IINDEPENDENCE DAY

 

Well, today is the day! The one day a year we all come together and celebrate our Independence! Yes, that’s right it is the FOURTH OF JULY! Where no matter where you are in this country, no matter how illegal it is you are going to shoot off fireworks! The day no matter what race, religion, sexual preference we all come together to blow shit up!

However, I always think of the song “INDEPENDENCE DAY” BY MARTINA MCBRIDE!

It is a country song, yet the words, the words are powerful! It tells the story of a woman that was beaten and battered for years that finally won her Independence by setting the house on fire with her husband in it! She may have gone to jail for her actions yet she did it with a smile on her face and protected her daughter in the process. She won her freedom that day the only way she knew how! This song simultaneously makes me makes me cry and gives me a sense of peace!

This song came out in 1993! It came to me at a time in my life where I thought I would never find my Independence! I was 16 and with nowhere to go living under a tyrannical abusive parent that I was sure would kill me before I was 18 and able to leave home. This song gave me hope for a future I had yet to see! A future I hoped and prayed would come sooner rather than later! Independence means something far greater to me than The fourth of July!

At eighteen I left and never looked back! I even said I would never come back no one believed me! Everyone in the small town I am from thought, that I would come running back in a few weeks or months with my tail tucked between my legs a miserable failure!

I never did! Yes, I stumbled along the way and I have been through a lot of educational experiences! Yet, what I found was breathtaking… I found me. I found the strength to carry on and  celebrate my own Independence Day… every day!

Every day that I don’t compromise who and what I am for someone else’s gain, every day that I don’t give in to others despite my reservations, every day that I love and cherish my kids, every day that I don’t raise my hands in anger, every day that I don’t make someone else feel like nothing for my gain that is my Independence day!

I feel for those still struggling and I hope and pray they find their way to their own Independence day minus the fire of course! Yes, we are celebrating out countries Independence from the British today but if you have found your own personal Independence you know as well as I do that it is a daily celebration! To be able to be free to be who you are with no persecution and criticism! To  live life happy that is the dream and that is my Independence Day!

What’s yours?

BETTER DAYS

I haven’t written in so long, I can’t imagine I feel much different than when a ball player takes the mound for the first time after he gets called up to the big leagues. I am one big ball of nerves, and yet writing comes to me as naturally as breathing most of the time. 

Maybe it’s more like sitting down to have a coffee with an old friend I haven’t seen in a while. It’s all memory muscle as my fingers glide ever so gently over the keyboard, clicking each letter with purpose. I haven’t written in so long, mainly because I have been too angry at the world to ever bring that kind of toxicity to my beloved, and yet, this is the thing that got me through so many bad days before. It is the thing I tend to turn to when all else fails! How I could just jump ship when I was on such a roll is beyond me. You see, the more I type, the more I feel; the less I feel, does that make any sense? 

Over the last few years, I have been through some awful things (health-wise)  and am still going through, and I thought to myself that if I just get through this hurdle, I will start writing again. Then another hurdle would hit, and before I knew it, years had passed, and the computer sat in deafening silence collecting dust. Forever, reminding me of my failure, and the longer it sat, the more judged I felt, and so began the never-ending cycle of the Virgo writer mind…

Right now I am sitting with my earbuds in, listening to my favorite tunes while my husband shouts at the game in the other room. (Just an aside: if he is yelling, the Chiefs are winning; if you can hear a pin drop, the game is not going well.) When I was excited to write, I would sit here with my earbuds in, fave (alcoholic) drink in hand, and the words seemed to flow through my fingers faster than I could type them out. Nowadays, I can’t drink due to all my medication, and I was never a big drinker to begin with, but for some reason it just feels different. I cannot tell you when or where I lost my passion for, well, anything really; however, I do know that as nervous as I was to dust the keyboard off and log into my computer, I was also giddy. 

Heady at the thought of creating something new with only my words while listening to my favorite tracks from the good old days. I have to ask myself: is writing my drug of choice? Not only is it my drug of choice, I fear, but is it the reason my health has declined? This is, for my mental health, a sort of recharging of my battery, if you will, and yet I have been denying myself that- why? As we have already established, I am a Virgo, so the name of the game is self-sabotage, self-torture. 

