Last Email Funny. I Promise.

Okay - I promise not to make it a habit, but this has got to be the FUNNIEST thing I ever got in my email. If anybody knows who wrote it, please let me know so I can give credit. (After I laughed my butt off the first time I read this, I KEPT laughing all day every single time I thought about it. I was walking around Costco, getting tickled at inappropriate moments & had other customers about to report me to security. The story/joke reminds me of one about Alaska.)

(This is dedicated to everyone who ever attempted to get into a regular workout routine.)

Dear Diary: For my fortieth birthday this year, my wife (the dear) purchased a week of personal training at the local health club for me. Although I am still in great shape since playing on my college football team 25yrs ago, I decided it would be a good idea to go ahead and give it a try. I called the club and made my reservation with a personal trainer named Belinda, who identified herself as a 26 yr. old aerobics instructor and model for athletic clothing and swimwear.

My wife seemed pleased with my enthusiasm to get started! The club encouraged me to keep a diary to chart my progress.

MONDAY: Started my day at 6:00am. Tough to get out of bed, but it was well worth it when I arrived at the health club to find Belinda waiting for me. She was something of a Greek goddess with blonde hair, dancing eyes and a dazzling white smile. Woo Hoo!!!!! She took my pulse after 5 minutes on the treadmill. She was alarmed that my pulse was so fast, but I attributed it to standing next to her in her Lycra aerobics outfit. I enjoyed watching the skilful way in which she conducted her aerobics class after my workout today.

Very inspiring, Belinda was encouraging as I did my sit-ups, Although my gut was already aching from holding it in the whole time she was around. This is going to be a FANTASTIC week!!

TUESDAY: I drank a whole pot of coffee, but I finally made it out the door. Belinda made me lie on my back and push a heavy iron bar into the air, and then she put weights on it! My legs were a little wobbly on the treadmill, but I made the full mile. Belinda's rewarding smile made it all worthwhile. I feel GREAT!! It's a whole new life for me.

WEDNESDAY: The only way I can brush my teeth is by lying on the toothbrush on the counter and moving my mouth back and forth over it. I believe I have a hernia in both pectorals. Driving was OK as long as I didn't try to steer or stop. I parked on top of a GEO in the club parking lot. Belinda was impatient with me, insisting that my screams bothered the other club members. Her voice is a little too perky for early in the morning and when she scolds, she gets this nasally whines that is VERY annoying.

My chest hurts when I got on the treadmill, so Belinda put me on the stair monster. Why the hell would anyone invent a machine to simulate an activity rendered obsolete by elevators? Belinda told me it would help me get in shape and enjoy life. She said some other shit too.

THURSDAY: Belinda was waiting for me with her vampire-like teeth exposed as her thin, cruel lips were pulled back in a full snarl. I couldn't help being a half an hour late; it took me that long to tie my shoes. Belinda took me to workout with dumbbells. When she was not looking, I ran and hid in the men's room. She sent Lars to find me, then, as punishment, put me on the rowing machine -- which I sank.

FRIDAY: I hate that bitch Belinda more than any human being has ever hated any other human being in the history of the world. Stupid, skinny, anemic little cheerleading bitch. If there were a part of my body I could move without unbearable pain, I would beat her with it. Belinda wanted me to work on my triceps. I don't have any triceps! And if you don't want dents in the floor, don't hand me the*&%#(#&** barbells or anything that weighs more than a sandwich. The treadmill flung me off and I landed on a health and nutrition teacher. Why couldn't it have been someone softer, like the drama coach or the choir director?

SATURDAY: Belinda left a message on my answering machine in her grating, shrilly voice wondering why I did not show up today. Just hearing her made me want to smash the machine with my planner. However, I lacked the strength to even use the TV remote and ended up catching eleven straight hours of the Weather Channel.

SUNDAY: I'm having the Church van pick me up for services today so I can go and thank GOD that this week is over. I will also pray that next year, my wife (the other bitch), will choose a gift for me that is fun --like a root canal or a vasectomy.

tags: Jokes Humor Laugh

Rude & Crude (but funny as heck!)

I got this in an email this morning. I don't usually read these types of mails - the first few lines make me want to tap the Delete key. For some reason, I read this one & I'm sorry, but all the "lady" went right out of me & I laughed my butt off. (I have no idea where it came from, so I hope I'm not stepping on toes here.)

Sometimes...
when you cry...
NO ONE sees your TEARS.

Sometimes...
when you are in pain...
NO ONE sees your HURT.

Sometimes...
when you are worried...
NO ONE sees your STRESS.

Sometimes...when you are happy...
NO ONE sees your SMILE.

*
*
*
*
*
But FART!!
just ONE time...

Don't front. You know you're laughing with me.

Jokes Humor

Sexiest Man List

I have to do this list, people. My niece and I have a big argument about once every six months about Brad Pitt. She thinks he is THE sexiest man alive. I don't get it. Never have. Maybe he's one of those people with a vibe you pick up on if you meet him in person. My niece had never met this man. She wears glasses, so maybe she's just needing a new pair (for the last 5 years!).

Anyway, she (my niece) and I have decided that the reason I don't find Brad Pitt sexy is because of a generational thing. I'm older, so I'm not feeling the whole Usher, Jay-Z, and most anybody with all that grill/gold crap in their mouths. Maybe.

So, back at my niece, here's my list of Sexiest Men (in no particular order):

1. Denzel. Of course. He's got that natural & easy kind of charisma. I hope I never meet him because I would probably embarass myself badly. Let that man flash that smile at me & watch the knees buckle... Down she goes. And I like the family-man thing he's got going (with a wife who is like a "real" person & not some plastic, Barbie-doll imitation of womanhood. Lucky, lucky her.)
2. Keanu Reeves. I don't know. Just something about a man who doesn't seem to pretend about anything. I like the look: handsome & flawed-not-airbrushed. He's got those wonderful eyes and a great smile. He doesn't seem fake & he doesn't seem to be trying to live up to or fit into all that celebrity b.s.
   
