American By Birth, Southern By the Grace of God

This weekend I went back home and partook in the festivities of the annual Olustee Battle Festival & Reenactment. As in a Civil War Reenactment. For those of you unfamiliar with the concept of a Civil War reenactment, go watch Sweet Home Alabama then come back and finish reading.

SO.

On Saturday my family and I went to the festival downtown. We clogged our arteries with Pulled Pork Sandwiches and Funnel Cakes, we watched the soldiers march down the parade route and we even went out to the battlefield to watch one of the reenactments. *

A little background on the Battle of Olustee: It was the largest Civil War battle fought on Florida soil and resulted in a major Confederate victory. This battle ended the Union invasion of Eastern Florida.

Y'all. I am a bonafied Daughter of the Confederacy. My grandfather's grandfather was a Confederate Captain. I'm a Daughter of the Confederacy and I'm damn proud of it.

What I am not, however, is a racist.

Apparently, the fact that I was at a reenactment of a battle that resulted in a Confederate victory and I was PROUD that it resulted in a Confederate victory makes me a racist.

I guess all of the black, Confederate reenactors are racist, too. I sure hope someone got them the memo.

So many people hear "Civil War" and think "Slavery". To fly the Confederate Battle Flag means you might as well be a member of the KKK.

REALLY?

Really?

Y'all, the Civil War was about states' rights. Slavery was but a small part of that equation. I have been to the north and lemme tell ya somethin- I have witnessed more racism and bigotry in the north than I EVER have down here. Sadly, racism is everywhere. And ironically, it's colorblind. It involves black people and white people and hispanic people and middle eastern people and all other kinds of peoples.

Yankees on their high horses go on and on about how awful us southerners are for being proud of our heritage, they say that we're MAD we lost the war and want slavery back. Most of our ancestors didn't own slaves.

Let me repeat that:

MOST OF OUR ANCESTORS DIDN'T OWN SLAVES.

I know my great-great granddaddy didn't. Prolly most of em didn't agree with slavery, either. They dang sure believed in the states' rights though. And that's why they fought.

Y'all ever heard of "Carpetbaggers"? No? Let me enlighten you: Carpetbaggers were Yankees who came down south during reconstruction and treated the southerners like trash.

Nothin' pisses me off more than hoity-toity Yankees (or anyone else for that matter) thinkin they're all that and a bag of Skittles because clearly WE (the southerners) are insensitive, racist bastards and they were just perfect lil angels. No, no, Yankees. Y'all were meany-heads too.

Y'all remember that little thing called the Revolutionary War? We got pissed at England and fought back. We won. We became a great nation. Do the British hate us? For the most part, no. They're among our strongest allies. Do we label Brits anti-American because of what their ancestors did? No. British soldiers fought for what they believed in just like American soldiers fought for what they believed in. The Civil War is no different. I bet the Brits are GLAD they lost- especially since it was their former territory that helped save their rear ends during WWII.

So I say all of THAT to say THIS: Just because I rooted on my boys in grey on Saturday don't mean I'm racist and I'm pissed off that we lost the war anymore than it means a Northerner who is proud they won the war is a Carpetbagger.

I am proud to be a southerner. I am proud of my heritage. I refuse to be ashamed of it. I am 110% against slavery, racism and anything else that resembles slavery and racism. We all have skeletons in our closet. The Yankees have the Carpetbaggers and we have Slavery. I know I joke about the "Yankee Varmints," but, I'm GLAD that the events happened in such a way as to unite our great country. I'm GLAD that I can hop a plane to Minnesota to see my BFF and my Twin and play in the snow (when they have it). And I know my BFF is happy to hop a plane to Florida and play in the warm water and bake at the beach.

Don't hate, y'all. Just... don't. Be proud to be American. Embrace ALL our history- even the ugly parts- because it helped make our country into the awesome piece of land it is today.

Et tu, Subconscious?

So two nights in a row I've had these long, vivid dreams. I don't know about y'all, but my dreams are always chopped up or don't follow along any sort of plot line. These dreams though, theeese were different. I can even remember thinking "Wow. This is a really long dream... and it makes sense. Freaky."

Saturday night I had a dream that certain people from a certain state that I frequent came to Florida to visit. A certain someone from that certain group of people from that certain state that I frequent was also here. That certain someone was dating their own certain someone. This whole dream sequence ends with me getting a kiss on the cheek, a smile and "I could get used to this." Then a REAL kiss that screamed "I love you. I've always loved you. I'm not going anywhere." *

* In my defense, I was reading City of Glass this weekend (It's part of The Mortal Instruments series, by Cassandra Clare. Read it. Better n' Twilight. Promise.) Anywho, in this particular part of the book, Clary and Jace were tortured because they loved each other and couldn't be together. I'd like to think that was a major contributing factor to the dream. I'd like to THINK that, but it's probably not true.

