"A" Game

You can live anywhere in the world…you can travel to destinations unknown…but…once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader. It can’t be helped…optimism manifests itself at a cellular level.  Pom Poms can be rotting, megaphone crushed, uniforms eaten by moths…but the eternal need to not let the spirit stick touch the ground…remains.

Playing the cheerleader card has an expiration date.  “RAH, RAH, RAH…ALWAYS WEAR A BRA!” Usually…it’s somewhere in the early 30’s…when you still look great…but you have deterrents to the fantasy.  Children.  A Husband.  Stretch Marks. Being way past the cheerleader prime…Miss Cherry sits back and watches the youngsters drop that fantasy bomb on male management all over the corporate world.  It’s the ex-college cheerleader meets Fortune 500 male executive syndrome…and it works.

“Why, when I was a cheerleader back at Fantasy U, I wore this skirt.  I measured it…it is only 12 inches long, and 12 inches wide.  Can you believe that?  Look at it…”

(Executive Male…staring at scrap of material with zipper…shocked silence and glazed over look)

“I used to have to shop in the little girls department for my clothes.  Well, that is…until I got my breasts done.  I’m thinking about getting them bigger.  What do you think? Do you think they need to be bigger? Do you think I would look silly with bigger breasts?”

(Continued shock and glaze, coupled with blood pressure climbing…silent and sweating)

“Now, where were we…Oh, that’s right…do you think you could get me a contract with your company, so I can do business with you? “

No hesitation…“Yes.”

And that is how it is done. It’s like the NFL draft, but for corporate cheerleaders.  Corporations all over the U.S.  see a tiny blonde/brunette/redhead, a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, sexy ex-college cheerleader walk through the door and it’s an immediate hire. At least…it is in the world of corporate sales.  Miss Cherry doesn’t have a problem with it…it’s the way things roll in the world.  But, she will be the first responsible middle-aged ex-cheerleader to sit one of the girlies down and say…

“Listen, sweetheart.  I get cha’.  But, I want you to think past the point that every hot blooded Male in America is fascinated with your looks and Pom Poms.  Think on down the road.  First…you are a smart little cookie.  So smart, actually, that I am going to give you a little piece of advice that I’m hoping you will give serious consideration…

Looks can only take you so far. Talent can only take you so far. Smarts can only take you so far. But, if you combine them together…the world is your oyster. Don’t be one of those girls who get by on a cheerleading skirt and her amazing looks. Be the one in a million that doesn’t. You are better than the stereotype. You are better than the fantasy of corporate America….use your power for good…and not evil.

Now, I’ll be over here. If you want some mentoring, some guidance, some training to take yourself to the next level…just let me know.”

It’s called…the “A” Game.  The time in your life that you realize that you have reached the pinnacle of where you can't get by - by just waking up each morning…and you shoot it up to the next level.  We all know when we are doing it…giving less than an “A”…and we know what it will take.

Miss Cherry had been working at less than an “A” for several years. And, because of this, had brought less than an “A” to herself, her children, her career, her God, and her community.

“RAH, RAH, REE…CELLULITE IS NOT MEANT TO BE!!!!”  There is definitely something in the water.  Or more specifically, everyone drinks the Kool-Aid… a big pitcher of iced, cold Kool-Aid, leaving a funky purple moustache above your lip that says…”Yeah, I did it.  I wore short skirts that barely covered my hoo-hahh.  I was praised for yelling, jumping, being all bouncy. I’d like to say that it was some goofy shitake…but… really…it was a total and complete blast.”  Miss Cherry had “spirit”. But, as Miss Cherry found herself stepping into the middle aged zone, wrapped in an existentialist mental superhero cloak, after a long period of what could only be deemed…a time of tempering…her proving ground… the reality of the situation hit her straight on.  Her essence had suffered and she wasn’t quite sure if she still had “spirit”.  Now, for a “has been”  cheerleader, this is akin to a singer losing their voice…an artist losing their sight…a couch potato losing the remote…ummmm…you…losing something that you consider to be the core of your personality…your essence. 

Sunny, Cherry’s hippie-chick/granola friend, believed that Cherry needed yoga and a twenty-one day cleanse…to clean out all toxins and “bad energy”.  She was probably right…but Cherry knew that it went deeper than toxins and bad energy. It had translated into the quality of her life. Bottom line…Cherry wasn’t on her “A” game.

Everyone has an “A” game… you are getting there, already there, nowhere close, or sustaining.  Cherry can tell you the exact periods in her life when she was living life well within her “A” game.  She can tell you when she slipped down to a high “B”.  Then, there were the periods of pulling a strong “C-“.  It’s one of those things that you just know. You know exactly what energy, intelligence, strength, weakness, integrity, and character…essence… you are bringing to your life.  Miss Cherry knew her “A” game…and she was working like Hell to get it back. 

Where did Miss Cherry get her ideas about being on her “A” game? Why, of course, her Daddy. It started when Cherry went to her Daddy and talked him about her husband treating her like he was doing her a big favor just by being married to her.