3. Will Smith. I don't know. He's got the silly, sexy, playful mix going on. And another family man (although I heard a disturbing rumor about a belief in "open" marriage...? That would ruin some of the fantasy for me, but...)
4. Puffy. Or Diddy. Or Daddy. What is he calling himself these days? ANYway. I like that combination of bad boy/smart. Let this man get a little bit older and settle down some - that's going to be hot.
5. Maurice White. Y'all know how I feel about Earth, Wind & Fire. I have loved Brother White since I was 14 or 15 years old. Broke my heart that I never got to see E,W & F in concert. Maurice has the wiseman vibe about him. He's so calm and proud of his Blackness. It's probably a good thing I never made it to a concert when I was so young. I might have done something undignified, like throw my draws up on the stage! But now that I'm older and calmer - I could love Maurice right. Black love, y'all. I'm on a roll.
6. Tyler Perry. Who doesn't love a writer? Plus, he's tall. That's just interesting to me.
7. Prince. Why? Have you heard this man sing "Adore?" Good mercy. Anybody that comes up with lyrics like that... I always did like his music, but he got even sexier to me when I heard him do Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me."
   
8. Steve Harvey. I LOVE this man. First of all, he cracks me up. Second, he kind of "country," like me. I just know he's a good time.
   
9. Babyface. He's really sexy, but he's too manicured for me to want to hang out with. I don't mind dolling up for a night out, but day-to-day, I'm a blue jeans, sandals, t-shirt gal. I don't do makeup and hair gel, so I probably would always feel way under-dressed around 'Face.
10. My former brother-in-law. Yeah, I was the kid sister, trailing around like a love-sick puppy whenever my sister's boyfriend came around. I was just a kid, but I just knew I was in love. It cracked my sister up to see me swooning whenever David came around. My sister is 10 years older than me (so is David), and by the time I was 12, I just knew that she'd stolen the man who was meant for me. When they got married, I was the flower girl. David kissed me on the cheek at the reception & I was in a mental time warp for the rest of the day. To this day, David is like family. Last time I talked to him, he called me "sweet pea." Ladies - there's nothing sexier than a man with a southern drawl calling you "sweet pea." Trust me.
    

So that's my list. I'm dying to hear back from the rest of you. Who's your "Sexiest?" (Supa, you KNOW I want your list! But you can't include the D.A. from your court days...) Maybe next time I'll have to do my "Un-sexiest" list. You know Brad Pitt's going to be at the top of that one.

--Free

Word & Music - all together tonight:
"I will love you anyway/even if you cannot stay..."
(Rufus - "Sweet Thing")

Tags:

Relationships
Sexiest
Men
Top 10

Jitters

Now that most of the stuff is gone out of my house, I'm beginning to get an attack of the last-minute nerves... It looks so empty in here.

11 days til closing.

Instead of focusing on all the stuff I need to be getting done, I spend a lot of time having flashbacks on the times I've had in this house...

I remember the Christmas mornings (when Mom was here) where ALL the brothers, sister, nieces, nephews, adopted family - everybody, sometimes over 30 of us - were here to open gifts, cook, laugh, argue, and just have a blast. Thanksgivings, Easters, birthdays, graduations, new baby home-comings were all pretty much the same way. Those were the only times none of us minded cleaning up a kitchen after feeding 2 armies of people. (You know your life is blessed when you can have fun scrubbing pots with your folks!)

I remember laughing til I almost peed myself when a friend of ours slid under the car in the winter. Me and my sister & a couple of friends were heading out to lunch somewhere. This one friend, who is short anyway, went around to the driver's side, the rest us turned our heads for a second, and -BLOOP!- Hazel was gone. Just like that. We were all thinking of "Twilight Zone" excuses until we heard her laughing. She had slipped and slid right underneath the car - girl was like a mechanic on one of those roll-under things!

Good times.

And sad times, too.

The last time I saw my mother before she went into the hospital for the final time, she was sitting in her chair over by the fireplace. I worked a night-shift then. My sister was staying home with mom. I came in from work at about 7:30 that morning & when I came up the stairs, Mom was sitting in her chair, watching CNN or something. She looked over and said, "Hi, baby. You look really tired this morning." I was tired. I went straight to bed without giving her a kiss. When I got up later, she had gone to bed to rest because she was feeling "a little bad." When I got to work that night, I remember how thrilled I was that my class had been cancelled. I planned to spend the time catching up on desk work. A co-worker came by to chat & we were sitting there, griping about the long hours we worked when my phone rang. It was my niece. I needed to get to the hospital now. My friend locked up the building for me & I RACED to the hospital. I remember how kind other drivers were to move out the way when they heard my horn & saw my flashers. Mama never woke up.

Good time. Sad times. All in this house.

--Free

Words:
"My Father promised me salvation, not a life without troubles." (Free 3/2006)

Memories

For Marie

This is just something I wrote for a friend named Marie. She is suffering from senile dementia - which seems so much like Alzheimer's disease. I was thinking about how once I leave the state, I will probably never see Marie alive again. She is an Inupiat Eskimo & she taught me almost everything I know about Native Alaskans (which is a lot like being Black American).

