A letter to voters...

Dear Voter,

First of all: this is for absolutely anyone that plans to cast a ballot in a month. No personal attacks, and I will do my upmost to retain party neutrality throughout, but please understand that I am only human, much like the two candidates behind podiums, their running mates, their campaign teams, and Jim Lehrer. Especially Jim Lehrer, for obvious reasons. They are all. Just. People.

Next, I want to say this, and pardon my forwardness: Posting hateful, partisan, sexist, racist, false, inflated, passive aggressive, or assuming items via Facebook or Twitter does not make you informed; it makes you a coward. But I suppose that's the easy way to do it-- hiding behind a profile page that will absorb any dissenting opinion that comes your way. "Oh, I don't agree with that at all. Block! Delete! Unfriend!"

Social networking has taken selective exposure (research it yourself (I know research takes work and it's hard but I believe in you)) to an entirely new level of ignorance production. The ability people have to simple 'switch off' anything and everything that doesn't fit their current worldview (countryview).... (stateview?).... ('Merica?) is remarkable. But not in a good way at all.

Stagnation. Complacency. Narrow mindedness. Complete lack of personal/intellectual growth. This is what we're faced with. Every single day, you are faced with a choice: to look at something you don't agree with and either justify why you don't agree, or just simply, blindly change the channel; turn the page.

To those that are able to look at something and say "I understand what they're saying, but I have to respectfully disagree because of A, B, and C: I commend you. Please live forever and reproduce a lot and share your lives with the world.

And maybe if you're not quite there yet (and really take this into consideration, like probably just do it anyway. Yeah, everyone do this regardless of where you are): Open your mind. No one is forcing you to change it, but just crack your brain door for a moment and let that 'other' information pour in for a bit. Think on it. Do you love Fox News? Try switching to CNN for a night. Are you an MSNBC fan? Turn on The O'Reily Factor (he can't bite you through the television).

Look at the whole side of every issue. Yes, this means going past political Facebook battles, or youtube clips. Find context. Find how these issues affect you directly (because many of them do). Google for Christ's sake people; it's not hard.

Finally I'm begging you: Take action. You sure were pissed enough to post on Facebook, or tweet your feelings. Now what? That's right, nothing. Nothing changed. Even after 16 likes on that stupid status and you're still angry and the issue is nowhere near resolved. Get up from behind that glow of the screen and actively pursue change. Learn about your local government. Become involved in your city's party organizations. Become civically engaged. Advocate for something. Support something. DO something.

I am not perfect, and never claimed to be. I have a party I more closely affiliate with, and I know who I hope to win, but to me that's not the most important thing. To me, the most important thing in the world right now is becoming informed citizens that can respectfully disagree but move toward progress for all. We so desperately need progress. This stark partisanship we've experienced in my lifetime is grinding the gears to a halt with disastrous consequences.

Don't contribute to a problem when you could so easily be a part of a solution.

Hugs and Kisses,

Fran

P.S. If you have any questions as to why I have the right to say any of this, you can check that out here, or we can talk about it in the comment section.

I made this pie chart.

It's been a while. I know. Blah blah blah.

I made this pie chart. I feel it's more acceptable to publish it here than on a facebook or twitter page because for some reason I've convinced myself it's less likely to piss people off if it's on my blog. As if my blog has some sort of rude-proof layer protecting it. We'll see.

The percentages do not add up nor does it reflect any one person specifically. It was calculated based on my newsfeed throughout the day. Or I just threw out some numbers and made sure it looked pretty. Whichever.

I mean, if this really upsets anyone, I'm sorry. Kind of. It's a stinkin' pie chart people. I fall into several of these categories myself. It's supposed to be funny. I thought it was funny. Okay enough rambling.

In other news, who is ready for the Olympics? I know I'm so excited I can't stand it.

stupid adventures in francesland

It's been a while. And I've been adjusting.

In the past three weeks, I've managed to graduate college, start two grown up jobs, help out with my best friend's wedding and for the first time in a good three years, I'm single.

