tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80598418729811340572024-02-19T05:22:41.086-05:00That Girl, MayoThe life and times of a mighty girl named Mayo.Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-44321065872827690782018-07-13T00:16:00.000-04:002018-07-13T00:20:07.170-04:00When dressing for a funeral...When burying a beloved friend, what does one wear to his funeral? Do you cascade yourself in a traditional black ensemble? That feels too serious, even for this occasion. Can you add a pop of his favorite color? Or the unforgettable sparkling shade of his eyes? Should your outfit be a loud celebration of his laughter, and an homage to his mischievous smile?<br />
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Then, how do you select the correct shoes? Ones to carry a burden much heavier than you had planned for a hot summer day. Which are the most practical to help his soul walk the path to peace? While I’m thinking about it, can you leave bread crumbs for a spirit to find it’s way home?<br />
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What can you wear that doesn’t make you feel more exposed than this raw vulnerability? But also something that allows you to breathe deeply, and freely wrap your remaining friends in love. What outfit makes your stand proud in his memory, without making you fidget under the gnawing awkwardness of never understanding...why?<br />
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As I weigh all my options, and stand in front of a bursting closet, I decide I’ll wear white. Because even though I am undeniably in mourning, my hope he has not been lost in vein will reign paramount. In his honor, I will fight the stigmas harder than ever before. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to be shrouded in his name.Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-43275049967383650772017-10-11T16:25:00.001-04:002017-10-11T16:26:48.685-04:00 I will hear you, and I will believe you. <p style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My older brother's first childhood memory is of intruders in our house, holding a gun to my head. I was less than a year old, and while I am thankful I have no recollection of the events, I have no doubt my body does. I have always had a heightened sense of danger and the events of my childhood only sharpened my awareness. </span></p><p style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My first memory is of being transported in a box truck. I recall the metallic, dusty smell and the pain in my eyes the few times I saw the sunlight during the journey. I do not know how long we traveled, nor the locations we stopped. I do recall being taught to play dominoes by two strange men that kept me in their hotel rooms. </span></p><p style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I was traded, as blonde haired and blue eyed currency, to the debts owed by my drug addicted and abusive step-father. From the age of two until I was seven, I was not seen as a human. </span></p><p style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My faith in humanity is paper thin, but I do have hope. It is fragile, and lacks confidence but hope is there. I have survived being a victim, and the dialogue we start with young boys and girls about strength and fearlessness I hope will translate to less abductions of innocence. <br style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none;">Sexual assault, child molestation, rape. They're words that make us uncomfortable and therefore we avoid them. We sweep them under the rug. We attempt to make excuses for the actions because no one wants to believe in monsters... but they're real and we need to see them for what they are. </span></p><p style="outline: transparent solid 0px; -webkit-touch-callout: none; line-height: 24px; margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 24px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To my fellow survivors... Remaining silent does not protect you. I hear you. I believe you. I am here for you. </span></p>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-48872408505433061732015-09-07T11:02:00.001-04:002015-09-07T11:02:26.303-04:00New friends made? ZERO.<div>Last night, I went into a local gas station wearing shorts and a 3/4 sleeved top. I was picking up ice and soda for a BBQ for which I was enroute. </div><div><br></div><div>While inside, a scraggly young man continuously leered in my direction. Looking as confused as he was interested. </div><div> </div><div>He was dressed in an oversized black tshirt, with some type of haunting graphic, featuring skulls and swirls of smoke and I assume "magic". </div><div><br></div><div>He was also adorned with many, I can smartly assume, less than professional tattoos on his neck and arms. </div><div><br></div><div>When he finally speaks, it was to say "You don't look like the type of girl that should have tattoos."</div><div><br></div><div>In my surprised and annoyed state I quickly responded "You don't look like the type of man whose opinions matter to me."</div><div><br></div><div>It's abundantly clear that I'm not great at holding my tongue, or making new friends...</div><div><br></div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-4100886802956713882015-07-20T17:49:00.001-04:002015-08-26T18:25:30.507-04:00Overdue Review...1. I am not a liberal feminist. This seems to surprise people. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in equal rights, but the constitution already provided for that in the 14th Amendment. If you need a bunch of rich old white men to validate you as a special class, you're still thinking incorrectly. <div><br></div><div>2. I'm also not feminist because I think it's okay that I want men to hold the door open for me, pump my gas, and wait for my meal to get to the table before they start eating. (Among a few other things) It's etiquette, not oppression. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Corporate office setting are breeding grounds for hostility, envy, jealousy, and stupidity. If I had time to do half the scandalous things I'm accused of, I could be rich by teaching a course on time management and efficiency. </div><div><br></div><div>4. The art of letter writing should be revived. Who wants mail? And who wants to be my pen pal? I don't care if we live in the same city... </div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-29460767690413236142015-05-21T10:24:00.001-04:002015-05-21T10:24:29.220-04:00First 6 Thoughts I Had This Morning.1. I'm inexplicably attached to the website ScoutMob.com. I crave the daily emails and pour over the goods like a mad woman. I've ordered several things, and each has been as lovely in person as they are through the viewfinder of my magical Mac products. <div><br></div><div>2. Getting random gift cards via email, from essentially a stranger, is confusing. I can't decide if spending their money only reinforces the behavior. I want the pretty dress, but I feel like I'm accepting a bribe. </div><div><br></div><div>3. I've been blonde for two weeks. I'm going back red. I feel like an imposter as a blonde and I'm uncomfortable with my own reflection. </div><div><br></div><div>4. My happiness is fueled by traveling. And seeing people that I love. </div><div><br></div><div>5. I haven't watched Grey's Anatomy since McDreamy died. I don't even miss it. Just him. Forming attachments to fictional characters is a problem. </div><div><br></div><div>6. I am not an accountant. I am not an accountant. I am not...fuck, I'm an accountant. </div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-55212097410667969342015-05-12T16:38:00.001-04:002015-05-12T16:38:45.810-04:00Blackout Brunch.New Orleans is a magical place. <div><br></div><div>One can easily lose hours, or even days when visiting. </div><div><br></div><div>On my most recent visit, I only lost hours, in what will forever be fondly referred to as "Blackout Brunch". I no longer trust bottomless mimosas, or gay men wielding drinks called "The Beyoncé".