Day One: The Socialization Project

May 1, 2012

Day One: The Socialization Project

Location: Aurora, Colorado

Anyone reading this might think, “Is this some sort of weird psych-sociology project?” My answer is, “Notsomuch...” At which time, you the reader, thinks, “WTF?” or similar. For me, in the real world of this blog, it means that I have, as Ricky Riccardo used to say to Lucy, “some splainin’ to do.”

That said, you, the reader, need some background before I start this project. 

I am, amongst many things, a writer. As such, I am intensely curious, as any halfway decent writer must be or else nothing would ever get written. Yet the act of writing - the work - is more isolating than nearly any other job and it can be equated to telecommuting from the top of a mountain. It is much like being a dedicated couch potato, hand permanently clutched around a remote control or a game controller, but with data going the opposite direction. No wonder I stagger away from my computer, looking around as if I just stepped off an alien spaceship. Some days the world looks just that weird. 

In my case, couple that writer’s isolation with a spouse who travels, kids who move in and out sporadically, but rarely appear during the daylight, and a really, really big house that gets even bigger when I am all alone. I am alone a lot. Nights alone in particular make me crazy, but what’s a girl to do when she can’t date? (Marriage contract and all that.) Get grumpy, fat and lonely, of course... After all, chocolate is a girl’s best friend, especially when she can eat it while watching someone else do all the dancing, with stars no less.

During the day, I was like so many people, I was busy as most people tend to be during daylight hours. Once five o’clock rolled around, it was a completely different situation. I was not happy, but my choices were limited, and I was at the mercy of my husband’s whimsical travel schedule. Besides, what is there to do at night in the suburbs, anyway? So  when he was in town, we did what so many others do; we watched way too much television. When he was away, I did the same, then went to bed and stared at the ceiling. It was isolation, bordering on depression, though at the time, I could not make the connection.

Then, late in 2011, during one of those unusual weeks when my husband was in town, that we got an invitation to play trivia with our son, his friends, and a friend’s mother. We went for it. The following week, we went again. The third week, with my husband on another business trip, I took a deep breath and went alone to meet friends - of my son’s. I adjusted; they adjusted. Now my friends span the decades and as strange as it seems to outsiders, it’s no big thing anymore.

What I did not know then, and did not realize until recently, is that going to trivia was the beginning of a series of life-changing moments, each causing me to ask more questions about how we live. 

So- May Day, or May 1st, has long been a festival to celebrate spring, new growth, and beginnings, so I thought it appropriate to begin documenting my observations on socialization, isolation, and the effects on people around us, plus various ways to actively get the socialization that we need, particularly in unusual circumstances. Don’t expect this daily, or for me to write about it exclusively, but rather as the experiences accumulate. And they will - that I know from the past six months of experiences.

“Re-post if you agree.”

When I started this blog I had every intention of keeping up with it. Then real life got me...again...and the Great American Road Trip ensued.. More about that later... much more, but that’s an entirely separate batch of blogs.

Today, my blog is about one tiny perspective on women’s issues, one in particular that has not been the subject of political debates, or women’s rights but rather one that has been peppering social media with a “re-post of you agree” at the end. And, the reposting still continues. It has been going around for months, along with similar blurbs, all of which are subtle indications of what women want and what they may or may not be getting. 

I am not certain of the authorship, but the link that I received tied it to a Pastor Dameian Battle’s Facebook page. If, I have misrepresented attribution or not given correct attribution here, please notify me and I will correct it.

That said, I am including the aforementioned link for you to read here.

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10150701779408673&set=a.10150344365408673.356103.506488672&type=1&theater

Now that you’ve read it, keep in mind that it has been making the social media rounds for months unabated. Thus, it seems to me that women out there still have the need to keep posting and re-posting it. Why? Could it be that maybe, just maybe, the guys out there still aren’t getting it?

It seems likely as men are still complaining that they don’t know what women want. Looking around, I can see men proving that they don’t have a clue what women want. Just this morning, as I was outside chopping out a tree stump, it occurred to me that maybe women haven’t been clear enough? I thought about it as I was chopping and whacking, and I came up with an idea. It’s just a little clarification, but perhaps it will help this understanding to take root and move things along. Here it is and, of course, “re-post if you agree.”