Barf. I hate talking about relationships on the internet, and swore I never would on this blog, but this story wouldn't make much sense without it. And it's a pretty good story.

Single life is weird, and for the past month I've been figuring out life on my own and I've realized that, although I used to brag about independence, maybe I'm not as good at being alone as I thought.

Of course it's easy to say that I'm great at being alone and that I love time by myself when I always have another person there to call, but now... It just me, and that's a very strange thing.

I started out calling friends profusely (sorry, by the way) because my singleness coupled with getting home from work and having nothing to do caused me to go a little stir crazy. Then four days ago I bought Netflix and watched three seasons of How I Met Your Mother. Things were looking up.

But yesterday, after I realized the only reason I actually left my otherwise deserted apartment (roommates, are you alive?) was to get WingStop, I was determined to go out and show myself a good time.

I saw online that the Paseo (OKC's art district around 23rd) was having an Arts Festival this weekend. I've been wanting to go so badly, but unfortunately the people I had talked already had plans. I pouted about it for a while, then I had the epiphany. It went something like this:

I said to myself, Self, you sat in your apartment all day yesterday, and you want to go out and have some fun, now this is your chance. You don't need no stinking friends or boyfriends or nobody to have fun. Channel your inner Kelly Clarkson, go be independent and show yourself how great being single is! You go girl!

(That inner pep talk may or may not have taken place in front of my mirror.)

So, I put on some cute earrings and put my hair up in an artsy bun and headed to the city. Ridin' solo.

I parked about seven blocks (this is important later) away from the festival because I didn't feel like paying to park and I'm a young college student that can afford walking a bit. I came up over a hill and was greeted by some smooth jazzy music and and an energetic yet not hectic buzz of people milling around the tents.

Just as I got to where the band was playing, a very nice woman came up to me, extending a small fan my direction. "Would you like this? I'm on my way out and it's a good thing to have." I accepted the woman's kind gesture with a probably crazed smile.

I fanned myself and walked through the tents. I felt great. Best decision I'd made all week. I can totally do this; doing stuff by myself is awesome! The best way to describe my jubilance is this scene from 500 Days of Summer. I was walking on sunshine.

This next picture is an homage to one of the best blog posts on the internet. If I only had $135...

I made my way around when I stopped to get some fair food. I try my best to avoid it in company, but heck, no one knew me here; I had no need to impress anyone, bring on the corndog and funnel cake (for the record, I only ate a corndog)!

After about an hour and a half, I went back to one of my favorite vendors and picked this adorable thing up. Everything from this tent was "art"-cycled. And that trash is now cute treasures like this.

But something else happened in that tent. A woman approached me, asking where I'd gotten my fan. I told her a woman had just given it to me, so in the spirit of paying it forward, I smiled and handed it off to the woman, who thanked my on my way out.

This was my first mistake. Albeit a nice mistake, but still...

Soon after I made my way to the next tent where, as I was rummaging through some oil prints, I noticed that I was sweating.... A lot.

Now, let's back up a week, a.k.a the last time I drank a glass of water. Okay, now you're caught up.

I was wiping drops of sweat from my forehead and found my back drenched when I went to scratch an itch. I didn't really pay it much mind as I left the tent with a couple more prints.

However, a whopping thirty seconds later, the place began to spin and bright orange dots blurred my vision. Crap. 

I immediately locked in on a patch of grass and slumped down with my bags. I sat there until my vision cleared again, took a couple deep breaths, then stood up to head to my car. Second mistake.

It became very apparent to me that I needed water, so I dragged my feet to the nearest food vendor and muttered, "Water." I'm almost positive I ordered with my eyes closed so everything wasn't spinning.

