The Last One #UseYourWords

Welcome to December's Use Your Words. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked four to six words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.

My words are:

double digits ~ injured ~ company ~ taping ~ cloves ~ handwriting

They were submitted by:
https://thethreegerbers.blogspot.ch/ (Thank you, Tamara, for such interesting words!)

I had a few different ideas on how to use these words. If I am honest, I most wanted to use them to write another installment of Stable Layne. Do you remember that?! You guys are beyond due for another installment. However, I already have a plan for that. I want to gather all the parts together into one post, so you can easily catch up, and then start gradually adding to it. So, I decided to stay on course with that plan.

I first wrote a poem using the words, but I have shared so much poetry lately, that I did not want to force another one on y'all. I promise this will not become a poetry blog. Though, would that really be the worst thing?! Poetry is one of my biggest passions.

I also considered having my friend HUZ give me questions based on the words. I just know he is super busy this time of year, and did not want to bother him. So, I finally decided to do a reveal post of sorts. I have pondered ever word, and come up with some detail about myself/my life, that is not common knowledge, and I am going to reveal them for y'all.

I remember turning ten. I thought it was so amazing that I was FINALLY going to be in the double digits. I think everyone gets excited over double digits eh?! This is probably the most embarrassing thing I am going to reveal. So, I had older cousins growing up. Actually, I was kinda the baby. Not entirely the baby, because my cousin Mathew was the official baby, but I was still a bit younger than my other cousins, but quite a bit older than Matt Matt. So, suffice it to say, I was always tagging along with my cousins, and I probably should not have done most of the things I did, at least not as young as I did them. Not long after I turned ten, those magical double digits, my cousins had convinced me to have sex. Yes, I am not even kidding. Now, as a nearly thirty-five year old, I am cringing at the thought of this. At ten, I was totally unable to see the flaws of this plan. So, my cousin helped me get ready, then I went into their bedroom, and their friend was sent into the room, and we were locked in there alone. Now, I do not remember what was said afterward, as to what happened. I cannot remember any of that. I do remember what happened in the room. We talked. He was so sweet. He was older than me, by probably three years, maybe more. He was a cool guy. I remember him telling me that  this was stupid, and he didn't know why he agreed to it. I remember he talked about his sister. That was it. We talked. A lot. It was cool. We left the room. Life went on. Looking back now, I am so grateful he was such a great guy. I am so grateful we did not do anything stupid that night. I was so naive. I think, at ten, I thought I knew it all. I knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

I have been injured so many times in my life. Most recently, I fractured my right wrist. I do not recommend fracturing your dominant wrist/hand/arm. It was AWFUL. I mean truly, genuinely awful. However, the most injured I have ever been, was when I was sixteen. I got hurt during karate. I actually broke my big toe, and basically shattered my bones in foot. It was bad. It hurt. I did not say a word. I finished that practice, went home, did my homework, and went to school the following day. It was not until I got home that next day, that I finally complained. Pamela (my adoptive mom) had me take off my shoe, and my foot was purple and black and swollen. She immediately took me to the hospital, and x-rays confirmed the injury. I was put in a boot and given permission to wear sneakers at school. That was basically the best thing ever, since I attended a private school, and had to wear leather dress shoes daily. I really did a number on my foot. It took nearly two years and one surgery, for it to fully heal. The thing that isn't so common knowledge about my injury? I broke my foot, by kicking my sparring partner in his shin. I was a pretty new karate student, and he was way more advance, so when I went to perform a kick that I barely knew how to do, he was skilled in blocked the kick on habit. Bare feet are no match for a shin. Why was I kicking him? Well, I was sixteen and he was in his twenties, and had just casually told me he wished my gi (karate uniform shirt, held closed by the belt) would pop open. He wanted to see my boobs. Like really? I don't know. It made me mad and I kicked. I should have just punched him.

I have had several dreams over the years. I think the one I had the longest was to be a lawyer. It is probably the one I came closest to achieving, before I decided I just did not have it in me, to take on our legal system on my own. That is another story entirely. However, another dream I had, that I sometimes reconsider, and try to figure out how to make it happen... I wanted to open a club. A multi-level entertainment club. I then wanted to turn the club into a company, once I had enough money saved up. I was not sure exactly how far I would take it. In one version of my plan, I would get my law degree in either entertainment or contracts. I wanted to have karaoke be a part of one of the levels, and I figured if anyone was really good, I could sign them, and help them make it huge in the business industry. My goal was never to be rich. I just wanted to really have fun and help talented people make it huge. It was a pipe dream. It changed a few times over the years, but it all boiled down to me being involved in the movie industry, and being able to see concerts whenever I wanted. I love music, and being involved in the music industry seemed awesome. I guess, in a way, it still seems awesome. I have really only ever shared this with one friend. I had such a detailed plan. I even had a name for the club, that would eventually lead to me starting the company. 