“Cherry, you aren’t on your “A” game. If you were on your “A” game, you would have never even looked at him, much less…married him. He isn’t good enough to even bend down and kiss your pedicure. You are a beautiful woman, who let this situation depress you. Do you know what you need to do?”

“No.”

“Sweetheart, I want you to start running. Get out there and run. When you run, you are thin, strong and full of confidence. When you get on your “A” game, you are going to set some new policy. Get on your “A” game, and then decide what you want to do. There isn’t one man alive that can treat you less than the best, when you are on your game. Turn this around. It’s all in your power.”

“When I run, I feel like a million bucks.”

“Then, run, Sweetheart. Cherry, let’s talk about your friends. You have accumulated some friends that I think are not of your caliber. Clear them out. You are on a different level. Don’t let anyone pull you down. You are above it.”

“Got it.”

“Your Mother and I don’t really worry about you, Cherry. You are very strong and always land on your feet. We just want our daughter back. So, how is your treadmill? Do you need a treadmill?”

…and that was the conversation that reset Cherry’s mental and physical button. Make no mistake; it’s hard getting to your “A” game. But, once you get there…it’s important that you maintain the highest standards for yourself. Keep the “spirit”.

Did you hear what happened to the cheerleaders that dropped the spirit stick? Their hair all fell out, their periods lasted forever, their team lost every game, they got zits, and cellulite started covering them from their ears down to their toes.  No kidding. It’s Cheerleading Camp Urban Legend. Really.

Don’t drop your stick!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

(go vikings....!)

Bitch Moves

Miss Cherry has found that there are certain types of women who love subtle destruction in the game of love. To these women, it’s like the board game…War. Goal…total “world” domination. Since Miss Cherry is currently on a dating hiatus, it affords her the luxury of true observation of the mating habits of the species. I mean, if you aren’t all fuzzy brained and actively involved in the day by day love of another, it gives you a load of time to watch the comings and goings of people in love, lust, desperation and boredom.

“What in the Hell is this? Are you okay?”

“What do you mean? Sure, I’m okay.”

“No, you most certainly are not. You look like the Unabomber or a Duck Dynasty reject.”

“Well, I just finished work.”

“No, it’s more than that. Does your girlfriend tell you that this looks good?”

“She likes me this way.”

“No, she doesn’t. She is filling you with a load of bullshit. This is what we women call…a bitch move. She doesn’t want other women to look at you, so she is making you look like a Mad Mountain Man Sack of Shit. You are too good looking to let yourself go. Get a haircut, and shave that crap off of your face – or at least take it to a #1 blade – just, clean it up.”

Bitch Move #1 – Make your man unattractive to the opposite sex by manipulating him into looking his worst. Fatten him up…make him look like he just escaped from a psycho ward. Hide his looks and personality. Why? Because you are insecure that he will find another woman attractive- and if she finds him attractive – then, your man will leave you. Bitch should be shot

Friend Move against Bitch Move #1 – Remind your friend that he should always bring his best to the table of life. Yell at him until he gets it all back together. Follow up on the personal renovation…and give sincere encouragement and praise. Why?

A woman wants her man to bring his best, and be his best. We don’t seek to hide his light, or diminish it to the world. Miss Cherry wants her man to shine. A woman, who is so insecure that she would diminish her man, is not a woman worth having. When you see a friend being manipulated by a bitch move…bitch block it. Bitch be gone.

Miss Cherry went with her friends to watch a band play. One of Miss Cherry’s friends had a very nice relationship going with the lead guitarist. There you go. As musicians have a “following”, this means that there were groups of women– and when you get a group of single, middle-aged women in bedazzled jeans, spandex and animal prints together in one room –couple it with Cranberry, Vodka and Soda -  bitch moves are bound to happen.

As the lead guitarist watched my beautiful friend sway to the music, one of his “followers” moved herself around the table and directly into his line of vision – basically, blocking my friend. She then sat there and made comments, and smirked to her friends. When my friend went out on the dance floor, this “lady” brought out her “posse” who then surrounded my friend and sought to drive her off the floor by exclusion and snickering.

Bitch Move #2 – Draw all attention to yourself, block out all other women and control your man. Guys, this isn’t a compliment. This isn’t an indicator of how much this woman loves you. What this means is this…you are going to be smothered, controlled and gelded. After all, your big boy pants haven’t arrived, and you need this woman to tell you how to act, at what you can look and then…bottom line, what you want. You, unfortunately, don’t get a choice.

Friend Move against Bitch Move #2 – My friend didn’t need a friend move. She had it under control. She naturally exuded class and elegance, rising above the group of washed up, redneck Cougars. Matter of fact, she acted like she didn’t even know it was happening. Kudos to my friend. And to the other “ladies”…Bitches be gone.

Now…this one is advanced. It requires that you understand that women understand how a man’s brain is hard wired for physical attraction. What turns a man on?  Big news flash…we know that men are extremely visual. We know that men are extremely sexual. We know that those two extremes fire off and connect to make a man sometimes do things that get him in a lot of trouble later. A lot of pleasure, coupled with big, big trouble…if with the wrong woman.

