All posts for the month June, 2016

Comfort, it’s not just for the South.

Published June 22, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I listen to a lot of podcasts because I don’t like my brain to have too much free time on its hands.  (Yes, my brain has hands)

I usually stick to the true crime or history podcasts, but sometimes I’ll pick up an unfamiliar blog if I’m interested in the topic.

Right this very minute I am listening to This American Life because the title is “Tell me I’m fat.”

A good portion of the podcast is about accepting who you are and why Fat is still the big, flabby arena where we allowed to rip people apart.  One of the speakers, Elna Baker, talks about the huge amount of weight she lost and an ongoing argument she has with her SO Mark. He essentially told her that they would not have gotten together if she was still 110 ten pounds heavier. He is most insistent that the real Elna is thin. Her argument is that she is still the same person, it’s not as if she were walking around with a fat suit waiting for the right time to meet people.  Seriously. This man, her HUSBAND says that he would probably not have been interested in her if she was still fat.

After her weight loss, she had several surgeries to get rid of her loose skin. She is embarrassed about her loose skin, I’m assuming. I personally kind of enjoy the fact that my arms and thighs are famine and drought resistant.  She states that her past journal entries indicate that she was more accepting of herself and possibly happier when she was heavier because she enjoyed herself more .

She took phentermine to help lose weight and she continues to take it at  varying intervals, because as thin as she is, she can still be thinner.

She says she and her spouse are working on it. (I guess they are working on his accepting her for who she is, not what she’s wrapped in?) I wonder how they are going to do if she has a heart attack or stroke because of the speed that she is using to maintain her weight loss. I don’t think he is likely to stand by.

Now say what you will about EH. . .(And if you are short of a few curse words or actual hexes, I can forward your information to The Mom, Amanda Friend or Batman, all of whom would be happy to help you out.)  EH was always accepting of who I am, regardless of my weight. I gained a lot of weight around the time I started Grad School, while I have lost a lot of weight and maintained that loss, he never made me feel less than attractive. And when my head blew up due to a sudden spike in my blood pressure causing a an aneurysm to burst, he did step up and made it possible for all of the king’s horses and all of the king’s men put my cracked up little head together again.  (True, AWT was still around, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who picked up on her negative vibe, because, you know, she wanted EH to herself)   But all in all, I got my brain back  and EH left me  because he is an adulterous whore, not because I’m chunky.

I started actively losing weight a year after Mr. Steve died. I did this because I know he would want me to have my best life. And my best life includes avoiding the family diseases of diabetes, high blood pressure and a serious overlap of the belly area (I call this Front Butt) It has taken me five years to lose about twenty pounds. But I’ve kept it off.   I still have problems with trust but that has nothing to do with my weight.

In fact there have been several incidents as of late that reinforce that I am worthy of love, no matter what my circumference or volume may be.

I worked with Connor yesterday. We had a good tutoring session and he still has balky moments.  At the end of the session I was talking with his mother about his progress and what I plan to do for the rest of the week. Connor came bounding out of the house and said, “I want to give Miss Lynda a hug” He then threw his little boy arms around me and gave me a squeeze right around the fattest part of me.

He didn’t care that I have a certain roundness I’m not a big fan of. He just card that Miss Lynda read to him and played word games with him and just maybe tricked him into learning something.

I can get comfortable with that.



Call me a snob, but . . . .

Published June 21, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

It’s that time of year again! Summer! Heat! Stupidity!

I have a birthday coming up. This week will be the last of my forty-sixth year.  The concept makes me both hopeful and a little ooged out. One month after birthday is brain day. This year it will be thirteen years since my head blew up.  So it’s either the end of my forty-sixth year or the end of the bonus thirteen (World’s worst thriller.)

Either way, this time of year always makes me introspective and thoughty.

Several events in my life have been challenging.

For those of you who have not committed the events of  my life to memory, here are the highlights

1) as to yet unspecified childhood trauma

2) tagged as the smart kid with “such a pretty face”

3) performed a sock puppet production of “Slave Girl” (Now that’s a story!)

4) Thoughtless words from Gonzalo Cervantes made me think I am less than worthy, and now he’s the size of a small mountain. (That’s right! I said it! )

5) Managed to get through four years of college and still emerge emotionally immature.