So, taped was probably the hardest word to come up with a tidbit for. I was struggling and struggling. I think it was because I was so focused on the thought of video or audio being taped. Then, just when I was about to give up, I remembered something. So, I have a large chest. I always have. Whether I am fat or skinny, my chest has always been large. I think now, at thirty-five, I am pretty comfortable with it. However, there have been times when I struggled with it. Mostly, struggling with being embarrassed at how large my chest is, and a few times, I struggled with getting comments about them. So, I went through a phase that lasted for about a year, where I taped up my chest. I used ace bandaged and medical tape and masking tape. I taped them up as tightly as I could, and tried to wear tops that did not bring attention to my chest. I am not even sure if it really did any good. In my mind it helped, and I guess that is all that really mattered. However, I do not recommend doing this. It hurt. It took me a solid year to feel normal again, after I stopped taping them down. They were constantly sore, and bras did not fit quite right for a while afterward. I think I probably taped them up to tightly. It was just all kinds of bad. However, once I quit taping them down, I seemed to just feel comfortable with my chest afterward. I now have zero issues with them. They are part of me, plain and simple.

This tidbit isn't so much of a secret, as it is just a tidbit. Looking back on my childhood, a few people really stand out in my memories. One of these people is my Aunt Helen. Now, I think she may have actually been my great aunt, I am not entirely sure. I just know that she was Aunt Helen. I have so many memories of her. I loved that woman. I still love that woman. I hope she is in Heaven right now, smiling down, as I type this. She gave me so many little bits of knowledge, and they have all stuck with me. I am especially fond of my memories of helping her in the kitchen, and eating her amazing goodies. She made the BEST chocolate covered pretzels. I have eaten a lot over the years, and NONE have ever been as good as hers. I have no clue what she did that made her special, but they were amazing. She is also the reason that I always make sure I am wearing good underwear when I leave the house. She is also why I feel guilty, any time I leave home, and I am looking less than my best. She is also the reason I have been searching through the gazillion ham recipes on the Internet lately. I want to make a ham for Christmas, but I want to make it the way she did. I obviously have no clue how she made it. I do remember helping her stuff cloves into little holes all over the ham. So, I have been searching for a recipe that involves cloves. It is difficult, because many also include pineapple, and Chad hates pineapple. Nonetheless, it has been nice searching. I quietly ask her in my head, is this one good, Aunt Helen? Think it will be half as good as yours? Then I tell her that I doubt any will be as good as hers. I think that may be because everything my Aunt Helen did, she did with love. She was the embodiment of love. I miss her.

I thought about just telling you guys about how much I hate my handwriting, but I thought that might be the easy way out. I really do hate my handwriting. What is worse, in this digital age, I think my handwriting is getting even worse. However, I thought of a better tidbit to share. So, my dad was big on discipline. I will not get into a debate on the goodness or badness of his discipline techniques. I survived, that is all that matters. However, I will admit, that as a kid, I did everything I could to avoid being disciplined by him. Unfortunately, that did not always entail simply avoiding getting in trouble. So, on occasion, notes were sent home with me from school, informing him of my bad behavior. Now, at the time, I really did not think I had done anything too bad, but looking back now, I cannot help but think that Gigi better not ever even think to do some of the things I did. Especially, how I had worked hard with my dad on my writing and learning my alphabet, and somehow had perfected his handwriting. Specifically his signature. So, my entire fourth grade year and a small portion of my fifth grade year, I never gave him the notes sent home. I simply signed his signature and called it a day. It worked so well. It was actually awesome. Until I had to tell my dad one day, that I was no longer allowed to participate in the student government, and he demanded to know why. Well, had he actually received the note that had been sent home the previous day, he would know about the in school suspension I had received for a huge fight I had participated in on the playground. I would have then been able to tell him, they did not feel that fighting was behavior befitting a member of the student government. Yeah, that really blew up in my face. Suffice it to say, I have never ever forged my dad (or any ones) signature since. If you ask my dad, I am probably still in trouble for that stunt, and I am nearly thirty-five. Trying to avoid little bits of discipline here and there, I really got myself into trouble beyond anything I could have imagined. I guess the good part is, I did learn a valuable lesson. 



So, like it or not, you know me just a bit more now. I am very curious, did any of these words bring to mind a tidbit about yourself? I would love to know, if you are willing to share in the comments! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend!! Do not forget to check out all the other posts in this month's Use Your Words roundup!!


Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado

Cognitive Script

The Blogging 911

On the Border

Southern Belle Charm

Bookworm in the Kitchen

Part-Time Working Hockey Mom

Climaxed