Florabama 2010 Summer 3, Trip 1
Every time I go to the Florabama, the people I find there who crack me up. There are always weirdo freaks who come out at night and provide free entertainment for the crowd. In fact, last year, one of those weirdo freaks was my own sister….Tonight, was my first trip of the season, and I looked forward to the evening’s festivities. Little did I know that this night would even surpass the escapades I experienced in summer’s past.
I will try to tell this story in a way that brings it to life. I will give it my best shot; but words cannot adequately express the things we experienced that night. My friend Tanya says: “There are no words to describe”. When Tanya Hibbard has no words; trust me, there are none!!
Picture it: Nine women taking on the floorbama on a weeknight in early summer! We look like the Israelites marching around the wall of Jericho! We had two DDs, two SUVs and the rest of the night to find trouble! Our army found a comfortable perch at a front-side picnic table, outside, under the big tent where the live bands play music late into the night. We had just come from The Hangout where we had watched this girl dance so badly that boys from the crowd were being paid money to try to keep up with her unique and indecipherable rhythm. Here at the FB, her twin was stealing the show on the dance floor. Tanya called her “Freebird”, a perfect codeword to describe her behavior. That girl was high as a run-away kite. She had her arms pointed straight out, flying around like a bald eagle on crack or a very, very bad helicopter pilot; I’m not sure which. We didn’t even have to be drinking to enjoy her performance.
Just about the time that “Freebird” landed from her flight, a new weirdo came out of nowhere to take her place. This portion of the story is where I really struggle to find adequate vocabulary. This female, probably in her early to mid-twenties, strutted to the very center of the dance floor. She had her…uhm…female friend in tow. At first glance, she reminded me of the drop dead diva. Long black hair, lots of confidence, loud, obnoxious. She wore a sundress. First of all, it ought to be illegal for that print to be used to make a SUNDRESS in a size that large. It was some sort of leopard print (aka big ole’ polka dots). Secondly, if the print itself is not illegal, wearing that print in a sundress two sizes too small must surely be illegal!
The two of them danced the night away, completely oblivious to the crowd, gathering around them. They weren’t even doing anything socially inappropriate; it was just the sheer oblivion that they shared as they danced. It was sorta like seeing a woman on the beach wearing a bikini, when her body screams to be covered with a moo-moo. Ya’ll know what I’m talking about! Often times, I sit back and watch these types with intense jealously. I’ve always thought I had plenty of confidence, but I couldn’t tote a bikini on a beach regardless of how much liquor I had ingested beforehand. Some things just cross right over confidence and slide into bad taste! Anyway, Drop Dead Diva and company continued their two-woman ho-down and hoards of patrons at the Florabama began to gather around and watch. Remember when you were in jr high school and a fight was brewing? Remember how people began to gather around the “fighters”, like buzzards to a fresh road-kill. That’s how you knew it was coming? Well, it was kind of like that, but the crowd around these girls didn’t grow quite that fast.
Tanya made a comment that cracked me up. She does that, frequently. She turned and said, “Have you ever seen something so completely disgusting that you don’t want to look. You don’t WANT to look, but you just can’t look away?” If you had been there, you would have understood completely. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Those massive gallon –sized balloobas moved and swayed inside that pitiful strained little sundress, much like a beach house might sway from the tidal waves of a Category 5. Know what I’m sayin’? We all knew that catastrophe was near, but no one could predict the time it would take to get there or the manner in which it would reveal itself.
Eventually, Tanya couldn’t take it any more and had to walk away. She took a couple of girls with her, but I am not real sure where they went. Bless their hearts – they missed the best part. The band began to play a song with a beat much too heavy and fast for dancing. Diva thought that the best option was to jump up and down in one spot like a headbanger on stage. AS many of you already know, when I get scared, real scared, my hand goes to my chest like Fred Sanford having the big one. When Diva began to jump rope without a rope, my hand went to my chest and I stated…just for the record….”Wardrobe malfunction on the dancefloor”. If everyone around me had not been in their own state of shock, they would have heard me mutter: “Awww…naawwww!”
She continued to headbang, completely unaware that one of her “gallons” had erupted like Mt. St. Helens spewing out of the straining seams of that little sundress. Bless her heart. By this time, I was standing, my hand still on my chest, walking backwards in large awkward steps and waving my free hand toward the sky (just like Fred Sanford, now that I think of it). All I could say was awww…naawwww. There were no words. None.
Kristy and Tanya returned to the table. They had missed the most impressive performance of the evening…or so we thought. How could we know that the third weirdo freak was about to join the party? Just as I turned my head to the left, I saw – yet another 20-something fly from one picnic table top to another. That leap would have been bizarre enough, but she wasn’t finished. Anna Nicole jumped up and grabbed the top of the pole – yes – the one that holds the large tent to the FloraBama!! She proceeds to execute a very, very bad pole dance. As she descends to the bottom of this pole, she apparently forgets the need to put her feet in a downward facing position. Lands butt-down feet up in a 50 gallon trashcan strategically placed at the bottom of the pole. Picture it…the little starlet wanna-be, giving her first live pole dancing performance and must have help to pull herself out of the trashcan! Again, I detect no display or remorse or embarrassment. These people have guts. I want to know where to get some.
For the record, the story is true and correct and was personally witnessed in a state of complete sobriety. I have witnesses.
The social mixer I created with the pace-maker salesman from Mississippi, immediately following these stellar performances, deserves a blog of his own. The memory of that night will continue there.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Trauma: Life in the POB
It’s Friday, June 4, 2010. It’s been raining and dreary, but today, the sun came to see me. I opted out on the treadmill this morning, but if I could go back and change the course of the day, I would definitely do the treadmill.
Around lunchtime, my two favorite kids, P and Izzy B, came by for a swim before heading over to spend the weekend with friends. Iz could hardly wait to get to that big water slide, but she stood patiently while the rest of us got ready to go. As soon as we arrived on the pool deck, she and I went straight to the slide. I have been down that slide a hundred times with no catastrophes; I’ve even done half of those slides holding a little one in front of me. How could I have known that today would be different?
The first go-around went off without a hitch. We landed safely at the bottom, and Iz said, “Let’s do it again, Gigi.” We climbed the stairs for the second slide. Iz often makes the rules and loves to give directions to everyone around her, so she instructed me to go first, then turn around to catch her. It sounded like a reasonable plan to me, so I jumped on and took off round and round the water slide. Sadly, while making that second turn, something went horribly wrong. I got turned around, sliding backwards on my stomach. Ordinarily, this would be no big deal, but because I was so close to the end of the slide, I had no time to get myself turned back around on my boo-tocks, facing forward. It’s is not a comfortable ride for an old woman going down a slide backwards, and not being able to brace for the point of impact…know what I’m sayin’?
I hit the water with a powerful force. Then, I hit the pool floor with my left knee cap. That wouldn’t have caused a problem, except that the “place” on the pool floor was a metal dome-shaped grate, positioned to suck the water out of the pool and back through the filter system.
My first thought…well, I can’t divulge my first thought because it is a very ugly string of explicatives. My second thought was to inhale deeply and holler: Ouch!. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out too well, either. So much water went up my nose, I think an ounce or two landed just inside my right frontal lobe! When I finally did reach air, I could hardly move, but I knew I needed to get out of the water. Fast.
I had no idea that I was missing the skin that covered my knee cap. My only concern was the burnin’ pain I felt underneath that missing skin. I got to the side of the pool, and thought to myself: “How in the hell am I going to get all the way over to my pool chair?” Brother Dan came over to find that the blood flow had started with a vengeance, so he went to the front desk to ask for a first-aid kit. I hobbled to my pool chair, bleeding like a banshee – everyone looking at me with disgust and asking: “Are you alright?”
I mean, I know folks were trying to be nice, but what were they thinking? I’m limping. I have blood pouring down my leg like a prop on a horror film, and folks ask me if I am alright? WTF….of course, I’m not alright. If I was alright, I’d be climbing the stairs with Iz for another go on the water slide!
It wasn’t long before little worker men came crawling out of the woodworks. Again, not so much out of genuine concern for me, but out of worry that I would seek legal retribution for pain and suffering. First, the little medic appeared with a first-aid kit that doubled as a fishing tackle box. I swear, my dad had one just like it when I was a kid.
