The Reconstruction of Self . . . and all that that implies!

Confession . . .

2012-01-04T23:21:00.000-06:00

James 5:16
confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

And so . . .
Confession is necessary for deliverance.

My faith, is new to me. I have gone to church, I have always believed in God, I have not always known what that means. I'm learning that now, and it has been a bit painful to tell you the truth.

One of the hardest things to do in life is to admit your own faults, and to hear that you are doing (whatever it is that you are doing) it wrong. To learn and accept that your actions are the reason for your unhappiness, is contrary to human nature quite frankly. Or rather, it is contrary to human nature before you come into the knowledge of the truth. It is contrary to human nature when you are OF the world, and for a very long time I have lived my life in and OF the world.

That has changed to some degree, but frankly the world (and it's flawed perceptions) has been so deeply rooted in my spirit that I haven't really changed as much as I know is necessary for my deliverance . . . for my salvation.

Well the change continues . . . with confession . . .

I have lied on occasion, not always malicious . . . but lies none the less.
I have fornicated in the not so distant past.
I have been guilty of corrupt communication.
I have been bitter and angry, and allowed myself to be provoked to some degree of wrath.
I have a bit of a cussing demon, which usually rears it's head in conjunction with wrath.
I have been unkind, even recently, in my words and actions.

Having confessed those things here, I am asking God to deliver me from the demonic spirits and influences that are hindering my relationship with Him. I am asking Him to make those things that are contrary to His word, distasteful to me. Lord, if it is not mine . . . if it does not edify you, if I can not glorify you with it . . . I don't want it. Help me to die to my flesh, Lord . . . and to accept more readily the reproof that I know is for my perfection. In this confession, I am asking You to help me be a better Christian and as Christ-like as is possible. I am asking for a relationship with you, Lord.

See, that's the ultimate goal. "That" being an honest and personal relationship with God, where I trust Him and He trusts me.

I apologize to those of you who I have lied on, or lied to. I don't know that any of my lies were ever malicious or told with ill intent . . . but the path to hell is paved with good intentions.

I apologize to those of you who I have fornicated with, because I didn't help your soul any more than I helped my own . . . and I care for your soul. I ask God now to break those spiritual bonds that were tied by that physical act, and I pray for your deliverance as I pray for my own.

I apologize to those of you whose pity parties I joined when I should have been encouraging you with The Word. When you were negative, hurting or discouraged, God put you in my path and I did not help you.

I forgive those of you who wronged me, and ask your forgiveness in turn. Further I apologize for having been angry with you, for having spoken ill of or to you, and I apologize for those things that I did and said in an effort to make myself feel better . . . or to make you feel worse.

So there it is . . .
My confession, and my next step toward salvation.

Happy New Year . . . I resolve NOT to resolve . . .

2012-01-01T17:18:00.000-06:00

After careful consideration, I've decided NOT to make a list of resolutions this year.

I mean, honestly . . . I still haven't even started last year's list. Or maybe I have. I don't know. I mean, who really keeps up with those things after the first week?

In fact, last January 1st feels like it was far more than 365 days ago . . . and since I have trouble keeping details from yesterday straight, I've given up on ever remembering what I thought was important enough to create a "resolution" about last year!

That's how life goes isn't it? What is important, life changing and mind altering today . . . you can't even remember tomorrow.

So, yeah . . . no resolutions this year.

Nope, not even one . . .

I will instead make commitments. Nothing like, "ten pounds by February 28th" or "stop smoking". I mean, I'd love to lose 10 pounds . . . and smoking is bad for you. But to resolve those kinds of things is only setting yourself up for failure, really. So, not gonna do that . . . just gonna commit.

The first sentence of the previous paragraph is actually a bit misleading. I said, "commitments", but there is really only one that matters to me right now. It's my commitment to God and my faith. If I can just get that one thing right, everything else will line up in due time.

So that's my commitment this year.
I commit to prayer in the face of every obstacle and opportunity that I am faced with.
I commit to praising Him, in good times and bad.
I commit to reading my Bible, everyday.
I. Commit. To. My. Faith.

So tell me, oh faithful reader(s) of the blog . . . what are you committing to this year?

How quickly we forget . . .

2011-12-20T07:16:00.001-06:00

When you start praising, thanking and believing God OUT LOUD, the devil will get to work on you. He will get to work, and he will get there quickly!

On August 2nd, I wrote this post and said

And just NOW it occurred to me, that when things get hard and my faith is being tested this blog will remind me of how bad it was before I had it THIS good!

Last night, I read it and reminded myself . . .

That was on August 2nd, and on August 7th I had my first of many "hard days" . . . and as the days got harder and more frequent, I got further and further from God. I stopped trusting, and went back to blaming. I went back to bad behaviors and started justifying them to myself with the most backward reasoning known to man.

I kept going to church, but instead of accepting the message that I KNEW was for me from God, I rejected it with an attitude.

Well, that's enough of that.
I am awake this morning, asking God to forgive me for being such an idiot. Forgive me for sin that I had already been forgiven for, and for some dumb stupid reason decided to go back to. I'm awake and asking God to help me get back to seeing the world through "faith" colored glasses!

This morning I am thanking God for putting those words in my mouth and on this blog 4 months ago, without them I'm not sure how I would feel this morning.

Almost 40 . . .

2011-12-19T17:42:00.001-06:00

When I was younger, as a child and even into my twenties, I believed that I would never live past age 40. It wasn't some morbid fascination with death, or my personal refusal to live any longer than that . . . It was simply that I gave NO THOUGHT to what would happen after October 2015. I just never thought that I'd live past that age . . .

So at the ripe old age of 26, I had a full on break down when I received my AARP card in the mail. I still don't know if that was someone's cruel idea of a joke, or simply a clerical error on their behalf. Whatever it was, it sent me into a downward spiral that I fear I have still not recovered from.

A few weeks ago, I sat talking to a friend and realized all at once that I am almost 40. Forty! In less than four years, in fact, I will be FORTY YEARS OLD.

. . . wait for it

. . . wait for it

Yes, there it is . . .

another break down.

Why breakdown now you say? Well, let's see. Yes, I have my dream job (LOVE IT) but I didn't get it til I was 35! I'm supposed to retire in 26 years! And let's face it, my dream job is strenuous . . . I won't be able to keep this up for the next 26 years. And then there is the whole, still not married at 36 thing. How the heck did that happen? How am I not married!? HOW!!!!!!! Matters not as to the how, I suppose, the point is that even if I meet him today . . . I will need a year to get to know him and plan the wedding (even this time frame is abbreviated, but let's face it I'm on the clock here people). Then, even if we get pregnant ON THE HONEYMOON, it will take another 9 months to get a small person on the ground. So, I'm 37 before I'm married . . . I'm 38 before I'm a mother . . . I'm 56 before the first kid graduates high school . . . and if it is a girl and she follows in her mother's time frame footsteps, I'll be dead (or 76) long before my grand children are ever born . . .

Do you understand my breakdown now? Cause now that I've broken it down, it is even more clear to me!

I'm working on being more positive, and I'm working on the concept of "let go, let God." But mathematics will not be argued with people. Numbers are one of the only concrete things in this world. There is no arguing with simple addition. 36 today +1 year to get married +1 year to get a kid on the ground +18 years to graduate +18 years for her to wait til she is 36 to meet him +1 year for her to get down the aisle +1 year for her to get one on the ground =76

My only hope is that I have a boy who has children early, and based on my current age . . . the earlier the better. Which shouldn't be hard to be honest, every idiot 15 year old in the hood is capable of having children it seems. I just have to be sure to raise him to either have indiscriminate sex and not be bothered by having illegitimate children, or he needs to want to settle down, get married and have children at a young age.

And THERE is the reason for the breakdown . . .

So . . . what do I do now? How do you go about having a birth certificate changed and has anyone found that stupid fountain of youth yet?

Kinda funky . . .

2011-12-03T07:17:00.000-06:00

Every year around this time, I get into a funk . . . It's always happened. I didn't think it would happen this year, Mayberry has been such a great place up to now . . . and I've been in such a good mood . . . and I've been feeling so good spiritually . . . I thought I was funk proof this year. Heck, I was excited about the idea of enjoying the holidays for the first time in . . . let's just say a long time. Alas, Holiday joy twas not meant to be for me . . . as usual.

Starts around November, with it's Thanksgiving and family time. This is always when my well meaning family begins to torture me with reminders of my single girl status, childless freedom, and weight gain/loss . . .