</div><div><br></div><div>You shouldn't either. (Ever)</div><div><br></div><div>(The drag queens, performing at brunch, hold no responsibility for my demise.)</div><div><br></div><div>I went to sleep (passed out) in a bathroom stall (fully clothed) of The Country Club, was later escorted out (by man in his underwear) and driven home by lovely strangers (that called me oppressive). </div><div><br></div><div>I don't recall any names, or even the color of the car I went home in. But I do know the interior of the car was leather as that delicious smell never escapes me. I also recall that one of my rescuers held my hand the entire way from Bywater to Uptown. </div><div><br></div><div>The remainder of the weekend was spent wandering with my Mix Tape, dining in truck beds, watching movies at 4am, and receiving hour long foot massages from a small Asian man. </div><div><br></div><div>Every moment was precious. Even the fuzzy ones. </div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-86756183635526387612015-04-09T11:26:00.000-04:002015-04-09T11:26:17.370-04:00The Lists Go On.1. Sometimes a haircut requires two bottles of wine, a brave couple of best friends, a trusted advisor, and the kitchen of your childhood.<br />
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2. Reigniting my love for Dave Matthews Band hasn't made me feel the least bit guilty. I don't care what the Negative Nancy's say, the band makes me happy and they're genius.<br />
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3. Spending holidays with my ex-boyfriend isn't conventional, but it sure is fun. He's adorable, I love him, and his family is the best. The "ex-hangover" was 90% worth it, and I like those odds.<br />
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4. Horses. Always a good idea. Seriously, look at these two...<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Brotherly love at Peavine Creek Ranch.</span></i></div>
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<span id="goog_1745117293"></span><span id="goog_1745117294"></span>5. This made me laugh for easily 10 minutes. (Every time I watch...)<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Get. It. Girl.</span></i></div>
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6. And this... well this might be the sexiest thing I've ever read...<br />
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<i><b>If you were a book</b></i>
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<i><b>I'd lick my fingers</b></i><i><b><br />and flip your pages,</b></i><br />
<i><b>until your spine creased</b></i><br />
<i><b>and you lay spent,</b></i><br />
<i><b>with nothing left to offer.</b></i><br />
<i><b>Then, I'd cup you in my palms</b></i><br />
<i><b>and read you again.</b></i></div>
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<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
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It's all about balance.</div>
Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-1757773690429735422015-04-07T17:11:00.006-04:002015-04-07T17:13:56.361-04:00Fever HallucinationsSeveral years ago, I lived in a 450 square foot apartment, in East Brainerd, TN. (Which seemed small until my 280 square foot carriage house in Savannah, GA.) It had two rooms, three if you count the bathroom. The kitchen wasn't a galley so much as a row of cabinets, sink, stove and fridge all along one wall that opened into the living room. Which also served as the dining room, and guest room. I must say that I've always been great at making the best of a space... The other room was the bedroom, which was quite large, with a walk-in-closet and access to the bathroom. The shower/tub had one of those sliding doors with the frosted glass that always made me feel dirty.<br />
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At the time, I worked in a retail store, and was going through training to become a massage therapist. I worked full time, went to school full time, and partied full time. Looking back, I'm amazed at the stamina I had compared to now. Youth truly is wasted on the young.<br />
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There must have been a break in classes that coincided with some time off from work, because it took about 36 hours before anyone started looking for me. I happen to be one of those people that if certain folks don't hear from me, almost daily, they tend to send out the hounds. As it would turn out, luckily so, I'm also one of those people that gives out keys to my apartment freely to friends that may or may not ever need them. (I lived alone then, still do, and I'm in constant fear of my body not being found and my cat eating my face. In my mind, my daily annoyances and people having keys lessens my chances of total decomposition. I'd like to leave a pretty corpse...)<br />
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While my friends, unbeknownst to me, were trying to figure out the last person to hear from me, I was trapped in my apartment with walking pneumonia. A terribly wretched condition, that will sometimes cause you to crack your own ribs from coughing. It comes with a fever, and by this time mine was at an exhausting 105. (107 is apparently the point at which brain damage sets in, just in case you ever wanted to know) With my friends being none the wiser, I was laying in my bathtub, dirty frosted glass protecting me, having some fairly intense hallucinations.<br />
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I was convinced that my mother was in my apartment, trying to soothe me and make me well. (At least that's what hallucinated mommy told me.) However, I knew my mother had been dead for a VERY long time, and I was convinced she was trying to kill me and take me to "the other side". (It's a genuine concern given her history.) So I locked myself in the bathroom, closed the shower doors, and was yelling for my cat, Banana Pants, to bring my cell phone so that we could call for help.<br />
