Musician's Widow

Dog vs Cat -- a scene from my house this weekend

This last weekend I had both a dog and a cat in my house. Growing up, I always considered myself a “dog person” with a dislike for cats. That dislike probably came more from others not liking cats than any real opinion of my own, because once I got my first cat… I began to discover a “cat person” in myself.

This weekend confirmed the transformation was complete. I am without a doubt a cat person.

A cat you can leave for a day without any concern. As long as they have food, water, a litter box and maybe a toy or two, they’re good to go. Self-sufficient, they are. A dog, though, you have to take out and walk. There’s no leaving them for more than a few hours! I also discovered a need for constant attention. This is just something I can’t do working from home. Working Friday ended up being a total bust, and I chalked it up to a life lesson kind of a day.

Anyone who knows me, though, knows those life lesson days usually end up with my doing research and learning about whatever phenomenon I’ve run into. So, I did a quick Google search for “dog or cat personalities” and stumbled upon an article summarizing research done by the (*gulp*) University of Texas in Austin into this exact idea — a difference in the personalities of dog and cat owners.

The article found:

• Dog people were generally about 15 percent more extraverted, 13 percent more agreeable and 11 percent more conscientious than cat people.
• Cat people were generally about 12 percent more neurotic and 11 percent more open than dog people.

So, based on those findings, I’m neurotic, disagreeable, not very conscientious and open. Makes perfect sense to me. Describes me to a T.

Or not.

For me, being a cat person is more about the fact that I want a pet companion, but my schedule is just not structured enough to have a dog. I need a pet that I can snuggle with now and then (especially when the husband is on the road), but that I can also not have to worry about being upended by a sudden change in plans. (Plus, if I am gone for a few days, I only have to worry about finding someone to check the cat every other day at most, versus a friend having to make a daily commitment to the task.) Yes, I want the protection that only a dog can provide, but ultimately the frustration I’ve felt having to care for a dog has made that want a little less important. I’ll stick with my checking the locks every night, keeping a head’s up about my surroundings, and just using my head in every situation in front of me.

So, hello world. I’m Denise. I am a cat person.

(I can hear my brother groaning now.)

groupie \ˈgrü-pē\ noun 1. a fan of a rock group who usually follows the group around on concert tours; 2. an admirer of a celebrity who attends as many of his or her public appearances as possible; 3. enthusiast, aficionado

A couple years ago, my husband played his hometown fair. It was a dream come true for him. Being a smaller town, I thought perhaps the local newspaper would want to do a feature news article on “local boy doing big things” as part of their promotions of the show. I mean, what would be a bigger draw than seeing someone in the national artist’s band who grew up in the town that the fair is being held?

FANS pack a show

As part of the article, the reporter for the newspaper did a phone interview with me. It felt a little weird to be the one being asked the questions as opposed to asking them myself! It was a neat experience, though, until she asked THE question. The one that I admit, I snapped over.

“So… were you a groupie?”

I’d been asked that question before, and I’ve been asked that question countless times since then. It’s an innocent enough question, I suppose, but the word “groupie” in the music-sense has just this negative connotation. It doesn’t help when that question is asked with a snicker.

Groupie… *snicker*

UGH! Talk about being offended!

I can’t remember now what I told the reporter, but I remember that I snapped and quickly set her straight. I made it clear the question was actually offensive in nature. Being a groupie implies that you follow a band around and you spend all your energy attempting to insert yourself into that band’s world. Oftentimes, its implied you’re actively trying to get close to the artist via the band… doing absolutely ANYTHING in takes to get “in the inner circle.”

Being a groupie is not the same as truly being a friend of a band member. Being a groupie is not even the same as being a FAN of an artist. Being a groupie CERTAINLY could not be further from being the spouse of a band member.

I was not, nor will I ever be, “a groupie.” It’s pretty much a dirty word within the music industry; it’s insulting to imply that of someone. As I said, I’ve been asked the question a million times, and I know I’ll be asked a million more times in the years. I accept that fact. However, I will never “like” that question. Never.

I’m being one of THOSE people today. You know the kind. Those people who go to a coffee shop with their laptops, sit in the corner, and type furiously. The ones you wonder if they are writing about you or a term paper. Why do they have to do that in public? How… pretentious!

Well, first off, I AM writing about you. (I’ll get to that in a minute.) Second of all, its not pretentious, its just me needing to get out of the house! Yes, I could do this from home. I have been for the last week! But its lonely at home. My cat does not hold conversations very well. And, seriously, as much as I love my house… I can’t handle being in it almost non-stop for seven days.

