All posts for the month December, 2015

Another rage based incident averted

Published December 29, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

All of my friends weigh in on bing worthy shows.  I am always looking for a reason to sloth around,so I decided that since I spent most of my weekend trying to stave off panic attacks and keep from having a full blown gonzo nervous breakdown, I thought I might try and chillax by watching a whole bunch of something on the Netflix.  ( I was going to watch a bunch of stuff on the Hulu, but for some reason it’s loading all glitchy, I know I know, first world problem.)  So at the behest and encouragement of many friends and my housemate, I have been watching Jessica Jones.  That is I’m on the third episode.

True, being whipped up into a frenzy by your nerves and latent psychoses is not the best frame of mind in which to start something new, but I can’t wait for the next storm to pass, so I decided to give the show a try.

I had heard the show was gritty and grisly and a bit gory. So far all I have seen is a whole lot of muscley pretty people boning each other. And talking about how well matched they are at said boning.

Now this is the time of year is tension inducing to say the least, but Actor Boy can’t make it home at all and I really miss my nieces and there’s no way I can see them this year and the last thing I need to see is the pretty people having vigorous sex leaving me to wonder if the point of the show is to see how amazing Krysten Ritter’s lipstick is, because it hasn’t smudged despite the boning, the ass-kicking or the drinking.

I quizzed my roommate, because he was one of the people who recommended the show to me. He told me that the show gets much better after this point.  I’m going to give it another shot. Except, as I was writing that sentence, there was more vigorous boning happening.

I am more than willing to suspend reality to buy the world in which the Marvel Universe exists.  I believe that Ms. Jones can drink like a sailor, kick major ass, and still maintain fresh make-up and a non-bloaty tummy, even though I can’t move from one room to the next without my make-up smudging. (It could be that there is a ghost who is envious of my artful application) And if I drink more than two servings of alcohol in any form,  I feel like there is a small bicycle tire  making itself to home near my liver as it tries to fill itself to full tumescence.

I sure hope we get to some real action, Jessica. I can only get so much calming delight from using the word, ‘tumescence’.

What if?

Published December 27, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

What if one thing you know or knew or forgot you remembered was the one thing that could unravel the fabric of the universe?

It could be something as simple as the perfect combination of RIT dye to transform an ivory fabric a caramel color so luscious you would want to take a bite out of it.  Or it could be the location of a baby ring with an abalone stone setting that somehow fit into the jammed lock of Pandora’s box.  Or it could be the knowledge that Peter Brady cut his foot on a piece of abalone shell because of an ancient Tiki curse on his brother Greg.

It could be anything, anything at all. It could even be something that you don’t actually know for verifiable truth,  but something that you just feel is correct, like the supposition that the reason good film and TV roles are going to people who were trained outside of the US (Andrew Lincoln, Lauran Cohan,Idris Elba, Eammon Walker, just to name a few.) That’s the feeling that US Actors have lost a respect for the craft. The feeling that respect can only be earned through hours of rehearsal and performance; the kind of respect that can only be granted by savoring the art.

What if it’s an actual thing? There is one thing that you own that holds together the entire universe. It could be sitting in your jewelry box or wrapped lightly around a catnip toy.

It might be something that caught your eye when you were looking the other way. It was a sparkle or a slight movement but when you turned your head and didn’t immediately see it you got distracted by something else and forgot to look for it again.

It might be wrapped around the statue of St. Francis along in the elementary school hall of a Catholic school, tethered by a light wisp of cobweb that was explained away by mentioning that St. Francis was such a kind man who so  loved all of God’s creatures that he welcomed even cob spiders.

It could be in the far corner of the back closet with all of the other things you forgot you remembered. It’s there and it may have the power to change the course of history.

What if you found it?

The answer is . . . .

Published December 22, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

The Mom has a Master’s Degree in Religious Education. One of my Master’s Degrees is in Regular Old Education. We have some interesting discussions.

I observed one of her classes this past Sunday.  She was preparing one of her adult education classes for the holiday by providing them with some spiritual and historical perspective on Mary, the mother of Jesus, and St. Elizabeth, the mother of John the Baptist.  (They were cousins.)

Part of my mother’s lecture included information that led me to believe that St. Elizabeth’s husband was a jerk.  He questioned his formerly barren wife’s sanity when she became pregnant. (To be fair, I question her sanity because she didn’t not bust her husband across the chops when he called her barren. I know, I know, records are spotty at best.)

Included in the lecture is the fact that we have no Biblical reference that Elizabeth received any divine information about her child’s destiny. She just knew she had a child, so she had the hope that it was going to turn out well.

I have been trying to wrap my mind around a lot of things this holiday season, particularly when EH has one beautiful child and is expecting two new editions in the spring.   I know I shouldn’t be doing comparisons, because I am in no way ready for a miracle to spring forth from my barren womb. (Trust me, that WOULD be a miracle.)

Another thing I am trying to process is the whole Ethan Couch debacle  By now, everyone in the US has heard about this young man and his foolhardy parents.

In case you haven’t, he’s the idiot that decided to get crazy drunk (2.4 blood alcohol) at the age of 16 and drive at a ridiculous speed. He crashed into a group of people who were helping a stranded motorist.

