Posts Tagged ‘Texas’

12
Jan

…and I’ve been scared of nuns ever since….

   Posted by: Ashley Moreno    in random funny stuff

In my last post—the one where I had to come up with 7 things you might not know about me—I mentioned that my dreams of pursuing an acting career died a tragic death at the hands of a mean nun. The list also featured me almost dying in childbirth, the dubious nature of my Texas citizenship, and the fact that I used to be smart. But go figure—everybody is asking for the 411 on the angry nun.

My mother started taking me to the theater when I was very young. The first play I remember seeing was Brigadoon. I remember being enchanted by the whole experience—the darkened theater, the music, the way it felt more real than film ever could—it was magical.

I loved being on the stage, too. I got the lead–Josephine– in the 3rd grade Christmas play, which had to be moved up a week when my my family had to fly back to Connecticut unexpectedly for a funeral (which, I guess, is how one usually flies for a funeral–unexpectedly). Not only did I have all of my own lines memorized, but I’d memorized everyone else’s, too, so when a fellow cast member found themselves at a loss, well….

Tom: “I, uh…uh…uh…”

Josephine (me):  “You look like you have a headache.”

Tom: ”Yes, I have a headache. And uh…uh…”

Josephine: “Do you wish you had something to make your head stop hurting?”

Tom: “Yes, I wish I had something to make my head stop hurting.”

Josephine: “Would you like to borrow this pillow? You could tie it to your head.”

And yes…those are actual lines from the play. I didn’t write it. An actress works with what she’s given…. But anyway, the experience led me to believe that I was destined for the stage—today, Josephine; tomorrow, somebody with way better lines than Josephine.

Now, my small Catholic school didn’t offer many dramatic opportunities. I mean, other than the opportunities for me to dramatically try and talk myself out of trouble. And while those performances outshone my earlier role in terms of true acting, they were generally far less successful.

Then, in 7th grade, it happened—the answer to my dreams: Drama. The school was offerering drama as an elective. Oh happy day, oh joy-of-joys! This was it, this was my ticket to stardom. My—oh no, gasp!—it wasn’t true. The celluloid fantasy that had begun rolling in my mind came to an abrupt halt. There, next to the word “drama,” was my three-word undoing: “Teacher–Sister G.”

See, the good nun and I shared a little bit of history. Not the good kind, either. Almost 30 years this side of Catholic school, I realize that she probably did have my best interests at heart. If she had a heart. But at the time, all I saw when I looked at Sr. G was 4 feet, 11 inches of archnemesis in a black veil and sensible shoes.

You think I’m exaggerating? As soon as I finish feigning shock and insult, I’ll elucidate….

We are talking about a woman who looked at a piece of my artwork and told me I had “…no artistic talent whatsoever.”  Oh yeah, harsh. Wait—it gets better.

When I volunteered to wash the blackboard—a job which nobody else was jumpin’ at—she actually insulted my blackboard washing skills, at which point I might have said something along the lines of I am so sorry my work doesn’t meet your standards; how about after I graduate I apply for blackboard washing school instead of going on to college, and then maybe I’ll be worthy of washing your precious blackboard. And maybe she started crying and everybody in the classroom scooted their chairs a few feet back out of lightening bolt range. Hypothetically speaking….

And when my best friend—who happened to be a boy—kicked me in line, and I kicked him back only she didn’t see him kicking me, and then I told her that he kicked me first, she had the nerve to say, “well, that’s different. He’s a boy. It’s unladylike for a girl to kick a boy.” And I might have said something that vaguely sounded like I’ll remember that if I’m ever being attacked in a dark alley, and I’ll just let them go ahead and rape me and beat me to a bloody pulp, because I sure wouldn’t want to be unladylike. And she might have started crying again, and I might have silently said my Act of Contrition because First Friday confession was still a ways off and I really didn’t want to end up going to hell for making a nun cry. Twice. Hypothetically speaking….

And now this woman held my destiny in her hands like a ruler, waiting to bring it crashing down on my knuckles.

Oh, the irony.

So I signed up anyway. No way was this woman standing in the way of my dream. The class would be performing Hansel and Gretel. Not exactly an ensemble cast. The evil stepmother gets a couple of lines, the wimpy father gets a couple, and then there’s Hansel, Gretel, and the Wicked Witch. Everybody else gets to be “the chorus.”

I didn’t want to be in the chorus.

For one thing, the only talent that Sr. G was more critical of than my artistic ability was my musical ability (she was also the choir master).

My mother had done drama in high school and college. She was thrilled. She convinced me to audition for the Wicked Witch. Every afternoon, she ran lines with me, coached me on my cackle until I had it down. The morning of the auditions, she wished me a broken leg as I got out of the car.

I tried to tell myself the knot in my stomach was excitement. I tried to pretend that the woman who hated me wasn’t the same person who was going to be evaluating my audition….

