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Sam in Mississippi
My blog helped me get fired.
I've vowed to never, ever work for a family business again. Of course, unless it's the Mafia. Then, at least, you know it's coming.
In My Parlor
This article comes to you sponsored by plain M&M's, several 20 ounce Cokes, and a large bag of Cheddar Cheese Pretzel Combos. How do you introduce yourself to the Internet? With a blog, you take it slow, revealing facts and quirks as you go, a very prolonged, wordy strip tease. You hestitate to post a picture, fearing that your high school best friend with recognize you and your deplorable liberal mindset. You drop the phrase "drive through, get a Coke," and another Waiting for Guffman fan recognizes it, sending you an e-mail or comment, and the connection is made. Being anonymous is the way many people go, but for those of us with rather big mouths, it's terribly difficult. I go by my real name, Samantha, and I live in a college town in Mississippi. I'm from a small town, but I grew up on Army bases in the South and in Germany. I have a very patient and loving Fiancé, which is what I call him here -- The Fiancé.
We have a furry black dog, named Velcro, an expert escape artist and barking specialist. We are very involved in a loving, funny Methodist congregation. Of course, living in the Bible Belt, we're far from an anomaly, but I find that I'm a bit of odd-woman-out in the blogosphere. Most Christian apologetic blogs leave me bored, so I don't frequent them. Maybe I just haven't found the right ones, but I'd rather read uplifting stories from real life people of all faiths than arguments or prove how well I know the Scriptures. (Quick, who was the fourth person in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendago?) I've got a real-life, longtime best friend with her own blog. I graduated from college three years ago, with a degree in vocal performance, a minor in religion. I read incessantly, and have defined luxury as being able to buy as many books as I could want in a single trip to the bookstore. I haven't achieved that level of luxury yet. I watch too much TV, adore Tori Amos and Joni Mitchell, harbor dreams of being a stay-at-home mom and writer, of going back to school for my master's, and of one day finally doing all of my laundry.
Beginning a blog is like falling in love. I woke up early to write, became obsessed with securing a digital camera, and talked about other bloggers like friends. I collected funny stories and kept a notebook in my car to write down any ideas that came to me as I sat at red lights. A few real-life friends knew about it, and I took great pleasure by introducing them to interesting, funny writers on the Web. My pastor even read it. I've never been interested in political blogs, but I watched with great satisfaction the impact they had during the election. I found sympathetic political ears through blogs, since most of my real-life friends are of a different political persuasion than I. I even traded a few e-mails with one of my personal saints, Anne Lamott, when I handwrote some pro-Kerry letters to women in the big electoral states. Now that I've had some communication with her AND the amazing Madeleine L'Engle, I can die reasonably happy.
Like other unfortunate souls, my blog helped me get fired. In October 2004, I woke up one morning to find an angry comment/e-mail from a coworker, accusing me of being an alcoholic. She'd brought some of our personal office difficulties and the deterioration of our friendship and balled it up into a passive-aggressive rant. It was devastating to have someone come to a place I felt was sacred and smash their dirty china in my parlor. I was dismayed to have nothing to stand upon, since that coworker was the daughter of my boss. The following Monday I was unceremoniously fired, with no explanations, with many words unsaid. After that, I dismantled littlesambook, which made me feel like my heart was being torn apart. I felt like I was ripping up something so precious yet so irretrievably damaged. I began again, otherwise they would have had one more victory notch on their belts. I refused to give up something that gave me so much life, my sidewalk back to creativity. I've dealt with paranoia and extreme fear, but I find it's very hard to hide on the Internet. I've decided to treat it as a life lesson and have vowed to never, ever work for a family business again. Of course, unless it's the Mafia. Then, at least, you know it's coming. I chose the name "sunday school rebel" because it sounded cool and because I never seem to make it to Sunday school.
I'm just another twenty-something, trying to construct a meaningful life.
http://www.sundayschoolrebel.typepad.com
Here's something you might be interested in.