I think this is why I came to this blog here today. Over the last few days, I have been listening to my favorite music again and driving in this early fall with the windows down. Singing my heart out, I realized in these moments that this is what I have been missing: the things that put a smile on my face. As an introvert, I don’t like people, so the things that other people like, I’m not really into. I feel like even at the age of fifty, I am still trying to please others. Why?

I have always known I am different, so who am I acting for? I need to take care of me, and if, listening to the oldies even though it is only 90s music? Makes me happy, then so be it. If writing sparks joy, why should I keep denying myself that joy? When there is a whole world out there ready to snatch it at any moment. So, here goes a kind of reboot of my blog. First of all, for those of you who don’t know my blog name: Sacraficial Chain Breaker came about because I feel like I need to be the sacrifice, the one to tell my story, so the ugly truths of my past can break that familial chain of pain, abuse, and even more pain. I write my story because it matters; they all matter. Our story, or as my sons would put it, our origin story, is what defines us. So here it is: my story, one painful yet humorous blog at a time. 

The year was 1990-something, and I was stuck at the top of a Ferris wheel, sweating in the moist heat of Summer. The Sun was finally dipping behind the horizon, cooling off the day by maybe a fraction of a degree when the song came on. The song that for years to come I would sing with an abandon as if I were the singer herself. Sitting next to a guy I thought, at the time, was my future. Thinking I was in love or something like it. Not knowing the horror show this relationship would soon become. With one of the most incredible views, this moment is frozen in my mind; I couldn’t figure it out for years. Every single time I told this particular story, I didn’t know why this moment was not only emblazoned in my mind but also a good memory from that time in my life. Then, the other day, it hit me… IT WAS NEVER ABOUT THE GUY! This moment was all about the song; that song that, to this day, when I hear it, I am immediately transported back to 1990-something, and a smile just seems to appear on my face. It was always about the song… How could I have never realized this?

To be fair, I was still very young and about to deal with some really grown-up things, so I can see now how overlooked this moment that I thought was, all about him. Yet we women are trained that way; even by today’s standards, girls are expected to settle down and get married, find love. At least it was that way in the 90s; no one ever told me that it was okay to love myself first. I had to learn that one the hard way. 

Two days ago, this memory hit me hard. As I was driving with the windows down, singing along to Unwell by Matchbox 20 aren’t they the best? My arm out the window, letting the breeze flow through my fingers, the Sun sinking slowly beyond the horizon as night fell. Smelling the crisp scents of fall, I was suddenly back there on top of that damned Ferris Wheel, smiling like an idiot to another amazing song. While the man is long gone, the song lives on. I felt, for the first time in a long time, something. Taken aback for a moment, I jolted back to reality as I pulled back into the driveway of my house. You see, I have been on autopilot for so long it almost felt like an electric shock, shocking me back to life. While I still feel as if the lifeline is dead,  I now know I can be revived, so that makes me hopeful for the future.

MUSIC IS HEALING, MUSIC HOLDS THINGS TOGETHER. PRINCE 

BONUS TO ANYONE WHO KNOWS THE GROUP THAT SANG THE SONG OF THIS BLOG’S TITLE; ALSO A 90S GROUP

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!

Daily writing prompt

What are your biggest challenges?

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I am as they say my own worst enemy. I am the challenge that needs overcoming. I like to blame others but in reality I am the reason I don’t write, I am the reason I don’t do all the things I say I wanna do in life. I’m working on it.

These days my health has been fading and then that became the excuse for not doing anything of any significance. Yet, if I really wanted to I would just do it right?

Much easier said than done. I have been working on book two of a series for seven, yes I said seven, years, I like to tell people it is my process as a brooding writer but in reality I am just lazy or afraid.

While fear is a good motivator to do nothing, I took it and ran with it. Another excuse to not have to do anything. Why the self-sabotage, you ask?

Maybe my childhood trauma, maybe I feel I don’t deserve anything, who knows? All I know, as the clock strikes twelve on another year gone by, I have to stop lying to myself and admit I’m the problem.

That is the only challenge I have set for my so-called “New Year’s Resolution” to stop getting in my own way and realize I deserve nothing but the best. This is my new mantra Challenge Accepted!

