Brace Yourself

~If you ever injected truth into politics, you would have no politics.~Will Rogers


Storyteller-n

sto-ry-tell-er

1.  One who tells or writes a story.

2.  Informal:  a liar.

When I was a little girl and tried telling a big ol' whopper to cover up some misdeed I was guilty as sin of, Mother would ask "Debra Lynn...are you telling me a story?".  Mother put up with a lot from us kids, but one thing she didn't hold to was lying. She didn't like being storied to and developed a fool proof method to deter my siblings and me.

She always kept a Bolo paddle board on top of the fridge...minus the ball of course.  If one of us tried storying to her and she caught wind of it, ('course...we always did and 'course...so did she. My mother could smell an out-and-out, bald-faced lie a mile away) one swift whack with that paddle was all it took to put us back on the straight and narrow.

 Let me tell y'all...that woman was a crack-shot...literally. She was never known to miss her target and to this day, I find it hard to even tell a little white lie without flinching...or clenching!

Which brings me to the subject at hand...the political conventions!

We got the Republican Party Convention going on in Florida and the Democratic Party's set for next week in North Carolina.  Not to make light of hurricanes, but the amount of hot air that's gonna get to swirling and blowing during this time could be just as dangerous.

(Absolutely no relevance to this rant post. Just an excuse for me to show Grayzilla...although this does kinda illustrate politicians and their talking, but not saying anything!) 

SQUIRREL ALERT!

I gotta tell y'all...I admit my ignorance. I don't quite understand the whole party/convention process...other than the balloons. I like balloons...'specially pink ones. 

There are delegates and then there are super-delegates.  The way I understand it...they are there to smile big for the cameras, make keynote speeches and form a party platform...complete with planks.  Now to my way of thinking, some of these folks need to be walking a plank, but I digress.  The main purpose for a convention is for these delegates...pledged and unpledged...to cast votes in the nomination process for president and vice-president.

Hmmm...she thinks scratching her head.

Not to be a party pooper y'all, but I gotta ask...doesn't this sound a bit like a fraternity to y'all?

AND...

I might be over simplifying this just a scosche...but hasn't that decision already been made?  What's the point?

I think I know.

They say convention...I say party time!

(Again...no relevance. Just a shameless excuse to use Graycie's photo whenever possible!)

Don't get me wrong...no one loves a good time better'n me. Heck...my middle name is Party.  Point is...don't flower it up. Call it what it is...an excuse to rock 'n roll and wear ridiculous clothes!  Fact is...I'd have a Tupperware Party Convention myself...if I could afford it.

Hey...maybe there's time to change it to the Cocktail Party!

I can see it now.  No wimpy vests for us.  We could all wear togas festooned...and I might add...held discreetly together by Deb The Celeb For Prez campaign buttons. Ooohh...and hats!  We gotta have hats. Imagine...red, white and blue Lady Liberty crowns complete with sequins, three foot tall, sparkly Uncle Sam hats and rakish, bedazzled straw bowlers with glow in the dark hatbands.  With all my artsy and crafty constituents...the possibilities are endless.  Feathers y'all...I'm seeing feathers!

(You know the drill by now. It's my party and I'll show what I want to!)

But my fellow Americans...the creme de la creme would be the party favors.  I would issue Bolo paddle boards...rubber balls still attached for an extra ka-thonk on the ol' ba-donkadonk...to all my attendees. Once armed in a playful mood, I'd load all y'all and a ragtime band up on a flat bed trailer, and we'd head on out to Tampa and Charlotte. We'd crash the RNC and DNC parties before they had time to know what hit 'em.  Imagine their faces!  We could all float down on balloons a la Mary Poppins amid glittering confetti and then...every time we heard some politician tellin' a story...

GIVE 'EM A RESOUNDING THWHACK!

It sure as shooting would beat the heck outta Whack-a-Mole. I promise you up and down...it would be a political party to end all political parties.  For souvenirs at party's end, we'd all take home guns to rival Rosie the Riveter's to prove it!

And the best part?

Who's to say we'd have to stop there? No more of He said/She said game playing. We could march...band blaring...our party right on up to Washington and start the new game of Whack-a-Congress...or as I would like to call it...If You Can't Join 'Em...Beat 'Em!