There are women who understand that the man that they are pursuing has an “object of his affection”…and it isn’t her…or at least, not on the familiar, tried and true affection level.  Don’t get me wrong…this woman is going to get all of the attention she will ever want later when she takes this man to bed…but in the meantime…between she and the bedroom stands her “object of affection’s” – “object of affection.”   Point is…the woman is threatened by the obvious friendship between her man and this other person.  Jealousy ain’t pretty. Chunking fits ain’t pretty. So…

Bitch Move #3 – Make a mans head explode with a visual comparison between you and his object of affection. The woman pulling the Bitch Move believes herself to be more attractive or appealing than the OOA, and this is a classic attempt to force the man to visually choose. Spark a visual comparison, and chase it with sex. Kind of like a Jaeger Bomb to a man’s brain. This is accomplished by dancing sexual with the woman you are attempting to dethrone. When you couple the Jaeger Bomb with the visual of two women together…he’s toast.

Friend Move against Bitch Move #3 – Don’t play. This isn’t a competition…especially, if you refuse to compete. Don’t let another woman manipulate you to manipulate the man they obviously don’t quite have yet. If you catch yourself in the middle of this bitch move, the best way to pull yourself out…is to pull her “object of affection” out on the dance floor…and deposit him right in front of her. Then, exit stage left. Women don’t let other women use them for bitch moves. Bitch be gone.

There are so many bitch moves out there to discuss. So rather than discuss them all, let’s just take it to the bottom line.  A bitch move is an action which a woman knowingly completes to manipulate a man.  Manipulate his emotions; senses…manipulate his love, affection. Use the people in his life…friends, family, children…to get what they want. A bitch move is when someone is lying about their intent, and perpetuating that lie in support of an agenda. Bitch moves are subterfuge. They take the nature of the other person, and use it as a weapon against them, effectively wounding the other person right in the heart of trust.

You would think that women would learn that bitch moves don’t last. Eventually, sooner rather than later, a manipulated man will rise up to move on. Unfortunately, the women that follow the Bitch Mover will take the brunt force of what she has done.

“Women are conniving bitches.”

“Women can’t be trusted.”

“Women manipulate men through sex.”

“All women are… (fill in the blank)…and lie to men.”

These aren’t the words of one man. These are the words of many, many men. So many, that frankly…as a woman…it embarrasses me that women act this way. These statements are the direct result of a person being the recipient of bitch moves. To the recipient, this is now their truth. For a woman who doesn't utilize bitch moves, we know that these women hurt us all. The statements above aren't true about all to all...but they are true for some about some.

For women, like Miss Cherry, who don’t believe bitch moves show integrity in the art of love, friendship, life…there is hope. Hope, only if you don’t lose your spark by taking all of this personally. It isn’t about you. It’s about what a person has been through and how it made them feel. Understanding and boundaries. And by all means, don’t let someone project the actions and damage of another onto you. Transference sucks. Know how you are hard wired. Then, stand your ground. Truly loving someone always wins out over bitch move damage. Love prevails. Relationships take on many sizes, shapes and colors...let it be.

Good friends don’t let good friends get manipulated. A good woman doesn’t wield bitch moves. Period. A good man understands that all actions are individual, and not part of the collective. Eyes wide open, mouth shut. Bitch be gone.

What’s the cost?  Manipulation is psychological abuse. It will cost years to eradicate. One of the most important things to remember, for a recipient of bitch moves is this…just as all women aren’t bitches and manipulative…all men aren’t assholes. Matter of fact, the actual bitch movers and assholes out there are few and far between. They just seem to stand out – because their actions and manipulations are so emotionally violent. But really, they are just not that important in the big scheme of things. After all, we live in a big, wonderful world. For every person who acts badly, there are healthy hundreds just waiting to give and receive some sincere love, affection, loyalty and devotion.

One bad apple don't spoil the whole bunch, boy. Good love is on the way.

I told y’all that Miss Cherry was going to be taking on some of the hard issues. Bitch moves, and manipulation…doozies. Glad it’s been covered, as it’s been on my mind for years and years, going way, way back.  There is another story in there...and its another doozy. Though, more appropriate for “Stiletto in the Eye”...so y'all will just have to wait. J

 Aren’t you glad Miss Cherry has a laptop, internet connection, and showers you with her words?

Oh, no, no…by all means...you’re so very welcome.

Love,

Miss Cherry

Love and The Zombie Apocalypse

Miss Cherry was giving her imaginary “acceptance” speech to a group of imaginary women and men, for the honor of being… simply…all she was supposed to be and more. What prompted this: the excitement of watching several friends receive awards for taking their dreams all of the way, believing in themselves, and fearless living.

“I want to thank you all for believing in me, and supporting my dreams. As I look around, I stand in awe of the intelligence, talent, drive and accomplishment that fills this room. To be “honored” by you humbles me. Matter of fact, when the Zombie Apocalypse hits, I can honestly say…I would consider it an honor to share a tree shelter, or cave with you…some kind of defendable perimeter…as I believe that each and every one of you would be quite stimulating for an extended period of time. With that said…raise your hand if you have strong survival and medical skills, watch Duck Dynasty, and hold an arsenal of firearms that would prompt an ATF alert. If you raised your hand…please pass your email forward, as we have some further qualifications to discuss.  Now…thank you again for honoring me…I am a fortunate woman.  Y’all have a nice evening.”