So I woke up yesterday morning feeling rested, peaceful and happy (since my dream had been so peaceful and happy). Then I realized it was a dream. Then I was sad. Then I did the whole pissed n' bitter thing again and cussed the bejezus outta my subconcious.

Then I went to church. Cause cussin' is wrong. Even if it's your own subconcious.

This brings me to last night: I watched the Super Bowl.*

*Madonna SERIOUSLY looked like She-Ra when she first came on stage, y'all. SHE-RA.

I ironed. I finished my book and started another one. I texted my BFF.

And then I found out that the certain someone from my dream the previous night wanted to bring his new girlfriend and her little girl to an upcoming birthday party. Ugh. Can I NOT escape all of this? (At least my BFF has my back. She's in charge of the shindig and assured me I would be rep-rah-zent-ed. *fist bump*)

I mulled all this over while I read and showered and did my end of the night stuff. I took my sleeping meds, but they didn't work. The only time THAT happens is when Gerty's acting up. So, a special shout out to Gerty for NOT HELPING MY ISSUES AT ALL, you hag!

I didn't fall asleep until past midnight.

Then my subconscious sucker punched me AGAIN.

It graced me with another long and vivid dream. Wait. Did I say dream? I meant nightmare. And yes, I'm going to bore you with it. Because I hate symbolism and I'm sick of this BS so I want someone else's opinion on WTF my subconscious has against me.

In this dream I was going out to help some scientists research this fault line in the ocean. The water was just pouring into it. It looked really cool actually. So we do our research and go back to the beach house.

I feel it important to note that there was no one in this dream that I knew. Just me and a bunch of faceless scientists.

So we're at the house and I look out the back window (which, incidentally is the back wall. The entire wall is glass) and I see this tsunami coming at us. I distinctly remember thinking "Well, you're researching a fault line just offshore, of course there's going to be a tsunami. Wow. That thing's gotta be 100ft high!") The guy that owns the house tells us not to panic, we're high enough that the water will miss us and the pillars of the house are embedded into the bedrock, so just hold on- the house was tsunami-proof. Sure enough, I feel the impact of the wave and see things underneath us wash out, but we're okay.

WHEW, right?

No.

No sooner did that wave pass then I look out and see another one coming for us. And another impact. And another impact. (Interestingly enough, all of the waves were the EXACT same height and looked EXACTLY the same. I even remember that the water was dark blue as it was coming at us) After about 3 or 4 waves the guy says "Ok, well the house wasn't built to withstand THIS much action, so we need to evacuate onto the boat"*

*Apparently, while my subconscious had no problems torturing me, it couldn't seem to come up with a plausible explanation as to WHY the boat was still there after 4 tsunamis. Whatevs, Subconscious. Whatevs.

So now we're on the boat. And the waves keep a comin'... and the boat keeps a rockin'. Cause we can't go anywhere. We're stuck. Something's wrong with the motor. So even though we aren't in the house anymore, we're still sitting ducks.

I was never really terrified. Just... TIRED. Instead of thinking "OMG! I'm gonna DIE!" I was thinking "Son of a... can't SOMEONE drop a nuke in that fault line and stop these gotdang tsunamis? I'm TIRED!"

The last wave was the worst, though, it actually completely rolled the boat. I DO remember thinking "Ok. Wow. Well, this one is gonna finish us off."

And then my alarm went off.

So I turned off the alarm AND WENT RIGHT BACK INTO THE DREAM WHERE I LEFT OFF.

That never happens. Once you wake up from a dream, you're up.*

*Or so I thought

Apparently Subconscious wasn't quite done torturing me.

So I go back into the dream*

*and remember thinking IN THE DREAM "Wow... this is a long snooze button. Shouldn't it be going off soon?"

and SOMEHOW that wave DIDN'T kill me. I was given an option: Stick around and figure out the cause of all the waves, or evacuate. I distinctly remember thinking "Nuh-uh. I know what caused all this to happen. I wanna go HOME!"

Then CJ, bless her, came in and woke me up. The reason I heard no snooze button, apparently, was I turned the dang alarm OFF. Thank the Maker I had only slept an extra 7 minutes past when I HAD to be up.

I felt like DEATH, y'all. Felt like I had LITERALLY stood on the shores and battled tsunami, after tsunami, after tsunami.