Then December shows up, and brings Christmas with it. (Actually, retailers tried to introduce Christmas in October . . . but it goes hyper-navidad after Thanksgiving!) I've always hated Christmas. The reasons have evolved over the years, but it started with some serious discomfort over the commercialism of the holiday. It stopped being about anything and just became about buying and selling. You can't say Christmas, you might offend someone. It's Happy Holidays now, political correctness is the only way to live you see. Never mind that fact that Christ is the reason for the season, or at least he used to be. Santa doesn't exist and is not allowed in schools anymore, so I'm not sure who is bringing the gifts . . . Though I will admit to having been confused about his fireplace arrivals prior to the time that we had a fireplace in our house. Then I was summarily frightened when we did get a house with a fireplace! Seriously, home invasion by a fat white man who makes poor enough decisions to try to fit his big butt down a chimney! It's scary people.

December's commercialism segues nicely into depression when you realize that you will never be able to afford gifts for everyone that you love. That's not true actually, you probably could afford to get them all A gift . . . you just can't afford to get them the gifts that they actually want. Which makes you feel inadequate and poor and bad . . . but you make a list anyway. A list that leads you to the realization that the person you used to love has become the PEOPLE in his or her family. You realize, with a start and a jolt, that your younger cousins and nieces and friends are all married and having children (who the holiday is for) and you are not. You realize that all you have is a dog and you . . . and then you realize, ON. CHRISTMAS. DAY., that New Years Eve is only 6 days away...

Yup, that's the only gift you remember getting for Christmas . . . a reminder that you are alone. And as December draws to an end, it brings with it Happy New Year! I must tell you, I can't remember the last happy one that I had. This is yet another day, actually 2 days (12/31 and 01/01) that is met with angst for the single girl. So December slides into January and ruins it too! I am proof that the way you end the year is the way that you will begin the next . . . last year I did not see midnight, so logically no one kissed me at midnight! This year . . . looking a lot like the same. Which bodes for more of that single girl joy I told you about back in November. And as I wallow in my single-ness, I am expected to make resolutions (that we know I will not keep) about how I will make my life better in the coming year. Translation . . . I desperately try to figure out what is wrong with me and how I can change it in the next 365 days so that I do not wind up kiss-less again the next time this dreaded "Holiday Season" shows up!

And the gift of "you are alone" just keeps on giving as we journey into the short month of February. What with it's contrived Valentine's Day! A holiday CREATED by retailers to make you feel a ridiculous amount of pressure to express to your "loved one" just how much you love them by spending any money you have left over from the holidays on some stupid trinket that they likely won't remember in a month's time. Either that, or it's the "holiday" created to make you feel pathetic and insufficient because you are single and have no one to expect that kind of devotion from. In which case, you go out and spend your last single girl dime on a gift for yourself . . . because you are your own Valentine! And well, you need a gift to show your co-workers and lie about who sent it to you. It's just too sad for words!

So, yeah . . . I am in a funk. A funk that started some time back in November . . . and will likely last until some time late in February. I apologize in advance to the people who are a part of my life, and therefore forced to deal with my mopey attitude, lack of levity, and general unpleasantness.

Self loathing is a "good" thing?

2011-09-06T19:10:00.000-05:00

I'm going to say some things in this blog entry that will be written, posted proof that I have become one of the people that I hate . . .

That sounds bad, but really it's kind of . . . good?

Some years ago, I joined a gym. When I joined said gym, I posted in another blog about how much I hate gym bunnies. You know, those annoying women who are ALWAYS at the gym. They always have on the proper attire, their shoes always match their attire, they are bright and chipper, and they actually enjoy working out. Sick sadistic little women, I tell you.

Usually, they spend an hour on the treadmill and not once do you see them look at that stupid read out! They just get up there and they run. No ugly faces, no obvious discomfort . . . just the joy of running. Their exit from the treadmill or stair-climber is usually followed up with a blistering round of circuit training that includes all sorts of midevial exercises that only the perfect can execute . . . and their execution is always perfect.

Then later, when you are laying in a defeated lump across a bench in the locker room you hear Bunny expounding on the joys of working out and how she just does not feel like her day can start or end without a good workout! Talking to other bunnies about how she works out 6 days a week, taking the 7th day off to go nature hiking . . .

Oh how I hated her! There has been one in ever gym I have ever worked out in! EVERY. ONE.

And in every one of those gyms, I have wanted to hold her down and force feed her lard! I have wanted to strap a small toddler to her back and dare her to go run on her precious treadmill with the added weight that I carry based largely upon my genes! (Okay fine, it's genes and a love for foods that are BAAAAAAAD, whatever)

To say that I was a bit bitter toward bunny is a mild understatement.

Well get this bit of irony and twisted turn of events . . .

Yesterday, I bought a shoe specifically for running . . . and was downright giddy about it!

I actually uttered the statment, "I can't wait for our run tomorrow so I can see how my new shoes feel!"

Then I was morbidly disappointed to be reminded that this morning would not be a "run" morning . . .

Today was a circuit training day . . . but I cheated and got on the elliptical for 30 mins before hand because, and I quote, "I just won't feel like I accomplished anything if I don't get in some kind of cardio."

I don't have matching outfits, and I don't run with perfect form . . . but um, I feel a bit bunny-ish right now.

So maybe self loathing is a good thing?

There will be no eyes . . .

2011-09-03T10:12:00.000-05:00

Some of you know, others of you don't . . . I got a roommate recently! She's great, and even greater still . . . she comes complete with decorations and stuff! Like random wall hanging things and vases filled with sticks and stuff . . . and I kid you not, peacock feathers! Seriously, feathers from a peacock adorn at least one wall in this house!

I love that she decorates, I didn't really get that whole "fashionista" gene. So, before she got here the house was pretty sparsely decorated. I mean I had a couch and a few decorator-ey things . . . but to say that the house was "finished" would have been a complete and utter lie.

My room for example contains a bed, a shoe organizer thing, an end table that I stole from the living room to put my TV on, and a plastic 3 drawer bin. There is a mirror on one wall, and a huge black and white upholstered bulletin board. On top of the shoe organizer is a lamp, a burnt orange vase, and a copper urn looking thing. My headboard is espresso colored leather, the sheets are beige, the comforter is brown and the curtains are cream colored.

The short version of that is, my room has NO style what-so-ever!

This is a truth made even more obvious by the fact that the rest of the house is chocked full of decorations! The house has character! Everywhere you look there is something to see and touch and appreciate . . . until you get to my room. When you get to my room, it's an impossible hodge podge of . . . nothing.

So I've set my sights on redecorating my room! It's time that the room had some style, and flavor and . . . things that match. My plan, because I must make a plan, is to look at some different room ideas and figure out what style I want the room to reflect. The rest of the house is pretty "country", so I'd like my room to most likely be the same. Country chic would be a good thing, but is that even a real thing? Or did I just make that up? Who knows?

I've been looking at stores and online for accessories and things like that, and I've come to the realization that I am a little bit weird when it comes to my "hang ups", as it were.

I do not like greenery. Hate it actually. It kind of freaks me out if I'm honest. When we were little, my mother had an ivy in our main bathroom. It was a beautiful plant, and my mother has a heck of a green thumb.

It hung above the toilet, and for the longest time it posed no problems. It just hung out up there, and did what plants do . . . nothing really. But then, my mother and her green thumb kept at it . . . and the ivy grew. It grew downward, as a hanging plant will do . . . and one day it happened. As I innocently sat upon the throne of potty, on of the leaves on the longest arm of the ivy tickled me! It scared me half to death cause I thought it was a bug or a spider, so I swung wildly at it. The vine of wrapped around my arm, which scared me more, so I snatched the whole thing down and ran from the restroom crying bloody murder.

To this day, I have never had a plant or greenery in any of my homes. I'm comfortable with my fear of green things that live above toilets and terrorize unsuspecting children. But yeah, I don't do greenery!

I also don't do pictures with eyes, or figurines. Again, when I was little, my mother had these two busts sitting on the night stands in her bedroom. They were the head and shoulders of an African warrior and his bride. Mamma loved them, they freaked me out.