See, my husband in right in the middle of a two-week run to the west-coast. And I am just WAY out of practice of his being gone so long. I’m used to a maximum of maybe four days out, then home for at least a day or two.  Not this run. Two weeks solid. And talking on the phone only gets me so far in the sanity department.

I’ve wanted to come down to Starbucks for awhile now. It’s kind of a no-brainer. Its barely three miles from my house, in fact. But I just couldn’t justify the cost. I have coffee at home. I have internet at home. I even had cupcake mixes at home!  But, you see in that picture above, the card? Yeah, that card pretty much gave me back some of my sanity. My cousin sent me that with a little treat inside that resulted in my gleefully hitting Starbucks today for a Grande Vanille Latte and a big, fat slice of banana walnut bread. So. Very. Yum.

So here I am, right in the corner of my local Starbucks, sipping my latte, people-watching and eavesdropping.

My favorite thus far has to be the guy who, for what ever reason, had to sit at the table right beside mine. Even though there were probably 15 empty tables in the building. And he’s not having anything. He’s just sitting at the table, playing with his phone. Interesting. Seems to be a soldier, in full army fatigues. Maybe he’s waiting for someone to end their shift. Or maybe he’s waiting to meet someone. Who knows. But he proceeded for have a ten minute conversation on his phone in which he kept saying, “Oh, she went home already? Are you sure she went home already? That’s what she said, she went home already?” After about the eighth time of this, I almost looked over and went, “Look! She went home already! Deal with it!” But, you know, I thought that might be a little rude. So I didn’t.

Another fun one has to be the girl on crutches whose friends didn’t bother to get up and get her coffee order for her. They watched her struggle to get up, then once she did went, “Oh I guess I could have gotten that for you.”  *facepalms* Teens.

My final favorite was watching a lady come in, order a drink, then sit down and proceed to pay her bills. Then for each bill she paid, she’d rip the statement in half and throw it away. Don’t get me wrong, but that doesn’t seem like the safest way to protect yourself from identity theft. But, hey, maybe Starbucks trash cans have some sort of super-sonic-bill-destroyer-system in them.

Or maybe not.

This, folks, this is what that “pretentious person with laptop at the coffee shop” wonders. That’s deep, man. Deep.

I started a personal journal in 2001 over at the LiveJournal site (I even purchased a permanent account.), and in the pages of that journal, my college years were documented. My meeting my husband, and the progression of our relationship lies on those pages.

I still occasionally post in my journal over there. It’s a private space to put my thoughts without fear of being “misunderstood.” However, most days it simply becomes a place to house my twitter posts, and I put my writing energy (and time!) into this blog instead.

That said, the other day I found myself chewing on the difference between what I did with my journal versus what I do with this blog. (Ironically, moments later my husband asked me the difference himself! One of those, “Get out of my head!” moments we have regularly.) The two venues are completely different for me, even as the idea is the same: putting my thoughts “on paper.”

journal – (1:) an account of day-to-day events (2:) a record of experiences, ideas, or reflections kept regularly for private use

blog – a Web site that contains an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks provided by the writer

The definitions for journal and blog really don’t go deep enough, for me, to understand the difference, because, for me, they are distinctly different.

Journaling
For me, journaling is a distinctly private thing to do. My journal over at LiveJournal gave me a relatively private venue to post recaps of my days or a place to vent. LiveJournal allows me to select people to see entries if I wanted feedback, or it allows me to keep entries completely private. Entries are more and more private versus “friends-only” these days.

For me, personally, journal = diary. It’s just that journal sounds a little more “grown up.”

My journal over at LiveJournal started out a public forum. Somehow I had these crazy designs that people would be extremely interested in my mundane day-to-day life. yeah, not so much. I did meet the woman who was my maid-of-honor  in my wedding at LiveJournal doing  this, though! However, when I think of that journal, I also think of the ways it hurt me and others through its public forum back then. Lesson learned: some things are just better left PRIVATE.

In the last few years, though, my journaling has gotten to be less and less. Mostly, I’ve put most of my writing energy elsewhere (ie here), and I’ve not felt the NEED to journal as much. I blame that partly on Twitter, since my journal was so often just a recap of my day. Now I do that throughout the day in quick 140-character updates.

The need for my journal remains, though, deep down. Some days, I need to get something off my chest, and the only place I can do it is in the privacy of my journal. It has its place. It will always have its place. But its totally different from blogging.

Blogging
It’s still personal thoughts, personal opinions. Some bloggers simply recap their days, much like I used to do in my journal. Others use it as a social commentary.  Others straddle the line between those two. I suppose you could say I fall in that last group.

When I worked at a newspaper, I had a weekly column. It was the highlight and the stress of my week. I loved the free form nature of my column. It allowed me to stretch my legs, writing-wise.