The imaginary applause was deafening. Miss Cherry felt like Sally Fields.  It was an imaginary defining moment, so much so, that it filled her mind with the burning question…”Who, in her life, was Zombie Apocalypse worthy?”

On the subject of friends…a good friend is a good friend until the end of time. Cherry would throw herself in front of a Zombie hoard rather than let anyone bite or eat her good friends. Now, those friends who are fair weather, wishy washy, disloyal or selfish…they just might be on their own.  That decision would have to be an instinctual, in the moment judgment call. I mean, what’s the point of losing an arm and risking infection for someone whom you would save but they would push you out in the hoard saying…”Here take her.  As friends go, she’s a spare. Look at her…I bet she’s yummy, yummy slathered in Stubbs BBQ sauce.”

On the subject of family…Cherry would love and protect her family…the whole lot of them. They were blood; they were all hers from birth. Matter of fact, they would make the cave fun. And, since most of them were raised just exactly like her…they would be a great Zombie A team.  I mean…no chance of being voted off the island by family. A lot of time and love invested here.

On the subject of love…Miss Cherry had to think hard on that one. In her mind, she pictured herself as Elaine Bennis on Seinfield…saying…”Are you Zombie A worthy?” Elaine had understood the importance of not squandering her preferred birth control sponge after discontinuation…Cherry understood the importance of who loves you. In her imaginary scenario…she was sitting on a turquoise tufted couch, looking at the line of men who were coming to apply for love, care, and attention during the Zombie A. It was a bunch of good looking riff raff. Just as she looked up from her clipboard, there it was…a Zombie in line, edging up for the bite.

“Hey you! Yah, you there with the open sores and bad complexion. Don’t think I don’t know you’re a Zombie. Don’t you realize that being a Zombie is the fastest growing communicable disease amongst my age group? Bye!” And, Cherry’s foot pushes the button that trips the imaginary trap door and he falls straight into a pit of girl Zombies. Right where he should be.

“Hey you! Yah, you! Didn’t I divorce you?” Hell, no. “Down you go…” Imaginary smile.

“Hey you! Yah…well…you’re kinda cute.  Can you build a fire, hunt and secure the perimeter? Yes…then, let’s continue. Can you shoot Zombies? Yes. Okay.  How about hand to hand combat with a Zombie, would you win? Good. Now – very important…bottom line…do you think that sex is important and amazing…and does “it” work? (Silence, and wait for the answer) I mean, if “it’s” a problem, we might want to address that BEFORE we are locked up for months on end. Just a little preplanning as I don’t want to experience sexual frustration during a time of heightened sensibilities. As all of that goes, if it’s my time, I’d definitely want to go out with a bang.  Know what I mean? Yes, it works? Great!  You just sit here on the couch because, as it stands, you just might make it to Zombie Apocalypse love. Please step to the side for further interview.  Next!”

I know that this sounds like a lot of trouble to go through for something that is only happening on the SyFy, History and Discovery Channels…might seem a little like over kill. All of this imaginary thinking could get Miss Cherry in loads of trouble. But...

Can you imagine what it would be like entering the Zombie Apocalypse with someone “yellow”…someone who would scream and leave you behind…yelling…”Sweetie, I sure did love you. You were a good woman, and a damn fine cook.  Sorry that I took all the ammo but I have to survive to head up the New World Order. It’s my chance to get ahead. My advice…either lay there and take it…or…RUN, Cherry, RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

So, as these imaginary thoughts played in Miss Cherry’s head all she could think was this…”Why wait for the inevitable Zombie A, why not now?”

Miss Cherry knew that a love that was Zombie Apocalypse worthy was a love worth having. I mean…if you wouldn’t want to survive a Zombie Apocalypse with someone, then why would you even be with them? Honestly.

She's Come Undone

She's come undone…She didn't know what she was headed for,
And when I found what she was headed for…It was too late

She's come undone…She found a mountain that was far too high
And when she found out she couldn't fly…It was too late

It's too late…She's gone too far…She's lost the sun
She's come undone

She wanted truth but all she got was lies…came the time to realize…and it was too late

Too many mountains and not enough stairs to climb,
Too many churches and not enough truth,
Too many people and not enough eyes to see,
Too many lives to lead and not enough time

It was too late.

Cherry BoBerry had been doing some thinking lately about a whole lotta nothing and a little bit of everything in-between.  In the midst of all of this thinking, one word kept floating through her brain:  chaos. It seemed that every time Cherry turned around twice, chaos was abounding and surrounding. 

In fact, there wasn’t a day that went by that someone didn’t stop Cherry and say…”Cherry, you’re not going to believe it.  My world has/might blow up…my marriage/relationship is stalled/on the rocks/over.  I’m going to lose everything/a little/a lot…and I’m freaked out/happy/suicidal.”  Most of the time, it ended in tears and a latte. Sometimes with glasses of wine and the mind numbing recounting of copious  details that could have/should have/would have made a difference in the series of events that led to the nuclear explosion that could only be deemed…in all actuality…as…a mid-life crisis. 

