All up in my colon...yo.

So, it has been a long time since I've written anything publically, that was intended to be seen by anyone more than my friends and family. I'm trying the "freelance" writing thing (code word for 'I'm still broke).

I had to write a LOT in graduate school, and it had to be technically correct. Professors hated when I didn't spel stuff rite. Dammit. I would get my papers back all marked up with red ink. Go figure.

When I started actually TEACHING college (stop laughing) Washington State University (Go Cougs) had initiated a "writing portfolio" program. This is a program whereforeby (hee, hee) every undergraduate had to take a basic exam, and also submit three pieces of writing from their academic adventures before WSU would grant them a degree. These pieces of writing had to be approved by the professor or instructor of the course from which they originated. WSU, apparently, wanted to be sure they were producing literate graduates.

Whatever. All I know is that a lot of MY students wanted to submit papers that they had written for the courses that I had taught. So, I ended up having a whole bunch of students showing up at my office asking me to sign off on these term papers so that they could include them in their writing portfolio. Students and papers that I hadn't seen in several years...and I had to look at them from a whole new grammaristical lens.

Yes, I know I just made up a word. Stop judging.

Anyway, I invested in my own red pen (mine had sparkly ink), and I went to town, quickly discovering that I had no idea what I was doing. And, I still have no idea what I am doing.

For the record, I want to state now that I am fully aware of this. Although I am revisiting the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation on a "need to know" basis, I am going to continue to completely offend grammatararian sensibilities. I am going to continue to use creative spelling and to just make shit up when I am lacking a vocabulary word. I am going to continue to completely obliterate the rules of syntax and punctuation. My participles are going to freely dangle, and my tenses are going to have a time/space continuum crisis. Most importantly, I am going to continue to misuse these thingies.........these...thingies....

It isn't because I have no respect for the English language. It is because I'm lazy and ignorant. Duh!

Actually, I am going to take the time to refresh myself on the "rules." I would rather have a sharp stick directly in my eye than do that, but I can't call myself an 'author' (or 'autor' if I'm using the keyboard with no "h" on it) if I don't do the WORK. Blech. Ugh. Gross.

It will probably take me a few years to figure out the appropriate time and manner by which how to properly utilize......these....thingies....so, in the meantime, don't be a hater. Yo.

My first effort at filmaking...bugs in Oklahoma

I think I might be an Oscar contender...although the actors were a bit over-dramatic.

Post by Joanna Nicholson.

Who is narcissitic? Meme! Meme!

So, as part of this whole "freelance" thing, I apparently have to produce online "content"...which, translated, means I have to write a lot. I mean, a LOT. Which, first of all, means I have to get out of bed. Like, EVERY day. Bummer.

But secondly, and even more importantly, I have to write about singular topics. As if my brain can even stay on one topic long enough to actually form a linear

Squirrel!

Anyway, as I was saying, I've always wanted to try whitewater kayacking in an actual kayack.

No. That's NOT what I was saying. What I was saying was, if I want to write and get paid for it, I am going to need ideas. And then, I'm going to need a thesaurus. And THEN, I'm going to have to write about stuff that is both interesting and coherent.

Stop laughing. Gawd. It's not as if

Squirrel? Where!!??

Anyway, as I was saying, that seems like an unusually long gestation period for a fruit bat.

No. That's NOT what I was saying. I was saying something about content....content...

Oh! I know! I've discovered memes. I have a "meme generator" (back off, ladies). I don't think it will necessarily help with the actual "using of the words in a proper syntax and reasonably close spelling or punctuation" kind of way, but it does seem to be sparking some ideas. I've made a bunch of them. I will go ahead and apologize RIGHT NOW.

I will also apologize right now for what I'm sure will be my WILDLY subtle attempts to garner an audience, and to generally draw attention to my...CONTENT.

"Hi. How are you? Would you like to come upstairs and see my...content? Hey, where you going?"

Did I use "garner" correctly? I still need the thesaurus. And a computer with a fuc*^ng "h"...

Anyway, as I was saying, it is completely illegal to do that with a snowman in Vermont after Labor Day. Go ahead. Google it.

So nofabitch

So.myfriendTo   nyasuggestedI      solvemy"h"prob           lembysimplyattachinga                  keyboardtomyUSBport.An   d I saystoher"well,thatwouldtotallymakesense!"       Whichnormallywou   ldmeanthatI          wouldtotallyNOTdothat.