NOSTALGIA

Daily writing prompt

What makes you feel nostalgic?

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The things that make me nostalgic are probably not the same things as everyone else. The things that make me nostalgic is usually music? As we near the end of the year, in fact, we are in the final two and a half hours of 2025 as I type this. I find that my “writer’s playlist” is filled with memories. Like when I fell in love for the first time and the moment I realized it was real love, we were sitting on top of a Ferris Wheel in the middle of Summer with a setting Sun in the background. A Picture Perfect moment, and I will never forget the song that played while we kissed when the Sun finally lost it’s battle with the night.

Or how Pink always seems to sing my truth, no matter what mood I’m in. She has been there, done that, through some sort of melody with words attached that move my soul. Songs so moving that it, reminded me, long after adulthood, I was not alone as a gangly outcast teenager.

I can’t forget how, after swearing off Country music, I was born into leaving it in the dust only to have Florida Georgia Line bring me back into the fold many, many, many years later, reminding me that no matter how far I ran from them, This, is How we country folk roll.

I can’t even listen to The King of Wishful thinking anymore without immediatly stopping to rewatch Pretty Woman, again, and of course, it reminds me of where I was the first time I watched it. Which, technically, was highly inappropriate for my 14 years.

There is also something to be said for Phil Collins, don’t remember much from the 80’s, but I do know where I was and who I was with the day I first heard, “can you feel it coming in the air tonight?” Also, inappropriate as I was too young and he worked for my dad. He is also the same person who introduced me to the Eagles, ah, the Eagles, but that is a story for another time. Like my next book, Innocence Renewed. Still a working title, let me know what ya’ ll think?

Anyway, as, it is now rounding ten o’clock on December 31st, and I have been getting back-to-back calls to go out and finish the year at a party, instead of this I will let you guys go. As for nostalgia, I carry her with me wherever I go in the form of my favorite playlist or three?

What is your most nostalgic song?

MORAL DILEMMA

Last week, the lottery was over ONE BILLION dollars! As I sat contemplating whatever, would I do with so much money, it got me thinking what would happen if someone I hated won the lottery Worse yet, someone that hurt me, hurt me in ways that could never be repaired. What if someone I still had to be around that changed the very fabric of who I am because of their treatment of me won that big money?

My first thought would be, “Is, there no justice in the World?” My second would be really? To throw another wrench in the mix? What if they offered me a big portion of the money? As I have been poor for the whole of my life, you would think I would take it, snatch that shit up in a heartbeat. Which is what my husband said when I posed this question to him. However, my husband has never been hurt in irreversible ways, by someone he loved and trusted. I, on the other hand have.

I guess it would all depend on the amount of money they are offering, the depth of the harm they have caused in the past and of course, the length of time that has passed since the last time they hurt you. Does time really matter though, when you still bear the scars of the past. My first thought in this was it doesn’t matter how much money they offer it would be blood money or hush money a way to say I am sorry without having to actually be sorry for their transgressions. Yet, being poor my whole life it’s more than I got now so why not take the money right?

A couple of years ago I had someone offer me about nine grand upon their death and yes, they are one of the people that hurt me. It felt dirty even contemplating taking a measly nine grand from them, and yet, would I be able to do the same if they offered me millions? Would the more zeros they gave me wash away the decades of pain and a lifetime of nightmares, I still have? in which case the answer to the time question would be a moot point. Sometimes some things can never be healed, sometimes some things will never have enough time to recover from a cut too deep. So I pose this question to you dear readers maybe it is a case by case basis? Yet, in perfect timing to this blog as T Swift’s Bad Blood begins to ring through my ears. She reminds me that band aids, don’t fix bullet holes and maybe there is just too much bad blood between us for me to ever accept anything from this person.

Thank God it’s all just hypotheticals and what ifs, right?

INTERSTELLAR

WHAT CITIES DO YOU WANT TO VISIT?

While I have given this a lot of thought. I’m unable to come up with something definitive. There are all the usual places, Tuscany, Sydney, and Egypt. Yet, my soul seems to ache for something more, something from the past. If you believe in past lives, that is.

