Looking Like A Train Wreck? Mama Ain't Having It

Life has it's hills and valleys for everyone, and recently I have been in a valley. Okay, it's more like a crevice the size of the Grand Canyon. Let's just say that we, at my house, have been experiencing some personal issues of the sort that would cause interruption in anyone's marital bliss. My husband and I had a few words (were in a huge fuss actually, but my Granny always thought having words sounded so much nicer), and I decided that I would just bolt. I'm over it and I was leaving, so I grabbed my purse and keys, slid on my flip flops, stormed out the door, got in my car and went right to see my Mama.

On my way to Mama's house, I had a chance to cool down, and as my temper began it's decline, I began to take a closer look at the fashion statement I was making. It took me about five seconds to ascertain that it was not a good one. I discovered that in all of my anger, and with my "I'll show him attitude", I had chosen to enter the public needing a shower, wearing an Old t-shirt, yoga pants, no make-up, with naturally curly hair going straight crazy, in flip flops and wearing no bra...Oh yeah..Lookin' goooood.

The rational side of myself knew good and well that when my Mama saw me she was going to have a hissy fit, but I just had to keep going. I needed her. I was in personal crisis. So, knowing full well that my appearance resembled that of a complete and total train wreck, and that in my mother's book there was no excuse to justify being in such a state, I did not turn my car around. I had to have me some Mama can make it all better time.

I walked in the back door and Mama was standing in the kitchen. Just as soon as she saw me her assessment began. I could see it in her eyes. Before she could say anything I said, "I know Mama, and I'm going to take a shower". Well, Mama left the kitchen, and I got sidetracked talking to my twin sister, who was also there. I poured myself a cup of coffee and began eating a chocolate chip cookie, the size of my head, and before I knew it, I had put the shower on the back burner

About two bites into my cookie my Mama made a reentry into the kitchen and she said "Arlene, I thought you were getting in the shower. I put a towel and some clothes in the bathroom for you.". You see, train wreck that I was my Mama wasn't having "sidetracked". I answered her with "I am Mama, but I needed a snack and some coffee". She said "Well get done with it and go and get your shower."
Needless to say I gave her a "yes ma'am" and emerged from the shower about 20 short minutes later, feeling much better than when I arrived.

I headed right back into the kitchen for more coffee and conversation. Mama was there waiting for me. She had a few reminders for me about "not letting myself go"...She said "Arlene, you cannot let yourself go around looking a mess. People will talk." I said "Mama, I am in personal crisis" and she said "Personal crisis is no excuse for not taking care of yourself.". "You can't just leave the house looking all undone". I guess it's safe to assume Mama isn't buying that whole flip flops are the glass slippers of the south concept.

She looked at me again and she said "come on", and she motioned for me to follow her down the hall. I asked her where we were going and she said back to the bathroom. You hair has dry ends. She began pulling every hair care product known to man out from under the sink and putting them on the counter. She picked one up and said "Cup your hand". I said what is this and she said it's leave in conditioner and you need it. Cup your hand. Then there was another one that followed and I said what's this for and she said just rub your hands together and work it through your hair. I was doing as I was told, and she said no, not that way, Look down, and then go back to front, back to front...She left me then with two round brushes, a regular hairbrush, and instructions to dry my hair.

When I came out she said now just look how shiny your hair is, and doesn't it smell good. I said yes ma'am it sure does and thank you. When she was satisfied that I looked at least halfway presentable, we went back to the kitchen for more coffee with my sister. When we sat down at the table, she looked right at me, and she said now, what brought you out of your house in such a discombobulated dither? I explained that I had literally ran out the door, telling my husband that I was leaving him for good.(As I said earlier, this valley was of Grand Canyon magnitude).

Now after declaring something of that much importance, you would think that Mama might ask me if we were getting a divorce or something along those lines, but no she did not. This woman knows how to prioritize. She said in her I'm afraid to ask tone, "Oh no Arlene, Did you get your pearls?". I just about cracked up. Instead I said "Mama, you might find this hard to believe, but no, I did not get my pearls.

As you might have guessed, Mama was horrified by the poor planning executed in my rapid departure. She just looked at me with this stunned expression on her face, and she said "Go and get your pearls".

