New poem

13 going on 148,683,193

Hello readers. I apologize (for those who noticed?) for having to remove two blog posts. The posts entitled, "Ode to the Creative Mind" and "The Drop Off." I am in the process of copyrighting my work, so I am doing what is necessary to protect my work until then.

Well. While I'm here... I guess I should let you know about my new business adventure... or venture. Why can't it be an adventure? I think it is. So it will be called my "business adventure."

I have started something called "In The Rain" and I admit, I really should have wrote it as, "in the rain"- I wasn't thinking when I made up the website or the business cards, so it's stuck like that. You've read it here first. So where was I? Ah yes. My business adventure called "In The Rain."  You should find it on Facebook and "like" it. Why? Because it makes me feel good, look cool/good, and its a huge boost for my self esteem and will to work. Let's be honest- that's all a "like" is on Facebook.

When you are the "liker", it makes you look cool because it shows up on your page and your friends think, "What's this!? What do they like that I do not know about?" So they, too, will end up liking it. The next time you talk to them (if you even physically talk to your "friends" on Facebook), you'll say, "Oh hey, I didn't know you liked "blank". And they will respond, so cool and nonchalantly, "Oh- "blank"? Yeah, I've known about them for awhile. They're great." While really they're thinking, "Oh God please don't ask me anything about "blank"- I don't know anything about them!!!! I better by the next time I talk to him so he knows that I know..." And of course, you're thinking, "Oh really? Always liked them, huh? Yeah right- I should ask him something about "blank" to test him- but I'm not that mean. I'll let it slide. I guess its good for more people to know about "blank." " -Even though for some reason, we never want others to know about underground things we like because we're afraid "blank" will "sell out"... even though that's "blanks" goal - to sell out of whatever it is they're doing that you like- ahhhhhh! Sigh. Okay, sorry for the long rant. Phew ok- as I was saying.

As for the "liked" it just makes their page look even cooler and more noticed. But also, it puts on a new found pressure- at least when the numbers are more obvious. Currently, on my page, I have 13 "likes". WOW. I'd like to ask someone- preferably the one who is the page holder of a fan base in the millions- what its like at that point. I'd imagine posts get easier to write since you'll likely obtain commenters who must comment on absolutely everything on Facebook- whether its commenting worthy, or not. But really, 13 is a little more noticeable than 148,683,193- and growing by the second. Sometimes I will "like" something, then "unlike" it, and then "like" it again, just to see what number it jumped to. Its like people are making Facebook's and "liking" that page immediately upon making their account. It is madness honestly. But also, I suppose, some page holders are making a good amount of money so they really don't have to try hard anymore- there's no pressure anymore. For instance, have you read any/all posts by singers/performers/artists- what have you, Kesha and Lady Gaga? Kesha's current Facebook status is: "dude~!!!" Really? Kesha is either trying too hard or not trying at all. Oh, such mystery. And Lady Gaga? Well. We all have our opinions. But according to her Facebook page, she's not the author of her posts- at least she didn't hire someone to pretend to be her... who knows what the case for Kesha. I actually love both artists, but my point is that they are making so much money, they don't actually care what's being posted on their Facebook (or what they are wearing apparently.) So my point? I care about my page because I don't have 148,683,193 "likes" on my page... yet. But with your help...

Have I gone off topic again!?And here all I really wanted to say was that I'm sorry for removing two blog posts. I guess that's the beauty of writing.

"Like" In The Rain. You should. Maybe my 13 will grow... but, maybe not...

https://www.facebook.com/#!/pages/In-The-Rain/250011188374893

"Hi, one margarita, please." "Sure thing, just need to see your Facebook."

What!? Two posts in one month?! Get outta here. But no, no, my readers, its true! For I have some things to share with you. Stories, really- a suggestion made by my mother. So I apologize to my mother and to one of my followers (who is also my dear friend), Vanessa, because I shared these stories with them yesterday, so this blog post may not be as exciting for them. But, there's still hope for you.

So the stories go something like this:

Pulling into my driveway on my way home from work on Monday, I see a huge package on the front porch. I think, “Hmph. Weird.”

