Unpredictable Prediction

Rushing home from work, I wasn't paying much attention to anything but the flashing red EMPTYsignal on the console. Dreading the necessary but time-consuming pit stop at the nearest convenience store ($3.29/gallon!!!), I hardly noticed the white stretch limousine parked at the pump adjacent to mine. I walked to the door which opened and slapped against my chest as a crowd of customers ran out of the store. There must have been a robbery. But I really need the gas and can't afford to take the chance of driving another twenty miles on empty, so I enter the store anyway.

No one but the cashier is present, much to my surprise.As I placed my twenty dollar bill in the lady's wrinkled hand, she grasped tightly to mine and wouldn't let go. Her callouses were hard and sharp and cutting into my hand. Her skin was unusually moist and I began to feel uncomfortable. She leaned forward and pulled me inward, closer to her. I could feel her breath on my face, the smell of coffee and stale cigarettes. I thought that she might want to kiss me as her lips gradually grew closer until she was no more than two inches from me. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I didn't resist her advancement. As her lips opened, I fought the urge to wipe the slime from the corners of her mouth.

Her deep crackling voice could be mistaken for a man's. "Today is the day your life will change forever."

I gasped. Electricity ran through my veins and my body tingled with excitement as I pondered on the meaning of her words. As she let go of my hand, I fell down with uncontrollable emotions. I then got up, dusted myself, and exited the store.

Playing her words over and over in my mind, I filled the gas tank rather quickly. As I replaced the handle to the pump, I heard a distinguished gentlemanly voice. "Corina?"

I knew this voice; I'd heard it so many times. But I wasn't quite sure.

"Corina Superstar?"

I turned my head slowly to faintly see a hand waving through the darkly tinted window of the limo. It was slightly cracked open and lips were sticking out over the glass.

"It's you, Corina, isn't it?" His voice was charming.

I felt faint. Who could be in the limo and how could he know my name? Why does his voice send bubbles throughout my body? My heart pounded as I decided that I must follow through and see who this is, despite my shy nature. Each step was filled with skepticism until I reached the limo door which opened. He jumped out of the car and hugged me tightly, too quickly for me to process what was happening. The crowd gathered around us began cheering for me, although a couple of women slurred.

"Don't you remember me?" He asked disappoinedly.

"Of course I do, but I didn't really think it was you." I had been myspace friends with George for a couple of years now, but I didn't believe it was really him, just an impostor with a great personality.

We reminisced about our all-night conversations and joked about the fact that we didn't look as good as our myspace pictures. I told him about my upcoming divorcement and he proudly boasted about the newest Clooney family addition via his first cousin. We stood there for almost an hour, long enough for the reporters to arrive and take our photos. Among the many topics of conversation was my screenplay which he'd promised to read. He programmed his cell number into my phone so I could call him later for his contact info. I not-so-accidentally grazed my hand across his backside as he returned to his limo and watched as it drove out of view.

Perhaps this was the event that the sweet lady mentioned. Or maybe it gets better.......................................................................................................

4:04 PM - 17 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Stay at Home, Lady!

Many of you have told me that your favorite blogs of mine are the rants. And you guys know that I am, for the most part, an agreeable person, so it's hard to think of something to really rant about. But I got fired up a few minutes ago while driving home from town.

I noticed in the Ford Explorer in front of me on Hwy 190's evening traffic that there's a little girl unsecure in the front seat. She couldn't have been more than three years old and was climbing from the front to the back and so forth, distracting the woman driving. I know the dangers of letting a child ride unrestrained and know that if this woman were to have an accident, this child wouldn't have much hope. I became furious and began to complain to all in the car about the fact that she let this child ride unsafely yet she was wearing her own seatbelt. No, I take that back. That wasn't a seatbelt I saw over her left shoulder after all; it was her hand holding a lit cigarette. That's right; as if holding the cigarette to the farthest side of the car would minimize the damage secondhand smoke could do to this innocent child. I felt like I was driving behind Brittney freaking Spears. Then the woman slams on the brakes, holding back traffic so she could open her car door to throw the cigarette on the ground. Yep, if you throw it on the ground, the cops won't see you littering. But I can. I can also see that rebel flag sticker on your bumper. I know people have different views of the meaning of that flag, but I'll bet a million dollars I know exactly why you display it. The best thing you could do is stay at home, Lady!