Marie

She calls me

and leaves messages

on the phone

She calls to cry

saying she is all alone

I don't care

and I don't know

how she feels afraid

to let go

Her mind that once

thought up stories

and dreamed my life

it's now all gone

where the illness is rife

Some days she laughs

and seems okay

But then the smile fades

and the joy goes away

Where is she

I wonder

when she's not here

What is her mind

when it's not clear

How will she

ever be free

How do I let go

when she's already left me

Out for a minute

I'm taking a little minute off. I'm going to put some serious time in on my manuscript while I have a rush of ideas. Might be a short minute or a long one. But you know me, tho - I might be back with another post tonight.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to leave the survey I took a minute ago! (Thanks Soulfull)

TELL ME ABOUT YOURSELF - The Survey
Name:	"Free," "Penny," "Hey you!"
Birthday:	June
Birthplace:	Texas
Current Location:	Winter Wonderland
Eye Color:	Dark brown
Hair Color:	Brown w/hi-lites from sun
Height:	5'5"
Right Handed or Left Handed:	Right
The Shoes You Wore Today:	house-slippers and boots
Your Weakness:	Bedroom eyes
Your Fears:	That I have too many fears!
Your Perfect Pizza:	Greek-style chicken and garlic
Your Most Overused Phrase On an IM:	"Hugs"
Thoughts First Waking Up:	"Was it just a dream?"
Your Best Physical Feature:	Eyes
Your Bedtime:	Really late or really early
Your Most Missed Memory:	My dad singing "My Girl" to me
Pepsi or Coke:	Neither - I'ma Pepper, baby!
MacDonalds or Burger King:	Fries from McD's/Burger from the King
Single or Group Dates:	Either. As long as the company is good.
Lipton Ice Tea or Nestea:	Lipton Green
Chocolate or Vanilla:	What's vanilla?
Cappuccino or Coffee:	Coffee
Do you Smoke:	Yep... tsk, tsk, tsk...
Do you Swear:	Like a hussy, sometimes
Do you Sing:	Badly & loudly
Do you Shower Daily:	Nope - I like a bath every now & then
Have you Been in Love:	Always
Do you want to go to College:	No
Do you want to get Married:	Depends on the guy
Do you belive in yourself:	Absolutely
Do you get Motion Sickness:	No
Do you think you are Attractive:	Certainly do
Are you a Health Freak:	Surprisingly, yes (smoking aside)
Do you get along with your Parents:	Yes
Do you like Thunderstorms:	Yes
Do you play an Instrument:	Air guitar, keyboard, drums...
In the past month have you Drank Alcohol:	Yep
In the past month have you Smoked:	Yep
In the past month have you been on Drugs:	Never
In the past month have you gone on a Date:	Yep
Have you ever eaten a box of Oreos:	When I was a kid
In the past month have you eaten Sushi:	Bleccch!
In the past month have you been on Stage:	In my mind (while playing air keyboards!)
In the past month have you been Dumped:	Nope
In the past month have you gone Skinny Dipping:	In Alaska? I'm loopy, but not completely nuts!
In the past month have you Stolen Anything:	My friend's lighter, my sister's scarf... Wow!
Ever been Drunk:	I could say somthing else, but I'll behave. Yep
Ever been called a Tease:	Yep
Ever been Beaten up:	Are you kidding? I have HUGE brothers
Ever Shoplifted:	Yes. Mama made me take the candy back!
How do you want to Die:	Painlessly, after prayers & in my sleep
What do you want to be when you Grow Up:	Oh. I have to grow up?
What country would you most like to Visit:	Germany, France, Belgium... all of them
In a Boy/Girl..
Favourite Eye Color:	Any
Favourite Hair Color:	Any
Short or Long Hair:	Any
Height:	Taller than me
Weight:	Depends on what looks good on him
Best Clothing Style:	ditto
Number of Drugs I have taken:	I'm forgiving, but no flashbacks, please
Number of CDs I own:	Tons
Number of Piercings:	Ears and nose - ok. Others... well...
Number of Tattoos:	Depends. I don't want a sideshow star
Number of things in my Past I Regret:	At least 4.
CREATE YOUR OWN! - or - GET PAID TO TAKE SURVEYS!

Okay - that was easy! LOL
(Hey - I'm going to check them later, but if I messed up links to anybody, shoot me an email & cuss me out!)

Peace,
--Free

No Words, Music or Web today - trying to focus on the writing.

A Memory Storm

Hey y'all. Your girl here is having what I like to call a memory storm. You know, when you have so much going on in your head that things collide & your brain rescues itself from possible system failure by taking a walk in the rain of pleasant memories. Only the memories aren't nice & organized - they just bounce all over the place, like hail or those hard little raindrops that hurt when they hit you.

Memory storm.

Memories about my mama.

Asofetida - I don't know if that's how it's spelled, but I remember Mama saying it's what her mother used to put on her (Mama's) chest when she had a cold or something. Said it stunk to high heaven & probably only worked because the odor scared the germs away.

Urine Shampoo - Mama told me once how, when they were young, her cousin "Bunky" was the only one in the family with short hair(do y'all remember "In Living Color" where one of the characters talked about folk & one of her lines was about a woman with short hair: "hair so shawt you can read her thoughts!"?) and someone told her that it would grow if she washed it in her urine. This fool saved her pee in a big old jar & once a week, she'd pour the urine on it. I don't know what that old pee must've smelled like, but Mama says Bunky grew enough hair in a few weeks to snatch up into a rubber band. She might've grown more hair if "Aunt Jack" hadn't made her stop with the pee shampoos.

Bacon Grease Lotion - Mama says that if they ran out of Jergens or Vaseline, she and her cousins would use bacon grease (and you know she meant that big jar of "drippings" that sat on the stove in an old Folgers can) instead. One time, one of her cousins oiled up and headed off to work. She was running late, so she short-cut it through someone's back yard. "Someone" had some dogs. Dogs smelled the bacon grease. Cousin had to pull the Wilma Rudolph out of her soul and book like the wind. I guess she was leaping fences like somebody had bet money on her. (I suppose she made it away from the dogs. Mama never said. We were both laughing too hard for her to finish that story.)