I get out of the car, walk up to the front porch and attempt to pick up the package. Its heavy. No. Make that, ridiculously heavy. So instead of carrying it, I drag the package through the front door and into my house with all my might. It says: "To Amy Burns". So, naturally, I begin to open it- it is for me, after all. Inside the package, sitting on top, I find a plastic Ziplock (I believe it was the off brand, but I'm not really sure what to call it- its that "tissues" versus "Kleenex" complex) bag with a set of blue gloves and a folded note inside. I open the bag, unfold the note and read: "Hi Amy, hope you enjoy this- you don’t owe us anything for it, just send us some signed poetry.” I think- “What?!”  I put on the blue gloves and begin to further open the package. There are packing peanuts flying everywhere. This package opening ceremony began to turn into an archeological dig- or perhaps even a treasure hunt. Finally, under all the packing peanuts, I find... another box. I open that box. More packing peanuts. Ugh! Under that layer, I then discover a white plastic bag. I rip open the bag and I see the top of a black object with a label reading, “Royal.” I squeal. I am grinning so large, I almost embarrass myself. I am now ripping the plastic bag and removing packing peanuts in an accelerated rate- anxious to reveal my... typewriter. (The gloves were for the typewriter itself- it had a protective finishing oil on it or something.) Inside the box was a fully restored and very old classic Royal Typewriter from Stephen’s aunt and uncle who own their own typewriter restoration business. (They were found by the Discovery Channel and their business will be featured on TV this fall!) I have always wanted a vintage typewriter, but could never afford one. Still, I hoped to have one someday. That day, was Monday. So, needless to say, I will be typing away on my... haven't picked a name for it yet. But you get what I'm saying. 

Okay, that is the first story. 

Then, later that evening....

I realized I was in the area for the very first time since I had left my credit card at a Mexican restaurant (you know, from after having one too many margaritas.) So I begin my driving journey to the restaurant to retrieve my credit card. I turn to my purse to grab my wallet because I need to present a photo ID to prove my identity as the cardholder to the manager of the restaurant. You can guess where this is going. I can’t find my wallet. I dig and dig and dig in my purse looking for it. I think, “Where the heck did I put that thing?!” I remember. My brother. I left my wallet at my brother's house. So, my wallet, with my photo ID, is at my brother’s house- which is 30 minutes away- and my credit card is at a Mexican Restaurant, which I cannot get without my photo ID, which is in my wallet... which is at my brother's house. Sigh. But, I drive to the restaurant anyway. Telling now, but should have at the beginning of this story, and don't feel like making the grammatical corrections, my husband, Stephen, is also with me. I tell Stephen to go in to get my credit card- he has his photo ID and his last name matches mine. Easy right? So, Stephen goes in to the restaurant, and Stephen comes out- and quite unhappy, not to mention unsuccessful. He was so mad in the restaurant, he apparently called the manager  “ridiculous”- saying this to the manager, of course. So, I think. “Well, what have I got to lose?” I thought. “Worst they can do is say no and I go back another night.” I hesitate. Realizing that what I will do next is really not like me at all. But then, I grow excited and anxious to do it. (I am now considering this as a turning point in my life. I, my readers, was almost assertive!) I walk in to the restaurant and firstly apologize for my husband’s behavior. I then tell the manager that I am the cardholder but do not have any photo ID on me. He refuses to give me the card. So I begin to talk louder. “I really need my card, sir- I know I am to have a photo ID but I do not have my wallet- I just need my card!” He stares at me. “OK, how ‘bout this?" I continue and now displaying my Iphone,  "I have a Facebook- I can show you my picture and my name and you can see that it’s me!” People dining at the restaurant are starting to stare at me. For a moment, I feel as though I am in an old western movie- you know, the scene when I walk in to the bar through the swinging doors and I say, well, something western-like and probably insulting to someone- making the room intensely quiet? Yes. That was me in a Mexican restaurant. So anyway, the manager says,  “Ma’am, we really need a photo ID” “OK OK OK OK OK," I go on, "how 'bout this: I have a photo of my passport on my phone, can I show you that?” His expression changes; he’s pondering. “Okay” he says. (I had a photo of my passport because Stephen sent me a picture of it to my phone when my passport arrived in the mail last month.) But then I quickly realize I probably don’t have the photo anymore, that, or it would take entirely too long to find it and I likely don't have that kind of time with this man's lack of patience. So, I instead say, “Look, here’s my Facebook!” Not even giving him a choice to see my passport photo. He takes my phone and is passing it around to four employees. I am now standing trial  before four Mexican jurors for my credit card. Three employees say, “yes, yes- that’s her! Look- she’s wearing a scarf in this picture.” I laugh because I happen to be wearing a scarf at this moment, too. So I say, “Yep, I’ve got that whole scarf thing going- it really is me.” The fourth employee, juror, looks at me and says, “Is this your twin?” So I take it lightheartedly and said, “Psh, I wish!” Laughter follows. The manager, or judge, still looking hesitant hands over my phone with the card on top. I say, “look, I won’t look at the card, take it back and I’ll recite the number to prove its mine” All five of them at this moment say, “yeah, yeah ok. ok! Say it!” So the manager (Judge) and 1 other employee (juror) look at the card and I begin, “xxxx- xxxx-x“ (I'm not going to give you this information- hah!) Before I can finish, the manager says, "OK, you can have your card," and the employees clap and cheer. I say, “I’m in here all the time and your margaritas were really good that night. Thank you so much!” And I leave the restaurant triumphantly- no, victoriously. (I am really just not sure which word is better for this story.) I get in the car and Stephen’s face said it all. What I take from this? Facebook is a form of ID AND it pays to have your credit card number memorized.  