According to quite a few people and my experiences with meditation. I was a man in a past life in Persia, now known as Iran. It would be fascinating to be able to travel not only to this place but back in time as well, to a time when this life I lived in this area of the World.

Just picture it, me running into well me… Would I recognize myself? There are times when I just know things about Persia that I never learned in school. Yet, somehow, I tapped into this prior knowledge of an ancient city, in an ancient time that no longer exists as I once knew it. Which, if you think about it like that, is mind-blowing, actually.

However, whenever I go down this particular rabbit hole, the endless possibilities of “otherworld” travel opens, up to me, and I can’t help but wonder what unexplored cities are out there among the stars?

ANGELA WHO?

TELL US ONE THING YOU HOPE PEOPLE SAY ABOUT YOU.

I can only imagine, upon my death, hundreds of people gathered around my open casket thinking, “damn, they put way too much make-up on her!” Hundreds, maybe even thousands, all mourning the loss of one less shining Star in the World.

Reality, however, is much more daunting than I care to think about. I spent so much of my life trying to be invisible to my Mother, The World, even on occasion, my husband, and yet, as I sit here contemplating what I would love the World to say about me, I realize none of that matters.

My only real thought in this moment is “Can they see me? Do they know the real me? Do they even know my name?” I realize I got so good at being invisible in my youth that by the time I reached adulthood, I was a pro at it. Ironic that the thing I learned to excel at has now become my greatest fear.

Now that I need to be seen, need to be heard, my invisibility blankets me in darkness, choking me into obscurity. Is it because I am almost fifty that this superpower I have has become my kryptonite? Am I going through some sort of change that warrants this need to be acknowledged? Or is this some sort of collective fear that I hunger to leave a legacy, that need, to be remembered long after I am gone? I know I am not alone in this, am I?

It isn’t about what people will say about me or even to me while I am still here. It really boils down to the one question that I hope and pray no one asks when I finally leave this World.

ANGELA WHO?

IN LIVING COLOR

SOMETIME NEAR THE END OF AUGUST 2024

DREAMING OF THE MOVIES

So the dream as always begins as if I am already in action doing something. This time I was in what appeared to be an abandoned house, except I was in the tiny living room in a claw foot tub that had seen better days. Naked, and bathing in what I hoped was water. I couldn’t tell if the muddy rust color was coming from the liquid or the tub itself, and yet, it didn’t bother me as I continued to wash myself. I want to say eww, but ok.

So, there I was in this tub again, naked, with my hair up in a twist which I never do and for some reason, it was not as dark as my hair is now. It was more of a dirty blonde like Jennifer Aniston’s hair color in the early seasons of Friends, and it’s funny I didn’t remember that detail until this moment, writing this. I was the girl in the tub and yet, I wasn’t that too, it just hit me. It almost seemed as if I were watching the girl in the tub, I was behind her watching her bathe, and yet I was her. Interesting.

I say this because until this moment, writing this, I assumed I was her. I could see her bathing and the entire room. This appeared to be nothing more than a one-room shack, all of it falling apart and in disarray. There was a doorway to the right of me that seemed to lead elsewhere, but I didn’t even care about that. To my left was the front door and right in front of me was a small lime-green colored TV sitting haphazardly on a shelf of some sort that stretched from wall to wall.

None of this phased me, however, until, that is, I zeroed in on the movie playing on the TV. It seemed to come into full focus as if I were in the movie. It was a weird 70s-style movie and there were five people of all different ages and races heading door a young man maybe 16 standing by a house with a white picket fence. Suddenly, they had gardening tools and other non-electrical tools in their hands and began stabbing the young man in the guts until he slumped down on the fence. As soon as he was dead, they all seemed to come out of a spell or hypnosis they had just been under. Then one of the ladies with an immaculate fur coat and matching hat, drown in jewels, looked at the camera and toward me and said I didn’t do anything. As the chisel in her hand still dripped blood from the innocent young man.