"Here you go," said the cheery woman in the funnel cake cart. Her tone of voice changed, though, when she looked at me again. "So, how hot is it out there?"
I looked up at her, squinting. "I don't actually know," I said. At least I think I said that. I might have just grumbled.
"Yeah," she replied, "because you're, like, really sweaty."
From there I just gave a single nod and walked away. I opened the bottle and downed half while I walked, thinking it would help as I walked back to my car. Third mistake.

After about fifty more feet, I was walking through the tables set up in front of the stage where the blues band had been playing. At this point, the sounds around me had dropped an octave and were no longer understandable. The dots in front of my eye returned with a vengeance, making it almost impossible to see anything, and my hands began to tremble. Double crap.

The only thing I could think was to find a chair. Find a chair immediately so you don't collapse and make a scene. So with significantly limited thought, I sat fell into a chair at a table directly in front of me.

What I didn't notice was that I had taken a clumsy seat at a table filled with 65 year old women, who stared for a moment then collectively left me there. I couldn't even care, I just threw my head down on the table and lay motionless.

For a few minutes my outlook on the immediate future was pretty bleak. This is where I die. I'm here alone, in the Paseo, at an arts festival, and I will die here. This is why people that are single don't go places. This is why I should have stayed home. I hate adventure.

But, after finishing the bottle of water and the good Lord bringing in some cloud cover, I started to feel better. Fifteen minutes of staring off into space and trying to get my directional bearing, I got up and walked back to my car. And let me tell you, the AC in my car has never felt and probably will never feel that good ever again.

All in all, I'd say it was a great day. You know, despite almost passing out in front of hundreds of people, I made a big, self-validating step towards being okay by myself. And it's also scared me into drinking about of gallon of water since. Progress, people.

So, in a nutshell, that's how I spent my Memorial Day.

"The best laid plans...

... of mice and men often go awry."

You know that expression, right? Allow me to not go literary on everybody (this is a blog) but to synopsize it as such: even if you have the most foolproof of plans, they still end up flawed.

Story of my life.

It's such an accurate portrayal of my life that I DON'T KNOW WHY I STILL MAKE PLANS.

But I do. I did. My plan was to have my room clean before graduation (which I haven't told you about), tell you about my graduation (I just said that), and talk about my new job before I started it (I started today).

From what you can infer from that mess of a paragraph sentence (?!) above and the ever-disastrous condition my room is in, you might be able to tell that my life is in shambles.

Please don't nominate me for Hoarders.

I'm being overdramatic (nuance), but all the same I've been frustrated with myself for not sticking to my superblogger plan to say everything the moment it happens everysingleday. It's bothered me so much that I thought about just glazing over things and catching up for the sake of being timely.

But I don't think that would adequately do the stories and sentiments justice. And if you know me at all you know I like to tell stories.

So this post will serve as a lesson to myself, and maybe to you as well, that sometimes most of the time you never can plan everything out perfectly. Especially with something so trivial as a blog. Sometimes you just have to let things fall into place. Now I only wish the same was true for my room. I'm starting to forget what my floor looks like.

This blog, ultimately, is about transitions, about change. If I glaze over it, where's the point?

Anyway, the graduation story and the first-day-of-work stories will be told in all of their frazzled, disjointed glory. Later. Because I can. Sweet liberation.

That and because it's 10:30 and I'm already eyes-bleeding tired. Thanks Monday. 

I'll regret putting this photo on the internet someday I'm sure. Yeesh.

Good Night.

Blogstalgia.

Hello and Happy Wednesday!

Finals week is half over! Wahoo!

So let's talk about something...

I've been particularly sappy and weepy recently. Why? It starts with a "G" and ends with "RADUATION". Now, I wouldn't say I am the most nostalgic person in the world by any means, but holy crap people, graduation is in 3 freaking days. Excuse me while I scream.

I don't know how to handle it. Really, I've been crying in public more than normal and for no discernible reason. I just cry.

I've decided that redirecting my crazy-person behavior to this blog (that is tear proof) would be beneficial for everyone. So, allow me to wallow in cathartic sentimentality with some photos, memories, and stories from FRESHMAN year. This is going to be unbelievably embarrassing  awesome.

