She is, for sure, a morning person. Oh, don’t misunderstand – she is not fully functional when she wakes up in the morning. Please, it is probably best not to speak to her for a good hour after she wakes up (what with the crankiness). However, when she is fully awake, she is usually at her best in the morning. Creatively. Professionally. All the ly’s. At approximately 6 p.m., her brain does start lagging and her understanding of the world becomes foggy, at best.
That question aside, she knows that she has failed to post for quite some time. Forgive her, something transpired this year that prevented her from wanting to interact even on a very silent blog. When she is ready, she will share. She does have every intention of continuing posting. Perhaps she will make that a goal for the new year.
While I won’t divulge my actual name, I am Siemelle, and that name derives from my initials, which are CML. You can try to guess my name or make something up. Go ahead, it’ll be fun. Honestly? I’ll probably answer to whatever you decide on! I just realized I probably already told you I’d be going by Siemelle on my first post here. I also sign each post at the end with that moniker. Moniker? Is that the word I’m looking for? Alias? Pen name? Pseudonym? GHOST NAME! Yes, that’s the winner right there. Siemelle is my ghost name. Don’t question it.
I decided to take it easy today with my post. I scoured the internet (and when I say “scoured,” I mean I searched Google and clicked on the first result) for a fun “This or That” I could fill out and share. This is very mid-2000s of me, I know. If I were on MySpace, LiveJournal, or Xanga right now, it would be top-notch nostalgia.
These questions can be found here. I chose to generate twenty of them randomly.
On with the show!
Happy endings or sad endings?
I am a sad-ending type of person through and through. I want a movie, tv show, book, or song to break me. I think depression has a lot to do with that preference. There is also something very, very cathartic about crying for me.
Sweeping or vacuuming?
Vacuuming is easier. Vacuums are so damn expensive, though. Have they always been that expensive?
Company retreat or company holiday party?
Holiday party. I consider those I work with strangers even though I may see them five days a week. These are people I can’t fully be myself around. Keeping up “work me” for an extended period sounds exhausting. So, yeah, a holiday party it is!
Texting. And don’t you dare call me in response to a text unless you think my existence is in danger!
Concert or sports game?
Honestly, neither. I’m not a fan of large groups of people. If I had to choose, I would go to a concert. I’m more of a music fan than I am a sports fan. That is to say, I haven’t ever, nor will I willingly, sit and watch any sport. No hate. Just not for me!
Snack stash or stationary stash?
I don’t understand this question. I will assume it means I have to choose between a stash of M&M’s or a stash of pens and paper. In which case, it’s a far more difficult question than you may think when you’re me! You see, I love chocolate-variety snacks. However, I also have an unhealthy obsession with pens. I will buy pens just to buy pens. Glitter pens. Gel pens. Pens that look like they will be perfect for my hand. Ah, the pens! But I choose snacks.
Save 100 strangers or one loved one?
I decline to answer. Either way, it’s a lose-lose choice.
Expensive gift or homemade gift?
I will cheat here and go with a cheap, used gift—preferably a book.
Subtly stained clothes or obviously wrinkled clothes?
Hell, I wear wrinkled clothes all the time. Stains bother me, though. Stains are grounds for a change of clothes. I can handle wrinkles and make them work for me.
Sharks or dolphins?
Am I choosing the one I like better or one to fight? I like sharks better and am secretly hoping the Megaladon still exists. If I’m going to fight one, I guess dolphin. I’m going to lose either way.
Puppies or kittens?
In general, both. Which one would be my fur child? Kittens.
Owe money or owe a favor?
Money. There are only a few people I would help “hide the body.”
Yes, she forgot this blog existed (again). Yes, she only remembered within the last two weeks that utilizing that which cost money may be a good idea. So, here she is! And does she have blog post ideas aplenty? Absolutely not! To make things easier on herself, she will continue to divulge just how much of a scaredy cat she was growing up.
Cut cartoon scared cat hiding under blanket. Funny black kitten drawing, vector clip art illustration.
Now, where did she last leave off? Oh, right.