              Ispenta   whole   fifteendollarson   thisf**^#ng    thing.

Godd*^$nspacebar      eithersticks,              oryouhave   to    stab   itlikeitatethelastpieceofpizza.

    Stupid!Stupid!Stupid!

Motherf*^%$ngstupiddumba**co^#suckingboneheadedsquirrelhuntingbackwoodsmotherfu**#ghelmetwearinga**hole!!!!!

Wat te ell!!??

So, I am trying some freelance writing. Yes. I'm kind of excited about it. Wit one notable exception. I am trying to write on a keyboard tat as no letter ayts. I'm not sure ow I will do it. But someow I will overcome tis obstacle.

It all started wen I first traded tis computer for some camo pants. Don't ask, tat is for anoter blog entry. Ey, I also got a really cool Dodge Ram Extended Cab Pickup truck with matcing red canopy, for a 1972 Onda CL-motorcycle. Craigslist is a neat invention...and my friend Cwis is a genius! But, I digress.

Tis computer, a Tosiba Satellite Media Edition, is really cool. I can ook up surround sound speakers, or play video games until I explode! I can do tis wit te coolest grapics you could imagine. I can stream movies, and play my extensive music collection in forty seven different modes, wile also designing blueprints for my next gazebo project (peraps anoter blog entry).

Yes, tis is a cool laptop. But te aytse was loose on te keyboard. My friend Randy originally traded the aytse key for te "alt" key, and after some adjustment, I was off and typing. But, a few monts later, te aytes key just popped completely loose and flew rite off te keyboard.

My friend Cwis and I tried taking it to a computer repair person, woo informed me tat ee couldn't replace te one key, but could order a replacement keyboard for te low, low price of $110.00. Wits was stupid! Stupid!

I carried around my broken off aytse key for monts. Monts, I say! Several people tried to re-attats it for me, to no avail. Te stupid ting would just pop off again. After my ex-spousal person told me tat I sounded like Elmer Fudd, my friend Mary decided tat maybe it just needed some super glue. So, se tried tat. It didn't old my aytse on, at all, but it did goober up te keyboard so tat no key would ever go tere again. No "aytse", no "alt", no "f1-f12"...

So, as I move fort wit te umble task of reacing tose new lofty literary eigts...of sowing off my genius...I will ave to ope tat I will not be called upon to review "Orton ears a oo"..or discuss orrifying alitosis...or write an article for e-ow about ow ard it is to andle andguns wile aving earing impairment. Or someting.

Guess I'll be borrowing Mary's laptop for a wile.

Oly ell.

Apparently, she's an oxy-moron...

Inigo Montoya in 'The Princess Bride' uttered the wonderful line, "You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think that it means." Inconceivable!

Remember the little kid who was recently captured by a local newscaster using the word "apparently" a lot? I think he was about four years old. It was so cute, this little guy including such large vocabulary in his responses. We would have expected him to yell something about Legos, or how his hamster doesn't like pizza. But no. Apparently, he was so cute he made it onto Ellen.

I received this text a few weeks ago. It said, "And I'm not even sure if this is you, but if it is it would be nice to let me know that is you. I am aware of how oxymoronic that sounded, but you know me. I'm very redundant,"

About a week later, I received, "I'm up at the annual campout that my dad goes to every year. Wow. That was oxymoronic..."

Then we actually talked on the phone. I heard the word repeatedly. Because she's very, well, redundant. The thing is, she kept using that word. I do not think it means what she thinks that it means.

An oxymoron is when two apparently contradictory words appear together. You know: Jumbo shrimp. Dull roar. Government intelligence.

Smart blonde.

I know an oxymoron when I see an oxymoron, and ma'am, you are no oxymoron. It's bitter sweet.

Coleyzzz: In Sickness and in Health

Coleyzzz: In Sickness and in Health

Morning Hair Collection

Sometimes my hair is awake way before I am.

I love it's enthusiasm.

Playing Arizona

 So, I'm back to playing...and about to make it a focus again. The community here is incredible, active, fun, and supportive. While I'm here I am going to have fun.

Well, I already am....:)

I think I would have to make a real effort to NOT have fun. After careful consideration, I've decided to enjoy myself. I've met a lot of enthusiastic, inspiring and beautiful (inside and out) women.

 I'm having a blast. I'm fairly certain I'll be able to come out of the pool soon, as it is starting to cool down. Which is good. It's difficult to play guitar if it is on fire.