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And that's where I was found. Crying, in the tub about how worthless my cat is sans basic understanding of the human language and that my mother would finally win my soul. My friends had sent a police officer. (He was also a friend, had a key to my apartment, and they thought would be the best person to call if I were in fact missing...)<br />
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I remember him laughing at me, and condescendingly calling me "baby", while dragging me out of the bathroom. He stayed for another 24 hours, by my side. (Because he is a good man, and I most likely threatened his life...)<br />
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The officer ended up sick about a week later, but I didn't offer to take care of him. I'm not an idiot, I didn't want that coming back home with me! I sent another friend instead. Luckily the cycle didn't continue and we're all still speaking to each other. For now.<br />
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<br />Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-40079569415664737402015-04-01T21:40:00.001-04:002015-04-01T21:40:34.551-04:00He went to Jared, and I took it back...It's a known fact among my friends that I date on a sliding scale. I don't have a "type". However, it is fair to say I have a not at all my type. The not my type's include (but are not limited to) the ridiculously immature, unmotivated, and humorless.<br />
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A couple years ago I was dating a man whom evaded every mark on my "not" list. He was handsome, intelligent AND educated, witty, gregarious, and adored me. (I still kick myself for seeing how delightfully magic he was far too late...) In addition to all his wondrous elite character, he was also an excellent gift giver. Most of the time.<br />
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One year, for Christmas, he bought a beautiful necklace and charm for me. I say it was beautiful, because by all standards, it was. It was a heart, covered in sparkly diamonds on a thin silver thread. Sadly, I don't particularly fancy diamonds. Or hearts. Luckily, another fine attribute of this man was his graciousness. He told me I could return the gift if I didn't like it, and he meant that genuinely with no hard feelings.<br />
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A friend of mine escorted me to the store, Jared's, as I figured I might want assistance in picking out something new, and I don't always love dealing with retail employees in certain settings. Over-priced box store jewelers is one of those settings... So off we went, backup in tow!<br />
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Upon entering the store, I was put off by the overhead bright lights and the not always fresh smell of dry cleaned suits. We were greeted by an associate, eager to assist, until he realized I wasn't there to purchase. I explained that I wanted to exchange a gift and he took us to the back of the store, away from the eyes and ears of others, to look up the transaction.<br />
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I didn't have the receipt, but I obviously knew the customer's name. I also knew that he had shopped in this store before and they could likely find it that way. I gave the associate my beau's name and he was unable to find it. I spelled it out more clearly, as he doesn't have a common name and even offered to write it down. Still nothing.<br />
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I looked sheepishly at my friend, then laughed, perhaps manically, and suggested that the associate look up the name of the gentleman's wife...<br />
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BINGO!<br />
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After a few uncomfortable clearings of his throat, the associate located the boyfriend's name, horribly misspelled, and account. There at the end of a long list of transactions was my necklace... which I exchanged for a beautiful pearl faced Citizen watch and a pair of pearl earrings.<br />
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I still wear both. Almost daily.Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-79962269706783618982015-04-01T21:13:00.001-04:002015-04-01T21:13:24.138-04:00On April Fool's Day, But Totally LegitAnother few days have passed, and I've made some further observations into my life...<br />
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1. New underwear makes me unreasonably happy. Almost no one sees my underwear, so it really is a personal sublimity. I get giddy and excited no matter the material, style, or cost.<br />
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2. I've found that it is 100% acceptable to cancel dinner plans AND ask for a present in the same conversation. It boils down to knowing your crowd...<br />
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3. I like potatoes in ALL forms. Fried, boiled, mashed and vodka... they all count and they're all delicious.<br />
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4. I received a little photo-quote from a friend of mine that said "you're going to be someone's favorite author". It made me almost cry. It almost made me profoundly thankful for supportive friends.<br />
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5. My favorite color is still <span style="color: blue;">BLUE</span>, and I can't imagine another color more full of meaning and life.<br />
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6. I drive past my parents graves on a regular basis. 99% of the time, I wave. It makes me laugh, and I know it would make them laugh too. Last week I drove by and flipped them off. It was a bad day. I still think they would have laughed.<br />
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<br />Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-12148461442665280152015-03-19T13:33:00.001-04:002015-03-19T15:40:55.413-04:007 thoughts from my past "week".Alright... It's been a little over a week, but whatever - let's review some things.<br>
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1. I recently had a discussion with someone about my ex-husband's new wife. (the original husband, for anyone keeping track.) And as I described her, my friend said <b>"You're a unicorn and she's a nutter"</b>. I think that basically sums up my entire life with most friends/exes wives.<br>
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2. The same "friend" from above invited me over for brunch recently, and said he'd make lamb. (Yes I find that to be an odd brunch item too) I had to decline the invite, but asked if I could still have the lamb. He said <b>"You can keep the leg. I'm more into physiologically anonymous meat."</b>. That basically sums up how I feel about meat too.<br>
