[Guest poster that girl could be referred to as 'one of those feisty women', and don't you people just know I love me some feisty women? They make the best friends, ones who dive headlong into adventures and mayhem with you. I quietly fell into like with her from the first couple of times of reading her. She starts most entries with, "Hey you! remember me? I'm that girl who...." or something similar. But the 'heyyourememberme' is nearly always there and I'm infinitely charmed by it....and also a little jealous that I didn't think of it first.]

When Jett asked me to guest post I was unbelievably excited. So much so that, in true ‘that girl’ fashion, I became entrenched in a bloody, internal battle with myself. Myself came up with an ingenious post about my Grama,and Obama,and Jett intimidating me..and it had all these glorious themes about strong women and voices being heard..here’s an excerpt:

The voice of a strong, independent woman is something to behold. Sometimes it catches one off guard..even the speaker. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere and pops you in the jaw before you, or she, know anything’s awry…sometimes it whispers sweet nothings in your ear while you sleep…sometimes it plants it’s feet firmly in an unfriendly room. This, my friends, is where it’s needed most.

Isn’t that lovely? I e-mailed Jett to let her know I would have it on Monday. I fought the good fight all weekend, it is now Tuesday afternoon and Myself is waving the white flag of defeat. Myself gives up. That girl’s brain and heart are tormented and fuzzy and that wonderful post is not ready to be born. I’m not a fan of inducing labor y’all..let nature take it’s course even if that baby is getting pretty damn big, let nature take.it’s.course. So, this afternoon, defeated, emotionally wrung dry, in a general funk, I pulled my car out of my coveted parking space and headed across the street to the old, abandoned A & W place to smoke. Yes, yes, Internet – cancer, emphysema, Marge’s twin sisters..I know already – shut it. Bob Seger sang: I’ve seen you smiling in the summer sun / I’ve seen your long hair flying when you run….

and I stared at the Golden Rods and tattered orange roof. I just let it go, maybe sometimes it just doesn’t click? Maybe it’s not a reflection of your writing or your ability or your worth – maybe it just doesnt’ click. I heard gravel crunch as some fellow smoker whipped in next to me…and this little gem jumped up and did a little dance in front of my face..it made me smile, and hopefully Jett will get a kick out of it too:

Why I Have No Nose

I had a date.

I had a date with some Billy Bob character that I didn’t really know. I’d met him at the parking lot the night before and when he asked I blurted out “sure” because it caught me off guard and I couldn’t think of a nice way to say no..and because I was 16 and a big pussy. I had full intentions of calling him and cancelling that morning. I made the mistake of discussing those intentions over the phone within earshot of my mother. As I hung up she confronted me. She told me it was a mean, dishonest thing to do and that I was going to go. She told me to simply say no next time. I was livid. At this point in my life everything my mama did was hypocritical. This particular time, I recalled her own behavior with men and one instance in which she was nice to a man so that he might help us move. In retrospect, I realize maybe she was trying to give me the benefit of valuable lessons she’d learned the hard way..but realizations like that only come with time. I was so mad I could’ve spit nails. I didn’t speak to anyone the rest of the day. Dark thirty found me sitting in our maroon rocker/recliner staring straight ahead.. Suddenly we heard a vehicle in the drive. We both went to the door, she moved aside the prissy lacy half-curtain and looked out the glass cutout.

Then he honked….from the truck…..at me………..for me to come out..

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head as she digested the shirtless boy and his beaten up truck that sat in our driveway. Just when it seemed the scene couldn’t get any worse, he took a swig of beer and honked..again. Stunned, she dropped the curtain and looked at me. She laid all mother/daughter armor down and said earnestly and apologetically “You don’t have to go“…I understood what she was really saying was “please, my baby girl, oh Lord Jesus, don’t go with that boy! Don’t even go outside, don’t set foot in that truck for the concentrated levels of white trash will surely devour every fiber of your being! Don’t go!” I delighted in the helpless look in her eyes, I saw my opportunity for revenge and I swooped in and snatched it quicker than she could comprehend what was happening. I said, in my snottiest voice “Oh, but that would be mean and dishonest Mama..I have to go remember?” Then swiftly out the door and into his truck. His idea of a “date” was a bee line to the liquor store, where we illegally purchased alcohol, then on to a 1 1/2 hour ride on back roads of course. I wanted to crawl out of my skin and prop it up there in the passenger seat so that he needn’t come find me. About mid-way there I had to pee. As I walked to the back of the truck I seriously considered fleeing into the woods and waiting for one of my friends to come through (busy back road)..By the time we got to the party he was drunker than Cooter Brown and exceedingly more obnoxious. I wasn’t even bothering to me make the polite “mmhmm” and “huh” to what-ever-the-fuck-he-was-talking-about anymore. I spent a miserable two hours at that party in the middle of fucking nowhere with noone I knew. Finally, it was time for me to go home, and although I would’ve delighted in breaking curfew this time, I didn’t want to spend one more miserable minute with this icky, backwoods boy that didnt’ wear a shirt than I had to! One of his friends (surprisingly normal) offered to take me home, which was nice..until we saw lights flashing behind us and he stuffed his OPEN beer underneath his seat. He assured me that the Doritos he’d picked up at the Shell station would cover his breath. Thankfully the cop was just as stupid as this guy and I got home safe, sound, and on time. She was up and worried. I went to bed without speaking to her except for a sarcastic “g’night” and that was that.

When I reflect on this night I’m amazed at my stubborn determination. I’m also ashamed of my behavior towards my mother. Let me say that again: I’m scared shitless that every time I try to teach my boys a lesson they will dig around in their archive and pull out a mistake that will bust my credibility wide open. Will I make mistakes they can’t forget? Will I pass on these high quantities of spite? The kind of spite a person really has to commit to..enduring spite? Is that their inheritance? Will that be my penance? Dear Muffinasses, please, please promise to pray for me.