Then the dream panned back to me or the girl I now was and said, “Well, that’s enough of that.” I grabbed a remote and shut the TV off. A TV that even in my dream was too old for a remote, so that didn’t make sense at all. The second I shut it off, my husband came in with his usual, “Honey I’m home,” To which I exclaimed, “Thank God I was just watching a scary movie and it kind of freaked me out.” This is where I woke up, but, the thing of it is my husband is always home before me, so he never says Honey I’m home. Plus, I DO NOT WATCH SCARY MOVIES. PERIOD! So, what was this? A past life, a spirit, Mercury in Retrograde, a Full Moon, a New Moon? Who knows All, I know is that it was the only other time other than a past life meditation I did where I seemed to be both someone else and me, and what relevance did it have? Why dream if not to answer the big question, Why are we here?

What do you think?

DASHING DIARIES #49 Old Friends and Hazardous Materials

The air turned crisp again, as it is inclined to do in February. Yet, still warmer than is typical for this time of year. I donned my bright yellow Hoodie you could probably see from space and I began my four hours of door dashing. My first order was a shop and delivery order. Which for those of you not in the know is an order that I do the shopping for and the delivery also. I probably didn’t need to explain that but just to make sure everyone understands I kind of did have to explain.

Of course, It is a Dollar General order, no it is not for Tea and Tampons, this time, and to be honest, I have no memory of what was actually ordered, All I can tell you is that it fit in one bag and was light to carry. The order is not why I bring this up, it was the person I almost ran over as I rounded the corner and headed for the checkout that gave me pause. One of my very best friends, the girl who introduced me to my husband of over 20 years, was the friend who let me live with her for a time when I had nowhere else to go. This is the person that I almost ran over in the store with one of those ugly yellow shopping carts. Why was this such a shock? You ask.

Well, it has been over twenty years since I have seen her. I would like to say, that life happened, and we just drifted apart, but alas, that is never the story when I lose a friend. Sometimes, I just look up one day and they are gone. No bye, no kiss my ass, nothing. As my husband and I grew closer, she seemed to disappear from our lives, and the next thing I knew it was nearly Twenty-Five years later, and I all but ran her over at the local Dollar General.  

Now, I know I have gained weight and gotten a little gray around the temples, but I haven’t changed so much so that I was unrecognizable from the young girl she once knew and yet, she never even said a word to me. WHAT THE FUCK! How do you not even acknowledge someone that you were once best friends with? Maybe too much time has passed, maybe she like me was thinking “I’m not speaking first.” I mean, our eyes connected for a solid minute, what? Still flabbergasted, I mean, she walked out of my life. Was it my job to speak first? I am so confused, and that right there is probably the real reason we are no longer friends. I seem to give of myself just a little more to friendships that either don’t deserve my loyalty or were never as invested in the first place.

Some, time later I found myself in another part of town where, yes, my last friend used to live or still might. I honestly, don’t know as we haven’t spoken in over five years. Again, not my choice, this one hurt as we had been besties for more than fifteen years and had so much in common it was as if we were the same person at times. Yet, once again, I had a friend who decided she would rather party, among other things, so I couldn’t follow, let’s be clear here. I know how it looks, two friends, both leaving me behind. It wasn’t that I couldn’t follow, I didn’t want to. Instead of dealing with their issues, they took them to dark places and I realized having healed from all my emotional baggage I couldn’t relate to their choices any longer. It took me years and several lost relationships to realize I wasn’t the problem. You can’t fix what doesn’t want to be fixed.

Ever heard of the “broken bird” syndrome. It’s a real thing, look it up. The long and short of it is this, when a man or woman gets into a relationship, they think, “I can fix them.” Well, I have this with friends. Of my friends throughout my life, I have seemed to almost attract them to me in one way, shape, or form. Maybe I recognize or sympathize with their brokenness because I was once there, in those trenches myself. What they don’t seem to realize is that it took decades to heal from said trauma. Trauma they are unwilling to see or even feel their way through. I refused to let my past change or ruin my present and future, while others ran from it. I embraced the pain and turned it into something else, something, better.