“Ashley, you’re trying out for the witch?”

Now as a kid, I wasn’t afraid of much. Except maybe vampires. And tornadoes. And finding myself stuck underneath a table that’s bolted onto what used to be the floor of a huge cruise ship but has now become the ceiling thanks to an enormous tidal wave….  But the point is, fear never kept me from doing anything.

Until that day.

I couldn’t do it. I looked up at Sr. G, and all I could think about was how this woman would love nothing more than to tell me I had no acting talent whatsoever. “No, Sister. I’m going to be–” and to this day, when I remember that moment, I plead with that 12 year old girl not to finish that sentence—-”in the chorus.”

To be fair, the girl who got the part—the ONLY other girl who signed up to audition (oh yeah, I chickened out of an audition against one other person) was perfect for the role. She would have gotten it even if I’d gathered up my ovaries and tried out. And even if she hadn’t been the teacher’s pet.

So there you have it. That’s why I’m sitting in this cold house during this freakishly cold Texas winter instead of in year-round-spring Hollywood or on the French Riviera. It’s why I finally broke down and asked my 14 year old to cut my hair because I realized I’m never going to have the time (or money) to go in for a real haircut. It’s why I am up to my navel in laundry and dishes and snotty noses and dirty diapers. It’s why I read SkippyJonJones (in my very best Spanish accent) to a 6 year old instead of reading lines to a casting agent. It’s why the only encore I’m asked for is when one of my children asks me to come back to their bedside for just one more goodnight kiss.

Thank you, Sr. G, wherever you are. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

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11
Jan

For me? Really?

   Posted by: Ashley Moreno    in Writer's Corner, random funny stuff

It’s nice to be appreciated.

I’m blessed enough to have 4 amazing children who—-when they’re not destroying my house or trying to convince me that yes-they-are-actually-going-to-die-of-thirst-if-they-don’t-go-get-a-drink-of-water-BEFORE-doing-math-drills or plotting to reduce the pint-sized population of MoTopia by one—-are actually extremely grateful and appreciative. They draw me pictures and tell me stuff like “I’m so glad you’re my mommy. If I had some other mommy, I’d run away from home and come live with you.” Isn’t that the sweetest? And I’d totally hide them in the closet when the police came to look for them, because they’re really cool.

Even The Hubby tells me he appreciates me—sometimes even spontaneously.

And although I don’t doubt their sincerity in the least, each of them kind of has a vested interest in keeping  She-Who-Decides-Whether-To-Make-Pizza-or-Split-Pea-Soup happy.

But when an unbiased individual from beyond these 4 walls expresses her sincere appreciation—now that’s the makings of a little trip to Egoville, population: one.

So when Sari at Sx3 in SC told me she’d tagged me for a Kreative Blogger award…well, I got all warm and fuzzy. Which is something, because it is still freakishly cold here in Texas.

Thanks, Sari! I am honored, and kind of scared—it’s a lot of pressure for a neurotic person like me to handle! Thank you, and I appreciate it!

Here are the rules for accepting this award:
1) Thank the person giving the award
2) Copy the award to your blog 
3) Place a link to their blog
4) Name 7 things people don’t know about you
5) Nominate 7 bloggers
6) Place a link to those bloggers
7) Leave a comment letting those bloggers know about the award

Okay, now I have to try and come up with 7 things you don’t already know about me, which is hard because if they were interesting I’d have already shared them here, right? Hmmmm…..

1. During my 4th delivery, the nurses at my OB’s office and upstairs on the postpartum floor were watching the feed from my little blippy-machine remotely in tears, because they fully expected that either one or both of us weren’t going to survive.

2. I was both a heavy-metal headbanger and a National Merit Finalist in high school.

3. My dream of pursuing an acting career was killed by an angry nun.

4. I spray painted my name on the Berlin Wall under the watchful eye of an East German guard with a very big weapon.

This is getting kinda fun….

5. The least annoying Wiggle is Anthony.

6. (i wasn’t actually born in Texas…i’m from Connecticut….sssshhhhh—that’s just between you and me. Not that there’s anything wrong with Connecticut–it’s a beautiful place. But would you recognize the Connecticut flag? Are people afraid of messin’ with Connecticut? Does their football team have a cool song and cool hand symbol? Any good Connecticut battle cries? I rest my case….)

7. I want to go to Morocco and buy silver bracelets in Marakesh and eat in Tangiers (I mean, I’m sure I would eat in Marakesh, too. As long as I’m there, right? I mean, I’m not going to be like–oh, no, nothing for me till we get to Tangiers) and take an overnight camel trek through the desert. I don’t know if they actually do overnight camel treks through the desert in Morocco, but doesn’t it sound cool? The Hubby reminds me that deserts get cold at night, but I figure that if there actually are treks, the people who do them probably already know that and have it covered. I figure they have to have tents, right? The Hubby doesn’t think I’m tough enough to trek through the desert, which makes me all the more determined. He thinks that’s kinda cute. Let’s see how cute he thinks it is when I’ve dragged his butt onto a camel out in the middle of the desert just to prove him wrong. Do they have pirates in the desert?