Sooty Beauty - Back in the day (Mama's day), there weren't a lot of readily available cosmetics for "women of color." Most of my mother's family has LOTS of color & they go from black as midnight (some of them with grey eyes that gave me serious nightmares & this is before colored contacts!) to Light as Vanessa Williams. Most fall in the middlin' to dark category. The lighter-complexioned folk could get away with over the counter lipsticks & blushes and all that. My mother and the rest had to work something else out. So what did they do? Mama says that they'd find the darkest lipstick (usually some kind of slut-red shade) and they could find, then mix in some soot. Yep. Soot from the bottom of pots or burnt wood... The soot would darken up the lipstick enough to compliment a sister with deep roots. (Another time, Mama told me that there were some cosmetics for black women. These were sold door-to-door or could be ordered from ads in the back of romance magazines. A long time ago, someone sent me an old copy of a black romance mag & I saw an ad for "Lucky Heart Cosmetics." Somehow, I picture this as one of the places Mama would have found her makeup when she was young.)

"Busting" a part - My mother was extremely honest. If she didn't know you well, but didn't like something about you, she'd be polite about telling you. If she knew you well - or "owned" you as she did her children - she'd skip politeness & just get to the damn point. (Mama's bossiness with a person went up with her level of approval of them. I could always tell a friend of mine was "in" with my mama the minute she went from inviting them to "come on in and have a seat" to telling them "bring your ass on in here and sit down, boy. That couch ain't gone bite your ass." Most guys who made it past being like by Mama were keepers as far as I was concerned.) One time, I thought it would be cute to wear my hair with a part down the very center. Mama didn't think it was cute. When I came out to rescue a date from being scared into incontinency by Mama, she took one look at my head and asked, "Why you got your hair busted down the middle with that part, looking like Sista Tutta?" (I have no idea who "Sista Tutta" is & I didn't ask. I was too busy sliding back into the bathroom to get that part out of my hair. And, no, I didn't "keep" the guy I had the date with. He laughed a little too damned hard at Mama's comments.)

TPV Perfume - (This crossed my mind when I did my "favorite perfume" on the ABC's yesterday.) When I was younger, I wasn't allowed to wear make-up (don't forget my "holiness" background), and perfume was too extravagant. BUT - I knew I had hit a milestone of "getting grown" when Mama let me wear TPV to a school "dance" (aka: a bunch of kids standing against the wall in the gym and pretending not to notice each other while music played). Talcum powder and vanilla extract. Yep. I didn't get to buy "Heaven Sent" (or whatever it was called), but I sure thought I was some hot stuff when I wiped that cotton ball of vanilla across my shoulders and then puffed on some powder. Shoot. Too bad the only boy who got close enough to smell it was the boy handing out the plastic cups at the punchbowl.

Chewing tar - This falls into that category of "country health" stuff. I can't even lay this on my mama's generation & end it there because she passed it down to us. Until I was about fourteen (right around the time I was leaving my small town life), I - and all my cousins, play & real - chewed tar. I don't remember where it came from. My mama and aunt would have it to hand out to us. It was clean little pieces & shiny where it had been broken or cut into bite sizes. We'd gnaw on that tar like dogs on rawhide. Mama always said it was good for the teeth. And I have to say, I always had great teeth - until the Air Force let their dentists practice on all of us.

Wow. Memory storm. Mama on the mind.

Believe it or not, I owe almost all of my current manuscripts (the ideas, the characters, the settings - everything) to these memories. Of course, I guess most writers will say the same thing.

Speaking of writers - be sure to check out the new link on the left. John Baker, out of the UK, writes mysteries & we've exchanged links. (John - I'm SO coveting the cover design on your books - just beautiful! - & I can't wait to read these.)

--Free

WORDS:
"Love is either calm or storm/Sometimes you rain gently into my heart/Sometimes you are a blizzard in my soul"
(Free 3/2006)

LISTENING TO:
Yahoo Listing of the artist Kem (nice)

WEBSITE:
A CSS Tutorial that I seriously need. Gotta fix this dang template problem!

Arrrrgh!!!

That's it.

I've had it.

I'm changing this dang template. It's been nothing but a major pain in my HIND QUARTERS since I changed to it.

Loved the colors & layout, but I'll be back when I find something USEABLE.

New Look for the Blog!

That damn Cookies. Went and pissed all over my blog! LOLAnyway, when I was taking Cookies off the blog (she's at a long Vet visit), I got antsy and decided to play around with the look of the whole page. I get bored easily & I never liked the way the old colors looked.Actually, I don't think it was Cookies; I think it was me. Maybe I didn't learn enough about messing with my template to try housetraining her to the page. Don't worry - she'll be back.
(I think this is Supa messing with me because of Firefox!)

I tend to mess with things when I get either real (fill in the emotion here: Happy/Sad/Tired/Mad) - usually rearranging all my furniture or doing strange and elaborate things with the clothes in my drawer (arranging everything by color or type). One time I got upset over something at work and I went to the store and bought about 10 of those cute colored plastic storage containers that slide under the bed. I organized all my belts and shoes and scarves they stayed that way for exactly four days. The work situation cooled down and I calmed down. I immediately started just tossing the belts and scarves in my bottom dresser drawer & the shoes got all mixed up in the plastic containers. About a week later, I was picking out shoes in the semi-dark of my room and didn't realize I had on a mismatched pair until I was ten minutes late and just warming up my car. I don't care how dark brown a shoe is, it still doesn't work with a deep blue one - especially when the brown one has a gold buckle on the back and the blue one had a patch of across the toe. Not a good look.