It didn’t dawn on me until several hours after my door dash ended that I had, had not one, but two blasts from my past show up in just a couple of hours. Yet, not all of my “old friends” ended on a bad note, and not all of them were done with me, as I later found myself doing my next to last order of the night, it was another shop and delivery order I was in the local grocery store and just as I was about to leave the produce aisle movement caught my eye. I watched as a rogue Roma tomato all but popped itself up and slowly and deliberately like a slinky rolled and hopped its way to the floor in front of me. Again, I say to you, WHAT THE FUCK? As someone who believes in spirits, I immediately was like,” ok, who is here with me?” Getting no response, I continued on with my order, not wanting to admit maybe the produce section wasn’t the reason a chill had just shot straight down my spine. By the time I checked out and started making my way to the customer’s place, I had all but forgotten the fallen tomato. When I suddenly, found myself in front of my old friend’s apartment building. As I dropped off the delivery, I couldn’t help but smile at that exact moment I felt her with me. You see, this friend passed away a couple of years ago, and I can tell you without a doubt that tomato was her way of saying you’re on your way to my old house. This was definitely a night of magic and wonder, as I trotted down memory lane on more than one occasion.

Then finally, my last order arrived I grabbed it real quick and headed to this person’s house, and at night it is hard to read house numbers. So, if you don’t know, DoorDash will ping the location a couple houses away from the upcoming house. Well, Google Maps does. Anyway, I get on the street, and it pings and I spend what feels like an eternity looking between three houses for a house number with no porch light on at any of these houses. I ask you how the hell am I supposed to deliver to the right house if I can’t read in the dark? It still boggles my mind that people order things and then expect someone to show up at their house in the dark and just know the address is right. Listen up for those of you who get the late-night munchies and need a Taco Bell fix at ten p.m. LEAVE THE FUCKING PORCH LIGHT ON!

I had to walk up to the house with my phone light on just to see the address, so I could deliver to the right house. Thank God I did because there were giant trimmed tree limbs all over the driveway all the way to the front steps. What? It is one thing to forget that you didn’t turn your porch light on for the delivery person you paid to come to your house. It is a whole other thing to boobie trap them with some shit in the driveway. I almost fell on my face a couple of times. Trying to deliver some fried chicken. Hell no, I don’t want that on my Tombstone. Can you picture it, “HERE LIES ANGELA DIED BY ROGUE TREE BRANCH, WHILE DELIVERING KFC!” No, thank you. I mean, if I were a lesser person I would have knocked on the door of the “contactless delivery” and screamed at him about the hazardous materials he just left lying around and let him know if I had fallen he could have been sued. Yet, as my body decided it had, had enough and my stomach began to grumble with hunger pains I decided to walk away to end my night while silently shooting daggers at the darkened house.

This is the question I pose today. Do you leave your porch light on for delivery drivers? Have you ever even thought about it? I bet you are now huh?

DASHING DIARIES #48 WHAT’S UP WITH ALL THE SUSHI?

So, my first door dash Friday night since my “heart” incident was tonight. January 26th, 2024. Everything was going well. The orders were steadily coming in, and the money was right. As the day turned to night, the air got just a little bit chillier. I noticed the orders began to slow down. Then a shopping order came in for a grocery store that seemed to be nothing but Sushi! It wasn’t that far up the road but was taking me closer to my house, so I decided to take it.

I got to the Grocery store, hit the start shopping button, and realized pretty quickly that this order was not going to be as simple as I originally thought. With nine items on the list, seven of them being the fresh sushi from the Sushi bar that makes it in the morning and once it is sold out, it is gone for the day. After getting help from one of the employees, I had to cancel three of the seven items on the Sushi list because they were out. Now if you have never done door dash if you cannot find an item and the customer didn’t add a replacement it will tell you to call or text them to see if they want a replacement.

So, the first thing I did was text them letting them know that the items they wanted were sold out. No response as I continued to look for the only two items on the list not Sushi. After, a while and already getting the other items I needed, I tried calling them, yet the phone number was out of order, What? How can you order something from Door Dash knowing they have no way of reaching you? Why? Makes zero sense to me. All I could do at this point was refund the items and make my way to the address on file, hoping it was correct.

As, I placed all the items in my passenger seat of the car, I realized it’s Friday, what if the person that ordered all of this was drunk? Then I thought, “No, that can’t be right, right?” Yet, as I followed the little Google Maps arrow inching my way closer to the customer and into a more let’s just say “sketchy” neighborhood, I realized the possibility of a drunken customer was greater and greater.