What a world.

Cloudy, rainy, and tortellini?

Today is a yucky, dreary, gray, dark, wet, and gloomy day. As you really should know by now, I LOVE this weather. I am always inspired to write on rainy days- and always craving tortellini. Hmph. 

Anyway, here's today's thought: 

The word "definitely" is definitely spelled "definitely," not "defiantly." "Definitely" is definitely not spelled "definitely" defiantly.

Amazing how we overlook this spelling error. I mean, to think:

"I will defiantly go on a date with you." -Ouch!    But people read that as, "I will definitely go on a date with you." Usually, the person using the spelling error means "definitely" when writing "defiantly," but what if not!? If one wrote, "I will defiantly go on a date with you," and meant "defiantly," the other person will still read it as, "I will definitely go on a date with you" because the word "definitely" has been misspelled as "defiantly" for... well... a really long time. 

A friend of mine owns her own business- she makes jewelry (Check it out on Etsy.com - VinBellish). Well, while looking at some of her designs on the Internet, I couldn't help but also view the comments and opinions of other buyers/lookers, such as myself. I was reading some comments like, "Did you make that?! Its gorgeous!" and "I love this!" and also, "Beautiful!" But then. I saw it. I saw this comment: "Sooo Pretty! When I get a chance I will defiantly check out your stuff! I love jewerly with pretty stones!" 

Now, right away I knew the author meant, "definitely" because "jewelry" was misspelled as "jewerly," but that's besides the point. I then reread the comment and instead read it for what it literally read: "defiantly," and laughed. I laughed mainly because I now wonder how many people write "defiantly", mean "defiantly," but know they're safe with their honest and mean response because it will be read and be treated as "definitely." I am almost daring myself to try this...

I can remember the last time I misspelled "definitely" as "defiantly." The person called me out on it and I was forever cured- going on 8 years- be proud! It was that same day I learned "customers" are quite different than "costumers". This might be one of the few times I have ever been grateful for being corrected. I could have easily defiantly misspelled "definitely" as "defiantly". Hmph. Now where's my tortellini!?

The Thoughts to the Sound of Music

It amazes me how music can influence, and even take over, our lives. We associate our thoughts, ideas, and memories into our own songs, or in others we listen to, and bury them. Sometimes to remember them, and sometimes to forget. It's OK to listen to the songs that we love and in which we associate a positiveness with that inspires us, but have we ever listened to a song that we've tried to forget? Whether we hear it by accident, or we think, "Oh man, I used to love this song... wonder why I stopped listening to it...", suddenly every emotion we ever tied to that song is displayed for our minds to see and re-experience. Sometimes its a burning sensation in our stomachs and hearts. Other times its a crushing pressure on our chests. Whatever the feeling, we will then do whatever it takes to push these thoughts out of our minds. It becomes a battle to survive the song and a vow to ourselves to never listen to it again. Every once in awhile we toy with the thought of hearing these songs, just to see if we've reached the safe zone and are finally free of the memories they're attached to. Sometimes we're successful, but for most, we'll never escape it. If we can accept that, then we're golden. 