I imagined that they stared at me when I was in my mother's room, I imagined that they spent their days just fantasizing about when they would get to put me in a huge pot and boil me into a stew or some such madness. Then at night, any knocking or pinging made me think that they had climbed down off of their perches in my mothers room and were rocking down the hallway to my room . . . they couldn't walk they were just head and shoulders! I'd picture them rocking from side to side on their shoulders, desperately trying to get to my room so that they could eat me . . . and so, NO FIGURINES in my house. No little cowboys, no little africans, I do have a few angels . . . but other than that. Nothing that might "rock" it's way to my room while I sleep in an effort to eat me.

Also, nothing with eyes! No pictures that will follow me around the room and watch my every move. Eyes in pictures freak me out too! My best friend's mom once had a large velvet print of a lion in her hallway.

His eyes followed you every where you went in that house! Up and down the hallway, into bedrooms, from the restroom . . . he was so scary! So to that end, no eyes! I don't want pictures looking at me doing anything! Especially in the bathroom! NO EYES IN THE BATHROOM! Right now, on my bulletin board in my room I have a few family pics up. My best friend and her husband, my cousin and his wife, my niece, my precious little cousin . . . people who remind me of home and being loved. People that I love! People who occasionally freak me out because I feel like they are staring at me while I sleep, and judging me when I get dressed, and laughing at me (because they are smiling in the pictures for crying out loud).

With all of my hang ups, and decorating phobias . . . this whole stylish room thing is really killing me. I can have no greenery, I can have no figurines, and there will be no eyes in my room!

So what the heck should the room look like?

These boots ain't made for walking or running or any other form of torturistic exercise rituals . . .

2011-08-29T17:06:00.000-05:00

I wish that I could tell you that I am an athletic person who really loves exercise.

I wish that I could tell you that I live to run, and that I get the same kind of high from it that some people get from illegal drugs.

I wish that I could tell you that sweating is pleasurable for me, and that any activity that leads to copious amounts of sweat is a good activity.

I can not tell you these things.

What I can tell you is that . . .

I am not an athletic person and I loathe exercise!

I hate to run, and if you see me doing it try to keep up because Something. Is. Very. Wrong.

I believe that sweating is fairly gross, and that any activity that induces it should be reserved for prisoners of war being tortured for information.

(Side note: I am in no way endorsing torturing prisoners of war, unless it's really necessary, and they are really bad people . . . in that case carry on and make them sweat.)

I wanted to run cross country track my freshman year in high school. I got a physical, showed up for athletics, put on those hideous hoochie shorts (really, we couldn't come up with anything else?) . . . I loaded up into the back of Coach Hugh's truck, and promptly called my mother when that whack job dropped us off in Red Oak and told us to run back to the school! To say the least, my cross country track career was short lived.

You see, the thing is . . . exercise hurts. Always has, and I've never been much of a glutton for punishment. I try, at every opportunity, to remove myself from uncomfortable situations and circumstances.

This worked well for me throughout my 20's because I was still basking in the glory that is youth! I was eating as I pleased and if I gained a little bit of weight, I just stopped drinking soda and eating french fries for a week and it was all good! I've never been a "hard body", but let's be honest . . . those only exist in fairy tales and Hollywood anyway!

Sometime though, around 28 or 29, I started having to give up a little bit more to get rid of weight gain. I started having to actually employ the concept of portion control, and I had to seriously consider that ~~torture~~ exercise might be necessary for me to maintain any semblance of a good body image.

I chucked the concept of exercise AND that pesky portion control, and I teetered back and forth over that thin line that exist between fat and fine. I was never morbidly, 400 lbs, can't get off the couch, have to remove a wall to get me out of the house obese . . . but I certainly wasn't looking my best. Let's just leave it at that.

I'm in my 30's now. The middle of them as a matter of fact, and well . . . my fat and my body have been together for so long that they are really good friends and simply do not want to part ways. So good of friends in fact, that it's going to take fairly drastic measures to break them up.

What kind of measures?

I am walk/jog/plod/crawling a 2 mile course every morning in an effort to get the twins off of my back. That's what I've taken to calling my love handles . . . The twins. I prefer this to love handles because we all know that NOBODY loves them, and if you have them you are far less likely to ever find love!

What twisted individual ever even came up with that name for them anyway? That dude, and I know it was a man, should be taken out into the street and beaten.

Anyway . . . so I'm walking/jogging/plodding/crawling every morning, and I feel better. I really do. I don't love it, but it gives me a sense of accomplishment and I get to really ~~beg~~ talk to God while I do it. In fact, I had some really good conversations with God this morning during my ~~torture~~ workout.

He revealed to me that I can, in fact, go just a little bit farther . . .

He showed me that if I ask him for help (and believe him for it), he will do it RIGHT THEN . . .

He let me see that I am lucky to get to torture myself in one of the most beautiful places on earth . . .

and He proved to me that my lungs won't burst out of my chest if I run all the way across that final stretch of the lake . . .

I tried to record some of the scenery with my phone as I dragged myself along, but as I reviewed it later the wheezing, hacking and near falls kinda took a little bit away from the beauty of it all. Maybe next time.

And yes . . . there will be a next time!
'Cause this cowgirl is starting to realize that maybe these boots ARE made for ~~torture~~ walking . . .

I used to think I was a country girl . . .

2011-08-20T12:34:00.000-05:00

I'm always telling people that, "I am a country girl at heart." Then I moved to Mayberry, and I was not only country at heart . . . but in geography too!

I work on a ranch and I touch horses every day, and I feed a calf . . . and I am actually a "ranch hand" for a living! Seriously, that's got to qualify me as a country girl right?

I was thoroughly convinced of my country-istic-ness until the last two days . . .

Yesterday, a friend of mine's Paw Paw came to town (cause he is from here) to take care of some cows that had broken through the fence and were wondering the back roads of Mayberry. They came into town at about 6pm, and from 630 to 9ish we worked cattle.

I say that like I have any prior knowledge of cattle working, and it's intricacies. The truth is . . . I. Do. Not.

My coworker Sub is always trying to help me understand the subtle art of pushing cattle, but I work on a horse ranch so when he goes off on those tangents I usually just kinda tune him out. I wished over the last two days that I'd paid attention to Sub's instruction.

First, let me say this. The cows . . . they are stoopid! Yes, I said "stoopid", which is similar to stupid but differs based on the "oo" that cows make me think of. Seriously though, people can say that they are really intelligent animals and that people just have to learn to work them according to pressure and angles . . . I say that they should all just be shot or something.

There were 38 cows out there, and 37 of them would just follow this big pushy broad through fences and thorn patches and into the road and . . . She is the one I would shoot first if I'd had a weapon! I called her Schnapper, as she reminded me of a science teacher I once had in the 3rd grade named Ms. Schnapp. She tried to fail me because I didn't turn in my "work folder", but it turns out that my folder was just left in her car under loads of garbage and old cheese wrappers! She looked a lot like this cow, and they resembled in their apparent intelligence levels.

Anywho, Schnapper kept running through things and into things and . . . challenging the cattle guard! There is no more foul combination of character traits than stoopid and aggressive . . . and this cow had both of those things to excess.

She finally got loaded on the trailer this morning and she's gone away to a new home (hopefully one that starts with "slaughter" and ends with "house"), which is a relief because she was apparently the ring leader who kept leading the other idiot cows over the hills and through the fences to other folks pastures.

I stood before her at the trailer, before Paw Paw pulled away with them headed for the sale barn and I told her, "you will not be missed Schnapper! Good riddance to yucky cow rubbish." She turned her butt toward me and pooped down the side of the trailer.

Seriously?
I mean . . . really?

I am not a fan of the cow today, except that they have upped my "country gal" status!

I used to think I was a country girl . . . the past two days have proved that I most certainly am!

. . . but do you love me when I'm NOT who you want me to be?

2011-08-18T22:34:00.000-05:00

I am, by and large, a people pleaser. I want the people around me to be happy and comfortable. I want to be thought of as pleasant company, and in a good light. That's just who I am . . . have always been really. So long as you aren't hurtful, blasphemous or offensive, I'm good.

Where I draw the line now days (because I didn't always draw the line before) is when my efforts at pleasing YOU, get in the way of MY happiness.

I hope that doesn't sound selfish, because of all the things I am . . . selfish is not one. Generosity comes naturally to me, I get it from my Momma . . . and then because I also get a little "mean" from my Daddy, I make an extra effort at being accommodating.

I'll go out of my way to make you feel that you are part of something, even when you make it impossible to include you. I'll listen to your self-important opinions, and always allow you to think that I've at least given your train of thought the consideration that it is due. I will allow you to vent, I will allow you to bemoan your situations, I will allow you to criticize (within reason) things that you don't really understand . . . I will allow, and respect, your opinions.

