Sometimes I wonder about people and their defining moments. At what moment does someone go from someone who paints to Painter? Someone who blogs to Blogger? Someone who crafts to Artist? Someone who writes to Writer?

For some it might be when they start getting paid to do it. Or when others begin to call them by the title. Or when they’re recognized for it.

I wavered a bit on posting this here because I’d already written about it in my writing journal. It’s so not a huge deal and yet it is, because it is my first. A few weeks (okay, like a month ago) I wrote out an entry in my writing journal about how I was fit to be tied and full of jealousy because GreenEyes was writing for a national publication and here I am, calling myself a writer and I’m writing for diddly squat. I blog, but I only call that writing in terms of counting the words for my annual word count goal. It does help me express myself but I blog to blog and not to write or craft or create. It’s nothing I am doing on purpose to have my talent recognized.

So I decided to get off my literary ass and start writing something that could be posted somewhere and sit for eternity. I admit that I did not aim very high. I submitted a piece that I spent quite a bit of time on to a short story archive– the kind of place where they’ll post pretty much anything.  The other was a bit more discriminating, but too late, I realized that they hadn’t posted a story since Fall of 2009. The backlog, if they’re even posting new stories, is likely huge. I don’t even want to worry about that one.

I submitted my short story, entitled ‘Try To Say No’ about a girl trapped in a friends with benefits situation that she can’t get herself out of, about a month ago, I’d guess. Maybe less time than that. Yesterday I got an email that it was accepted at short-story.net. WOOP!

I don’t know if, at this point, I call myself published. I may save that distinction for a more discriminating entry process. I DO know, now, that my work (besides the fanfiction that I have written which is strictly for fun) is part of an archive and will remain there until… well until the site goes down, I suppose!

What I do call myself, now, is writer. And not even tongue in cheek and rolling my eyes and pretending to be modest about it. I also need to call myself busy working on some other pieces. Like finishing my NaNoWriMo piece. It’s STILL not done. I may have to go back, in the story, and start from a different angle, or something. Or figure out how I want it to end and work my way backward.

Maybe I’ll finish it before NaNo2010 begins. : /

Today is March 10th, National Women and Girls’ HIV/AIDS Awareness Day (NWGHAAD). Created by the Office of Women’s Health, NWGHAAD is March 10th of every year. Its goal is to serve as a day for women to come together to encourage dialogue and educate women and girls about the HIV/AIDS epidemic and its increasing impact.

The Diary is proud to be on the list of blogs Rocking that Red Pump today! For information about the Red Pump Project, visit the site here!

I “Rock the Red Pump” because:

• Black women make up 66% of all new diagnoses of HIV in women
• Women are the caretakers and when we get sick, it truly affects those around us
• HIV is one of the deadliest diseases in the world, yet it’s one of the few that isn’t communicable (like malaria) or initiated within the body (like cancer)
• I want women to be empowered to live well with the disease (if they are positive) and for those who don’t have it to make sure they don’t get it.
• Every 9 1/2 minutes, someone is infected with HIV. It’s time to stop this trend!

I had a boring post scheduled to run today about my personal spending getting out of control and how I find a way to spend money everyday. And also about how my laptop took a nosedive off of my countertop on Friday morning, so I was afraid I was going to have to shell out some funds for PC repair but everything seems okay except the sleeve I carry my laptop in has a broken zipper, and my power supply cable is frayed and I have to renew the tabs on my car and I was freaking out about it all (see Queen of Overreaction).

But I thought that post was boring so I trashed it. Aren’t you glad I didn’t post that?

Today is Tuesday, a day I jokingly call Fun Tuesday because it kind of isn’t. Tuesday is the day we have our weekly  staff conference call. All of the execs from our various centers call in and give a status on how things are going in their respective areas. I actually like the Tuesday call, I like even better the Quarterly Staff meetings, but the preparation sort of drives me insane. I usually just have a few hours to make my rounds with the staff, particularly a lovable curmudgeon of a Sales Manager who can’t use a computer to save his life, compile the reports, send them out and then prep for the meeting, which I run here in Atlanta from my laptop. I am a lowly cog in the wheel of this organization but when I am not here people act like they don’t know whether to scratch their watches or wind their butts. SIGH. Did I mention I love my job? :) My boss is pretty much the best, ever. Sometimes.

I had some random thoughts rolling through my head on the way to work, so in my “me time” before I start Fun Tuesday,  I jotted them down:

My dad leaves town tomorrow. It hasn’t been the hell I thought it would be, but I am ready for him to go. He called on Sunday with some nonense and ruined my good vibes. Sometimes he makes me want to throw things but the only items I have of value are my electronics and nooooo, not my babies!

I am glad I reconnected with my cousins and I am going to be spending some time with them in the near future. And my aunt is not doing well anyway so it’s important to be close and help out where needed. And my lil 2nd cousins are 16 yr old twins and oh so cute.

Is Daylight Savings this weekend? I thought I heard that. I’m sad about losing an hour of sleep (I freaking love sleeping) but I am so happy to be one step closer to my favorite time of year. Perhaps I will celebrate by brunching outdoors… after it stops raining.

Got some great news over the weekend! My sister-in-law (Big Mike’s wife) is pregnant and they found out on Friday that they are having a girl! I have two nephews, 8 and 2 (2 is Joe’s son, born a few months before he died. Except for the skin color, 2 looks exactly like him!). This is the first girl. I am so. excited. I now have to plan a strategory trip home so I can be there to meet my niece!