Mobile Bosemobile

Meet my new car, or as I like to refer to it...my mobile Bose.

It has tinted windows, heated seats, an automated moon roof, and a 6 CD Bose stereo system.

 It has dual climate control, brilliant sound reducing tires, a telescopic self adjusting steering wheel, and a Bose stereo.

It also has leather interior, and a Bose.

The seats auto adjust to each driver when you put the key in. And it has a really cool stereo. It's a Bose.

It has navigation and digital readout.

And a Bose.

It isn't my Red Rambo...but my Red` Rambo didn't have a Bose. This thing has a Bose. Did I mention the Bose? It has a Bose stereo. It can vibrate the dust off of my boots.

So, sometimes I find myself in the garage, just listening to music. On the Bose stereo. Which is apparently surrounded by a very nice car...with an impeccable maintenance record and low miles.

If it does ever develop a clang or a clunk, I probably won't know for a while. My Bose stereo might be up too loud.

This is the nicest mobile stereo I have ever owned...my Bose on wheels. My Bosemobile.

Stick to the road! Don't go out on the moors!

So, I might go to England.

Spot on!

I'd love to catch the trolley to the lift, but I'm stuck in the loo watching the telly.

Someone has unexpectedly offered me a plane ticket to England. Someone I don't know, but who has followed me for years with my music, on my facebook page, and on this blog. And I am actually considering it. I'm going to go ahead and get my passport...which involves lines at the post office, and bureaucratic fun...and I probably won't get it until I need a walker...but I'm going to at least start the process.

Why would I go to a country I've never been to, on a continent I haven't visited since I was an infant? And put my trust in a total stranger? Might you ask...?

Because, life is short, and I don't think I would do much worse with trust in a total stranger than I have with those who claim to care most about me. And, I am trying to start again from nothing-and I am very tired. Very, very tired. Came to Springfield to open a thrift store, ended up in a friggin' domestic violence shelter...

The last two women expressing romantic interest in me turned rather abruptly when I either did not feel the love connection, or had concerns about anger and sobriety stuff...one punched me in the face and called me a whore, the other threatened me with witchcraft. The one who punched me in the face also beat up the one who threatened me with witchcraft. Oh...dyke drama. Gotta love it.

Thank goodness my friend from eleven years ago, from way back when I was in this region applying for grad school, had returned to Springfield. I'm staying in her room with her...an uncomfortable arrangement that I can get out of, AGAIN, if I take a deep breath and do a bunch of stuff I don't really want to do again...again...alone...with change in my pocket...dependent...no room of my own (as Virginia Woolf would observe)...to start again...

I've run all over the United States.  Why not a totally new continent?

England! Big Ben! Driving on the other side of the road! I'll be the one with an accent! Tea! Royalty! Castles! Diversity! Lingering resentments over the whole "Independence" thing!

 I'm insisting on a round trip ticket. Unless I abruptly get married over there or something (thank goodness I'm not impulsive like that or anything), I would come back...the ugly American...although, it's pretty groovy to think that someone thinks I'm shagalicious enough to fly me across an ocean.

No, I'm not a plane ticket ho. Unless it's someplace tropical.

Just kidding! No shagging on the first intercontinental date.

Maybe I'll meet a lesbian named Helga with really bad teeth and run away to Holland, where I will learn to milk cows properly and yodel while wearing wooden clogs.

It is much too soon to hope for such things.

Oh, BEHAVE!

Try It Again Jo's, Part One

 

Things sometimes don't go according to our expectations. 

 

I have dreamed of owning a thriftstore for a long, long time. A thriftstore that would give my life purpose and direction...that would financially support me while also having a reciprocal relationship with the community. A for-profit thriftstore, but one that also served social service agancies, and benefitted my neighbors by giving them a place to find things they need affordably, benefitted local artisans by giving them a place to play or display their works, benefitted the planet by reducing landfill use.

 

I researched and wrote a 75 page business plan that captured exactly how I could do this.

 

Through being an addicted, negative, and heartbroken person, I had lost everything in my life that mattered to me. This store was supposed to build a bridge back to my parents, my daughter, my independence, my pride. ..

 

I decided to turn my life around, and go for it.

 

Armed with this business idea, I started looking for things people were going to throw away. Having stupidly sold my truck years before, I was on bicycle when I started. I, of course, checked dumpsters, asked people who had things set out in their yards gathering rust, made the 4am circuit ahead of the trashtrucks looking for items people had set curbside for disposal, bothered people who had yardsale leftovers.