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**It was brought to my attention by aforementioned friend that he invited me to TWO different engagements (brunch and/or dinner) and that he does not serve lamb for brunch. We all know, all he has to do is offer me food, I don't care when or where...**<br>
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3. It's a little known matter of fact that you can find a <b>Steve Harvey</b> photo to answer basically any text message that a friend sends to you. It brings me great JOY. And confuses the hell out of some people.<br>
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4. Recently a friend posted a photo of her and her son at a "Muffins with Mommy" event. I'm guessing it's the counter to all these recent "Dancing with Daddy" things. Any excuse to throw a party, huh?! Which brings me to my next question... I wonder how many people would show up for <b>"Muffins with Mayo"</b> or maybe <b>"Margaritas with Mayo"</b> is more appropriate... thoughts?<br>
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5. It's no secret that <b>I collect bad decisions</b> (adventures) like most people collect tchotchke (stuff you don't need). But I don't go getting all judgmental because you like to collect frogs, so back off. (Fine, I get a little judgmental- but only because why collect frogs when you can collect adventures?!)<br>
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6. I know that my head and heart are <b>fragile as eggshells</b>. Mostly my heart. My head is fairly sturdy and trusty. But my heart, well she's a big ol' mess. So, I've signed her up for self-defense classes... (Essentially some yoga and dance, but highly effective methods of exalting goddess like qualities!)<br>
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7. I have a nearly uncontrollable urge to refer to all men named Brad as B-Rad.Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-54862701986336501142015-03-08T23:11:00.001-04:002015-03-08T23:11:32.432-04:00My Weekend Rear View.<div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I've decided to start doing hindsight updates. You know, go over some highlights for the past few days or so. My attempt are making this space once again relevant to my life...</span></div><div><br></div><div>1. I've begun starting each day in Superhero Pose. I got the idea from a TV show and find it to be rather rewarding. Feet planted firmly, hands on hips, chin lifted, chest out, and gazing at my future. It's powerful. And entertaining. </div><div><br></div><div>2. My friend Shandi pointed out that as girls, we are protective of our kind. She put it best this week by saying "somehow a friend's vagina is always just more precious than your own". It's true. I don't like when my friends get dicked around, and vice versa. </div><div><br></div><div>3. Playing in the woods with a strong man friend is probably one of the most therapeutic things I've done in a long time. I might have come home bruised about my ribs and smelling like a dirty hippie, but I wouldn't change it for the world. </div><div><br></div><div>4. Breakfast for dinner is still one of the best choices one can make. Honestly, go make eggs and pancakes. You won't regret it. </div><div><br></div><div>5. My best friend just turned 30. She doesn't even realize how awesome that is. Life changes. Embrace that shit. </div><div><br></div><div>I know there are more things I should talk about, but it's late. I'm taking my happy and rejuvenated ass to bed. ❤️</div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-5000430102492983202014-10-29T15:44:00.001-04:002014-10-29T15:44:43.693-04:00Adventures in Waxing. With Jesus.<div>Yesterday I decided to be adventurous and have my waxing done at a new location. </div><div><br></div><div>I figure, why not trust my vagina to strangers wielding hot wax?! You only live once!!</div><div><br></div><div>I enter this north shore establishment, and I'm overstimulated by the hot pink walls and gaudy decor. Welcome to Basic Girl Mecca. </div><div><br></div><div>The woman I was scheduled to see was running behind with a full body wax, and I could wait or take another employee. Being that I have no loyalties, I decided to go ahead with the available gal. </div><div><br></div><div>She is a beautiful black girl. With natural hair in a tamed Afro, great make up skills and positive energy. She instructs me to undress from the waist down, climb up on the table and she'll be right back. </div><div><br></div><div>In most salons, they offer a courtesy towel to cover your bits for modesty. Well, not at this pink palace - you bare all. </div><div><br></div><div>She returns to the room and we commence into non committal chit chat. Where are you from, what do you, are you married? I answer politely, while my legs are in the butterfly position and she's slathering on hard wax in my headquarters region. </div><div><br></div><div>She starts to tell me about her life, and how she's an aspiring singer and actress. She prayed to God to put her on a path to success and she believes she has found this great balance and that her dream life is flourishing. She's traveling through the week with a Christian band, and they're all home in time for church on Sunday's in their hometown. She's genuinely glowing and I can't help but feel content in her presence. </div><div><br></div><div>Well, apparently my silence during reflection made her uncomfortable. And she asks "what's on your mind Miss Amanda?"</div><div><br></div><div>I respond, "oh nothing. I was just processing your story. I'm very happy for you. It's nice to hear positive stories. And I respect that you looked toward your faith to find your way. It's a beautiful idea..."</div><div><br></div><div>She looks confused and says "idea?... Well Amanda, when was the last time you asked God about your path?"</div><div><br></div><div>"Um... Well... It's been a while. I've been busy."</div><div><br></div><div>"Oh" through laughter "He knows you're busy. He knows before you know. But you can talk to him anytime. Even right her on this table!"</div><div><br></div><div>"I'm in a bit of a compromised position. I don't think this is the right time"</div><div><br></div><div>"I think it's time for you to get right with him. Stop running away and denying him. Everything will come together once you just give him the power... He'll lead you to a husband and a family and the life you're born to lead..."</div><div><br></div><div>...speechless. </div><div><br></div><div>She continues "I've never had an experience like this here, but I think God put you in my path and that we're sisters in Christ. Pick up a bible, ask where to look. He won't let you down"</div><div><br></div><div>And then she leans down and hugs me. While I am half naked and wax between my legs... And kisses my cheek. </div><div><br></div><div>I walked away feeling confused, inhibited and like maybe I should go to church...</div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-18908577779502295382014-07-13T18:27:00.003-04:002014-07-13T18:27:55.916-04:00Self-centering - But not the egotistical kind...So, it's been several months since I've taken the time to write on this blog. My apologies, to myself and you, for not being more mindful of my needs to write. Or at least to write in my true voice. I took a hiatus in the attempts to go a different route with my writing, and my purpose. It turns out that I wasn't doing anything wrong, until I stopped writing here. Sure I've cataloged some stories in my physical journals, and I contributed a few submissions to another site that I'm certainly proud of - in it's own respects.<br />