Just moments before, my friend Amy had told me not to worry about sanitizing the wound, because I had just come from the chlorinated water. I just needed to get it dried and covered with antibiotic ointment. She’s a doctor – a large animal doctor – but still, I trusted her far more than the pool man who had put on his medic badge for the occasion.
He slipped on his plastic gloves to look real professional, and even managed to make that loud pop against his wrist, as he slipped on that second glove. A regular surgeon!
He mumbled something about peroxide and my eyes got as big around as one of Amy’s large animal patients!! Visions of liquid bandaid (from last summer) just about blurred my vision.
I said: “Look man, I just got out of that chlorine water. I don’t need disinfectant right now. I need you to help me dry this off, stop the bleeding, and put antibiotic ointment on it.” The pool man with a medic badge replied: “Yeah. We treat this water every, single day.”…..I knew he was a pool man!!
Anyway, my instruction sounded rather impressive, didn’t it? Thanks, Amy
Next, came the maintenance man. First of all, he told me that the same thing had happened to another last week. I thought medic badge was going to punch his three remaining teeth, right out o’ his mouth! Then, maintenance man asked me ten dozen questions. (Like he thought he was being subtle.) Eventually, I grew tired of it.
“Look man, there isn’t a drop of blood in your pool. Not a drop. It may be all over your pool deck and all over this lounge chair, but you won’t find any in the water. I know because I got my fat ass out of that pool too fast to bleed in your water.” He didn’t ask any more questions. A little while later, I saw him on the far side of the pool. He had his little test kit. I suppose he was checking for contaminated water.
Next up came the Brett Robinson Realty Manager. You know the one who’s wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt on the pool deck. The one who rarely comes outside unless he’s trying to do damage control? Well, Mr. Damage Control came to see me, too. Maintenance man had just tested my patience, so DC was at a definite disadvantage. We exchanged nicey-nicies, and he told me to call him if I needed anything at all. I mumbled under my breath “uh-huh” with the exact same conviction I had the day in 92 when Clinton told the American public that he didn’t inhale.
Medic man fixed me right up and even put an ice pack on it for me. I only thought about boppin’ him once when he pressed down too hard with that wad of gauze. I’m so scared that this little injury is going to slow down my beach activities. It’ll be a while before I can put on my dancin’ shoes again…not to mention that wooden slat floor in the lighthouse. Ugh!!!
Around lunchtime, my two favorite kids, P and Izzy B, came by for a swim before heading over to spend the weekend with friends. Iz could hardly wait to get to that big water slide, but she stood patiently while the rest of us got ready to go. As soon as we arrived on the pool deck, she and I went straight to the slide. I have been down that slide a hundred times with no catastrophes; I’ve even done half of those slides holding a little one in front of me. How could I have known that today would be different?
The first go-around went off without a hitch. We landed safely at the bottom, and Iz said, “Let’s do it again, Gigi.” We climbed the stairs for the second slide. Iz often makes the rules and loves to give directions to everyone around her, so she instructed me to go first, then turn around to catch her. It sounded like a reasonable plan to me, so I jumped on and took off round and round the water slide. Sadly, while making that second turn, something went horribly wrong. I got turned around, sliding backwards on my stomach. Ordinarily, this would be no big deal, but because I was so close to the end of the slide, I had no time to get myself turned back around on my boo-tocks, facing forward. It’s is not a comfortable ride for an old woman going down a slide backwards, and not being able to brace for the point of impact…know what I’m sayin’?
I hit the water with a powerful force. Then, I hit the pool floor with my left knee cap. That wouldn’t have caused a problem, except that the “place” on the pool floor was a metal dome-shaped grate, positioned to suck the water out of the pool and back through the filter system.
My first thought…well, I can’t divulge my first thought because it is a very ugly string of explicatives. My second thought was to inhale deeply and holler: Ouch!. Unfortunately, that didn’t work out too well, either. So much water went up my nose, I think an ounce or two landed just inside my right frontal lobe! When I finally did reach air, I could hardly move, but I knew I needed to get out of the water. Fast.
I had no idea that I was missing the skin that covered my knee cap. My only concern was the burnin’ pain I felt underneath that missing skin. I got to the side of the pool, and thought to myself: “How in the hell am I going to get all the way over to my pool chair?” Brother Dan came over to find that the blood flow had started with a vengeance, so he went to the front desk to ask for a first-aid kit. I hobbled to my pool chair, bleeding like a banshee – everyone looking at me with disgust and asking: “Are you alright?”
I mean, I know folks were trying to be nice, but what were they thinking? I’m limping. I have blood pouring down my leg like a prop on a horror film, and folks ask me if I am alright? WTF….of course, I’m not alright. If I was alright, I’d be climbing the stairs with Iz for another go on the water slide!
It wasn’t long before little worker men came crawling out of the woodworks. Again, not so much out of genuine concern for me, but out of worry that I would seek legal retribution for pain and suffering. First, the little medic appeared with a first-aid kit that doubled as a fishing tackle box. I swear, my dad had one just like it when I was a kid.
Just moments before, my friend Amy had told me not to worry about sanitizing the wound, because I had just come from the chlorinated water. I just needed to get it dried and covered with antibiotic ointment. She’s a doctor – a large animal doctor – but still, I trusted her far more than the pool man who had put on his medic badge for the occasion.
He slipped on his plastic gloves to look real professional, and even managed to make that loud pop against his wrist, as he slipped on that second glove. A regular surgeon!
He mumbled something about peroxide and my eyes got as big around as one of Amy’s large animal patients!! Visions of liquid bandaid (from last summer) just about blurred my vision.
I said: “Look man, I just got out of that chlorine water. I don’t need disinfectant right now. I need you to help me dry this off, stop the bleeding, and put antibiotic ointment on it.” The pool man with a medic badge replied: “Yeah. We treat this water every, single day.”…..I knew he was a pool man!!
Anyway, my instruction sounded rather impressive, didn’t it? Thanks, Amy
Next, came the maintenance man. First of all, he told me that the same thing had happened to another last week. I thought medic badge was going to punch his three remaining teeth, right out o’ his mouth! Then, maintenance man asked me ten dozen questions. (Like he thought he was being subtle.) Eventually, I grew tired of it.
“Look man, there isn’t a drop of blood in your pool. Not a drop. It may be all over your pool deck and all over this lounge chair, but you won’t find any in the water. I know because I got my fat ass out of that pool too fast to bleed in your water.” He didn’t ask any more questions. A little while later, I saw him on the far side of the pool. He had his little test kit. I suppose he was checking for contaminated water.
Next up came the Brett Robinson Realty Manager. You know the one who’s wearing khaki pants and a dress shirt on the pool deck. The one who rarely comes outside unless he’s trying to do damage control? Well, Mr. Damage Control came to see me, too. Maintenance man had just tested my patience, so DC was at a definite disadvantage. We exchanged nicey-nicies, and he told me to call him if I needed anything at all. I mumbled under my breath “uh-huh” with the exact same conviction I had the day in 92 when Clinton told the American public that he didn’t inhale.
Medic man fixed me right up and even put an ice pack on it for me. I only thought about boppin’ him once when he pressed down too hard with that wad of gauze. I’m so scared that this little injury is going to slow down my beach activities. It’ll be a while before I can put on my dancin’ shoes again…not to mention that wooden slat floor in the lighthouse. Ugh!!!
Thursday, June 3, 2010
This Is A Test Of The Pledging Cougar's Club
June 3, 2010
It is my first full day in town. I had to go to class last night, so I was rather late coming in. I talked to the incredible hunk on the way down. He sounded so pitiful that I almost felt sorry for him. He called to tell me that he had fallen and broken his foot. (Although I did express my sincere regret for his misfortune, I can't help but admit my delight. He won't be able to do very much tomcattin' around with a big ole' plaster cast and boot; now, will he?) I said all the right things in the right places and wished him well. He ended the conversation by telling me: "Make 'em wear a condom". It was a calculated statement meant to fish out my intentions. Bless his heart, he is having a real hard time figuring out that I am too smart for his bologna. I thought quickly, swallowed my first reaction, and just as I hung up the phone, I said: "oh, don't worry. I have a box in my luggage." Just as the phone went dead, I heard a voice on the other end saying...."a booxxx...."