 

It is amazing what people will throw away. Especially in a town with one of the highest socio-economic gaps in the entire nation.

 

 

 

When I found things, I had to get them to the various places I was stashing them...on bike. I did this for six months. I annoyed every friend I had with repeated requests for rides. I walked things like dressers and couches for miles by handtruck...once I roped a large television into a wheelchair I had pushed a half mile just to get to the neighborhood where it had been placed out with a "free" sign on it. To say that people passing me did double takes as I made my way back to where I was staying would be an understatement. (The television worked perfectly, in case you were wondering...)

 

 

I crashed my bicycle over and over trying to carry vacuums, and bags of discarded clothing, and rolls of carpet. One time I found a dumpster full of discarded kid's bikes, so I crashed my bike carrying....other bikes. Wheels and legs and pedals and handlebars everywhere. I was a sight to see, I'm sure.

 

The police came to know me, and had both laughed AT, and WITH me on various occassions-when my feet were hanging over the side of an apartment complex dumpster. Eventually they would just shake their heads at me and wave as they passed by, as they figured out I was perhaps a bit eccentric, but not burglarizing anyone. Or stuck. I cleaned up my messes, and took care not to alarm residents in the middle of the night...which was the best time to treasure (inventory) hunt without being harrassed or repeatedly questioned.

 

I did this for six months, in every kind of weather. One time,  I had seen that a store was discarding some display racks. I rode my bike- in the dark and rain across the Brookings/Harbor bridge in 75 mph gusts of wind. I was repeatedly blown against the railings. But, I got those racks.

 

People who cared about and supported me starting giving me donations. I had things stashed with every friend I had...garages, backyards, sheds, under eaves and tarps, car trunks...some friends started running when they saw me, fearful I would make their homes look like an episode of Sanford and Son's.

 

 

After renting a small storage and having stuffed it so full it became dangerous to even open the door, my friend told me I needed to stop the cycle and just get a commercial building...and get the store in motion.

 

This made a lot of sense, because was starting to run out of patient friends with garages....but I didn't have start-up money. And I was still scraping every dime to try to pay my friend and former co-worker for the room I rented...and I had been doing this largely through recycling. Again, on bicycle.

 

 

 

 

 

The reason I am telling this story is because first, I am posting a bunch of pictures from my store because I am still living in uncertainty in temporary situations....and I have gradually lost photos, computers, cameras, photo albums...and what I still have, I want to archive.

 

And secondly I AM going to open and operate a successful thriftstore....again...having learned this time from my mistakes. I'm not sure yet exactly how I will get there from where I sit now. But, I will. I thought I had a plan, and it has come apart-in the most painful way I can imagine.

 

 

 

And thirdly, because even though things are turning in very different ways than I had expected, there are amazing and wonderful unexpected things at work. Even if they seem awful in the moment. And this may be the lesson I was meant to learn...I NEED to tell my story. Because there are a lot of assumptions. There is a lot of misinformation.

 

I NEED to have added my voice, even if no one ever hears it. Because somehow and somewhere...there is going to be another try at Play It Again Jo's.

 

 

 

 

 

 







Herby and the Hoodie

It's weird what we hang onto when feeling scared and broken. Some people might have a favorite blanket. Others might have a comfortable pair of slippers, or a one eyed teddy bear (who is lacking depth perception) from childhood that they cling to.

I bonded with a mouse. A real mouse. I named him Herby.

I came to Springfield with the intention of re-opening my thriftstore, helping my ex and her son restore the beautiful 100 year old homes she had purchased, and generally just to start again. I was to have the "rental" home to stay in while we fixed up the commercial building she had also purchased. When she called to have the gas turned on in the house, they discovered that the furnace was not in working condition. So, there was no heat during a time when it was getting to be twenty degrees and under at night. I was sleeping on a twin mattress set placed directly on the floor, and would crawl in at night wearing three shirts, a hooded jacket and a down parka....with lots of fuzzy blankets heaped on top...

One night I awoke in the dark to the sensation of something brushing against my face. Thinking either "SPIDER!" or "RANDOM CHARACTER FROM A STEPHEN KING NOVEL!" I jolted awake. I started slapping my head and neck. In a few seconds I realized what was going on, because the thing that frightened me so badly was trapped  in my sweatshirt hood.