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All of that being said, I'm welcoming myself back. <br />
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I signed up for an online writing course, for children's books. I know, I know - me influencing children?! I'm a little afraid too. BUT I do have some amazingly talented artists in my life that are already scurrying for their paintbrushes and sketchpads to help with illustrations and bringing characters to life! I figure if I, and my pack of misfits have grown up SO incredibly awesome - we might as well spread that gospel! Right? Right!<br />
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Additionally, today I took my emotions to the mat. The yoga mat. And boy did we come to blows. My body is rigid and wobbly. And by the end, during meditations, I was crying my little peepers out. The release of that negativity is just the beginning, I know that. I have no doubt that I'm going to have many more sessions with tears and fumbling before I find my roots in this mat and in my person. I pay no service to my friends, and more importantly myself if I lack as much balance as I currently do. It is VERY important that I regain control of my breathing and letting go of everything else.<br />
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<br />Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-83330710039233122382014-01-23T10:04:00.001-05:002014-01-23T10:04:42.421-05:00In RemembranceToday, he would have turned 37. There would have been singing, lots of singing. He loved when everyone was belting out songs, he didn't care if you could carry a tune as long as you did it with gumption. <div><br></div><div>He died, unexpectedly, three and half years ago. Part of my world stopped that day. He was my high school sweetheart. My biggest cheerleader, as well as my biggest pain in my ass. </div><div><br></div><div>He taught me how to love with abandon like only a teenage girl would understand. He forced me to mend my broken heart, (that he caused), taught me how to be angry (again that he caused) and how to forgive (because you never stop loving that first love). In the 15 years we graced each other lives we ran the spectrum of relationships from friends, to lovers, then enemies and finally friends again.</div><div><br></div><div>Rarely do several days pass that something about that man doesn't cross my mind. I see him all over this city, even though we have no memories here. I have no doubt that he still watches over me, pushes me and helps me learn valuable lessons. </div><div><br></div><div>Today I live for you, Jason Kirby, our friendship and our unconditional love. And I'm thankful to my friends, still with me, that help me celebrate and remember you. And grateful for your family that continues to keep your spirit alive and me in their hearts with you. Always. </div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-1588952137598599412013-12-02T18:58:00.001-05:002013-12-02T18:59:16.455-05:00The MAIN Event. Chattanooga style.This coming weekend is home to my favorite event of the year in Chattanooga. The event is <a href="http://www.mainx24.com/" target="_blank">MainX24</a>! I'm not 100% certain why it's my favorite. Could be that during this time of year, people are a little merrier and drunker. Could be that I love that my wonderful hometown will use ANY excuse to celebrate itself (anyone else remember the font party?). Maybe I like that the Southside hosts a variety of people, businesses, and events for 24 hours straight, and that's still not enough time for everything.<br />
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Whatever the reason, this year I was sure I was going to miss out. I live 5 hours away by car. Money is tighter than I'd like. It's an exhausting event and I'll have to drive home Sunday. But I'm throwing all those reasons out the door because I made a promise this year that I wouldn't say "NO" to things I really wanted to do. I'd find the money. I'd find the time. This year is about doing.<br />
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I've relocated, I've gone to England, I've taken MANY mini road trips. All of that without worrying. And this weekend, I'm going home. I'm having pancakes with the Mayor, I'm having elderflower mimosas, I'm watching adults participate in a big wheel race, I'm eating chili and I'm watching the weirdest parade I've ever witnessed. Then I'm watching Trombone Shorty play at <a href="http://www.track29.co/" target="_blank">Track29</a>. Because I can.<br />
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I intend to indulge with my friends. (overly)<br />
<br />Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-6107426206806938882013-11-27T20:42:00.001-05:002013-11-27T20:42:20.757-05:00Memory recall...My memory is a tricky thing. I store certain events and articles without thought or intent. Other happenings, I can't hold onto hard enough. The Good Doctor tells me that the brain stores things largely based on self preservation, in with the good and out with the bad. <div><br></div><div>Strangely, I barely remember my best friend's phone number. But I do recall the birthday of a man I met once. In a bar. While intoxicated. Several years ago. I remember the first words he spoke, what he was wearing, how he smelled and even tasted. </div><div><br></div><div>I remember the color of the cup I used at the last thanksgiving I spent with my ex husband's family over ten years ago. </div><div><br></div><div>I'm not sure that either of those examples are still so vivid because of any type of self preservation. Those are the types of things that should be fleeting. I should recall a thanksgiving dinner, sure. And maybe I should even recall a random handsome stranger. But not with such detail that I feel like it just happened. </div><div><br></div><div>Lately, I'm not certain I'm storing much of anything. I can't recall without much deliberation some of the events that happened within only the past few months. Maybe someday in the future they'll come washing over me. Or maybe my brain said "out with the bad!". I can't say for sure, but I want more memories like the random handsome stranger...