The Vague Post

The Hubs told me about vaguebooking the other day when I was commenting on how I can't stand when people post vague status updates. How did he know something pop culture-y that I didn't know?!

Whelp. Here's your vague blog post after six months. I've been itching to write, but I can't say anything about anything because I've been in crazy limbo with so many things in my life since MARCH. That is so long, you guys. So long.

Anyway, I'm bringing back Tunes for Tuesday and posting about yoga and food and looking up lists of other things to write about. I might start Ann Dee Ellis' 8 Minute Memoir prompts. We'll see.

Tunes for Tuesday: Leon Bridges

I love make-out songs and Leon Bridges has some epic make-out songs. I've been loving on his album since the song "Coming Home" first popped up on a random Spotify playlist. When I heard it, I had to Google him because I thought he was an old school artist I'd never heard of. Nope, he's an awesome throwback to Motown and I love him!

Although I've been listening to Kendrick Lamar's To Pimp a Butterfly which MOVES me to no end, I've been loving the old school sounds of Leon Bridges and Nathaniel Rateliff over the last few weeks. Here's a taste of Leon Bridges for you-- grab someone and slow dance with them cheek-to-cheek:

I'm working on a blog project for 2016, something similar to my 30 Before 30. I'm very motivated by public lists of goals. Look for it next week!

The Writing Itch

I've got the itch to blog again. It's been hitting me hard over the last few weeks. Maybe this marks my return to my dusty blog!

I think this itch is coming from the place that made me redo my whole office last year-- I'm not a teacher anymore, but this time of the year makes me want to start fresh, just like I did whenever I redid my whole syllabus and classroom over the month of August. By the way, I've kept up the cleanliness of my office, although a few piles are carefully placed around the room. However, it is exponentially better in this room this year versus the last seven years.

I've got a few new projects I'm going to tackle over the next few months. I need new blog-writing fodder. If my life improves because of these projects, I won't complain.

1. I'm tackling the Whole 30 Program starting the day after Labor Day (in between business trips). I travel quite a bit for work now and I work odd hours-- my eating patterns have turned to complete poo. Like I feel like poo because of my poopy eating patterns. I want to see if I can do this program for 30 days. Plus, I think I have a serious issue with sugar and maybe this will break me of it. It doesn't seem that difficult. I kid, I kid, it seems impossible. I mostly want to learn some stuff about my body. How does it operate when it's being treated like an award winning race horse as opposed to the penny horse at Meijer?

This doesn't look fun, but I feel like a challenge!

2. I'm forcing myself to learn how to balance my crazy busy schedule with self-care. How will I attempt this? I don't know. I'm getting a new planner that might help me... it's not just a planner-- it's an ACTION planner. This means that I will learn to utilize every minute of my work day, right?  I just have to write in it. I'm down to try! I don't want to establish the same unhealthy workaholic habits in my new career as I did when I was a teacher.

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3. Speaking of self-care, I'm going to continue doing yoga with my role model, Adriene Mishler. Despite the crazy changes in my life since January, doing yoga with my girl Adriene has remained a constant in my life-- almost every day since January started. Actually practicing yoga daily has made me more aware and appreciative of my body, has built my back into a stronger and more flexible one, and has calmed my anxiety. I lurve it.

My virtual BFF. I see her every morning. 

4. I've got to figure out how to clean my house in bits in pieces instead of spending my whole freakin' Saturday or Sunday cleaning. I'm going to try one of these home cleaning schedules that fancy women who probably have sparkling clean homes that smell like lemongrass (and sparkling white teeth that they've whitened on their own with their own homemade whitener) post on their blogs. Specifically this one:

Lemongrass-smellin' house here I come!

I suppose you could say that this year's not-going-back-to-school redo project is focusing on upping my quality of life.

We'll see how it goes...

30 Days of Yoga: Days 11-20

Well... I am addicted to yoga. I blame it on days 11-20 of this 30 Days of Yoga Challenge. Here are five things about days 11-20:

1. I am sleeping through the night-- deep and restful sleeps. I think it's the yoga.
2. I still haven't had any alcohol. I'm not giving it up for good because, why? It has been nice to detox, but I didn't really have a lot to detox from. I think I just liked the challenge. I can't wait to have a Two Hearted next week.
3. My pants are looser and my clothes are fitting the way I like them to fit. It could be from the no alcohol, or it could be from the constant yoga. We'll see when February hits!
4. My lower back still hurts every day, but the pain isn't as severe as usual. I decided on the day that I took the picture of the hyacinth bulb in the vase that I'm going to do yoga every day until the bulb blooms. Maybe my back pain won't be there anymore either. A fresh flower and a fresh back-- sounds like a good deal to me!
5. I went to hot yoga with my sista and sista-from-another-mista on day 17. Hot yoga is really disgusting and it doesn't really feel like yoga to me. I don't think yoga should make you feel so dizzy and gross. However, the minute it was over, I felt cleansed. It's all very confusing. I still don't think it's really yoga.