He killed four people:

Brian Jennings, Breanna Mitchell, Hollie Boyles, Shelby Boyles. I think they should get equal thought and mention because they DID NOTHING WRONG AND THIS IDIOT CHILD KILLED THEM.

Ethan did not serve any jail time; the judge gave him 10 years probation because he was raised by people who had more money than sense, therefore he has no concept of consequence.

I directed Ethan Couch in two plays over two years.  He seemed affable enough and was a competent actor, but that’s all I really know.

Sometimes when I teach I look at my students and try to figure out how they turn out.  For example, last year I had a Sixth Grade girl who was very nosy and detail oriented. I think she will be an investigative reporter.  I had a Seventh Grade boy who was  good at Math and Science and was also very empathetic and kind. I think he would be an excellent psychiatrist.

At no time did I ever look at Ethan Couch and think, “This little boy is going to turn into a sociopath who will kill people and get away with it.  He now on our county’s Most Wanted list because he violated probation. His mother is also missing.

I have asked myself, how can anyone contribute to this child’s running from the law because he is facing a well-deserved prison sentence?

His mother helped him.

No matter how our kids eventually turn out, mother’s always hope.

Like all mothers she has hope.



The Process

Published December 19, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I’m hard to explain.

I have been “seeing” someone I met on Plenty of Freaks. (I mean Plenty of Fish; dating in the digital age is bizarre.) I use the term “seeing” because we have only actually gone out maybe four times since July.  There is mutual interest, but he is in Marketing and has three school age children who he as joint custody of (mostly weekends and some holidays.) I am in complete agreement that kids come first and there are very few people with whom I communicate when Actor Boy is in town.  Combine that with my schedule and the fact that we live about 40 minutes away from each other, thus the four dates in six months.

I am finding it difficult to explain the basic processes and procedures that make up a day in the life.

My life is slightly askew right now because I have a roommate, Big Kid, who is my Amanda Friend’s oldest son. He is an employed, sober fellow, (he’s already a vast improvement over my last roommate The Absence of All That is Good and Holy.) The askew is mainly because I have had to move things around my house and clean a few things, coordinate a few things and try to ignore the fact the the pipes in my house are doing their very best to summon the Hag of Beara. It is nice to have someone else in the house  so I don’t get abducted by time weasels and someone will notice if I fall and break a hip. (The Mom is afraid something like this will happen.)

The financial assistance will be great, too. I know I shouldn’t worry too much about it; after all, there is not a single thing I can do about it today, and I am actually ok. (This means my bills are paid, I have food in the house and about forty bucks in my purse and a loaded Starbucks card)

I did not realize how much of my existence is based on processes and hacks just to make things work. Explaining the bits and pieces to Big Kid, who like his mother, is mostly unflappable, made me a little more self aware.

My brain chemistry is a little off this week.

That is an extremely strange statement to make, unless, of course, you are me.  (In that case, nothing is a strange statement to make. )

My seizure medication prescription expired; I have no idea why, I have taken this medication consistently for 12 years.  I have not ever had a seizure, but since the medication also prevents migraines, and no one wants me to have  a migraine, or a seizure, for that matter, I take the medication.

This medication has to be taken daily to keep my neurons happy. When I don’t take the medication, I get dizzy and a little light headed and my brain feels like it’s shifting from side to side like a lava lamp. This is not a good feeling by any means.

I finally got the medication and am slowly getting back to the normal.  Why yes, it did just take me 500 words to explain how I get to normal.

In other news, I have a short story up in the Kindle store. Check it out ! Review it! Get ready for two new book length things: Circumstance-a novella, and The Sound of Two Thighs Clapping– a weight loss memoir

The Classic : A short story


Published December 17, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I rarely wake up and say, “This is going to be a perfectly normal day!” In fact, I rarely have anything that could remotely be called a perfectly normal day.

I knew today would be odd because, well, it’s me, and because today would have been my 21st wedding anniversary. My divorce has been final for a little over a year, so it’s still a little shocking that I won’t be having dinner at a new restaurant (new to us) and playing movie roulette with Katboy.   Okay, not shocking as much as crummy.

So there’s that. The odd factor is sufficiently upped because I am still waiting for my Dr. to approve refills of a pretty potent seizure medication that I have been taking for over a decade. (I don’t have seizures, but it is prescribed to ward off migraine and to just generally keep my neurons from deciding to just starts slam dancing.) The lack of this medication is causing me to be woozy and dizzy and a little disoriented.  This is further magnified by the fact that every single thing I am allergic to is in bloom right now. This includes Christmas trees. My sinus are tender and sore, my eyes are puffy and runny and my hair is dry. (The hair thing has nothing to do with anniversary or allergy, it’s balmy weather related.

My roommate, BK, is fully moved in so I knew that would call for adjustment. I have never had a roommate wake up perfectly pleasant and engage in polite conversation over coffee before going about his day.   My only other roommate experience was with someone who was so unpleasant that I wouldn’t leave my room until I knew what kind of mood he was in. So far the pleasantness has continued even thought my prescription has still not been refilled, my eyes are still blurry and my paycheck still hasn’t arrived. But I had coffee and I am about to have meatballs and green beans and watch Drunk History until it is time for me to take night meds and fall asleep because I absolutely have to finish editing and get The Classic up on Kindle tomorrow.