</div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-28838266856247660342013-11-23T14:24:00.001-05:002013-11-23T14:24:24.077-05:00My overnight with Walt Disney...Last night I made the jaunt over to Hilton Head Island to spend an evening (then night and part of today) with my friend Kim and her family. We had the pleasure of staying in a villa at the Disney Resort, thanks to a dear friend with vacation points and a last minute change of plans. <div><br></div><div>Now, as you may or may not know, I'm not a "Disney person". Don't get me wrong, I enjoy some of the movies and I'm always game for a park with roller coasters. But I find the fact that employees are called "cast members" and that the little bastards are everywhere a bit unsettling. I get that they're creating an experience and it's part of the brand, I'm just not a into the stage 5 clinger types. </div><div><br></div><div>They greet you everywhere you go by saying "Welcome Home". I suppose since it's a time share, membership resort...it's kinda the member's home. They do pay for the privelage of the club and it's benefits. </div><div><br></div><div>Everyone takes their job very seriously and appear to have a seamless system. Nothing is ever dirty and there is always a person within ten feet to ask questions. We made jokes all day that we'd stumbled into the Truman Show!</div><div><br></div><div>The Disney Beach House is less than 2 miles from the Resort proper...and they serve booze there! It's past mid-November and I'm poolside (it's a heated pool) with a daquarri, travel magazine and the ocean steps away. Winning!</div><div><br></div><div>Living back on the coast has made me remember why I hold onto the summer for so long! Rum of the gods (as Dan says), salty breezes and the laughter of your close friends. </div><div><br></div><div>Magical. Thanks, Walt. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgLtjj2pm2tkHZnAa9L8RDtFKIyrURmPB9pm2KoQc29GglPdiIY9RExKmjskE7FsuWDjynYp_UcDJtqjjwNXwhrm0eBYtTaA2S4cVQvslHElZUjP5azbleT316I1_CbF-cZA4uJ_krZu8/s640/blogger-image--861265724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizgLtjj2pm2tkHZnAa9L8RDtFKIyrURmPB9pm2KoQc29GglPdiIY9RExKmjskE7FsuWDjynYp_UcDJtqjjwNXwhrm0eBYtTaA2S4cVQvslHElZUjP5azbleT316I1_CbF-cZA4uJ_krZu8/s640/blogger-image--861265724.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Kim, Dan & I with our 1st visit pins!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdd9qo7LqbnW3Rc-OiEcF_ozxYskPcPeFosgCXABgGiIho0SmfsMqtEDHfe1e1q5h3sMthMzRfRXMDPrq6V3AV29G5skq52nzXmHFQop_OwvzVYyz9wxJYvWqk8CYeQcPKZr2B3irZHKU/s640/blogger-image-734285489.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFdd9qo7LqbnW3Rc-OiEcF_ozxYskPcPeFosgCXABgGiIho0SmfsMqtEDHfe1e1q5h3sMthMzRfRXMDPrq6V3AV29G5skq52nzXmHFQop_OwvzVYyz9wxJYvWqk8CYeQcPKZr2B3irZHKU/s640/blogger-image-734285489.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Kim and I with sippy cups, it's a family establishment!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzME8Oi-1qFWw7BmKzGAri3mf9q7oU23K72o359_CeVKRs_Q9sdrrpzm1eUY0eJ_eLFlyz2CZ56dAI3OUoCRAJH0TatVlNuJTh7u2GrRFjHmwsYdaq_bGG2-OeodEa6YCz7Hj2eUIq3D1m/s640/blogger-image-1980228789.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzME8Oi-1qFWw7BmKzGAri3mf9q7oU23K72o359_CeVKRs_Q9sdrrpzm1eUY0eJ_eLFlyz2CZ56dAI3OUoCRAJH0TatVlNuJTh7u2GrRFjHmwsYdaq_bGG2-OeodEa6YCz7Hj2eUIq3D1m/s640/blogger-image-1980228789.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">He's one of those stage 5 clingers mentioned earlier!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJurKURqWmy2T52eurR76qyURMQ1AuuwSrAZRLhLFMC8VRw4-qdcajxhq5yBgYsLJpkrKaO481k5m1L-BgsBHcjULdSe_o0_Fu6aH0sSTkC-xeg3fAJ397ER4a_WLUhyphenhyphenrcghPV8OumNSeV/s640/blogger-image--810923775.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJurKURqWmy2T52eurR76qyURMQ1AuuwSrAZRLhLFMC8VRw4-qdcajxhq5yBgYsLJpkrKaO481k5m1L-BgsBHcjULdSe_o0_Fu6aH0sSTkC-xeg3fAJ397ER4a_WLUhyphenhyphenrcghPV8OumNSeV/s640/blogger-image--810923775.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I love when it's difficult to tell when the sky ends and the ocean begins!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLetxPi12hy5pcJ7BNI0nX6cWOni5V_o5paYu1pKAfDnA86m4RKNEpWmI9C-mr9YV34_EcmwnyF6au8zew8USs8lJQxoYLWAAesA_PYpCUvOJuFXXghNCF7uXDodcJs_W8RHs3e834B2Zk/s640/blogger-image-703861087.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLetxPi12hy5pcJ7BNI0nX6cWOni5V_o5paYu1pKAfDnA86m4RKNEpWmI9C-mr9YV34_EcmwnyF6au8zew8USs8lJQxoYLWAAesA_PYpCUvOJuFXXghNCF7uXDodcJs_W8RHs3e834B2Zk/s640/blogger-image-703861087.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">All those little personal touches...</div><br></div><br></div><br></i></div><br></div><br></div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-3991291025451884912013-11-17T20:43:00.001-05:002013-12-02T19:08:21.775-05:00Photo re-cap! 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Over the past few weeks, I've had the unique pleasure of seeing so many of my wonderful friends, (and making some new ones). I haven't slowed down, and I couldn't be more excited about it!</div>
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Jamie, my mix tape, and I had some (spiked) butter beer in the Harry Potter world at Universal Studios. We also had a blast going through haunted houses and reconnecting with our inner children. Jamie, my adventuress. </div>
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My beautiful best friend, my Hippo, Tracy, came for an extended weekend. We had sweet tea vodka, and laughed until we cried. We lazily watched an entire season of Orange is the New Black and basked in the glory that only a hippo-lobster can create. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">No one could possibly understand the courage that this tiny force of a woman gives me!</span></div>
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Carolyn, my ninja, my fancy friend. She's my partner of understanding. I love that she was here and had the ability to let her hair down and embrace her silliness. I know she has to be WAY too adult 98% of the time and I'm honored to be a safe place for her to relax. </div>
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Oh Pookie, Rob, my original partner in crime in Savannah. While he lives here, I'm glad that he's been a participant in the last few week's visits and that he so easily transitions into all the compartments of my life. </div>
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<i> (He judges us all...)</i></div>
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The other Rob. We're bonded by several cities and it always a hoot to have a drink (or few) with him. </div>
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This guy, Ryan, he's new on the scene. But he's been my incredibly handsome host throughout the city over the past couple weeks. He's been a doll to my friends, and has introduced me to so many new and fun people! (To say I feel like a lucky girl is an understatement!)</div>
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I'm happy. Come visit soon!!</div>
Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-24707983448836864362013-11-07T13:43:00.001-05:002013-11-07T13:43:01.203-05:00'Tis the season...almost!Holy shit! Xmas is right around the corner. Just yesterday, Jonathan and I heard holiday tunes coming from a nearby church's bell tower.<div><br></div><div>Personally, it all feels a little too soon. Don't get me wrong, Xmas is pretty and festive and people give you stuff. It's not necessary anything you wanted or needed, but they thought of you and it's sweet. (And stressful)</div><div><br></div><div>I don't actually buy gifts for many people. Really it's probably less than a handful. My nieces and nephews don't need anything, nor do my siblings. So it generally comes down to a select number or friends and any obligatory "dirty Santa" or "white elephant" type parties. </div><div><br></div><div>I've started collecting a few samples of potential gifts for this holiday season:</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUN5I5WRwVU7mCyF4nLuGV3YOJdmjsmcwbAix9u4jAbDONVlhLzHjQ10m_lVKZAW2q6NEP5aMHcx22Iawmerpu5vc-dlMr630stIPjDyT80ydI1CrSo77_jD7MZmwJC5aavVUkKpLXFYBS/s640/blogger-image-2090671430.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUN5I5WRwVU7mCyF4nLuGV3YOJdmjsmcwbAix9u4jAbDONVlhLzHjQ10m_lVKZAW2q6NEP5aMHcx22Iawmerpu5vc-dlMr630stIPjDyT80ydI1CrSo77_jD7MZmwJC5aavVUkKpLXFYBS/s640/blogger-image-2090671430.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Who doesn't love fake meat smells?! This candle is necessity dammit. </i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1QAGQp_gBnCHklY45TjTxRLyt2BJUU73YLyinm11ZhBxCohgsDGDm4naC8qGhY30tTRq-QsSnPgn5pm5MmkWWShB7PMoR8WDK-RhLS6RphB6Rop4d4l-MWzgoNrPunz2UVQnzgCtRqbU/s640/blogger-image--1191874009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1QAGQp_gBnCHklY45TjTxRLyt2BJUU73YLyinm11ZhBxCohgsDGDm4naC8qGhY30tTRq-QsSnPgn5pm5MmkWWShB7PMoR8WDK-RhLS6RphB6Rop4d4l-MWzgoNrPunz2UVQnzgCtRqbU/s640/blogger-image--1191874009.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>FREE?! What's better than that?! (Pet not included)</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i><br></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oKjlNXBZ0krDkAi0Ys5Q7sFt_KrFbugAxiOKgoEarmLmn_jmFbinli8sKzCpnazMktc6_NyZomQLE0Oq9O20ZAvwddi9XrvBRb2vJ6I_vxnAfdD_s5pJgl3DUr9tW-rfZjeDbVJimJqi/s640/blogger-image-1555496929.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oKjlNXBZ0krDkAi0Ys5Q7sFt_KrFbugAxiOKgoEarmLmn_jmFbinli8sKzCpnazMktc6_NyZomQLE0Oq9O20ZAvwddi9XrvBRb2vJ6I_vxnAfdD_s5pJgl3DUr9tW-rfZjeDbVJimJqi/s640/blogger-image-1555496929.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;">Inappropriate AND useful! (Why does he look so angry? He's getting a blowjob)</div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ6WvqTGp6X3P2IbDA5xRg_Pcl82NTwO_RgF-Z4ZfI8bKdaqRuhu8kAa8JA-lhXEcKyvsTQANQ7giwg-hsneDkmgFtVlVOG4sfl4dNZz5ksBkeZx9oppbOSnaGLnuEt758yvIx0QtMySI/s640/blogger-image-197315306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgJ6WvqTGp6X3P2IbDA5xRg_Pcl82NTwO_RgF-Z4ZfI8bKdaqRuhu8kAa8JA-lhXEcKyvsTQANQ7giwg-hsneDkmgFtVlVOG4sfl4dNZz5ksBkeZx9oppbOSnaGLnuEt758yvIx0QtMySI/s640/blogger-image-197315306.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;">Everybody Poos! Totes handy!! And travel sized. </div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8Wv89WTPYZYQW4hl5TVy5mr53DUmdba6aH5bVtqo1FEqQRLmXD5gcbY1hXX6xItwCZyHKayMAS-JcwKGfZf9zY4350Ylvjb8-zng8mofwFJehtkP49tUIqA-XIBu51ALybTDcL2mjoEu/s640/blogger-image--370508510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8Wv89WTPYZYQW4hl5TVy5mr53DUmdba6aH5bVtqo1FEqQRLmXD5gcbY1hXX6xItwCZyHKayMAS-JcwKGfZf9zY4350Ylvjb8-zng8mofwFJehtkP49tUIqA-XIBu51ALybTDcL2mjoEu/s640/blogger-image--370508510.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Admit it, everyone wants a voodoo doll kit!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTBFJAx7yyXcZUIeWFzlZZFgYR1t_wS2udk4YIOBVkoKNsrSjFCbp4G9sDdqOkTwQI1QQRoTCEyQE0gPx89Ka3rZwGxmR8ym4OFIatLcXm63N8wTzKGsvA6LFNrckh2Ovl_LZLtGiiwBL/s640/blogger-image-883896600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTBFJAx7yyXcZUIeWFzlZZFgYR1t_wS2udk4YIOBVkoKNsrSjFCbp4G9sDdqOkTwQI1QQRoTCEyQE0gPx89Ka3rZwGxmR8ym4OFIatLcXm63N8wTzKGsvA6LFNrckh2Ovl_LZLtGiiwBL/s640/blogger-image-883896600.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm sorry, what?! "New Baby" voodoo kit?! Well...it kinda makes sense. </div><br></div><br></div><div class="separator" style="font-style: italic; clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'm always looking for great ideas, let me know if you see any "must haves"!! </div><br></div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-54670585544218115502013-09-30T18:40:00.001-04:002013-09-30T18:40:58.285-04:00Savannah Signage<div><br></div>My first email to the signage company said "I need a diagonal window banner, that is static cling. It needs to be in our traditional red with white lettering. I need it to go diagonally across our center window. Can you please come measure and send a proof?"<div><br></div><div>The designer replied stating it wouldn't be a problem, and that he'd send a proof over after he measured the window. </div><div><br></div><div>Great! </div><div><br></div><div>However, this is what I got...</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfQqHGvwC8FUWh5ibho2ABL9Kd-L0eLja36Sl78ijpK0o_e6YPGQi_xaXYGLItej__6Q6OvHmBcNafzTwVICqcQQfKA42kCREx8Tux4HwV4X_IUz7EzWZYMBFlQZy0dUzUx-p-x4NqA_x/s640/blogger-image--1782871812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqfQqHGvwC8FUWh5ibho2ABL9Kd-L0eLja36Sl78ijpK0o_e6YPGQi_xaXYGLItej__6Q6OvHmBcNafzTwVICqcQQfKA42kCREx8Tux4HwV4X_IUz7EzWZYMBFlQZy0dUzUx-p-x4NqA_x/s640/blogger-image--1782871812.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I sent him back an email saying "The colors and words are perfect, but CBT wanted a <b>diagonal</b> banner cling. Can I get another proof?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Proof number 2:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujUhs8Wvbfzjc_JDta-_sTL4L9xieHP4Jnwhx58pxqr8HJRUO-TyGpk_wY7wy1z7ZB_bs-g65SqZ-CrUQftIIPFNvpo0pmPfekTMqYVQnMmAK1JUpUF2O5p6fj_7N4szxT7sSj1lW1JcJ/s640/blogger-image-1700568475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgujUhs8Wvbfzjc_JDta-_sTL4L9xieHP4Jnwhx58pxqr8HJRUO-TyGpk_wY7wy1z7ZB_bs-g65SqZ-CrUQftIIPFNvpo0pmPfekTMqYVQnMmAK1JUpUF2O5p6fj_7N4szxT7sSj1lW1JcJ/s640/blogger-image-1700568475.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dear sign guy, the horizontal and vertical options are great. I love options. But, I really need a diagonal banner. You know, angled? Edge to edge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Proof 3:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAmSd5it0NhUt3Z33d57m-wcq0EfJzxyGU-S0fCHeE56mvI_pTSeekqZR8KciFwt4q1aEXMCeM2fNdx_BBOqt97rvB2chTlsZBcP1LENJh86zDs5OKDzytmwpMo-A3CwagApeV9krriDX/s640/blogger-image--1019927268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAmSd5it0NhUt3Z33d57m-wcq0EfJzxyGU-S0fCHeE56mvI_pTSeekqZR8KciFwt4q1aEXMCeM2fNdx_BBOqt97rvB2chTlsZBcP1LENJh86zDs5OKDzytmwpMo-A3CwagApeV9krriDX/s640/blogger-image--1019927268.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Dude? Really? I could have hung the damn sign crooked.