Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Shitty Santa Syndrome

Despite the commercial Christmas blitz of dancing elves, flying reindeer, talking toys, and crappy Christmas music specials, some of us find it hard to be cheerful during the holidays. Although we might try to appear cheery, our glow is not from some inner source of joy but more than likely caused by the hooch in the eggnog, or standing too close to the tree.

Being blue during what most consider the "hap hap happiest season of all" is not easy, and nothing is worse than being made to feel guilty for feeling down in the dumps, especially when emotions, stress, and angst associated with Christmas is at their peak. It's not our intent to dampened anyone's spirit, no one wants to be the turd in the Wassail, and sometimes it really helps to be around others who are merry and bright. Sometimes being the key word. The other end of that spectrum is even worse than the moroseness already felt, and can often create something I like to call Shitty Santa Syndrome.

Shitty Santa Syndrome, or SSS, happens to a lot of people unknowingly. It is often an involuntary response to the jingle madness hype that surrounds Christmas, and can result in rather unpleasant clashes with family, friends, and ultimately destroy relationships, and close knit bonds. The symptoms of Shitty Santa Syndrome vary widely depending on the severity of each individual case and the sufferers reaction to the sensory assaults and overload of the holiday season. While most people who suffer from SSS are perfectly fine the rest of the year, knowing how the onslaught of excessive well wishing holiday revelers can wreak havoc with their emotions, is very beneficial to everyone involved. By acknowledging a person's SSS, you are validating their painful reminders of lost loved ones, and lost family traditions that once made the holidays much merrier and brighter. This is especially important for single individuals who have no children, immediate family, or significant other to celebrate with. Recognizing SSS in an individual is really easy, although all too often SSS symptoms are misconstrued as maliciousness, particularly focusing on gift giving, and social functions.

If someone you know suddenly increases their alcohol intake around Thanksgiving, and doesn't sober up until shortly after New Years, they are more than likely afflicted with SSS. Just because you receive a fruitcake, stale store bought cookies, or fugly as hell sweater does not necessarily mean the gift giver hates your guts, but instead has succumbed to one of the most common symptoms of SSS I like to call, "Mall-itis". Any SSS sufferer worth their bah-humbug wouldn't be caught within a mile of any major retail venue from Black Friday until mid January. Of course, if said person strives to be an asshole at the annual holiday family functions, by making  it a point to get drunk, set fire to the Christmas decorations then piss on them to douse the blaze, SSS might be just a minor mental health issue they are dealing with.

So, this year, if a relative sends your kids subscriptions to Penthouse, or the crazy neighbor displays  Santa squatting over the chimney, stop and consider the possibility that they might actually have Shitty Santa Syndrome. Once the reason for their poor behavior has been established, you can then determine which course of action is appropriate and either open up a can of whip ass on them, or just chalk it up to SSS, and make sure to have plenty of coffee and fire extinguishers at the next family Christmas get together.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

I Say MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

It's a free country, therefore we are all at liberty to express our beliefs and opinions openly without fear of retribution, unless you have the gall to wish anyone Merry Christmas.  I don't think any other phrase as been more demonized by the politically correct, than Merry Christmas. Saying F**k on TV is more acceptable than wishing someone Merry Christmas, these days, which says a lot about the direction our society is headed in.

I don't believe in being out right rude, or disrespectful, but there are plenty of other issues that should take a higher priority, than worrying about foisting a "religious connotation" on a possible atheist. If folks were that easily offended, humanity as a whole would have killed itself off centuries ago.  Maybe it's just me, but I can't recall EVER pissing someone off by wishing them Merry Christmas, and I'm sure I've spoken that phrase to several Atheists, Agnostics, Muslims, Buddhists, Jehovah's Witness, Jews, and/or scroodgey assed grumps. I don't get upset when I'm told Happy Hanukkah, or Blessed Kwanzaa, and I'm no fan of Season's Greetings, or Happy Holidays, but I don't get offended when I hear it. I just figure anyone saying it truly believes they are inspiring global unity, or just don't have the balls to say Merry Christmas.

Now I have to admit the commercial aspect of Christmas has gotten so vulgar, I personally find it as offensive as Congress! I think it should be a law that anything smacking of Christmas can not be displayed until the day AFTER Thanksgiving. I'm sure people are smart enough to follow along with the calendar year, and do not to be reminded about Christmas by filling every store with red and green crap before Halloween! Sure it's always beneficial to shop early, but unless it's in reference to someone's sexual activity, I don't care to hear HO HO HO before Gobble Gobble Gobble!

So, I guess what I'm trying to say here is this. Once it's appropriately time to express the seasonal sentiments of the holidays, stop and think before you utter some mealy mouthed PC approved Season's Greetings, or Happy Holidays. Whether or not you believe in the miraculous birth of Christ, you have to admit it's a beautiful story, that over centuries has united enemies, and brought peace where strife once ruled. So, before you negate the phrase to the pits of PC hell, take a deep breath and say right out loud to the next person, friend, foe, or total stranger, MERRY CHRISTMAS! I can pretty much guarantee you will be pleasantly surprised by the response.  After all , I don't think anyone as ever gotten their ass whipped for wishing anyone Merry Christmas, but if you do, well that's what you get for being politically incorrect.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Mirror, Mirror

After perusing the pages of candid camera pics on People of Walmart, I realize there is a horrific shortage of mirrors in this country. If the federal government can provide free cell phones, health care, and housing, why won't they do the entire nation a huge favor and make sure there is at least ONE mirror in every home? After all if a minority of the populace suffers from a major lack of self respect, why should the majority of us have to suffer too?

Everyone makes fashion mistakes, but the key is to learn from them, and adjust accordingly. Yet, thanks to cell phone cameras, and the internet, America has been made painfully aware that when it comes to some folk's wardrobes, and personal appearances, school let out a long time ago.  Perhaps I'm just a stickler when it comes to looking my best. I know I'm a plus sized woman, therefore I strive to dress in a manner than shows off my best features, while minimizing the worst. I don't have any qualms about showing some cleavage, after all if his eyes are on the boobs, he's not paying attention to the train wreck from the waist down.  But, there is a huge difference between flaunting a firm, uplifted bosom, and Holy Shit that lady's got four arms!!!

So, large breasted women of America, lets all try to set a precedent by supporting ourselves first and foremost. Invest in a good, under wire bra, even though it might not be the most comfortable thing you'll wear, I promise you will be UPLIFTED physically and mentally!  Also, remember fashion rule number one: Just because it fits, doesn't mean you should wear it.  Don't let the mental image of how you wished you looked, get confused with your actual visual image. Do yourself and the rest of humanity a favor, check that reflection before you go public sporting a tube top, and booty shorts.

In the long run, it's what's on the inside that really matters, as beauty is only skin deep. But just keep in mind that while outer beauty will never hide inner ugly, it might help keep you out of jail, and off the internet.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Orgins of Nancyisms

It's often said and pretty much taken for fact that you are a product of your environment. A child's character is shaped by parental role models, and we learn morals, values, and social skills from examples set by the authority figures in our young lives. My parents were exemplary teachers when it came to imparting morals, good manners, and building character, but they have only themselves to blame when it comes to my personality and sense of humor.

So, if ever any of you have wondered why I am like I am, well the following examples of communications as a family from my formative years might explain it, or me, or hell just keep reading...

Me: If I do this and if I do that... If I'm really good, and if we went to this place or that place...
Daddy: If? Well if, if , if, IF my aunt had balls she'd be my uncle!"

Me: I'm gonna run away from home!!!
Daddy: Well, don't let that doorknob bump you in the ass on your way out.

Me: Can I have (something outlandish)? Can I? I want it!
Daddy: People in hell want ice water too! or, Wish in one hand and shit in the other, see which one you get first.

Daddy's response to one of my idiotic stunts: Damn girl I swear if your brains was putty you couldn't fit a window pane in a gnat's ass!!! Another favorite: Hotdamn yougin if you ain't just et up with the dumb ass.

Mama's favorite response to my boasting, or threatened behavior: Yeah right Nancy, and a jazz band of monkeys is gonna jump out my ass and run down Main St. playing Who'd a thunk it!!!

Daddy's response to a sales pitch: If steamboats were selling for a nickle a dozen, I couldn't buy the echo off the whistle.

Daddy's response to dwelling on past mistakes:  Best let it go, hindsight's about as useless as foreskin.
Daddy's opinion of ineptitude, or laziness:  Now you know, (whoever/whatever) is about as useless as tits on a boar hog!
How daddy described his level of pain or illness: I feel like I been shot at & missed then shit at and hit all over!!
Daddy's descriptions of anyone unattractive: She's a melancholy ol` gal... she got a head like a melon & a face like a Collie! or Good God amighty, she/he got face that would stop a clock! also Uh n unh! he/she/they look like two turkey buzzards bumped asses & they're what fell out. and lastly, He/she/they look like they fell out of an "ugly tree" and hit every limb on the way down!