This is me the day I moved in to Walker Tower as a freshman (how did I make friends?). Yes, youngins, this is what life was life pre-dorm renovation. 

How about we take another look at this gem of a dorm room, shall we? 

Does everyone agree that my stuffed snake with the OU hat on exudes collegiate maturity? I thought so too. 

I remember the first night I slept in my tiny purple bed. I laid my head down and looked up to see the underside of those shelves. There was graffiti EVERYWHERE. And from most decades, too. I remember one message written in red with a heart around it that read something like "Jennifer loves Michael, 1977". My roommate Caiti and I laughed to keep from crying and shuddering. The renovation came at a good time. 

After a semester of living in the 18th century dorm option, my roommate and I relocated to a normal person room, where we made what turned out to be one of the best collegiate decisions of my life: 

We put a hammock under her bed. Pardon the banana (snicker).

This is the Fab Four. And they'll all hate me for posting this. 

 And yes, that sweat-nastiness is from Retro Night at Camp Crimson. My FIRST camp to be exact. 

We met at camp and hung out almost every day of our first semester. You think I'm joking. I don't know what I would have done without them (and my other whitehands) because I hated everything for the first month of college. Example: I was lying (yes, in the fetal position) in a booth in the Caf sobbing during the second week of school because I got a C on a quiz and they convinced me that life was still worth living. Solid friends. 

I will also say that we still have small group reunions, making us probably the longest running small group of all time. Hands Still White fo' life. 

I became an insane rock climber. Not insane as in good, but insane as in I did nothing else with my spare time. And my arms looked AWESOME. 

I learned french. Well, sort of. We did sing about juice on the last day of class. 

There are so many other moments from my first year that seem like they happened both yesterday and a decade ago. Everything was so different, so easy. Sniffle. 

Do any of you have favorite memories? Does Freshman years feel like a dream to you? Let's talk about it. 

:)

Back in the Saddle Again (...Again)

I'm the worst blogger ever. I'm sorry.

Okay, now that my lack-of-posting apology is officially published, we can go back to our regularly scheduled impulsive and quirky programming. 

(insert gratuitous happy-to-be-blogging-again) photo here:

Apparently, I'm crazy. 

I think I'm coming down with something...

Happy Tuesday! Glad you came back, because I'm going to need your help with something.

Over the past month or so I've been having some strange symptoms that I've never felt before. They are unpredictable and can strike at any moment, and when they do, there's no telling how long they'll last. They vary in intensity, but on the whole they are becoming worse by the day. There never seems to be any correlation with the time of day, my diet or anything else (well, maybe caffeine consumption, that could be contributive).

Here are some of my symptoms. Hopefully they can aid in a diagnosis:

Lack of motivation to complete homework. 

Lack of motivation to attend regular classes. 

Lack of motivation to do anything but craft and watch Criminal Minds to the point of paranoia.

Sudden boredom and subsequent anger while driving the same route to school and work 12 times a week. 

Desperately daydreaming of everything I will do once my student loans are paid off/when my net worth is above one hundred dollars. 

Buying business casual clothing and enjoying it. 

Daydreaming to the point of tears about how having a dog would fix all of my problems. 

Scoffing at in-class busy work.

Ranting inconsequently to my fellow classmates about the ways that I could more effectively run a capstone. 

Imaginatively outlining the main points of a complaint letter to the dean about said capstone, during said capstone. 

Becoming tired to the point of ineptitude at 10:30 p.m. on a Saturday. 

Winging it. All of it. And feeling little remorse. 

Calling my boyfriend to complain about how people always call me to complain. 

Crying after looking at freshman Facebook pages and realizing they were all born after 1992. 

Impulsively blogging about my symptoms while under severe duress most likely cause by the same symptoms. 

I'm deeply concerned that this ailment has no immediate cure and that this is the silent-killer type. So it goes without saying that the need for assistance is urgent. If anyone has any prior experience with these feelings or any suggestions for possible remedies, I would be beyond appreciative.