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I quit. </div><br></div><br></div><br></div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-47114428859255711712013-09-23T17:04:00.001-04:002013-09-23T17:04:30.026-04:00Office Quotes of the DaySo Jonathan and I were riding back to the office today and we see a kid with Down's Syndrome walking up the sidewalk. <div><br></div><div>And ol' Jonathan says something along the lines of, "Why do his parents dress him like he's special needs? I mean put him in a damn suit, not high waisted pants and red suspenders! They're just asking for trouble"</div><div><br></div><div>I have to agree with him. Then again, maybe the kid demands red suspenders. </div><div><br></div><div>Earlier today, Ticky is telling us about going to the doctor for bruising and spots. Keep in mind, she's 75. The doctor tells her that at her age it's going to happen because her skin and blood are thin. Ticky says in her impeccable southern tongue "I told him no, that won't work for me. He's gonna need to fix it". </div><div><br></div><div>I love that she thinks he can reverse time, or add layers of epidermal cells. Oh to be well aged, southern and powerful. </div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0Historic District - North Savannah32.077404 -81.090456tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-7111377661319772042013-09-22T21:16:00.001-04:002013-09-22T21:16:52.518-04:0024 hours in ATL, the recap<div>This weekend I went to Atlanta to visit friends. The view from the patio was beautiful...</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE55Fop7S89pkNFcn7vwgFRLH4MAsd4OvM2h3E8skKoPyIs85zwIBBTb2aUiXxtV4JAgmoRdSfr7LPW-tqDC3BGAAyl134igVjYQ3bERHdZesKbQOPIoUD10niGZhUCC-XDKFithsYxpJ9/s640/blogger-image-1478805274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE55Fop7S89pkNFcn7vwgFRLH4MAsd4OvM2h3E8skKoPyIs85zwIBBTb2aUiXxtV4JAgmoRdSfr7LPW-tqDC3BGAAyl134igVjYQ3bERHdZesKbQOPIoUD10niGZhUCC-XDKFithsYxpJ9/s640/blogger-image-1478805274.jpg"></a></div></div></div><div><br></div><div>After a great evening of catching up, drinks and accidental vegetarian pizzas I fell asleep in the comfort of familiar company. Waking up late and groggy we walked across the street for brunch...</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm91n06U9l-swF9LiYDDlg-6Dx5k7vLNo9zHIHNflyqFbk3YMVMmjeqiiQISEmzQADw3BmqkNUZDZWqeMQg0d9NQRr5qKZP-quhI3vk94fC9HsF3jsMkeLJVkmvTmcwveANV8E735fNjr7/s640/blogger-image--329869496.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm91n06U9l-swF9LiYDDlg-6Dx5k7vLNo9zHIHNflyqFbk3YMVMmjeqiiQISEmzQADw3BmqkNUZDZWqeMQg0d9NQRr5qKZP-quhI3vk94fC9HsF3jsMkeLJVkmvTmcwveANV8E735fNjr7/s640/blogger-image--329869496.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> (<i>68 pages of drinks...)</i></div><br></div><div>We were supposed to go to Music Midtown, but we got rained out. The show went on, we didn't. Instead, we laughed, drank and noshed. And then we napped...</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH5PH8Xk9nrrqsAffG4ikwERUlJsS96f8s5n82OvrR293Hvn2qPrjXIunZrGym8uBLxCcltDVH_nnpnl2p41YOgb-CEKKxusK7Ms5iwtcs_xlZNNRKlmU2Zds3YTVqI5n6eUQii3fyrOLe/s640/blogger-image--515587113.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH5PH8Xk9nrrqsAffG4ikwERUlJsS96f8s5n82OvrR293Hvn2qPrjXIunZrGym8uBLxCcltDVH_nnpnl2p41YOgb-CEKKxusK7Ms5iwtcs_xlZNNRKlmU2Zds3YTVqI5n6eUQii3fyrOLe/s640/blogger-image--515587113.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">It's excellent to have such wonderful friends! Almost everything we say could become a popular tshirt slogan. In addition to their infectious humor, they are beautiful, successful and supportive. Part of the time I just sat back and watched, selfishly realizing how lucky I am to be surrounded by people that despite the world, have grown up awesome. </div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-59090598683648904032013-09-17T14:27:00.001-04:002013-09-17T14:27:01.833-04:00Exploring New HobbiesThings my friends suggest to channel my emotions and solitude... (And my feelings toward them)<div><br></div><div>1. Yoga (Sounds relaxing. And suitable, good suggestion)</div><div><br></div><div>2. Racket ball (also decent, although my plastic surgeon suggest I don't participate in any activity where balls fly at my nose. Okay that's totally from Clueless, but it's sound advice)</div><div><br></div><div>3. Start a collection. (we've ruled out cats, but flair and tiny ponies are still strong contenders. </div><div><br></div><div>4. MMA (if I don't want balls flying at my nose, for fuck sake why would I want fists flying at my face?!)</div><div><br></div><div>5. Murder (as soon as I locate an understanding pig farmer, that moves to the top of the list!)</div><div><br></div><div>Keep those ideas coming, pals!!</div>Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8059841872981134057.post-10930811970793396512013-09-17T00:49:00.002-04:002013-09-17T00:58:29.538-04:00Resurfacing. Finding your voice can be difficult. Taking the retribution for your voice can be damaging. Acknowledging your worth takes practice. Fighting for self preservation can be exhausting.<br />
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I try to never make myself look like a victim. I don't share my stories for pity or protection. I share them to break the silence. I speak in case someone needs the courage. I speak because silence is a casket. It's a fucking death trap where you drown in your misery and solitude. Or at least that's how my silence feels. </div>
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Maybe yours feels like puppies and kittens. Good for you. Stay silent. </div>
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Everything in me knows my past is a burden to myself and often other people. No one wants to know the magnitude of evils the world is capable of. And I've worked long and hard to fight and hide from those evils. I won't be made to feel guilty for owning my past and knowing that repeating it would be a folly of my own creation. </div>
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Someone told me tonight, "you think you're SO unique and SO wounded... you're so wrapped up in what you think is your tough story, as well as your sick dependence on your friends..." The person continued on about my alleged short comings and the reasons why I'm not a fit and honest person. </div>
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I must admit, it's never easy when someone's true feelings about you surface in such a volatile way. But I harbor no ill feelings toward his definition of my character. I do not understand him anymore than he understands me. But as I stare at this impasse I am thankful for my unique and wounded soul, as well as my sick dependence on my friends. For through it all, they have held me up.<br />
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UPDATE: The original post had to be edited/deleted but I saved these comments from a couple dear friends:<br />
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Manda Mayohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17896123457149851366noreply@blogger.com0