Daddy's descriptions of a nice behind: Hotdamn! When she walks her ass looks like two shoats in a gunny sack! That's what I call a noble ass.
Mama's description of a bad fashion choice:  That looks like ten pounds of shit in a five pound sack.
Daddy's description of a big butt: Kaaawow! I bet I could sit on her ass and dangle my legs!

Daddy's advice regarding our bad behavior:  Listen to dear ol' dad, do that and you better give your soul to God because your little ass is mine!

This list could go on and on, but this should be sufficient for you to gain a better picture of where Nancyisms came from. As you can see, daddy was way more colorful than my mother, but she could come up with some doozies of her own. My sister is also this way, but she has learned to manage hers better. So, if you don't want your daughters to end up foul mouthed, brutally honest, and unashamedly outspoken, stop and think before you show that baby girl what happens when she pulls daddy's finger, it's got to start somewhere, so nip it in the bud.
On November 24th, my dad would be celebrating his 81st birthday were he still here. Happy Birthday daddy, and thank you for my swift wit, sassy mouth, and colorful vocabulary... I think you did a pretty damn good job!

Monday, November 14, 2011

Dear Mama & Daddy, Thanks for Beating my Ass.

Recently, a grown  woman released a video of her father punishing her for stealing, by whipping her butt with his belt. The video became viral, and ended up on the national news as fodder for a child abuse scandal. I don't know this chick who posted it, but I'd say her daddy didn't tear that ass up good enough.

First off, I realize many of you will disagree with me about spanking your children, and I respect your parenting practices, as it's a free country, and they are YOUR kids. But, I can honestly say, looking back at how my parents raised me, I'm grateful for each and every ass whipping I got. We were NOT abused growing up. My sister and I are both hard working, intelligent, law abiding citizens, because mama and daddy instilled the fear of God, and them in us. Nothing was worse than falling from their good graces, and the belt wasn't nearly as terrible as that look JoAnne would give us when she was pissed and disappointed with one of us.

Secondly, I do not condone child abuse, as there is quite a difference between spanking a child and just beating the hell out of them for no good reason. When pushed to levels of rage that probably would have gotten one of us seriously hurt, (don't act like your kids have never pissed you off so bad you wanted to snatch their hair out of their heads!) Mama and Daddy often yelled and threatened, then after calming down they'd wallop us, but never once were we struck on a whim, or in a fit of rage. Growing up, my mother was not my friend, she was the boss, and so was daddy, and they both made it clear that they would not tolerate certain behavior, and we had an obligation to them, ourselves, and society to behave respectably. Rules were rules and set for a reason, and breaking them carried serious consequences.

Now, nothing disgusts me more than hearing a parent just rip on their kid like they are no better than a dog. Sure, mama was famous for telling us, "Do it again and I will slap your teeth down your throat!" Another favorite was, " Nancy, I'm going to slap the snot out of you if you don't quit that!!".  Daddy's favorite thing was saying, "You pull a stunt like that and you'd better give your soul to God because your little ass is mine!"  Nothing is worse than hearing a child berated for sport, and in many ways verbal abuse leaves the deepest scars.   As we got older, the belt was replaced with groundings, and backhands which taught sassy mouthed teenagers quick reflexes, but dodging didn't mean you wouldn't get from the other direction.  We learned that when it comes to respecting your elders and authority, there is no such thing as being "too grown".

Both mama and daddy are gone now, and at age 45 I can truthfully say I've never been in trouble with the law, I've held a job since I was 18 years old, and even now when I know I'm doing something wrong, I stop and think about what my parents would say. I didn't understand or appreciate all of their rules when I was a kid, and naturally I went through the age of thinking my folks were old school morons, but they knew what they were doing. In many ways it's a shame I couldn't have children, because I'd like to think I'd love my kids as much as mama and daddy loved me. But, in today's "spare the rod, and screw the brat up into a dysfunctional train wreck" society, if I had kids I'd get reported to Social Services when they needed to be reminded of just how much I loved them.

Monday, October 31, 2011

Family Planting

Most Southern families argue over inheritances, and the battles for prized heirlooms, and family treasures can get pretty nasty. But in my family, instead of fighting it out over dear old  Auntie Battle Axe's silver and china, my peeps will hurt someone when it comes to burial plots in the Young Family Cemetery.

You see, the strong line of Southern aristocracy from which I hail, descended from the Young's, who received a large plot of land in an area north west of Zachary, LA. known as the Plains. This property was granted to the family as part of the Spanish Land Grant, and had never been farmed.Thus it became the family burial ground, and for damn near two hundred years,  it's where we've been planting any and all kin folks who are directly descended from the original Young's.

Over the years, trips to the family burial place weren't always the result of a death. Taking care of loved ones grave sites is important, and nothing will get you talked about like a dog worse than letting a family members plot go to ruin. I can still recall the remarks overheard as a child made by aunts and uncles about relatives who didn't tend to their plots. "Just look at those raggedy flowers on Aunt So&so's grave. Dollar store if I ever saw any!" Or,"Oooh wee! Look at So & so's grave sinking like that. I hope the mean bastard ain't coming back up. I couldn't stand him when he was alive!" The biggest outrages that provoked the most heated discussions and comments occurred when someone NOT of Young family descent got planted, and God forbid they end up in a blood members already spoken for plot. Of course we didn't spend a whole lot of time visiting the dead, and our trips weren't regular. Mama didn't care to see her oldest daughter buried there. Martha's child sized headstone was a painful reminder of mama's deepest loss, and heartache, but she made sure to honor her passing with a poinsettia each Christmas, mums on November 1st, and an Easter Lilly each spring.

It is part of my heritage and my birth right, to make Young Family Cemetery my final resting place, and honestly I take great comfort in that. It's a lovely place, with towering, majestic, Live Oaks, Magnolias, and age old Woodville Red Camellias. I have never found is scary, or daunting, but rather peaceful and welcoming, as some of the people I adored most in my life are resting there. Each individual has a unique story, some can boast a life well lived to a ripe old age, like my Nana. Others were cut too short by tragedy, or illness, like my sister Martha, and most recently, my cousin John Poole. Already, three of  the five plots daddy inherited have been claimed, and soon Moe's ashes will join mama, daddy, and Martha, in the plot I've chosen for us next to them, beneath a massive oak. I suppose most people find the idea of determining their final resting place morbid, but I consider myself lucky, because I've inherited my place among my family, and even in death, I will remain close to those I loved most in life.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

WWRJD... What Would Robert Johnson Do.... .

I'm by no means a hot shot guitar picker, I can't even remember a single chord from when I did play years ago, so I have no instrument to bring to the cross roads. I have no guitar for the Devil to tune, nothing to bargain with, just one lonely, no talented white girl waiting at the cross roads in my life. Waiting just like Robert Johnson, except I have to make my own choices, the Devil can't even offer what I want in this life.

I guess some folks would call it my "jumping off place", that time in your life where you have to make tough choices, and hard decisions. The welcome party to the adult world, for some, a "do over" for others, but for me it's a renewal. I suppose the "cross roads" moment comes much earlier for the average individual, but as time, and my experiences seem to prove... I damn sure ain't AVERAGE.

The choices in life I've made up to this point have served me well, even getting married at age sixteen, and divorced by eighteen, taught me some hard life lessons earlier than most, but that experience came in quite handy down the road. (Fodder for another blog) Looking back I have little if any regrets. Oh sure, I wish I'd been kinder, nicer, and not said some hatelful things to loved ones now long gone, but so does everyone else. It's human nature. But now as I face the future at age 45 without the support system I had back then, and after survivng a period of grief for my husband that damn near took me with him, I am truly my own counsel, and that sounds scary.  But, I've screwed up enough in the past 45 years that failure doesn't really scare me. I've picked myself up and dusted off the bull shit of whatever situation or circumstance that created it, and kept on going. So, standing here at Nancy's cross roads of What Do I Want, and Where Can I Go, is much better than where I was standing 18 months ago at the corner of WTF!? and This Can't Be Real. Honestly, there are way worse things to make decisions about... believe me.

Now, I'm making choices and decisions on MY terms, for MY benefit, and I like that. I feel pretty good about it, and I realize the only thing that might stop me is ME. My own doubts, and fears about a major life altering change, which when I think about it is rather stupid on my part, because I've already experienced three of the most tumultous events a person can go through, so why should I let this next phase rattle me? If I haven't sold my soul to the Devil by now, I reckon there's no reason to sit and wait here anymore. Then again... I wonder what happened to my old acoustic guitar......

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Don't Say What You Don't Mean

We are all guilty of uttering trite remarks and sayings that sound great, but hold little or no value. When you tell someone, "It was great to see you, we need to get together more often," you both know it will be eons before you ever lays eyes on each other again. It's just common decency to tell a friend or relative experiencing rough times, "Call me if you need anything." "Let me know if I can help." Even though it sounds good, and you think it's comforting to show your support, those words are about as useless as tits on a boar hog if you don't sincerely mean them.