When she was ten years old, her parents had the great idea that they would remove her from her suburban world. Construction began on a rather lovely home with four bedrooms (three on the main floor and one in a finished basement), one bathroom (sadly), a living room, a kitchen, a dining room, and a family room in that previously mentioned finished basement. This lovely home sat on a hill overlooking absolutely nothing for the first year and a half that she lived there. Why? Because she no longer lived on her safe, suburban street in her safe, suburban home (possibly inhabited by Grotost and a giant killer duck). No, she now resided in a rural area with buffalo down the road, cows everywhere, and sheep and goats right next door. In rural Pennsylvania, she met what she was scared of during her first few months living in the middle of nowhere.
Yes, she knows that’s a grasshopper….NOW. She, however, had no idea that it was a grasshopper when she and her parents went out to see how the house was coming along mid-build. To make matters more traumatic, the grasshopper in question had tried to hitch a ride back to suburbia and jumped in next to her in the back seat, where she somehow managed to scream, unbuckle herself, and fling herself to the other side of the seat in less than one second. Benny – that’s how she refers to the grasshopper now – will live in infamy in the deep recesses of her mind with that freakin’ duck.
The good news is that once she realized the grasshoppers were harmless, she enjoyed walking through the grass and watching them jump in panic. Every so often, she would also get to see a praying mantis hanging out near her front door or on the back deck. What isn’t such good news is that while she was perfectly fine walking through the woods, empty fields, and such during the day, the country became a different, spookier place at night.
As it turns out, the darkness is scary in any setting, but it gets terrifying when one is in the middle of nowhere. First, there are no street lights that magically come on at dusk. Second, she has seen the Texas Chain-Saw Massacre and Friday the 13th too many times to fall for that! Third, what even are those sounds? She would make a point not to be out after dark. When new people moved in across the street (she is being generous with her description of ‘across the street’), and they had daughters around her age, if she went home after dark, she never walked or sprinted as quickly as she did trying to get home as she did from the ages of ten to seventeen.
Now, while she was still a little worried about the basement at her new home (even though she was well aware that it was far less terrifying and had way less lead paint… probably), a sudden new fear had made itself known to her during this time, which, oddly, was never a problem back in suburban life: the fear of intruders.
She knows how illogical it is to have worried about home invasions in a rural setting, given that suburban and urban settings have a far larger concentration of people. Perhaps it was because she felt like there was safety in numbers and that if anything happened, surely someone would come to her aid or call the cops (she would learn about the bystander effect years later). Out in the middle of nowhere, few people could hear her in moments of distress. If someone were going to hack and slash, she would have to fight back or head for the trees, and a) she would lose in a fight, and b) she also saw The Blair Witch Project and The Evil Dead. Again, she wouldn’t fully understand that the human monster is far scarier than the inhuman one until she became an adult.
So, there you have it.
It is unlikely that there will be a third part, as she can speak about her fears as an adult in various posts. She would like to believe those fears are much more nuanced now that she is older. To clarify, she is no longer afraid of grasshoppers (spiders are another story), thinks ducks are adorable now, and no longer fears the dark so much, but will ensure she always locks all doors. People are scary! Also, her stuff is in her house, and she knows everyone is jealous and jonesing to get their dirty hands on her book collection. Also, possibly to stabby-stabby her in her sleep.
“A man that flies from his fear may find that he has only taken a short cut to meet it,” — J.R.R. Tolkien
When she was a child, she was afraid of many things. As an adult, she is still scared of many things, but the quality of said fears has shifted to the mature. Like all children, she was afraid of the dark. Like, seriously afraid of the dark. From ages 3 – 10, while living in suburbia, she feared the darkness in two specific capacities. The first, so scared was she of the dark that she refused to go upstairs for any reason without first turning on the light at the top of the stairs (thankfully there was a switch at the bottom) and, even then, someone had to physically come to the bottom of the stairs and watch her ascend, which made going to her room whenever she wanted to or using the only bathroom in the house (naturally located upstairs) a very trying ordeal.