I got up this morning and hit the treadmill and that blasted stairmaster. I tried to use the sauna, but I couldn't figure out how to make the cals burn. With visions of last summer's medical disaster, I decided to play it safe. The sauna would have to wait. Just as I made it back to the room to change clothes for a day of lazy riverin', the biggest storm came up, thundering and lightening popping all around. AS we stood around watching the light show, we noticed seadoos out in the distance. I remember someone saying out loud that those idiots should return to shore immediately. (That will become important later)
I was worried about the oilslick getting to the snow crab legs before I could eat my fill so I gorged myself for lunch, today. Now that I think aobut it, snow crab comes from Alaska so the oil spill shouldn't have any affect on the price...oh, I digress.
We came home and changed into our swimsuits - as quickly as nine women can change into anything - then we headed down to the lazy river for an afternoon of fun in the sun.
I noticed those boys as soon as I arrived, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to find the nerve to approach them as easily as I have done in years past. Cindy's sister, Stephanie, is my kind of girl...almost. She sat on her lounge chair and oogled those boys most of the afternoon. In fact, at one point, while she was trying to adjust her towel, she said: "oowww....let me sit my fat butt down before they see how big it is."
I have never struggled with nerve when it comes to doing audacious things, but I was struggling. Maybe, it was being single in the middle of all these married women. Perhaps, that is what put a kink in my stride. Anyway, I sat in my chair and told myself all the reasons why I should get up and go introduce myself to the boys.
Eventually, I did it. However, I used my posse as a pick up line. I approached the three of them and asked them if they would help me win a bet. I convinced them that all the girls across the pool deck had dared me to come over and get the scoop. (Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, I think it took the girls quite a while to notice that I was missing in action.
Two of them were brothers from New Orleans. The third, Cole, was a friend who also worked with the brothers. They were all fisherman for a seafood company in town. Business was slow - as we can all imagine - so they decided to make the best of the down time with a trip to the beach.
I asked all sorts of questions, but the most depressing answer was the one that they told me that they would be leaving the next morning. Why do I always meet the coolest folks the night before they are scheduled to leave??
Anyway, I turned around to find Cindy coming up behind me with my cell phone. She haded it and told me that it was ringing. Personally, I think that she just wanted a closer look because one of those brothers was most fine, with a strategically placed tattoo right between his shoulder blades...sorry. I digress, again.
I did have a text message. It was from Kristy. It said: "mama said it's time to feed the baby." I looked back at Cindy, who could barely stand up straight from laughter, but I was too deeply involved in getting to know my new friends to be distracted.
During the course of conversation, I learned that they had two seadoos here. They also told me that they had ridden them this morning. After a couple of additional quesions, I learned that those were the idiots out on the bay during a rather impressive lightening storm. Suddenly, the boys on the seadoos didn't seem so idiotic; they seemed dangerous, like bad boys. mmmmm....
I returned to my posse with my chest all swollen like a girl with a fresh boob job. The girls were asking questions faster than I could answer. Here was only response: Girls, I have secured our entertainment for the evening, if anyone is interested. :)
It is my first full day in town. I had to go to class last night, so I was rather late coming in. I talked to the incredible hunk on the way down. He sounded so pitiful that I almost felt sorry for him. He called to tell me that he had fallen and broken his foot. (Although I did express my sincere regret for his misfortune, I can't help but admit my delight. He won't be able to do very much tomcattin' around with a big ole' plaster cast and boot; now, will he?) I said all the right things in the right places and wished him well. He ended the conversation by telling me: "Make 'em wear a condom". It was a calculated statement meant to fish out my intentions. Bless his heart, he is having a real hard time figuring out that I am too smart for his bologna. I thought quickly, swallowed my first reaction, and just as I hung up the phone, I said: "oh, don't worry. I have a box in my luggage." Just as the phone went dead, I heard a voice on the other end saying...."a booxxx...."
I got up this morning and hit the treadmill and that blasted stairmaster. I tried to use the sauna, but I couldn't figure out how to make the cals burn. With visions of last summer's medical disaster, I decided to play it safe. The sauna would have to wait. Just as I made it back to the room to change clothes for a day of lazy riverin', the biggest storm came up, thundering and lightening popping all around. AS we stood around watching the light show, we noticed seadoos out in the distance. I remember someone saying out loud that those idiots should return to shore immediately. (That will become important later)
I was worried about the oilslick getting to the snow crab legs before I could eat my fill so I gorged myself for lunch, today. Now that I think aobut it, snow crab comes from Alaska so the oil spill shouldn't have any affect on the price...oh, I digress.
We came home and changed into our swimsuits - as quickly as nine women can change into anything - then we headed down to the lazy river for an afternoon of fun in the sun.
I noticed those boys as soon as I arrived, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to find the nerve to approach them as easily as I have done in years past. Cindy's sister, Stephanie, is my kind of girl...almost. She sat on her lounge chair and oogled those boys most of the afternoon. In fact, at one point, while she was trying to adjust her towel, she said: "oowww....let me sit my fat butt down before they see how big it is."
I have never struggled with nerve when it comes to doing audacious things, but I was struggling. Maybe, it was being single in the middle of all these married women. Perhaps, that is what put a kink in my stride. Anyway, I sat in my chair and told myself all the reasons why I should get up and go introduce myself to the boys.
Eventually, I did it. However, I used my posse as a pick up line. I approached the three of them and asked them if they would help me win a bet. I convinced them that all the girls across the pool deck had dared me to come over and get the scoop. (Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, I think it took the girls quite a while to notice that I was missing in action.
Two of them were brothers from New Orleans. The third, Cole, was a friend who also worked with the brothers. They were all fisherman for a seafood company in town. Business was slow - as we can all imagine - so they decided to make the best of the down time with a trip to the beach.
I asked all sorts of questions, but the most depressing answer was the one that they told me that they would be leaving the next morning. Why do I always meet the coolest folks the night before they are scheduled to leave??
Anyway, I turned around to find Cindy coming up behind me with my cell phone. She haded it and told me that it was ringing. Personally, I think that she just wanted a closer look because one of those brothers was most fine, with a strategically placed tattoo right between his shoulder blades...sorry. I digress, again.
I did have a text message. It was from Kristy. It said: "mama said it's time to feed the baby." I looked back at Cindy, who could barely stand up straight from laughter, but I was too deeply involved in getting to know my new friends to be distracted.
During the course of conversation, I learned that they had two seadoos here. They also told me that they had ridden them this morning. After a couple of additional quesions, I learned that those were the idiots out on the bay during a rather impressive lightening storm. Suddenly, the boys on the seadoos didn't seem so idiotic; they seemed dangerous, like bad boys. mmmmm....
I returned to my posse with my chest all swollen like a girl with a fresh boob job. The girls were asking questions faster than I could answer. Here was only response: Girls, I have secured our entertainment for the evening, if anyone is interested. :)
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Wild Horses In Comer, Alabama
The saga in Comer continues.... Spring and I had just left the Day and Night Grocery and returned to the Springhill Plantation House to start a bridal shoot. Spring found Phil, the groundskeeper, and asked permission to shoot photos inside the pasture that contained about five horses. At the time, they were grazing - far far away. Phil gave his permission, but I could tell something was a little fishy. I chalked it up to Spring weird ideas about wedding pictures. It is strange to take wedding photos in a horse pasture, right? Spring does those kind of crazy things, though. However, in the end, her pictures look like a Ralph Lauren ad - Alabama style!
The bride-to-be came out in her beautiful gown, ready to take pictures. I was the poorly-paid help. My job was to fix the girl's dress and train, as well as hold the white sheet that Spring uses to put on the ground when she is ready for the bride to sit down in the middle of a ragweed bed for a picture.
The deal was this: Spring got to stand in the yard, clear of the horses and the pasture. The bride and I were to enter the pasture through the gate and prepare for pictures. No problem, right??
I am not particularly comfortable with large animals, but i am not scared of them, either...I didn't think??
Mallory, bride of the hour, stood with her back to the horses. I fixed her train and her dress and backed away, facing her. Spring was taking pictures like mad. Those horses that had been far, far away were now running toward us full speed ahead....crazed maniacs. Phil's reaction to picture-taking in the pasture was becoming much more clear! This fiasco happened within seconds, but it felt like hours. Mallory could not see what was happening...she was standing there: calm, poised, smiling for the camera. I was facing toward her, eye-to-eye with a herd of wild horses! They were not slowing down! I had to think fast: what to do...what to do???
