes watching the video interesting. But he doesn’t do a simple voice over, he does a picture-in-picture type of situation where he floats himself up in the corner as he plays on the screen.

His facial expressions and reactions when something’s not working or doesn’t go the way he wants it too are kinda funny too. That adds to the watchability. I think it adds to it especially for my kid because let’s just say, momma has a funny face, and The Kid likes funny faces.

This video is almost right at 15:00 minutes long, and there wasn’t a single boring moment, there was always something happening, or he was saying or doing something dunny. He describes everything he’s doing and instructing on how things work.

From my brief scrolling and watching of his YouTube page, he does nothing but Minecraft videos there, and those videos are mostly mods or other code related features, and often reviews and detailed descriptions of new updates to the game.

With over fifteen years on YouTube, and more than one channel, the dude is doing something right, and I’ve not encountered anything that could be considered negative at all something children shouldn’t encounter.

While I’m not entirely comfortable with how much device time, whether it be YouTube Kids, Roblox, or whatever my child has, I can with mostly confidence say that I’m not mad at her watching just about anything LogDotZip or Tyler Pappas himself puts out.

BMB: Monday Bloody Monday.

18 Monday Jul 2022

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Day 18

“Something terrible has happened.” I told my husband. Of course I warned him that the terrible thing isn’t terrible in the sense of, say, someone died. But terrible in the sense of, utter shock.

Against my will and best wishes I have been bluntly reminded that time stops for no man, and no matter how hard you wish to believe, things will change, and children will grow. Whether you like it or not.

My niece, the first female grandchild to be born into the family, has gotten her period.

Now, in ten or fifteen years, when she’s old enough to register that her wealthy, famous, philanthropic aunt (I’m pretending here) has a blog, and she’s spent a late night reading though the old archives of said blog, she will be utterly embarrassed that I told the internet she got her period. And I look forward to her cringe-face when she does.

Of course, unless you know either of us, you won’t know her name or anything about her other than her “coming of age”, as I intend. Except for, of course, her age. Which happens to be a part of the reason why I’m so distraught.

SHE’S HOW OLD?!

You see, she’s nine. NINE. NINE. FREAKING. YEARS. OLD. When did this start happening before a kid reached the decade mark?! I was at least 12, maybe 13. That was also a million years ago.

How is it a child’s body can become mature before they mature mentally. That isn’t to say she’s not smart, my niece. But she’s also a huge goofball, loud, and stubborn. Of course all that is natural in our line of women, but still. I can look at her and know she’s not ready for this.

And yet there is no magic pill or injection with yearly booster that can pause the development of a person until their brain reaches the right stage of growth. If anyone knows of such a thing still in R&D, hit me up. I have a pickle jar of change to lob at the nearest scientist.

And the simple fact that this country, this would, is not currently built with women, especially young fertile women, in mind, makes this all the more gut wrenching.

Of course my mind goes straight to the 10 year old who was raped and sought an abortion. The fact that the violation of a child barely a decade into life happened is one disgusting matter. But knowing that there are people out there who would rather risk the 10 year old’s life and force her to carry an unwanted pregnancy to term, chills me to my core.

If some low life with a protruding part and an evil idea in his head chose to harm my niece, she could not only be a victim, but forced into that burden as well.

Not that, between myself, my sister, and my brother-in-law, the perpetrator would love to see another day. (Legally I feel like I should say that we are in no shape, form, or fashion, planning to, nor have we committed any sort of crime.)

Parents: educate your children

Male or female or whatever. Educate your kids. while I know my sister has already started the conversation well before “tragedy” struck, there’s still more to come.

Men and boys have it easy. The thought that my niece has to experience Aunt Flo’s monthly visit now and until menopause, makes my heart hurt for her. Boys don’t have to deal with it. They get the whole change of voice, they get taller, and facial hair that society doesn’t tell them is gross and should be promptly removed. Girls have to start buying special products that cost way more than something we have to have should.

My sister and I are talking about having a conversation with my niece, as women. I hope to be ready for it, so we can help her with this gawdawful transition.

It has occurred to me

That because of this new path she has to travel in life, and the small but evident age gap between them, she and my child, who have been so close, close enough for The Kid to call my niece her “best friend”, might grow apart. That’s not to say I think my niece will change overnight. But it’ll be an experience they cannot share in just yet.

It also reminds me that in roughly two years The Kid could be going though the same thing.

Hopefully by then I’m on sufficient amounts of medically prescribed “assistance” to get me through the whole thing.