After a few short minutes, I was able to calm her by giving her assurance that at some point, I would make a reentry and do so, with my priorities in order. I said, don't worry Mama, when I go back, I'll make a list and get the most important things in the house...Pearls, other jewelry, Blow dryer, hair brushes, make-up, perfume, lotion, actual shoes in place of the flip flops, and without question, a bra.

When I had given her the short list of important items that I intended to go and retrieve, said that I just couldn't believe that I had left without grabbing my pearls, told her that I knew that I really had to learn to keep it together even under the most tumultuous circumstances, because she had raised me better...She gave me that everything's going to be alright hug, told me that if I needed her for anything at all to just call her, or come back by, and I kissed her cheek.

As I headed out the door I couldn't help but chuckle to myself, and think how much I love my Mama...She is right, if you look your best, you feel better, and she is a firm believer in that theory. Later that evening I thought about our time together that day, and I called her and I recommended that she listen to Miranda Lambert's "Mama's Broken Heart". I said It reminds me of you and me. She said okay, she would listen to it.

I saw her again today, and I asked if she had heard the song. She said yes, that she had. I said well, do you think it sounds like us at all? She said "Oh Yes".. Mama has her standards, and her ladylike rules, and she makes no apologies for them. To be honest, after she fancied me up a bit, I did feel much better. As a matter of a fact, the next time I feel like my life is going to fall apart in some way, I'm not going to run...I'm just going to stop and take a page from my Mama's book.

I'm going to pull some personal maintenance, get a manicure and pedicure, apply my make-up, put on some extra lip gloss, curl my hair, and find an outfit in my closet that says I've got all this mess under complete control...

My Mama didn't raise me to be a train wreck....Thanks Mama...I love you...

Zumba : Stripper Moves Without The Pole

I was sitting at work, talking to a friend of mine, and I casually mentioned that I needed to start exercising more. Okay, scratch the word more from that last sentence and you now have a true statement. Just as soon as the words had left my mouth, her face lit up and she smiled.

Somehow I knew immediately that I was in trouble. She said "I have the perfect thing for you to start doing". I asked her what it was, and she said, "I do Zumba every Tuesday and Thursday night and you can join the class with me." She then assured me that it was an awesome class, filled with wonderful women, and that they were ALL women..because I had informed her that I could not exercise comfortably in a co-ed environment. It's just not what I do.

After a little consideration, and internal conversation, I decided to join the class. I put my yoga pants and t-shirt on, laced up my Nikes, filled my water bottle, and grabbed a floral perfumed hankie, just in case I should happen to work myself up to the glistening stage and I drove to class.

When I arrived everyone was smiling and talking and stretching so I joined them and after positioning myself in the far back corner, I began to stretch and smile as well...No problem...

Then...The music started. Let me just tell you that there was no warm-up. It was full blown cardio right off the rip, complete with hip thrusts, rotations, and suggestive dance moves that I feel sure were seen at the Gold Club during it's hey day.

I couldn't have been expected to do more gyrating than I did that night if I had been holding on to a stripper pole, wearing a catholic school girl uniform and sporting my brightest red lip gloss.

There were enough moves and dance routines going on in that room to make the Pussy Cat Dolls proud..

My hips hadn't moved like that in years and my thighs were begging for mercy. I most definitely had my workout on..and I meant to keep up or die trying....

Needless to say I was only about one or two songs in before I hit the glistening phase and had to pull out my hankie. I was blotting my neck with it, when one of the women said to me.."You should bring a towel." I thought to myself a towel? Woman I am not mopping my face up with a towel like some football player on the sidelines after a 70 yard run...it ain't happening....Of course, what I said out loud was "Thank you..I'll keep that in mind."

I am proud to say that I did manage to keep up and with all that was going on, the hour seemed to fly by, believe that or not. It ended and I had managed to survive it without the need for a 911 call being placed to have them dispatch EMS. I felt pretty good about that.

I did go back for the very next class and have continued to do so, because to be honest it is lots of fun and I actually enjoy it very much while I'm there.

I admit that the morning after each class does have a way of reminding me that this sort of repeated rhythmic gyration can cause a bit of discomfort...but it's not so much that I'll stop...I can't stop..If I do, how am I going to perfect my moves so that I'll be ready when I get the stripper pole I've ordered for my office...