Today, I had double emotions going on. I'm happy about the house selling (of course), but sad that my friends are starting to miss me already. Living in Alaska isn't like living anywhere else in the USA (except maybe Hawaii) when it comes to traveling outside. You can't just hop in your hooptie and take off to visit your folks in Texas or Georgia. Let me back up & make the situation a little clearer: YOU CAN HARDLY HOP IN YOUR CAR & HEAD TO THE AIRPORT. Not unless you have nice, deep pockets, connections in the airline industry, or a Federal Marshall escort with two government paid tickets. You might be able to leave once or twice a year IF: one of the trips is to Seattle, and you made reservations 6 months ahead for the other one. Otherwise, you better like you some long winters or very short - beautiful, but short - summers. (There are no other seasons here. Alaskans joke that we have snow, no snow & Spring.)

I guess the point I was making when I went off on that little diatribe was that my friends won't be able to just "come on down" and see me any old time. So, yeah, I was happy/sad today. Double emotion, double need to mess around with something.

At least this time, I was just playing around with the blog template (and I did remember to save a copy in a file before I started) and not trying out some new program that would make me crazy (HEY SUPA!).

Now that everything seems to be working, I'm going to call it a night & get to bed. I have a lot of chores to get through tomorrow & I have to be done in time to watch "Flavor of Love." I can't believe the season is almost over...But I did hear there's going to be another season filmed. (Wonder if that means Flav didn't end up with either one of the girls???)

Oh well - til next time!

--Free

(Sorry, guys, too tired for Words, Listening & Web tonight.. Maybe I can double-dose it next time.)

Handbasket Reservations

I'm going to hell, y'all.

I've been bad & I don't mean in that "naughty" way that guys like to hear described in detail over wine and soft music. I'm mean bad as in doing something my pastor would have a fit over if he knew about it. I'd be getting dunked in holy water and olive oil like that kid in "The Good Son" needed to be. Well, I would be if my pastor remembered me. I haven't been to church in so long, I'd need to Mapquest my way there.

See? Hell. I'm going to hell. And with my luck, the handbasket will probably be coach or steerage.

It's been a long while since I've been to church, but I was raised there. Matter of fact, when I was growing up, my mother had us in church so much we should have been paying rent. Bible Study, choir practice, YPWW, Sunshine Band, Tuesday Prayer Meeting, Thursday Night Worship... Don't even get me started on what Sundays were like. We were there at 9 o'clock (8 o'clock until Mama let me outgrow Sunday School), and the sign outside said "Morning Worship 9 - 10:30. That must have been there just to lure in unsuspecting newcomers. There was NEVER - not once in at least 4 years - a service that ended at 10:30 (not in the morning anyway). If we were lucky, we might actually stand to say the closing prayer at around, oh... 11:00...11:15... And every time we made it to the "Amen" and I felt my hopes rising - every. single. time. - Sister Somebody or Brother So-N-So would get a hit of the Holy Ghost. Usually it was this one lady - Sister Euletta Walton was her name. I'd be standing there, one eye shut for the prayer, the other one checking the nearest exit, and then I'd hear it: "Mmmmm..." Sister Walton would start humming. I'd go on and open my other eye and look over at my cousin. She'd sigh, shake her head, and we'd both sit back down. Might as well. Once somebody started humming, moaning, rocking, or swaying their hands in the air, it was on then.

The pastor's son (Sam), who played the organ, would get that glint in his eyes. Now, this boy was so ugly that he should have pitched a tent and charged admission, but he could rock that organ like Larry Dunn used to do for Earth, Wind & Fire.

The only reason Sam recovered from his Saturday night drunken comas and made it to church was so he could teach that organ new tricks. His favorite part of the service was at the almost closing. You know - when somebody (like Sister Walton) got that hum going? Sam told my other cousin that he knew just which note to hit at just the right time to get some shouting started. (He told Peaches this while I stood lookout so they could smoke cigarettes out behind the church.)

Sure enough, one sister or brother would start a hum going and another sister or brother would join in. Sam would pick the right moment to ease in a few random notes, then - when the timing was just right - he'd hit a high note. Just something kind of bluesy like to send a little thrill down the hairs on your neck.

At that point, you might as well forget going home. Evening services started at 6.

I stopped going to church when I stopped living at home. My mother never criticized my decision, but she'd drop "subtle" hints whenever she could. I would go by every couple of weeks to have dinner and she would make the grace into a ten-minute prayer for the salvation of my hell-bound soul. After she'd said "Amen," she would urge me to heap up on collard greens like she hadn't just scared me out of an appetite.

My mother passed away five years ago. I'd give just about anything for one of her dinnertime prayers now.

So, If you couldn't tell by now, I was raised among folk who other people called "Holy Rollers" and "Charismatics." In our church, it was easier to list things that weren't sins than to list what was.

Sins:

Secular music, dancing and singing, cussing, smoking, drinking, playing cards. Women had a few others: wearing pants, makeup, nail polish, skirts above the knees, elaborate hairstyles.

I think that whoever came up with the Sin List just copied another list called "Anything That Might Possibly Be Even Remotely Halfway Fun." The other things on the list came straight out of the Bible as read by the pastor. One of the big no-no's was astrology or horoscopes. This was not something you messed with if you didn't want the pastor to have to perform your excorcism.

Now, I've done my share of everthing on the "Sin List" (except for singing because, well... I can't), but until about a year ago, I never even paid attention to astrology. Until a friend of mine pointed out to me that I am "such a Cancer." She said, "You're so Cancer, the symbol should be a picture of you, not a crab."

Yeah. Right. Sure. Uh huh.

My friend brought over a copy of Linda Goodman's Sun Signs. She'd bookmarked the sections for Cancers.

I ignored it.

It was laying there on my coffee table for three weeks.

I dusted around it. Stacked mail on top. Hid late bills underneath.

My friend came by one day and put the book on my night table.