My column was equal parts thoughts about my personal life, and thoughts on news events — both local and national. That’s where my stress came from: choosing a topic that I felt comfortable writing about for my audience to read.

Today, I don’t stress about topics as much, but my blog is without a doubt the same idea as my column. I straddle that line, writing about whatever happens to be on my mind at the time. Be it personal events, social commentary, news events or just something I think people might like to know. Hence the tagline, “the wife of a touring musicians tells it like she sees it.”

What I love about blogging is that it truly is from a unique standpoint. We all come from different walks of life. We all have a different place in society. However, there are certain events or experiences that encompass us all. We just all view it from our unique perspective. Its that perspective that I think a blog centers its existence. Taking that perspective and putting it down on paper. It’s equal part editorial and news. Fact mingled with opinion, out there for a public audience to read, learn from and debate.

So when someone asks me if my blog is my diary, I can definitely say it is not. Yes, it chronicles my thoughts at a given time, but its not my private thoughts and rants. Its written specifically with a public audience in mind.

Journal vs. blog. Private vs. public.

Its truly, for me, that simple.

I’m going to say something uncharacteristically pessimistic. I always prepare for the worst.

Now for something optimistic. I always hope for the best.

Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. My mom told me that years ago, and its always stuck with me. It’s become a life habit I don’t even think about doing. I just do it naturally.

One of my biggest lessons in doing that was when I didn’t get flag corp when I tried out my Freshman year. I couldn’t fathom not making the squad. My life would be OVER. I never considered the worst seriously. I never had a healthy approach to this ordeal.

I didn’t make it. My life was not over. I was, however, numb and devastated a few days. I justified it 1000 ways, but at the end of the day. I’d just failed to acknowledge the worst case scenario, and as a result I melted down.

I’m sure there are countless other times that I failed to even acknowledge the “worst case scenario” and as a result I was unprepared when it came to pass. But that example is probably the biggest one that always comes to my mind.

Hope for the best. Believe in the best.

Mindset is half the battle in all things. If you think you can, you will. I believe this to be true. However, if you put so much weight onto something HAVING to turn out a certain way, I think you put yourself right into the position of it not happening. Similarly, if you go in assuming a certain result, you’ll undoubtedly be disappointed when it doesn’t go exactly like you expect.

Today, my dad prepared our tax return. I went in bracing for the worst: owing. I know too many people who DO owe this year, and I knew much of our combined income had not had taxes taken out of it. And even though I work with tax returns right now on a daily basis, there is still so much of tax laws I don’t understand. One being what deductions are allowed and how they are applied. (This is why I make the returns look pretty as opposed to actually preparing them.) I was truly prepared to owe.

When we came out with a refund, I almost cried with joy and relief. Literally. I had hoped for the best, but I was fully prepared for the worst. And as a result, the outcome was better than I expected. Even if my refund was only $1, it would have been better than I was prepared to see. I was tickled.

I hope for the best in all things. Always. But I also brace myself for the worst. It allows me to have some sort of game plan and calmness in the situation that the worst does happen. In the same breath, it usually makes anything that happens a very pleasant result.

I plan to keep this mindset for a long time to come. It’s served me well so far. I am certain it will serve me well in the future.

I joked tonight that I’ve lived in Nashville too long when a movie being filmed outside my place of work annoyed me instead of leaving me excited. I say that about running into singers, actors, etc. as well because on a whole I really have just come to take it in stride. (Though I have to confess, George Strait made me totally freeze up and start stuttering and lose a great opportunity to possibly meet him, but some day maybe the chance will return. Doubtful. But maybe.)

I do think the whole Hollywood thing is pretty exciting. And there is a true mystique and fascination that exists around the whole TV and movie making process. I admit to getting wrapped up in it on occasion myself. Getting to participate in making the new Lee Ann Womack video was pretty incredible.

But twice in my life, Hollywood has made me throw my hands up in the air and want to scream in frustration.

My first Hollywood experience was actually in little ol’ Marlin , Texas, in 2005 when they used the Falls County Courthouse to film a lot of scenes for the movie Infamous whose cast included Sandra Bullock and Sigourney Weaver. I was working at the town’s newspaper at that time, and of course this was the biggest news to hit Marlin in probably almost 20 years. (Well, the biggest bit of positive news.)

They filmed inside the courthouse and outside the courthouse. For exterior scenes, they put out a call for classic cars to line the streets around the courthouse. To be honest, the cars got me more excited than the stars, but then that’s just how I roll.

Dawg.

Whatever.

