Saturday, January 25, 2014

PotAto, Potato, let's work the whole thing out.

This blog is dedicated to my family who have known me my entire life as, Maria (who?).

Okay, correction.  This post is written in mind for my dear friends and blog readers who've known me over the years as, Bri (excuse me?).

Then of course there's my intimate friends, nieces and nephews who call me, Breezy (what the..?).

For clarification purposes, I was born with the name, Maria Terese Bryant.  "Bri" arrived as a pseudonym in junior high (I'll explain that in a moment), and established itself as a permanent nickname in high school.  Now that I'm in my mid 40's and have been married twice, signing my name has become as confusing as this blog is to read.  Do I sign that as Maria Mills or Bri Mills?  Oops, It doesn't matter anyway because now I'm Mrs. Potts.  Dammit, I have to keep this business straight!

I chose to have an "aka" as a twelve year old because I was a silly adolescent with dreams of - hush now - making out (shudder) with a young man in the class above me.  I attended a very small Catholic elementary school and GOD FORBID should someone outside my "inner circle" of most trusted compatriots learn of my lurid desires.  Back in those days there was no texting.  The nuns were still mutilating our ears with chalk on black boards.  Paper passing was the preferred means of discussing the details of little girls' love traps.  So, I needed a name lest my naughty thoughts were read by one of the enemies; the classroom boys.

My BFF - Best Friend Forever (Oh my God, gag me with a silver spoon!) - babysat a little girl next door whose name just happened to be, Breanna.  I thought it was the loveliest name I'd ever heard and so decided to borrow, shorten and make it my own but with an "i" as in, Bri.  Of course my amour needed a nickname too.  It was, after all, a very small school and he was one of only thirty or so students in the eighth grade.  If Sister Mary Agnel were to read, "Bri wants to get her hands on David", and obviously there was only one David..Uh OH!  Hmm?  David's nickname you ask?  Owen Corningware.  I was twelve.  Let's not dwell on this, shall we?

During freshman orientation for high school, the nuns asked if we had a preferred nickname.  What?  I had just spent eight years with the same thirty-two kids known as Maria Bryant, and suddenly I could be someone new?  "Yes, please.  Call me, Bri."  The chrysalis had begun.

As I look back, I can understand my mother's annoyance.  She had the right to name me and within the first thirteen years of my life, I tossed her name carelessly out the classroom window.  The thought hadn't occurred to me until Eric, my current husband and a close friend since high school, called and asked to speak with "Bri".  "No one lives here by that name."

Eric clearly confused said, "But this was the number I was given and Bri asked me to go to Sadie Hawkins with her."   Exasperated my mother told him to wait while she went to get me.

Why, my dear friends and blog readers ask, am I writing about this today?  In all honesty, I was annoyed at my Godmother earlier this week.  I was addressing a card and didn't know whether to mail it to Aunt Sheila or Aunt Shelly.  You see, she's had a name change conversion too.  My Godmother has recreated herself much later in life than I did but it still creates havoc with how the family now addresses her.

Who am I to argue with a name?  Who cares?  Sheila?  Shelly?  Maria?   Bri?  Let's work the whole thing out.










Thursday, January 16, 2014

Bri's Third Annual New Year's Anti-Resolution List

Oddly enough, this blog is a little late.  Normally I pen them on New Year’s Eve; however, this year I was at a friend’s house playing an adult card game and monitoring my husband’s intake of Tequila.  Eric has recently discovered alcohol in quantifiable amounts and now, it seems, I’m not the only one allowed to make an ass out of myself at parties.  We are each given equal opportunity ass allowances – it varies on who starts drinking first.

And so my list begins:
  1. I will never be on time writing my New Year’s Anti-Resolution List.  Perhaps next year, I’ll wait until February to post it.
  2. Since I hate shopping (yes, I am an anomaly), I will not enter a department store until I’ve outworn my youngest son’s smallest size jeans.  Damn, I like the sound of that.  Just don’t ask me how big my youngest son is and we’ll stay friends forever.
  3. When I’m bullied, made fun of, or teased I will not stand back, shrug, or laugh it off any longer. Yesterday I posted a comment on a friend’s Facebook site which I’m guessing was misunderstood (or not) by one of her friends.  In the past, I would have ignored it, stewed over it, and been humiliated; not this time.  I responded to this jackass over the stupidity of his comment and then immediately blocked him from my site.  He’s a local comedian.  I may have made an enemy, or several, in a business that I’m trying to break into or I may have shown that I have some impressive cajones (Spanish for testicles) for a girl.  Either way, this year is my year.  I will not be stepped upon.
  4. I’ll never expect a new dog toy to last longer than two hours; even if I spend $20 on it because the packaging specifically states, “Indestructible”.
  5. This is not an anti-resolution but merely an observation (I’m entitled certain allowances because this is my blog).  My bed is considerably smaller than it was a year ago.  Is this possible?
  6. I will not wear the only skirt I own on the windiest day in Denver ever again.  If I do, I’ll make a better choice of underwear.
  7. I do not like fish.  I’ve known this forever.  I should't agree to taste it at restaurants because inevitably I will embarrass my dinner guests by gagging. 
  8. As mentioned above, I’m working at breaking into the comedy business in one form or another.  I resolve NOT TO stand-up in front of a room full of other comedians again.  My ears are still ringing from the horrifying silence and worse, the periodic stifled moans as my voice crackled into the microphone.  Oh Dear God in Heaven...what a nightmare!
  9. No matter how many years of table manners we have attempted to instill in our boys, we will never take them anywhere other than our local Denny’s Diner.

Thank you, my dear friends and blog readers, who’ve continued reading my words throughout the years.  As of today, January 16, 2014, this will be my 525th blog.  Not counting the numbers from this post, I’ve had a little over 31,000 hits since late March 2009.  Since my early submissions were only on Facebook, I’m rather proud of these numbers.  Also, the countries listed below show my largest readership base:

United States, Russia, Germany, United Kingdom, Canada, Latvia, Australia, Malaysia, France, India

I can’t say what a thrill it is to know that strangers, not just my husband, find me somewhat quirky and interesting.  Your continued support has encouraged me to look within myself, be brutally honest, and finally accept who I am which seems to be so much more than a Rambling Lunatic Housewife.   Keep laughing my friends.  Life is too short for any other option.