What I will not allow, what I will not tolerate, is your efforts at running my life. Is there some wisdom to be garnered from you, certainly. I think you are incredibly wise, in some cases . . . but you are not the authority on all things all. And trying to allow you that belief, is starting to infringe upon my happiness.

You are entitled to your opinion, and I appreciate that you feel you are looking out for me because you love me. Your point has been heard, and mulled over. I've prayed about it, and this is a point that you and I will have to agree to disagree on. Will you appreciate my choice? No. You will not. But you will respect it, because it is mine.

Now the question is, do you love me when I'm NOT who you want me to be?

The promises that break you . . .

2011-08-17T21:27:00.000-05:00

I told a guy once, not to lie to me . . .
Well that's not true, I've told several guys that! Most did not take my advice . . .but I'm getting off point here.
I told this guy,

"Whatever it is that you feel the need to do, just don't lie to me. I will trust you until you give me a reason not to, but when I can't trust you . . . It changes who you are to me. I can't love you if I don't know who you are."

That's true right? When you lose trust in a person, it changes the very fabric that they are made of in your eyes. Everything they do or say starts to look different, sound different, feel different . . .

It amazes me that people take it for granted so often. That they are so cavalier with it . . . just abuse it and toss it around like so much garbage. Like it's not fragile, and like it's destruction won't destroy so many other things.

I believe, that in every friendship, family or romantic entanglement, there is an unspoken (though sometimes actually articulated) promise to respect and value the trust that the other person has bestowed upon you. It's a promise that lays at the foundation of every healthy reciprocal relationship. To break that promise, is to kill that trust.

Broken promises are the nails in the coffin of trust, they are the anti-thesis of trust . . . Where broken promises live, trust dies . . . and everything changes from that point on.

"I can't love you if I don't know who you are . . ."

So what happens, when you break a promise to yourself?

Did I miss the memo?

2011-08-12T18:43:00.000-05:00

Um, I think that I missed a memo . . . or an announcement of some sort. Maybe I didn't make it to the convention, or I wasn't on the distribution list . . .

Somewhere, a bunch of black women got together and decided that we (as a race) are all going to morph ourselves into white women as soon as we get an opportunity and the funds to support the transformation.

It's a disturbing trend, to say the very least.

If you are a black woman, and have no idea what I am talking about . . . perhaps you missed the memo too. Or maybe, you got the other memo that said we would all stop perming our hair and go "natural". I wasn't invited to that convention either, but that is not as disturbing to me as the whole "turn yourself white" trend.

I suppose on some level that I am more comfortable with the natural movement because it's more "natural". A black woman with nappy hair is just what happens when you don't get a perm . . . A black woman with platinum blonde hair is something that NEVER happens in nature.

Side bar:
I am aware that some people are born albino, and based upon that lack of pigmentation their hair is blonde, and their skin is naturally pale. I am not talking about them, and if you are albino, I am sorry if I've offended you.

Having said that, I am going to venture out onto a limb and say that few of my readers and friends are albino. Further, I'm going to go out on a limb (with no stats to support me, but what the heck here I go anyway) and say that non of the people that I am going to call out . . . by name . . . are albino either.

Beyonce . . .

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away . . . Houston, Tx, in fact, she was black. Now, for those of you who have only recently become fans of her you may not remember this young lady . . .

but I assure you, that is her. She is, in this picture, a very obviously black woman. Come on, you remember! She was in that "Case" video, um . . . "Happily Ever After" was the name of the song. She had long dark hair, and she was pretty! Striking, some might say. When Destiny's Child debuted, she was still black. You could see the trend starting though, as her hair got progressively lighter . . .
Highlights gave way to full on dyed hair in a light shade of honey blonde and then one day . . .

Now, it's no secret among my friends that I am not a big fan of Beyonce. She's got some really catchy songs, that are great for working out . . . She puts on a great show, and you can't deny talent when it is plainly there. But I just don't like her. She simply isn't my cup of tea. I give credit where credit is due, and I also call foul when things are obviously wrong . . .
I mean come on . . . you know this is ridiculous!

In the interest of fairness, I'm also going to give you a few other examples of "black gone white" women. I don't want anyone saying that this is just my crusade against Beyonce . . . though if you did say it I most likely wouldn't know or care. I do care though, that my opinion be valid and well supported. So to that end . . .

I give you Kelis, a lovely black woman!

Until she wasn't anymore . . .

And let us not forget the black woman's black woman, Keyshia Cole! We love this girl, especially after seeing just how screwed up her family really is! She has hood credit from the start, because her picture was on a perm box. I'll send $1 to the first person who can tell me what brand of perm it was! She started out black . . .

and then one day, someone got carried away with the peroxide (though I do like the style). . .

Now, in some circles, I will probably be scorned for this post. There is an unwritten black woman rule that states the following:

"No black woman shall ever question another black woman's fashion choices, or any facet thereof in the presence of white women."

I'm breaking that rule here based on the fact that I know that there are white women who read my blog. I am sorry, and I hope that you all understand that this is coming from a place of love. I'm afraid for "us" as a whole, especially our youth. So many young black women start their lives out at a disadvantage anyway based on generational curses, poverty, and poor environments. It can't be socially responsible to now put them under the added pressure of trying to become white women too!

I didn't get the memo about going white, and most of my friends missed the memo too . . . but again, we have to look out for the up and comers! I suppose this is my PSA for the week. If I don't say it, maybe no one will! And if no one says it, we may lose another one!

Look, Lil' Kim got the memo, and no one said anything to her. She wasn't really a style icon to begin with, but you have to agree that things went horribly (and frighteningly) awry!

Dr. Pepper and the Bible . . .

2011-08-10T22:58:00.000-05:00

Why oh why must all of the things I love be so bad for me?

It's an age old question, that man-kind has wondered since Eve ate the apple. If it tastes so good, looks so good, feels so good . . . why must it be so bad?

It's a recurrent theme in my life folks.

Case in point - Dr. Pepper

I LOVE Dr. Pepper . . . I mean LOVE it! If I could, I'd be an IV Dr. Pepper user.

I have long believed that it is the sweet stuff that drips from Jesus' toes as he steps from the shower! It's the perfect mix of 23 flavors (no I don't know which ones) that combine to create one flavor so heavenly that it defies description. When it is all said and done, when my time on earth is through . . . I know that there will be Dr. Pepper fountains in Heaven. Those fountains will never be low on carbonate or syrup, and they will have Sonic ice! In fact, I'm hoping that I can take an ice cold can of DP to God when I go. That way he will know just how much I love Him!

So yeah, in case the last paragraph didn't make it abundantly clear. Dr. Pepper holds a special place in my heart!

Sadly, I am sure it is also some of what is being held in my love handles. Further, it probably has something to do with the jiggly fat under my arms that continues to wave long after I have stopped! Yes, Dr. Pepper is one of the great loves of my life . . . and yet, it's very likely killing me.

Additional case in point . . .
I also happen to love baaaaaaaaad food! I mean let's face it, bad food always tastes so much better than good food! You can say that you enjoy Meusli as much as you want to, but when you put it next to carbohydrates covered in cheese and bacon . . . I won't believe you. I mean come on people, cardboard versus bacon? Is there really any competition? I think not.

Sure this

will almost surely kill you faster than nuts and berries and fiber . . . but so will lots of other things. I mean, let's just say for the sake of saying (it's a blog after all) that you stop eating french fries. You stop eating french fries, and you stop eating cheese . . . You stop eating french fries, cheese and bacon. So now you have reduced the number of carbs you are eating, and those empty fat calories from the cheese and bacon. Your heart is happy (though you are angry because you are going through carb withdrawl) . . .
You start eating Meusli, so your bowels are happy with all that extra fiber. In general though, you are not really happy at meal time. Why? Because you gave up cheesy fatty carby goodness for cardboard and raisins, that's why!

THEN, to add insult to injury . . . you choke on your Meusli.
And let's face it, the stuff looks choke-worthy.

So again I ask you, why must those things that are so good to me be so bad FOR me?

It seems it's a training ritual of sorts. You learn, by eating healthy things that you don't necessarily like how to eat the spiritual meat that you will one day be convicted by, but that will ultimately save your immortal soul.

Who knew that Dr. Pepper could teach a biblical lesson?

Know what I wonder . . .