I've been made keenly aware of who I can and can't depend on amongst my circle of friends and family since my husband died almost 18 moths ago. I'm not saying that in a mean, or malicious way, I'm just saying, I know who truly means it, and who is just making noise with syllables. I realize each and every situation is different and merits distinctive handling. I totally understand when someone has previous engagements, or obligations of far greater priority and importance, and any effort is very appreciated on my part.  But, after really thinking and deeply reflecting on several events and interactions over the span of this past year, I think I'm going to just have to step up and call some of the worst offenders of saying what you don't mean out, and see what happens.

Alright now, ya'll can't say ya'll weren't fore warned, and if even the idea of what I'm about to say makes you uncomfortable, you are going to be one of the first ones, I bust in the ass with my experiment. See, from now on when you tell me to call you if I need anything, or promise to be there when I'm in trouble or need a favor, I'm going to make sure I need you and I will call you. If you tell me you are going to do something for me, I'm going to bird dog you till it's done.

But wait it gets even better.See, from now on,  when you give me an excuse, or reason why you can't help me, or fulfill your promise, I'm going to write it down, and remind you of it every time you say what you don't mean. Every time I hear you say "Holler if you need me," or " Let me know if I can do anything," I'm going to say out loud in front of God and anybody, "That's a load of crap, he/she doesn't mean a word of it. I called him/her three times when I was in a bind and they didn't do diddly damn to help me." That's right, I'm going to either break some dogs from sucking eggs, or I'm going to have a lot fewer friends. But, in the long run, the friends I will have left will be the ones I KNOW I can call when I really do need some help.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Spider Lillies

Today as I was driving around my home town, I noticed a straggly little patch of spider lillies growing under a tree in someone's front yard, and I was immediately transported back to my childhood, vivd memories of waiting for the school bus on cool autumn mornings, with a fistful of fresh picked spider lillies wrapped in a damp paper towel as a gift for my third grade teacher. I can smell the crisp, clear morning air, and feel the cool dampness in my hand. I can clearly picture mama standing in the front door, watching to make sure I safely boarded the bus. Sometimes I'm just awe struck by how even the simplest, most mundane sights, sounds, and smells, can trigger some obscure, or long forgotten memory, from the deepest confines of the subconscious.

Now that I've decided to sell my house, I'm dealing with the issue of decluttering 37 years worth of family life in this house.  Cleaning out sheds, closets, and the attic has produced an abundance of memory triggers, more than I'm truly able to process at one time. Books, bicycles, and boxes of Barbie accoutrement, stirs up flash backs to hours spent playing Barbies and fighting over who's doll got to wear what with a cousin, or the girl next door, racing down the street on my new three speed I got for Christmas, and curling up next to mama, as she read Grimm's Fairy Tales to us. All those memories, all the material things that bring them to mind, and give them life, are they truly connected? Can a tagible object actually contain one's memories? Can you have one without the other?

Looking back at the last 45 years of my life, and as I begin the process of closing that chapter of my life, I can honestly, and clearly answer those questions. Beyond all shadows of doubt, I realize now that material items, things, possesions, do not bear the burden of our memories, nor store them for us until we want them to pop out, like a jack in the box. So many friends and family members have asked me why I've given away so many things that were once prized possessions, how can I so easily part with my memories? Some of those things may very well be worth something, and have great monetary value. If they do, then I wish the new owner nothing but good will, and perhaps when they are enjoying whatever it is I gave them, or the rewards gained from selling it, they will remember me, and I too will be a fond memory.

No matter the value, or monetary worth a piece of furniture, china, or old junk might hold, just like the spider lillies that pop up each September, they too can be plucked up, and later discarded when their beauty fades, and the charm wears off. True enough there are some things that I can never part with, Moe's wedding band, my mother's engagement ring that Moe had re-designed for me, and his Ibanez guitar. I'll keep those things with me until I leave this earth, but even though I'll treasure them always, I can't take them with me when I die, and the memories they evoke are as much a part of me in the here and now,  as breathing in and out. The rest of the stuff in this house... it's all just a spider lillies,

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Priorities

I just love it when friends, family, and people in general feel the need to tell you everything you SHOULD do, and everything you OUGHT, or NEED to do, yet never show up, or offer support when you get ready to DO whatever the hell it it they advised you to do. That being said, I'm discovering that people don't like change. They don't like change in their lives, or in anyone else's, especially close friends, and family, and while I can appreciate that, I'm also taken aback at often uncalled for reactions to your decisions that may not suit their needs with no cosideration for what's best for you.

I've recently made the decision to sell my house. The home I've lived in off and on for 37 years. The house I grew up in. The house I shared with my beloved husband, the house that thousands of happy memories are built around, and the house that shares the deepest sorrows of my 45 years. It was not an easy decision, as it creates the need to find my sweet, loyal old Lab, Waylon a new, loving home, and the stress of sorting through 37 years of accumulated crap. I've already told the real estate agent that the big shed in the very back goes with the property as is,  along with Lord knows what kind of junk is in it, possibly including Sasquatch and his brethren. But, in spite of the not so good aspects of selling my home, I"m lookig forward to a new start, in a smaller, more manageable place, with less worry and up keep.

What has suddenly caused me to make this major life altering decision, you ask?  Well, in all honesty, I've been thinking about it since Moe died 17 months ago, but I didn't want to make any decisions based on emotions, so I waited until enough time passed to make a more rational, and practical decision. Once again, I'll be quite honest, and tell you the main reason I'm selling it because I'm tired. I'm tired of the worry and stress of upkeep, and I don't have the financial resources to make major repairs if they are ever needed. At certain stages in life we have to re-evaluate our priorities, and look at life from a different perspective.  So far, I've been blessed and lucky that nothing has broken, or required repairs that cost more than a few hundred bucks, and even that is a stretch for me. I've been truly blessed with genuine friends, and family who never hesitated to step up when I needed a new washer, or help with monetary issues beyond my paltry State pay check. Thus, a real, and major reason I'm putting a for sale sign out front.... if it ain't broke don't fix it, and I'm making the fact that nothing is broken a top priority.

So far, I've really gotten alot of support from those I hold dear, and whose opinions, and insights I actually merit some value. Those are the folks who know me, love me, and have certainly been true to me, especially during this past grief filled year. Some of us have grieved together, others have just been beside me ready to be there when I needed them. They are truly why I've made living here a priority, and even though I'll likely end up 30 minutes away in Baton Rouge, my folks here in Zachary will always be "home" to me.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

TMI on FB: The Importance of Taking Discretionary Measures.

Facebook, My Space, Twitter, and reality TV. What do they all have in common? They all provide a forum for anyone and everyone to air their dirty laundry, and act like trailer trash idiots with total abandon, and an abysmal lack of self respect. The truly sad part of it all is not just the fame and notoriety they garner, but they get paid handsomely to behave like rabid monkeys in heat. It's not just the MTV, and Jersey Shore generation who has hit the mainstream sans couth, or class. Indiscretion has become an epidemic, world wide TMI, and it's only going to get worse I fear.

I was raised to always be respectful of others, and to always maintain composure in public. True, I do have a very foul mouth, but I know when and where it's ok, or NOT ok, to drop an F bomb. I try to present a certain image when I'm among my peers. Even though I like to laugh, and joke about the most God awful topics, I still try to behave, not drink too much, or act like a slut. I maintain a certain image not being fake, or to impress anyone, but simply because no one really likes a sloppy drunk slut especially in public.  I know....because I've been one... in public

IN PUBLIC. Perhaps the root cause of this problem of total disregard for discretion, and couth stems from today's society's perception of what encompasses IN PUBLIC. In my younger days, public was anywhere outside the four walls of your house. Of course, that was before the Internet. Before the technological wonder of the information super highway redefined PUBLIC, bringing what was once considered the outside world, into our homes, purses, and pockets, virtually linking us to the global public 24/7.

Just because you are sitting in the privacy of your own home while you surf the net, and stalk peeps on FB, while tweeting, and texting, doesn't mean you are alone. Technology has taken us beyond the boundaries of basic decency, because we've allowed it to take control of how we communicate with others, and as a society in general. It seems to much easier to vent our angst, frustrations, share our joys and sorrows via social networks, because it removes the possible awkwardnness, and discomfort of face to face interactions, and probable confrontations. While there is nothing wrong with posting prayer requests, or letting the world know what great kids, husbands, wives, etc. you have, or asking friends for advice, and support, inspite of the widespread tolerance and acceptance of anything goes, let it all hang out point of view, some things are best left OFF the world wide web. There are just some things that do NOT need to be made common, public knowledge, and they damn sure don't belong on anyone's Facebook wall.

