tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54459286965467621722024-03-14T02:48:58.720-05:00Stacy Says ItThe unedited and unapologetic stream of thoughts on all things important from parenting and penny pinching to podcasting about people from the 'hood. While societal norms keep most tight-lipped on their own ideas, opinions, and mistakes, Stacy Snyder brings you straight talk with ParentUnplugged, I Am Your Neighbor, Living Large, and Y'all Are Gay?Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-51083757658743357612021-11-02T14:19:00.005-05:002021-11-03T10:03:53.123-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 10 - Mimi Marks<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Glqrfay6nxE" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQgk7GfIgqwWWNdvOFmXSai8S_xtTCFbWutxVHKCw5Wmva0Kd1T5CcE9HRSPRYwyDwRMOIMgP9oVpzWxRD0-OAD7tfP0BnYumA8iTnOaBtjBnQIR4TCLYzvXKvlULMpceSYHwZsB0Kapw/s300/6a00e554550884883301bb08b63a4e970d-800wi.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="214" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiQgk7GfIgqwWWNdvOFmXSai8S_xtTCFbWutxVHKCw5Wmva0Kd1T5CcE9HRSPRYwyDwRMOIMgP9oVpzWxRD0-OAD7tfP0BnYumA8iTnOaBtjBnQIR4TCLYzvXKvlULMpceSYHwZsB0Kapw/s0/6a00e554550884883301bb08b63a4e970d-800wi.png" width="214" /></a></div>Twenty-some years ago I began frequenting <a href="http://www.thebatonshowlounge.com">The Baton Show Lounge</a> in River North with a group of gay women from <a href="http://theclosetchicago.com">The Closet</a>, my local lesbian watering hole located in the heart of Boystown in Chicago. I'd spent my early 20's hanging out in drag bars in Indianapolis, where I eventually forged friendships with many of the girls who performed there, so it was a natural step for me to keep that up once I moved to Chicago.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't know if it was the drama of the costumes, makeup, numbers, or the attraction to the performers themselves that initially drew me to the scene, but I know that I kept coming back because I felt comfortable there, among the various stages of transformation and expressions that butted against cultural norms. I felt a sense of belonging and safety with these humans, despite not sharing the actual trans experience with them, as I had always worn the cloak of normalcy over my bohemian spirit, while living amongst a world of the Jones'.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-6ydiXnWBuYoWwD_7fXEq_l9DlH0cZufNGv7XfONOiJj5CLl5PZWPCej1-HQVHFq2CPDOSgvAi0QW46vJZ-GCBHFfIEatULqHS-IvqTIkJLgAHLrDM6M3cM5R7PR4_5X4pjycFeI_HKh/s419/bt_110803_mimi_halbaim.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Mimi Marks - StacySaysIt - I Am Your Neighbor" border="0" data-original-height="419" data-original-width="282" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju-6ydiXnWBuYoWwD_7fXEq_l9DlH0cZufNGv7XfONOiJj5CLl5PZWPCej1-HQVHFq2CPDOSgvAi0QW46vJZ-GCBHFfIEatULqHS-IvqTIkJLgAHLrDM6M3cM5R7PR4_5X4pjycFeI_HKh/w214-h320/bt_110803_mimi_halbaim.jpg" title="Mimi Marks - StacySaysIt - I Am Your Neighbor" width="214" /></a></div></div><div>It made perfect sense to me that I ended up in a long-term relationship with a woman who also loved the women of drag, and she introduced me to the iconic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mimi_Marks">Mimi Marks</a>, whom I befriended immediately. Our friendship has endured our combined myriad of life stages, and she is a constant presence in my family.</div><div><br /></div><div>Her unique story of living her own truth is one I envisioned sharing when I was trying to conceptualize the idea of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/iamyourneighbor">I Am Your Neighbor</a> years ago. A beautiful full life circle appears complete as I present her interview to you as my final show. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've enjoyed sharing with you my own wonder over the extraordinary ways people live their lives so authentically. Both the enthusiasm and unshrinkingly candid way my guests have conveyed both their ideas and lives is infectious; I promise to carry on the torch for each of them in doing the same with my own. Thank you for your support over the years. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am Stacy Snyder. I Am Your Neighbor.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><br /></div></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798213.567879763821153 -122.7860482 70.188347436178844 -52.473548199999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-35858874147952938702021-06-21T21:13:00.010-05:002023-10-18T19:43:58.615-05:00The Last Time<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfg95qH4tQFOFvqaddB8TMi4XOWe2ndpCSy-jQkyyUbyQ0pIROPr_4V3TK5qGgr4s9KWBacZARxg_SrmqZ2x3dhPBh45ZuHih-4-BZWVHK5TkeLGXtC1EXPYGFt7bS0UFLDr5mx373X8O/s1350/photo-1582537343006-b58e8514af65.webp" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><img alt="StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder - The Last Time" border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1350" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfg95qH4tQFOFvqaddB8TMi4XOWe2ndpCSy-jQkyyUbyQ0pIROPr_4V3TK5qGgr4s9KWBacZARxg_SrmqZ2x3dhPBh45ZuHih-4-BZWVHK5TkeLGXtC1EXPYGFt7bS0UFLDr5mx373X8O/w320-h213/photo-1582537343006-b58e8514af65.webp" title="StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder - The Last Time" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I washed the familiar smell of him off my neck and shoulders for the last time this morning. It pained me to think of his lips working their way down my body as his scruff implanted its scent into my skin. It was less than a day ago - just a few hours really - that marked the last kiss I’d share with him.<br /></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">I think I knew it at the time, even though we were passionately making out and he was teasing me to the point of craze before abruptly stopping to say “Later,” that it would be the last time I’d touch him.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">The last time to feel his embrace, the last time to look him in the eye, wondering what he saw when he looked back, and the last time to wonder where this relationship was ultimately leading.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve had a lot of last times this last few years. Each time I learn a little bit more about men, about women, about the world, and most importantly, about myself.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">The excitement of dating again after my almost 20-year marriage ended, now has become a little commonplace. Having made the acquaintance of upwards of 150 people in the last few years through text, call, meeting, or dating, I saw my initial hope for sparks and mystery quickly morph into desire for realness, then the want of conscious living within diversity, and finally the NEED for emotional intelligence in another human. </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">He embodied most all of that laundry list, yet came with a cigarette addiction, a snore that could wake the gods, and a geographical distance of 188 miles. While any one of those things could have been a dealbreaker, I stretched myself wide open to the possibility. What started as just a physical attraction transformed into thorough enjoyment of company, mutual admiration, dual personal growth, and respect for one another in just a few short months.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">For the first time since the breakup of my marriage I could finally see myself trusting another human being enough to want another potential partner in life, instead of just a date, a casual fling, or a fun person with which to hang out. I thought it could be with him. We both moved mountains to see one another every few weekends, despite the distance and different lifestyles and commitments and priorities.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Long distance relationships come with issues, such as the pressure to enjoy every minute you have with one another, as the time spent together is far and few between. Our 5th weekend together came with stress….a storm that cast a fallen tree on the roof of his house, his house that needed prepped for a Father’s Day celebration, a first meeting with his family, and my own get-together with my father. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">While none of those things got in the way, a few lifestyle habits of drinking and sleep schedules reared their ugly heads of difference and caused me much distress. My hot buttons got stimulated and I ran and terminated, despite the potential of working through the issues.</span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial;">I know it’s the right decision, despite my sadness. The last time hurts. It pushes feelings to the surface. It prompts internal conversation. It makes me doubt my choices and reconfirm my values. It also makes me recognize that I’m a human in constant growth and that ends are necessary in order to have new beginnings. I miss him already. But I would miss myself more if I compromised my needs</span><span style="font-family: arial;">.</span></span></p><p></p><p></p>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.6297982-25.85478916183208 131.74520180000002 90 52.995201800000004tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-173086728429885842021-06-09T11:05:00.001-05:002021-06-09T11:06:24.150-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 9 - JBird Art<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/ZNQrMG53swU" style="background-image: url(https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ZNQrMG53swU/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbirdsterling/">Jay Sterling</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbirdsterling/">Jason Sterling</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbirdsterling/">JBird</a>...they all lead back to the same talented soul that has been decorating the streets of Milwaukee with his art and murals for 40 years, both individually and in tandem with other artists. Jay was lucky to get his start as a youngster helping established local artist <a href="https://mkemuralmap.com/reynaldo-hernandez/">Reynaldo Hernandez</a>, learning the depth and creativity of mural painting. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-HJj08cYhQH-cGTwioQkL0aZDMfa3fKWcSSfHPsxRmH4ilnteqLHVKRMAl8KyfUx2po41i7FK4qwOn_aM2W5dOHf6L_MKegFL7zS4RCjlI3UUzynI0h2Z3SUXmUVsebWJkAS0IIwcNgY/s932/514bc9a4-mural1.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="932" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI-HJj08cYhQH-cGTwioQkL0aZDMfa3fKWcSSfHPsxRmH4ilnteqLHVKRMAl8KyfUx2po41i7FK4qwOn_aM2W5dOHf6L_MKegFL7zS4RCjlI3UUzynI0h2Z3SUXmUVsebWJkAS0IIwcNgY/w320-h180/514bc9a4-mural1.jpeg" title="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">He's supported himself through art ever since, sometimes in corporate endeavors, but more often than not, as a working street artist. Jay's passion for creativity bleeds into humanity, as he seems not to know a stranger in Milwaukee. It makes sense, as he's partnered with small business owners, artists, and youth, to promote commerce, community, and mental health with his work.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69EEl87ETkhGK28GIb5uSMHIAPdBi5XwBomFOsZOk1Lb8ovRkMBFXZ2wzHIXuljnTv0yjzA7wFjN4cK51DsRSg9RT_oH-IwdvD3Wn6C_QlpW0vJjjLGZzB1UmdzP4fbPib_onxb2D2Uf0/s300/alanon.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img alt="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69EEl87ETkhGK28GIb5uSMHIAPdBi5XwBomFOsZOk1Lb8ovRkMBFXZ2wzHIXuljnTv0yjzA7wFjN4cK51DsRSg9RT_oH-IwdvD3Wn6C_QlpW0vJjjLGZzB1UmdzP4fbPib_onxb2D2Uf0/w320-h179/alanon.jpeg" title="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0nTyIBnGsh49J5J05-txDv1BUXYH8khWlyrMYtMygObXX-6_ddYQWSd4sV5eyj9EUa2QzerRNgQPY_r0kk9MZoD5I-6wUxnv1Jw5odLpsfQ80PcC4OSSgD_thhRpXswz2cfTi9O5CFSu/s2048/IMG_1282.png" style="clear: left; display: inline; float: left; font-size: large; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm0nTyIBnGsh49J5J05-txDv1BUXYH8khWlyrMYtMygObXX-6_ddYQWSd4sV5eyj9EUa2QzerRNgQPY_r0kk9MZoD5I-6wUxnv1Jw5odLpsfQ80PcC4OSSgD_thhRpXswz2cfTi9O5CFSu/w150-h200/IMG_1282.png" title="I Am Your Neighbor - JBird Art - Stacy Snyder" width="150" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">In addition to showing us his mural depicting the 12 steps of AA in the meeting room at the <a href="https://www.mkealanoclub.org/what-we-do">MKE Alano Club</a>, </span><span style="font-size: large;">Jay </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">took us around the city and showed us his wares on storefronts, buildings, and even on bottles! </span><span style="font-size: large;">The coolest thing about Jay is that his art depicts what's in his mind. He thinks in the same way that he draws and paints and curates, which makes for a super unique human. Check out his story in <a href="https://www.stacysaysit.com/2021/06/i-am-your-neighbor-episode-9-jbird-art.html">I Am Your Neighbor Episode 9 - JBird Art</a> and view his collection on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/jbirdsterling/">Instagram</a>.