I was holding a sheet. I could swat it at them and maybe that would keep them away from me. That is what I would do: swat my flimsy little white sheet at the wild horses running toward us. I am sure that my eyes grew bigger and bigger and the distance between me and these large beasts grew smaller and smaller. I couldn't stand it any more. I fanned out the sheet and nervously tried to shew them away. Despite my best effort to look calm and in control, I looked more like a first time bull fighter in Pamplona, Spain. Only my cape was white instead of red.
Spring yelled, "NO!!!"
I had no idea that this attempt to ward off unwanted beasts would create such a stir. Those suckers did stop dead in their tracks less than six feet from me and the bride. Mission Accomplished! However, they stopped just long enough to rare up on their hind legs....looked like Tonto with Zorro on his back before racing off to catch the bad guys!
I 'bout wet my pants! Mallory still stood, smiling for the camera. Her safety did briefly cross my mind, but my own desire to escape the madness far surpassed any desire to help her get out of that pasture alive. The only thing that separated me from safety was a small wooden fence. The fence posts were positioned about eight feet apart, and the two rails were pieces of 2 X 6 that had been nailed to each post. The bottom rail laid about two and a half feet from the ground. Bless Mallory's heart in her pretty white dress....she would have to fend for herself. I was diving under that fence!
Few have ever witnessed me move with such speed. When I finally decided that I had to go, I took off like a bolt of lightning! I slid underneath that two and a half foot opening in one fluid motion.....almost! Only one problem with that plan. An live electric wire ran along the bottom of the wood railing, and my fat ass was too big to clear the space without scrapping across the bottom. That juice hit me and knocked me face down in the dirt. I mean face down! I hardly even felt it...had to keep moving....must escape the beasts. I did the GI JOE crawl, using my elbows to pull myself to safety. I couldn't feel the bottom half of my body at the time.
The most unbelievable part of the story...Spring has these magnificient pictures of a bride in a pasture with horses reared up on their hind legs behind her. Ain't nobody got wedding pictures like that! And just think....it was all because of me.....too bad Spring can't actually use those pictures because Mallory has her mouth wide open, holding her ribs, laughing at me! How many times does your photography assistant bite the dust because of the electric fence during a wedding shoot?
Comer was an interesting little town. I met lots of cool folks. I have a burn mark on my left butt cheek, but its a memory, right??
The bride-to-be came out in her beautiful gown, ready to take pictures. I was the poorly-paid help. My job was to fix the girl's dress and train, as well as hold the white sheet that Spring uses to put on the ground when she is ready for the bride to sit down in the middle of a ragweed bed for a picture.
The deal was this: Spring got to stand in the yard, clear of the horses and the pasture. The bride and I were to enter the pasture through the gate and prepare for pictures. No problem, right??
I am not particularly comfortable with large animals, but i am not scared of them, either...I didn't think??
Mallory, bride of the hour, stood with her back to the horses. I fixed her train and her dress and backed away, facing her. Spring was taking pictures like mad. Those horses that had been far, far away were now running toward us full speed ahead....crazed maniacs. Phil's reaction to picture-taking in the pasture was becoming much more clear! This fiasco happened within seconds, but it felt like hours. Mallory could not see what was happening...she was standing there: calm, poised, smiling for the camera. I was facing toward her, eye-to-eye with a herd of wild horses! They were not slowing down! I had to think fast: what to do...what to do???
I was holding a sheet. I could swat it at them and maybe that would keep them away from me. That is what I would do: swat my flimsy little white sheet at the wild horses running toward us. I am sure that my eyes grew bigger and bigger and the distance between me and these large beasts grew smaller and smaller. I couldn't stand it any more. I fanned out the sheet and nervously tried to shew them away. Despite my best effort to look calm and in control, I looked more like a first time bull fighter in Pamplona, Spain. Only my cape was white instead of red.
Spring yelled, "NO!!!"
I had no idea that this attempt to ward off unwanted beasts would create such a stir. Those suckers did stop dead in their tracks less than six feet from me and the bride. Mission Accomplished! However, they stopped just long enough to rare up on their hind legs....looked like Tonto with Zorro on his back before racing off to catch the bad guys!
I 'bout wet my pants! Mallory still stood, smiling for the camera. Her safety did briefly cross my mind, but my own desire to escape the madness far surpassed any desire to help her get out of that pasture alive. The only thing that separated me from safety was a small wooden fence. The fence posts were positioned about eight feet apart, and the two rails were pieces of 2 X 6 that had been nailed to each post. The bottom rail laid about two and a half feet from the ground. Bless Mallory's heart in her pretty white dress....she would have to fend for herself. I was diving under that fence!
Few have ever witnessed me move with such speed. When I finally decided that I had to go, I took off like a bolt of lightning! I slid underneath that two and a half foot opening in one fluid motion.....almost! Only one problem with that plan. An live electric wire ran along the bottom of the wood railing, and my fat ass was too big to clear the space without scrapping across the bottom. That juice hit me and knocked me face down in the dirt. I mean face down! I hardly even felt it...had to keep moving....must escape the beasts. I did the GI JOE crawl, using my elbows to pull myself to safety. I couldn't feel the bottom half of my body at the time.
The most unbelievable part of the story...Spring has these magnificient pictures of a bride in a pasture with horses reared up on their hind legs behind her. Ain't nobody got wedding pictures like that! And just think....it was all because of me.....too bad Spring can't actually use those pictures because Mallory has her mouth wide open, holding her ribs, laughing at me! How many times does your photography assistant bite the dust because of the electric fence during a wedding shoot?
Comer was an interesting little town. I met lots of cool folks. I have a burn mark on my left butt cheek, but its a memory, right??
Spring And I Meet Bicycle in Comer
My dear friend, and partner in crime, Spring Bruner, owns a photography studio in downtown Prattville. She was scheduled to do a bridal shoot at an old plantation home just outside Eufala, Alabama, and asked me to tag along. I often accompany her on these escapades because the two of us together can find all kinds of trouble.
We left town just before 3 oclock, and made our way down state. Soon, I began to casually look for a convenient store to buy something to drink. After another 30 miles, I began to get a little concerned. We were traveling deeper and deeper into no man's land, and I needed a Mountain Dew. With Spring's help, we eventually spotted "The Day and Night Grocery" - check out the picture on my page. It looked like an old abandoned building, so we kept riding. Eventually, we arrived at Springhill Plantation House in Comer, Alabama. It was spectacular: a beautiful place for a wedding.
The two of us got out of the truck and walked around the grounds. Spring was looking at different places to take pictures, and I was snooping around the house, trying to find an open door and a restroom! I did stumble on to the groundskeeper and asked about how to get to the closest convenient store.
Phil, the groundskeeper said, "It's only about 500 yards up the road. The Comers run that store."
"The Day and Night Grocery?"
"Yea...you know it?"
"That place is open for business?"
Phil looked at his watch. "Sure. This time a day, it'll be packed."
I had serious doubts about that! Spring and I had just passed this establishment thirty minutes ago. I didn't look like it had welcomed a customer in thirty years.
She and I loaded into the truck and drove up the road. Phil was right. That place was packed...must have been 4 or 5 big trucks in the dirt yard surrounding the store. I walked inside, found the Pepsi cooler, the kind that sits horizonally and slides open from the top. I grabbed my Mountain Dew and headed for the food aisles. Wire racks held several different grocery items. The concrete floor even looked weathered by age. I looked and looked through the racks of food, but couldn't find candy bars anywhere. Finally, i gave up and went to the counter to pay for my drink. The counter was one of those old timey waist-high gun cabinets with the glass plate front, and the sliding glass doors in the back. All the chocolate candy was in there! I asked for a Kit Kat and plopped my drink on the counter top. The lady behind the counter asked me, "You aren't from Comer, are you?" I thought this was the coolest little mom and pop shop I had ever seen, but when she recognized me as an outsider....that just took the cake. I was sure 'nough in the country.
Spring was standing beside me, and often comes to my aide when we are together. She knows that I am prone to say anything, and balances my sarcasm with kindness. She jumped in,"We aren't from Comer, but we do live in the country."
That lady...I later learned her name was Rosalind Comer, ancestor to the Comers who founded the town....looked at me with suspicion. "Where do YOU live?"
I mean, there were two of us standing there. Why did she want to know where I lived? I answered her with pride: "Slapout".
This man who looked like Methusela's brother sat on a little stool beside the door. When I answered Rosalind, that little man came to life!