Stripper pole??? you might ask....I am dangerous like that, but in this case...you can breathe easy..I'm only kidding about the pole order..I haven't completely lost it..I do realize that my pole dancing should remain in my imagination, and I am well aware that one just can't do random things like work a pole without caution these days.... I mean seriously people..There's YouTube...

My Mother Raised Me To Know Better.....

My Mama raised me to live by certain rules, and she gave me plenty of good advice. The rules were all good ones, which were put in place in hopes of keeping me out of trouble with her and the good Lord. The advise ..well it was to save me from doing "great things" that she knew would cause me regret. It was given as sort of a personal protection plan.

The advise included things such as; "Don't believe a boy who ever says "If you love me you will.", it's just a ploy to get you to comply.", and "Always be a lady, even when people put you in situations that make it difficult." I have found that any time I have tested my mother's advise, with some hard headed behavior of my own, she is proven to be correct..

You would think, at my age, I would have learned just to trust her, and not do things that I have been "advised" against doing. Well, unfortunately, I continue to learn the hard way...

Another piece of advise that I was given is "Never leave the house without your makeup on, and dressing decently, because you WILL run into people you know. It's not just a possibility Arlene, it is going to happen..every time!"

Now even Coco Chanel was quoted as saying: "I don't understand how a woman can leave the house without fixing herself up a little, if only out of politeness, and then you never know maybe that's the day she has a date with destiny, and it's best to be as pretty as possible for destiny."

Well you guessed it..I didn't listen to my Mama or Coco Chanel ..

last Saturday afternoon...

I had been cleaning the house, and we were expecting Company for dinner and to watch a Georgia Football Game. My husband promised to cook, but at the last minute informed me that I needed to go to the store and cook because he had changed his mind and wasn't going to do it.

I realized in that moment that he needed killing, but I didn't have time to take care of that, I had to get to the store.

Now let me give you a visual on my personal presentation..T-shirt, Sweatpants, flip flops, and absolutely no makeup whatsoever...not even clear lip gloss.

When I grabbed my car keys, I glanced in the mirror and for one fleeting moment I could hear my Mama saying "Arlene, Don't do it." I told myself at that point that I would hurry and that there was always the possibility that my mother was wrong and I wouldn't see a soul that I knew. I ran out of the house and got in the car..and it gets better..

The top was down on my convertible Volkswagen and did I take the time to put it up...No I did not. The result?? To add to the fashion statement that I was already making, I now had crazy hair. Perfect.

I got to the store and ran through it like something wild, grabbing what I needed and glancing around like I needed to be in the witness protection program. I went to the register and checked out...I was feeling pretty good about making it out the door unseen, and then...

As I was pushing the cart toward the exit I ran right into one of my new co-workers and I wanted the floor to swallow me up!! I died a thousand deaths in that moment.

I apologized for looking such a mess, and he was very sweet about it and said that I looked fine, but seriously?? Oh yeah, I knew better. I got in my car and went home berating myself the entire way...

Later that evening I called my Mama and I confessed what I had done,and told her that she had never been more right.

All I know is I don't care how old I am..The next time I hear my Mama in my ear, I'm going to stop and listen...And then more importantly I'm going to amend the situation into rule/advisement compliance before I carry on...I love you Mama...

Shower Blindness: A Condition Of The Middle Aged Woman

I am at the age now that I have to admit I need my glasses. I need them to read menus, labels, directions, just about anything. My husband, even though he's older than I am, remains in denial.

Although I have convinced myself that the glasses are just an accessory, I am still standing on the front line against wrinkles, because I am positive they are not now, nor could they ever be, an accessory.

With my defense against wrinkles in mind I have purchased just about every day cream, night cream, wrinkle filler, acidic peel, dark spot remover,and facial scrub known to man.

Anyway, let me put the two together for you, so that you know where I am going with this. I went into the bathroom this morning and prepared to take a shower. I took my glasses off and put them on the counter.

I decided that I would use one of my new facial scrubs in the shower that I haven't tried yet (Still looking for that miracle). I was going to exfoliate like no body's business.