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798213.567879763821153 -122.7860482 70.188347436178844 -52.473548199999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-90514582205971956422021-03-11T16:11:00.003-06:002021-03-11T16:24:37.442-06:00Get Back To Class<p><span style="font-size: medium;">As I read through the email from my daughter's calculus teacher, alerting us that our teen didn't seem to be present during her 7th period calculus class each day, despite being physically logged in to the online class, as she has been each day for the full year of classes, I couldn't help but recalling the old-school riposte of No Shit Sherlock! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1cruzxL61H_cFnr-nphZXkkeoxBDjXNZK_sEZEWqx8vuuswsw4cpJo_3tZAmI1ZTgKZtWAMOgpu6Dr4o9-Pf1KMEK6qD5UHvuc3Na9yZbFxzqmvKmYmMcVWNQb_tRxMSWqS4b2QYWC1i/s1200/1060844-my-so-called-life-1994.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Stacy Snyder - Get Back To Class" border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1cruzxL61H_cFnr-nphZXkkeoxBDjXNZK_sEZEWqx8vuuswsw4cpJo_3tZAmI1ZTgKZtWAMOgpu6Dr4o9-Pf1KMEK6qD5UHvuc3Na9yZbFxzqmvKmYmMcVWNQb_tRxMSWqS4b2QYWC1i/w320-h180/1060844-my-so-called-life-1994.jpg" title="Stacy Snyder - Get Back to Class" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><span style="font-size: medium;">Nearing the end of her 3rd quarter as a senior in high school, she has yet to step foot into the classroom, not whispered about the cute new kid in class, nor complained about the crappy food in the cafeteria. She has not attended a club meeting, decided whether to go to a sporting event, nor hit up the local coffee shop on the way home from school. There's no senior memories, camaraderie or competition. She's plum out of motivation and I'm proud of her for sticking it out as well as she has.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I sent my youngest off to school today after 1 full year at home. While I was so stoked for her to have social interaction and eye contact and live instruction, I couldn't help but worry about my eldest, who will not be returning to school this year at all, despite being in the same school district as her little sister. Not only will she miss out on the in-person interactivity, learning, and stimulation, but she has also lost her ONLY touchable interplay during the school day, her younger sister.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">It's been a rough year for everyone, yet most detrimental to my eldest daughter in our household, not necessarily because she's been hit harder by it, but because she's of an age, 17, where she's supposed to be out there with her ride-or-die friends, annoying classmates, pain-in-the ass-teachers, random people she's never met but may, and adversaries, figuring shit out and trying to make sense of the world. Instead of "coming of age" in color, she's doing it in black and white at home by herself; it sucks. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">But she's freakin' doing it. She's getting the school work done, living a colorful life at work by getting the socialization she needs, and pushing her family to see and hear her. Bit by bit, she's teaching herself how to work the system, when to stretch the boundaries and how far she can actually roam before upsetting the apple cart of life. She's learning how to advocate for herself, push her agenda, and make herself known. She's discovered that her presence matters; she's part of the world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">We see you girl! We're overjoyed with your growth. Your teacher sees you and is throwing out a life preserver. The world sees you too and it wants you to live. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now get back to class!</span></p>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798213.567879763821153 -122.7860482 70.188347436178844 -52.473548199999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-76297754017686310022020-11-14T12:23:00.020-06:002020-11-17T16:55:36.448-06:00Are We Having Fun Yet?<p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_fm0Ielk9Xffv6ztsuUDm5MgxHPilm_QV0aFNluvu4pikVv-ldG_Y1saVFC7uAbav2EdDr-esrn863GZatibKVjsssni3xNpWg0q5MvNxdvvycUFSKk09ZVTzNfXyLDE3_dQQFICMTuO/s1280/IMG_1022.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM_fm0Ielk9Xffv6ztsuUDm5MgxHPilm_QV0aFNluvu4pikVv-ldG_Y1saVFC7uAbav2EdDr-esrn863GZatibKVjsssni3xNpWg0q5MvNxdvvycUFSKk09ZVTzNfXyLDE3_dQQFICMTuO/s320/IMG_1022.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;">Every evening after checking in with my girls on their remote study days, one of them usually asks how my day at work went.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“It was busy and I got a lot done,” I told Maddy, my 12-year old, when she asked last night while we were at dinner.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">“Did you have fun?” she asked, “and did you play on the rolling ladder?”</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I had to smile as my industrial design office sports a huge floor-to-ceiling rolling ladder across one full wall, used to post drawings, designs, and ideas on the felt surface to keep us all motivated and on track. When Maddy comes to the office with me on the weekends when I have to finish up work, she climbs the ladder and asks me to push her back and forth across the floor for a ride. It’s her favorite thing at my office, next to the killer sound system that blares out music from her iPhone to any room in the office with the click of a button. She is free and happy on that ladder and having fun.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">No, I didn’t play on the ladder. But I do have fun at my job most days. I feel fulfilled with my work and contributions, I enjoy my co-workers and usually find a way to bust a laugh or two during the day with at least of few of them, and I respect my boss and his mission for the company.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Frankly, I’ve been struggling to have fun when not at work. Some of the things I used to do for sheer pleasure - playing volleyball, making music playlists, hanging out with my kids without agenda, writing, socializing with friends, producing a YouTube show, and dating, have all been turned on their end and I’m hustling to make appropriate adjustments. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m so busy focusing on filling the empty time I now have at home without plans, games, dates, and interview schedules, that I’m not enjoying the things I could still be rocking: writing, making playlists, chilling with my girls, and taking time to just be.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />
In my rush to try and replicate what always has been, my busy life, I have inadvertently made it even busier than usual. I have a hard time slowing myself down, and usually the universe and/or higher power remind me somewhat roughly, that it’s time to slow down. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Two weeks ago it was a 3-day migraine that forced to take time off and work from home. Last week it was a twisted ankle that forced me to take time off of both work and physical activity, which led to taking time off of socializing. What will it be this week? </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I’m hoping nothing, as the less-than-gentle reminders have me putting my life in focus, at least for the moment. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Having time to think and pay attention to those things around me - my home, kids, friends and self - I’ve realized that I’ve been ignoring them all in my wind tunnel of activity. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I had not been guiding my youngest in her technology usage, her navigating relationships within groups, nor tracking her physical whereabouts throughout the day when I was at work. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I had not noticed that my eldest was worried about her job at a restaurant that may soon shut down, which has become her entire social lifeline in the last few months. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">I’d been neglecting myself in regards to healthy eating, necessary downtime, and creative outlets. What I was putting out into the universe came back to me tenfold in the form of potential dates that were treating me with the same disregard. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2436" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLf8N86cpbpkVno57cU2fIWzpk5fvynsjujPxXnLzLVRqNhi1MWf6MgaGEhKCsecWbQ7hHBrMPXdahWbWdCuWYJcGuKJNf_edXFHhH-SfyFCGp5xG_2TuPwntARq8sl9UHQ96U1f0jBB81/s320/IMG_0844.jpeg" /></span>This past week I chose to consciously focus on my kids and make time to do what they consider fun. The rewards of that decision have slayed me. The conversations that come about when playing cards, walking the dog, making dinner together, and hanging out with my older daughter’s boyfriend with her, are fun, even though the topics are sometimes not so light. The sharing of school projects and college essays without critique lended creativity and sparked conversation on concepts and ideas. The pointed conversations about politics and national healing allowed us to recognize our humanity. The carefree movie-watching allowed us to simply exist in harmony. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />The change bled into my personal life as well. The phone calls I’m having with my friends and family when I set the phone, remote, and laptop down to really listen to what’s being said to me so that I can respond with intention, are fun. Allowing myself time to consider the type of humans I want to incorporate into my dating life and then only focusing energy on those individuals, no matter how rare their existence in the world, is fun (and I can’t help but add empowering). Lounging in the hanging chair reading a book and sipping tea or wine while watching the leaves fall from the top of the trees outside of my 3rd floor window is fun. Writing is fun.</span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Thank you world for yanking me off of my hamster wheel and allowing me to focus on the beauty around me that I call fun! Are you there yet?</span></p></div>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-33728641811046544462020-05-11T21:00:00.000-05:002020-05-12T15:28:43.799-05:00Ain't Nobody Got Time for That<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>I can't imagine how I ended up reading this old blog post during this pandemic, when I have all but taken myself off of social media for just the reasons listed below, but here we are. I don't remember writing this, but I am super familiar with having these thoughts every day of my social media-based life! Whatever you do, you MUST watch Sweet Brown video! I recently handled down my coveted "Ain't Nobody Got Time For That" T-Shirt to my eldest. Enjoy!</i><br />
<br />
<i>Reposted form April 6, 2013</i><br />
<br />
Everyone needs an outlet for their frustration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While some find it in healthy avenues like exercise
or sport, venting to friends, family, therapists, or strangers, or purging their belongings, others tend to cleanse their angst in negative
ways, such as taking it out on the bottle or in drugs, or by over- or under-eating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Some </span>folks neutrally address their irritation by writing hateful letters or emails that they never send, or expell their aggravation via creativity, be it art, song, dance or what have you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwjkfxn9jnLBFZ3pK6W2Ky8CR2pDgPdbIwBWXNYabSmESWMGHLdbSinognEc2tUvwVLK4gqy0PkchVp-CmSOMF1e-i2SUeGZI2ftUnnSYXPo91tTJ4I4E-yi5dH0Jgx4OxKTjPPR3XsCp/s1600/The+Whiners.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwjkfxn9jnLBFZ3pK6W2Ky8CR2pDgPdbIwBWXNYabSmESWMGHLdbSinognEc2tUvwVLK4gqy0PkchVp-CmSOMF1e-i2SUeGZI2ftUnnSYXPo91tTJ4I4E-yi5dH0Jgx4OxKTjPPR3XsCp/s320/The+Whiners.jpg" width="320" /></a>And then there’s the Facebook