And then there was grad school.

I have had a tough time of it, like when my husband of 18 years  told me that he had been cheating on me since the death of my best friend two years previous and that his GF was pregnant.

Then there was the level of hell that I call my internship year teaching 160 theatre students a day.

Then there as an entire school year without a steady paycheck. I completely drained my savings and wandered back and forth between despair and relentless optimisim.


  1. I am now a fully certified teacher with four endorsements on my teaching certificate (I’m about to add a fifth)
  2. I have lost fifteen pounds since New Year’s day.
  3. I have gained an excellent reputation as a tutor.
  4. I performed in all female production of Macbeth and discovered that I can, indeed , close out the first half of a show with a monologue and NOT have a massive brain hemorrhage
  5. Trying online dating has helped me to embrace the fact that I am, indeed, an intellectual snob and will not answer messages that are misspelled and contain sentence fragments. (At least I haven’t corrected them and sent them back for the author to redo.)
  6. I acknowledge and accept that my house is a pit and that I just flat don’t care enough to make it less pitly without a damn good reason.
  7. I have a wonderful supportive network of friends and family including my Amanda Friend who always answers every Writer Chick crisis with, “How Can I Help?”
  8. My brother and I are repairing our fragmented relationship. (The fragmenting part is far too long a story to get into right now.
  9. I am allowing The Mom to help me. That may seem like a no-brainer, but I have been too proud to let her help too much.
  10. I have reconnected with a friend from my past who has swooped back into my world like a superhero to support me and remind me that I am special and deserve better than the shoddy treatment I have been given. (I’m not going to name no names, but The Mom gets the first punch at him in the smack down. ) What can I say, every girl needs a Dark Night on a fiery steed (Ok, in Buick with a very friendly cat.)

So there has been some good and some bad. This week I’m going to strive for the balance.

My kitchen is dirty because I have the funds and wherewithal to buy and prepare food. I also have a mop and Fabuloso! (It is the cleaning product of my people.)

Speechless. It may be the crabs.

Published June 17, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I haven’t been in a writey mood lately.  I have been teetering on the edge of crazy. (Yes,again. The polite thing is not to mention it.) It’s not a matter of the other shoe dropping. It’s a matter of the winds of change shifting.

Recent events in the world (The non-sentence of the Stanford Rapist, the mass shooting in Orlando, the fact that the two top contenders for the leader of the free-world are in a Twitter war.) have inspired my silence.

My personal life is rapidly improving. After almost two years of part-time employment an a lot of subbing and side-gigging and some pride swallowing,  I have been offered and have accepted a full time teaching job for the school year 2016-2017.

This job is the equivalent of finding a pair of jeans that not only fits well and are comfortable but also make your butt look good.  This teaching job will allow me to support myself and make a valuable contribution to students’ lives. And its ok that I insist on talking to students like they are people.

I’m very excited.

Batman and Batcat are transitioning into the Casa Magnetico (This is what I am calling my house, because it’s too discouraging to call it the Crap Shack. Casa Magenetico was an attraction at Six Flags over Texas. The house had some  weird rooms where balls ran up hill and water rolled back up a drain. My house has the advantage of being the great Roach Husk Burial Ground) Samantha is having to learn to share, and I get to have some kindness and unconditional love in the house.  (Batman is pretty cool, too!)

I am still tutoring the same balky, sweet little boy. We have reached a point where we can communicate and actually work together.  I still think he’s one lab accident away from being a super villain, and he still looks at me like I have completely lost my mind, but we get along.

We are both fans of  unsolved mysteries of history.  He wasn’t as thrilled as I when I pointed out that Amelia Earhart was probably eaten by Coconut Crabs. (I wasn’t thrilled,exactly, but was glad that this mystery is solved.)

This child and I are working on summarizing passages and one of the sample pages was about the lost colony at Roanoke. (This is also one of those mysteries that is also more or less solved, depending on your point of view.) One of introductory paragraphs mentioned that one these early colonists was killed while looking for crabs on the beach.

So maybe crabs are responsible for the many mysteries throughout the world.

Giant Crabs of the Bermuda Triangle.

Giant Crabs stole Atlantis.

If it turns out to be true, you heard it here first.


Well that explains it.