Don’t get Miss Cherry wrong…she isn’t just talking about the kind of crisis brought on by too many expectations and not enough realizations.  A mid-life crisis is all encompassing and non- exclusive.  Matter of fact, it takes on so many shapes and sizes…that it can be hard to spot.  The days of the sports car with the tune…”I gotta be meeeee, I gotta be meeeee, what else can I be but what I am!” blaring on the stereo…are gone.   In their place…just about anything that could possibly represent the capitulation of a seemingly mature adult into the psychedelic swirl of the unknown.

Cherry used to be shocked.  “I am so sorry this has happened to you.  I can’t believe that your husband cheated on you and is having a baby with his girlfriend…the nanny to your 5 kids.  Good nannies are impossible to find...asshole. “

– Or – “What?!!!?  He sold your Grandmother’s jewelry…(blah, blah)…excuse me…your deceased Grandmother’s jewelry …to pay off a bookie…and you found out that there is a gazillion dollar lien on your home…and he took your dog…Lucky…to the pound for barking at his low hanging gut…and on the way to the pound he got a DUI…and then was arrested for public urination outside of a Red Box …and he got a tattoo of on the top of his bald head that said…”solar love panel – rub here”. Oh…my… goodness. What an asshole.”

-Or- “What?!!!? Your wife hit you over the head with a lamp, stabbed you with her car keys, took your dog and left you a note…ran off with her high school sweetheart she hooked up with on Facebook…shacked up with the yard guy and now she has all of your lawn equipment and tools.  Bitch.  Oh…and, she said that because of her hatred for you and disappointment with the yard guy’s hedging… she is now going to live the rest of her days as a lesbian…with the nanny of your 5 kids?  Yes, I know…good nannies are hard to find.”

“Yes, I’ll help you write your online dating profile. NO, don’t list bowling and camping as your favorite activities. NO, don’t take a picture in the mirror with your shirt off.  My God, take that picture down.  Which one?  The one that you are giving what I can only guess to be your rendition of…”Hey Ladies! Come get some of this”…creepy intense mad look.  NO, NO, NO!” 

Everywhere…middle-aged adults were acting badly.  It was a little more than Cherry could handle on a daily basis.  There was one thing that Cherry longed for, and had yet to achieve: a stabilized world…a lack of total chaos.  What happened to the “happily ever after?”

Now…not everyone that Cherry knew was having a destructive mid-life crisis.  When Cherry heard or witnessed happy and healthy…she felt joy and relief.  It was refreshing to know that not everyone was heading down the toilet drain with all of the other rubbish.  Cherry’s friend Sophia is one of those happily married women; married to a happily married man…they actually like each other…and were still   crazy in love.  Sophia decided that she loved her husband, and the life she had built - too much - to let it come undone.  So, she took the bull by the horns, and made some unilateral decisions.  “Honey, we aren’t going to sit on the couch and watch TV.  We are going to go out into the world and do things…together.”  And, that is exactly what they have done.  Cherry loves Sophia’s happiness…it is so refreshing.

Sophia was a true anomaly.  More often than not, it was the exact opposite.  It was total and complete chaos. Cherry thought about her friend…Sushi.  One day Sushi woke up and said…”Something isn’t lining up for me.  I want more of something…and I’m going to go find it.  I’m soooo out of here.”  Sushi became a sexy man magnet and hit the single life with gusto.  Her husband remarried immediately, and he and his new wife torture her to no end.  They don’t fight fair.  They involve children in their games. She came undone because she loves her kids, and has an Ex that holds them over her head.   Soon the Ex won’t be able to hurt Sushi with her kids…and Sushi will put it all back together.

Cherry thought about her friend…Carmella.  One day Carmella woke up and decided…”You know what…I don’t want my husband to knock me around anymore when he has been drinking, and then put me between the mattress and box springs and try to suffocate me.  I sure am sick of him breaking my bones, bruising my body, and kicking me in the ribs. I do believe its past time to go.”  Cherry agreed. It was time for Carmella to come undone.  It was either that or Cherry was going to have to make a trip down to see her friend, wait until Mr. Fist passed out, hog tie him, and 2x4 him across the face.  It was the least she could do for a childhood friend who was getting the shit beaten out of her.  Remember, this is Texas talking.  We don’t abide Mr. Fist. Carmella needed to put it all back together before the Russian roulette of abuse took away her choice.

Cherry thought about her friend…Petunia.  One day Petunia woke up and thought…”No spring flower here. My husband had an affair on me…and I think I just might be replaced.  So, I’m going to have my own affair with a young guy who rings my bell good…I’ll raise him up right…and he’ll take care of me forever.  After all, there is medication for his problem, and I can always call 911.  I’m going to blow up my world, and complain about it every day of my life.  I am afraid to be alone.  Anything is better than being alone.”  Cherry didn’t agree.  She had reached her limit on watching her friend go from the frying pan straight into the fire…and then try to pull everyone in with her. Cherry and Petunia’s friendship burned up…and died. Cherry seriously doubted that Petunia would get it all back together during her lifetime.