folks.</div>
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You know who you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’re the Wendy Whiners of the social media age.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anything that could go wrong or negatively
affect you or the people you love, DOES.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Life is always kicking you in the ass and you can never catch a break.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it’s not the car dealership screwing you
over, it’s the big boss at work trying to make you look stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
always get cut off in traffic, left off the delivery route for your new
purchase, and your local utility company has a picture of you on their #1 Enemy
photo page.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anyone's going to get shorted a burger in the drive-through window, it's gonna be you. The world is out to get you
one fucking annoying day at a time.</div>
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And you’re out to document your plight, one fucking
miserable post at a time.</div>
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I know you too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
are my friends, family, and neighbors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You’re people I don’t know and sometimes I’m you as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of us ride the wah, wah, wah train
infrequently, but make a big production when we do, as it’s just like riding a
bike….you never forget how to do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Others of us live permanently in poor me-ville, like an old-school
country western song where your dog dies, your truck is repossessed, your wife
leaves you and you’re arrested all just in the refrain. </div>
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<span style="color: black;"></span></div>
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Do you ever wonder how you got to this place?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This shitty, horrible juncture where the
school’s sole agenda is to screw with your kids:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJZblH4vUWDu2tS6RQ7_Ssz7y7M4wwo_wb1HkaFXBDh4jyJgVS1L0eFFtoqcb_hArLTUE7alTPaV_H84W6LYa_gvAYP_vkGda0uFKZHVd3vAgGmcUYA3MBQbh50874YKgRaAa2l7l7Oj_/s1600/facebook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJZblH4vUWDu2tS6RQ7_Ssz7y7M4wwo_wb1HkaFXBDh4jyJgVS1L0eFFtoqcb_hArLTUE7alTPaV_H84W6LYa_gvAYP_vkGda0uFKZHVd3vAgGmcUYA3MBQbh50874YKgRaAa2l7l7Oj_/s200/facebook.jpg" width="200" /></a><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FB Post:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does anybody know why the school keeps doing
X, Y, and Z? </b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">74 Comments and 43
Likes</span></div>
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And the city’s got your number now, 'cause they keep issuing you parking tickets:</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FB Post:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can you believe I got a ticket today for
arriving back at the car less than 2 minutes after my meter expires?</b></div>
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22 Comments and 15 Likes</div>
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And let’s don’t forget Facebook itself and its quest to
steal every ounce of privacy (Catch 22) that you own:</div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FB Post:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you don’t want FB to steal your pictures
and identity, like they did mine, make sure to change your settings to X, Y,
and Z.</b></div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">57 Comments, 56 of which are asking you how to walk them through step by step of making the changes,
and 44 likes. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></b></div>
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We all know misery loves company, which has to be why people
feel the need to post and commiserate with such negative comments instead of actually doing something about the supposed injustices of the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m here to tell you:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That! </div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Before you hit that POST button, or jump on the bandwagon
and comment on someone else’s bullshit complaint, check yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything you put out there on Facebook can
come back to haunt you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends, family,
acquaintances, prospective employers, schools, and people you don’t even know
are out there reading what you write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they remember that junk. You’ll
be much better served by a run around the block, a quick bitch session to a
friend, or even to stuff your face with a ding-dong (oh woe is me, they don’t make
those anymore!)</div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-44624669342765082020-05-10T14:51:00.000-05:002020-05-10T14:59:33.133-05:00Memories Suffice<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzap2gnpBLKy4xgowHMhe5rIP6GswrCnN97TQEv8oc8GDdhKMG0TllSUoxYGacOW1VauO73gJPX_3iey3R9KavtqvEUjZBPzMNkfFkRMNWK6NAVe2kTrUhcxR1bNyhvyEauYPyxZqcVwyt/s1600/C92CCDCE-905E-4472-9B9E-ABC4DD97B5CC.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzap2gnpBLKy4xgowHMhe5rIP6GswrCnN97TQEv8oc8GDdhKMG0TllSUoxYGacOW1VauO73gJPX_3iey3R9KavtqvEUjZBPzMNkfFkRMNWK6NAVe2kTrUhcxR1bNyhvyEauYPyxZqcVwyt/s320/C92CCDCE-905E-4472-9B9E-ABC4DD97B5CC.jpeg" title="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><a href="https://www.shutterfly.com/">Shutterfly</a> regularly sends me emails with the memo ‘Your memories from this week 11 years ago.’ It pulls me in every time. If I uploaded photos to Shutterfly, it meant I was documenting our lives of joy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I don’t know why I've made so many photo books over the past decades. Maybe it’s my version of scrapbooking, or new photo albums since no one really prints photos anymore, or possibly I just wanted to record life in anticipation of one day not being able to remember it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Whatever the case, I’m so glad I did!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">On Mother’s Day, I am reminded of the love I have always felt for my girls with these pictures. As if it was yesterday, I remember the attachment I felt to my youngest since the day she was born. I had lost 2 pregnancies before her birth and was so thankful for her existence that I was never going to let her go. I found the joy in her every action. The losses actually helped me become a better mother to both girls by cementing my appreciation for life. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkcp0Z_0LLOUiiWfu4Q4Eu2c5IJEKguwBjhCTm6IQAnb_ZXcGo8taDDUfWAqERVr-Q6ShoMjLft93PdrC1tsmTC8OZCznoTKaZtxR7JcHnuNvdJPT0DCOs26HH-7ygJLvNicfnSZai3z3/s1600/FB41849F-2584-42B0-A404-DA41525598F9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img alt="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtkcp0Z_0LLOUiiWfu4Q4Eu2c5IJEKguwBjhCTm6IQAnb_ZXcGo8taDDUfWAqERVr-Q6ShoMjLft93PdrC1tsmTC8OZCznoTKaZtxR7JcHnuNvdJPT0DCOs26HH-7ygJLvNicfnSZai3z3/s320/FB41849F-2584-42B0-A404-DA41525598F9.jpeg" title="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" width="240" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m taken back to the little mother role my eldest grasped and still wears with pride to my youngest. She took on not only the responsibility of protector to her little sissy, but also that of a teacher of love and friendship. They fight and carry on like all siblings, but when asked, they each site each as their best friend. To this day they play together and hold one another’s attention for hours on end. </span></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">The pictures call to light the gusto we all naturally feel as children and a lucky few of us carry on into adulthood. The way my youngest is attacking that banana is the way I feel about my life: I just want to get to it, taste it, and digest it! It’s also the way I’ve prided myself on teaching my girls to live their own lives on their terms. On a recent road trip, my eldest told me she described my parenting style to her friends as a fictitious scene from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lion_King">The Lion King</a>, where Mufasa holds his baby cub high above the lions below as an introduction, then drops the baby Simba into the pack to fin for itself and learn the ways of the world. I took that as a compliment.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQ6VvWnkneFvQfcUTFO-ndMUZNTdoA-S32h1ZHlAaAZxTD6Or_2LXA4TUmtWIUvBKCBy_7e0ZvwKYmHAWLEZ2AqIGGpa1CS3ifnuXAuMgjq2POKC-g_NkZ9675LKWc9oKhjHdqYCDR4Ll/s1600/31C46084-F375-4439-AB13-F427AE5BD82F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img alt="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQ6VvWnkneFvQfcUTFO-ndMUZNTdoA-S32h1ZHlAaAZxTD6Or_2LXA4TUmtWIUvBKCBy_7e0ZvwKYmHAWLEZ2AqIGGpa1CS3ifnuXAuMgjq2POKC-g_NkZ9675LKWc9oKhjHdqYCDR4Ll/s200/31C46084-F375-4439-AB13-F427AE5BD82F.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" title="Stacy Says It - Memories Suffice - Stacy Snyder" width="200" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">These memories give me faith that even when I’m at opposition with another or when life’s valleys seem deeper than the peaks, love has always existed within me. I got it from my mom who got it from hers, and in turn I pass it on to anyone that will take it! Love permeates into the world through my relationships with others. It shines in my connection with my kids and it amoebas out through their external relationships. It holds a place marker for family and friends I can’t actually touch, and it serves as a beginning point for every new person I meet. It always comes back to me tenfold, but it often avoids the beaten path and shows up in unexpected bearers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Thank you <a href="https://www.shutterfly.com/">Shuttferfly</a> </span>for such an important visual reminder of my gifts on Mother’s Day!</div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798241.4995241 -88.2752447 42.256703099999996 -86.984351699999991tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-92105880377656084182020-01-19T22:40:00.001-06:002020-01-20T12:09:57.838-06:00About a Boy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy2Wo94XrmfajP8s8xLfB4b679H6PgwgKdbVAp5Gl2LeEIS_RZGAxCG02mXAi91ku8ztuMf8XaiUWuBNGGCAGqw6GlzkbnaO2A8rwETJxczCFdu6DojC0ctV5SRXfW_wrK5wE7rkhOv4F/s1600/Jordan_Catalano-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="About a Boy - Stacy Snyder - StacySaysIt" border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy2Wo94XrmfajP8s8xLfB4b679H6PgwgKdbVAp5Gl2LeEIS_RZGAxCG02mXAi91ku8ztuMf8XaiUWuBNGGCAGqw6GlzkbnaO2A8rwETJxczCFdu6DojC0ctV5SRXfW_wrK5wE7rkhOv4F/s320/Jordan_Catalano-0.jpg" title="About a Boy - Stacy Snyder - StacySaysit" width="224" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jordan Catalano of My So Called Life</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I grew up in a time where whenever a young woman was crying, having a meltdown, or experiencing an upset, the first responders to the scene usually asked, “Is it about a boy?” when trying to get to the meat of the issue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s usually always about a boy. But in the end the issue is never really about that boy...it’s always about you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My “boy” was a 47-year-old man that to me looked like a fresh-faced teenage boyfriend with all the incredible, yet detrimental charms of the same. He had the wonder of a child, the flirtatiousness of a confident, yet not too cocky guy, and big bushy eyebrows that enhanced his intent gaze; he had a slightly balding head and the tiredness factor of a middle-aged dude, a penchant toward things that interested him alone, and a beautiful full mouth that spoke only the truth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Society