2011-08-07T00:12:00.000-05:00

I spent this morning grooming mules! Yup, you heard me correctly. I groomed mules this morning for a friend who has a wagon, and two mules that he uses to pull it. He was invited (some time ago) to be in a parade this morning, so he called me yesterday afternoon (cause he is no procrastinator) to see if I could groom them for him. Actually he called me earlier in the week, but I didn't have mule grooming shears . . . and he couldn't get any until yesterday. (I should probably take back my sarcastic procrastination comment now).

Prior to having moved to Mayberry from Dallas I had done my fair share of grooming, but that was poodles, schnauzers and cocker spaniels . . . today was mule day. That's what happens when you move to a small country town. You still have the same experiences, they are just altered by the country influence. I'm still a groomer, but now my before and after pictures are all together different.

For those of you wanting to see my handy work . . .

Ta Daaaaa! That's Jack! Before and After . . .
If you can't see the difference (and I know that you can't see all of the difference) I'm sorry. These are pics taken with my cell phone! I can't be expected to remember to pick up a camera at 5:30AM, as I am on my way out of the door to groom mules!

So after having groomed mules for breakfast, and explaining that to my mother . . . I got to wondering what other folks did today. And well, when my mind wonders . . . it wonders!

So, that's where I'm going with this post. Not just the mule grooming, but just the random things I "wondered" today . . .

I wonder why people take so long to place their orders at Jack In The Box. I KNOW that their menu is a plethora of delights from all different genres of food! I get it, they've got breakfast, burgers, mexican, asian, deserts, and limited greek fare as well! But come on, be serious. You order the same thing every time you go, and you know it! OR, if you have a variety of things that you like there, it's always one of the same three or four options! Just order it and GET OUT OF THE WAY! I need to order my two tacos, mini funnel cake, and medium Dr. Pepper, and then take 10 minutes to navigate their itty bitty drive through lane in my great big truck!

Which leads me to wonder why Jack keeps designing his restaurants with these ridiculously curvy and narrow drive through lanes! Seriously, I have never been to a JITB that didn't have a goofy drive through set up! I used to think it was just the one in Oak Cliff, and that the stupid drive through lane was based on the unfortunate piece of real estate that the restaurant sits on. Nope. I've traveled some now, and apparently all of them are like this. I thinks it's Jack's way of encouraging you to park your car and actually walk into the restaurant, thereby working off 10 of the 1500 calories you will almost certainly consume there! So far I've been able to get away with NOT taking that option, and only my bumper has suffered from it . . . well, my bumper and my waist line. But that is another blog for another time.

Know what else I wonder? Why people, who know they are going to be turning left, insist on riding in the right hand lane. Even when they aren't going to be forced to ride behind slower vehicles, and the lane is no less raggedy (like your 1989 Honda can't stand a few more bumps in the road), people seem bound and determined to ride in THAT lane before turning THIS way . . . I don't like that!

And while we are on the subject of "this" and "that", why do people in the back seat give directions like, "turn that way"? I can't see you back there, and the radio is on, and if you are in the back seat there is at least one other person in the car who is most likely talking while you are trying to give me directions. I say all of that to say, I don't know what side of the back seat you are on, and I can't really turn around to see you now can I? So to me, the driver, "that way" is to the right . . . but if you are sitting over there behind he passenger seat, your "that way" is actually my "this way!" So why not just say left or right and eliminate my frustration with you . . . I'm just saying!

And since we are in the vehicle, tell me this. Why don't people understand that I need complete (radio and personal) silence when I am trying to back up a trailer! I've got enough to worry about trying to remember that turning my wheels left moves my trailer to the right . . . so please, SHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

And if you have gotten out of the truck to help me back into a spot, or perhaps you are helping me to back up to the trailer . . . I can't see your hands if there are down by your sides. Please, raise them above your head! And if you are going to be using your own strange and unusual hand signals for stop, pull forward, back up more, a little left/right . . . let's hash that out before you get behind the truck in the guise of helping me. There is no more frustrating thing than trying to interpret your goofy hand signals AND keep from hitting things at the same time . . .

Know what else I wonder?
I wonder what you wonder . . .

Growth is important . . .

2011-08-02T21:53:00.000-05:00

I had a moment, a while ago, where I considered and actually began the process of ending this blog and starting a new one.

A lot about my life has changed recently, my address, occupation and attitude are just a few of the things. Most prominently though, my faith is different. Heck, I am different. I'm happy, I'm fulfilled, and I'm saved!

I've found a wonderful church in my very own Mayberry of a town, and I'm living my dream come true!

So, as I have grown in my faith . . . as I am learning to live a Christian life, I got to thinking that portions of my blog in the past don't really line up with who I am and how I live now. And truthfully, I'm not entirely proud of who I used to be.

I never tortured animals, or robbed banks, or stole money from the charity buckets on the convenience store counters . . . but I did do things that I am not proud of. And in this blog, I said some things that I am not proud of.

I thought deleting it was the way to go, but it occurred to me that perhaps "watching" me change through this blog might help someone else. It occurred to me, that my past is my past and deleting a blog won't change it. It occurred to me that everything I've said in this blog, led me to where I am now . . . and as such, those experiences are important! And just NOW it occurred to me, that when things get hard and my faith is being tested this blog will remind me of how bad it was before I had it THIS good!

Don't get me wrong, many of the posts are funny. After reading through some of it, I've wondered if strange things just happen around me all the time or if perhaps I just see things in a strange way. Whichever it is, I've decided that the previous posts, will stay.

Growth is important, but how can you know how far you've come if you can't look back and see the beginning?

Chicken . . . it's what for dinner/supper . . .

2011-08-01T19:21:00.000-05:00

Right, so . . .
Saturday, sort of on Friday, I got a roommate! (She's smart too, just told me how to spell roommate).

I digress . . .

I got myself a roommate whose name is Riley, and will now and forever be referred to as "My Fellow Fairfielyte" aka MFF. Which is kinda like a BFF, but really nothing like a BFF since none of the words are common. That's not the point though. The point is that when I refer to my MFF, I'm referring to my new roomie!

Got it?
Good.

Wanna see her? Okay . . .

She's the one on the left, I'm the one on the right.
The one in the middle is our Dacie, we share her!
Though, a more accurate statement might be that Bud shares her with us since she's his wife and all . . . but that's just semantics really . . .
So for the purpose of this post, we share the Dacie . . . and Bud is just the pleasant dude who accompanies her from time to time.

and, um . . . NONE of that is the point of the post!

The point of the post, is that my roommate and I had our first disagreement today.

Um, that sounds bad . . . and I am really not that hard to live with, I promise!

But yeah, after 3 measly days we've come to a difference of opinions!

I eat dinner, but right now she happens to be cooking supper.

So we're discussing it and I'm like, "Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner . . . everyone knows that MFF."

She says, "No, we always had breakfast, dinner and supper."

I was, and still am quite honestly befuddled by that statement. First, I have never in my life had "supper". Nope not once . . .
Further, how can you have dinner at lunch time?
And if lunch becomes dinner . . . that negates brunch. Which is one of my favorite Sunday meals! I mean, any excuse to eat breakfast stuffs with dinner stuffs is joy on a plate . . . and as such I simply can not abide by and watch brunch fall by the way side for something called supper!

Supper . . .it's not even a pretty word quite frankly . . .
Makes me think of supple, and that's a word that makes me feel oogey . . .
So by relation, supper makes me feel oogey.

Now, this is not the first time that I've heard this word. Each time though, it's been one of my white friends who is having it, or cooking it . . . so I'm thinking that maybe supper is a white thing.

But I'm not offended cause, well . . . supper is oogey.

AND!!

I've saved my best point for last . . .

SEE!! Even the Cattleman's Association agrees! And you don't argue with cattlemen, who are kinda like cowboys . . . who are tough. So don't argue.

Or do argue . . .

What's you take on the dinner -vs- supper debate?

Foods on a stick are gifts from God . . .

2011-07-31T08:23:00.000-05:00

It is my considered opinion, that there simply are not enough foods on a stick!

Having said that, and having reviewed my previous blogs . . . I'm fairly certain that I've become entirely too preoccupied with food! Which is most likely why I am also entirely to preoccupied with my weight . . .
I am not an idiot, I get the correlation. I know that the consumption of mass amounts of carbs covered in cheese and yummy sauces must, at some point, manifest themselves somewhere on my body. I recognize it and I am working on it. It didn't take me long at all to make the connection between my love of "bad" food, and my hatred of my own body.