"I know Slapout. I was the janitor at the high school there in 1967." (My mother graduated from the same high school in 1967, but I was too shocked by his sudden excitement to make the connection at the time.) "There was a little grocery store there and when people would come in to buy their groceries, the owner would always tell them that he was slap out of that."
I told the man that the store was called the Boy's store because a band of brothers owned and operated it. I also explained to him how I lived about a mile down 111 from that very store.
The Comers and Spring listened to the little old man and me carry on about landmarks and funny things for several minutes. I don't know which of us had more fun. Them listening to us, or me and the old man comparing stories. Imagine it: I had left my little home town of Slapout (also known as west Egypt), traveled south for an hour and a half (to some place better known as south Egypt), found Methusela's brother, and discovered that he knew exactly where I lived...knew as much about my home town as I did!
On a whim, I decided to have my picture taken with Methusela so that everyone back home would believe that I ran into this man way down in BFE. I had my picture taken with the Comers too because the town was named after them. I never pass up an opportunity to schmooze with celebrities!
When we left the building and returned to the plantation, I thanked Phil for pointing us toward the Mountain Dew. I began to tell my story and he cut me short...
"I see you met Bicycle."
"Bicycle? The man's name is Bicycle?" I looked at Spring. This story just kept getting better. Folks back home were not gonna believe it!
"Well, I don't guess his real name is Bicycle, but that is what everyone calls him because he rides up and down these county roads all day on that rickety old bike of his. He hangs out at the Day and Night this time of day to visit with the town's folks."
"You've got to be kidding me. Bicycle? Sounds like Radio, that guy on the movie who pushes his grocery buggy around town."
This world could not get any smaller until....
I return home to Slapout and call my mom to tell her the story of Comer's grocery and Bicycle. I am at the point in the story where I say: "I was a janitor at the high school in 1967." My mom interrupts my story.
"Bicycle?"
OMG...how did she know...OMG...she went to school here in 1967....
"You KNOW BICYCLE!" the pitch in my voice roused the dogs across the street. I mean, how bizarre is this story???
"I remember him. Is he still alive? It's been forty years and he was old back then...used to ride all over the place on his bicycle...had no teeth."
"Well, mom, apparently he still rides around on county roads. He has just moved to the other side of Egypt to do it. He does, however, wear dentures now."
To all my readers: I know this story is hard to believe....I know it is! Think about it, though. How could I make it all up?
We left town just before 3 oclock, and made our way down state. Soon, I began to casually look for a convenient store to buy something to drink. After another 30 miles, I began to get a little concerned. We were traveling deeper and deeper into no man's land, and I needed a Mountain Dew. With Spring's help, we eventually spotted "The Day and Night Grocery" - check out the picture on my page. It looked like an old abandoned building, so we kept riding. Eventually, we arrived at Springhill Plantation House in Comer, Alabama. It was spectacular: a beautiful place for a wedding.
The two of us got out of the truck and walked around the grounds. Spring was looking at different places to take pictures, and I was snooping around the house, trying to find an open door and a restroom! I did stumble on to the groundskeeper and asked about how to get to the closest convenient store.
Phil, the groundskeeper said, "It's only about 500 yards up the road. The Comers run that store."
"The Day and Night Grocery?"
"Yea...you know it?"
"That place is open for business?"
Phil looked at his watch. "Sure. This time a day, it'll be packed."
I had serious doubts about that! Spring and I had just passed this establishment thirty minutes ago. I didn't look like it had welcomed a customer in thirty years.
She and I loaded into the truck and drove up the road. Phil was right. That place was packed...must have been 4 or 5 big trucks in the dirt yard surrounding the store. I walked inside, found the Pepsi cooler, the kind that sits horizonally and slides open from the top. I grabbed my Mountain Dew and headed for the food aisles. Wire racks held several different grocery items. The concrete floor even looked weathered by age. I looked and looked through the racks of food, but couldn't find candy bars anywhere. Finally, i gave up and went to the counter to pay for my drink. The counter was one of those old timey waist-high gun cabinets with the glass plate front, and the sliding glass doors in the back. All the chocolate candy was in there! I asked for a Kit Kat and plopped my drink on the counter top. The lady behind the counter asked me, "You aren't from Comer, are you?" I thought this was the coolest little mom and pop shop I had ever seen, but when she recognized me as an outsider....that just took the cake. I was sure 'nough in the country.
Spring was standing beside me, and often comes to my aide when we are together. She knows that I am prone to say anything, and balances my sarcasm with kindness. She jumped in,"We aren't from Comer, but we do live in the country."
That lady...I later learned her name was Rosalind Comer, ancestor to the Comers who founded the town....looked at me with suspicion. "Where do YOU live?"
I mean, there were two of us standing there. Why did she want to know where I lived? I answered her with pride: "Slapout".
This man who looked like Methusela's brother sat on a little stool beside the door. When I answered Rosalind, that little man came to life!
"I know Slapout. I was the janitor at the high school there in 1967." (My mother graduated from the same high school in 1967, but I was too shocked by his sudden excitement to make the connection at the time.) "There was a little grocery store there and when people would come in to buy their groceries, the owner would always tell them that he was slap out of that."
I told the man that the store was called the Boy's store because a band of brothers owned and operated it. I also explained to him how I lived about a mile down 111 from that very store.
The Comers and Spring listened to the little old man and me carry on about landmarks and funny things for several minutes. I don't know which of us had more fun. Them listening to us, or me and the old man comparing stories. Imagine it: I had left my little home town of Slapout (also known as west Egypt), traveled south for an hour and a half (to some place better known as south Egypt), found Methusela's brother, and discovered that he knew exactly where I lived...knew as much about my home town as I did!
On a whim, I decided to have my picture taken with Methusela so that everyone back home would believe that I ran into this man way down in BFE. I had my picture taken with the Comers too because the town was named after them. I never pass up an opportunity to schmooze with celebrities!
When we left the building and returned to the plantation, I thanked Phil for pointing us toward the Mountain Dew. I began to tell my story and he cut me short...
"I see you met Bicycle."
"Bicycle? The man's name is Bicycle?" I looked at Spring. This story just kept getting better. Folks back home were not gonna believe it!
"Well, I don't guess his real name is Bicycle, but that is what everyone calls him because he rides up and down these county roads all day on that rickety old bike of his. He hangs out at the Day and Night this time of day to visit with the town's folks."
"You've got to be kidding me. Bicycle? Sounds like Radio, that guy on the movie who pushes his grocery buggy around town."
This world could not get any smaller until....
I return home to Slapout and call my mom to tell her the story of Comer's grocery and Bicycle. I am at the point in the story where I say: "I was a janitor at the high school in 1967." My mom interrupts my story.
"Bicycle?"
OMG...how did she know...OMG...she went to school here in 1967....
"You KNOW BICYCLE!" the pitch in my voice roused the dogs across the street. I mean, how bizarre is this story???
"I remember him. Is he still alive? It's been forty years and he was old back then...used to ride all over the place on his bicycle...had no teeth."
"Well, mom, apparently he still rides around on county roads. He has just moved to the other side of Egypt to do it. He does, however, wear dentures now."
To all my readers: I know this story is hard to believe....I know it is! Think about it, though. How could I make it all up?
Wedding In Comer
Yesterday, I returned to Comer to help my friend, Spring, photograph the wedding of Mallory and Chris. I first met Mallory just a couple of weeks ago when Spring took her bridal portraits. That was the same day that I posted two previous blogs about wild horses and my new friend Bicycle.
When we arrived at the Sprinhill Plantation, all the girls in the wedding party were down at the lodge. The guys were up at the main house, listening to the Alabama game. Pictures started off without a hitch down at the logde. There was this one moment when one of the bridesmaids called me "ma'am". My God...she has probably already graduated from college, calling me ma'am. It was a painful and sobering reminder that I will turn 36 years old in four short weeks!
My job was easy at first...run here, there, and yonder fetching things for Spring and gathering up crews of folks for the next picture. It was a beautiful day...still rather hot for October, but truthfully, we couldn't have asked for better weather. The distance between the lodge and the main house was about the length of two football fields. Not really that big of a deal, unless you were wearing high heeled, sling back shoes, like me.
While I was working with Spring, I felt like a relative of Forrest Gump. I ran everywhere that I went because I felt like whatever I was fetching was of immediate importance. Again, running was a good thing, unless you were wearing hig-heeled, sling-back shoes, like me.