What’s next? Oh, yeah–now I nominate 7 of my bloggy soul-sistahs. I mean, I guess I could nominate bloggy soul-brothahs, too, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have any yet. This is going to be hard—I follow way more than 7 fabulous blogs, and it’s hard to choose…. So here (in no particular order) are 7 of my way cool bloggy reads:

Helen @ Helen Hanson —my writing buddy extroardinaire.

Brandy, @ Not So Average Mama

Renee, @ My Special K’s 

Nettie, @ Nettie Hartsock.com –you really want to optimize the potential of your blog & your social networking in general? Then you should totally check out Nettie’s blog.

Jean the Resource Queen, @ Resource Queen

Cathy, @  A Walk In Lily’s Garden

Rebecca @ The Bates Motel

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6
Jan

…and that’s when the aliens showed up….

   Posted by: Ashley Moreno    in Chaos, random funny stuff

I am cold. Not chilly. Not feeling-the-effects-of-a-brisk-day. Cold. Freezing. Nose, fingers, even the toes that are snuggled inside the fuzzy socks inside my houseshoes. Cold.

I couldn’t sleep the last two nights because my nose was so cold. I tried putting my head under the blanket, but I have this irrational fear (yeah…as if I have only one…) of suffocating. I know they say we have a built-in oxygen sensor, kind of like a car (note to self: need to take the Suburban in to get the “check engine soon” light checked out…), but I don’t trust my autonomic nervous system all that much.

Global warming my…foot. And don’t give me that “global warming causes freezing” spiel. Once upon a time, the majority of the earth’s water was frozen. The Native Americans walked here from far Eastern Asia—right across the Bering Strait, which at that time was the Bering Land Bridge on account of all the water was in the form of icebergs and expanded frozen polar regions. And then one day, a Mommy Nomad (a Mommad?) called out “If you kids don’t quit playing in that water right now….” and someone realized they’d better hurry that caravan along. Good thing, too, because all that ice melted and swallowed the Bering Land Bridge right up. What melted all that ice? The globe got warmer. Which—and I’m just throwin’ this out, now—sounds an awful lot like Global Warming. Thousands of years before Chevy introduced the Suburban.

Even my suburban is cold....

Global warming sounds pretty good to me right now. North Texas has had nighttime temps below freezing for the past two weeks. A Saskatchewan Screamer (yep, our weatherman’s a funny guy…) is due to hit any minute now, sinking us into the teens with windchills near O (farenheit) for the next few days.

This is Texas, for cryin’ in a bucket. Our weather-related motto (doesn’t your state have one?) is “If you don’t like the weather, just wait a few hours.” Sure, we get cold in the winter. Intermittently. Mostly a combination of chilly and not-so-chilly, punctuated by brief bursts of cold as well as blissful patches of look-at-me-I’m-wearing-a-tank-top-and-capris-in-February.

One day a few winters ago, we’d been in the 50s with rain all day. Then suddenly a cold front blew through and took us down to 19 degrees in a matter of hours. We were fairly new horse-owners at the time, and it took a while for us to realize we should probably go check on Mr. H.  He was a horse-sicle. His mane and tail were coated with ice, and he was shivering all over. 1100 pounds of shivering horseflesh is something to see.

We evicted the Suburban from the garage to accomodate him and took turns holding his lead rope and keeping him calm. The Hubby set up the heat lamps (at a safe distance) and Ri and a friend rotated towels and blankets in and out of the dryer. After a couple of hours he was dry & warm enough that we could put his horsey-coat on him and put him back out in the pasture. The next day I think it got up to 50 again.

That’s Texas for ya’.

As long as there's snow, then it's all worthwhile I guess....

But this winter has been brutal. It wouldn’t be so bad, except that I hadn’t fully recovered from all those consecutive days of 100+ temps and no rain all summer. It’s cosmically unjust to have to shell out $300+ a month for A/C and then turn around and pay to have the 500 gallon propane tank filled 3 times during the winter.

No, something’s wrong here. Somebody messed with Texas.

Last night, as I lay shivering in my bed, teeth chattering, alternating between putting my face under the blanket to keep my nose warm and pulling it back out again to escape certain death by CO2, a thought occured to me: Aliens.

What if the aliens used their uber-sci-fi technology to transport us to some freakishly cold planet as part of some collosal experiment? And what do they plan to do with us after they finish their little mind game, huh? Is that when all the bright lights and the drills and the alien probes come in? I don’t want to be dissected. I don’t want them implanting their little microchips in the back of my neck like they did to Scully. And I sure as heck don’t want to be probed.

Unless it’s a heated probe….

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