I hid it behind the lamp.

Then...

I think I had to take a peek - just so I could prove to myself that horoscopes are nothing but generic personality profiles. Then I could go back and tell my friend that she was wrong. But...Wow.

I am SO a Cancer. The generic profile thing just doesn't pardon how exactly that book describes my personality. Not only am I a true Cancer, but one friend of mine is a definite Virgo. This guy I dated a while back is Gemini to his soul, and I KNOW that my GWA is a Taurus...

Now, I wanted to toss the book out with the trash. Then I could find a church and convince a minister to bless and pray for me, but... I'm going to hang on for a minute. I need this book just for a little while longer. You know - for purposes of future reference when dating...

--Free

My words for the day:

"Thank God that forgiveness is not what we do, but what we are given." (Free 2/2006)

Music I'm listening to:

Rolling Stones - "Beast of Burden"

INXS - "Live, Baby, Live!"

Photos & Memories

While packing my life into boxes this morning, I ran across an old Polaroid of my father and me. We are posing with our arms around each other - my dad looking down at me as I'm smiling toward the camera.

Surprisingly, I could clearly remember being taken by a neighbor. My family was going to be leaving the area & the lady next door had snapped that photograph outside in our adjoined yards. I remember that the moving van had already been there since morning & that right after we had our picture taken, I'd asked my father for permission to to Burger King to meet up with my friends. It was the last time for a long that I would call him "Daddy."

Wow. Memories and feelings hit me so hard that I had to sit down in the middle of all my packing boxes. I just couldn't stop staring at the Polaroid. I was so young then, wearing that curly almost-fro that had been so popular. My dad - always so handsome - just looked proud to be my dad. As I studied that younger face of his in the photo, I forgot about the time later when he was so sick, his body wasting away to almost nothing from lymphoma.

In 1975, when I was fourteen, there was a period of about 4 months that I still have no idea how I survived.

My father's job had taken him out of the country & he was to be away for several months. In the meantime, I was went with my mother and siblings to live near Mama's family in a very small town in the lower part of the States.

Things "back home" were great at first. I was meeting "ainties," uncles, cousins and old family friends that had known my mother as a "little fast-assed gal." My brothers were having a good time. They discovered that small town girls are some of the prettiest in the world. They just had to be careful about not plucking any fruit from a limb on the family tree. (Did I say "family tree?" In that little town, we were part of an orchard. Not only do you have all the blood relatives, but you have to keep track of the "play" cousins and such. Or, as Mama warned the boys: "Be done messed around and got with Uncle Jo-Jo's daughter by Maybelle"...)

For the first time in my life, I had a little bit of freedom because Mama stopped being so strict about where I could go & who I could run with. It wasn't like I could go very far or do too much of anything without someone watching and ready to report back. Once, when Mama called a friend back in the old neighborhood, she bragged that in a small town kids could be kids. "Don't have to worry about them getting into too much trouble round here." She had no idea the things I would manage to get into.

Have you ever met the one person who you just knew was your soulmate? Did you know right away - or did it take a while? For me, as soon as I saw T, I knew. So did he.

T was my very first love. Even after 30 years of other people passing in and out of my life & breathing a little bit of who they are into my heart, no one but T has ever found their way into my soul and become part of me.

I looked back down at the Polaroid. About two weeks after we'd posed for the photo, my father had gone away on the overseas assignment. He divorced my mother and never came back to get us. He kept in touch with me and my brothers and sisters, but it was probably 3 years before I saw him again.

Almost 8 eight years after he'd divorced my mother, my father walked me down the aisle at my wedding. Somewhere in a packing box there is another photograph of the two of us - him in a too-big tux & me in my wedding gown. We were grinning about something as the picture was snapped. I can't remember exactly what I said to make him smile, but I remember that I called him "Daddy."

--Free

I'm listening to:

"Never Gonna Let You Go" (Blackstreet)

"Pata Pata" (Miriam Makeba)

Words for today:

"Love is not subject to the laws of time, space, or matter."

(Free 11/2005)

Mammy-made Rant (Pt II)

He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.(Elbert Hubbard)

You guys know by now that I like quotes & that one is one of my favorites. It's also a perfect start for the continuation of my previous post.
After our little falling-out, G (GWA - Girlfriend W/Attitude) and I fell back in - just like we always do. We pitch our little fits because our personalities make us almost complete opposites. BUT G & I will probably always be friends.
That's what I was thinking about when she called me up on Valentine's Day. She was at work. I was at home (and attempting to pack since I'm supposed to be headed to another state in a few weeks). I was busy, frustrated, and surrounded by my life separated into piles of "To Be Sold," "To Be Stored," "To Be Shipped," and "To Be Trashed." I snatched up the ringing phone without checking Caller ID, just ready to take out some of my stress on a telemarketer. The minute I heard G's voice, I forgot everything else. My G was having a crisis.
Like I said, she was at work & she was surrounded by other females who were all cooing over their delivered flowers, candy, and other Valentine's Day loot. Meanwhile, no deliveries had come for her. Not even one of those sweetheart phone calls that can have you floating through the rest of your day. G said that she'd even tried calling her boyfriend to see if he'd gotten the gift she'd sent (a cologne set), but he was either not at work or the receptionist was lying for him. He wasn't answering his home or cell phone either.
Talk about a crisis.
It's bad enough to be single & have to deal with Valentine's Fever at work, but when you're part of a couple... Wow.
Anyway, G and I (always at our best in a crisis) handled the situation. I ordered a delivery of what had to be the last flowers in the state, and when they arrived at G's office, she called me up and talked in such a way that everyone within earshot thought she was thanking someone named "Baby" and "Honey." After work, she came by with wine and cheesecake & we had a great time applauding our combined genius. Her heart & pride was pretty beat up, but I was able to make her smile.
And that's how female friendships survive. Most women don't bond easily with other females, but when we do bond, it's almost unbreakable. This is what I was thinking about as G and I finished the second bottle of wine. And I started thinking that if women had the same criteria for the men we let into our lives as we do for our girlfriends, we'd probably save ourselves a lot of heartache.
I explained this theory to G in that mellow and deeply philosophical way of a person not used to drinking so much wine. G - just as drunk as I - understood me perfectly. We discussed it for a while and I came up with a list of "Relationship Declarations":
I am what I am. I cannot & will not fake being some fantasy woman out of your unrealistic dreams. That's not consistent, healthy, or sane.
You is what you is. Relax and be yourself. I might not like everything about the "real" you, but at least I'll know what I'm getting. I can work with that.
Life is what it is. Life is not going to be one long, perfect, moonlit date with a Grammy-winning soundtrack playing in the background of our relationship. We have to be able to get through the good days and bad.
I finished ticking off these points, then looked over to see if there was anything G wanted to add. I guess not. She was sprawled across my sofa, dead to the world & probably dreaming about killer cheesecakes going after her now ex-boyfriend.
I pulled a blanket out of the "To Be Shipped" pile and draped it over her. When I stumbled to bed, I remained conscious long enough to thank God for the girlfriends in my life. Girlfriends who understand my silence and my words - even when I get on one of my mammy-made rants.