BMB: I’m doing it again

16 Saturday Jul 2022

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Day like whatever. 16? Oh. 16

Hello and welcome back to “Oops Crystal Is Doing It Again”. The show where I let the tiniest seed of an idea slip into my head that I might still be able to be a teacher.

Ah yes. All the factors are there. Talking about teaching. That’s it. That’s all it takes. oh and Back-To-School has begun in Retail Establishment. Actually probably at all retail establishments.

Backstory for those who might not know

Hi, I graduated from one of my states top teacher colleges in 2007. Approximately 15 years ago. I had wanted to be a teacher for most of my life (that and a writer). And I made amazing plans for myself.

But then I got stupid and have been working retail ever since.

I have made NUMEROUS half-hearted attempts to get back into it over the years. I substituted for a while, I even interviewed. Once, 1,000 years ago. I’ve started stuffing for the praxis (two separate tests I needed to take to renew a thing) about a million times.

Between exhaustion and depression, parenting and a full-time job, I pretty much only have the energy to stare at my phone all day (you should see my house. Better yet, please don’t you’d have me committed or something).

A few months back I made the mistake of looking at job openings, not to teach but anything to get my into a classroom. And, of course, I was let down. Because even if I could have gotten the job, I wouldn’t have been able to pay my bills.

And part of the reason I’m in this mess is because I didn’t want to burden my husband with bills.

You see, I graduated in December 2007. Student loan companies give you a six month grace period before your payment comes due. My student loan came due July 2008. I got married in October 2008. I did not want my new husband to have to pay my student loan anymore (my parents paid it before that). So ya girl got her first real big girl job. IN. RETAIL.

I told myself, “I’ll be here six months and I’ll get a teaching job.”

Well 13+ years later and I’m still there. I’ve jumped around a few times in where I worked in the building. But I never left, no matter how much I want to some days.

And because I have been there for more than a decade, I’m making more than what “entry level” pay would be for any “non-certified” position in my local districts school system. And because I’m making what I am, my expenses have increased to match.

Meaning… I make just enough to pay my bills but not have nice things. Which also means that if I drop in pay in any significant way, then I will not be able to pay said bills.

The only way I would let myself commit such a stupid act is if by some miracle I woke up to roughly $25,000 to pay off all my outstanding debt. That’s not including the services I pay for. That or my husband some how gets a really big raise.

See, I’m very very lucky in a lot of ways. First, my husband’s income provides a LOT for us. The only shared things I pay for are Netflix, Cellphone (which he contributes to) and daycare.

The remainder of my bills is literally my own stupid decisions, namely credit cards and a truck payment. Somehow this post turned into a very depressing financial post. And that’s not what this post is about.

This post is about teaching. And why I can never.

First off, since it has been 100 years, in education years, since I graduated, a lot has changed. State standards, requirements for being an educator, and even technology.

There also used to be alternative routes to becoming an teacher in my state.

But, Crystal, why would you need an alternate route?

*Knocks everything off the table in anger*

BECAUSE. Because it’s been 15 years since I’ve learned anything. And in that amount of time, I’ve forgotten things. There might even be different standards to getting certified in the state. That’s where I screwed my self over, again.

I made the terrible mistake of looking at these routes, and imagined the possibility of taking one of these paths, and becoming a teacher.

This is starting to feel like, like infertility. Like wanting a baby and getting so close to it that you take a test and it says positive, but you have to wait for the doctor to tell you, “you’re not pregnant.”

(Do not take it the wrong way I am not comparing it to a miscarriage, I’ve never had one but know how devastating it would be.)

And because I keep letting myself fall back into this vicious cycle

I haven’t given myself any real chance to accept it, mourn, go through the stages of grief, and get all the way to acceptance. And because of that, I keep telling myself teaching might have been the one thing I could have been great at. The one thing where I could have made a difference.

And it is all, every single aspect of the entire disappointing situation, is all my own stupid fault. It has all been my absolute terrible decision making skills that have lead me down this path. A path away from what could have been an amazing and I’m wonderful career but instead to a “Same thing every day never making a single step in a positive direction” job.

I am grateful for my job. There are people out there that would kill for my job with my pay, because I do make decent money. I am glad I can pay my bills and sometimes scrape together a few dollars to buy The Kid a thing.

But just like always, I had big dreams and poor follow through. My situation is my own and I need to accept it.

I’d like to apologize for this rant of a post. In the coming days there should be some more interesting posts. I hope you stick around.

Thanks for reading

-c

BMB: Randomized Fiction

15 Friday Jul 2022

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Day 14: Randomized Fiction
If you’d like to hear me read this story instead, or perhaps follow along, check out the CrashdLanding Podcast!
Book Cover created with Canva

“I say, I’m the oldest, I make the rules!” Ed said, slamming his hands down in the table, disrupting the sheets and forms atop it.