So I did what any reasonable person would do. I got to work and Googled the shiznit outta "Tsunami Dreams." Here's the jist of what I came up with:

Water in dreams symbolizes emotions. Tsunamis represent repressed emotions which can no longer be held back, or an emotional situation which is about to burst into the waking world. The fact that I kept facing the tsunami over and over again indicates a way of dealing with whatever emotions it represents. (So either the emotions keep coming back or Ima stand there like the stubborn witch I am till they go away. Prolly both.) Apparently the height of the wave symbolizes the size of the problems or emotions (lil’ wave=lil problem etc). I guess a 100ft wave is nothing to sneeze at, but it’s not like it’s 2012 or The Day After Tomorrow sized, ya know? So it’s a problem that needs to be handled, but isn’t catastrophic.

*My* guess is being upset about that certain someone yesterday and last night contributed. The anger and irritation keep coming up over and over again, so I keep facing it over and over again (like the wave). I’m not sure if the wave means that I’ve been dealing with it for a long time or I’m GOING to be dealing with it for a long time. Either way. Clearly, it’s bugging me.

Another hypothesis (offered up by a dear friend) was that the height of the waves indicated the height of my emotional investment. I know I'm strong, so I face them. But I also know that by doing so, I'm going to get banged up pretty bad. I know I have to go through it though, so I stand alone and face it (which explains why I was the only one I knew in the dream).

I'd like to think that means I'm kinda bad ass. Messed up in the head, sure. But kinda bad ass. I didn't run from it, at least. I faced it down. Over and over and over again.

I welcome anyone's thoughts on this. I'm tired of mine. I've tried being logical, reasonable, negotiable... but my subconscious just won't let go. And I don't know how to make it.

Bitter? Table for One?

Sometimes I hate being an only child.

Wait. Scratch that.

Sometimes I hate being spoiled.

Well... No. Scratch that too.

I really freakin' hate that even though I know I don't REALLY want something, I don't want anyone else to have it either.

There. That's better. I can admit it. That's the first step, right?

It's just that it's so dang frustrating when I can identify the problem, I know that it's not REALLY a problem- that I'm just being bitter and *thunk* I really shouldn't be bitter in the first place, so WTF, Mandy?!?

I don't like being bitter. It's not very becoming.

I ESPECIALLY don't like being bitter when I have absolutely no reason to be. And when my "reason" is irrational, oh OH how pissed I get.

So now I'm bitter and pissed. And I'm pissed that I'm bitter. Awesome. It's like the damn Circle of (F'd up) Life.

What am I bitter about, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. (Picture me with my head hung low in shame and embarrassment while I admit this, k? Thanks.)

I'm bitter because Twatwaffle is "in a relationship".

Yep. *smack* I know. I coulda had a V-8.

Nevermind the fact that I, too am in a relationship. A committed one. That I have no desire to get out of. With a man I've loved for many years, gone to hell and back with and had a child with. NEVERMIND the fact that Twatwaffle's record for longest running "relationship" is about, oh, a month? (<-- it ain't bitterness if it's true, y'all) NEVERMIND the fact that I DON'T EVEN FREAKING WANT TO BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH TWATWAFFLE.

I just don't want anyone else to be in one with him either. *pout*

Seriously. WTF? In what UNIVERSE does that make sense?

I feel like Emeril Lagasse on a bad trip: one part logic, one part common sense, mix in some faith and *BAM* irrational emotions! Say wha..? No, Emeril, that recipe doesn't sound right. A little less heroin and a little more garlic next time, ok buddy?

I've done everything I know to do (in no particular order):

- Counted my blessings

- Counted my money

- Counted my shoes

- Counted my Skymiles

I've made all the excuses:

"Not like anything was gonna happen anyways."

"He's a jerk, remember?"

"Uh... he's an inconsiderate, immature, brat."

"Probably the only reason he even came into your life was so you could meet your awesome Twin."

It ain't workin, y'all.

What more do I want? It's like I'm 4 and my cousin came over to play Barbies with me. She reaches for the Barbie that I haven't played with in months and was my least favorite Barbie to begin with, but as soooooon as she touches it... "That's MY Barbie, give it back! You can't have it." And it becomes the extra Barbie in the Ferrari that I crammed in between Skipper and that Hawaiian lookin' chick because she's NECESSARY to the pool party I'm planning so NO you can't have her back even if all she's doing is sitting there.

Know the sad part? (Besides that crappy analogy) I wasn't like that when I was a kid. I never had a problem sharing. I was always the generous one who said "Oh I haven't played with that Barbie in AGES, you can even take her home with you!" This is a recent development. Well, as recent as adulthood. We'll call it early 20s.

So I can't blame this on being an only child.

I can't blame it on "the one that got away" (Thanks, Katy Perry) I never "had it" in the first place.

I can't find anything to blame this feeling on except unsound logic! Which brings me back to being bitter and pissed and pissed that I'm bitter.

Ugh. This whole post made no sense. And I'm still bitter. And pissed.

Help? Anyone? Words of wisdom?