It was a panicked mouse.

As I slowly came to and calmed a bit, Herby had made his way from my seatshirt hood to my jacket hood, and was running around my head trying to find the exit. He was actually squeaking, probably additionally frightened by my hair...(anyone who knows me understands this fear).

He finally got free and ran lightening speed along the wall, disappearing under my door.

We had scared the shit out of each other (in his case, literally...I found the evidence in my hood)...and you would think he would have just been thankful for his second chance, and stayed in his little mouse hole with his little swiss cheese wedge. (cartoons....too many...I know)

But, no.

I left the light on this time as I went back to sleep...and it wasn't long before his little mouse nose poked back under the door, and he had made his way back into the room.

He did this repeatedly for several nights. He was a brave little sucker. He would come right up to the edge of the bed and look at me. Of course, when I even flinched he would squeak and run for it.

I think he was freezing, and that first night had simply found a warm spot...probably thought he had hit the jackpot...I mean,  it was so cold you could literally see your breath. There I was wrapped in blankets like a big warm burrito...

My ex had offered to put a few traps around, but I declined. Somehow, I found Herby to be comforting in an otherwise stressful and humorless situation.

Herby had found other places to explore when it warmed up, and I didn't see him anymore.

But, thank you Herby...wherever you are.  

Existential Angst and Other Venereal Diseases

Ok....existential angst isn't a venereal disease. I made that up.

This post isn't even about existential angst, which is a good name for a rock band...if you ad the suffix "er" after it.

Anyhoo...

This post is about kids who scream for toys in Walmart.

Sort of.

It's a post about the nature and fragility of trust...and a basic psychological principle.

"Mom told me 99 times if I screamed for a toy and threw a tantrum, we were going out to the car. 99 times I screamed , and 99 times she took me directly to the car. I didn't get the toy. I got in trouble. But last week mom gave in. It worked....so I'm prepping for my hissy fit in aisle five. GI Joe with the Kung Fu grip, here I come."

The kid will only remember the ONE time it worked. Not the ninety nine times you consistently showed you meant business, and the consequence was for sure. The goal would be to end the tantrums, of course. But, even ONE variation from the plan...even ONE "Crisis Shelter Barbie with matching bathrobe and shopping cart" won through an embarrassing display that made you wish you had remembered to bring the duct tape...that is ALL the kiddo will remember.

Trust is like that. Especially for those who have been damaged by placing trust in someone who hurt them You can be consistent and loving for years.. It only takes a moment to lose it.

Broken trust can be repaired, but it is a long and hard fought road. Break it again and again...that person is long gone.

Remember that the next time you yell to your friend or family member across the store, "HEY JANE SMITH! I FOUND THE PAINFUL RECTAL ITCH CREAM  YOU WANTED ON AISLE TWO!"

Some things just can't be unsaid. Know what I'm saying?

Handwriting in the Squall

This is a silk fireweed stalk given to me long ago in Alaska by my friend Tara. I've managed to hang onto it for years, as I've gradually lost nearly everything else sentimental and material in my life. I post it now because I had recently unpacked it...after managing to carry it with me across seven states waiting for the time I would have a home again.

When I pulled it out of the bag it was in, it was smashed.....flowers matted against the bent stalk, leaves twisted and poking out in odd directions. It took me about a half hour to gently unfold and fluff it. I placed it in a caraffe where I had also placed black and white rocks from my favorite beach in Brookings, below where I used to live...and the last place I had dared to upack my symbolic flower. The last place I had felt home. The last place I had felt safe in love, and sure in my direction.

It is back in the bag where I had taken it from...and through a series of painful events...for which I hold nothing but heart hurt and sadness for everyone impacted...I am staying at a domestic violence shelter.

This has actually been a gift in my life, oddly enough...exactly where I am supposed to be...but it will be some time again before I unpack this fireweed stalk. And that is okay. It is safe, and so am I.

I haven't had peaceful internet access in a while. It comes irregularly and with frequent interruptions . But, I have been writing my blog entries, also waiting for time to post them. I'm going to start posting them...not that I am under the impression that the whole world has been eagerly awaiting...but this is how I process my life and my journey...as overly wordy as I may frequently be. "Locquacious Jo" is a good name for my rock band. I can haughtily throw dictionaries at the imaginary audience...instead of guitar picks.

Anyway, here comes the flood. My therapy.