intervention

it all started with a request by yours truly to get some much needed fashion help. so i guess this would be called a voluntary intervention.

i rose early (well, for me)on a fine saturday morning, donned a pair of jeans, tennis shoes, and a shirt that i had most recently purchased at Walmart. it was pink. and, anyone that knows me very well, knows that that is a tremendous feat.

anyway, i met my dear friend brookie in the JCP parking lot. after buckling up (safety first), she whisked me right over to cave spring corners to meet the other ladies involved in my intervention.(cat, dee, and theresa)

and, it began at Hamrick's. i was quickly ushered to the lady's fitting room, where i spent a good forty five minutes. these are rules, i am informed. my job is to try on clothes. brookie, dee and theresa's job is to pick out the clothes. and cat, well she got the worst job of all: putting all the clothes that didn't fit or that didn't pass inspection back on hangers and onto the racks for the next unsuspecting customer.

next, it was time for a hair trim. off to cost cutters we went. after being informed of a forty five minute wait, we sped off to ruby tuesday's for a quick lunch and mojitos. we got there just in time for the lady to wash, trim and fluff up my hair in a way that made me look like i had wings. (she spent more time fluffing than cutting) so we thanked the lady nicely and headed to the car so brookie could assess the damage.

in the meantime, brookie had sent for the other interventionists (is that a word?) to tanglewood mall so that they might get a head start on the search for the clothes that were the appropriate size, color, length, etc. so once more, it was back to the fitting room.

now, i considered not adding this, but i found it quite humorous. i didn't know what bra size i needed. brookie, who has previously worked for JCP, asked the salesman if he had a tape measure. we then set to the task of measuring my chest and then spent some more time figuring out how to change inches into bra size. brookie, the ever kind trooper, then helped me try them on until we found one that fit. henceforth, i sent her back to find three exactly like the one that i had tried on.

i think i tried on eleventy million outfits. by this time, though, we had developed a system. as i tried on clothes, if i wanted them, i kept them in the fitting room. if i didn't then i tossed them either over or under the door (it depended on the store. there is such a variety of fitting rooms!)into cat's waiting arms.

we went to avenue, steinmart, and catherine's where this entire process was repeated over and over. i think it was at this time that i realized that i had discovered a new exercise program: start by walking a mile from your car in the parking lot to the store. next try on fifty outfits. then, while holding onto twenty pounds of clothing, stand in line for twenty minutes. finally, carry all bags back to the car at which time you realize that this car is not the one you arrived in. and then backtrack until you finally slump into the seat simply wishing for a diet coke and a cigarette.

so, as we stumble out of the last store, we realize that victory is ours. it took us a mere 5.5 hours to spend $500. i do believe that is a record.

two things i want to mention: first, there will be an upcoming comparison blog of the similarities and differences in fitting rooms. second, i bought a purse. did you here that: a purse.

at approximately 4pm, we were spent. we labored once more to our vehicles. there were hugs all around and a promise that "this intervention is not done yet". (hair and make up come next).

so until then, my dear friends, until then...

yo quiero taco bell

today, i discovered something phenomenal.

and i don't use that term lightly.

this thing, this edible vibe, this wonderfully designed piece of beauty, this creation is nothing short of perfection.

it starts out with a soft outer layer of goodness covered in a strata of melted nacho cheese.

then, there are the beans... yes, beans... as in the musical fruit.

and beef, finely chopped to a perfect consistency.

to top it all off, there is sour cream... my all time favorite food... spreading across the length of the tortilla

two of these can fill you for days.

in fact, if i were on survivor, all i would need to bring are four of these finely wrapped beauties and i wouldn't go hungry for the length of the show.

and the most amazing part of all: they only cost $.89.

long live the cheesy beef burrito.

i love the whole world

i know it's not here, yet but i'm getting prepared. in fact, i hadn't even thought about it until i walked into walmart and was inundated with pink and pink and more pink. then there was the smell of fresh cut flowers and hearts drizzled in inky icing all across cupcakes bearing the letters : i heart u. i'm telling you, there was a whole aisle dedicated to cards with antique cursive lettering. don't get me wrong: i like to celebrate as much as anyone else. however, this is one holiday i simply abominate...

as much as i despise the holiday, i must say that i am capable of love. (really, i am). and there are many people that i love dearly. and so in fact, because i am capable of expressing that love, i will do so in verse:

If I had a million dollars, I’d give it all to you

If I had the starry sky, I’d lie under it with you

If beauty was a color, I’d paint it just for you

And if stories never ended, I’d be the end for you

You’re the ace to all my kings; you’re the wind beneath my wings

I love the way you sleep and I love the way you sing

The sky falls down around me and rains down tears of love

I guess I’ll have to tell you, it’s you I’m thinking of

The time I spend without you seems dull and incomplete

And every time you touch me, my heart just skips a beat

When you look into my eyes and stare into my soul

My life is not so pointless and my parts become a whole.