They say never judge a neighborhood by its cover. Yet, this neighborhood was just gross, how could I not judge it. First, the houses went from nice little brick homes with nice little block driveways to gravel driveways and mold growing on all the outside of the siding of houses that was either falling off or completely gone in some cases. Trash in every yard and littering the streets. I knew I was “not in Kansas anymore, Toto” when I came to the end of a street and there was a sign that read dip. No other warning, just a sign letting you know there was a dip in the road. Now, I have seen these signs before and there might be a little lower area in the road but this, this was a gigantic hole that appeared to be a crater left in the street. While the side of the road was completely missing due to a clear sinkhole. What? My tiny car all but disappeared as I moved at a snail pace to get back up on the road to deliver this Sushi.

Finally, after clearing this nightmare, I get to the customer’s house and as I pull up a sliver of fear races up my spine. I see a couple sitting inside their garage smoking “herbal” cigarettes, if you know what I mean. I ask if this as the address, and they yelled back yes. Never once getting out of their seats or even making a move to do anything. I grabbed their bags and handed it to the lady. She just kept on chain-smoking and mumbling something about putting the bags next to her. I want to tell you that I had to step over trash dogs and God only knows what that smell was to basically sit her food on top of more trash and piles of cigarette butts she just shoved over so I could set her food down. To make matters worse I think the smell was coming from her and the man behind me, neither looked like they had bathed nor changed clothes in a few days and when she rushed out “Thanks.” It took everything I had not to gag in front of her from the smell of old, stale liquor coming from her face.

I don’t think I have ever dropped someone’s order so fast in my life and got the hell out of there as I politely as I could grit,”your welcome.” through my teeth. Have you ever seen the movie Wrong Turn? This is what that felt like. What startled me more than anything was that by the time I reached my car, The garage door was already slammed shut. Neither of them ever having moved. Crazy right? This is what is wrong with this country these days. Aren’t you embarrassed that you ordered food, high and drunk off your ass? I normally don’t judge people but this, come on, run a comb through your hair, put on some deodorant, something. If you are not embarrassed, you should be. However, being drunk off your ass, you may not remember it anyway. Thank you anyway for a good story and the phenomenal tip, because as you all know I am only it for the money honey.

I was going to title this one What’s the Story Drunken Whorey, but my husband thought that would be bad. So I titled it what’s up with all the Sushi. What do you guys think? What would catch your attention more? let me know below.

DASHING DIARIES EP 47 TEA AND TAMPONS

So, I have finally begun to emerge from my cocoon of Hermit mode from all of my “heart” stuff I decided tonight was the night to get back on the horse so to speak and start my “second” job again. It has been over a month since I did any door dashing and I must admit I was more than a little nervous, As you know I began door dashing as a way to not just earn extra income but to make back some of the money that a certain debt decided after 10 long years to come looking for me began siphoning out 25 percent of my paycheck. That 25 percent may not seem like much however, it can, on occasion, be the difference in whether or not, I am able to feed my family or not.

I have been excited to be able to provide for my family, even if it meant more of my free time down the drain. I was excited for Christmas and all the things I would, finally, be able to buy for not only my kids but my husband as well. Yet, the fickle hand of fate intervened, and I wound up right before Christmas having to have on two separate occasions two stints and four balloons put in my arteries around my heart. The almost instant relief I felt was in a word transformative. The sheer act of walking to my front door, no longer a possible death sentence. I felt a certain freedom I haven’t felt in almost four years, more on that later.

I kept making excuses not to continue to door dash even after the doctor said I was okay. The mere thought of being out there in the world alone in my car had me terrified. I have been having breathing problems for so long “due to the heart failure” that my body was sort of going through the motions of not breathing right even when I was. It has been weird, and just the thought of what I had already been through each time I climbed a staircase or carried something too heavy on deliveries had me wondering how the hell I did it.

Yet, tonight, tonight I bit the proverbial bullet as they say and I did it. I got in my car, turned on my favorite playlist and as I slowly inched my finger closer to the red dash now button I swear I could hear it yelling at me,”IT’S NOW OR NEVER!” The second I touched the screen, an order came through so inviting, I had to take it. It was an order to shop at Dollar General for four items only about 3 miles away, and it was nine dollars and fifty cents. Not bad for my first back in the saddle order.