(Again...I do not make light of Hurricane Isaac and all who are or will be impacted. My prayers go to all those folks for God's keeping.  My prayers also go up for all Americans and our country in the coming elections.  I pray God will exercise His will over all our country's leaders and give them the whack they need to stop arguing just long enough to hear and listen to Him.)

Too Good To Be True?

I am a storyteller.

These were the words I woke up to this morning.

Storyteller (n)

sto-ry-tell-er

1.  a person who tells or writes stories.

2.  (informal) a liar.

Down here in Texas, the only thing we like better than chewing the fat is telling a story.  Much as I hate to own up to it... we also like nothing better than twistin' its tale just a tad to make it taller.

BUT...

some stories are impossible to improve on.

When I began blogging 4 years ago, I had no clue what an impact it would have on my life.  It never occurred to me doors would open and who would come strolling in to further enrich me.  I was only concerned with expanding my business name...not my circle of friends, but in all things...God knew better.  So many of y'all seeing my porch light on, came on in, found a seat, warmed my heart and became friends in the truest sense of the word.  Some for the moment when I needed lifting...some for more than just a season.

His very presence, the control He has over my life, the blessings He gives me daily...all of this I'm so thankful for.  His delight in knowing my heart's desires amazes me.  His timing is perfect.

I don't believe in coincidences.  Everything that happens...happens according to His plan...

PERIOD.

When I was kinda-sorta planning our junk-it this past week, I tried contacting one of the special people God had placed in my life 3 years ago.  She lives in the area we were going to be in and I wanted to see her...desperately!  I messaged her on FB, but never got a reply.  To say I was disappointed would be an understatement.

I was crushed, believing she didn't have time for me.  Law...the pity party I threw for myself was epic!  Y'all shoulda been there...I it was quite the sight!

I love this girl like she was my own.  I can't put it any simpler than that.  I love her spirit, her voice, her sweet pretty face and her heart.  Not getting to see her was breaking my heart, but I had to accept it wasn't going to happen...not this trip.

I had made reservations at one of those humongous casinos in the Lake Charles area for Thursday night.  We're not high rollers by any stretch of the imagination, but the rooms are reasonable, restaurants numerous, and if one behaves and doesn't go all crazy gambling...fun.

(Now before y'all start raising your eyebrows at me for admitting to being at a casino, let me say...I can hide things from y'all, but never from Him.  God knows everywhere I go.  Fact is...He was even there with my most precious anniversary gift.)

As we sat at a floor-side table having supper, I casually looked up to see a cute guy and girl walking along the edge of the huge casino floor...her with her head down.  As she glanced up, my jaw 'bout hit the floor.  There was my crazy little Cajun...my Jodie walking towards me, close enough for me to reach out and touch.  At first she didn't see me, but when when she did...Oh Mylanta.  There I sat...pointing and crying.  There she ran...laughing and asking (actually hollering) why I hadn't let her know we were coming down.

Seems she wasn't spending any time on FB or the computer and hadn't in quite a while.  She hadn't read my message...her sister had talked them into coming that night for dinner...and she had no idea I'd be there.

Y'all tell me.

What were the odds of Cat Daddy and I...350 miles from home...being at that cafe..at that particular gigantic casino...at just that right moment...

AND...

what were the chances of Jodie and Thad walking past us at that same cafe...out of all the cafes at that particular gigantic casino...at just that right moment?

Yeah...that's what I think too.

He knew my heart's desire and He gave it to me...even as I sat there drinking tea in the middle of a casino.  He truly is everywhere...always!

Moral to this story?

In the game of life and love...even the bookies don't bet against God.

I am a storyteller.

Now y'all get to decide which I am...

the first...or second...definition.

But remember...there are just some things in life too perfect that can't be made up...even if I tried

I cannot improve on His perfection.

Are Y'all Pickin' Up What I'm Layin' Down?

My, my, my, my, my!

Last week was crazy busy.
Bet y'all thought I got lost on the campaign trail and couldn't find my way home.