I don’t have a million dollars and I probably never will

I don’t have the starry skies on which to get your fill

Beauty’s not a color but if you’re very still

We’ll spend our lives together loving more, until…

and that, my friend is probably the most mushy, foofy thing i will ever write.

i love you

sad

i got a phone call while i was in class

it was pastor terry

my aunt mimi's father died

he shot himself after signing himself out of a psychiatric hospital

it wasn't just a regular death, though. it was a death that stirred my soul and shook my bones

you probably wonder why since i didn't really know him

i will tell you:

it wasn't so long ago that i was at that place, too. it's hard to describe because it is different for different people. in my "place", it was always dark. there were voices. sometimes i could hear what they were saying and sometimes i couldn't. i was always scared, so scared. it didn't seem worth it. there was no one worth living for, no tomorrow that looked like a bright, new future. it wasn't that i didn't care. it was that i cared too much. i recall sitting on my bed one morning at two a.m., counting pills and wondering how many it would take, wondering if i should take them all at once or one at a time.

the question that comes to mind is why?

why? why? why?

sometimes all the why's get all muddled up together and block out the sunlight

i concentrate on the sunlight so i don't get lost in the shadows

i concentrate on the cross so i don't get lost in the experience

and then an idea surfaces

not a minute too soon:

HOPE

HOPE is what i have that guides me through the day

HOPE is what i have that lets me sleep at night

HOPE is the light at the end of the tunnel

i know hope isn't the answer but it's enough to get me through today


in memory of AC Allman, a man who lost all hope

mr. berger

Today, I went to a funeral. Now, let me tell you that I usually find every excuse not to attend them. However, I had used up all of my excuses and I was sick of being stuck in the house anyway. But that’s another story. Anyway, I entered that little church across from my childhood home with more than a few memories in tow. Let me tell you what I know about Mr. Berger. He was a black man; most all of our neighbors growing up were black. He never said a lot but always had a smile and a wave ready for us kids as he drove past our house everyday to go to work and sometimes as he drove to the mailbox. I especially remember the summers. My brother and I always took Mr. Berger and his wife fresh zucchini and squash from our garden. (They liked the yellow summer squash the best. And, they liked it grown bigger than how my mama fixed it.) They would always give us a dollar or two and after riding our bikes down the long driveway back up to our house, we would count out the exact change and divide it evenly, contemplating the glory of having such riches. Another cool thing about the Berger’s is that their driveway was paved and had a huge hill on which my brother and I spent many hours go carting, bicycling, skating, and rollerblading. More often than not we spent most of the time wrapping body parts in bandages after trying to accomplish some feat such as defying gravity and stopping the go cart when the accelerator stuck. In the winter, life on that hill was not so easy. We spent many an hour shoveling snow off of that pavement that seemed all uphill. But it was always worth it to receive that reparation of a hand full of change and a cup of hot chocolate in the Berger kitchen. So these were the memories that I was reminiscing when I entered that old, country church. It was this church I should mention that during the summer, when the wind blew in the right direction, we could hear the singing from up on that old hill. Anyway, I meandered in all dressed in black, of course, and soon came to realize that I was the only white person in attendance. This didn’t surprise me. I recall many years ago attending this same church but it had been so long, I hardly remembered how I was supposed to act. So I somberly chose a seat near the middle; the church was full of men with colorful suits and women with large hats. It crossed my mind that no matter it was winter, they had to be sweating underneath their entire garb. However, I busied myself with reading the obituary until the funeral began. I don’t know what I was expecting: maybe some sorrowful singing and long passages of Scripture. I didn’t go to praise the Lord. I didn’t go to dance. I certainly didn’t go to praise the Lord, dance and shed my clothing along the way! I was somber. I was dressed in black. I was ready for a funeral. But let me use the words of the pastor, “This is not a funeral. This is a homecoming.” So for the next hour or so we sang and danced and cried and laughed so much I thought we would raise poor Mr. Berger right from the casket in front of us. The church resonated with powerful voices. I realized that it didn’t matter what God was doing right then because no matter where he was there was no way he couldn’t hear that singing. And we danced. Scarves, gloves and jackets were flung from the women’s bodies. Men started sweating profusely and wiping their brows with perfectly folded handkerchiefs. The rows pulsed and rocked and waved until even I was caught up in the passion. It didn’t matter that I can’t sing or dance. I could move and that’s all that mattered. We cried not because we were sad. No, there was no sadness in that church. We cried for joy. We cried because we had known Mr. Berger. We cried because we knew that he was somewhere up there, probably crying for joy, as well. So, yes- today, I went to a funeral. But, today, I not only mourned the loss of a great man, I celebrated his life. Today, I dove face first into a culture that had surrounded me all my life, but that had not permeated the walls that society sanctions. Today, I became a little bit more diverse. Today, I have learned that old Mr. Berger meant more to me than just a smile, a wave and some pocket change.