“And I say we go with my idea!” Bea said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And I say we charge in with guns blazing and tear the place UP! WOOHOO!” Xavier said gesturing with dual finger guns raised

The elder two looked at him like he was crazy. He always was a little wild, ever since they were little.

“Okay, okay,” Ed began again, after a minute. “Let’s maybe grab a snack, sit down, and we’ll talk this out.”

“Fine.” Bea reluctantly agreed.

After they’d all eaten, and were no longer hangry. They got back to planning.

“Now that we’re all done with that,” Ed began, I say we just start at the beginning.”

Bea and Xavier nodded in agreement.

“What’s the mission again.” He asked them.

“I still say gu—.”

“NO.”

Xavier crossed his arms. “Fine.” He mumbled.

“If it comes down to us needing guns then something has gone terribly wrong.” Ed said.

“But it probably wouldn’t hurt, just for protection, just in case.” Bea said.

Xavier’s eyes lit up. “I know just who to ask!” They all knew who he’d ask.

“Okay, we’ve satisfied someone, now, back to the important part.” Ed said. “How are we going to get the painting back?”

The painting in question was one by their famous aunt, C.F. Keathley. It was called, “A Woman’s Wish”. The subject was a lighthouse on a cliff. It wasn’t her best work, but it had meaning. It also had a hidden secret. The painting had been accidentally sold at an estate sale two years prior. Their aunt had gone missing and was declared legally dead by her husband, their evil uncle. Because of her fame, the painting fetched a hefty price, and the uncle and soon moved to Japan with his new wife.

“Sofia gave us the name of the person who has it, he’s a museum curator, right?”

“Yes, his name is Roderick Bridges.” He said, looking at a sheet of paper. “He runs the Umbratic Museum of Modern Art.” Ed said, “Apparently he’s wanted to have a installation of Aunt C’s art there for years.”

“Umbratic is a weird word.” Bea said. She googled it. “It means shadowy. That’s questionable.”

“Not funny ha ha, funny weird.” Xavier said. “I’ve contacted Pops. He’ll have what we need ASAP.” The elder too nodded. Pops was code name for their supplier. He got them what they needed when they needed it. He was also a cantankerous old man, stubborn and set in his ways. “He said it’ll cost us, though.”

“He always says that.” Bea said.

“Okay, back to the plan.” Ed said. “We need to get into the museum, find the painting, and get it out.”

“First we need to figure out where it is.” Bea said. “Its been two years since it sold, it could be on display, or still in storage. Or maybe he’s had it cleaned.” She opened up the Umbratic’s website. “It says here they’re having a gala in two days, introducing an exhibition called, “Missing in Art” featuring works created by artist who are missing or deceased.”

“That would be a really big exhibition.” Ed said.

“Right?” Bea agreed. “Anyway, there’s a few of Aunt C’s paintings on display, including the lighthouse!”

“We need to get into that Gala!” Ed said.

“Wait,” Bea said, pausing. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“FANCY DRESSES?!” Bea asked, wide eyed.

“Fancy dresses,” both boys said in unison.

She squealed loudly.

“You want Pops to get that too?” Xavier asked.

“NO!” The two eldest agreed.

From there they had the whole thing figured out.

Scope out the museum two days before the gala, get a feel of the place, possibly security. They would join the gala; it was established that Pops could obtain the tickets. At the gala they would cause a ruckus, an important skill they’d honed as children. Xavier, who probably shouldn’t have knives, would find a way to remove the painting from it’s frame.

“What if there’s some type of sensor in the frame in case of theft?” Xavier asked.

“The alarms will already have been raised by this point, the only problem would be if you’re fast enough.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” He winked.

“Good, because this whole plan is hinging on your speed,” Bea said.

“No, the whole plan is hinging on whether or not that painting holds the information we need to find C and Mom.”

Procrastination slapped me right in the face and said, “just don’t do anything at all” and i listened. I managed to get it written and posted by midnight but added some things after, like the images. Once I got started I really enjoy the idea, so I might make any more I add to this short story part of premium. Let me know what ya think!

Thanks for Reading.-

-C

BMB: Another Trip Around The Sun

11 Monday Jul 2022

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Day 11

Why Do We Celebrate Birthdays?

First off the birthday is not the day you were born but the anniversary of the day you were born. Wait. Duh.

Someone once said to me that your first birthday was actually your second birthday because the day you were born is the first. But the day you celebrate every year is your birthday, so it’s the anniversary of the day you came out of your momma, in whatever method. That day is the first of the rest of your life.