Let me just say that it seemed like a good idea at the time. The first thing I did, after I got in, was look on the back of the tube to read the directions. Good Lord, they were so small they may as well have saved their ink. I couldn't read a single word. I can't even see things of a decent size anymore, much less trying to see something under running water that's written in fine print. It's a wonder I haven't hit a main artery just trying to shave my legs.

The fact that I was going to be unable to read the directions in the shower never crossed my mind. I simply wasn't thinking clearly. Maybe that was because I feel confident that I know how to use shampoo: wash, rinse, repeat, and I also have enough sense at this point to know to leave my conditioner on for 3 or 4 minutes.

Facial scrubs were so simple when I was a teenager, but now there can be several steps involved. The thing is, with a new product, that is to be used near my eyes, containing God only knows what, that is suppose to help me scrub my skin down to reveal my hidden youth, I feel much better when I have a little direction.

I mean good Lord, I could just hear myself explaining to my husband that I had caused myself to go blind while in the shower trying to exfoliate.

At that point, I stuck my arm out of the shower and reached for my glasses. I was a little hesitant to do it, because I wasn't really very thrilled at the idea of a clearer visual than I already had of myself in my birthday suit, but I just couldn't risk losing my sight to avoid it.

I found the glasses and put them on. Did they help me in my quest for a more youthful look? No they did not. They immediately fogged up and were rendered useless.

My first thought was that I needed to find some of that stuff that people put on their windshields to keep them from fogging up in the rain and spray my glasses with it, but then I decided that was ridiculous and just became frustrated.

I gave the tube a fling right out of the shower and the glasses went behind it. I washed my face with a bar of Dove soap and decided to give myself a break from the facial products for today, due to the stress factor.

It's now almost 9:30 p.m. and I haven't put so much as a drop of lotion on my face, which is a record for me. I probably look a hot mess, but on the upside I don't know for sure, because my glasses are still on the bathroom floor...

I am sure that I will give up my resolve in the morning, and resume the use of my lotions and potions, but for tonight, I'm over it...I have to get some rest...I heard somewhere that stress causes wrinkles...

Besides...Tomorrow I have to write that company about their fine print..They obviously need some enlightenment. Can they be that seriously ignorant about the fact that there won't be a twenty five year old in the shower with 20/20 vision trying to read the directions on the back of their product...I can't be tired when I try to explain to them all that they have put me through...

Who knows..maybe they'll write me back or call me and I can offer to come in and pour water over their heads while they try to read the fine print on their product with a pair of fogged up reading glasses..You know, sort of a reenactment..I want them to get a feel for just what I'm trying to say...Nothing like having the true experience for oneself to drive the point home...

Shave Him Down And Teach Him To Speak

My husband retired from the DeKalb County Police Department about a year and a half ago. I had no idea once this happened that not only his fashion sense would run wilder than usual, but he had also made two choices:

1. Retire

2. Never utilize a razor again.

For our entire marriage, up until his retirement, he was a police officer, and so he was always clean shaven and kept his hair cut. Well much to my surprise when the job went so did his self-maintenance.

Now he has grown himself a beard that is an unbelievable mess. I don't mean he has a beard which he trims and keeps neat that I just don't care for, I literally mean the man no longer picks up a razor, period. He looks atrocious. The clothes he chooses combined with the Grizzly Adams facial hair are killing me......

One of his fine ensembles he wore  the other night included a t-shirt, khaki shorts that are worn out, complete with several holes (Even though he owns a dozen pair of perfectly good ones.), a pair of bright colored soccer socks pulled all the way up to the knees, with some random tennis shoes in a bright color. Now combine that with the long hair and a beard gone wild and try to assemble yourself a visual.

When he was about to go out the door and into the public one afternoon, I stopped him and said "Can I ask you something?". He said "sure". I said "Are you in the witness protection program?, Because if you are I just want to say good job on the disguise!! You look nothing at all like the man I married, as a matter of a fact I wouldn't even go on a date with you."

He just sort of chuckled at me, and I said No, I'm serious, because the only reason I could imagine you wanting to walk around looking the way you do right now would be to save your own life....he went right out the door..

It has gotten so bad that one afternoon when we stopped for gas and he went inside to pay and get a drink, he was counting out change for the tax and because of the way he looked the store owner offered to let him wash the windows for money....