Now, the second instance of her being afraid of the dark may have less to do with the dark and more to do with the fact that her family is comprised of a bunch of shitheads. The basement. She can’t be sure when the suburban house was built, but it was definitely before it was cool to have a finished basement to hang out. This basement was damp and musty; the walls were crumbling with what she could assume was lead paint, and it had a door halfway down the stairs that opened to the side of the house. Why? Why the scary murder door that only intruders would use? Anyway, while the basement was, indeed, scary and dark, it had the bonus of housing two monsters – the duck and Grotost (she is guessing at the spelling of this monster)
Let her explain. She was afraid of the duck in the basement because the neighbor across the street – who was friends with her mother and whose son she was convinced she would marry for years – used to say there was a duck there to get her to behave. Why a duck? She doesn’t know, but young Siemelle must have pictured something horrifying. Why did her mother allow this? She doesn’t have the answer to that either. What is worse? When her mother tried to get her off the bottle and onto a sippy cup, her mother used the duck in her efforts! Mom blamed the duck for stealing her bottle! Older Siemelle doesn’t know where this duck went. Perhaps he retired and traveled Europe with his duck wife, stealing baby bottles along the way—that jerk.
As for Grotost, he was doing her father’s work. Her father always told her about a monster named Grotost and how he came after bad children. (I know what you’re thinking – “Geez, she must have been a pretty bad child for everyone around her to invent monsters.” To that, she says mind your business!) And Grotost? He lived in the basement with the duck. We don’t talk about Grotost anymore. She did a Google search to find any information she could about said monster. She assumes he is a German monster because her father’s family is German. However, she believes that internet sleuths have vanquished all mention of said creature, ensuring that he is securely locked away in the bowels of the internet (like on page 237 of a Google search because no one will search beyond page three). Thank you, courageous warriors. Thank you.
Stay tuned for part 2, where she is still afraid of the dark as a teenager living in a rural community.
Most fears are basic: fear of the dark, fear of going down in the basement, fear of weird sounds, fear that somebody is waiting for you in your closet. Those kinds of things stay with you no matter what age.
While there were many treasures at said book fair, she only cared about the books. She only purchased the books. Bookmarks be damned. Color pencils? Snorts. As if. Posters? Erasers? Shirley, you jest! So passionate about books was she that she even participated in the crème de la crème of reading challenges:
Oh, Pizza Hut. Read some books, and get a free pizza. You are brilliant and likely the reason she was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis when she was seventeen. To this day, pizza of any kind hurts her. Since she can no longer safely eat that delicious, carb-infused goodness, she has to plead with the almighty Panda Express to see if they’ll do an adult version of your childhood shenanigans. For every ten books read by an individual 18+, one free Orange Chicken entree. Come on, Panda! Get on this! There is a slew of cliterature enthusiasts I know would jump on this bandwagon!
By the time she was in the fifth grade, she was thoroughly done with Judy Blume and had moved on to what many would consider inappropriate. V.C. Andrews, anyone? Anne Rice, for sure! She feels very cheated that the internet was in its infancy, there was no YouTube, and she had yet to be introduced to Xanga back when her reading was more open to all genres, when she was more enthusiastic and had far more energy. Alas, it was the 1990s. Practically the Dark Ages. She missed her calling to be one of those fancy BookTubers or BookTokers. As Mama Rose would say, “I was born too soon and started too late.” Points for all you theater people who understand that reference.
By the time the internet entered adolescence, she was in her twenties and had started college. Once from 2001-2005 and again from 2011-2013 to complete her Masters. Ask any college student – whether they attend a traditional campus or online – the last thing anyone wants to do is add more reading onto all the reading, writing, studying, and crying (True story: cried a few times in college, and she’ll save that for a different post) they are trying desperately to complete. There was a period where she didn’t read much of anything unless it was part of a textbook. Even after she finished her degrees, her reading didn’t return to normal for quite a few years after.
The year 2020 has entered the chat.
2020: A/S/L?
To those of you old enough to understand that, how is your back doing? Are you getting enough fiber in your diet? Her last colonoscopy was circa 2018. When was yours? She wears bifocals now. Isn’t that wild?