But I have Klonopin.

My little dog legs are running as fast as they can

Published December 15, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Have you ever seen dog friends out for a jaunt around their neighborhood? (If you haven’t, you have lived a sad, sad life.)  There’s usually a small dog of some kind frantically jogging to keep up with its longer legged pals. It’s trotting frantically, tongue lolling out of its mouth, its legs seeming to move twice as fast to keep up.

That’s kind of how I feel today. My brain is running frantically trying to keep up with the sensory input. I am trying to put together cogent sentences as thoughts occur to me, like you do, but other things like the sound of the pipes in the front bathroom shrieking, or the whisper of paper as the cat drags a butter wrapper out of the trash to lick noisily, or the sound of the neighbors kids frolicking in the balmy dusk of this December afternoon.  And then, of course, there’s the smug blooping sound of the xbox being kicked off of the internet which means everything else is going to be shutting down.

If I were reading this between the lines, possibly in my own defense at the commitment hearings, I would first make the case that my self-esteem has been eroded by circumstances beyond my control to the point at the age of 46, I still equate myself with the small dog in the pack (Hey, maybe someone would get me a cute plaid dress for Christmas and give me a daily massage before I embark, get it, on my very rough day of lounging around in my dog bed. ) 

My small dog analogy would lead to a persecution complex, because why would I chose to feel that I have to work twice as hard as everyone else? And then there’s my choice of words; in my house, things are either shrieking or whispering.  The sound of the frolicking kids reminds me that I, too, can be heard, so maybe I should stop screaming out my default phrase. Maybe they think I’m screaming, Ditch That! Bun of S’mores!(That doesn’t do much for the case for my sanity. )

The thoughts that are plaguing my trotting brain range from the truly troubling, like the the fact that Donald Trump still won’t shut up and it stopped being funny three rants ago, to the deeply disturbing, like the signs of climate change are in our sunscreen lathered faces as those of us in Texas enjoy a sunny afternoon and visitors to NYC can stroll around in shorts and tee shirts during this week before Christmas.  Then there is the fact that an entire school district in one of the largest cities in the United States had to close because of a large target bomb threat.

That’s an awful lot of dog to keep up with.

In my personal life there are many things changing, good and maybe better. Christmas is rapidly approaching and I’m sure there will be many interesting tales to tell.

I am also finally setting up an author page on Kindle, and I will be providing links and information. This author business is in preparation for the release of Circumstance (I know, I know, we’ve all heard this before) and the release of an all new tome of wit,wisdom and horror.

So much field, and such little legs.

can I get a holiday sweater for my pet peeve?

Published December 11, 2015 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I in no way mean to present myself as a flawless, highly trained writing-bot.  Anyone who has ever read any of my unedited work or who may have a keystroke monitor on my computer will know that to be true.  That being said, I have to tell you what drives me completely and totally bonkers.

I hate when people write or speak the phrase” couple words” without the  preposition “of”. Oh, I had a couple grapes so a made a fruit salad.

Is that a couple bananas in the cabinet?

I took a couple weeks off to attend a grammar workshop.

What drives me even in crazier is when someone says it. I am listening to a webinar right now, and the host just said, “I’m going to come back in a couple minutes after I get a drink.” Unless you bring me one, too, I do not excuse you for annoying me.

I see this phrase all of the time in published, written work, so I assume that editors do not find this as big of a deal as I do.

Maybe I am just nit-picky.

I’m usually quite patient. Just yesterday I picked up a sub job teaching second grade math and science. Math and science are not my best subjects, but I have to say that my math prowess moved a child to walk up and hug me, mid-demonstration.  (I did not realize that I could garner such affection by discussing ones and tens and their placement.)

I was very patient with these children even though they were all a little nuts because they had a sub the day before and had earned an extra recess. Before  I arrived to take over, a student had projectile vomited in the classroom, and the custodian was unavailable so 22 children watched their teacher clean up both the child and the chair.  The teacher was then called summoned to go and fetch HER child because he was sick. Interruptions make children wonky.   Wonky children are all very aware that they have been promised an extra recess.

At extra recess, everything went just fine, the kids frolicked in the unseasonably warm air. Everyone played nicely with each other.  (I had been warned that soccer has become such a contentious sport that it was on the verge of being forbidden. I can’t imagine what kind of anger and trauma could emerge on the soccer field between boys at a Catholic Elementary School.  I am foolishly optimistic. )

When it was time to go to the next thing (PE) I thought I would just be able to line everyone up and steer everyone into the Gym. Somewhere in the five seconds between lining up and walking, there was a neck punching incident.  (I didn’t do it, although I realize why people would assume so.) Said punching was a result of a soccer dispute.  I took both boys to the nurse and the principal.

At no time did I lose the run of myself and say. “I have a couple boys who are misbehaving.”

One has to exhibit control in all one undertakes.