So, before you click that tab marked "SHARE", stop and ask yourself if it's something you would find appropriate for the majority of your friends and family to read, and consider just how it makes you look to have commnets regarding your sex life, relationship drama, anatomical descriptions, and/or bodily functions splattered across your wall page for God and everybody to view. Just because you find it amusing, or think there is nothing wrong with revealing and sharing the most intimate, gory details of your own, or even a friend or foe's most embarassing blunders, or intesnsely taboo issues, doesn't mean everyone else does too. Most of us don't really care to hear all about anyone else's sexual exploits, drunken debauchery, or random acts of stupidity, unless we know and hate them too, and can relish their embarassment, and shame. Other than that, just use this as your rule of thumb when posting on your wall. If you wouldn't want your kids or mama to read it, nor would you want someone to post those sorts of comments about you, then save it for private, in person discussions, confession, or just take it to your grave. Because in all honestly, obviously you've mistaken me, and who knows who many other people for someone who really give a shit.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Slung Off

Only two men in my life have ever truly understood me, and appreciated me for all my complexities. My daddy, and my deceased husband, Maurice Guillory. Even my long time friend, native Texan, and former boyfriend, Cal, who claims to love me inspite of myself, has never been able to pinpoint, much less accept, just what it is that sets me apart from the average female.
See, I'm the type of woman who defies the norm, and I live my life on my own terms. I'm not alone I count my dearest sister friend, Rosey, as my equal, and at times she's even worse than I am. Even though, until recently, we've spent many years apart, I've always been able to count on Rosey to have my back, and she knows who has hers. We are each unique, and possess our own special brand of qualities the average woman could never manage, or control. Right now, I reckon you are thinking either this bitch is drunk, or she's got super powers, but no, I just want to clear up any confusion, or misunderstanding about women like me and Rosey.
Just like any other girl, we want to be pretty, and we enjoy all things feminine. We wear make-up, fix our hair, get our nails done, and can look smokin friggin hot for our man, to catch a man, or simply because we like to look our best at all times. We can work as hard as any man, nor do we have to depend on them for every little thing. (I can cut my own steak thank you!!) and if we are scared of anything, we either conquer, or kill it.  We can take some hard licks, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and still pull ourselves up by the boot straps and carry on in spite of our pain.  We will fight a buzz saw to right a wrong, or protect our loved ones, and if and when we do get fed up, pissed off, over stressed, or decide to blow off some steam, we take it to a whole other dimension. Terms like "out of sorts", "off-kilter", or even "pissy" don't even come close to describing what happens. As Rosey so aptly puts it, "We get plum damn slung off."  That's right. SLUNG OFF, as in discomfrigginbobulated, (another Roseyism) out the chute, hide the bodies, destroy all evidence, Oh Lordy, make another wrap and hang tight, this aint gonna be pretty...slung off. Yet, we will squall like a baby over a sad movie, or when we feel someone else's pain. We can't stand to see anything, or anyone hurt, and we will stand our ground when it comes to our beliefs. If we like you, we'll do all we can to help you, if we don't, well go back and study my definition of "slung off".
 As for me personally, if I say I"m going to do something, it usually gets done, and my word is my bond.  It's always been hard for me to maintain romantic relationships, mainly because I have more balls than the average guy, and I guess that's just too intimidating. Truthfully, most of my closest friends, other than Rosey, and a few others are men. I'd rather work with men too, because they just want to get the work done without all the yanh-yanh bull shit office drama created by too many women in one group.
You see, we don't behave the way we do, or react so differently from other women because we are crazy, bitches, on the rag, or suffering from some hormonal imbalance. Women like me and my friend are rare breeds, an odd mix of old fashioned values, women's lib, estrogen, and cowgirl...well more like cowboy.  You know, maybe that's the best description for me and Rosey. We're not just like cowboys....we're more like cowboys with vaginas.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

"The Song Remembers When" - Trisha Yearwood

When I look back at the five precious years I shared with my husband, it's the simplest things that stand out the most. Because Moe was a musician, music was naturally a huge part of our life, but even outside of his music career, we shared a great appreciation for all genres.  Our mutual love for music was one of the common interests that bonded us, now it's what will always hold Moe close to my heart.

When I really take time to linger over some of the most important, and prized memories of our marriage, I can always find a song to accompany those events, a piece of music that encompasses the moment and preserves it in time for me. Like Trisha Yearwoods, "The Song Remembers When", I can hear certain songs on the radio, or play them at home, and once again I'm with Moe rolling along some wooded back road, high up in the Rockies, or snuggling on a front porch swing at a secluded cabin in the mountains of Tennessee. Faithfully by Journey takes me back to crowded clubs where Moe would catch my eye, as he sang those lyrics to me and only me, and tell me he loved me from the stage, with sign language he created just for us. Blake Shelton, or Michael Buble` singing Home puts me back in Moe's arms slow dancing in the living room sharing a romantic date night at home, and it also bring back the searing heartbreak of hearing that music playing softly at his funeral, as his American military service flag was presented to me on behalf of a grateful nation.

Not every song reminds me of Moe. Music is used to enhance movie scenes, and in much the same way, certain melodies remind me of why I don't like a particular person, place, or thing, or why I broke off a friendship or dumped an ex-husband, boyfriend, or lover. Some even merit a number of songs, depending on the length of association. For example, two songs remind me of a former flame from Lufkin, Tx. who strung me along for almost ten years before I got fed up with his no count, commitment phobic, old ass. Back then,  it was George Strait's Carrying Your Love With Me, because Cal worked construction all over the world, and not only was I head over heels in love with him, I never knew when or where he was going to be from one day to the next. Now days, it's Colder Weather, Zac Brown Band's latest hit, because once again he's calling and wants to take up where we left off twelve years ago. He's still no count, and would put me on the back burner for his convenience if I allowed it... and I'm not making any allowances.

Songs like friendships are oldies but goodies, and every time I hear Janis Joplin wailing Bobby McGee, I think of my lifelong sister-friend, Susanne` and all the crazy adventures we've shared and survived, many of them linked to beers, bon fires, and hot wired hi-jacked jeeps with music blaring from the radio. Amarillo by Morning, and any classic King George, or Garth Brooks and Chris LeDoux bring back my rodeo days, and long, lonesome highways, road-tripping with my girls to the big PRCA shows in Florida and Biloxi. Friends in Low Places puts me right back at the Texas Club drinking with my buddies, two-stepping around the dance floor, living like tomorrow didn't matter, and having fun was all that did.

Music has been, and always will be nourishment for my soul, the balm that soothes, the fuel that feeds the fire that keeps me moving forward. It's the gift I've been given that will forever honor Moe's memory, and has allowed me to become and remain a member of his music family. Lyrics and melodies so often reflect real life, creating the framework for the mental images from our pasts. I have an indelible songbook of sweet memories of Moe, that I will cherish always, but I'm also curious about new music that might portray this new phase of my life. New additions, like ZBB's "Knee Deep"( I need a beach vacay!) or "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy" (wouldn't be my first rodeo),  that will enhance the already vibrant range of compilations that is the album of my life such as Rascall Flatts "Life is a Highway", and Mirand Lambert's "House that Built Me", (thanks mama & daddy) timeless and poignant, " Amazing Grace", and Brad Paisley's "When I Get Where I am Going" (miss you, cuz). Most importantly, after all I've been through and the life lessons I've learned, I have to agree with Mr. Strait... I'm Not Here for a Long Time, I'm Here for a Good Time". Care to join me?  

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Rules of engagement: All's fair in Love and War My Butt!

As a recent widow trying to move on and tentatively entering the world of dating again, I have to be honest about myself, and what I expect from a prospective suitor. When you reach a certain age in life, you know exactly what you will, won't, and absolutely can't abide in a mate, and it's not due to being set in one's ways. It's because you've dealt with every possible aspect of bull shit imaginable, and you just can't find the energy to cope with poor behavior, and remaining alone is much more preferable compared to dealing with some idiotic loser.

First and foremost, I must warn the opposite sex that I don't chase behind any man. I won't beg you to stay, nor will I clamor for you attention. One thing I made clear to my husband when we married was the fact that he was always a free man. He was free to walk out the door anytime, and better not let it hit him in the ass on the way out. Why would I want to be with someone who doesn't want to be with me? Lucky for me, Maurice Guillory adored me unconditionally, and I never once worried about him ever straying, which leads to my next relationship requirement.

I cannot stand to have a man under my feet jammed up my butt 24/7. I do not need your company while I'm in the bathroom, nor is there any need for you to hang on every word of my phone conversations, and interject comments. You had friends before you met me, and there is no reason for you not to keep them unless they are coke headed manwhores I despise (fodder for another blog).  I firmly believe having individual interests, and "airing out" time apart keeps a relationship fresh. If I have to bird dog a man because I can't trust him, that's a waste of my time and energy, and I don't have alot of either to spare. I can't be bothered with that, which is one reason I have pets. If you are the jealous, mistrusting type,and loyalty is what you desire most from a relationship, then spare yourself the stress, dump the chump and just adopt a dog.

Respect is a major deal breaker for me in relationships. I don't make demands, and I'm not the controlling, jealous, type. I don't demand respect, I expect it. If a man does not respect you, then how can you respect him? Respect is earned, true enough, but without self-respect, you can't earn respect, and if you can't respect the one person you should be able to share every aspect of your life, and all your secrets, dreams, plans, hopes, and desires, what's the point? I loved Moe Guillory more than life itself, but I respected that man a million times more, and unless respect is the foundation of your relationship/marriage, you will always struggle to maintain it.