at large might say too much truth, but for me it was the golden ticket. You see my boy experienced much trauma as a child, not unlike many of us. His feelings of being unloved, a bother, not cared for as a young person....changed him….affected him.....made him who he is today. But unlike many of us, this boy chose to address his past and change his learned behaviors in order to alter his life path so he doesn’t inflict that repeat trauma on to the rest of the world. That means being honest with himself and others, taking the time and space he needs for himself, not taking on too much responsibility that makes him feel anxious, and living his life in the moment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I don’t know how long he’s been a man-boy. From what he’s told me he lived more like a college kid well into his adulthood and maybe just recently found his groove; logically, he’s probably still freshman in his groove at the present. All I know is that my attraction to his magnanimity was so strong because of his vulnerability about his setbacks and the way he lives his life because of them. He holds no true convention toward wealth or status. He reserves priority for creative outlets and self-care, and follows the beat of his own drum in regards to living a life that caters to his wants and needs. He made me feel whole, alive, and excited to be me, as many of those life views overlap with my own. He practiced no judgement, appraisal, nor pick up lines. He showed sincerity, intrigue, focused attention, and wasn’t shy about showing me all of himself.....even the parts that some would call ugly, and allowing me to follow suit. I felt like I had met the male counterpart to my feministic humanity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Despite my very specific approach to dating, which had served me well over the past few months, crafted from the idea that I wasn’t ready for anything too intense or difficult after the recent end to my marriage, I felt myself being drawn to this boy. Common sense told me my time with him was limited, as I had sensed early on, and he confirmed in kind, that it was hard for him to make lasting romantic relationships. I boldly forged ahead, though, as I had promised myself that I would allow myself to feel all the emotions involved in the vulnerability of dating, as without the lows you can’t fully realize the highs. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The more he unapologetically spoke of his fear of culpability, his imperfections, and his perceived lack of need for human connection, the harder I fell. His openness allowed me to feel acknowledged, appreciated, and celebrated in his presence, without ever second-guessing the authenticity of the connection. I was starved to be seen through a 1:1 lense, as my self-image had been distorted over the course of my nearly-20-year relationship. While I had wrestled to hold on to my identity as an individual throughout the normal wear and tear of kids, marriage, and stay-at-home momdom, my then-wife had struggled conversely with self-honestly, only looking at herself in the way she wanted to be seen, as opposed to the way she actually lived and felt. Without a shared trust, we were unable to grow together as a couple in our marriage; I felt trapped in a life I couldn’t control. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This boy’s truth was the exact anecdote I needed to confirm that there is another way to live! That same truth was pin that pricked my balloon. A few months into the relationship, the boy started to plan his annual “wintering” escape out of Chicago, which involves renting his apartment out for a few months, planning a warm destination trip to visit friends across the US, and bypassing the worst the winter has to offer here. His trip was not a surprise; in fact it’s what initially drew me toward him, as having the ability to pick up and go and follow one’s desires at a moment’s notice is a fantasy of mine, and I was in awe of someone who could do it! The whammy came in the form of his straight-forward answer to the question, “so what will we do while you’re gone for the next few months?” He looked at me like I had mis-spoken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“What do you mean?” he asked. “We won’t be able to really date as I’ll be gone, and our communication will be much less.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Not what I was thinking at all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“What were you envisioning?” he asked, as tears welled up in my eyes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I don’t know, talk on the phone and text and maybe I could visit one or two of those warm places and we could see each other for a weekend here and there.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“When I leave town, I tend to roll on the ‘out of sight out of mind’ mentality. Maybe we could start back up when I get back,” he suggested mildly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Beat down by my own wants.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Crushed I tell you! I wasn’t in love or thinking the relationship was anything more than it was - casual - but I was so in the moment, and enamored with the stark contrast of living in the reality of every situation that I forgot about the tolls of such. After further conversation, it because clear that we were in very different places in our prioritizing the relationship as I held an attachment to him that he did not have for me, all of which he was able to clearly state without having justification, as he’d been nothing but upfront all along. Intellectually, I understood it all. But it grazed on a lifelong hot button of insecurity - the idea of not being important enough to matter to someone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I didn’t matter enough for someone I’d been dating for a few months to keep in contact with me for 5 minutes a day while he’s out of town. I didn’t matter enough to my ex-wife to learn to be honest with herself and me in order to work out the specifics of a double-decade marriage. I didn’t matter enough for my decade-old neighborhood friends to deal with their discomfort in order to stay in contact with me after my divorce. I didn’t matter enough for my dad to put his wants aside in order to be a good father when I was a child. Finally, and most importantly, I didn’t matter enough to take care of myself in the way I needed to be cared for over the years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’ve been grieving for the last week. I’m sad over the sting of truth, as well as needing to cut ties with someone that I truly adore in lieu of caring for myself. But mostly I’m aching over those wounds of insecurity in my life that are yet to be fully healed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Dr. Phil always says, “Winners deal with the truth.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">While I hate the word ‘winner’ as it invokes the image of a “loser” on the other side, I do agree with the concept. Without truth, we can’t move forward. We are trapped. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">This boy helped me move forward. I appreciate the growth and am thankful for the honesty, despite the nip. It allows me to make educated decisions, armed with a fistful of knowledge. My brief relationship with him taught me that I have to care for myself as if I’m important enough, or no one else will, as we all simply follow suit to what we’re shown and fed. I look forward to living my life in this fashion moving forward.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">It was never about a boy. It was always about me.</span></div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-22165437069023899292019-11-18T21:34:00.000-06:002019-11-18T21:34:41.218-06:00The Paralysis of Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Change never comes in small doses. It tends to avalanche onto me in a heap. While I can kick some ass on behavior modification to accommodate the changes, I often don’t fully process the meaning until I’ve had a chance to wear it, then write about it. It’s as if nothing is real until it's laid out on paper.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’ve avoided writing at all costs for about two years. I can’t explain it other than to say that writing - an article, a blog post, or even a journal entry - has felt too personal, too intimate - to attempt. The lessons ripe for the picking have felt too heavy and numerous to unpack. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My daughter had a friend sleep over last weekend. They embarked on watching an old TV series, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2281375/">Nashville</a>, featuring a country music star with two pre-teen daughters that also sing country, but as a duo. Having loved the show years ago, to the point that I had borrowed a song, <a href="https://video.search.yahoo.com/yhs/search?fr=yhs-Lkry-SF01&hsimp=yhs-SF01&hspart=Lkry&p=nashvillle+a+life+that%27s+good#id=0&vid=335b54b015fdb7b579d93d811ace3619&action=click">A Life That's Good,</a> from one of the episodes to have my daughters sing as a surprise to my wife in our wedding, I sat down to watch the pilot with them. Experiencing the innocence of those newborn characters again now, while knowing that they later all became jaded with age and experience, hit me like a ton of bricks. It was like viewing my own naivety of years ago through a crystal ball. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I told the kids I was retiring to my room to write for a little bit, to which my daughter responded, “Are you a writer Mom?” which gave validation to the idea that my life had taken a complete transformation over the past few years.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Just a few short years ago, I would have answered Writer to the question “What do you do?” I would have been proud of the fact that I was able to stay home with my kids during their childhood, confident in the continuous ebb and flow of my almost-20-year relationship with my wife, pleased with the home we’d built and our financial security, and supported by my posse of neighborhood mom friends. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Now I work full-time as a business manager for an industrial design firm. My kids go to after-school care and bounce back and forth from one parent’s home to another every week. I live in a small 3rd floor apartment 5 houses down from my ex-wife and I have adjusted to being single for half of every week and a parent and family head the other half. My support system is scattered around the country with long-term friends and family that have carried me through the best and worst times of my life and a few quality friends here in Chicago that were able to make the transition with me, despite the discomfort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">The commotion of change is palpable. Even after a year of active grieving and loss, it is still often impossible to stay focused and self-monitor myself as a parent and good human. While I have finally settled into my new life without struggle or resentment, I still grapple with Oprah’s idea of forgiveness, which is “giving up the idea that the past could have been any different.” I own the idea that every decision and action led me to the place I am right now, yet it’s still hard to bask in its novelty. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I feel as free to explore who I am now as during my teenage years; for that I am grateful. I hear myself describing myself to new people I meet and often wonder “who is that speaking and who is she talking about?” I look at new experiences with wonder and excitement. I think I’m a better parent and person because of these life changes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But writing, this putting pen to paper and documenting the reality of the moment, is tough. I keep telling myself I'm just doing a different version of writing....baring the soul through conversations and self-reflective mediation and thought instead of the written word, but I know the gravity of change will not be fully realized until it gets tapped out from my fingers. </span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Luckily the art of starting is alive and kicking. Here I go.</span></div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-84134331896179083842019-09-19T11:22:00.000-05:002019-09-19T12:43:46.279-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 8 - Edilson Lima<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This guy. His smile is as big as his heart and his joy is just as contagious. My face hurt after spending 30 minutes with him as I couldn't quit beaming while in his presence! <a href="http://edilsonlima.com/">Edilson Lima</a> is a dancer, teacher, and interpreter, but more importantly, he's a lovely human being.<br />
