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.

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,

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.

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.

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.

"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?  

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."