I mean have you ever? I can not believe that as handsome as he is, he'd rather present himself in public looking as though, for lack of a better phrase, he has been "dug up!" I actually had a friend, after seeing a recent picture of my husband, comment that his new "look" was grounds for divorce.

I have pleaded with him over and over again to shave and get a hair cut, and I always get the same response: "I have shaved every day for almost 30 years and I'm tired of it." I finally told him that I am getting scared, to which he replied, scared of what? I said scared that the primitive caveman look you've got going will cause you to regress to a point where I will have to take matters into my own hands.

He looked at me very seriously and said "What do you mean?" I said, I mean I am scared there will come a time when I am going to have to shave you down and teach you to speak because your brain will have made contact with your new look in a random mirror somewhere, and so as to unite the two(the brain and the look), you will be reduced to making guttural noises.

None of this seems to shake my husbands resolve about the whole matter. He is somewhat like a defiant teenager about it all. At this point, when he can't find something I probably need to remind him to check his beard....Lost keys? Wallet? Check that beard...it could hide any number of things.

I'm not even asking that he take the beard off completely...I mean can I just get a trim? Take a brush to it, and maybe he could just once wear two articles of clothing at one time that actually match...

Lord have mercy I am so over it all. He seriously looks so bad that I have refused to kiss him again until he shaves or Jesus comes...

He really leaves me no choice. I am just going to have to contact Carson Kressley and plead for a Queer Eye For The Straight Guy reunion....

Marabou Madness

When my twin sister and I were little we shared a bedroom, and of course, the closet, and for the most part we managed to get along famously.

We always kept our room clean, toys put away, and bed made. We also shared a bed which we always made together. She would get on her side and I would get on mine and we'd have that bed made in no time. That is as long as she was ready to do it.

You see...We had slightly different ideas on when we should get this accomplished. I was of the opinion that we should do it as soon as we woke up, so as to "get it over with", she , on the other hand, wanted to do it when the spirit moved her to do so.

This is where my story really begins...

One morning I was trying to convince my sister to make the bed when I wanted to, and as usual, she didn't seem willing to get on the page, so to speak. Now, as a general rule I have a very calm and peaceful personality, and I had never fought or argued with any of my siblings.

On this particular morning, however, when she kept on and on refusing to help me, it was suddenly as if my body had been possessed by the Wicked Witch of the West. I came unglued.

On top of our chest of drawers was a little ceramic kettle shaped dish. It had Tiffany blue marabou running around its entire opening, and inside it I kept my rings and earrings. When my sister repeatedly refused to help me I suddenly snatched that little kettle up, dumped my jewelry out of it, and hummed it at her. I used the word hummed because I didn't just throw it. I threw it with full force. I threw it with every ounce of strength an 8 year old little girl could muster. I mean it was raining marabou.

It hit the wall right above her head just as she was ducking down to avoid stitches. It made a loud crashing sound as it hit the wall and shattered into a million pieces. I stood there in shock at the fact that I had actually thrown it. As my brain began to function again I had only one thought she is going to kill me....

That thought was interrupted when I heard the click of the intercom in our room that signaled someone was about to speak to us, I wanted it to be God forming an intervention to save my life , but, my gut feeling told me it was going to be my Mama. My instincts were spot on.

She said "Girls, is everything alright in there?". Well don't you just know that I piped up immediately with what I hoped was a very convincing yes ma'am. unfortunately, for me, my sister didn't feel as good about things as I did. She began to scream at the top of her lungs that I was trying to kill her and that she needed help.

Needless to say the intercom conversation was over. Before I could blink Mama had appeared in the flesh, and to tell you the truth she didn't look all that happy.

Before she could even begin her questioning about the broken glass and it's origin, I turned on the tears and lots of them. Between sobs, I began to explain to Mama that I had no idea what had come over me. I said that my sister wouldn't help me with the bed and that before I even knew what I was doing I had hurled the little dish at her.

I just felt sure, since I never got into trouble, she would believe the whole thing and that I'd get off with a warning. What I wasn't counting on was that Mama had already gone all Dick Tracy on the situation. You see...she had already completed her review of the evidence that was before her and she said....