Just before the ceremony began, I was asked to go back down to the lodge (time number four!) to retreive the lights and umbrella for further pictures. Also, I was supposed to find an outliet for the plug to the back light. Spring wanted to take picture down at the barn and up at the house too. The service began at 6PM and light was leaving us quickly.
I ran down to the lodge and got the stuff. I looked like a dissheveled crazy woman trying to balance all that stuff in two hands. Let me recall all the things I held while running in heels the distance of two football fields: a spot light, a tripod with two cords attached, one cord with a tiny silver attachment on the end that connected to the camera, (Spring had given me special instructions to hold it in my hand so that it wouldn't slide off), a 100 foot extension cord, my sweater to use when the sun went down, a photography umbrella, a tube of lipstick that the bride had given me an hour earlier, and a slip of scratch paper from the groom's mom that had a list of all the pictures that she wanted to have taken at the ceremony. Unfortunately for me, I had worn a dress with no pockets. Yes, just take a moment...picture this.
I get back up to the house, fifty feet of cord dragging behind me. I had made two stops on the way back up to check for electrical outlets. I stop to talk with the caterer when I hear the music playing. Gosh! I am late. I am always late. It matters not how carefully I plan, I am gonna be late. I expressed my disgust to the caterer and she convince me to walk on around to the front of the house. I did. I had to find Spring, make eye contact with her so that she knew I was there with the light. There were so many people around that I couldn't find her for a while. Remember, I am still carrying all these random things. I find Spring across the yard. She sees me. She mouths something to me, but all I can make out is "behind the tree". I assumed that she wanted me to stand behind the tree. At the time, it made sense to me because I did look like a bag lady holding every one of her worldly possessions all at one time.
Once the ceremony was underway, I inched out from behind the tree. Perhaps, it did look much like I was playing hide and seek with an invisible "seeker", but I wanted to see, too! The preacher, bless his heart, looked like Billy Graham, but he literally sang the words of his message. "Farrriends anda neeighborrs, ona bbehafff of K-riss-topher anda Mall-o-ree...we well-come you here-ra tanighhht" There were gnats flying around my face, my armload was getting a bit heavy, I could smell chicken wings, and then it happened. I saw him, and he was beautiful. In order to really understand this term, I must explain my own personal description of men in general: (Do not laugh at me! All women everywhere know that there is a univeral code that used amoung us to describe men)
"aun-ah": a southern ..more like two small grunts strung together)that is a contraction for no-way. As my darling grandmother used to say, "That man aint ever gonna win a beauty prize."
"cute": this man is definitely not ugly, but he is probably not the kind of man who turns heads on the street. He may or may not have a fun personality, but if he does, it may, in fact, raise him up a knotch on the description guide.
"sexy": this is a term that can be used on a man who falls into any one of the categories. Physical attractive and sexiness are two different things. A man can be ugly, but still carry himself in a way, and interact with others in a way, that shows confidence...sexiness.
"hot": a man who is clearly handsome,so good-looking that he will turn heads on the street; however, in my experience, these guys often know they are good looking and a small amount of time with them sends a woman running for the hills.
"beautiful": this man has a bit of everything. He has one or more physical features that make him stand out in a crowd. He is sexy, AND he is alot of fun.
Now that everyone understands my terminology, I can forge on with my story.
We had to photograph the entire wedding party together and take pictures of the new husband and wife. I had found an outlet for the electric cord, but when i went to plug the stupid thing in the wall, I realized that it was not a three-pronged hole. I didn't think to count the holes in the outlet on my way back from the lodge! We were losing light...fast. Had to find three holes...had to find three holes fast.
Spring, who is always grace under pressure, found an outlet that would work. I could never do her job. I can take the pictures, I can see them in my head and envision how they should look, but i couldn't handle the pressure of 11 bridesmaids, 11 groomsmen, a husband and wife, and their two families. Oh dear god...I would be a nervous wreck.
After I had moved that stinkin' light and the 100 foot cord about 15 times, we finally settled in for the evening on the dance floor. Four kegs and eight cases of wine were flowing freely. Mr. Beautiful was already on the dance floor with a beer in-hand. He was dancing next to this really pretty blonde girl, who had been standing next to him during the ceremony. I figured that he was with her, but I could still watch him from the shadows, couldn't I?
At one point, I was up on the back porch, where I met my new friend, Viola. Viola was a waiter and she loved to dance. At the age of fifty-one, she showed me how to get down "low". If I remember correctly, I had finished my third glass of wine. All my friends out there who know me well, also know my personal mantra. Regardless of the type of alcohol, "Three is too many".
I was sitting in a chair on the side of the dance floor. Spring was beside me. We were watching all of these people have so much fun. Actually, we were just waiting until the bride and groom left, so that Spring could take pictures of that. I saw Mr. B walking toward me. He was alone. I motioned for him to come to me. He bent down beside me and I whispered into his ear, "you are beautiful". As I spoke to him, my hands just got a mind of their own. I truly didn't mean to slide my hand across his jaw line and down his neck, but i couldn't help myself. I mean, it was simply my humanitarian responsiblity to let the man know that he was beautiful. It didn't matter that he was there with somebody else.
Later, Spring told me that she dropped her face into her hands when she saw my hand on his face. She thought: oh, no, I just wanna take my pictures and go home, now I am gonna have to help my friend who is sure to get in a fight over this.
Surprise! No fights. He stood back up,held out his hand, and asked me to dance.Because Viola had taught me to get down low, I had no problems with this man. It was the kind of dancing that would have been much better suited in a different place and position...know what i'm sayin??
I learned that the pretty girl was his cousin and she had ridden with him to the wedding. I learned that he was 24, played football at Troy, lived on lake martin and had a job in Montgomery.
While we danced, I kept my composure and my hormones in check, even though the wine kept me from being able to stand completely upright. The only problem was my hands. I had no control. None. My right hand was in his and my left hand was on his shoulder blade, but soon, they began to wander...sort of like a blind man uses his sense of touch to see! At one point, I had my eyes closed, enjoying the music, and my imaginary "view". Mr. B said, "Don't go to sleep on me, now." Honey...he had no idea, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. I mean, I couldn't stand up straight, and he had to be really careful when he twirled me around and back again,(that really brought on the dizziness), but beside those tiny little barriers, I was good to go.
Then, it happened. I know you have been there. In your mind, you are cool, poised, and collected, but your physical body is saying and doing things that it really shouldn't be doing. You have somehow convinced yourself that you have everything it takes to handle any situation. I know you've been there...don't lie to me!
The music stopped and Mr B asked me to go to his truck with him to get a beer out of the cooler. At this point, I felt it best to have a conversation with myself. "Awwww shit! Whatcha gonna now big girl...been talking smack, been gettin ya freak on the dance floor...now whatcha gonna do?"
I think I said out loud the next thing that the little voice inside my head asked of me. "Are you gonna kiss me?"
He responded, "I hope so."
The conversation with myself continues: "You know this man has been drinking. You know that there are 101 places on this plantation to get busy if the need arises (no pun intended). You know that if you go to that truck, you will start something that you can not finish without regret. OK..you can't do it. You won't do it."
I looked at Mr. B and said:"You do realize that if I go to that truck with you that a kiss is all you'll get."
"whatever you say, ma'am." He too called me ma'am, but this time there was something sexy about it.
He took my hand and led me off the dance floor and into the dark night. He had his arm slung casually around my shoulder, and I held on to his waist. We hadn't even made it halfway to the truck. He stopped in the middle of the old dirt road, grabbed me up sort of like that sexy Frenchman in the movie Unfaithful, and he kissed me like he wanted me - to hell with all the people who were watching.
For several moments, I couldn't remember my name. I did well, though. I mentally counted to ten. When i got to ten, I pushed away from him. Seriously, I'd had too much wine, and that was the only way that I figured I could keep from ending up in the back of that pick up truck.
It worked beautifully. We continued to dance for the rest of the evening. I even got kisses periodically, although, I had to practice restraint while we were on the dance floor.
He put my number in his phone. He will probably be straining to remember how it got there very soon. However, for one short evening, he showed me a good time, and me feel like a college girl again. He kissed really good, too. I mean...one of the best ever.
When we arrived at the Sprinhill Plantation, all the girls in the wedding party were down at the lodge. The guys were up at the main house, listening to the Alabama game. Pictures started off without a hitch down at the logde. There was this one moment when one of the bridesmaids called me "ma'am". My God...she has probably already graduated from college, calling me ma'am. It was a painful and sobering reminder that I will turn 36 years old in four short weeks!