3:14 PM - 11 Comments - 9 Kudos - Add Comment

Deep Thoughts

I stole this from Angel's profile and thought all my friends should read it:

12:00 PM - 6 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Just a Country Girl

She's just a country girl. She falls in love with her high school sweetheart and becomes pregnant at 19. She struggles to make ends meet, attending college and caring for her baby as a single mother, while her boyfriend parties and excels in college sports. She loves him very much and stands by his side through his stretch of  drug abuse. After all, he is a country boy and loving a country boy ain't all fun and games. Surely she must have asked God why he let things get so far out of her control. But she hung in there. Finally they marry and have another baby. Life is wonderful. His career is skyrocketing. But the money and fame are more than he can handle and he begins drinking heavily. After all, he's just a country boy and country boys don't mix well with money and fame. Surely she must have asked God why he let things get so far out of her control. But she hung in there. He becomes "hateful" and neglectful and she kicks him out. He goes to rehab and turns over a new leaf. His career soars as he achieves goals beyond those of most men's dreams. Life is wonderful and they are in the limelight. She's just a country girl and shy, not really sure how to handle all the attention. But she does so very well, winning over the fans and the media. Things are going so well. But tragedy strikes as her father-in-law dies of a sudden heart attack. Ten months later, her brother dies on her proerty from an ATV accident. How much can one woman handle? Surely she must have asked God why he let things get so far out of her control. But she hung in there. Only 8 days later, she learns that she has breast cancer. Enough is enough. She undergoes a lumpectomy and chemotherapy and kicks cancer's butt. Finally she has the upper hand. She writes a tell-all book, Don't Bet Against Me, about her life and struggles. She sets an example for women who are in similar circumstances and even creates The Deanna Favre Hope Foundation to help under/uninsured women get treatment for cancer, knowing that if this had happened to her when she was a single mom, she wouldn't have been able to get the best medical help. With her husband and children by her side, Deanna Favre, the shy country girl, is leaping over any hurdles that may arise in order to educate women about breast cancer and help those who cannot afford the medical attention. God is smiling on you, Deanna.

12:12 AM - 7 Comments - 11 Kudos - Add Comment

A NEW LIFE

I awake at 9:00 am, exhausted form lack of sleep but driven to move forward with vigor from an inspirational chat with a wonderful friend the previous night. I feel the cool air on my face, a sign of the seasons changing, concomitant with the changes in my personal life. I taste my first sip of coffee, ready to face the new day, knowing that this one might prove exceptionally difficult. Reminders of the past continue to bombard me but I am strengthened by the power of friendship and love that others have for me and mine. I look forward to things to come. Just a little more time. Hold on, Corina. I anxiously await the chance to taste freedom and smell the aroma of life for the first time.

7:04 PM - 24 Comments - 25 Kudos - Add Comment

What a Dirty Man

WHAT A DIRTY MAN!



MIKE ROWE Once a professional bass-baritone opera singer, Mike Rowe, host of Discovery Channel's Dirty Jobs, is not only a man's man, but a ladies' man.  This 45 year old eligible heartthrob keeps women glued to their seats and licking TV screens as he gets up close and personal with the nastiest jobs in the US. His ad lib humor is intoxicating and his rugged good looks surpass those of Hollywood's leading men. Unpolished and unrefined, Mike Rowe is the most delicious man on television. What woman doesn't like a dirty man?

12:00 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Divorce

To all of my friends,

As most of you know, I am getting a divorce. Thank you so much for your condolences, but ENOUGH! You should be congratulating me. I can finally move on to building a new life. Only God knows what's in store for us. Things are going so well, even better than I had imagined. Sorry for not responding to emails and comments as I should. I've just been so busy. But I am so grateful to have caring friends like you. Thanks.

~Corina

7:12 PM - 16 Comments - 25 Kudos - Add Comment

I am strong.

I posted this blog April 29, 2007. None of you knew what I was going through at home but all you were good, supportive friends who helped me through a very trying time. I just wanted to thank you and remind you of the strength you gave me. Thank you for reading my blogs; it really does mean so much that you appreciate my writing/humor and/or care that much about me.

I am strong.
I am made of steel and I am strong.
Nothing and no one can destroy me.

I am determined.
I am headed for the top and I am determined.
Nothing and no one can stop me.