I made the connection soon after reading the first sentence . . .
If you made the same connection,
Please. Close. My. Blog Now.

I mean it! Go away! Shoo! Shoo!

If not . . . then let's get down to brass tacks!

I went to a birthday party today. Probably the best birthday party that I've been to this year. Nevermind the fact that I haven't attended any other birthday parties this year, because if I had this one would still rank pretty high on the "Best Birthday Party" list. Why? I'll tell you why.

Better yet, I'll show you!

Seriously, have you ever seen anything more glorious? I mean really folks . . . glorious! I only had one (and only one) . . . temperance is a gift that I am learning to appreciate, but I wanted to eat the entire pan! They weren't "hot", they were spicy . . . and there was mustard and some sort of fizzy punch
And I was in heaven!

It got me to thinking about the state fair, and fishing trips with my Daddy! It also got me thinking about how much I LOVE foods on a stick! Sausage on a stick being delicious and perhaps a favorite, it reminds me of those fishing trips with Daddy where he would literally pull a twig off a tree me to impale my hot link on! Then he'd make a fire and let me sit there and roast my own sausage on a stick! Can you say super duper splendiferous? Corn dogs run a close second in my heart, they remind me of going to the State Fair! Sonic has their own rendition of the corn dog that is a breakfast sausage link surrounded in pancake batter and deep fried to golden perfection, it too is magnificent!

Kabobs are perhaps the ultimate food on a stick, as you can personalize them to your tastes . . . they tend to lose points with this cowgirl though, based solely on the amount of prep time they take to prepare. Having said that, if someone else is making the kabob . . . well then they are beyond splendid! (Side note to those of you who are thinking of making me kabobs for my birthday, or my next Tuesday . . . keep the veggies, I don't eat them anyway.) What I haven't had, but would love, is a steak and tater kabob! Do they do those?

Let us move now to the only semi-veggie on a stick that I enjoy . . . Corn on the cob!! My mom used to have the little corn shaped cob sticker things that were . . . okay, but Church's chicken got it right! Put the corn on a stick and let it roll around in butter sauce ALL DAY! I'd eat my corn and then whip out the butter flavored stick and use it as a toothpick! I know what you are wondering, and NO . . . the gaps in my teeth weren't that large. I was just so excited to have that stick that I had to find additional uses for it!

I once had pizza on a stick, and I am sure you know that I was ecstatic to find that tasty treat. The mere idea of it was enough to send me into hysterics, but my joy was quickly deflated when I got it. Great idea, poor execution . . . they just made a pizza and wrapped it around a jumbo tongue depressor. Those first bites were heavenly, but as you go to the middle of it the doughy factor was far too high and I had to let my "stizza" go. I mention it here though, because I applaud the effort! I don't know what it is about impaling food on wooden sticks that makes the flavor better, but it does!

Let us move now to the ULTIMATE foods on a stick . . .

First, the turkey and chicken legs! They are ultimate because frankly, they grow their own stick! I'll be honest and say that it's kind of cheating, and they lose out with the lack of wood stick . . . but the turkey leg is usually smoked which makes up the wood flavor! The chicken . . . well it's chicken, and I'm black . . . deal with it!

By far the most surprising and best food on a stick I have probably ever had is fried butter! Frozen butter balls, dipped in batter and deep fried to a perfect crunch! There is the idea that you might burn yourself on the gushing melted butter, but no! You do get a bit of buttery release, but mostly it's just a buttery funnel cake bite! Later, I'll tell you about my love for funnel cake . . . right now I will tell you that buttery funnel cake on a stick is the ultimate food! I would eat it everyday if I could figure out the perfect butter to batter ratio! I've tried . . . and I've failed, but eating my attempts was great anyway!

I mean this people, I wouldn't tell you if it wasn't true . . . foods on a stick are gifts from God! Is it for every food, perhaps no . . . I mean I think you'd have problems with rice on a stick. I'll try it though if you've got something figured out.

Chemical Intervention at it's best . . .

2011-07-24T21:58:00.000-05:00

This weekend found me in Dallas, visiting my parents. I was able to help my mom cut out and finish some dresses she is making, and she was able to help me take down my micro-braids. I considered staying home and taking them down on my own, but she needed help . . . and as it turns out, I needed the moral support!

As a woman, I have spent the last 26 of my years wrestling with the demon that is my hair. This fight is familiar to most all women, as we typically do not want the type of hair that we are ~~cursed~~ blessed with. If you are born with straight hair, you want curly . . . if you are born with curly, you spend your life trying to get it straight. If your hair is naturally thin, you go get it thinned out . . . and if it's thin you are on a constant quest for body.

As a black woman, there is added angst when it comes to our hair because in addition to those hair types identified above we are also faced with varying "grades" of hair in our culture . . . I do not profess to be THE authority when it comes to hair, but as this is my blog I am now going to define those grades of hair and dare you to challenge me . . .

My blog. My hair "grades".

Deal with it . . .

In the realm of black hair you have your "good" hair, your "decent grade" of hair, your "not bad" hair, and your down right "nappy" hair. Now, all black hair is naturally curly . . . where it falls in the "grade" system is defined by how tight that natural curl is. The looser the curl . . . the better the "grade" of hair.

Now, knowing that some of you are visual let's look at some pics . . .

Ananda Lewis is a black woman with "good hair". Notice the loose curl/wave pattern and silky appearance. This is woman who almost certainly has some Indian (of the Native American variety) in her family. People outside of the black race might first think that this hair is the result of black/white interracial parentage . . . but most likely not. She probably has two parents who identify themselves as "African American" in the census, but have close familial ties to a tribe or two. This hair will not require a lot of product (to look like this), and will not lend itself readily to tangles or kinks. When you run your fingers through it, and you can, the curls simply separate and fall back into a new pattern. Frizz might be an issue in extreme humidity . . . but for the most part, not so much.

Rachel True is a young lady, who while she has a lovely head of hair would fall in the "decent grade" of hair category based on the fact that it is obvious that this hair will require a pretty good amount of product in order to manage it effectively. This hair is more typical of a white/black interracial pairing. It will lend itself to tangles far more easily than "good hair" and if you want to run your fingers through it . . . you should probably only do so when it is wet. Dry finger running through this mane will result in some breakage, and will require some effort. The result will likely be frizz and swelling . . .

This young lady has a "not bad grade" of hair. At first glance, you might think nappy . . . but no. Looking at her hair you can easily identify the separate curls, waves and ringlets. You can see that she uses some product, but that is most likely not a lot. This curl pattern is tighter than Rachel True's, but still looser than nappy hair. If she let it grow out more, it would likely still be manageable . . . but most likely require some chemical intervention in order to keep it presentable. In fact, this hair actually has a benefit over "good" and "decent" grades of hair in that it will take a relaxer better. The hair is slightly more coarse, and so will actually straighten better than the smoother grades. You most likely will not be running your fingers through this woman's hair, as any curl separation will result in frizz and fro . . . and unless fro is her goal, she is not having it. Further, if afro is her goal, your fingers would mess up the shape of it.

Macy Gray, bless her heart, has "nappy hair". This is hair that has the tightest curl pattern of them all. It's a curl patten so tight, that it can scarcely be identified. This curl pattern will often give the appearance of carpet when left natural (a disturbing new trend), and will require heavy product for styling. Women with nappy hair will typically always opt for serious chemical intervention in the form of strong relaxers that will literally burn holes in your scalp when left on too long. In it's natural state, this hair is tough to manage and painful to comb . . . and an attempt to run your fingers through it will likely leave you with a painful nub.

I have always thought that my hair fell in the, "decent" to "not a bad" grade category. I was wrong.

Two days of braid removal, an inch and a half of new growth (virgin, untreated hair), and a plastic comb left me cowering in a corner with my knees drawn to my chest humming "Yes Jesus Loves Me," while my mother tried to coax me out of my pain induced trance with promises of conditioner and Dr. Pepper.

I found out this weekend, after braid removal that left me looking like this . . .

that my hair is in fact, nappy!
When I got in the shower to wash and condition it, the water beaded and rolled off of it like it had some invisible force field over it.

Even with copious amounts of conditioner and a LARGE toothed comb, I was unable to actually run a comb from front to back of my head!

When I looked at it in the mirror, it gave the appearance of 900 men running up a hill with their fists balled up . . . and once it was wet it just looked like lint that rats had been sucking on . . .