On the afternoon that they filmed some of the exterior scenes, I went out to try to get a few photos for the next week’s issue. I was careful to stay OUT of the way, but before long I was sniffed out and scolded to not take any photos due to the need to keep things about the movie confidential. I could respect that fact up to a couple points. One point was the fact that Marlin is a small town that I doubt any entertainment reporters would be picking up our paper to sniff for things about the movie. The other point was the one in which they started to impede my ability to do MY job.

It took awhile, but I did finally get them to leave me alone enough to take pictures of the cars all around the square. One gentleman offered to let me sit in his car and watch from afar, which I gladly accepted as at that point I had to crouch down behind all these cars to stay out of view.

Eventually, the movie was done filming. We ran the photo I took of the cars in the paper. And life moved on…

I never did see the movie. It’s in my Amazon.com wishlist in case anyone cares to buy it for me.

Fast forward four years, and I had my second Hollywood experience. This time, Nashville, TN. Printer’s Alley. My job? Working in one of the bars in the Alley. The filming is going on in the bar next to the one at which I work, but it somewhat disrupts things in the whole Alley.

Now, understand, when I heard days ago about a movie being filmed in the Alley, I got excited about how much great PR this could mean for it. Perhaps seeing our Alley in a movie would bring visitors next year?

However, going into the night I was already in a bad mood, but it didn’t take long for the bad mood to sour further. I quickly felt like I couldn’t do my job properly lest I cause some sort of problem between “Quiet! Filming!” barks and worrying about how our band would be able to load in their gear. Ultimately, I wanted to do my job, while they did theirs, but struggled with how to do just that.

Again.

And I have to admit. That frustrated me. I believe my exact phrase was “Pain in the a–, huh?” to my husband as he pulled in to unload his gear to play.

I often get this exact same frustration from tourists who seem to forget that while Nashville is a tourism-centric city, it’s also home to many people. We’re happy to have you here. But please don’t stop us from living our lives; doing our jobs.

Chances are tomorrow night I’ll have my third experience, as apparently filming will be again occurring in the Alley. I don’t know if that will go into the night and overlap with my time there. But, the chance is there. And I can’t say that it excites me.

Call it a pessimistic approach to the experience if you want.

Me? I call it an experienced approach to it.

Because that’s how I roll.

Dawg.

Whatever.

I have a fairly staunch rule I set into place years ago.

I don’t let random men buy me drinks in bars. I know, many just gasped in horror, but its my rule and its served me well for many years and avoided many misunderstandings.

The other night, I was at a bar in downtown Nashville, visiting with friends and watching my husband play, when a guy decided to buy me and another friend of mine a drink. Under the impression (based on the conversation, etc.) that he knew my friend, I broke my rule and went along with it in the spirit of socializing with my friends.

I felt the need to walk away, though, when he would not take me seriously when I stated that my dream in life is to be a writer and that that is indeed what I have chosen as my career. Writing apparently was not a good enough for him and he kept pestering me for a different answer, and it was on that note that I walked away. I simply walked away and visited elsewhere until he left.

It was after this that I learned that he had been making a pill of himself with ALL the ladies in the bar and he was not, in fact, an acquaintance of my friend as I had believed. If he felt himself a “player,” he’d failed miserably.

Strike one: being a pill to all. Strike two: misrepresentation. Strike three: not taking me seriously.

It is cases like this that interactions both socially and professionally can be quite the minefield. You never know when someone is going to be legitimate. And it is within this uncertainty that I made my own three strikes in my discussion with this person.

1 – They make the first move, but reveal nothing about themselves.
In my interaction with this guy, I realized he told me nothing about himself, and I told him random facts about me. I was cagey, yes, but he learned I am married, work part-time at the bar, went to Texas A&M and that my passion is writing. None of this is exactly a secret, but its still more than I learned about him. I never asked, I admit. I didn’t want to know, and I hoped my disinterest in him would make it clear he needed to leave me alone. When it didn’t, I chose to walk away. But it is within this that I realized that I knew nothing about this guy. Nothing except that I didn’t trust him…

2 – Making an assumption.
No one told me this guy was an acquaintance of my friend. I drew that conclusion based on the fact that he was talking with my friend in close proximity, bought her a drink as well, and that they knew where one another was originally from. With those facts in hand, I made an assumption.

As my Dad reminds me regularly. Never assume. It makes an ass out of you and me. Call this a lesson proven true.

3 – Breaking my own rules.
When you have those personal rules, you stick with them. Go with your gut. Even if its not the most “cool” thing to do. Your instincts are there for a reason. Listen to them. I didn’t and I broke my rule of “no strange guy buying me a drink.” My very own strike three.

This whole thing is in the past and thus not worth my time to think about… however, its also a lesson to myself that I learned and will heed in the future.