Despite the fact that I hate doing shopping orders, and they usually take way longer than they should, I took it anyway. Skipping all the details about how I thought I knew better than Google. I made two wrong turns before realizing the map was taking me to a store I haven’t ever been to before, In fact, I had no idea it was even there until tonight I walked into this bright and gigantic Dollar General as I hit the start shopping button again, on my phone. The items that popped up almost had me dropping my phone with laughter. You see, I have gotten some pretty strange things on my door dashing excursions and yet, I am always surprised when it is something I would never expect someone else to buy for me. I guess that is the difference between the current generation and mine, Gen X all the way, baby!

There on my tiny screen were two items that once said out loud I knew would be the title for this blog. There, staring back at me, mocking me in a way. It was Tea and Tampons. I don’t know why, but I found it to be the funniest title for a blog and as I thought to myself what a great way to get my feet wet again, door dashing my way to extra cash. Yet, it swiftly dawned on my why I hate doing shopping orders on door dash. First, I couldn’t find the Tea. She asked for a specific kind and just when I was ready to give up and text her that it was out I found it no, thanks to the employees that no matter what store or restaurant I go to never knows where anything is.

After, getting the Tea squared away I finally, make my way to the Tampons only to realize the one kind she wanted they were out of. Now there is a sea of different brands and even a whole section of the brand she wanted, but when you shop for someone it has to be the exact thing you even have to scan it before the item is considered “picked up” So, I went into the app and said the item was not available and three separate options as a replacement popped up. Now I know my eyes are getting bad I did just admit to being a Gen X’r right? I know my eyes aren’t what they used to be, but by God I can read a Tampon box, and it didn’t matter what I scanned, it just kept popping up with a big red line saying “wrong item”. I almost had a meltdown right there in the middle of the freaking Tampon aisle. I finally, had to contact the customer (who opted for contactless delivery by the way) send her a pic of what was in my hand and ask if it was okay to send her.

Horrible experience and one of many reasons why I usually don’t do shopping orders on door dash. What should have only taken me about four minutes turned into almost triple that time, and in the end cost me more time than the tip was even worth. As I finally, get the stuff get checked out and then head to their house I almost got sideswiped by the guy that parked, practically, in my car’s lap, and that was only order one. Not to mention the near misses from at least four other cars throughout the night, because apparently, people can’t drive in the rain anymore. The sketchy looking roads Goggle decided were shortcuts, and the never ending stream of potholes littering my city due to the latest Winter Snow Storm we had two weeks ago that is just deciding to melt. Making you feel like you were on your last life in the game of Frogger. Not to mention, some of these potholes are damned near as big as my car. You would think, why would I continue to do this stupid job?

I find it quite cathartic, actually. I love the silence that settles over my car as twilight gives way to darkness. I, love the smell of French Fries wafting from the passenger seat as I hurry them on to their final destination. I inhale their greasy goodness, hating that I can no longer eat them, but smelling them cost me nothing. I love being able to drive and discover new and interesting parts of the city. I love seeing new buildings being erected and the cityscape towering in the distance, not too close, not too far away, but most of all I enjoy the satisfaction I feel at the end of every order that smile on that kid’s face as I bring him his dinner chock-full of pepperoni, or that pregnant lady who had a last minute craving, and she can no longer fit behind the wheel, better yet, that old lady that has glasses thicker than my rims who recently had her license taken away for hitting that “mailbox” that shouted,”lady, watch out!” Just before, she plowed into him.

All these and many more are reasons I, door dash. I have to say, though, the biggest reason, COLD HARD CASH! What else could it possibly be? I am in it for the money honey and if anyone tells you different they are lying. Why on earth would I ever risk having to buy someone else’s Toothpaste, Morning after pill, Condoms, Lube, Pregnancy Tests and yes, Tampons. All of which I have had o purchase for someone else through Door Dash and, yes, mostly at Dollar General. However, for the right tip I will buy you whatever, your little heart’s desire. Whatever your reasons for not getting your own Tampons or Lube, whether one of the ones mentioned above out of pure laziness. Remember, I appreciate you and your money. Especially, if you’re a big tipper, because momma needs to eat. Also, if you’re too embarrassed to buy these things yourself your tip isn’t big enough Especially, if it is Tea and Tampons.