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I interviewed Edilson a year and a half ago with the intention of rolling out his show immediately. Instead, a series of painful life events hit me hard. I stopped thinking about Samba dancing, flashy color, and big smiles and instead turned away from <a href="http://www.stacysaysit.com/search/label/I%20Am%20Your%20Neighbor">I Am Your Neighbor</a> to grieve in peace. During the thick of it all, I buried the idea of Edilson deep in my psyche. Similar to the <a href="https://www.homelight.com/blog/st-joseph-statue-to-sell-house/">St. Joseph statue</a> I used to bury in each home seller's yard after listing the house as a real estate agent, I knew his positive vibe was there, but he was out of sight while I dealt with the day to day challenges in my life. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zJiaD0IHCj7RHjBnTnoe-if9FDtpBADNNIbLNTSSM0zv5ErkWu5dH2uIqwE8fCF_wo-JYzHwJSC-E1EwXpW7hTqKcm3Uy_bajNTFGm5CbCdwgKc6OtJGt4yOl7npYLkWr-TcA9n9IEZN/s1600/fullsizeoutput_337c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="I Am Your Neighbor Edilson Lima - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5zJiaD0IHCj7RHjBnTnoe-if9FDtpBADNNIbLNTSSM0zv5ErkWu5dH2uIqwE8fCF_wo-JYzHwJSC-E1EwXpW7hTqKcm3Uy_bajNTFGm5CbCdwgKc6OtJGt4yOl7npYLkWr-TcA9n9IEZN/s320/fullsizeoutput_337c.jpeg" title="I Am Your Neighbor Edilson Lima - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV93OqehNMWS3wgGJ-bBTEg7AW8QfUZjWpuOIJZmLKFsGMhdAL5Dp0Lr_vyZqJKFD4XAolC2gdYTbZPQOEyFQTFLmXs-EEu1x3ef4pPYd5GHmsQRObAFF8qbDfEExce03oOF56y37M2Vu/s1600/IMG_0217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="I Am Your Neighbor Edilson Lima - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKV93OqehNMWS3wgGJ-bBTEg7AW8QfUZjWpuOIJZmLKFsGMhdAL5Dp0Lr_vyZqJKFD4XAolC2gdYTbZPQOEyFQTFLmXs-EEu1x3ef4pPYd5GHmsQRObAFF8qbDfEExce03oOF56y37M2Vu/s200/IMG_0217.jpg" title="I Am Your Neighbor Edilson Lima - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" width="150" /></a>A year rolled by and I noted Edilson's <a href="http://www.chicagosamba.com/">Chicago Samba</a> group would be performing at a local Mardi Gras celebration, so I pulled my act together and called a friend to meet me at <a href="https://www.carnivalechicago.com/">Carnivale</a> for the event. <br />
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I was hit instantly with Edilson's sheer glee as he danced around the restaurant and through the crowd. I knew I had to draw from that in order to move forward with my own life. For good measure, I thought about it for another 6 months, then finally got the motivation to bring his story to life, along with the re-awakening of my own joie de vivre. Thanks for daring to be exactly who you are meant to be, Edilson!<br />
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-6746283553364510702019-06-10T17:36:00.001-05:002019-06-10T18:51:26.684-05:00Today I Am Strong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Today I ran a 5K.<br />
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I didn't plan on running. I was tucked away on the right side of the course, the slow lane, and was geared up for a 3+ mile individual speedwalk. The walking sufficed for a few blocks until I ran into a solid sea of people at the turn toward the lakefront. I picked up my speed to a slow gallop just to avoid a jam between 2 large groups of runners quickly closing in on each other. Once I realized I was jogging and that it felt good, I just kept going. End of story.<br />
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I had been "training" for the <a href="https://www.gotrchicago.org/">Girls on The Run 5K</a> for over a month on my own, as I hadn't run much more than a few blocks since the 3 rounds of knee surgeries a few years ago. My 10-year-old daughter, with whom I was attending the race, is a fast runner. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to keep pace with her as I once could when she was younger. After working myself up to 15 minutes of sporadic jogging in between lags of recovery walking to balance off the knee pain, I suggested to my daughter that we practice running together once to see how we match up.<br />
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"It was veeeeerrrrrry iiinnnteresting," noted Maddy, when I asked her afterwards how she felt about the paces matching up, after we'd run a half-mile together. She stated the obvious - it was hard to hold herself back in order to stay with me and my slower movement.<br />
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That was that. I preemptively matched her up with running buddy for her big race day. I quit trying to run faster, or even at all, in the weeks leading up to the 5K, and I decided to just walk at my own pace and meet up with her at the finish line when the time came.<br />
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Instead, I finished the race at a decent pace on my own while Maddy ran ahead with her buddy. It was a win-win for everyone. I even managed to shave a few minutes off of my best time from 10 years ago.<br />
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I feel strong and empowered. I'm confident that the world matched my vibe for the day.<br />
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During my <a href="https://myndjive.com/">Myndjive</a> meditation this early morning, I breathed into myself and out onto the world, the intent that I am strong.<br />
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It seems overly simple, this daily ritual of taking a few minutes to clear my mind and putting forth deliberate thought toward what I will bring into the day. It requires a leap of faith that what I seek in life will naturally come to me if I put it out there into the world. It relies on relinquishing control in order to allow things to unfold naturally.<br />
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But it works, for today I am strong.</div>
Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-48734201807042337902018-09-26T23:29:00.000-05:002018-09-26T23:39:06.004-05:00Acknowledgement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqNntf17CzV7u-KuUZ_FdUBA4uyy1b72YBKmbu9373X_PJBu7rYxlS4TU9niII4X3AsjnkuxYZgXZTHcLfcXedpAcdB6kuYIh8Dnombe2uga6py7ftADRr54pPAL9b5Guqmss8Lurq0OH/s1600/crying-sad-girl-alone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Stacy Says It - Acknowledgment - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="450" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwqNntf17CzV7u-KuUZ_FdUBA4uyy1b72YBKmbu9373X_PJBu7rYxlS4TU9niII4X3AsjnkuxYZgXZTHcLfcXedpAcdB6kuYIh8Dnombe2uga6py7ftADRr54pPAL9b5Guqmss8Lurq0OH/s320/crying-sad-girl-alone.jpg" title="Stacy Says It - Acknowledgment - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></a>I had been silently crying at my desk at work for weeks.<br />
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What had started as an unexpected shower of tears while riding my bike to work one morning soon blossomed into a daily ritual of grieving openly during both my morning and afternoon commutes, which expounded into unwelcome solitary tears rolling down my cheeks to finally full-on watersheds while bean counting at my job on any given day.<br />
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I work in an office with ten guys in various degrees of their 20's, 30's, and 40's who wear jeans and hoody's, sneakers, and oversized headphones to listen to their music and Youtube videos while their eyes are drawn to one of the two or three monitors that sits atop each desk. They don't pay much attention to anything outside of the design they create in their big boxes. They fart, joke, burp, and lament loudly on life behind their wall-divider-sized computer screens, all without apology, in between hours of silence. I love them.<br />
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They also provide the perfect backdrop and shelter to my unfamiliar despair. I'm typically a work-it-out sort of gal when it comes to life challenges: there's no problem, business or personal, that doesn't have a myriad of solutions worth vetting, especially if you come at it from a non-emotional perspective. But riding out the emotional tidal waves of an unexpected divorce has brought me to my rational knees. The overwhelming sadness, loneliness, and isolation is almost more than I can bear at any given moment, yet I don't need to worry about causing a scene with my distress because everyone's in their own world.<br />
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I work in a man-cave of a studio. We have tools and high-tech gadgets and games, virtual reality and 3D printers, cool beers in the fridge and an ultra modern design concept coupled with impeccable functionality. But we don't have things of comfort, like coffee or closets or tampons or Kleenex. So I had retrieved a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom to keep at my desk to wipe away the evidence and blow away the excess of tears. The ultra-soft roll decreased in size rapidly as the hardest days hit me as I hid behind my screen.<br />
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One morning I arrived at the office to find a new box of tissues sitting on my desk. One of my co-workers had noticed I was suffering and provided solace.<br />
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That seemingly small act of humanity means more to me than he'll ever know. It said to me, "I see you; you matter." In turn that opened the door for me to acknowledge my own pain, which is truly the only way to start healing.<br />
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Acknowledgement is everything. I am so grateful to find it in the most unexpected of places.</div>
Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-27738972233845185932018-04-17T10:28:00.001-05:002018-04-17T12:57:28.850-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 7 - Midnight Bike Ride<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I'm one of those nerds that reads my college alumni rags. Since I shuffled through three institutions before graduating, I have multiple periodicals to choose from the basket next to the toilet in the "reading room" whenever I decide to go rogue and read an actual magazine instead of scrolling through the highlights online.<br />
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Leafing through an old <a href="https://www.luc.edu/loyolamagazine/">Loyola Magazine</a> last year, a reference to <a href="https://www.luc.edu/history/people/facultydirectory/gilfoyletimothyj.shtml">Professor Timothy Gilfoyle</a>'s Midnight Bike Ride stood out among the glossy pages of articles and snippets dedicated to service, social change and education. Turns out this cool cat has been illuminating history, urban planning, and architecture through a nighttime lens for this students and friends since he joined the institution in 1989, where he still teaches history.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "buddy" Chaya</td></tr>
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I added the biannual ride (April and September) to my bucket list and by the time I looked up the specifics, the next ride was scheduled for the following week, just enough time for me to order my helmet camera equipment, air up my tires, and clear my schedule for the night!<br />
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Meeting at 9pm on the Lake Shore Campus, we all chose a buddy to keep track of, learned the route for the late night ride, and headed off on a two-wheel adventure! Over the next hours I met loads of students (whom I learned accumulated extra credit in Professor Gilfoyle's class for attending the ride), teachers, and community members, ranging from first timers to annual participants. We hit 20-ish spots across the city where we heard stories about folklore, politics, and the future of Chicago. The bike ride was leisurely, yet long, and filled with idle chatter in between historical references. The 70+ riders that started with us at the beginning of the ride, dwindled down to around 20 by the time I begged off at 5am. <br />