Sam in Mississippi
My blog helped me get fired.
Sam in Mississippi
My blog helped me get fired.
I've vowed to never, ever work for a family business again. Of course, unless it's the Mafia. Then, at least, you know it's coming.
In My Parlor
This article comes to you sponsored by plain M&M's, several 20 ounce Cokes, and a large bag of Cheddar Cheese Pretzel Combos. How do you introduce yourself to the Internet? With a blog, you take it slow, revealing facts and quirks as you go, a very prolonged, wordy strip tease. You hestitate to post a picture, fearing that your high school best friend with recognize you and your deplorable liberal mindset. You drop the phrase "drive through, get a Coke," and another Waiting for Guffman fan recognizes it, sending you an e-mail or comment, and the connection is made. Being anonymous is the way many people go, but for those of us with rather big mouths, it's terribly difficult. I go by my real name, Samantha, and I live in a college town in Mississippi. I'm from a small town, but I grew up on Army bases in the South and in Germany. I have a very patient and loving Fiancé, which is what I call him here -- The Fiancé.
We have a furry black dog, named Velcro, an expert escape artist and barking specialist. We are very involved in a loving, funny Methodist congregation. Of course, living in the Bible Belt, we're far from an anomaly, but I find that I'm a bit of odd-woman-out in the blogosphere. Most Christian apologetic blogs leave me bored, so I don't frequent them. Maybe I just haven't found the right ones, but I'd rather read uplifting stories from real life people of all faiths than arguments or prove how well I know the Scriptures. (Quick, who was the fourth person in the fire with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abendago?) I've got a real-life, longtime best friend with her own blog. I graduated from college three years ago, with a degree in vocal performance, a minor in religion. I read incessantly, and have defined luxury as being able to buy as many books as I could want in a single trip to the bookstore. I haven't achieved that level of luxury yet. I watch too much TV, adore Tori Amos and Joni Mitchell, harbor dreams of being a stay-at-home mom and writer, of going back to school for my master's, and of one day finally doing all of my laundry.
Beginning a blog is like falling in love. I woke up early to write, became obsessed with securing a digital camera, and talked about other bloggers like friends. I collected funny stories and kept a notebook in my car to write down any ideas that came to me as I sat at red lights. A few real-life friends knew about it, and I took great pleasure by introducing them to interesting, funny writers on the Web. My pastor even read it. I've never been interested in political blogs, but I watched with great satisfaction the impact they had during the election. I found sympathetic political ears through blogs, since most of my real-life friends are of a different political persuasion than I. I even traded a few e-mails with one of my personal saints, Anne Lamott, when I handwrote some pro-Kerry letters to women in the big electoral states. Now that I've had some communication with her AND the amazing Madeleine L'Engle, I can die reasonably happy.
Like other unfortunate souls, my blog helped me get fired. In October 2004, I woke up one morning to find an angry comment/e-mail from a coworker, accusing me of being an alcoholic. She'd brought some of our personal office difficulties and the deterioration of our friendship and balled it up into a passive-aggressive rant. It was devastating to have someone come to a place I felt was sacred and smash their dirty china in my parlor. I was dismayed to have nothing to stand upon, since that coworker was the daughter of my boss. The following Monday I was unceremoniously fired, with no explanations, with many words unsaid. After that, I dismantled littlesambook, which made me feel like my heart was being torn apart. I felt like I was ripping up something so precious yet so irretrievably damaged. I began again, otherwise they would have had one more victory notch on their belts. I refused to give up something that gave me so much life, my sidewalk back to creativity. I've dealt with paranoia and extreme fear, but I find it's very hard to hide on the Internet. I've decided to treat it as a life lesson and have vowed to never, ever work for a family business again. Of course, unless it's the Mafia. Then, at least, you know it's coming. I chose the name "sunday school rebel" because it sounded cool and because I never seem to make it to Sunday school.
I'm just another twenty-something, trying to construct a meaningful life.
http://www.sundayschoolrebel.typepad.com
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