My words for today:

"If man & woman could switch places for a day, woman would explore the mind & man would explore the body." (Free 2/2006)

Listening to:

"You" (Earth, Wind & Fire - from the album "Love Songs")

Mammy-made Rant (Pt I)

Get your snacks, y'all. This is going to be a loooong one.

I had a little bit of a falling out with a friend. When I decided to do a blog, it was because I thought it would be a cool way to document this journey of mine into the new life I'm headed for. It's been even better than I thought. Since I get to let out all my wandering little thoughts, worries & stress moments in writing, I don't talk to myself as much as I used to. That helps cut back on the nervous stares of fellow Walmart shoppers. (I still hear some of the little voices in my head, but only the nice ones.)

Anyway, I'm a true techno-dummy & I was pretty proud that I was going to be blogging. (By the way, I'm still trying to get the hang of some things here, so everybody please be patient - or throw some useful tips my way!)

When I got my blog account all set up, I called my friend to let her know about Being Free (the blog), just like I have called her about Being Free! (the state of mind). She sounded a lit-tle bit skeptical. Until I quit the job a while back, my friend & I had worked together for almost 13 years. When she didn't throw a party at the news of my blog, I assumed she was remembering the times when, just by sitting down near a company PC, I could make grown Tech Support guys weep with frustration. (Those techies actually assigned a code name to me - you know, like the Secret Service does for POTUS & family. My name wasn't anything as cute as what first ladies get. Mine was "Target" - as in: "Guys, get ready to cover the HR Department. Target is logging on to Unit 1 in Station 4.") Yeah. It was kind of embarrassing that I could crash a PC just by opening Excel... Otherwise, I was so good at my job that, instead of being fired, I was given an assistant who handled all work on the PC. (The Techs started sending her roses once a week.)

But back to my GWA (Girlfriend With Attitude). It turns out that her concern was not that I would accidentally do something to crash the World Wide Web (is that even possible? Please god, tell me it's not), but that I would infect the web community with what she has the nerve to call my "old-fashioned, mammy-made values." Yeah - she actually said "mammy-made." Talk about showing her age. Old country-assed heifer...

"Now, girl, don't take this the wrong," she told me. "But..."

Pause that. You just know that when somebody says "don't take this the wrong way," they're about to tell you something that's going to make you mad no matter how you take it. And then, you notice, they always add the "but."

"But, Free, much as I love you girl, you know you got some strange ways of thinking when it comes to..."

I tuned out. I'd already heard GWA give this little speech many times over the years. She and I are roughly the same age & we had both his the court system around the same time to take back our maiden names. After divorcing my husband, I took a year off, but GWA had hooked up with a man she met in the courthouse elevator. Basically, she & I have really different ideas about relationships & socializing.

I let GWA finish her little speech about how since we're now in a dating pool with "younger fish," we have to "change our stroke. " Usually, I let GWA have her say & just be done. I always felt so guilty for my "old-fashioned" values that I could never take a stand about them. This time, though, some of my "mammy-made" southern girl fire flared up & I decided to stand hard & have my say.

"You always say I'm old-fashioned - like it's a nasty rash or something. I guess I got "funny ways" just because my idea of romance doesn't involve getting hot over some old-ass fool in a club who's trying to look 10 years younger & talk to me like we'll be sharing pillows in the morning." I said this all without taking even a little breath. Anger gives you strength. When I did take a breath, GWA tried to get a word in.

"Girl, I didn't-"

I cut her off because I was on a roll & my neck was working with it. "Yes, you did," I told her. Then I mumbled too much like I remember my grandma doing, "Just cause I like knowing what a man things about the economy, the war & the way his mama raised him before I know what he thinks about the beauty mark on my thigh..."

"Dang, Free. You ain't got to trip."

"Oh, yes I do. When good brothers & sisters out here got to wade through all the thugs & hoes just to try to find each other. Yeah, I am going to trip."

"I know you ain't calling me a-"

"I did not start the name-calling," I said. (And yeah, I did sound like I was six.) "I'm too old-fashioned for that."

There was this real long silence while GWA tried to decide whether ot not she had a right to be offended. Finally, she laughed in that silly way that some young dude told her was "cute" and said, "Aw, girl. You know I love you. You and your funny ways."

Yeah. Me & my funny ways.