So, bottom line fellas. I'm a damn good woman. Nope, don't have a super model body, and I'm no head turning beauty, and even though I'm always working on looking and feeling my best, I"m more concerned about treating my man the way I want him to treat me. I'm no pushover, and you better bring your A game, or I'll have to tell you about yourself, and it won't be pretty. You have to be able to rein me in, and earn my respect, and appreciate me for me, accepting me just as I am with all my faults, "endearing quirks", warped sense of humor, hidden talents (trying to keep it PG okay) foul mouth, and random acts of hilarity and insanity. I can promise you will enjoy the trust, love, loyalty and support of an honest, hard working, Christian woman, with never a dull moment, some of which might even border on the disturbing and scary, but you will never, ever have to wonder where you stand with me, or have any doubts about my dedication and committment. Like I told Mr. Guillory the morning of our wedding, "if you're scared, say you're scared....". Moe just grinned from ear to ear, laid a liplock on me, looked me dead in the eyes, and said. "I'm positively terrified."

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Vengeance is Mine Sayeth the Crazy Bitch you Pissed Off.

"Never stoop to their level. Kill them with kindness." That was something my mother said alot to me when I was growing up, and she practiced what she preached. If JoAnne McGehee did not care for you, she could look through you like you didn't even exist, but for the folks she had no choice but to interact with, venom dripped from her tongue and she fed it to them like honey. Mama's voice would be as soft and sweet as syrup, and she could so politely make a total ass of her victim with just a few well disguised barbed comments. JoAnne was the master at the veiled, "F*** YOU!".

I've tried my best, over the years to heed my mother's advice, but I have a horrible temper. It takes alot for me to reach my boiling point, but when I do... you better give your soul to God, because your ass is mine! In my younger days, maintaining composure, and preserving my image/reputation was NOT a priority, and on more than one occasion I lost control and went all crazy white girl on whoever had pushed my whup ass button.

Now that I am older, wiser, and too out of shape to get physically violent, I better understand the methods of my mother's madness. I too have found that keeping my enemies close, and relying on wit and words to fight my battles is much more satisfying than feeling my fist connect with someone's face... well the majority of the time it is. Anyway, like my mother, I too have mastered the art of killing with kindness. Although I will never be as good as she was, I still take pride in telling a deserving person to go to hell in such a way they look forward to their trip. I've also learned what type of individual this tactic works best on, because let's face it, there are some people in this world who not only need a hard core, first rate, soul blistering cussing, (Lord forgive me but I can deliver a cussing so foul you will want to shower when I'm done) but that sort of tongue lashing language is all they understand.

I suppose it would be prudent of me to say that truly I have mellowed greatly in my middle years, and my sweet husband tempered my bitchiness, and made me a much nicer person. Inspite of his passing away, I still try to follow his example and as Moe would tell me, "Take the high road, boo, always try to take the high road." Sure, I still have my moments, like throwing the vacuum cleaner in the yard, and demolishing the broken storm door in a snit when it locked me out of the house three times in a row. But, for the most part I stay on a fairly even keel, and most folks can tell if I like them or not, mainly due to the fact that I'm too honest and have no shame. As far as I'm concerned, FAKE is the nasty "F" word.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

The Life Trip

Twenty years ago I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life. My main interests included chasing cowboys on the rodeo circuit, and my goal in life was to own every color roper Justin boots made, both pull-on and lace up. I ended up with twelve pair total.

Looking back I am painfully aware of all the time and money I wasted trying to keep up with my friends, and maintain a lifestyle that I would one day out grow. But I learned some hard, yet valuable lessons, truths about myself and others that helped shape my ideals, and philosophies about, life, love, responsibility, and my own accountablility.

There comes a time on most of our lives when we reach that age of awareness that some things are just better left to the younger generations, and we finally become honest to God, real life, genuine adults. Like some mind boggling epiphany the reality of, " Holy shit I've become my mother/father. Dear God, I'm the voice of reason, and that's scary as Hell", kicks us in the head, and we understand that we have reached what I call, the age of Okay, NOW I get it.
  Sure, I look at today's youth and think this world is going to hell in a handbasket, just like my parents generation did with mine. I watch the news, and pray for God's grace. I get disgusted with the idiocy of reality TV, and this culture's obession with all things celebrity, and wonder what happened to the days of families gathered around the Tv laughing at Carol Burnett, or playing games like Monopoly. Saturday morning cartoons have become politically correct Japanese animation crap. I don't know about ya'll but watching a coyote getting his ass kicked by a roadrunner did NOT make me a violent member of society, although you might end up as a little poof of dust at the bottom of a cliff if you royally piss me off.

Had I known then what I know now, my life may have turned out much differently than it is now, but I wouldn't have had nearly as much fun, or have so many great, crazy stories to tell. I wouldn't have learned that hurt and disaapointment make the good things in life even sweeter, and I wouldn't appreciate the woman I am today. I'm not perfect by the biggest longshot, and I don't profess to be so sage and wise that I can pass judgement based on my experience. This past year after losing my Moe has vividly shown me that you really can't say what you would and wouldn't do until you actually live the situatution. Walk and mile in someone else's shoes and you can bet your feet will stink just like theirs.

 One thing I can honestly claim to know, I mean own this knowledge like it's a piece of my soul, is the simplest of life's truths. We are all born into this world, with the understanding that we are all going to leave it at some point. Dying is as much a part of the journey as living, and some of us leave sooner than others, but only God knows when, where, and how. It's up to us to make the most of all that is given to us, and to accept that we are never 100 pecent in control of anything on this Earth. We are our own stewards, and while we have the free will to decide when it's time to move to the next phase of living, some of us are too afraid to take that step, and either stagnate in the misery of our making, or spiral down into our own personal hells. Things happen in life that we will never understand while we are alive. Natural disasters, the cruelty of others, and the flaws of human nature are the mysteries of this life, and we really can't explain any of it as hard as we try, too often there are no answers.

I think a quote by the character Wyatt Earp from the movie Tombstone keenly describes the sentiment, or feeling we all share once we hit the enlightenment of true maturity. "I spent my whole life not knowing what I want out of it, just chasing my tail. Now for the first time I know exactly what I want and who...that's the damnable misery of it."

Friday, July 15, 2011

Peach Picking Instinct or In"stink"tually the Pits

Dating and finding that right other half is much like grocery shopping. Nothing is more disappointing that buying a beautifuly colored, plump juicy looking peach, then biting into it only to find it's dry, and tasteless, or sour with rot. The same goes for people. We've all met someone who is much like that peach. Sure, they look perfect from the outside, but it soom becomes apparent that looks can definitely be deceiving. All too often this happens more than we'd like to admit, and for some it's a vicious cycle of not recognizing the spoiled fruit, but after a few foul tasting experiences, most of us learn to be a bit more decerning, employing more precaution, smelling and squeezing before taking that first bite.

Of course, not all "peaches" are perfect. Like people, some of the best tasting are knotty, lumpy, and mishaped. While it's not usually the norm that the worst looking fruit turns out the be the sweetest and juciest, we are all guilty of not looking past the skin, and acknowledging the inner pit. When you pick the right peach for you, you have to be willing to accept the good, and bad, because it's a package deal.

When we begin a relationship, we are eager to get to know this person who has attracted our attention, and it's thrilling to learn what makes them who they are as the getting to know each other phase progresses. Even when certain comments, mannerisms, characteristics, or actions, set off our alarm, most of us are willing to look past these red flags in order to dig a little deeper. Just because you see a few blemishes, doesn't mean the whole peach is damaged. It's human nature to be curious, and none of us want to be accused of seeming shallow, so we turn a blind eye and cut out the unattractive spots, and continue. Pretty soon, you've smelled the fruit's frangrance, and felt it's firmness, and gently squeezed it in all the right places. Then it's time to take that first bite, really sink teeth into it and find out what it tastes like. Either it's delicious, and once you  get down to the pit, you understand and know you picked the right peach after all, or it's nasty so you spit it out and head back to the produce aisle.

Returning repeatedly to the "produce aisle" gets tedious after a while, and it becomes easy to get stuck tasting the same type of fruit over and over. Variety is the spice of life, and getting stuck eating the same fruit all the time creates relationship ruts, like picking poor peaches for example. As hard as it might seem, sometimes it's important to switch up, and maybe try a little melon, Casaba, or Canteloupe, or maybe branch out into more exotic produce like kiwi's or mango. If you don't experiment, and give different fruits a chance, you won't know which one is more to your liking.

The main thing to consider, and remember when choosing your favorite fruit, be it peaches, plums. citrus, or melons,  is this... It's not always the look and feel, (although the smelling, and squeezing is part of the fun) or braving that first bite that matters the most. It's being sure you want to eat only one kind fruit for the rest of your life.  Before you settle for one single flavor, try a few slices first.