Anyway, 2020 happened, and with it came a new love of reading; her passion for books re-emerged. With that renewed vigor for all things fiction, so came one of her new policies on reading. She is older now. She has finally realized it is perfectly alright not to finish a book she is not enjoying. Teenage Siemelle would never! Teenage Siemelle would kick older Siemelle’s ass because what if she stops reading a book that was for sure going to be excellent? To that older Siemelle says, ain’t no one got time to take that chance. So all of a sudden, she has been DNFing (short for Did Not Finish) books left and right. To the point where she knows she needs to dial it back a little. She paid for the books she’s refusing to read, after all.
Her New Year’s resolution is to finish all the books (physical and Kindle-based) she starts reading, even if they happen to be travesties of epic proportions.
She sat for about an hour trying to decide what to post about today, but could think of nothing worthy of conveying to the masses. Again, the state of her emotional decay can be to blame for this lack of brilliance and wordsmithery. Instead, she will embark upon the task of answering the questions that need – no, demand – an answer.
There is no easy answer to this question. If you are a believer in the concept of “girl dinner” then you know that she would want something from each of the above pictured and to be left alone in the dark with only a blanket and a good horror movie to keep her company. The truth is, her favorite type of food changes by the hour therefore her favorite restaurant changes as frequently. If asked to choose for fear of repercussion? Locally, her favorite place caters to hot dog lovers with an adventurous side. While her desire to remain anonymous will not have her write this restaurant’s name, just know that she has had some interesting toppings for her hot dogs from said restaurant. Potato salad. Baked Beans. French fries Pittsburgh style. Coleslaw. And in various combinations!
However, if you are asking what her favorite nationally recognized restaurant is?
Sometimes she forgets that she started a project therefore she can’t finish that project.
Yes, she started a blog to tell the world all her many (mostly boring, but sometimes fantastic if you stick around long enough) stories! She even went as far as creating a first post. As quickly as she was inspired to start a blog, though, she was just as quick to forget it existed. She knows that her lapse of memory is greatly influenced by a combination of anxiety, depression, and generalized apathy toward the existence of everything. Coincidentally, that apathy is both separate from and in conjunction with the aforementioned other two components. She was acutely apathetic from a pretty young age. Thanks to her developed and gradually worsening anxiety and depression, that apathy became chronic.
She apologizes ahead of time if there are long gaps in between posts. Understand that she strives to care, but sometimes she can’t be bothered to put that much energy into it. She’s human. She is a fallible woman with a rundown eraser who will never even remotely be on the cusp of perfection. That’s some Shakespeare shit right there! Dig it?
Anyway, she was thinking about Christmas the other day. Specifically, Christmas during her childhood. She knows what you’re thinking! Christmas? In April? Yes, well, she can’t help what her brain chooses to focus on sometimes. So, Christmas it is. As she was sitting there thinking about Christmas when she was younger, she recalled a few key memories.
One, she found herself thinking about living in western Pennsylvania during the winter season. When it would snow there it was a white, sparkly blanket. Somehow it was always prettier at night. More magical. To her it looked like diamonds just strewn across the yard. She loved when it snowed and the neighbor’s old-fashioned Christmas lights used to reflect off it. She could watch the snow and those lights for hours. Back then, she was very captivated by anything that sparkled or glittered. That sort of captivation would actually stay with her until she was in her mid-twenties. Not to kill the nostalgic buzz, but she does wonder why she stopped looking for the beauty in the world.
Two, that one time she tried to build a fort under the Christmas tree. The tree was positioned in the corner and that corner combined with those lights and ornaments were far too tempting for her young brain to dismiss. So, she tried to bring herself and whatever she could to that corner. When the tree fell over and her father started yelling, she remembered how she took off running upstairs and snorted because did she really think anyone would be fooled into thinking she didn’t do it? She couldn’t even blame her two older sisters because they weren’t there at the time of the attempted murder of the tree!