My job was easy at first...run here, there, and yonder fetching things for Spring and gathering up crews of folks for the next picture. It was a beautiful day...still rather hot for October, but truthfully, we couldn't have asked for better weather. The distance between the lodge and the main house was about the length of two football fields. Not really that big of a deal, unless you were wearing high heeled, sling back shoes, like me.
While I was working with Spring, I felt like a relative of Forrest Gump. I ran everywhere that I went because I felt like whatever I was fetching was of immediate importance. Again, running was a good thing, unless you were wearing hig-heeled, sling-back shoes, like me.
Just before the ceremony began, I was asked to go back down to the lodge (time number four!) to retreive the lights and umbrella for further pictures. Also, I was supposed to find an outliet for the plug to the back light. Spring wanted to take picture down at the barn and up at the house too. The service began at 6PM and light was leaving us quickly.
I ran down to the lodge and got the stuff. I looked like a dissheveled crazy woman trying to balance all that stuff in two hands. Let me recall all the things I held while running in heels the distance of two football fields: a spot light, a tripod with two cords attached, one cord with a tiny silver attachment on the end that connected to the camera, (Spring had given me special instructions to hold it in my hand so that it wouldn't slide off), a 100 foot extension cord, my sweater to use when the sun went down, a photography umbrella, a tube of lipstick that the bride had given me an hour earlier, and a slip of scratch paper from the groom's mom that had a list of all the pictures that she wanted to have taken at the ceremony. Unfortunately for me, I had worn a dress with no pockets. Yes, just take a moment...picture this.
I get back up to the house, fifty feet of cord dragging behind me. I had made two stops on the way back up to check for electrical outlets. I stop to talk with the caterer when I hear the music playing. Gosh! I am late. I am always late. It matters not how carefully I plan, I am gonna be late. I expressed my disgust to the caterer and she convince me to walk on around to the front of the house. I did. I had to find Spring, make eye contact with her so that she knew I was there with the light. There were so many people around that I couldn't find her for a while. Remember, I am still carrying all these random things. I find Spring across the yard. She sees me. She mouths something to me, but all I can make out is "behind the tree". I assumed that she wanted me to stand behind the tree. At the time, it made sense to me because I did look like a bag lady holding every one of her worldly possessions all at one time.
Once the ceremony was underway, I inched out from behind the tree. Perhaps, it did look much like I was playing hide and seek with an invisible "seeker", but I wanted to see, too! The preacher, bless his heart, looked like Billy Graham, but he literally sang the words of his message. "Farrriends anda neeighborrs, ona bbehafff of K-riss-topher anda Mall-o-ree...we well-come you here-ra tanighhht" There were gnats flying around my face, my armload was getting a bit heavy, I could smell chicken wings, and then it happened. I saw him, and he was beautiful. In order to really understand this term, I must explain my own personal description of men in general: (Do not laugh at me! All women everywhere know that there is a univeral code that used amoung us to describe men)
"aun-ah": a southern ..more like two small grunts strung together)that is a contraction for no-way. As my darling grandmother used to say, "That man aint ever gonna win a beauty prize."
"cute": this man is definitely not ugly, but he is probably not the kind of man who turns heads on the street. He may or may not have a fun personality, but if he does, it may, in fact, raise him up a knotch on the description guide.
"sexy": this is a term that can be used on a man who falls into any one of the categories. Physical attractive and sexiness are two different things. A man can be ugly, but still carry himself in a way, and interact with others in a way, that shows confidence...sexiness.
"hot": a man who is clearly handsome,so good-looking that he will turn heads on the street; however, in my experience, these guys often know they are good looking and a small amount of time with them sends a woman running for the hills.
"beautiful": this man has a bit of everything. He has one or more physical features that make him stand out in a crowd. He is sexy, AND he is alot of fun.
Now that everyone understands my terminology, I can forge on with my story.
We had to photograph the entire wedding party together and take pictures of the new husband and wife. I had found an outlet for the electric cord, but when i went to plug the stupid thing in the wall, I realized that it was not a three-pronged hole. I didn't think to count the holes in the outlet on my way back from the lodge! We were losing light...fast. Had to find three holes...had to find three holes fast.
Spring, who is always grace under pressure, found an outlet that would work. I could never do her job. I can take the pictures, I can see them in my head and envision how they should look, but i couldn't handle the pressure of 11 bridesmaids, 11 groomsmen, a husband and wife, and their two families. Oh dear god...I would be a nervous wreck.
After I had moved that stinkin' light and the 100 foot cord about 15 times, we finally settled in for the evening on the dance floor. Four kegs and eight cases of wine were flowing freely. Mr. Beautiful was already on the dance floor with a beer in-hand. He was dancing next to this really pretty blonde girl, who had been standing next to him during the ceremony. I figured that he was with her, but I could still watch him from the shadows, couldn't I?
At one point, I was up on the back porch, where I met my new friend, Viola. Viola was a waiter and she loved to dance. At the age of fifty-one, she showed me how to get down "low". If I remember correctly, I had finished my third glass of wine. All my friends out there who know me well, also know my personal mantra. Regardless of the type of alcohol, "Three is too many".
I was sitting in a chair on the side of the dance floor. Spring was beside me. We were watching all of these people have so much fun. Actually, we were just waiting until the bride and groom left, so that Spring could take pictures of that. I saw Mr. B walking toward me. He was alone. I motioned for him to come to me. He bent down beside me and I whispered into his ear, "you are beautiful". As I spoke to him, my hands just got a mind of their own. I truly didn't mean to slide my hand across his jaw line and down his neck, but i couldn't help myself. I mean, it was simply my humanitarian responsiblity to let the man know that he was beautiful. It didn't matter that he was there with somebody else.
Later, Spring told me that she dropped her face into her hands when she saw my hand on his face. She thought: oh, no, I just wanna take my pictures and go home, now I am gonna have to help my friend who is sure to get in a fight over this.
Surprise! No fights. He stood back up,held out his hand, and asked me to dance.Because Viola had taught me to get down low, I had no problems with this man. It was the kind of dancing that would have been much better suited in a different place and position...know what i'm sayin??
I learned that the pretty girl was his cousin and she had ridden with him to the wedding. I learned that he was 24, played football at Troy, lived on lake martin and had a job in Montgomery.
While we danced, I kept my composure and my hormones in check, even though the wine kept me from being able to stand completely upright. The only problem was my hands. I had no control. None. My right hand was in his and my left hand was on his shoulder blade, but soon, they began to wander...sort of like a blind man uses his sense of touch to see! At one point, I had my eyes closed, enjoying the music, and my imaginary "view". Mr. B said, "Don't go to sleep on me, now." Honey...he had no idea, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. I mean, I couldn't stand up straight, and he had to be really careful when he twirled me around and back again,(that really brought on the dizziness), but beside those tiny little barriers, I was good to go.
Then, it happened. I know you have been there. In your mind, you are cool, poised, and collected, but your physical body is saying and doing things that it really shouldn't be doing. You have somehow convinced yourself that you have everything it takes to handle any situation. I know you've been there...don't lie to me!
The music stopped and Mr B asked me to go to his truck with him to get a beer out of the cooler. At this point, I felt it best to have a conversation with myself. "Awwww shit! Whatcha gonna now big girl...been talking smack, been gettin ya freak on the dance floor...now whatcha gonna do?"
I think I said out loud the next thing that the little voice inside my head asked of me. "Are you gonna kiss me?"
He responded, "I hope so."
The conversation with myself continues: "You know this man has been drinking. You know that there are 101 places on this plantation to get busy if the need arises (no pun intended). You know that if you go to that truck, you will start something that you can not finish without regret. OK..you can't do it. You won't do it."
I looked at Mr. B and said:"You do realize that if I go to that truck with you that a kiss is all you'll get."
"whatever you say, ma'am." He too called me ma'am, but this time there was something sexy about it.
He took my hand and led me off the dance floor and into the dark night. He had his arm slung casually around my shoulder, and I held on to his waist. We hadn't even made it halfway to the truck. He stopped in the middle of the old dirt road, grabbed me up sort of like that sexy Frenchman in the movie Unfaithful, and he kissed me like he wanted me - to hell with all the people who were watching.