:)

I'm like Meryl Streep and blogs are my Oscars.

My name is Frances, but I'm guessing if you're reading this premiere post, you somehow knew that already.

First of all, welcome to my blog, On the Limb. I'm so glad you're here. 

Secondly, congratulations to you if you understand my Meryl reference. If not, you'll understand soon. 

This is my third blog. I know. How millennial of me.

Originally, I was going to delve into a lot of my blogging history and vast amount of experience I have with it (cough) in order to make myself appear more credible than the average blog-ess, but that gave me writer's block and I walked away from the keyboard again.

And anyway, what's the point of looking back when this blog is all about moving forward?

So, I erased that stuff and have since decided that you, curious reader, can judge whether this is worth your time (I sound like I don't care, but really I'm crossing all of my appendages in hopes that you'll stick around).

I'm here because I like to write. You'll probably never catch me saying I'm a writer, because I don't understand what qualifies a person to be a "writer". If you string words together to form a sentence, you're writing, right? Or typing. What if there was an official "Typer" profession? I digress.

Over the past year I've stepped away from blogging because the world of fiction and the fire under my arse that was getting-an-A on said fiction assignments drove me to the point of wanting to pour gasoline on my keyboard, walk away, and never look back. I didn't go through with that because this Mac was a gift and my mom would murder me.

I discovered pretty long ago that fiction was far from my forte. It was about the time I finished my first short story when I realized I had a problem.

But at that point I was a junior already, so it wasn't in my best interest to change majors, mainly because as an idiot freshman I walked under the clock tower and I have since been de-ter-mined to graduated in four years and prove the legend wrong. Serious motivation.

So on with fiction I went. Still bruised and bloodied from short stories and clad in newly prescribed reading glasses, I entered hopefully into novel where I thought the proverbial lightbulb would illuminate over my head and fiction would flow from my brain like.... blood or ooze or something...

It didn't. Ever. At all. If you made eye contact with me even once from August until December of last year, you knew that it didn't.

So there I was, short a lightbulb and just a semester away from graduating. Allow me to offer you insight into my thought process for the vast majority of last fall with this illustration inspired by this blog:

Terrifying. Yeesh. 

But, just as the fear of the unknown and joblessness was about to overcome everything happy, it happened.

I got the lightbulb. And a plan. Well, as much of a plan as I can manage. 

I hate to leave it at a cliff hanger, but we're still getting to know each other and it's been awhile since I've over-shared on the web. Rest assured it's a good plan and that you'll know as I fine tune details, because I have a blog and that's what bloggers do. Over-share. 

Even though my adventures in fiction didn't turn out the way I had expected (ha, understatement), my love for words and writing haven't faltered. I'm still a storyteller at heart and always will be. 

So with the novel done and time to kill, I'm back to the type of writing that I do. Real stuff. Life stuff. The good, bad, and ugly stuff. The pretty stuff and the sissy stuff. Stuff that will hopefully make you laugh, maybe stuff that will make you think, and if I'm lucky, stuff that will inspire you to create stuff.

To close, I'll explain my Meryl reference. She's won three Oscars, and this is my third blog. In her most recent acceptance speech, she joked about how the viewers at home were probably rolling their eyes and thinking, "Oh, it's her again." I can relate with Meryl in that I imagine some people will probably have the same reaction when they hear about this. 

Or maybe it could be that those little gold statues Meryl has on her shelf are an affirmation. They're the world's (or, you know, those old men that make up the academy) way of telling her, "Way to go! You're good at what you do." By no means do I expect to receive any sort or recognition from anyone ever for my rants about the mundane. But the process of putting my thoughts down, reading them, and feeling satisfied with what I put out there, that's where the affirmation is. 

Either way, it just makes me giddy to kind of be like Meryl Streep. 

So here I am. Out on a limb, writing how I feel, and hoping that you'll join me in my adventures.