Published June 6, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

From time to time, I entertain the thought of pursuing a Ph.D.  Sometimes I think of pursuing that particular degree in American Literature, focusing on John Steinbeck as catalyst of social reform, citing Of Mice and Men and The Grapes of Wrath, and possibly excerpts from the screenplay of Viva Zapata.  (Steinbeck wrote that, too.)

I also think about a Doctorate in Theatre History, possibly focusing on Teatro Campesino and pushing forward the idea that if you can’t personally strike your own set, you don’t need to use it. (I came to this conclusion after a particularly grim evening when my entire cast and production team blazed out of the theatre to see a play at another theatre, leaving me to heave six benches and five flats backstage. There is no adjective or metaphor to define how angry I was at these people.)

The area of study that has the most appeal for me is the Composition and Rhetoric. I like that the definition of Rhetoric includes “Blather” and “Palaver”.  I can certainly get behind that. Trust me, I intend to use my powers for good with the occasional foray into the outer edges of evil, only if they really deserve it.

Speaking of deserved evil, (Well, maybe not evil, but definitely some series frowning.) I would like to talk about the rhetoric involved in the Brock Turner case.

For those of you who are not familiar with this case, ( I realize that not everyone hovers over the news feeds, poised to spring.)

Brock Turner is the former Stanford swimmer who was recently found guilty on three felony sexual assault charges. He was caught in the act of assaulting an unconscious woman after an ON CAMPUS fraternity party.

He was sentenced to six months in prison.

This is his punishment.

Oh, and he won’t eligible to participate in the 2016 Olympics.

There has been considerable backlash over the sentencing. This is not a surprise.  What surprises me is that there are several vocalizations that his sentence is too harsh.


Both the Victim and the Father of the Criminal have had their statements published.

On the grounds that the contents may seriously warp your day and harsh your mellow,  I am providing links.  Here is her statement and information on the case.

Essentially it outlines how badly this young woman was treated both before, during and after her assault.  Remember this was an ON CAMPUS party.  Seriously.

Now to add indignity to the insultingly short sentence that Turner received, this Stanford student’s father wrote what I think is an incendiary piece of rhetoric, which means this man’s blather and palaver makes me want to set something on fire.

Here is the link to an article that includes the letter.

So I guess we need to feel sorry for Brock Turner because he lived a blameless life and enjoyed his food before he went to a party, got drunk and severely assaulted a young woman.

Because it was only “20 minutes of action” in the life of an elite athlete whose life is now permanently altered.

Because that explains it.

Not exactly dazed, but certainly confused

Published June 5, 2016 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I’m feeling unsettled today. I have an entire week off before I have to do anything specific and time on my hands makes me a bit squirrelly (Cue the theme from the good, the bad and the ugly.)  I realize that there are probably squirrels world-wide who take offense at my comparison.

I have great plans for the week: Lots of cleaning, lots of writing, much reflection.

I fear reflection more than a vampire.

What is that Neitzsche quote about looking into an abyss? The abyss might look back?

I’m not so much afraid of an abyss looking back, but maybe an abysmal. (That was meant to be funny.)

I think of the many times I have looked in a mirror and noticed a gray hair, no not gray, white hair standing straight up out of my head like an antenna. Then I get all weird and obsessed (I know, it’s a shock) and go on a gray hair hunt over the rest of my head which leads to me standing too close to the light in the bathroom and possibly bumping into one of the many, many mounds of detritus that follow me around, knocking it over and possibly doing myself an injury.

(Batman noticed a bruise on my arm and asked if I got that when I slipped taking the trash out the other night. I fell. In the street. In the rain. He leapt out of the Batmobile and helped me up and put out the trashcan.  He is a superhero after all. )

Except I don’t know if that’s when I got this particular arm bruise. I may have gotten in then, or I could have gotten it on any number of klutz related mishaps that happen around me.  I regularly bonk my head on things, stub toes or mash fingers, burn the back of my hand taking things out of the oven or drops something. I’m pretty impressed that I have yet to give myself an electrical shock of some kind.

So I have all of these plans to tidy up around the house this week. I wonder how long that will last.

I did notice the First Roach Husk of the season. I wonder if the other planes of existence would mind if pushed some stuff under the rugs in their universe.

This was pretty weird, even for me.

At least there were no coconut crabs (Clack Clack(