Three, she realized that she really does prefer giving presents instead of receiving them. Not that she isn’t grateful for all the people in her life that want to give her presents at that time of year, but does she really need another blanket that doesn’t quite cover her when she is laying down? She has turned into a back sleeper (mostly because any other position hurts her lower back) and either her arms are going to be cold or her feet. It’s like her family wants part icicle for a family member! Every November when the holiday season starts to be in full swing (I’m being generous. Usually the Christmas stuff starts to appear in September now.), she really wants to tell everyone to refrain from buying her anything. Younger her would be appalled because younger her wanted to have all the things. Older her, though, ain’t about that life. That short blanket, Bath and Body Works gift card life.
Lastly, she was a little miffed at the absence of A Charlie Brown Christmas. Try as she might to catch it on television, it is either not aired on live tv anymore or her timing is just that awful. The part that irritates her the most is, apparently, she can’t watch it anywhere but Apple TV. Seriously? She was convinced by her family that having an Apple iPhone was the best option so she dropped Android like a bad habit. Whenever she goes into T-Mobile, they always try to talk her into getting an iPad. Her sister has sang the many songs of having a MacBook. (She will not sacrifice function for style. Just look at the way she dresses!). Now Apple has hijacked a small portion of her Christmas childhood tradition. Can she find Charlie Brown on YouTube? They would have you believe, yes, but it’s just a ploy to get her to click on their videos. Can she rent it from Amazon? Let’s check in with Bezos.
An actual snippet from my Amazon account.
Bamboozled! No, Chuck, she does not want to invest in Apple TV to watch just one thing! She already used her allotted free trial and she thinks they’ll catch on eventually if she creates numerous throw-away emails every December especially if they ask for debit or credit card information in order to access said free trial. Thanks for nothing, Apple. She purchased your damn over-priced phone. She thinks you can spare Snoopy!
Actual picture of her wailing. (J/K – Image borrowed from here.)
So, what color blanket should she ask Santa to bring her for Christmas this year?
“Ned, I would love to stand here and talk with you—but I’m not going to.” —Phil Connors (Bill Murray), Groundhog Day
Once upon a time there was a girl with big dreams. When she says big, she means big. Gargantuan. Titanic. We’re talking Broadway bound, New York Times Bestseller (because apparently all books from every author make that cut), walking the red carpet next to Taylor Swift big. So, yeah, big. Her story starts in Pennsylvania in the early 1980s when she was born and, if you know how time works, follows her all the way to the year 2024 where she lives, but not necessarily thrives, in Florida.
She has to warn you that, from here, not every story she has to tell is happy or nice. She would also like to warn you that everyone has their own brand of crazy and her existence is no different! She will always do her best to let her readers know when she is about to delve into the “why am I on this ride and how do I get off?” portions of the story. That way you can decide for yourselves whether or not you want to stand under whatever storm cloud is hovering over her head that day.
But please understand that it’s not only going to be doom and gloom as drawn to the darker side of life as she might be. Our dear author does, on occasion, like to be a complete goofball. A comedienne of fantastic proportions and unbeatable wit! Big. Gargantuan. Titanic. You get the picture! In other words, she wanted to share parts of her story, her humor, and darkness because she knows there are other women out there just like her. Women who wear a grown up’s body but, somehow, are still convinced they started their freshman year in high school just last week when, in reality, it’s been way more than ten years ago.
She will touch upon everything and anything from that time she was in a blockbuster movie the summer of 2004 to that time she completed a 10-question essay test in Sociology class, skipped one of the 10-point questions because she was clueless, and the professor was so impressed with her honesty when she brought it to his attention (because he gave her 100% when it should have been 90%), that he let her have the 100% anyway! (And she is still not 100% convinced that anyone should be that honest all the time!). For instance, one of the scenarios in this paragraph is absolutely a lie! If you say it’s the blockbuster scenario, you may be correct, but you can’t be both correct and my friend so…..here we are.
In closing (because she always wanted to end something that way), she will count the many ways that she’s just pretending to be a grown up. She’s a fauxn up! When she came up with the term in her head, it sounded good at the time so just roll with it, why don’t ya? Anyway, stick out around and, please, feel free to share your own crazy stories with her!
All Fauxn Up 