Got to get my hair done this weekend. And I want to shop, but I have tons of cute clothing in this size in my closet. So, no. But me and my pink trench? 2 Peas 1Pod. I’m just saying. It’s uber cute and it’s getting me lots of compliments. Some days in the office, I never take it off.

On March 15th I am going to try to get back into my New Life Friday groove. I want to be social and such this summer. I can’t do that when I feel like… meh I am not even going to go there. You know? Tired of saying bad things about myself.

This weekend on the way back to the south side, my dad and I passed the Hooters on Cobb Pkwy. I randomly laugh because he suggested we go there. Did I mention my dad is a Minister? I do so hope he was joking. Though, it reminds me of being back in Podunk– there is a store called Erotique Boutique across from the mall near our house. My mom drives by one day and says “That store has a drive thru window and it’s open 24 hours. What kind of erotic emergency could a person be having a 4am and need to go through the drive thru? What do you order there? A McVibrator and a Side of Lube?”

My mom, Ladies and Gentlemen.

With that, I have to get to work. Sales Dude will be calling in a few minutes and I need about 30 seconds of deep breathing to deal with him.

Weekend roundup– first off, how was YOURS?

Mine actually went okay. The Tour went fine, took all of ten minutes. Dad liked my place, said it was very nice. I don’t believe I cleaned and scrubbed and fluffed and shined and worried and shopped for a ten minute cursory overview. I am going to appoint myself the Queen of Overreacting. If ever you need someone to overreact to something, please consider my services. I overreact for cheap!

For the first time in my life, he had no criticism or ‘helpful ideas’, but then again that’s kind of my mom’s department. She’s nosy (where I get it from) and will scan a room and go ‘mmmhhhmmm…’ which means something but she won’t come right out and say she doesn’t like something. But nope, not dad. No offers to fix anything or paint anything or arrange anything, which was great. I didn’t want to go through the discomfort of declining and then later him holding it over my head when he wants something… ‘remember that time I did that thing for you? I need you to do something for me now.’ Nope. Leave it alone. I’ll do it myself.

We did have a slight snag. I arrived at my Aunt’s house on Saturday at 11:30am, which would have been perfect timing to drive 45 minutes north back to my place, have lunch, and then drive back down south for his nephew’s basketball game at 3pm.

Except no one was at the house. I rang the doorbell and knocked and rang the doorbell and knocked and nothing. So I get back in the car and call my dad. He answers. “What are you doing?,” I say, sounding irritated. “I’m outside the house, no one is answering the door.” I get a curt, surly, “Well if you would have been answering your phone, you’d know we took your Aunt D to the hospital this morning.”

Color me shocked, confused, and a little pissed off, because my phone has not rung all morning. I have no voicemail and no missed calls. “Just say right there,” he snapped. “Roz will drive me to the house.” And hangs up. I am left to fume inside my car at my Aunt’s house, thinking of the things I am going to do to his cell phone when he gets in the car. Dreams of snatching it from his hands and throwing it into the street and then running it over dance through my head. I already know what has happened. He is dialing the wrong number, again.

Cousin shows up, they both get out of her car and my dad has this stony expression on his face, his lip curled in irritation. This look used to send ice through my veins and make my butt go numb.  It almost has this effect on me as I watch him stomp toward my car, before I remember that I am just a few weeks shy of 36 and he can’t really hurt me anymore.

He opens my door and yells, “Girl, what is wrong with your phone?!?!” I reply, “Nothing’s wrong with my phone, I haven’t received any calls today!”  I show him the call log on Berry. NOTHING. He whips out his phone and dials my number and hands his phone to me and says, “The message says you’re not taking calls. I couldn’t reach you!”

I grab the phone, wishing I had the nerve to do what I really wanted to do with it, and glared at him over the display. “That’s not my phone number,” I growled at him. He blinks. Then his eyes close and he sighs and he knows, now, that he’s done it again. Dialed the wrong number. I punch up my actual number, saved in his phone with no name. “THIS is my phone number! If you’d called THIS number you would have reached me!”

I’ve never seen my dad look sheepish in all of his life. The look on his face as he ducked into the car and put on his seatbelt was priceless. Not that I enjoyed making a fool of him at all, but I felt good for not just cowering in his presence like I am 15 yrs old, which is what I normally do when he gets mad.  Growing up, I could get hit for just looking at him wrong. He demanded contrite obedience. We weren’t allowed to argue or talk back.

He apologized as I backed out of the driveway, and I accepted his apology and then said, “don’t let me near that phone, I might toss it out the window and run it over.” At which he laughed, and said he didn’t know I could go ghetto. I can’t, really, but I like for people to think I can.

I had planned to take Dad to lunch at Houston’s, one of my favorite places that was quick and close. Before I could open my mouth to tell him so, he declared that he wanted to eat lunch at Popeyes Chicken. I rarely, if ever, eat at Popeyes. In fact, when we went to dinner on Tuesday, I was all happy to take him to this cool place in Midtown but he seemed uncomfortable, like he would have been happier at Red Lobster. Except I don’t eat at Red Lobster. I may be becoming one of those Atlanta snobs that I hate so much. Damn!

So, because they don’t have Popeyes in Podunk, WA and he wanted some Popeyes Chicken,  I shrugged and directed the car north. There happens to be a restaurant mere minutes from my apartment.

Popeyes it is.

Joe's Tree

We love you and miss you everyday.

September 8, 1985 to March 8, 2008

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened. – Dr. Seuss