"You knew exactly what you were doing. and you had time to think about it!". I assured her that I hadn't given it a bit of thought, and that's when she caught me up short. She said "Yes you did. I know that you did because you had the forethought to dump your jewelry out of the dish before you threw it at her."

I just looked at her, and for the second time that morning , I was in shock. That's when I had my second thought...my murder was going to be a team effort...they were both going to kill me. I was horrified of getting in trouble, because I had never been in trouble before, so my thoughts at that point were extreme.

The first thing Mama did was tell my sister to leave the room. She did stand between us as my sister made her exit, which I was very grateful for. My thoughts had changed slightly at that point and were more along the lines of .. good Lord she is going to kill me, and she's going to do it alone and without witnesses.

The truth is she had taken my record of good behavior into account. She was going to let me off easy, but she didn't want my sister to know that, especially with the offense being attempted murder and all...

When all was said and done, I had to clean up the mess, apologize to my sister, and promise my Mama that I would never do anything like that again. When I had done all of the above, I was left in my room to "think about what I had done"...

My Mama knew exactly what she was doing because in the silence of that room my conscience went all Jiminy Cricket on me, and I felt soooo guilty I could hardly stand it.... I don't think I could have felt more ashamed of myself if I had killed her.

I also suffered in a way that my Mama and sister knew nothing about. I went through a grieving period for my Marabou dish....I suffered in silence...it being my fault that it got broken and all, but it was suffering just the same...

Honestly.... I still love myself some Marabou........

That was about 40 years ago and I've never thrown another thing.....

I would love to tell you that I haven't even thought about it, but lying is in the top ten rules of things not to do ..




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The Mother Ship.... A Search For Her Captain

I spent many years working in a high school and like all places of employment it had it's share of "crazies". To be honest there were times when I suspect we had more than our fair share of them.

Now, let me say for the record, I am talking only about co-workers, not students, and I do not mean Crazy in a Mental illness sort of way. I mean it in an "extremely odd bird" sort of way.

Now if you worked with me, you know deep in your heart that I am right about this, and in fact, you would have to admit that you have worked with, or at least met some of these people.

During my years, at this high school, I worked directly with a wonderful Lady who I became friends with and in fact remain friends with today. When we were working together we had a few conversations about the "crazies".

One day, after an encounter with one of them, I said to my friend, "You know, I think one day the Mother ship is going to just land right out back on the 50 yard line of the football field, and they are going to just start walking out the doors in droves to get on board.".

This whole concept led us to a new conversation, in which we decided we would try to determine who would be the Captain of said Mother ship. The leader among the "crazies" so to speak.

Now I will tell you there were many people to choose from, so we were aware that it wasn't going to be an easy feat, but at any rate the search began. As we had conversations with some of the candidates we would do things as we walked away like look at each other and simply say "Captain."

A firm decision on a winner seemed as if it could not be reached, however, because one crazy continued to top another with their behavior, thoughts, and ideas almost daily.

Then one day, when I was least expecting it, it happened. I found her, or maybe I should say she found me. I was outside walking around the track, and I was joined by a female substitute teacher, that I had never met before.

I introduced myself and she did the same. We began talking and suddenly she just looked at me and said "Sometimes I pretend that all of the food on my plate are the people, and my mouth is the space ship, and I open my mouth and let all of the people in."

My response was "Wow"...Really?? Well now, that sounds like a really fun game. It was nice to meet you, but I do have to be getting back to class now."

Having excused myself from the conversation, don't you just know, that I all but killed myself flying back to the room. I burst in the door, and said to my co-worker, "The search is over!! I found her!! Hands down! No question! It is over!! She is a blonde, she is out there on the track right now as I speak, and she has come for her people!!"

I said let me back up and tell you what just happened. I filled my friend in on everything that the woman had said to me and within seconds we were in full agreement that I had indeed solved the mystery. We spent the rest of our afternoon listening for the landing of the Mother ship.

Although we never actually heard it land, I feel that it must have. Perhaps sometime during a hot summers night, because I can report that the next school year several of the "crazies" did not return, and I never saw their Captain again either.

To be honest sometimes I feel a little crazy myself. I think we all do. I know there are times when I chuckle, and think...

Have mercy.... I should have just gotten on board.