Oh, no, I don’t give up that easily. Ok, I’ve given up on the knight in shining armor, galloping through my front yard, coming to rescue me from the evil queen because he’s so madly in love with me, (I will, however, settle for a man driving a white, Chevy, pickup truck with a few rust spots and one of those cute window decals of the little boy peeing on the word Ford, yes I am a Chevy girl), but my goal of receiving the pep-talk phone call from one of my role models, Diane Sawyer, is alive and well.


It will happen.


For those of you who never read the original posts, they were in the 30+ that I lost in a database fiasco, I wanted, for my 36th birthday, since it didn’t happen on my 35th, a pep-talk phone call from Diane, telling me life after 40 does get better and how to make it in a male-dominated field. Yeah, see, it didn’t happen. I let it go for a while, but, after events in my life involving certain family members that shall remain nameless, the need to know I don’t have to be the perfect daughter, have the perfect career and not all of my mother’s problems have been caused by me, became greater. An outside voice- from a strong woman, who, unknowingly pushed my dream of becoming a journalist, which didn’t happen due to the aforementioned situations.


This is where I need your help. Will it be six degrees of separation, or 600? It doesn’t matter. One phone call, that’s all I ask. Am I nuts? Not a bit. Determined? You betcha. What are the situations I speak of? Secret Squirrel stuff between Diane and myself. For the person who is the last link, which gets me the phone call from Diane- he/she will receive one bottle of West Virginia wine-in the flavor of your choice. I’ve tasted the blackberry-not bad. That’s a hell of a price- a whopping $16.99.


Now, where’s the freakin’ redneck in the white Chevy. I’m in the mood to go muddin’.

It’s no secret: I abhor math. When I was little, age 3, or so, in order to get to sleep at night I would force my poor mother to, “do math,” with me, addition, subtraction and yes, even a little multiplication. Until my Sophomore year of high school, I enjoyed the subject. Then, Mr. Hundley, the world’s worst teacher, entered my life. On the first day of Geometry class, he said, and I am quoting, “Over half of the girls in this class will fail, because girls can’t do math.” Great way to encourage anyone. He intimidated me, so I did have a little trouble, but luckily I had my dad to help. But, later that Fall, my dad passed away. My in-home Geometry tutor was gone and Mr. Hundley knew it-not only did he pick on me in class, but after I returned to school, he refused to allow me to make-up any work. (Until the Principal stepped in). From this point forward, anxiety set in any time mathematics was involved.

Sure, most of you are saying, “Beth, why in the hell are you discussing math?” Because, tomorrow at 9am, I again have to prove I’m intelligent by taking an exam. Math is involved. The exam does not guarantee a job-I have to take it in order to be considered for classes which would lead to a job. In a hospital, pulling patient charts and answering the phones. Tell me- how does knowing the answer to x+y= prove I can answer a phone? I’m literally pulling my hair out-ok the white hairs, but I really need to pass the test. I’ve studied, but retaining the information has proved difficult. I have an IQ of 143 and I’m worried about freaking x+y.

If I don’t blog for a few days, you’ll know why. I’ll be the one at the drive-thru window at McDonald’s asking if you’d like to try a latte.