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I loved <a href="https://www.luc.edu/history/midnightbikeride/">The Midnight Bike Ride</a> and would not only do it again, as each ride is different than the last, but I'd also wholeheartedly suggest it to anyone who loves to bike, be alive when everyone else is sleeping, or has an interest in history, architecture, or urban planning. Those of you out there who just like to keep feeding your brain in general will love it too, as I truly can't decide if I got more out of the ride, the tour, or the interaction with the college students!</div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-73477629241661458152018-02-28T13:28:00.000-06:002018-03-03T23:22:25.374-06:00Seeking Something Different<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">I recently took a girls’ trip to South Beach. We had a ball! While the weather was spectacular, the accommodations impeccable, and the leisure level well within my range of expectation, I can’t help but note that the most intriguing part of the trip for me was what is produced by adding a new component into the mix, in this case, a new friend to a group of existing friends.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Of the six gals that traveled to Miami together, five of us live in the same neighborhood, where our kids all attended the same elementary school and now attend the same high school. While those factors led to our initial introduction and laid the groundwork for our subsequent friendships, those same elements sometime keep us from digging deeper for conversation as there’s already so much in common.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Lotus, on the other hand, is easily fifteen years our junior, lives in Indiana, has a young son, and commutes daily to a full-time job in Chicago. I met her by chance a few years ago when she signed up for a park district volleyball league that I play in. We invited her for drinks after a game one night and we got along famously. I off-handedly invited her to travel with me sometime as I like to go somewhere every few months to rejuvenate, and she jumped on board immediately with this Miami trip. While Lotus has exceptional attributes I could rave about, it’s not her personality that made me enjoy our trip so much. It was her contrasting perspectives to those of mine and my longtime friends that made such a distinction. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LfXFQ5w-o7Epb2gtFM9H9_k10ZhhRyWqH5dO5MrLTOncCPM8s6zj6dc2y-4hRKsWSuAVbJ-QSJXywAAgvZSdju7D4SbcfL36LQUE97ZB5VQKAiAql3f1iQDtjAQJ4Mqk8iWs-O9MkqRy/s1600/fullsizeoutput_27e9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Seeking Something Different - Stacy Snyder - StacySaysit" border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1600" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-LfXFQ5w-o7Epb2gtFM9H9_k10ZhhRyWqH5dO5MrLTOncCPM8s6zj6dc2y-4hRKsWSuAVbJ-QSJXywAAgvZSdju7D4SbcfL36LQUE97ZB5VQKAiAql3f1iQDtjAQJ4Mqk8iWs-O9MkqRy/s320/fullsizeoutput_27e9.jpeg" title="Seeking Something Different - Stacy Snyder - StacySaysIt" width="320" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">It’s just like throwing in one new ingredient to the pot, where the flavor of the entire dish changes, evolves, and morphs into something new. Lotus changed the dichotomy of the group and of the trip itself with her unique interests, character, and viewpoints. Unbeknownst to her, she opened up the door of difference that allowed each of us push our routine conversations aside in lieu of new topics where lines of connection grew. We all stretched outside of our comfort zone and a new best beast was born. I love when that happens!</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m simply a sponge for variety. As a young person, I spent tons of energy forcing myself outside the lines of sameness by seeking out uncommon people, typically deemed by appearance or actions. Often I’d push myself to be the most unusual in a crowd. Today, I still gravitate toward anyone with a different take on life, but it comes from conversation instead of image. By surrounding myself with so many different models of life, I am constantly fed new ideas and thoughts and viewpoints that help me constantly hone who and what I want to be when I grow up. It plays out in my work, relationships, social life, interests, and ideas, where I’m constantly a work in progress.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">While I have developed strong values and principles over the years and do tend to also surround myself in a safe community of people who share some of the same standards, I’ve been known to soften, negotiate, and even change my convictions based on information I’ve accumulated from other people’s ideas and experiences. </span></div>
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Variety is central to my existence. I truly believe that my identity is a collaboration of characteristics and beliefs of all the people I’ve connected with over the years. Everyone I know was at one point the difference that I sought out that turned into a piece of my character. Pretty cool to think that I'm carrying a piece of each of you around with me every day!</div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-41953727268233552212017-11-27T17:49:00.002-06:002017-11-27T17:49:30.617-06:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 6 - Paul Nickerson<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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When my friend Kim of <a href="http://www.welcomingkitchen.com/" target="_blank">Kim's Welcoming Kitchen</a> first told me about feral cats as a potential solution for rat control in outdoor residential areas a few years ago, I laughed at her. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsyCXfpRM2jmpHKG2cfjbaGCq4Oxdq591jrFtGtTEeciwxa6mIaQBKE671gAM4epivoD8gcpnXPSLxGeYTYBVtEzX_p39m9PQ_mBxoRKi-9DU61nO9cKIM2Dl7qg4jdnEf-JGVR6lr_dP/s1600/cat-kills-rat-300x215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img alt="Stacy Snyder - I Am Your Neighbor - Paul Nickerson" border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxsyCXfpRM2jmpHKG2cfjbaGCq4Oxdq591jrFtGtTEeciwxa6mIaQBKE671gAM4epivoD8gcpnXPSLxGeYTYBVtEzX_p39m9PQ_mBxoRKi-9DU61nO9cKIM2Dl7qg4jdnEf-JGVR6lr_dP/s1600/cat-kills-rat-300x215.jpg" title="Stacy Snyder - I Am Your Neighbor - Paul Nickerson" /></i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Photo courtesy of Steve Dale Pet World</i></td></tr>
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"Only you would consider such an insane idea to adopt wild cats that live in your back yard!" I scoffed at her, convinced that her modern hippy way of life was behind such a preposterous thought. "You couldn't use your yard because of the cats, the'd jack up the surroundings with their refuse, and it would be expensive as hell to feed them," I taunted. She silently let me grandstand that day while targeting her as the butt of my joke.<br />
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A year later, after having tried everything in the book to try and rid our back yard of rats, Paul Nickerson of <a href="http://www.treehouseanimals.org/site/PageServer?pagename=home" target="_blank">TreeHouse Humane Society</a> stood in my back yard and corroborated the benefits of feral cat colonies as a solution to Chicago's residential rat population. Poison, traps, exterminators, steel wool, bait, bb guns, bombs, nor wire mesh worked. The idea of stripping the lush yard of all vegetation and cementing the ground into a patio did not appeal to us, so instead, tail between my legs, our family adopted 3 feral cats to man our abode.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAb8hRWurVwhwYbfToqwn_xmf0f5MaCI_kFeGNBuFdbHP55rLahyphenhyphenBHQ7ysNtcoTAeQBfcPKRWYi6n-cXoGzFd0A9XE2bYq-NJpvnbnLX1ib3Hhu18U_P5PAQYm3zsySJsI4N-C4_zf8eOz/s1600/Screen+Shot+2017-11-14+at+4.07.42+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Stacy Snyder - I Am Your Neighbor - Paul Nickerson" border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAb8hRWurVwhwYbfToqwn_xmf0f5MaCI_kFeGNBuFdbHP55rLahyphenhyphenBHQ7ysNtcoTAeQBfcPKRWYi6n-cXoGzFd0A9XE2bYq-NJpvnbnLX1ib3Hhu18U_P5PAQYm3zsySJsI4N-C4_zf8eOz/s320/Screen+Shot+2017-11-14+at+4.07.42+PM.png" title="Stacy Snyder - I Am Your Neighbor - Paul Nickerson" width="320" /></a><br />
Check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Go-4R0a5EM#action=share" target="_blank">Episode 6 of I Am Your Neighbor</a> to learn about the ins and outs of city cat colonies as a means to rid your neighborhood of rodents.<br />
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On a side note, I am so pumped with the new intro of I Am Your Neighbor, created by Mike Coleman! I need more faces on this collage, though. Who should be next? I'd love your input for interesting neighbors to feature. Please post your ideas here or send me your connections via email at <a href="mailto:stacylsnyder@gmail.com">stacylsnyder@gmail.com</a>.</div>
Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-58724220026641744522017-09-26T12:33:00.000-05:002017-09-28T12:34:28.053-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Episode 5 - Candace Jordan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Meeting Candace Jordan was the highlight of my year in 2015. I topped that in 2016 with executing the talk show I'd always dreamed about, <i>I Am Your Neighbor</i>. This year's a double whammy as I've got Candace on my show! Remember the scene in <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0083564/" target="_blank">Annie</a> when Daddy Warbuck's secretary/girlfriend Grace runs through the big house singing WE'VE GOT ANNIE! making it into a number? That's how I feel right now! Enjoy this great interview with <a href="http://www.chicagotribune.com/lifestyles/chi-candace-jordan-staff-staff.html" target="_blank">Chicago Tribune society columnist</a>, <a href="http://www.candidcandace.com/" target="_blank">Candid Candace</a> blogger, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaWrZFA8UZegcNEP9rroqDQ" target="_blank">Candid Candace TV</a> creator, and charity spotlight Candace Jordan.</div>
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</script>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.629798199999982-4.2310169 -170.24698569999998 87.9872441 -5.012610699999982tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-11836400758422093232017-09-24T22:12:00.001-05:002017-09-25T15:19:41.111-05:00No Quiero Taco Bell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was a teenager, Taco Bell was one of my favorite fast-food restaurants as my friends and I could order tons of food after practice for dirt cheap, and I’d still have enough money from a fiver to order my mom the priciest item on the menu, a taco salad, to take home to her. As a young adult I remember going through the late-night drive through after picking up the girls at the end of their drag shifts and ordering a family-pack of tacos…for just the 2 or 3 of us in the car. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Living in Wrigleyville in Chicago I lived a mere block 2 blocks from one of the only fast food joints in the ‘hood, The Bell. After the 4am call had been made at the bars, if my roommate Michael and I hadn’t asked the cab to take us through the drive-through at <a href="https://www.checkers.com/" target="_blank">Checkers</a> on the way home, one of us might suggest, “You fly, I buy,” and the unlucky one got to stagger down the street for nachos and bean burritos to sop up the alcohol from the night before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But somewhere along the line, my body started reacting to the food adversely. A little sour stomach here, a bit of diarrhea there….you get the picture. Maybe it was after kids or maybe it was when I started to lose weight and eat better and exercise, or possibly even after our family gave up fast food almost entirely, but at one point I started actually rejecting the food altogether and deciding not to eat it, as it more-often-than-not made me drastically ill. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But every 2-5 years, I get the urge for a Taco Supreme or a Beef Chalupa. I try to push down the want and I usually slide through the craving unscathed as I remind myself of the nightmare that will ensue after the great taco taste. Sometimes though, I fall prey.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This past weekend I had my 14-year-old daughter at bay to cheer me on with my hankering, as she loved it too, having only had her first Taco Bell just a few years ago. Not only did we get Taco Bell after having eaten some snacky stuff as a form of dinner earlier, but we ordered it from a delivery company, as it was 9:30 on Friday night and we were snug as a bug in a rug binge watching Arrested Development. We had both zonked out on the couch by the time the driver showed up an hour and a half later, but we still managed to throw down a few bites (in my daughter’s case or all 3 of the items ordered in my case) before hitting the sack.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before I even hit the sheets, I was sick as a dog with massive stomach distress that kept me up all night and lasted through late Sunday morning, which yielded me unable to leave the house all weekend and a 3-lb head-start on next week's diet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lesson of the day: A 'run for the border' is never a good idea in the long run.</span></span></div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-11481658055839367042017-09-12T11:58:00.000-05:002017-09-12T17:13:24.545-05:00I Am Your Neighbor 4 - Bill Brashler<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I only knew of Bill Brashler as my neighbor and contractor who pimped out my unfinished basement into what we consider the Taj Mahal. Who knew he was a critically acclaimed author and journalist with one book made into a major motion picture with Richard Pryor and James Earl Jones? His 10+ year hiatus from writing is now over and he's back in the saddle researching and writing away! Find out what he's got in store for us next.<br />