It was bad folks, I mean really. Really. Bad.

I bought a wig to wear to church today, because putting a relaxer on my already sore head seemed impossible. Today when I got out of church though, I could no longer take it!

I'd like to thank the makers of this wonderful product . . .

without your

rideceth-7 Carboxilic Acid , PPG-5 Ceteth-10 Phosphate , Olea Europaea Fruit Oil (Olive) , Cetrimonium Chloride , Polyquaternium-10 , Sulfated Castor Oil , Lecithin , Propylene Glycol , PEG-12 Oleate , Capric , Caprylic Triglycerides , Sodium Laureth Sulfate , Cocamide-MEA , Glycol Distearate , Laureth-10 , Cetyl Triethylmonium Dimethicone PEG-8 Succinate

based product I would surely find myself in another stupor tomorrow morning.

I thanked God for slobber . . .

2011-07-20T18:09:00.000-05:00

I'm not sure where you are from, but if you're from Texas . . . or you've visited Texas in the summer, you know that Texas heat is a heat like no other. It's a heat capable of causing hallucinations . . . a heat capable of sparking spontaneous grass fires . . . a heat capable of melting tires! Add drought conditions to that incredible heat, and you may just find yourself thankful for . . . slobber.

Give me a minute, I'll make that statement make sense.

First, I need to make you understand exactly what kind of heat I am talking about here, because you may be from South Dakota, or California, or Illinois . . . and in that case you have no idea what heat really is! You think you know, but you don't.

I can hear you out there in Sacramento saying, "it is 94 degrees here, and with the heat index it feels like 95!"

Shut up . . .

It is 95 degrees in Fairfield today, and with the heat index it feels like 105!!! And did I mention the 50% Humidity? What is humidity? Humidity is the devil's way of sucking all of the joy out of blue skies and fluffy clouds. It's sticky heat! It's like taking a shower in hot fudge! It's like . . . it misery is what it is. Oh, yeah and the 5 mph wind that we are getting is coming from the South. You know what that means right? It's coming from the equator! The. Hottest. Place. On. Earth!

I'm an equine manager at a horse ranch in Texas, and as such I am dealing with Texas heat in earnest. We have a broodmare in our herd named Miss Mildred. That's not her real name, her real name is Dashing In Red. She's an own daughter of Dash For Cash, and if you know anything about horses you know that her daddy makes her special! If you know nothing about horses, then her daddy means nothing to you. The pertinent thing (in this story anyway) to note bout her is that she is 19 years old, as are most of the own daughters and sons of Dash for Cash who are still alive. He died some time ago, and his youngest children are in their late teens.

Miss Mildred has a hard time during the summer months. The heat takes it's toll on elderly horses in the same way that it does elderly people, and she tends to lose weight. In addition to the temperature having it's effect on her, our mares are turned out on our hay pastures at this time of year. For a healthy young horse, the grass is more than sufficient to keep them in GOOOOOOD flesh! For Mildred, with her older teeth, and older metabolism, and old age . . . the grass just isn't enough. So I pull her and a buddy from the herd twice a day to feed her grain. She needs a buddy cause she tends to be nervous if she doesn't have one, and she will work herself into a tizzy if she's alone for more than 5 minutes.

Her buddy yesterday was Miss Jenni Perry, and her filly Audrey Hepburn. I put Jenni and Audrey together in one stall, and put Mildred in the next stall. I gave them both their grain, and perched on a bucket in the stall with Audrey and Jenni. Audrey has been hard to bond with, so I take every opportunity I can to hang out with her in a non-threatening manner. I sat on my bucket, and Audrey sniffed my face! This is a huge step for her, so you can imagine my excitement!

Now . . . come with me to a weather report of sorts about yesterday. As I'd led the girls up the hill for their meal, I'd noticed dark heavy clouds overhead! There was a cool, wet feeling, breeze blowing through! And at one point, perhaps two or three points actually, I'd felt cool wet drops of rain!

So as I sat there with a three month old filly blowing her hot breath in my face, I was overjoyed to feel a large drop of moisture hit the back of my neck! The rain was coming in earnest! I didn't dare turn to look at the sky, I'd have scared Audrey away. So, I sat there with her sweet breath in my face, and felt it twice more . . . big wet drops of rain on my neck and side of my face!

Audrey had grown tired of me by that point and wandered off, so I took that opportunity to look toward the sky and thank God for the gift of . . .

Mildred wetly smacking her lips behind me . . . those drops of rain were not rain at all. Mildred had been standing there drooling on me the entire time . . .

Food glorious food . . .

2011-07-18T18:52:00.002-05:00

I've said it before, and I will say it again . . .
This girth is not a product of happenstance.
I come by my "big girl" status honestly.

I love food, and when I'm eating it . . . in that moment, I honestly believe that food loves me back. I doubt that love when I am trying to find things to wear, or when I realize that my jeans are getting a bit snug . . .
But usually, I can silence that doubting spirit with a snack.

And listen, that doubting spirit needs fat to shut it up! None of that healthy Meusli stuff that all the celebrities seem to be loving right now. Uncooked rolled oats, dried fruits and nuts . . . please join me in saying, "yuck!"

My favorite foods are those based in carbohydrates, covered in cheese, and sprinkled with bacon. I've said before that my life would be perfect if I could figure out how to prepare a buffalo wing, my other FAVORITE, and merge it somehow with french fries, bacon and cheese. Seriously, there has been no greater joy in my life than the Chili's Texas Cheese Fry, with a side serving of their buffalo wing sauce . . . or perhaps I should say there HAD been no greater joy until now.

NOW, I have found a lovely little restaurant here in Mayberry that has won my heart, my loyalty, my love, and a good portion of my weekly paycheck!
How did they do it? I'll tell you how they did it!!

Buffalo Chicken Fries: Crispy fries topped with grilled chicken fajita meat, sautéed in buffalo sauce, topped with ranch dressing, and more buffalo sauce, and then covered with melted cheddar cheese. 6.99

You think I'm making this up? Visit their website . . . www.somethingdifferentrestaurant.com

They are single handedly wreaking havoc on my efforts at losing weight! And I thank them for it!

So please, join me in applauding the folks at Something Different! In fact, come and join me at Something Different! We can share an order, wait . . . We can each get our own order of Buffalo Chicken Fries, and sit and talk about the joy that is carbs, covered in chicken, buffalo sauce and cheese!!

oh ME of little faith . . .

2011-07-17T18:46:00.000-05:00

I sat poised to post last night, about the heartbreak I experience every time I watch a daddy interacting with his child at a rodeo.

I mean, seriously . . . if you have never seen a cowboy with his son, side by side in boots, straw hat and jeans then you have missed a beautiful sight!

Or if you've never seen a daddy get off his good horse and lead around his little cowgirl . . . you've missed a true "tear jerk" moment.

I implore you, visit a rodeo TODAY! You will not be disappointed.

I watched a lot of that at the rodeo last night, and I admit to a certain amount of heartbreak as I contemplated the thought that I may never watch my own son or daughter do those things with their father.

That's been the theme of my thoughts alot lately to tell you the truth. I've been coaching myself into acceptance of what "may not be in the cards for me." I've actually said those words . . . "Marriage and children may not be in the cards for me." I've tried to mask it as my acceptance of the Lord's will in my life . . . "Maybe that's just not what He has for me." Yup, said that too.

Today I have been called to the carpet. My "acceptance" is simply my lack of faith. Certainly, I need to accept the Lord's will in my life. Certainly, I need to consult Him before making decisions. Certainly, I will not get every thing that I want simply because I want it. But, MORE certainly than any of those things, I need to know . . . I need to believe . . . even when statistics and circumstances show me otherwise . . . I need to have faith in His word.

The fact that I am troubled about the situation, that I have to cajole myself into acceptance, tells me that I lack in the faith that whatever I ask in his name is done . . . if I am faithful.

You see it's my new found quest for faithfulness to his word that has me "accepting" those things that are not meant for me . . .
My endeavors to be less me and more Him . . .
My efforts at mortifying my flesh . . .
My refusal to live in sin . . .
My choice to abide in him, and as such have him abide in me, is the very reason that I am learning to pray His will in my life. So that faithfulness, the endeavoring, that mortification, that refusal of sin . . . those things are the reason that I should have every faith that what I ask in His name is done.