Bonus #6: God, my dogs are cute. Best yoga buddies ever.

In other news, the goal is to have my book proposal submitted to the publisher by the 31st. My brotha-from-another-motha is checking over the last sample chapter and then I'm sending it off. I care but don't care if it gets accepted. I just want to send it in so that it's done! That was the good thing about today's hot yoga session. I visualized myself finishing the proposal and emailing it to my bro instead of passing out from the heat. Then I actually sat down at my computer and did it-- after a long shower to rinse the rivers of sweat off of me, of course.

Book Proposal Blues: I'm a Negative Self-Talk Nancy

I'm working on a teacher book proposal after over a year of contemplating whether to send my work to some publishers or self-publish. I've done a lot of research on self-publishing and it is way too expensive for me. Sure, I could put it all on a credit card and cross my fingers that I would be able to use the sales to pay back the credit card debt, but Jenny don't play that college way anymore. That "I'm just gonna put it on a credit card and pay it back as soon as the cash flow increases" way. I've did my research and found five publishers who might be interested in my work. I'll send it their way and see what happens. If I sit on this work for much longer 1) someone else is going to publish it or 2) I'm going to lose my steam.

This is a little glimpse into my mind as I attempt my first book proposal ever:

• Read the proposal guidelines from each publisher. Think, "Oh, dude, I've got this."
• Read the proposal guidelines again. Think, "Pshhhh, I'm dumb. This be too hard."
• Read the proposal guidelines again. Think, "Oh em gee. I can do this. I'm getting started."
• Print the proposal guidelines. Write all over the guidelines to make sure I get what I'm supposed to do.
• Think, "I should have tried to publish some articles on this, but how do you publish articles that are the length of a book because that's how long it would have to be to explain what I'm trying to explain." 
• Google "how to write an academic book proposal" and "academic book proposal templates."
• Get started, even though I have no idea what I'm doing.
• Think, "Ugh, this is so much work. Everyone gets rejected their first time and do I want to do this much work for rejection?" 
• Eat some string cheese. 
• Start again, thinking, "Listen woman, if you don't do this you'll wonder 'what if' forever. So just do it. God."
• Sigh in exasperation.
• Eat some Haribo Sour Spaghetti. 
• Move computer away from the kitchen. 
• Write an email to the acquisitions editor with all of my unanswered questions. Get way TMI with the email. 
• Contemplate not sending the email because I don't want to get laughed at. 
• Send the email. 
• Walk around the house looking at how dusty everything is. 
• Sit down at the computer to start chapter summaries. 
• Repeat this mind cycle for every part of the book proposal. 

The Séance

I've written about my dad before and many people who know me know the story below because it's a good story for a late night conversation. Here it is now, written for your enjoyment during this Halloween month. So play this song and read about my Halloween night of 2001. 

Before he died, I was lucky enough to have some good conversations with my dad about the big D.
     "Jennifer, when I die," he once said, "I am going to haunt you. Then you'll know I'm still around."
     "That sounds good, Dad," I replied, laughing. "Promise me that will happen."

Then he died on September 15, 2001-- my second week of college.

I took a week off of school for the funeral proceedings, contemplated dropping out for the rest of the year, decided against it, and returned to Valley One at Western Michigan University. I can't remember going to class at that time. I think WMU had a rule that if your parent dies in your first week of college you automatically get a 2.0 without trying-- that's how it seemed to me. I do remember working because I didn't really know what to do with myself except make sandwiches at The Den, wait tables at Ruby Tuesday, and look for another job to fill my time. I searched through the classifieds and found a job cleaning rooms at The Henderson Castle in Kalamazoo, which is a creepy place in itself.

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It was the beginning of October. The man who owned it at the time gave me a job doing odd jobs for him for eight bucks an hour under the table. I'd throw a burned CD into my yellow Discman and put on some kneepads to clean the marble floors of the castle whenever I could fit it into my schedule. He also asked if I'd work as a guide for a haunted house at the Depot building in downtown Kalamazoo:

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I don't remember how he was connected with the haunted house, but it seemed like fun to me. I was always up to try anything that wasn't boring. I hate being bored, but after growing up watching movies like The Exorcist and Amnityville Horror, I'm also scared of everything. I thought it'd be fun to work at the haunted house because I could challenge myself to face my fears. Plus, I love fall and Halloween.