To come undone is no easy task.  You have to work real hard at it.  It can take years of stress, and unhappiness…abuse…living in a pressure cooker until you’re “done”.  It’s never just one particular thing…it’s a series of things over the years…building and building…until…BOOM!   

Cherry has come undone…twice.  Once when her first husband announced that he didn’t love her anymore, that he loved a married woman, and was moving to his Mother’s condo…while Cherry was on a business trip to Kansas City…on a payphone…in her client’s lobby phone bank.  Just like that…instant meltdown.  It took one stranger, one cab driver, a priest, one ticket agent, one gate agent, a flight attendant, and a 9 month old baby to calm her down.  They took care of her until she could get where she needed to be…home.  Her life had unexpectedly, irrevocably come undone and it took her years to get it all back together again…for herself…and for her two little kids.

The second time Cherry came undone was midway through her second marriage.  All it took was a picture.  A sad picture of a woman who was miserable, physically sick, and soulfully dying. Cherry looked at that picture and said…”Look at my eyes…the windows to my soul.  I am dying…a mere shadow of myself.  I’m fading fast.  Look at me…I am dropping my basket.  Everything as I know it to be is gone.  I have a feeling that it is time to come undone.”  

So, in true Cherry fashion, she decided to come undone in a big way…you know…part of the “go big or go home” philosophy.  It works for hair, it works for Boobies…it can also work for life.  Unlike before… Cherry chose her battle…she chose to come undone, to unravel the fabric of her life, so that she could weave it back again with strength, health, and heart and soul.  She took that “basket” and threw it as hard and far as she could see.  After all, if you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.

Honestly, there are times when things need to come undone.  Staying put can be a threat to life, limb, and your “basket”.   In the South, we all know about people who “drop their basket”.  It is a polite Southern way of saying…that woman has come undone…that woman is losing it…that woman’s world has exploded. The truth about “coming undone” or “dropping your basket” is this…you can look at it as an opportunity for growth and change…or let it pull you under the water…and rob you of your life. 

For as much as you feel like the world is in chaos, there are constants that hold your nose above the water line.  Cherry had her children, and she had entire family…parents, grandmother, aunts, uncles, cousins.  Cherry had her brain…and although there was a period of brain mush…once she pulled through the worst of it…her mind started spinning at rates she had never experienced.  Cherry’s creative self…long hidden…burst free. As baskets go…Cherry sure did like her new one.  It was filled with all of the golden from her life that survived the drop, and garnished with a new found sense of purpose.

It wasn’t too late.

Boobies, Big Hair and Bling...Welcome to the Texas Trifecta

Texas girls like to have options and they sure as Hell don’t anyone telling them what those options might be. In this case, Cherry liked having the option of showing a little bit of cleavage every now and again, as she considered it her God given right.  It went with her thick mane of big, Texas hair.  Boobies and Big Hair…a true matching set.  It wasn’t for show or to gain attention from the world…it was just for her. She liked what she had going on in that department.  Cherry was all jiggly, and bouncy.  Her friends showed cleavage too.  It had become …”not just for our 20’s anymore”…and the middle aged set was flying their “sets” loud and proud.  After all, for those not surgically engineered, as in the case of our natural Miss Cherry, there was only a limited amount of time before they started their slow, casual descent down.  And just like Cherry’s friend Lola had said at the end of her doggy’s long life…”We had a good run and now it’s over.”  Cherry wanted her “good run” with her Boobies.  She wanted to have fun with it all before they fell into natural oblivion…certainly before she entered that stage in her life where no one wanted to see them, not even an occasional dirty, old man.

Now…Cherry’s bodacious Ta Ta’s were a natural phenomenon, bestowed upon her at the tender age of 12, causing quite a stir in the 6th grade open classroom at her upper middle class, conservative Elementary School.  Big Boobies were frowned upon in the 1970’s Bible belt, and when they started growing…there was nothing to be done but grit your teeth and wait.  It’s the genetic luck of the draw.  You look at your Momma and your Grandma and say…”So that’s what I have to look forward too.”  In Cherry’s case…her Mom was little and her Grandma was very, very large.  At slumber parties all of the girls would check out the progressive growth of their friends…who was wearing a training bra…who had graduated to a true cup size. Cherry had no idea what was coming in the Boobie department when they started to grow, and after having her training bra stuck in the freezer a couple of times at Elementary slumber parties, she decided that when the time came…she’d learn to keep her cup size a mystery…and never take it off for examination…or to be placed next to the Popsicles.

The thing about big Boobies are that even though you do nothing to get them, they change your life at an early age…and they expand your horizons if you implant them later.  Cherry started growing hers over the free and easy summer before 5th grade and it took her all the way through to the until the summer before 7th.  So much so that she was permanently expelled from “The Itty Bitty Titty Committee” when her cheerleading jumps took on a whole new dimension.  Everything was bouncing.  Fluffy hair and boobies flying everywhere.  And it was never more evident that her life and social status had changed until that infamous day that her parents got the call.  Cherry’s Boobies had become notorious.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cherry’s Parents…this is Principle So and So.  I need to talk to you about your daughter Cherry.”