The truth is, I haven't been willing to abide in His will for my life . . . I've simply been too afraid to have faith that he will give me the desires of my heart. I have conditioned myself, with my bad behavior, bad choices, and bad outcomes . . . and even now, as a new creature, I've been applying those old conditions to my new life.

Watching a father and child, until I have my own, will likely always be bitter sweet. But I refuse the heartbreak now, knowing that I will watch my child with my husband one day. My God tells me, that if I abide in Him and His word abides in me . . . I can ask anything in His name, and by faith KNOW that it is done.

I'm going to stand on that word from now on. Not the cencus bureau's facts, not the history of a broken sinner . . .

I will have faith in what I believe, not what I see . . .

Single in a small town . . .

2011-07-13T21:59:00.000-05:00

Well, and I'm sure you know this from the subtle blog title, I am single again.

I know, I know. Shock and dismay, surprise and confusion! I feel the same way. I simply can not fathom how I keep winding up on this side of marriage, but alas I am here so . . . may as well make the proverbial best of it right?

That's the thing, I'm not sure that I am in the best place to make the best of being single anymore. Every other time I've found myself here (I will not say alone. I will not say alone), I have been in the booming metropolis that is Dallas/Fort Worth. And yes, while the women do outnumber the heterosexual men in leaps and bounds there . . . I am not an entirely unfortunate specimen so I've been able to find single men for my single self to date over the years.

I've moved now though . . . I live in Fairfield now. Which is a lot like Mayberry actually, and I LOVE IT!! I'm a small town girl, living a quaint small town life, doing quiet small town things and being as happy as I think I've ever been . . .

Except that . . . um . . .
I'm single.

I think I've said somewhere before in this blog that I do not like being single. Which is perhaps why I am still single. Maybe God has just decided that I will have to wait for my other half until I have figured out how to be whole on my own.

I'm good with that . . . in fact I think I'm there.

I'm not desperate to be a "we", I just prefer it. I don't need to have a "he" in my life, I'd just like to. I'll live without a "him" to call my own, but I'd rather live with him. But, if it is my plight to be single forever . . . so be it. There are far worse relationships to be in than the one with myself . . . and it seems that small town living may ensure that Me, myself and I are happy together forever . . .

You see, there are far fewer people in Fairfield than in Lancaster. FAR FAR fewer. There are approximately 4,000 people in Mayberry, I mean Fairfield, and roughly 52% of those people are women. The other 48% of them are married to a good portion of that 52% I mentioned first. There just aren't very many men in Fairfield, and there are even fewer unmarried men in Fairfield. The numbers it seems, simply are not working in my favor.

Add to the afore mentioned statistics that I'm probably not working with the ideal demographic for my "product type" . . . and there you have it.

Ve is single.

Quite possibly forever.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not ruling anyone out based on race . . . but I'm no fool and I'm just not everyone's cup of tea. Heck, who am I sugar coating this for . . . white men simply are not into me. So, factor in the stat that Fairfield is roughly 72% caucasian . . . and there you have it.

Ve is single.

Quite possibly forever.

I'm afraid, dear readers, that in having found my utopia . . . I will have noone to share it with.

So now what . . .
How does this single in a small town thing work?

Amazing Grace . . .

2011-07-08T18:48:00.002-05:00

I owe God an apology. I blamed him for so much, and I cursed him, and I hated him, and I doubted him . . . and I was wrong.

I blamed Him for the outcome of situations that I got myself into without having consulted Him at all. I never asked Him if that first guy was the one, I never asked Him if that other guy was the one, I never asked Him if one guy was the one, and until recently I hadn't asked Him if this last guy was the one . . . I just made choices and tried to force my hand at every turn. I didn't ask Him about living with a man who was not my husband. I didn't ask Him whether I should be sleeping with a man who was not my husband. I didn't ask Him about having a child with a man who was not my husband. I didn't go to church. I didn't read the bible. I didn't listen, and I didn't take heed. I just ran rough shod through life thinking that I was golden, and as such couldn't be thwarted.

But, I was thwarted . . . at every turn. And at every turn, I blamed Him. The God who I never consulted was always expected to pick up the pieces of me and give me back what I wanted, or thought I needed. And when He didn't . . . when MY doings (which were absolutely against His instruction) landed me broken hearted, broken willed, and plain broken . . . then I blamed Him.

I've told friends countless times, not to ask me for advice knowing that they are not going to take it. Further, I've told them not to come running back to me with tears when things worked out exactly as I'd warned them that they would . . .

I realize now, that I did exactly that. I'd pray a little bit, and I'd get guidance . . . but I never heeded it. I'd go on what I WANTED to hear from that small still voice, instead of what I was ACTUALLY HEARING . . . and back to broken I would go. Then, in the midst of my shattering, I'd pray some more. Not for forgiveness for not having listened, not for guidance in my next steps . . . but for that thing that was most certainly not meant to be mine to begin with.

I'm learning, day by day, that my life is not my own. That there are rules to follow, and when those rules are broken there is chastisement to be had. I am learning that some of God's greatest gifts to me, are those unanswered prayers that I was so angry about for so long. I am learning to consult God first, and pray His will in my life . . . and I am learning that obedience to His word really isn't that hard. Frankly, when I stopped fighting so hard to do those things that I knew I shouldn't be doing . . . I found the peace that I was searching for.

Eating, sleeping, breathing, and smiling are certainly not sins . . . and that is really all I need to sustain me.

I am blessed, in spite of my self, I am blessed. And I am only just now learning, when I thought that I knew it all, how sweet life can really be.

NEW BLOG ALERT!! NEW BLOG ALERT!

2011-03-29T17:05:00.000-05:00

As the title of this post implies, I've started a new blog.
It coincides with my leather and apparel work, and my upcoming adventures with my horses and stuff . . .

So if you still wanna hear from me . . . If you are at all intersted in hearing about the stuff that happens to me . . .

visit my new blog

You might be intersted to know that I passed out in my closet today . . .

Lessons learned from Facebook . . . or not

2011-02-10T11:24:00.004-06:00

So, I was on facebook the other day . . . so many of my stories these days start that way, perhaps I should get out more . . . ANYWAY!

I was on facebook perusing my friend's pages, looking at their pictures and reading their status updates. No, it was not the most productive way to spend my time, but I'm unemployed . . . what do I care?

Now, reading status updates is a lot like people watching. You get these nifty little glances into people lives based solely on what they say in their updates. Nothing goes on in anyone's life anymore if it can't be summed up in 244 words or less. That, based solely on my facebook research, is a fact.

My cyber stalking on this particular day inspired this post. I'd like to say several things to several people, all of whom are facebook friends of mine . . .

First . . .
Facebook, and your 400 friends there, is no substitute for counseling! Your passive aggressive outbursts, your airing of dirty laundry, your personal attacks, your cry for help . . . is this really the venue for that? If you are mad at him shouldn't you just tell him, instead of the 274 people you graduated from high school with? I too have "over-shared" on facebook a few times, and every time I've regretted it. Personal matters are best handled personally . . . don't you think?
Stop it people, Facebook is not your therapist.

Second . . .
It is probably not the best idea to post pictures of yourself, or your friends, in compromising situations. Which leads me to tell you that you shouldn't put yourself in compromising situations with people who would photograph and post the afore mentioned situational photographs to a public forum . . . but that is a post for another time I think. That picture of you peeing in public or pole dancing on a traffic sign will probably not help your case when the hiring manager views your public profile. Unless you are applying for a job as pole dancer or public pee-er, in which case . . . carry on. For the rest of you with no aspirations toward retiring from a career as a public peeing pole dancer, not a good look.

Third . . .
We, your "friends", know that you are just not that deep. Sure, a few will be fooled by the fake persona you put out there . . . but anyone who takes the time to get to know you will eventually see that you really don't do all of those things you claimed in your statuses, that you really aren't doing that well financially, and that you aren't really the bigshot that you worked so hard to convince your "friends" that you are. Dude . . . just be yourself and let us laugh at that.

Now, having said all of this . . . some of you will go back to my stats updates and look for times that I have over-shared or otherwise violated my own rules. Please let me know what you find. In no way am I trying to imply that I am above social networking faux pas, quite the contrary. Some of this is self realization at it's best. If I have offended you . . . let's just get past that . . .

And if I haven't offended you . . . tell me what you've been wanting to tell all of your facebook friends! I'd LOVE to hear what lessons you'd like to teach . . .

The Reconstruction of Self . . . and all that *that* implies!