I enjoyed the odd job of being a haunted house tour guide that October. I had to don a black robe, paint my face a little, memorize a script, and guide people through what we called, "The Haunt." I would get there after dark, get dressed up, and freak the eff out of people. Everyone who worked at The Haunt was fun and interesting. I didn't talk to anyone about my dad dying just a month before this job started. I just wanted to scare people and flirt with the older guy who played Pennywise in the It room (this is weird if you know that I greatly dislike clowns).

On Halloween, The Haunt was hosting a séance in one of the rooms of the Depot. They had an open spot and wanted to make sure the room was full, so they asked if any of us (the actors?) wanted to fill a seat for free. I've never been one to turn down something free. I quickly volunteered myself and found a seat in the circle.

As we sat and waited for the séance to begin, I found my grieving self very focused on my dad. Are you going to be here, Dad? I thought, over and over again. Will you be here? Will you be here? Will you be here? I snapped myself out of it and snickered at my questions. Working for The Haunt for just a few weeks had helped me see that there was really no reason to be freaked out by ghosts-- it wasn't real.

I'm going to have to interrupt myself to tell you three things that you should know before reading about the séance:
1. Only my parents call me "Jennifer." I never let anyone do it-- until I went to Senegal in 2010 because it sounds so good when someone with a French accent says, "Jennifer." 
2. My dad had cancer in his throat, which caused his voice to sound very raspy in his last few months. 
3. My dad loved music and musicals from the 40s, 50s, and 60s. He sang to us all the time. 
4. Our family had a lot of money issues-- my dad's medical expenses were not cheap.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled séance. 

The séance began. I didn't know anyone in the room. The medium was a man wearing a navy blue sweatshirt, black jeans, and a baseball cap. He looked like someone's grandpa. I don't know why I remember in such detail what he was wearing. I'd never gone to a séance, but I thought the medium would be woman wearing a turban with moons and stars all over it. He sat on a chair in the middle of the circle and asked everyone to hold hands and not to let go, no matter what happened. Then he said things I don't remember, something along the lines of, "We welcome you to this safe space, spirits, blah, blah."

The lights went out. I was on the edge of my seat.

I felt a warm breeze blow across my face. Nice trick, Mr. Medium, I thought. I couldn't see anything, so I didn't know where the breeze was coming from. Then, I felt a chill at the base of my neck that made my scalp prickle. My eyes squeezed shut in anticipation and also because I always close my eyes when I'm in complete darkness. It makes me feel like I'm in control.

"Kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time," the medium sang after a few tense moments of silence. My palms went sweaty and I probably gripped the hands of the people on my left and right harder than I should. I knew this song-- my dad loved Bing Crosby. Dad? I thought.

"Jennifer, Jennifer," the medium said in a raspy voice, "I miss you so much. I don't want you to worry about money. I want you to be happy. I love you, Jennifer. I miss you." Then he moved on to a different "spirit." I can't remember the rest of the seance because I was freaking. the. eff. out.

I wish I could say that at that moment, I thought about the conversations I had with my dad about haunting me and smiled at the whimsy of it all. I didn't. The séance ended and the lights came on and I was having a full blown anxiety-grief attack in front of a room of people I didn't know. "HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT STUFF ABOUT ME?! WHO DID YOU TALK TO?" I screamed to the nice grandpa medium, who was staring at the snot running out of my nose in alarm, "How COULD you? He JUST died!" I was crying an ugly cry and a few people in the circle started crying too. The pain was palpable.

The medium sent everyone out of the room and sat down across from me.
      "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. He had kind eyes.
      "My dad just died," I responded while gulping in air to stop my sobbing hiccups. "He'd love that song you sang, he called me Jennifer, he worried about my future and money-- we were just emailing about it the week before he died. He loved me. And he died before I could get home so I didn't get to say goodbye even though he said he would wait for me, he didn't. How did you know that? How did you know to say those things?"
       "I didn't," the medium said. "It's just a script that I wrote this morning. I feel so terrible about this. This séance is just like a stage play. I'm just so sorry." He took both of my hands and sat with me while I got myself together.