I am great.
My maker polishes me daily and I am great.
Your insults only fuel my desire for greatness.

I am a locomotive headed for the top of the mountain.
No puny stones will veer me from my tracks.
Your dust will be left behind me.
You may hurt me, but you cannot stop me;
I am strong, I am determined, and I am great.

~Corina, 2007.  No copyright. Pass it on if you like it.

11:43 AM - 13 Comments - 21 Kudos - Add Comment

I pick your nose.
Current mood: goofballish

You know the old saying, "You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can't pick your friends' nose"? Well, I beg to differ. Thanks to the technology of myspace, you really CAN do all three. You see, I have dialup. This means that I spend a lot of time hovering over profile pictures, waiting for the pages to load up. Hmmm..... mouse in hand, arrow on monitor, picture of a friend.....I just can't help it! I'm just like a little kid in a gag shop. No, I don't play the games where you shave the girl's legs, slap the Sumo wrestler's belly, or clip the nose hair. I do, sometimes hover over the smiley ads just to hear the cute little "hellos", but I always have time to hover over your picture. So there; I pick your nose. Do you pick mine?

1:05 PM - 13 Comments - 13 Kudos - Add Comment

I was butchered.

It was the summer of '93 and I was two weeks overpregnant. I had chosen the most popular and successful obstetrician at the time who happened to also be an attorney to do the honors. My cervix hadn't thinned or dilated, so my doctor scheduled the induction. (This is when the patient is given a drug which causes the cervix to dilate and uterine contractions to begin.)

Prepped for a vaginal delivery with all the methods of 1993 (most of which are rare now), my water was manually broken with what looked like a crotcheting needle and I was given the drug to start the delivery process. After hours and hours of increasingly painful contractions and being checked for dilation by what seemed to be hundreds of nurses, I was exhausted. Still, the doctor insisted that with more time this method could work. I was inexperienced in this situation, so I didn't question his judgement.

Several hours later, the doctor decided that a caeserean secton must be performed. Problem: "Since it was a full moon, every pregnant woman in the area was going into labor and the operating rooms were full." Some claimed that women who delivered their babies during a full moon tended to deliver boys. Had to wait for an OR. In the meantime, I was still given the drug for contractions and checked regularly. No success.

Twenty six hours later, I was brought to an OR and prepped for surgery. A drape was placed over my chest so that I could not see the surgery. Curiousity got the best of me, so I lifted a section of the curatin and propped it so that it would stay up and I could watch. The doctor pricked the skin on my stomach with a needle and asked if I could feel it. I told him "Yes." He told me that I only thought I could feel it because I could see what he was doing and then fixed the curtain.

With the first cut, I told the doctor that I could feel what he was doing. It wasn't too painful, just semi-numb. He told me it was normal and proceeded. Everything after that first cut was unbearable. If they hadn't tied my arms down, I would have killed everyone in the OR. I screamed and I screamed. Then I screamed. It was non-stop and my stomach muscles were growing sore like that of  laughing too much, but I couldn't stop screaming. My throat was extremely sore, but I couldn't stop screaming.

Finally, my baby was out. Although still in pain, I was finally able to breathe. The doctor brought him near my face for me to see. I wanted nothing to do with the baby. I didn't even want to look at him. I was recovering from so much pain that I didn't feel very motherly at that moment.


"Now we're going to have to sew you back together." I hadn't anticipated that. Despite my requests to give me a moment to recover, the doctor proceeded with the cleanup. Now the sharp pains were coupled with the physical pressure of things being pushed back into place in my stomach. I felt as though I were being butchered in a dark alley while being trampled by elephants. The pain grew so strong that I could no longer breathe. It felt like all my blood was shoved into my face and I couldn't squeeze any air into my nose or mouth. I screamed until I couldn't cream any longer. I fainted for a moment and then awoke to the pain. Someone brilliant in the OR decided to put the gas mask over my face and knock me out.

I awoke in the recovery room and recuperated well from the surgery. The doctor documented the surgery as successful without any complications although there were physical signs on my body to prove that I had suffered from traumatic pain. I never got any kind of apology from my doctor, who explained the incident "That happens sometimes."

FYI: There were over thirty boys delivered that night and one girl.

8:49 PM - 20 Comments - 16 Kudos - Add Comment