Often times, there are the songs we love and have a great memory or even occurrence when listening to it. But what we don't realize until too late, of course, is that sometimes even happy nostalgia can bring us haunting sadness. Suddenly we become one of those people who are living in the past and we begin to wonder what happened to those days; to that life. Nothing to cry about, for in life, things change and we must strive to make these days the greatest... but we are known to have our humbling moments.

Luckily for us, new songs and new memories are being made every day- let's ride this bitter sweet carrousel... round and round we go.

Rain, rain, come and stay, stop listening to what people say!

Good day, blog seekers. I am back. Its been... well, a month. But let me tell you- I have been BUSY! Between wedding planning, gallbladder surgery and renovating a house- well- you tell me where I've had time to blog. Honestly. But hey- its my blog and you have a life, too, so let's continue on- shall we?

It's raining today and I am thoroughly enjoying it. You see I truly love the rain. I never grow tired of it like most people. In fact, it sounds like my topic is beginning to develop. Something I do grow tired of? People who complain about the rain to EVERYONE. Always goes like this:

(In an elevator, checkout line at a store, at work- anywhere)

Person 1: Smiles when eyes meet with a stranger or acquaintance.

Person 2: Smiles back.

Now it should stop here. On a normal weathered day, I believe it would. But instead, it continues...

Person 1: "Still raining out there?" -Probably knowing the other person is just as unsure- unless their shirt is damp, then this person is just a jerk. - But, let's assume, for this exercise, that the shirt is dry.

Person 2: "Oh I hope not. I'm so sick of this rain. Weatherman said it should stop this afternoon." Person 2 is always tired of the rain- even if the rain just started- and they ALWAYS know what the "weatherman" is saying, has said, or hasn't said yet.

Person 1: "Yeah, I can't stand this weather either. I hope the weatherman is right... for once."

Person 1 and Person 2 then chuckle at the terrible joke and tell each other to have a great day- which always ends with an "I'll try.."- like the rain is going to prevent them from enjoying their indoor activities for the duration of the day.

These types of conversations are happening multiple times, all day.

I have no problem with people being friendly and taking part in mildly (barely) entertaining chit-chat, but why does it always need to be hating on the rain? The only time I have ever heard rain talked about in a positive way was back in 1997 or 98, bear with me- there was an awful drought and someone said- "Well. We needed this rain so I guess its all right." 

Now, if you don't like the rain- fine. But here's a little something: I don't care for the sun- but you don't see me complaining to every person I see about it. Why? Because I recognize that people enjoy it. So how about people start noticing that I, and many others, enjoy the rain. So basically, find something else to talk about.

I also wonder if these typical conversations take place in other regions. For instance, if very windy- more often than not- do people rejoice in conversation on days where there is no wind? Or sun?- Or basically just insert any weather element and ask the question: Do these types of conversations take place? And how about where its raining all the time- are people complaining every day or are they only vocal to one another when the sun comes out- and are they happy or upset about it? I wonder...

I live in Pennsylvania- there is not too much of any particular kind of weather- its a fair amount of each- so what are people's excuses for hating on rainy days? Oh and don't even get me started on snow... okay, ENOUGH!

And that is what is bothering me today. 