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com2Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-42571765073951845062017-09-07T18:24:00.000-05:002017-09-11T11:43:32.380-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Quick Chat - Booking Guest Candace Jordan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A stalker says what? What? EXACTLY. Check out this funny Quick Chat about the two years leading up to my interview with <a href="http://www.candidcandace.com/" target="_blank">Candace Jordan</a>.<br />
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-35020655045876101542017-09-06T17:00:00.000-05:002017-09-26T08:56:11.556-05:00Southern Hospitality Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“I can handle this,” I thought. “It’s not a big deal.”<br />
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Our first “big deal” arrived in a word-of-mouth package from one of the Oklahoma transplant neighbors, Sarah, who had admitted to us that she’d never thought she’d actually be friends with a gay woman, much less a gay female couple and that she was proud of herself for treating us like anyone else, even though she knows other people don’t feel that way. <br />
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Like any couple with a new baby, our first line of business was forging a relationship with a babysitter. Although forward in her admission of having no lesbos in her friend base, our neighbor couldn’t help but present herself as salt of earth. She was friendly, funny, non-judgmental, and would do anything for you; thus, a friendship sparked. She had kids who were surrounding the age of our daughter, so I asked her for referrals for babysitters in our ‘all too perfect’ neighborhood, as she and her husband went out frequently and left their kids with a sitter. She gave me a few names off the top of her head and said she’d get back to me with contact info. After a few days, I asked her again and then yet a third time to no avail. Finally, on a walk one day, I asked her what the scoop was with the sitters and she said that she felt badly, but that she felt obligated to contact the teenage babysitters’ parents in the neighborhood to make sure it was okay to give out their number to a lesbian couple in the neighborhood. Once warned, the parents decided that they didn’t want their children to babysit, so as not to be influenced by “our situation.” Just like that, the neighborhood sitters were out.<br />
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To this day, I don’t know if it was Sarah projecting her lack of comfort regarding “the situation” to the parents or the parents actually said that. Hell, I don’t even know if she ever called the parents, as we quickly learned that Sarah, like many of the residents in the neighborhood, had a tendency to “stir the caldron” at warped speed in an attempt to cause a ruckus and render attention. Bottom line, I felt like shit about the situation and got a bit of a chip on my shoulder from that point on. <br />
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The babysitting incident led to lots of discussion between me and Katie, me and my family, and pretty much every person I ran into that would listen, as I was just flabbergasted. I'm assuming it either had the same effect on Sarah, or else she was excited to finally have something of interest to talk about. She was a stay-at-home-mom, always looking for things to happen. It wasn't two weeks later that Sarah referred me to Eduardo, the hairdresser (gay, of course) in a neighboring city that might have some connections for me in the babysitting world. It was just like being referred to Bruno at the back bar of a gay club in the 90's, whom you ask if he has any video head cleaner and he provides you a treasured bottle of poppers for $20 - except different. Since I didn't have a local salon to frequent, I decided to take a chance on Eduardo. He hooked me up with a new Dallas blond "do" as well as two families' phone numbers that had kids who babysit for gays.<br />
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I never made it to the second family to call, as I hit the jackpot with the first. The family matriarch, Tisha, had three daughters, all within babysitting age range. I felt as if I were Uncle Tom rapping on the door with the secret knock as I explained to Tisha how I had gotten her number and why I was calling. As if she got this type of call all the time, she started into a rehearsed speech that began with a personal apology for all the people of Texas and the way they would treat me and my family. She went on to say that her sister is a lesbian and ultimately moved to Austin, as the climate in Dallas was just not conducive to her same-sex relationship with her life-partnership. Tisha told me Austin was much more gay-friendly and that her sister didn't have as many problems there. I thought the speech and its content a bit dramatic, but I clearly was not prepared for what lie ahead. Tisha's teenage girls ended up being very conscientious and sweet girls, perfect for babysitting with one exception...they lived one town away! This meant we could have a night out, but we couldn't catch a buzz, as we had to drive one of the girls thirty minutes home and thirty minutes back to our house, which couldn't be done safely with a few cocktails under our belts. Dammit! We used the girls a few more times before we tapered off our affiliation due to the sheer distance and pain-in-the-ass drive.<br />
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Luckily, my sister lived right down the street. She was ‘with child’ when we moved to Texas, so not much into going out, and happy to hang out with her niece. She and her husband gave us a few nights out on our own during that first few months while they watched our daughter. Later, after they had their first child, we got into somewhat of a routine of switching off weekend nights or any night, for that matter, with babysitting back and forth, as we all missed our freedom. More than that, Katie and I missed our network of friends always willing to babysit our daughter, as she was such a precious addition to a group of gay women that hung out at The Closet, where our pre-baby lives consisted of working, socializing, drinking, and partying with our friends. Don't get me wrong, we missed our friends for the sole purpose of having good friends, too...not just for the babysitting. However, we were still basking in the newness of suburban living and still hopeful for the potential of new and improved friends in Dallas. Basically, we were too stupid to miss what we had in Chicago, as we thought we could just recreate a new community of friends as good as the last. Not so much.<br />
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<i>----excerpted from my yet-to-be-published memoir <u>Y'all Are Gay? How I Made It Out of Texas Alive</u>, which chronicles all the crazy, ass-backward people and things my family and I encountered in our five year residency in a northern Dallas suburb. The real story, though, pokes fun at my own ridiculous ideas of what the world is and how I fit into it.</i><br />
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-24313587824757377242017-08-22T11:07:00.000-05:002017-09-14T13:58:18.118-05:00Life is Fragile<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D5IJ21pVFPVUNA4SfJ8dGbALdpV3M1Bre_nSVQfLNg9feLy83dFN6KWvSOQCPq3CA38Hzt7CgnAbKBq_kPqXzBiAc6SIdYF6rXGvSzNjpru7Z0I2dcf5EwFh4NrM3GkNpzXh_SJwFGJy/s1600/scooter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; font-size: 11px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Stacy Snyder - Stacy Says It - Life is Fragile - Parenunplugged" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-D5IJ21pVFPVUNA4SfJ8dGbALdpV3M1Bre_nSVQfLNg9feLy83dFN6KWvSOQCPq3CA38Hzt7CgnAbKBq_kPqXzBiAc6SIdYF6rXGvSzNjpru7Z0I2dcf5EwFh4NrM3GkNpzXh_SJwFGJy/s1600/scooter.jpg" title="Stacy Snyder - Stacy Says It - Life is Fragile - ParentUnplugged" width="255" /></a>You’d think we’d further question our own mortality attending the funeral of a child or visiting an incoherent spouse in the nursing home. Seems like a no-brainer: life is short, so make the most of it. The problem is, life happens so fast and when one company merger butts up to the finality of a divorce, which is wedged in between the school acceptance letter your child has been waiting for and the incarceration of a loved one, you don’t always have the time to acknowledge the fragility of human life.</div>
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You don’t notice the emergent yellow buds on the half-yearly dormant tree in your yard. You don’t hear the birds chirping as you blow your horn for the car in front of you to “move it buddy!” And you certainly don’t acknowledge your child’s sheer bliss over wearing shorts for the first time since spring has started to bloom. These snippets of animation are here and then they’ll be gone. </div>
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Sometimes it takes an external slap in the face to remind us to pay attention: an associate you haven’t seen in a few years is in a near-fatal accident and has been rehabilitating, not easily, for months. You decide to join that softball team and utilize your legs while you have them at your disposal. Or you attend a 50-year-anniversary party for an old couple and decide to re-devote your dwindling affection toward your spouse of five years.</div>
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Do what you want, there’s no right or wrong way to live. But just don’t let the days, weeks, or years pass you by without notice. Pay attention, as the scenes from your life and others’ are playing right in front of you, in all their splendor and wretchedness, and they won’t last forever. You may live to be 19 or 90. The years don’t matter, but the moments do. Slow down and take stock of your senses and your interactions. Appreciate the beauty and ugliness alike today.</div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-3234969020735765272017-08-18T12:01:00.000-05:002017-09-14T13:58:52.350-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Quick Chat - Dry Run<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_vIXkVuQfOQ/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_vIXkVuQfOQ?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
Doing a Dry Run is the exact opposite of how I like to roll. I truly enjoy just wingin' it more than anything, but personal experience has shown me that in almost every realm, practice makes a little more perfect than shooting from the hip. Recording, producing, and publishing your own DIY web series turns out to be no exception to the rule. Learn how rehearsing before the real event can help!</div>