I left the séance room and saw that almost everyone from the séance was waiting for me. "I'm fine," I said in the nasal tone of someone who just finished an intense cry. The people surrounded me, hugged me, and dispersed. I probably gave them quite a scare, but maybe not the one they were hoping to get on Halloween night. A nice couple, who were probably the age I am now, sat outside with me while I smoked a calming cigarette and got myself together. They followed me back to the dorms in their car.

What do you do after losing your shit in front of a room full of strangers? I don't remember, except that I woke up early in the norming of November first, climbed down from my lofted bed, and sat on the futon in our dorm staring out of the window into the darkness thinking, Too soon for haunting, Dad. That was WAY too soon. 

***

Note: It's been thirteen years since the séance and when I look back with my adult eyes, I see that maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe I, in my grief, took everything the medium said and made it relate to me because I wanted needed it to-- the song, the money, the name, the raspy voice. But, maybe I didn't. 

I recently emailed the owner of the haunted house and asked him if they still do a séance show on Halloween. They said they only did it the one time because of audience reaction. My bad. Happy Halloween month, everybody! 

I Love Candy and Gone Girl is Candy

I read a lot. Like any good English degree holding human, I like to read what I call Grown Up Books (Pulitzer Prize winners, The Classics, books that make me think about the Big Questions, etc.). But in between those books? I like Candy. You know what I mean. I read Gender Trouble by Judith Butler (Grown Up Book) followed by The Bedwetter by Sarah Silverman (Candy). I read Atonement by Ian McEwan (Grown Up Book) followed by-- and I can't believe I'm saying actually admitting this-- Confessions of a Shopaholic by Sophie Kinsella (PURE Candy... makes your teeth hurt, I'm embarrassed now).

When I first read the Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn, I read it in a day. I just could not stop reading it. People were trying to talk to me and I couldn't even respond to them, so into this book was I. I gasped out loud and laughed out loud at how psycho the story was. I ended up reading Flynn's two other books as soon as I could-- Dark Places is my favorite. Her stories are Twizzlers (twisted and delicious) with fun characters. Now, I classify her books as Candy. They are fun, they aren't making a Big Important Statement about anything. They are just really effed up stories that you can devour as fast as a box of Swedish Fish. I like red candy.

"Totally twisted," just like Gillian Flynn's fiction. Yummy.

I just left an afternoon showing of Gone Girl and I wasn't disappointed. Gillian Flynn wrote the screenplay and David Fincher directed so it was bound to be a good, nasty, and twisted book-to-film adaptation. However, despite my excitement, I found myself feeling irritated going in to view the film by the feminist rage that has been pointed at Flynn since the movie has received so much buzz. That it glamorizes rape culture and makes violence against women a punchline. A piece from Ms. Magazine's blog about how the conversation about how white privilege is missing from the Gone Girl debates made me think: Since when is Gillian Flynn responsible for addressing every single issue in our society through her Candy stories? 

Does Stephen King get this much shit whenever one of his movies comes out? "How dare you, Stephen King. I can't believe you didn't take the opportunity to really dig deep into animal abuse issues with Pet Cemetery. You sir, are not on the side of the animals."

I bet he doesn't. Because he's a dude.

I shall now go back to my regular reading schedule. Next up is The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. I haven't started it yet, but I'm sure if it is made into a film, there will be something she should have addressed that she didn't address and how dare she.

I'm Going to Write a Book...

...says every English teacher/former English teacher I've ever known, including me.

But really, I've been sitting on this book for more than ten years now. I've started it in my mind while walking the dogs countless times, but unfortunately, that doesn't count.

One of my 30b430 goals was to write at least one chapter of said book, which I did during National Novel Writing Month in 2012. However, I absolutely hated what I came up with. I can't even post it here. I can't even look at it right now.

Two years later, I have some inspiration. I think it's because I'm out of the classroom and done with my Master's and I need a new project. I was mostly inspired by NPR-- of course.

I wrote a micro story. From there, I've been organizing documents, doing research, and talking, talking, talking about it with friends and family (my apologies for not being able to talk about anything else). I've realized a few things from all of this pre-pre-writing:
1) I write better in vignettes and I need to stick with that.
2) I'm pretty good at research and I need to do something with that.
3) It's okay that it took this long to really start.
4) This is going to be hard.

I realize that it is irritating that I'm not saying what this book is about, but I'm not ready yet. In the next few months I'm hoping to...
1) Meet with an archivist who will help me figure out who to best transcribe documents, file, and organize them.
2) Transcribe documents, file, and organize them.
3) Write the prologue and first few chapters.
4) Complete a few interviews.

We'll see where this goes.