The unsuccessful aggressive driver

Sometimes I find myself feeling sorry for an aggressive driver. Well... more like a driver who tries to be aggressive but fails. This usually takes place late afternoon, before rush hour, on the highway at an accelerated speed. You're driving- music is up very loud, windows are down, sun is shining, you're going at a steady 80mph, and you're position is the tail end of a strand of cars going the same speed. You're happy, you're cruising, and you're comfortable. You take a moment to practice safe driving and glance in your rear view mirror only to see what is usually an older BMW, Mercedes or Lexus. The windows are tinted, or sometimes down just enough to see that the driver is a middle-aged fellow who thinks he's far too divine to be driving himself. Never on a cell phone, and his look is very.... focused. I see this car, this person, driving at a faster pace than my our (remember, there's about 5 cars ahead of me - I'm just following suit) comfortable 80mph, but I do not get over into the right lane: for I can see, just a few cars lengths ahead, a tractor trailer with its 4-ways on as it begins to enter an uphill expedition. I think, "Okay, this guy behind me will see that I can't get over for him, because that would be silly. He will be patient, or hey- maybe he'll join in on the group cruise." No. He abruptly passes on the right, around me, and continues to accelerate his speed only to moments later slam on his brakes as he quickly realizes the tractor trailer has maxed out on 40mph. My 5 car posse and I pass by the aggressive driver and shake our heads in disappointment at his failed attempt to pass. The aggressive driver wannabe then merges over behind me once more and we are now a 7 car parade. Now here's where the pity comes in. This one episode, failed attempt, turns into several. Usually 3 or 4 until you don't think the fellow could possibly take one more rejection. But still, he tries. And though you're not going to help him succeed, a part of you roots for him- hoping he will maybe drive over his oppressors and he will get ahead. If only. Finally, after another and last failed attempt, you decide that you're tired of watching and are, too, ready to leave the parade. You see an opportunity to pass on the right and you take it. This is my favorite. Its your first attempt at getting ahead and you're successful. The driver behind you then, whether he knows it or not, is forced to follow you in shame- as though he is getting his first lesson on how to drive aggressively...or just how to drive...successfully. You discover that his goal was to get off the very same exit as you - and sometimes, if you're lucky- get to the same destination. You look cool and composed, for you know that you are the better driver. And it is dubbed a victory in the driving world. A victory indeed.

The higher the heel, the harder the fall.

Welcome to my cozy little spot in which I blog. I have selected this spot very carefully- like lightly walking barefoot through a wooded forest whose floor is vastly covered in dark green moss that crawls up and tickles in-between my toes with each step I take, searching for that perfect tree to lay my lovely red quilted blanket that my grandmother made for me under. At last, I have found the perfect blog spot! Right here, under this full and gentle willow tree. With branches so plentiful, I must separate the thick curtain just to enter in to my retreat.  Finally, I unfold my blanket, stretching it up and out as far as it can go until the air beneath catches and assists in helping the blanket land safely on the green mossy floor. And now, I am ready to begin.

Actually. That's not true at all.  My grandmother did not make for me a red quilted blanket. Really, my lovely readers, one evening at dinner with friends (this past Saturday to be exact), I began to verbally rant on how I severely dislike it when women wear high heeled shoes that are far too high for them to walk in properly, comfortably, and even safely to events that do not in the least require shoes in the high heeled family. It was then discussed, or decided if you will, that I have a great deal of things to say that are borderline interesting and very non-pressing. And what should one do when this happens? Blog apparently. And so, with one link posted to my Facebook page from a dear friend later, my blog was born. And so now, I give you the first post from the 'Amy's in the rain' blog entitled: "The higher the heel, the harder the fall."

So, as I was saying, I really dislike the, "Let's dress up our slutty and usually mediocre outfits with 4 inch heels that also have a 2 inch platform!" outlook on a weekend outfit. I don't have anything against high heeled shoes, I really don't. I love them, honestly, but let me paint the picture for you. Its Saturday night. Fairly mild outside for a night in early March and raining lightly. I am enjoying a nice outing at the local Irish pub with some friends to celebrate a birthday. I am also enjoying a glass of Merlot when ALL OF A SUDDEN, two girls barely walk up to the bar and sit on their bar stool of choice. Two problems with this: one, they had just arrived to the bar and are already walking as though they've consumed enough alcohol to "win the night", and two, they didn't: they just can't walk because their shoes are too high. Now, like I said before, I love high heeled shoes. If they help complete an already awesome outfit then yes, ladies- go for it! But... two conditions to follow: One. You MUST walk in them properly, comfortably, and safely (as I stated above), and two, they cannot be worn to save a very ugly outfit. You cannot wear faded, light blue, ripped, skinny jeans with a white tank top and pair it with shiny, black, round toe, 4 inch pumps and say the shoes match your black bra that no one can see except for the straps that are twisted in the back, young lady- march right back up those stairs and change this instant! 

This topic has disgusted me slightly. Tune in next time for something else. Don't worry gents, there are plenty of things that bother me- not just really bad fashion. And if you don't like very long overly descriptive run-ons and cannot appreciate the subtle joke it entails, you're following the wrong blog.