Monday, I hosted 5 mini-photo sessions right chear on the back forty of the Casita De Trash. Melissa of Foto Fabulous provided the camera and lens...Jenn of Give Me Props, the styling.  Betwixt their talent and the cutest kids ever, they made this ol' hill...including my raggedy canned ham...look fantastic!  It had to be a 110 in the shade, but you'd never know it to look at these kiddos.  Starting at 9am and ending at noon, they never lost their cool...or their smiles.  If anything...it just kept getting cooler and cooler watching them work it!

Wednesday found the First Cat Daddy and I hittin' the road for a...ahem...political junk-it of our own doing.  Seeing as how Friday was our gazillionth anniversary, we thought a little high-way for a get-a-way to a hide-a-way was in order and IF we happened on some treasures along the way...yippee for us!

Disclosure:  No campaign monies nor public funds were used to finance this trip. All hard earned cash came straight outta the Man's back pocket!

We just lit out, let the road take us where it would and landed right smack dab in Louisiana's Cajun country.

I love this part of our great country.  It's where boudin is sold in every little mom & pop grocery store/gas station...zydeco rocks...and roadside stands beckon with promises of sweet potatoes, shelled peas and butterbeans aplenty.  It's where the folks know how to "work hard...and play harder".  The land of shrimp Ay-2-FAY, hot sauce, rice fields waving hidy in the breeze...and a certain little someone who holds a special place in my heart.  (More on that later y'all...and it's a doozy!) 

If y'all are wonderin' if we had us a good ol' time or not?

W-e-l-l-l...

you can't hardly expect a lady to fess up...and still remain a lady...can ya?

Let's just say we "Laissez les bons temps rouler"...'kay?

Nuff said!

Rollin' along a farm to market road lined with fields of sugar cane, feeling the sense of Acadiana culture ooze from the bayous, that colorful Cajun accented language (that ought to be taught as a second language...it's so romantic soundin'!) makin' everything sound exotic...including us.  It all gave me a hankerin' to stay forever.  Ya know...just sell everything, pack up what's left, find me a shotgun house...and just.stay.put.

But y'all know me...and my dad-burn roots.  They go deep...pert near the center of the earth.

Plain and simple put...I love Louisiana...but I love my Texas more.

I love gas station tamales, Texas drawls, two steppin' to a little Ray Price, bluebonnets...and Cat Daddy.

Crawdaddys may run a close second, but folks...close only counts in horse-shoes.  Nothing can take the place of my Cat Daddy...not after all the time I've put in house-breakin' him. Besides...everybody knows...you can take the bull outta Texas, but you can't take the Texan outta the cowboy.  Cat Daddy is and always will be my cowboy in dusty boots and rusty armor.

When I'm perched in my poodle seat...I never worry about gettin' lost on any trail.  I always ask him at the end of one of our treks...Take me home, Country Road...and you know what?

He always does.

He's the designated driver as we criss-cross life's highway.

Me?

I'm the official map folder...

'cause sometimes the best remembered adventures don't always follow a map.

Sometimes the sweetest memories are best found by the seat of our britches...followin' the light in our eyes.

 

Stumping Grounds

Friends, Texans, countrywomen...lend me your earbobs.

I've been hankerin' for a change of scenery and I've heard tell Washington is pretty in the spring.  I also cotton to the idea of being surrounded by handsome men, dressed in black suits, with Oakley's only for me.  So-o-o...after careful deliberation...and more than a few dirty martinis...I'm throwing my cowboy hat into the political mud pit arena.

After studying and listening to this year's current crop of politicians, I feel I am just as qualified as any of 'em...maybe more.  Heck fire...I'm just as good...maybe gooder...than anybody running...even if I am a girl.

I first thought about Cat Daddy for President, but he's not straight enough.

(Ooops...wait...back up.)

By straight I don't mean to imply he's crookeder than a dog's hind leg...law no!  But when it comes to picking a side...he tends to sit a little wonky on the political fence...kinda like a Weeble-Wobble.  He leans to the left just enough to own a diesel truck, but then again, just enough to the right not to slap a Willie's Bio-Diesel sticker on its bumper.

Fact is, he's all kinda slumped in the middle from shovelin' too much bull corn in the pasture...from both sides of the fence.

He might be a potential VP, but that's puttin' the cart before the horse.  I'm gonna need to have him checked out before making any final decisions.  I sure don't want any of his family skeletons rattlin' outta the closet with mine. I'll be lookin' at other possible running mates...but only for run-along purposes.  Please...I'm known far and wide as a one-cat woman!