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Outer Beauty & Inner Ugly...What Makes Us Beautiful

Recently, I got smacked in the face by the sheer ugliness of the human nature. Egotism, and self adoration make for a biased world view, and it skewes how people afflicted with these traits see others. Some people who self worship are shallow, and vapid, and lack intelligence so their ugliness shines bright then dims as others see through the flash and dazzle of their overly contrived outer beauty. Then there is the most vile of all, the coldly calculating highly intelligent narcissist. While appearance varies, they are always threatened by anyone who dares to challenge their authority, or even make them look the least bit average, yet they are somewhat simple minded, no matter their degree of education. Through the years, I have tangled with some inner ugly so foul, I can only pray about it, and leave it in God's hands, because under the circumstances my hands are better left in my pockets. What makes people so ugly? Why do people feel the need to lash out at others, just to make themselves feel better? Because they are spiritually blind.

I'm not talking a specific religion/denomination here. I'm talking about what makes a person beautiful in the eyes of the beholder. The inner light that shines forth, and draws us to their warmth, and kindness that is part of their spirit. Have you ever met someone who was just so genuinely caring, and warm, and just seemed to glow with sheer joy and love for life, the epitome of Joie de vive, yet so raw-boned homely in appearance that they look like they fell out of the UGLY Tree and hit every single limb on the way down? I'm talking some kinda sightful, yet because they are so perfectly good natured and happy go lucky all you see is their inner beauty like a beacon of light guiding you to the depth of their open, giving heart.

Like that movie, Shallow Hal, some of us have been lucky enough to see past the outer flaws. Sadly, a large majority either won't allow themselves to get beyond the facade most of us strive to present so perfectly. Instead they doom their inner beauty to a remote recess of their soul, and spend their lifetime searching for perfection in a show pony rather than a true partner, or worse, they automatically assume everyone is beneath them, and they always know best, and foist their jacked up mindset on everyone else. :

Those same folks have a hard time accepting not just anyone else's shortcomings, both inner and outer, but their own as well. One thing I learned long ago, not just from my daddy drilling it into my head, but from years of personal experience, is this: No one in this world is better than you. They might be the same as you, but no one is ever better or above you in any way, physically, mentally, or spritually. God loves us as we are, because we are all perfectly made in His image. I truly feel sorry for the individual who is so blinded by their own overly inflated self importance, and puts so much stock into outer image that they can't see past it to appreciate the honest beauty within.

I was lucky to be loved by a very outwardly handsome, internally beautiful, man for five sweet years, who saw my inner beauty, along with a great appreciation for the outer image efforts, but what made him so irresistable to me was his sharp wit, and appreciation for mine as well. Whenever I'd overhear my husband bragging about how smart his wife was, I couldn't help but fill with pride and immense love for him, but after this happened a few times I just had to ask him one night, " Baby, how come you never brag on how pretty, or good you think I look?' Moe just smiled and kissed me softly, and said, " Anyone with eyes can tell I think you are absolutely beautiful, buh-bee. I don't have to say it."

Monday, July 4, 2011

If I were Queen

As we all relax on this national holiday, and enjoy picnics, barbecues, fireworks, and patriotic parades and concerts, let's stop and consider what a great nation we live in, inspite of the current crappiness that is our congress, and economy. Let's all join together, and instead of bitching and whining, let's make a concerted effort to correct the issues plaguing us today. I'm sure you all have specific ideas, and thoughts about what our government leaders should be doing, and since we are headed into an election year, I figured I might as well throw my own opinions and ideas into the ring. I can do that.... it's MY blog.

First and foremost I would do some major house cleaning in the House and Senate, and instead of Democrats and Republicans, I would make them Real Americans who work and pay taxes, and The Dumbasses. Considering one side would heavily outweigh the other, I'd run them all off and start from scratch from the state level up.

Once new representatives of the American people were installed at both state and national levels, we'd get down to business. The first thing I'd do is federalize the oil companies, and create an agency that inspected and policed their drilling practices based on rules written by offshore oilworkers who know how things should be done. Then, I'd tax the oil companies a certain percentage based on their revenue. The more money they make, the more taxes they pay, and I'd make companies that go overseas pay an annual fee, and import tax to continue doing business as an "American" company. Elected officials would have salary and benefit caps, and our military personnell would make as much money as a Fortune 500 CEO because I would make sure those companies contributed to a General Defense fund, based on a sliding scale of yearly profits. Their books would be audited by Government agencies annually. I'd also abolish worker's unions, and make right to work national policy. Companies and corporations would have to provide annual reports of workers compensation maintaining a national average for salaries and benefits, and implement job creation programs employing so many new workers annually.

Military families would not have to pay for food, or housing while a spouse is on actice combat duty. In the event that spouse is killed in the line of duty, their children will receive free college tuition, a stipend while in school, and their surviving spouses would get a lump sum benefit depending on the amount required to payoff any outstanding debt such as mortgages, or loans. Anyone who dies while in service to this great nation deserves to be respected, and honored, and while I find imposing on religious freedom unconstitutional, I would inact laws preventing any disruption, or protesting at military funerals. Anyone doing so will be tried for treason, and exiled.

Now, talking about exile. I'd work out a deal with Haiti, and instead of funding countries like Pakistan to fight against the terrorists they are using our money to train, I'd give that money to Haiti to help them recover and rebild a democratic government in exchange for allowing the US to use their country as a training grounds.
Each American male and female would spend a year in Haiti upon turing 18, so they can experience what it's like to live in a country without all the freedoms, rights, and modern conveniences we enjoy in this country. You got to admit, it's better to be homeless in America, than Haiti, or alot of other countries around the globe. The assholes that are exiled would go there too, and have to work to rebuild. I'd make deals with other coutries in need too, that have suffered natural disasters like Japan, and even here at home. Those exiles would have to work to help restore things to normal, and be subject to the same conditions as the citizens affected.

 As far as illegal immigration goes, I'd limit the number of people coming in from Mexico, by implementing a lottery program, and the drug cartels that are causing mayhem along the border, well I'd send troops to patrol it, and anyone who dares dip a toe over that line had better either have their winning lottery ticket in their hand, or be ready to meet their maker. I hate to be such a hardass, but you have to stand your ground, and get the point across.  Once they are in our country legally, they have to find employment, pay taxes, and learn English, read and write, and basically assimilate. I'm a firm believer of when in Rome do as the Romans do. If you want to maintain your native nationality stay home.

There are many thigns wrong with America right now, and I've only touched on a few that I feel take priority, but despite all the negaticve, I still believe with all my red white and blue heart that there is no greater nation on God's green earth than the United States of America. No matter how tough things might seem, or how yellow and pathetic we might seem to the rest of the world, I'm proud to be an American. Aren't you?

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Freedom

What does it mean to be free? As Americans we enjoy many so called freedoms. We can elect our public officials, we have religious freedom, and are free from government persecution. As a newly single forty something female, I have my own kind of freedom, whether I like or want it.

At age 45 (well almost 7/14 is just around the corner) I never thought I would pretty much be alone in the world. Both parents are deceased, and the man I thought I'd share the rest of my life with died last year. I have no children, and my pets rarely deter me from doing as I damn well please. The fact that I truly don't have another living soul on this earth to answer to is the ultimate freedom. The only person I answer to is my own self, and of course, ultimately God. Some people might say I'm obligated to my job, housenote, bills, responsibilities, but when I think about it, not really. I take responsibility for all those things as obligations because it makes my life much nicer, and I was raised to take responsibility for my actions, and honor the agreements I make. Do I HAVE to do that? No, because I'm free to make my own decisions and choices regarding how I live my life.
Another aspect of my personal freedom is how my freedom effects others, my friends and family. Do I care what people think of me? Certain people in my life, yes, I do. Why? Because I admire, respect, and genuinely care for them, and I don't ever want them to think less of me, or cause problems between us.  The folks outside that circle...well if you don't know me like that or pay my light bill and kiss me goodnight, then your opinion of me matters not. What you say about me has zero bearing because you don't know me well enough to talk about me in the first place.
Freedom. So many people fight for it, yearn for it, and even die for it. I've recently been told I'm lucky, because I can just go and do as I please, with not chick nor child to hold me back. I can live where I want, wear what I want, say and do what I please, and if I offend someone, or piss them off... oh well, it's not like I'm going to get in trouble for it. Sounds incredible doesn't it? Sounds like a kick ass way to take charge of one's destiny and live life on one's own terms. Honestly, I'd give my very soul to have my husband with me again, and have to report in so he wouldn't worry. I'd love to have my mother here to guide me with her wisdom when I have tough decisions to make. So many times I've wished for my dad's steadfast assurance that everything will be alright. Now, it's up to me to handle things on my own.
There are certain freedoms we all share, and some freedoms are more precious than others. What sounded like freedom as a teenager, is pretty much the life I'm living today. I enjoy being able to do as I please with no one to tell me otherwise, and I have a really good life, filled with alot of good people. But, I understand now, that not all freedom is worth the price paid for it.

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Unintentionally Single at 45: The New Middle Aged Crazy

I've been widowed for almost 15 months now, and just recently stopped wearing my wedding rings in an effort to move on with my life. I still feel married in many ways, and I never want to dishonor my late husband's memory, but I have to admit I don't want to be alone forever. Perhaps recent events and a discussion with a very dear friend helped me view the idea of dating again in a more postive light, although I tend to equate my re-entering the singles scene to a horrible train wreck. You really don't want to look but you can't help but take a peek and hate yourself for it, knowing you will probably be scarred by the mental images for life.