Mr. and Mrs. Cherry’s Parents were very strict when it came to their daughter.  She was expected to be a little lady at all times by her Momma, and able to compete with the boys athletically by her Daddy.  Just as it was important to have manners, and walk with a book on top of her head…she was expected to stand toe-to-toe with the boys, and punch them in the nose if needed.  Her parents were strict as to her grades and behavior, both which had to be all “A’s”.  Cherry was a good little girl.  Then only thing she had been guilty of at school…so far…was talking too much in class.  Her school record was littered with notes in her “folder” as to inability to shut her mouth when the teacher was talking.  Cherry was the little social butterfly of her Elementary.  A position she held dear, in spite of sitting outside in the hall, or having to write sentences at night with her homework.

Cherry’s parents expected to hear something about “talking uncontrollably,” or punching a boy in the nose…so what followed came as a shock…which sent her parents into orbit.  “What has happened to our daughter?”

“Don’t be alarmed.  Cherry is alright.  She is just going to have to come home and change.  We are having a problem with her shorts and the halter top that she wore to school today.  It’s causing a problem for the teachers and they have asked me to give you a call to discuss it.”

Now…Cherry’s Daddy had already raised the conservative, male parental alarm on his young daughter’s changing physique.  The summer had been Hell for little Miss Cherry.  When she would head to the public pool, he would make her wear the ugliest bikini that they could find, and top it with a dark T-shirt.  This situation, being unbearable to Cherry, was remedied by her cool Momma, who was always passively aggressively sympathetic to her pre-teen growing Boobie plight.  She’d stuff her pool bag and head out the door.  It was her Momma who would slip her the red-orange, full cup bikini with gold metallic rings holding it all together to change into once she made it past her Daddy’s bikini check, rode her bike tothe Park, and snuck into the pool locker room.  With that 70’s mod bikini on, and a bribe of Hot Tamales and Dr. Pepper for her older brother, Cherry maintained the cool factor throughout the hot Texas summer…sans t-shirt...sans ugly, conservative bikini. 

Mr. Principle So and So loved Cherry.  She was a good kid who was respectful to her teachers, and a leader in her grade.  She was an “Eraser Relay” champ. He had hated making this call but he had a vocal group of teachers ringing his ears.

“Your daughter has developed significantly over the summer, and the changes are causing quite a stir with the boys in the 5th grade.  So much so that the teachers have asked me to ask you to not let her wear a halter top to school again.  And, possibly not shorts.  It’s all very distracting.  Could I suggest a nice skirt or dress?”

So…Cherry started wearing dresses and skirts to school.  She hated it.  She was allowed to change into shorts for recess and Phys Ed, but outside of that she was pants free for a good year.  The cool thing about Cherry’s Mom was that she not only designed clothes for Cherry, she sewed them.  This meant Cherry always dressed in beautiful clothes that fit her perfectly.  But dressing in fitted clothes still caused a problem at her Bible Memory Camp in Louisiana the following summer.

It seemed that every year, her two weeks of Bible Memory Camp coincided with the boys from Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch, a ranch for troubled boys stuck way out in the middle of the Texas panhandle.  Fundamental Baptist doctrine, Bible memory work, and girl -starved hormonal boys...not a good combo for our recently developed Cherry.  Fluffy hair and big Boobies were just too much.  After getting in trouble, fined, punished, and sat in the corner for nothing other than having big boobies who were causing a problem for the teachers and preachers…her parents got the call.

“Mr. and Mrs. Cherry’s Parents…this is Pastor/Camp Director BMA.  I need to talk to you about your daughter Cherry.”

“Is our daughter alright?  What has happened to our daughter?”

“Well…it seems that your daughter is enticing the boys with her figure, and this is causing quite a stir.  Frankly…it has become quite a problem with the boys from Cal Farley’s Boys Ranch.  We caught one of them trying to sneak across the bridge to sing to your daughter through her window.  And…it has disrupted Chapel and scripture study daily since she got here.  We might need you to come get her.”

“You mean you want us to drive from North Central Texas to the middle of Louisiana to come get our daughter because you can’t control these boys?  Her clothes met the dress code standards, and we happen to know that she is dressed conservatively.  We will pick her up on the last day of camp.  Now...let us speak to our daughter.”

“Yes, Daddy”

“Cherry…do not make eye contact with any boy.  Do not speak to them or smile at them.  We are coming to get you on the last day of camp, and we want you packed and ready to go.  You be good and sweet to your teachers and preachers...stop talking during scripture study and meditation hour… and don’t let them make you feel bad.  God made you. How are you doing on money?” 

"Well - I've used up my money paying fines."

"Why?"

"Talking.  I ran out of money two days ago.  Now, I'm picking up pinecones."

"Then, stop talking...work on your scriptures...and by all means, try not to draw any attention to yourself."

"Yes Sir."   