Every female wants and deserves to be loved unconditionally by the men in her life, and those men should surround her by joy and laughter. Every woman deserves a man who works hard to make their relationship the best in all possible ways; a man who loves with an open heart, forgives easily, and is there for her, not by judging her, but by giving her what she needs - both in times of laughter as well as times of tears. Every woman deserves a man who thinks of her needs and her feelings from her perspective instead of his own. All women need respect from the men around them. However, the most important men in a woman’s life need to give her that respect, while leading other men to do the same. Every woman, from birth to death, deserves to be surrounded by good, positive men, who respect her, boost her self-esteem, and strengthen her, so that she will always be a strong, stable, loving example for future generations of both genders. 

Do I have to say it? Okay: “Re-post if you agree.”

Nabbed by the Twit Police

Once again, I signed in to my twitter account (@twitter.com/pixie007_) and once again, I got the “naughty message.” This time, it was telling me that my profile has been suspended. It didn’t stop me; nothing changed. I even tweeted about it and it let me tweet. So what does this mean? Do the Twit Police have me under their watchful eyes? My blog is somehow naughty?

I’ve given this quite a bit of thought. I’ve never thought of myself as dangerous or suspicious or even naughty. Perhaps, this is like going through security at the airport and they’ve pulled me out of line simply because my number came up? Maybe the Twit Police think I look suspicious? Dangerous even? My picture does show me with a teeny umbrella in my drink, so maybe that’s the sort of a profile that the Twit Cops feel is too wild for the average, mainstream Twitterite? Maybe there’s something so exotic about me that Twitter needs to suspend my profile?You’d think that they’d tell me, instead of making me guess... Whatever it is, it gives me chills just thinking of it! Think about the changes that this could bring to my life. I always knew that my 007 was there for a reason!

So, the questions of the day are these: Am I alone? Has anyone else been singled out by the Twit Cops? And, can anyone out there explain to me what I’ve done to have my profile suspended by the Twit Police? I can’t wait to find out!

Hangin’ with Me and The Muse

I’ve been writing for longer than my math skills allow me to calculate. I’ve written more types of things and in more categories, than I can think to list. My artistic temperament has been classic, sometimes hideously so, sometimes ironically cast, and rarely without an audience, forcing those around me to...endure. Thus, a big shout out is due to everyone who has ever written with me, written beside me, read my stuff, edited my stuff, and even to those who had the brave hearts to have me edit their stuff. Most of all, this goes out to those special, select few who have been gifted with exposure to my extemporaneous explosions of whatever The Muse has seen fit to deposit in my mind or on paper. This is to those who have endured us while the Muse and I bounce around spontaneously speaking these disjointed musings, usually devoid of context or on occasion, continuity. Thanks for being there when I’m hangin’ with The Muse.

For those unenlightened, The Muse and I go way back, but the relationship, like most good ones, has evolved over time. Also like most relationships, we’ve had some great times and then we’ve had some truly ugly moments. You see, The Muse can be a stubborn, cranky, whimsical lout who is entirely too independent for my own good. There have been times where I’ve quite nearly killed The Muse and others when he’s gone off for a good long sulk and ignored me for months. When such events occur, I have taken to eating chocolate obsessively, wearing lots of black, and loudly declaring that I would never write again. So call me a liar, but I prefer to call it “artistic expressionistic dabbling.” Whatever it is, The Muse would eventually call.

He would roll back into my life and we would be a couple again. Inseparable. Giggling at our secrets, infatuated by the things that we found to do inside my head. Everyone around us would be rolling their eyes at us, but I never cared. That is, until I would wake up and the inevitable would have happened; history repeating itself; and The Muse was gone in the night. There I would be, frantic and frightened with a blank page staring back at me alone. That is, until the next time.

We’ve been together doing this on-and-off relationship for longer than I existed before meeting up with him.I’ve learned where he hides and I know where he goes when he disappears. I also figured out what drives him away. Me. Fortunately, I finally have figured out that I can lure him back any time I want, simply by putting words on a page and never, ever, looking back until I feel his warm breath on my neck, whispering in my ear, savoring every word.

Welcome to Beth Warmed Over!

Welcome to my blog. The name, "Beth Warmed Over," came from how I used to feel  on the Monday mornings after the weekend, when I was in college. Now, whenever I feel that way, it usually comes without "the weekend before" and with far fewer entertaining forms of encouragement.
I am a writer. I have had numerous job titles along my career path, but the most consistent thread in all of them has been producing the written word. Fiction, non-fiction, sometimes fiction posing as non-fiction....it's a blur. Since I already have a history lost in that blur, maybe it's time to begin to record some of it? That's what this blog is about. So join me in this adventure and enjoy!