I recently tested the waters by taking a mini-vacation all by myself. I despise the idea that single women need someone to accompany them when venturing beyond their daily boundaries, whether it's another female, or the man in her life. If I want to go, and have the funds, fuel, and freedom, why the hell not! Sure, there are all kinds of crazy people out there waiting to slit my throat and dump me in a ditch, but I got enough street smarts to know how to avoid offering the psychos opportunities to make me the next headline for Nancy Grace. Anyway, I had free rooms at the Imperial Palace Casino in Biloxi, MS. which was one of my husband's favorite getaways for us. So, what was supposed to be a girlfriend getaway, turned into me going by my damn self, and I upgraded to a King jacuzzi suite and treated myself to a little luxury. For $20 a night, hell that's better than sex... better than fantasy sex!!

Well, I arrived on the Mississippi Gulf Coast about mid-afternoon, and began my ritual of using up my allotted free play starting at the Island View in Gulfport, then popped into Treasure Bay to burn up that $10, and finally I checked into my room at the IP shortly before 5PM. Checking in, unloading my bags, and checking out my awesome room, wasn't the tough part of being alone. Thinking about Moe, and how romantic he would have made such a trip brought back some truly sweet memories, and as luck would have it, thanks to being by myself, I indulged in a weeping spell that was well over due. Once I regained composure and made myself presentable enough to appear in public, I made a beeline for Moe's favorite slot machines. You never know, Lady Luck might have a soft spot for poor old widow women. Being alone roaming the casino floor, or taking a seat for a drink at the bar doesn't faze me in the least. Eating alone in the buffet or restaurants is an entirely different deal, but when a meal is free, a little trepidation is easily overcome.

In retrospect, maybe being so happily married to a musician for five years, helped prepare me for stepping back into the world of dating,  Sitting in bars while my spouse was on stage provided hours of people watching experience, and I learned how to read the subtle nuances, body language, and silent means of communication, between members of the opposite sex, and even some between those of the same gender. Those observations mixed with my own personal experiences from years of single partying, really came in handy on my little adventure on the coast. Once again, as luck would have it, my dear pal was playing in the band booked in the casino lounge my last night there, and he introduced me to the bass players fiance, who I immediately clicked with, and as ladies night ensued, and the free drinks flowed, I began to realize I needed to loosen up. I had been needing it for a very long time.

 Since Moe died, fun has been a rare and often unwanted commodity, and up until that point, I had been to careful to maintain a particular image out of respect for Moe's memory. Well, no matter how much you loved, and always will love your lost beloved, a dead husband can't compete with a big honking set of 42D's in a low cut top, and a good rum & diet coke buzz. I had a frigging BLAST! I shook my big ass like a poloroid picture, got hit on by a cute little Georgia boy who had no clue until I told him I was old enough to be his mother, and after it was all said and done, I crawled into bed feeling younger and more alive than I had in quite some time.
So now I know I'm not totally washed up by any means, and with my new low carb lifestyle, and exercise goals, maybe dating after death isn't the nightmare I envisioned. Oh, and cute little Georgia guy, you told me your age, but I never told mine , so I'm only ten years older than you, and even though I'm old enough to be your lover NOT your mother, I prefer older men.... so Mr. Georgia what's your grandfather like, and how's his life insurance policy?

Monday, June 6, 2011

Manscaping: The Difference Between Sexy and WTF

Although I am recently widowed and not quite ready to venture into the world of dating again, I do appreciate a well groomed man, always have. My husband was a very well groomed man, one of the things that attracted me to him was not just the fact that he always smelled good, he looked good. Most men are as vain as us females of the species, but recently certain trends in male personal hygiene have taken vanity, or in this instance, "manity" to a whole other level. One I personally find a little ...well.. just kinda like... "eewww, did you forget you were a dude?"

First off, I like well kept facial hair on men. Well kept being the key phrase here. A nicely groomed, trimmed beard and/or mustache on the right man is sexy. Not every guy can pull that look off, but those who can, should, and those who do... call me. Further more, men are supposed to be hairy. That's right, hairy. Sure, you guys need to keep the ear, and nose hairs in check, and there are some poor fellows who have an abundance of body hair, front, back, up and down, who resemble walking talking mohair rugs. While the very hirsute of the gender should consider some waxing, shaving, or even laser hair removal,  for the average sexually mature male, slick and boyish is NOT sexy. No woman wants to share her bikini wax, or other depliatory products with her man. Any man with smooth legs, waxed brows, and defuzzed nether regions is way more high maitenance than I am, which means I have to up my defoliation game to keep up, and baby there are just some things not worth shaving my legs for, much less any other areas of "significance".

Everyone deserves pampering, and should treat themselves to a massage, or facial, from time to time. If financially feasable, make it part of your beauty routine, LADIES. But, seeing a man at the salon/spa getting a mani-pedi, facial, perm or highlights is not just off-putting, it is freakishly abnormal, especially if he seems to really be comfortable and enjoying it. If you want to cover your grays, or have hobbit feet with ninja star toenails, take care of that in the privacy of your own bathroom. A little Grecian Formula, and some farrier's tools, and not only will you look good, but you've managed to retain your masculinity!

Beauty/grooming products vary among the genders of our species, and the females have traditionally excelled at stockpiling an abundance of the latest and greatest in anti-aging, and youth maintaining concoctions. But, over the past couple of years, cosmetic companies have discovered a new demographic, and begun to create product lines geared towards the more progressive males, aka..metrosexuals. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and it is only human to appreciate true beauty in both the opposite, and same sex. I'll be the first to admit I assess and critique other women, and will openly admire the results of hours spent at the gym, salon, and plastic surgeon's office. All women compare and take notes, and I know men do the same, but there is just something wrong with any man who strives to be prettier than his woman.

Perhaps it's just my personal preference, but shaggy haired, smooth chested, androgynous looking waifs, with clear polished nails, reeking of uni-sex cologne are not in the least bit attractive. No grown man with an ounce of testosterone is going to intentionally sport a Justin Bieber hair do, much less lip gloss, or nail polish. There are only two men in the world who can pull off wearing eye liner, nail polish, brightly colored scarves, hair feathers and beads, and still be sexy. One is Steven Tyler and the other is Captain Jack Sparrow.

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Home Sweet Haunted Home

Ghost stories, folk tales and legends, myths, fact & fiction are deeply entwined in the cultures, a gumbo of ethnic roots, of Louisiana, especially south La. My husband grew up in Eunice, La. a born and bred cajun, whose Mama Bea would use the "Loup Garou" or in some areas "rougarou" to instill good behavior in her grandsons. I delighted in stories my parents would tell us,  many involving local legends, such as the Union General, killed with his regement at the Battle of Port Hudson, whose ghost rode his horse across the wooden bridge, and Old Man Shelmire, whose footsteps were heard nightly as he climbed up the stairs to bed in my uncle's house.
My mother instilled the fear of God in us, raising us in the Christian faith, yet she held a strong fascination, and healthy respect, for the supernatural and paranormal, and shared that with us as well. I have very fond memories of curling up with Mama, and my sister, on the couch late at night watching Rod Serling's Night Gallery,  or some spooky movie, when other kids my age were in bed. Mama loved suspense, and fright. Horror with gore, and gruesome scenes were not her taste. Rather than mundane bedtime stories like Goodnight Moon, or Mother Goose, my sister and I enjoyed readings from Grimm's Fairy Tales, and Homer's The Odyssey. I am sure my mother's choices for children's literature would meet with great disapproval by todays standards, but I am pretty sure I was the only third grader with a keen knowledge of Greek Mythology, and a ouija board. Thanks to my mother, I have always believed in spirits, guardian angels, as well as demons, and evil entities.
 All that being said, I find it very appropriate that three most important people in my life, all died in my house. I live in the house I grew up in, and my mother passed away in the bedroom where I sleep, ten years ago. My father breathed his last in the very back bedroom which is now the computer/junk room, five years ago this month. My beloved husband sat down on our living room couch one April afternoon last year, and died very unexpectedly at the age of 48.
When I tell people that all three died in my house, the usual response is negative.  For some reason, the majority has as aversion to death, and a fear of the paranormal. Ghosts, spirits, and the things that go bump in the night are not always evil, or demonic. Sure, I firmly believe in evil spirits, and demons, and have no doubt they can easily be let in by unsuspecting idiots who dabble in the occult, or unknowlingly open themselves through parlor games with ouija boards, or seances. In my house I know nothing but peace, and sense of total security, and the knowledge that I have three guardian angels gives me great comfort. Quite honestly I feel sorry for any demon that tries to invade my sanctuary. I won't tolerate that crap, and catch me in the right mood, evil is no match for my bitch powers. Reading this I'm sure you are convinced I'm slap raving nuts, but others have experienced paranormal activity in my house. Ask my dear friend Melissa about getting slapped on the butt in my kitchen, or my cousin about seeing someone move across the hallway when we were the only two people there. My experiences have really increased since Moe, my husband , died last year, and I've been told by friends who are sensitive to such things that there is a spiritual presence that surrounds me. I've heard my name called, I've had furniture moved, my shirt tugged on, my hair touched, and the most recent encounter was just last night.
 I didn't settle down to sleep until midnight, and I was restless, in and out of a light sleep. Each time I'd rouse from my fitfull rest, I kept hearing music playing very, very faintly, as though a radio or TV had been left on in a remote part of the house. At some point in the wee hours before the alarm,  very soft, raspy, voice said "she can hear" right beside my bed. The voice woke me up, and I have to admit I was wide awake when my bed moved like someone had sat down, or laid across the foot of it. The cats even looked up like they were seeing someone, and Freckles gave a soft chuff, and rolled over as if inviting this spector to rub his belly. Oddly enough, I was startled but unafraid, and I dozed off immediately and enjoyed peaceful, uninterrupted sleep until the alarm clock went off at 5:30AM. 5:30am alarm....now THAT is evil from the pits of Hell!!!