For several moments, I couldn't remember my name. I did well, though. I mentally counted to ten. When i got to ten, I pushed away from him. Seriously, I'd had too much wine, and that was the only way that I figured I could keep from ending up in the back of that pick up truck.
It worked beautifully. We continued to dance for the rest of the evening. I even got kisses periodically, although, I had to practice restraint while we were on the dance floor.
He put my number in his phone. He will probably be straining to remember how it got there very soon. However, for one short evening, he showed me a good time, and me feel like a college girl again. He kissed really good, too. I mean...one of the best ever.
Father Forgive Me...For I have Sinned
Have you ever done something so terrible, so completely despicable that you feel your only redemption is an exercism? That is how I have felt today. In fact, for the first time ever, I wish that I was Catholic.
Today, I would beat people down to get to the head of the line at the coffessional. I realize that this behavior is inappropriate, but I will ask forgiveness for all the necessary assaults on fellow Catholics immediately following the cardinal sin for which I must confess: Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
In order to completely understand the following explanation, it is best to view a previous blog entitled, "Wedding In Comer". I was so proud to have gotten the attention of a much younger man. However, life, as it tuns out, has an interesting way of snatching the pride right out of me.
Mr. B...the blue eyes and blonde hair get me every time. I do solemnly sware to seek out only dark-haired dark-eyed males from this day forward. He did send a text message last weekend. Do not let this communication surprise you; it is easily explicible. He had not yet regained his sobriety. I did not respond and I did not hear from him all week. Until....
Yesterday, I was getting a pedicure. Sitting in the wiggle chair, trying to relax. My phone rings. It's Spring. Whenever I get in trouble, she is always a part of the story, isn't she? When I answer the phone, there is no hello, no how are you...the first words are, "You are dead meat. I'm gonna kill you." I have heard her say those words to me so many times through the years, that it doesn't really have the desired affect anymore. I barely even react.
"What?"
"you were the topic of conversation at the meet-n-greet during church this morning."
I am still lost, but I am trying to hang on. Like me, Spring often speaks in jumbled, fragmented sentences and it is left to the listener to string the pieces of the puzzle together in order to find its meaning. I heard words like deacon... called me over to him...meet and greet...business partner...40 year old woman....
I completely honed in on the 40 year old woman. I don't think I heard much else after that. I couldn't believe someone thought I was 40 years old. (I hope that man is one of those folks standing in front me in line at the confessional this afternoon. I will beat him down and leave him off of my forgiveness list.)
After 100 questions, I finally put together the following story. Before reading it, consider this question. How would you feel knowing that folks who do not know you were talking about you at both a high school football game and a sunday church service?
Spring goes to the First Baptist Church. During the meet-n-greet, a deacon at her church called her over to chat. He said, "I heard about your business partner at the wedding last weekend."
"I don't have a business partner."
"I'm talking about that forty something woman with you at the wedding in Comer."
"That's Ginger. She is not my business partner; she is a friend who went with me to help out. She is 35!"
"Sounds like she had a good time."
"We all had a good time. What are you insinuating?"
"I heard from so-and-so at the ballgame friday night that she was getting busy with the quarter back from Lakeside High School, and even went behind the barn with him for a while."
Yes, friends. You did not read the previous sentence incorrectly. Take a minute....let that sink in.
"She did walk to his truck with him but they weren't gone but just a minute."
Bless Spring's heart....she is forever defending my honor and my actions. I love her.
I had Mr. B's phone number from the text that he sent last weekend. I sent a text: got an interesting phone call. It seems you lied to me about your age.
Do you know what the little book-bag toten' kid said?
"Just by a few years. What about the phone call? "
OMG....i felt like one of those sleezy, skaggy old men that dateline interviews on "To Catch A Predator". You know the ones I'm talking about. I can just hear all of ya. "how could you not know?"
Well, let me tell you. The kid is big and tall, and has a full beard. Besides, he lied. He even gave a birthday that equaled the age that he had given me. Even though I'd had a bit too much wine, I could still add! He had practiced that line before. I sware, I thought that he was in his late 20's. I had only two clues that he was younger than that, but they did not register at the time. First of all, he called me ma'am. At the time it was sexy...now it's sick. Plus, he was fascinated with job: a school teacher. Shit...little did I know that he was carrying his own bookbag less than six months ago!
That child is living proof that there is some kind of super-hormone injected into chicken fingers these days. He looked like a man....I promise. He did not act like a teenager. He did not look like a teenager. He did not kiss me like a teenager.
The surest sign that a woman is getting old....the inability to decipher a person's age within the range of at least one decade!!!
Forgive me Father for I have sinned....
Today, I would beat people down to get to the head of the line at the coffessional. I realize that this behavior is inappropriate, but I will ask forgiveness for all the necessary assaults on fellow Catholics immediately following the cardinal sin for which I must confess: Forgive me Father for I have sinned.
In order to completely understand the following explanation, it is best to view a previous blog entitled, "Wedding In Comer". I was so proud to have gotten the attention of a much younger man. However, life, as it tuns out, has an interesting way of snatching the pride right out of me.
Mr. B...the blue eyes and blonde hair get me every time. I do solemnly sware to seek out only dark-haired dark-eyed males from this day forward. He did send a text message last weekend. Do not let this communication surprise you; it is easily explicible. He had not yet regained his sobriety. I did not respond and I did not hear from him all week. Until....
Yesterday, I was getting a pedicure. Sitting in the wiggle chair, trying to relax. My phone rings. It's Spring. Whenever I get in trouble, she is always a part of the story, isn't she? When I answer the phone, there is no hello, no how are you...the first words are, "You are dead meat. I'm gonna kill you." I have heard her say those words to me so many times through the years, that it doesn't really have the desired affect anymore. I barely even react.
"What?"
"you were the topic of conversation at the meet-n-greet during church this morning."
I am still lost, but I am trying to hang on. Like me, Spring often speaks in jumbled, fragmented sentences and it is left to the listener to string the pieces of the puzzle together in order to find its meaning. I heard words like deacon... called me over to him...meet and greet...business partner...40 year old woman....
I completely honed in on the 40 year old woman. I don't think I heard much else after that. I couldn't believe someone thought I was 40 years old. (I hope that man is one of those folks standing in front me in line at the confessional this afternoon. I will beat him down and leave him off of my forgiveness list.)
After 100 questions, I finally put together the following story. Before reading it, consider this question. How would you feel knowing that folks who do not know you were talking about you at both a high school football game and a sunday church service?
Spring goes to the First Baptist Church. During the meet-n-greet, a deacon at her church called her over to chat. He said, "I heard about your business partner at the wedding last weekend."
"I don't have a business partner."
"I'm talking about that forty something woman with you at the wedding in Comer."
"That's Ginger. She is not my business partner; she is a friend who went with me to help out. She is 35!"
"Sounds like she had a good time."
"We all had a good time. What are you insinuating?"
"I heard from so-and-so at the ballgame friday night that she was getting busy with the quarter back from Lakeside High School, and even went behind the barn with him for a while."
Yes, friends. You did not read the previous sentence incorrectly. Take a minute....let that sink in.
"She did walk to his truck with him but they weren't gone but just a minute."
Bless Spring's heart....she is forever defending my honor and my actions. I love her.
I had Mr. B's phone number from the text that he sent last weekend. I sent a text: got an interesting phone call. It seems you lied to me about your age.
Do you know what the little book-bag toten' kid said?
"Just by a few years. What about the phone call? "
OMG....i felt like one of those sleezy, skaggy old men that dateline interviews on "To Catch A Predator". You know the ones I'm talking about. I can just hear all of ya. "how could you not know?"
Well, let me tell you. The kid is big and tall, and has a full beard. Besides, he lied. He even gave a birthday that equaled the age that he had given me. Even though I'd had a bit too much wine, I could still add! He had practiced that line before. I sware, I thought that he was in his late 20's. I had only two clues that he was younger than that, but they did not register at the time. First of all, he called me ma'am. At the time it was sexy...now it's sick. Plus, he was fascinated with job: a school teacher. Shit...little did I know that he was carrying his own bookbag less than six months ago!
That child is living proof that there is some kind of super-hormone injected into chicken fingers these days. He looked like a man....I promise. He did not act like a teenager. He did not look like a teenager. He did not kiss me like a teenager.
The surest sign that a woman is getting old....the inability to decipher a person's age within the range of at least one decade!!!
Forgive me Father for I have sinned....
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