- to be continued -

Oh, yeah - and I bet you thought I forgot this: My words for today --

"Nothing is as complex as the mind a woman - except the mind of a woman in love."

(Free 12/2005)

Song I'm listening to: "I Wanna Thank You" by Maze f/Frankie Beverly

Games Married Women Play

Now that I have your attention.

On a talk show yesterday, a couple discussed their sexless marriage. (Sexless. Marriage. That's just single & wearing a wedding ring.) In the case of this particular couple, after 4 years, the husband was no longer "turned on" by his wife. Now, I'm not going to get all up in their business - even if they did put it out there - but, basically, the more the husband rejected the wife, the more she let her appearance go. To sum up, in the past 2 years, they'd had sex 5 times.Okay then.

Now I know that marriage isn't all about sex, but sex is important & unless you have some medical issues, I don't think there's any excuse for not keeping the home fires hot.

As a single woman looking forward to a Mr. Right-For-Me, I can't feel sorry for any married woman who plays the game of keep-it-tight-just-til-the-wedding-night. So, to all the married women who think that getting the ring was the whole & only point, I have a few things to say.

Ladies, if you "get" your man & then stop courting him, that's not love. That's entrapment. One thing that being single has taught me is that the best way to keep a man is to keep up with whatever you did to get him. I know because we Singles have to work harder in a relationship.

The whole game of Get Him & Then Forget Him works in some marriages (if those kinds of relationships are what you want to call "marriages.") We've all seen couples in those situations - they're the ones who shlump around in public looking bored with each other. I can spot them from around corners. (And you can just imagine what their sorry sex lives must be like: a little roll-over in the middle of the night, then rolling back onto their side of the bed. See? Boring.) Whenever I see these folks out there, just broadcasting their lack of hotness, I feel a whole lot better about being single.

Newsflash for all the neglectful married women: Damnit! You got a man. If he ain't abusing your mind, body or soul, or neglecting his responsibilities - either treat him right or send him back out to the rest of us. You picked him, so if you ever loved him, then take some Do & Don't advice from this single woman who'll be waiting for you to throw him back.

DO...

...Keep yourself looking, smelling, feeling & tasting good. We can't all be in Ms. Halle's orbit, but your man must have loved something about you since he married you. All I'm saying is keep that up.

...Remember to look at him the way you used to when you were dating. You know the look: the one where you're talking nasty with your eyes & he likes what they're saying.

...What a good mother always taught her daughter: be his lady in public & whatever he wants you to be in the bedroom. The whole "public" thing includes not acting ignorant or embarrassing (unless maybe you got a man who's into that kind of thing...I don't know what to tell y'all).
...Let him be as important to you as you want to be to him. Which is not to say you should lose yourself in his issues, but, come on girl, you remember how you used to bump something from the schedule to make a little time for him. And you remember how you loved it when he did the same for you.

...Have His 'n Her lives. You don't have to be all up in his space every time he coughs. You don't have to try sneaking yourself into all his plans with the "boys." And you do realize that this means you have to trust him? If you don't, you got no business together in the first place.

and now...

DON'T...

...Criticize so much. That's called nagging. Of course, you want to gently help him out with any minor flaws, but don't be pointing out his ashy feet if you got them jacked up never-had-a-manicure fingernails. Everybody has flaws. Work with it. If your man got ashy feet, then give him a massage with some oil or Eucerin or something. Maybe he'll treat you to a paraffin treatment.

...Forget that he's a man & that men just don't think the way we do. I know it gets on a nerve but, as one man told me: "I can't read your mind." You know what? Even if men could read our minds, they wouldn't know what to do with the information. So, the next time you're mad about something & he seems not to know why, either tell him why or drop the attitude. He ain't there.

...Get mad because he acts like a man. That's what men do. And I know, I know, I hate it when they do some of that guy stuff too - like like dozing off while I'm talking about my best friend & her mother having a crisis in their relationship. You should give your man a standing ovation if he even pretends to listen to one of these 2-hour monologues, because it's a wonder we don't bore ourselves sometimes.

...Forget that he is the man who made your heart stammer, caused your toes to curl & made you lose a little bit of your mind - and that was all just by looking at you the right way.

Most of all - don't ever forget that there are a lot of women out there with no morals, scruples, or self-respect. They won't even wait for you to throw your man back - they'll come all up in your house to get him.

You've been warned & if you've been slacking, you might want to make some Valentine's Day resolutions.

Liberation or Liberating?

These days when I fill out a survey or personal information card and get to the little boxes used to identify age demographics, I get to check the box for 35-45 year olds.

(Are you liking how I covered the age thing without giving away too much?!!)

Anyway, I have a friend who gets to select the box for 25-35 year olds. It doesn't seem like that's such a huge gap between the two of us, right? Well, that's what you'd think until it comes to the difference in our viewpoints on a few issues. Take sex. (I hear y'all saying, "Thanks, I'll have some." Just quit now.)

My friend (who would be closer to the 35 part of that age box) doesn't think there's anything wrong with "hooking up" with somebody and having no further expectations. I, on the other hand (or in the other box), can't see myself just getting with someone for what I KNOW is a one-time thing. It was bad enough the one time I found out after the fact that it was a one-timer-no-call-back-see-you-when-I-see-you. (Sorry bout that.)

Maybe I am old. I don't like to have sex with someone until I know what they might be about - until we have some kind of connection. (This is what may have run off the younger man I talked to you about once before.)

I think of myself as a "liberated" woman (I have to work for a living & If I do the asking out, I'll do the paying up), but maybe I'm not completely ready for everything that liberation brings?

So, what do you all think? Is this a generational thing? Are you all right with "getting with" someone just for the night when you know it's a one-time thing? I'd like to hear what anyone has to say about it (and don't forget to give me some idea of what kind of age box you'd be checking off!)

Later,
Free