That all sounds more like a shower thought.

According to this random website I found when googling why do we celebrate birthdays, the tradition of celebrating widespread only goes as far back as the 19th century, when people began to actually like kids?

Apparently if you read up on it, it gets super sexist. Romans were among the first to celebrate but only the men’s birthdays.

Assigning numbers to someone’s existence

I could say something profound and deep here about how age is just a number placed upon a person numbering their days of suffering upon the earth. A number which can determine their worth and value to other people depending on their path and station in life.

But it’s legit just the number of rotations you’ve ridden this rollercoaster of life around the sun. With each and every turn of this constant spin cycle your body decides to quit more and more tasks at an alarmingly faster rate.

Girl, you ok?

I’m fine, chill.

But there are not many people who can, with all honestly, tell you that it doesn’t make them feel good when someone wished them a happy birthday. Yesterday the young lady (that makes me sound super old), whom I don’t think I’ve ever seen before in my entire life, wished me a happy birthday. It made me feel quite good.

Today, my sister in law walked back into a store after having left it, just to be sure she told me happy birthday.

Despite the fact that I have been away from it for 200+ days, I’m sure I have at least a few Facebook birthday wishes, and I feel awful for not responding to them.

Six years ago, my family surprised me with a little birthday party. We had homemade pizzas and they got me gifts.

A whole day celebrating you. You were born and someone wants you to have a good day. People care. That’s important.

There have been years that I have not wanted to celebrate at all. I have not wanted to acknowledge my birthday. But my husband would never not do something. Because he loves me, in-spite of all my nonsense, he loves me.

Sure, you’re one year older

But you don’t have to look at it that way. You’ve survived yet another ride on this carousel of chaos, you’ve lived to blow out another candle, or listen to another Happy Birthday song. However you recognize the yearly event of still kicking around this big, oddly shaped, not quite round ball of blue and green, you did it, and there might be one or two people out there who are glad you did.

And that can make you feel pretty darn good. Even if you’re turning 37. Again.

Thanks for reading!

-happy birthday to c

BMB I turn 37 (again) tomorrow

10 Sunday Jul 2022

Posted by in BMB, Non-Fiction

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Day 10

I just spend half an hour watching my nephew’s tick tack Live

He was playing guitar. I didn’t realize how good he’d gotten. He now says he will learn “The Boxer” by Simon and Garfunkel. It was one of my Mom’s favorites. I’m sure he could learn it quite quickly.

Watching him makes me want to bring out the ukulele I bought like four years ago and try to learn something on it. But I’m old and my hands hurt. And where even is the thing?

Today we celebrated my birthday

The Hubs had been asking me all week where I wanted to eat for my birthday and I could never think of anything. He said if I didn’t come up with something he’d surprise me.

We ended up at a local restaurant called Cloud 9. It was delicious, and I even got desert.

Honestly be best part was spending time with him and The Kid. They are the best part of my life.

Also I didn’t have to work.

Hey did you know that it would take $25,000 to pay off my debt? Yeah, I can thank that free credit monitoring from Capital One for keeping me posted on that.

Tomorrow is my actual birthday

I have had a few very tiny moments where I kinda felt guilty for not being on Facebook. My personal account is still active and several people (who hadn’t communicated with me but once a year anyway) will wish me happy birthday there. Even though I’ve been off Facebook for, like, 210 days. But most of them pay zero attention to me anyway, so it’s their bad if I do not respond to their birthday wishes.

Current working theory is I have a spider bite.

Exhibit A: “Stanky Leg”

The black dots/dashes are me tracking the redness size. It is warm to the touch—noticeably different from the rest of my leg. It’s tender and sensitive. And it itches like HELL.

Like, go insane from the itching, filet-o-flesh to stop it, bonkers itchy. And this happened A WEEK AGO. I’m pretty sure it got bigger overnight, although I didn’t notice it this big this morning.

I did peroxide the open wounds hoping to perhaps eat away the flesh so I could either not itch anymore or lose the leg. I will neither confirm nor deny whether I hoped my leg would rot away so I’d never have to work again.

Anyway, I applied some antibiotic ointment to the holes—they’re not really open but they’re not actively bleeding either—and a bandage. But that was driving me crazy too. I take Benadryl every 8 or so hours and try to keep it propped up.

My big old fat legs tend to swell and my running theory is any type of trauma or injury to them heals slower because of that poor circulation.

Perhaps I’ll wake in the morning and my leg will have rotted off. At least it won’t itch anymore!

Tomorrow I’ll post (hopefully before noon), a video explaining how my next bit of fiction is happening.

Thanks for reading!

-c