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</script>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-56645256850990310402017-08-16T13:00:00.000-05:002017-09-14T13:59:17.926-05:00Date Night on the Cheap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Parents need date nights on a regular basis. It’s not a question, a suggestion, or an idea; it’s a fact. To keep a relationship afloat with your spouse or partner, you need quality alone time. That time comes at a cost, though, and if your household is anything like mine, you don’t always have money growing from trees to use for dinners out, shows, and babysitters. All is not lost, though, as a little creativity and planning can save the day. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKVBvlS-ehSF4-RV5FcznzsrAmxv9ezxnCZDYhCBt_KnKLPkg1eMZNCGUgsFhe-Re8nAHAcI_tJU0cAYVb62cr4WUTkFYFzbu1HTWFhbhsdnclyyyZp3-M4mX1LhCJy096h_zLYPCUPks/s1600/EC2425F6-4DB6-45CB-B0BF-226FBD6E654A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Date Night on the Cheap - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKVBvlS-ehSF4-RV5FcznzsrAmxv9ezxnCZDYhCBt_KnKLPkg1eMZNCGUgsFhe-Re8nAHAcI_tJU0cAYVb62cr4WUTkFYFzbu1HTWFhbhsdnclyyyZp3-M4mX1LhCJy096h_zLYPCUPks/s320/EC2425F6-4DB6-45CB-B0BF-226FBD6E654A.jpg" title="Date Night on the Cheap - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></a></div>
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<li style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Don’t plan a date around drinking. It’s expensive to buy liquor out, so either don’t drink on your date, plan a daytime date where drinking is less the norm, or have a drink before you go on your date or after you get home. If you want to go to dinner and have a drink, plan to visit a BYOB establishment where you can take your own wine or beer and make sure to pick them up at <a href="https://aldi.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: blue;">Aldi</span></a> or <a href="https://www.traderjoes.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: blue;">Trader Joe’s</span></a> where the going is good and cheap.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Attend free events on your date. Pack a picnic and attend a free movie in the park, downtown or at the library, check out a free concert in the park or in your city’s freespace, or boogie down with free dance lessons offered throughout your area. Subscribe to your city’s free newsletters to get the most up to date info on free events in your area. If you’re close to a beach or body of water, pack a blanket and a frisbee or paddle ball and go chill waterside with your date. Go to book-signings for authors you both love, attend art exhibits, or watch the sunrise or sunset with some romantic music piping through your phone.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Use discount sites to purchase discounted food, events, and performances at restaurants, theatres, and venues closeby. From <a href="https://www.livingsocial.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: blue;">LivingSocial</span></a>, <a href="https://www.groupon.com/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: blue;">Groupon</span></a>, <a href="https://www.cheaptickets.com/events/"><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; color: blue;">Cheaptickets</span></a>, and your city’s local free and discounted sites and newsletters, there’s almost no reason to ever pay full price. Buy discounted items when you see them and let them accumulate to choose from at a later date.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpYquY-IHtApkzfAAxp5fG1Z4y5tePJww81L8cLc9fPK2sbdKcZqepMoIYHnVYFFNwgLkZiGIcgDBw1B_T9sIsKhM_4tAEglupKqKRr2VEKIP5uIliH_wQ-GZNPaC36p57Z-c9T1hjJQy/s1600/IMG_0891.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Date Night on the Cheap - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder - Amy Krouse Rosenthal" border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWpYquY-IHtApkzfAAxp5fG1Z4y5tePJww81L8cLc9fPK2sbdKcZqepMoIYHnVYFFNwgLkZiGIcgDBw1B_T9sIsKhM_4tAEglupKqKRr2VEKIP5uIliH_wQ-GZNPaC36p57Z-c9T1hjJQy/s320/IMG_0891.JPG" title="Date Night on the Cheap - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder - Amy Krouse Rosenthal" width="320" /></a></div>
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<li style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">Don’t spend tons of money on babysitting. While of course there’s always a “going rate” for babysitting, you don’t have to pay what the Jones’ do. Establish a rate you’re willing and able to pay and when contacting childcare professionals or babysitters, verify that they can work for that rate. Recruit younger sitters that are not already enmeshed in working and help them learn to be a good babysitter in exchange for a lower rate than a tried and true professional. Utilize older siblings, friends, family, and coordinated playdates at other playmates’ homes when planning childcare for your date. If all else fails, put the kids to bed early or sequester them to another part of the home, while you have your date night right at home….dance to your favorite music, watch a flick, cook a romantic dinner together, or play a game of cards.</span></li>
<li style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS'; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 10px;"><span style="font-kerning: none;">My last, and probably most favorite date trick is to exercise together. If you already have a gym membership, utilize it and go take a class together or switch off weight circuits, or work out side by side on a machine. No gym - no problem. Take a long walk, bike ride, or run; rent a paddle board, kayak, canoe, or surfboard to work the water. Dancing is fun and cheap. Many venues don't charge a cover and don’t force you to eat or drink: just go and dance the night away! </span></li>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">Living Large can be so easy with a few tweaks from the norm!</span></div>
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Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-83775591028237514622017-08-15T11:00:00.000-05:002017-09-14T13:59:55.180-05:00Southern Hospitality<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V2Xi3RrZL9GI6iILZ-m5HvTsJz50AyJJb3V06lc09dMfYt03NxoUzr8V5KDblzgRZ3YfhyphenhyphenNabHXQvQnS-giKIUUEfmuwjqsRSEV68yhGbgNrmJQdszKnVlsIX-TGifuVTcTfkxPx1CA6/s1600/PeterGrimm_CJD9196-BLU-O_15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Y'all Are Gay? How I Made It Out of Texas Alive - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" border="0" data-original-height="850" data-original-width="850" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4V2Xi3RrZL9GI6iILZ-m5HvTsJz50AyJJb3V06lc09dMfYt03NxoUzr8V5KDblzgRZ3YfhyphenhyphenNabHXQvQnS-giKIUUEfmuwjqsRSEV68yhGbgNrmJQdszKnVlsIX-TGifuVTcTfkxPx1CA6/s320/PeterGrimm_CJD9196-BLU-O_15.jpg" title="Y'all Are Gay? How I Made It Out of Texas Alive - StacySaysIt - Stacy Snyder" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The South. Never had I really spent much time there, outside of coastal vacation spots. Maybe, subconsciously I knew there wasn’t anything there for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Four years into living in Texas, residing in a north Dallas suburb with an above-average median income, an over-the-top approach toward lifestyle spending, deference to giving children whatever they want, and ignorance toward diversity, I was ready to get back to reality. I didn’t want to “start working on it” or “get the ball rolling.” I wanted to run like hell back to a city, a real metropolis with diversity and multi-cultural dynamics. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My girlfriend, Katie, and I moved ourselves, our infant daughter, Isabelle, and golden retriever, Hoosier, from Chicago to the Dallas area in the early summer of 2004. No matter how I phrased it (partner, girlfriend, life-partner, lover, domestic partner, etc.) no one in Texas could understand our relationship. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nine times out of ten, southern folks would say, “Nice to meet you. Now who is your husband?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After introducing her or telling them about my girlfriend, they’d smile, and then ask, “But who is your husband?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sometimes I’d get questioned two or three times for clarification, and then when they finally showed a morsel of understanding, they were speechless. Occasionally we got people who never understood at all and ended up calling us sisters. Then there’s the parent at our daughter’s school who always referred to me as “that other woman who says she’s Isabelle’s mom.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even though our friends and family from Chicago and San Francisco told us we were crazy and we had no idea what we were getting ourselves into, when we moved we were still shocked at the lack of understanding regarding our relationship from our new neighbors, co-workers, and the general public at large in Texas. Both Katie and I had lived in various cities around the country (Indianapolis, Chicago, Washington D.C., San Francisco, Portland) and had thought nothing of picking up and moving again, even though we each had spent more than a decade in Chicago. I'm a Midwest girl from Indiana and Katie was raised in the San Francisco Bay Area. Our acquaintances warned us about discrimination, hate crimes, good ol’ boys, and other roadblocks holding up our success in the red state, but we truly were not worried in the least bit. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After all, it’s part of the United States, right? Texas isn’t a third world country or a dictatorship…..it was just another state….just another state of its own that we quickly found out operated like its own country (or continent for that matter) and actually had a huge following of residents who whole-heartedly were prepared to secede from the union of the United States!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had moments of feeling comfortable in my surroundings in Texas, but they were pretty far and few between. The original transition to Dallas brought about the desire to sample the local scenery, from mechanical bull-riding at the famous Gilley’s, to concerts and two-stepping at Billy Bob’s in Ft. Worth. Texas and The South in general, would throw me these little nuggets of exclusivity every so often that I cherished. I wouldn’t trade in those experiences for anything: to wear a cowboy hat with your swimsuit, to jack your hair up sky-high and paint yourself for the back row just to go to the grocery store, or to pair cowboy boots with your cute little dress. It felt a little like fitting in, but only cosmetically, as you’d still have to drive home on the George Bush Turnpike and pass the anti-gay marriage signs posted in your neighbor’s yard at election time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>----excerpted from my yet-to-be-published memoir </i></span><span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><i>Y'all Are Gay? How I Made It Out of Texas Alive,</i></span><span style="font-kerning: none;"><i> which chronicles all the crazy, ass-backward people and things my family and I encountered in our five year residency in a northern Dallas suburb. The real story, though, pokes fun at my own ridiculous ideas of what the world is and how I fit into it.</i></span></div>
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</script>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5445928696546762172.post-12301566849420272262017-08-13T00:02:00.000-05:002017-09-14T14:00:28.899-05:00I Am Your Neighbor Quick Chat - Equipment Failure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Equipment failure can definite punch a hole in your boat on any project, but when it comes to DIY webcasts, the whole ship can go down! We're so lucky that we can use a basic smartphone to do most anything these days, even recording, editing, and publishing your own web series. But what happens when the phone goes dead or the mic fizzles out? It is not a pretty picture.</div>
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</script>Stacy Snyderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04867111213001657710noreply@blogger.com0Chicago, IL, USA41.8781136 -87.62979819999998241.4995241 -88.275245199999986 42.256703099999996 -86.984351199999978