(Does make for a good promo photo though doesn't it?)

First thing I need to do is decide which party I'd like to represent.

Democrat...Republican...Independent?

BO--ring!

I hate that someone beat me to that Tea idea. Now there's a name women can identify with, but I think I've decided to start a new party all my own.

How does the Tupperware Party sound to y'all?

  I could be sold, but not bought at party rallies across the nation...making me an instant celebrity...and one red-hot ticket at fund raising dinners.

I'd be air tight, colorful, resealable in case I needed to retract any statements...and the best part?
I'd close every speech with a resounding burp.  That right there should get me every man's vote...even if I am a girl.

Looking over the requirements to be POTUS...I seem to have everything in order.

Good head of hair?
...check.

Big ol' toothy, cheesy, but sincere smile tinged with just the right touch of humility?
...check, check.

Talk a mile a minute in a down-homsey, friendly drawl without ever actually saying anything?
Y'all...I've been known to speak ten words a second with gusts up to fifty!

Over the age of 35?
...maybe
...could be
...sigh
...check.

Birth certificate?
Whoopsie!
Hmmm...Now where the heck did I put that?
Oh well...I'll just look for it later when I'm diggin' around for my past IRS returns.  After all...it's not like anybody's gonna ask to see those any time soon...right?

Now that I got my personal fact sheet all rarin' to go...I reckon the next thing on my personal agenda is making up preparing some campaign promises. A girl can't be expected to sell herself out of an empty wagon...or can she?

Over the next few months, I'll be taking a look-see at some of the issues on the minds of the average American.  There's far too many things keeping Americans up at night to address in a single post, so I'll just tackle one or two as the weeks go by...such as rising medical costs.

My immediate thought?

Don't...get...sick.

I'm kidding...kidding.  I just thought I'd add a little political humor.  You know the old saying...a gaffe a day keeps the doctor away.
I really do have a plan of action and I'll be sharing it in the days to come...pinkie swear.

I'll also be addressing the need for a balanced budget.

Folks...I'm here to tell y'all...I may not be a Rhodes Scholar or have a gazillion degrees from Harvard, but what I've learned in the School of Hard Knocks more than qualifies me to spout off share my learnings.

I've managed to balance the budget here at the Casita de Trash for nigh on 40 years.  I've raised two kids, only had the water turned off once, and can get four meals out of one pound of hamburger...all on a hole digger's salary.  Don't believe me?  I've got the short pencil to prove it.

My way of balancing the budget would be a 4 point plan.

1.  Don't rob Peter to pay Paul.

2.  Never borrow what you can't pay back.

3.  Never lend money you don't have.

And finally...

4.  When painted into a corner and money is dearly needed...hold what could be the world's classiest garage/estate sale...ever!

Y'all...can you even begin to imagine what's collecting dust in the attic and basement of the White House...not to mention the Smithsonian?

Oh.my.lanta!

The "Mamie Pink" furniture alone would probably be enough to cover a year's worth of water bills!

Think people think!

All American made products...except for maybe some "gifts" from overseas.

It could be held on the North Lawn with an admission charge...even more ka-ching!  So what if a little history goes buh-bye in the process.  Shoot...we've already sold off some of America's prime real estate to foreign investors, so what's the diff. Besides...I hear tell politicians are just as apt to forget the history our founding fathers created to better serve the lobbyists country's needs.  Now mind you...don't you go quoting me.  That's just what I've heard tell.   

I've got a lot more talking to do, but the faux-tographers are clamoring for a photo-op as I speak.

In closing, there's four thoughts I'd like to leave you with.

1.  Ask yourself...would this face burp lie to you?

2.  Remember...this is all done for fun...not as an open forum for snarky comments.  I have the power of veto and I'm not afraid to use it.

3.  All opinions are strictly tongue-in-cheek...or maybe tongue sticking straight out.  Either way...if I've offended anyone...don't take it personal.  The biggest joke 'round these parts is me.

4.  I'm needing a catchy campaign slogan.
Whatcha think?

Vote For Our Next Prez:
DEB THE CELEB...THANKS TO THE WEB!

Too Hollywood you reckon?



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