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Pretty Woman

It ain't always hormones that makes us ladies cranky and out of sorts. Nine times out of ten a woman's irritability has to do with what she's wearing, how she looks, and whether or not she's hungry. Men have no clue as to what we have to endure in order to appear in public looking at least halfway decent, or presentable enough to prevent mass hysteria. Your man will tell you how beautiful you are when you first wake up in the morning because he wants sex. If he saw you out on the street with hair tangled up like a rat's nest, drool crust around your lips, and mascara boogers in the corners of your eyes, he'd run like a mad dog was after him. Oh sure, he loves seeing you in one of his t-shirts, and tells you that you don't need make-up to be pretty, but try to go somewhere with him in his beat up tee, without your "face" on, and at some point before you walk out the door he is going to get that deer in the headlights look, shuffle about uncomfortably, avoid eye contact and ask you if you are really going out like that. When you give him the stink eye and remind him that he told you that very morning that you were so lovely au natural, he will have one of two choices, neither in his favor, as he will have to A) agree and head on to where ever you were going and pretend to be proud of you, or B) admit he was lying in hopes of getting some action and beg you to glam it up for Pete's sake. Either way he knows he won't be getting lucky again for awhile.

Even after spending hours getting ready, waxing, washing, flossing glossing, conditioning, exfoliating, pampering and polishing resulting in our drop dead gorgeous best, (I'm talking shining like a diamond in a goat's ass, baby!!) if we even seem the least little bit grumpy, or bitchy a man will always chalk it up to that time of the month.  Well here's a newsflash Mister. You try functioning in high heels that fit like vice grips, wearing Spanx a couple of sizes too small in order to get maximum benefit, and a push up bra that is boring holes in your ribs, and you will swear you were being squeezed to death by an anaconda! Not to mention you haven't eaten hardly anything all day to make sure your outfit does fit, and you're hungrier than a jip wolf with puppies in January. Then, if and when you finally do eat something, God forbid you have to fart wearing all that and run the risk of imploding, or popping a button with such force you'll put someone's eye out!  So now you know that trying to look one's best isn't all it's cracked up to be!

Listen up boys, if you want to have a great relationship and score big with your woman in more ways than one, next time you see a female you're attracted to, or have a fancy date with your  steady sweetie, make sure she knows all her beauty efforts are appreciated, and tell her she's knock-out sexy gorgeous. Now, if you want to make sure you get lucky later, tell her she's looking a little too thin, take her out to dinner and encourage her to order dessert, prove to her that you think she is perfect just as she is, and later on when those Spanx do come off... lose your inhibitions and make sure ALL the lights are OFF! .

Monday, May 23, 2011

Life Wisdom

In spite of my still young age of 44, just a month plus from 45, I feel so much older than my physical years, based on my personal life experiences. I'm not the exception by any means, as people world wide have dealt with various life alterations far, far beyond my comprehension, but I do feel entitled to boast an unprecedented share of wisdom due to my own life altering experiences. Anytime we experience extreme emotional events, such as the birth of a child, marrying our soul mate, losing a loved one, for example, we gain immeasurable amounts of knowledge. Knowledge which varies as we process the experience, and all it entails. Joy, sorrow, love, hatred, pride, pleasure, fear, anger, jealousy, diappointment, dispair, piety, penance, hope, and relief, just the tip of the complex emotional ice berg humans are capable of feeling, and sharing in mutiple ways, all forms of knowledge that results in life wisdom.

Everyone's life wisdom is gained through normal processes of trial and error, learning from our own and other's mistakes. The vast majority of us gain wisdom/ knowledge through life lessons learned depending on our chosen paths, lifestyles, and behaviors we indulge in. The free will God gave us, is usually what determines the severity of harshness, or heighth of reward gained, although circustances and situations arise completely beyond our control, and we learn at the mercy of the elements involved. It is those events, the ones we encounter unexpectedly, without warning, and with such impact that the experience either shapes and enhances our character, or warps and deadens the spirit that remains. The choice is ultimately ours to make.

My early wisdom was gained through the priviledge of growing up in a family of strong southern women, being raised by parents who were totally committed to their children and each other, and having the fear of God pounded into my brain, and onto my backside as needed, considering my willful, headstrong nature. Over the past 44 years I have gathered knowledge from breaking hearts, and being broken, failing miserably, and triumphing over adversity. I've gained immense wisdom from a painful divorce, and self deception, bitter remorse, and dogged perseverance. I've thrived on the jubilation of unconditional love, and dispaired over betrayal, and foolish behavior. But, the three life altering events that have determined who I am, and how I continue my life, have been the most traumatic and soul blistering emotional journeys I've endured. Some might say death has honed my survival skills, and heartache has strengthened my determination, but each of the losses I've experienced resulted in different expressions of grief, and each one processed individually.

My mother's death caused by cancer was sudden, and at the time unthinkable. She was diagnosed on a Tuesday, and she died three days later on Friday, September 21, 2001, just days after the horror of 9/11. While mama's death was surreal, knowing the cancer was so advanced there was nothing that could be done other than trying to keep her comfortable, and I loved her enough to ask God to spare her from further suffering. Four years later, I would again  ask God to release my father from the ravages of cancer, and sit with daddy as he took his last breath. Thankfully, I had the love and support of the most wonderful, kind and caring man at that time, and I would eventually be blessed with four years of wedded bliss with that man. Little did I realize, the five years I shared with Maurice "Moe" Guillory would be not only the sweetest, happiest, but all too short lived, years of my life.

Looking back at our marriage, I understand now what it means to give of yourself, totally, and without hesitation. Even though I easily offered Moe my heart, he gave me more love, strength, courage, hope, joy, and respect than humanly imaginable. Moe gave me everything that embodies unconditional love, because he accepted me as I am, and reveled in my flaws, and imperfections. He took genuine pride and joy in the bond we shared, and taught me how to truly give of  myself. Moe gave me life wisdom based on pure love while he was alive. Now, as I've navigated this stormy and trecherous ocean of grief over the past 13 months, I am forever grateful for the wisdom gained from knowing Moe,and also from blind faith, and hard fought battles won. Without that wisdom, I would have fallen, succumbed to a pain so agonizing, and deep, I would never have been able to see my world unblurred by tears of hopelessness, again. Even now, as I forge ahead, and try to move on with my life, I am wise enough to realize I will love and miss Moe until I am with him again, but with each day that passes, I honor his memory with joy and laughter, fond memories shared with our friends and family, and I am finally able to take comfort in knowing that his spirit is always with me.

Welcome to My World View....Nancyisms!

Ok, here it is... my much awaited blog page! Welcome aboard, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare to hear the gospel according to your's truly. While I try to be considerate, and respectful of other's personal preferences, beliefs, political leanings, and delicate sensibilities, this is my damn page, and I'm going to tell it like I believe it should be told. If you are politically correct, extremely religious, easily offended, or like to nitpick over trivial crap, then don't read my blog. Comments are welcome, including constructive criticism, but if I don't like what you say I will delete it...it's MY page, and I can do that. Racist, incendiary, hateful, excessively crude, and outright nasty comments and remarks will not be tolerated, and not only will you be deleted and blocked, you will earn a spot on my Class A Assholes list, which will be published regularly.

While I can't imagine ever running out of topics to discuss, I encourage my readers to make suggestions, ask questions, and offer information/research on any topic near and dear to their heart. I'm fairly open minded, but will draw the line, just not sure exactly where as I have yet to reach my "opinion limit".

I must admit I am excited, and I don't know just how often I will post, so for right now I'll commit to once a week. If I have time, and see the need, I will post bi-weekly. To start I'm just going to play it by ear, since it's quite possible that no one really gives a shit about anything I have to say, although I honestly find that hard to believe because there has to be others out there who out of sheer boredom, and lack of social skills, will read anything in order to interact with other human beings. So my peeps, spread the word, tell your friends, block the kiddies (I do think censorship is a parental right up to a certain age), and be ready for anything, as Nancyisms has been unleashed on a largely unsuspecting world.
Nancy McGehee Guillory