And with the words...God made you ringing in her head…she had a spring in her step and a song in her heart...as she continued to talk...and pick up thousands of pinecones. She didn't care.  Cherry was no longer ashamed of her big Boobies, and decided that the smart thing to do…just to show the Fundamentalist Naysayers a thing or two…was to wear her cut offs, and halter top for the trip home from camp.  Cherry sat with her brother and sister on the porch with her suitcase packed, after camp had officially closed, ready for her parents to come pick her up…and the  Naysayers couldn’t do one damn thing about it…except give her looks like…”You are of the Devil with those Boobies.”  God had made her just this way and she wasn’t going to let anyone make her feel bad about it ever again.  The Devil might try to get her on the talking problem...but Boobies…God made her with them…off limits.

Cherry thought there was a delicate balance when it came to cleavage and showing your Boobies.  Too much and you are frowned upon by some and gawked at by others.  Not enough and you look stuffy.  There was a just right category, which allowed you to not hide your womanly charms, yet not put them out there for the whole world to see.  Mystery and allure must be maintained. After years of experimentation with cleavage tolerance, Cherry had determined that just a little bit more than a beautifully elegant hint of cleavage, coupled with mystery and allure would be her modis operandi in this space.

And the Hair…would always stay big, fluffy and bouncy.   No flat iron here.  It just went against everything that Cherry believed.  It was a constant struggle for her friends and hairdresser.  They would tell Cherry…”let’s straighten your Hair…you’re going to love it”…they would straighten it…and Cherry would cringe.  Flat Hair freaked her out.  Flat, straight Hair just seemed a crime…when God had given Cherry a head full, made it slightly wavy, and thick.  Cherry remembered the time her Mom had sent her to get her Hair trimmed down the street.  She was in the 3rd grade, and her Hair was so long that she could more than sit on it.  Cherry told the Lady Stylist…”My Mom wants you to trim one inch off of the ends of my Hair, and give me bangs”…and Cherry walked out with her long Hair cut off at the nape of her neck, sticking straight off her head like a wavy, thick triangle…with bangs.  She cried the whole way home.  It was the late 60’s and this new hairdo was totally destroying the white, ruffled pirate shirt, crushed velvet shorter than short hot pants and vest, and white Go-Go boots look she had adopted in the 2^nd grade, and carried through to the 3^rd.  She was no longer 60’s cool when she looked in the mirror.  Cherry was beyond upset as her Mother took her back down the street to retrieve it, and they found out was sold for a good sum of cash.   

Matter of fact, Cherry really didn’t have one friend or acquaintance that didn’t have Texas Big Hair.  That is…unless they had been getting the Brazilian Blow-Out.  And…every time Cherry sat down for a cut and color…she was approached for one.  “You know…your Hair would be sleek, and shiny…and you wouldn’t have to do anything to straighten your Hair…we could remove some of the volume if you would only get a Brazilian Blow Out.”  Cherry’s reaction…Get thee behind me, Satan.  A phrase she learned at Bible Memory Camp in Louisiana.

Now about the Bling…Cherry believes that there is a direct correlation between Boobies, Big Hair and Bling…in the fine State of Texas.  Matter of fact, she discovered that it’s actually an international thing.  Texas women are appreciated all over the world, as she and her friend Sunny discovered on their trip to Dublin, Ireland.  Kind of like a cross between being a princess and a rock star with an accent.  Texas women are legendary.  Cherry’s domestic and international travel trip of the day:  ROCK THAT ACCENT!  If it takes wine to bring it back out…then get on it.  Of course, if you can take down a couple of shots of tequila like a pro…no flinching, and turn your shot glass down after shooting…like you are saying…”If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch”…this one move will take the Texas mystique to the wall, putting you right up there on a pedestal. 

Back to Bling…Cherry’s ex used to give her Bling.  Then, she divorced him…and he stopped.  Imagine that.  She even had to sell her Bling to pay her bills when he cut her off from all of their accounts…selling her Bling for about 10% of what it was worth.  Her friends were horrified.  “Well, he had me over a barrel.  It was either that or borrow money from my parents…which I wasn’t going to do.  It was either that or no food, electric, water, gas, or living for two months while we put the temporary orders in place. I had to take care of my kiddos.  There are five people living under my roof.  It’s only Bling.  Bling is replaceable.”

If you take a Texas woman just on her looks, you are stuck in the Bermuda triangle of the Texas Trifecta. It never ends; because around every corner you turn…there will be another one walking past you. Eye Candy meets Hell on Earth, no sense of satisfaction. It’s a shallow existence.  The Boobies, Big Hair, and Bling are all on the surface. It’s all just pretty packaging.  Cherry knew that she could walk into a room, and that there would always be someone prettier, someone smarter…someone who had more of everything in life.  And, that there are men out there that only care about the packaging…not the woman inside.  They would forever circle their boats, not ready to drop anchor, not satisfied with the woman on their arm, and always looking to see if there was something better.  So busy scanning the horizon, that they miss the beauty of the sunrise, sunset and everything in between.  

It didn’t matter.  Cherry really didn't care about those kinds of people. It all came down to what Cherry thought about herself…about the things that were given…and the things she had earned through hard work.  Cherry knew that a blessing was just that…a blessing.  And, that when you take away the Boobies…there was a Woman.  And that Big Hair…could be lost.  The Bling could be sold to keep your lights on, and feed your family. If you strip it all away…at the center is a Woman.  A woman’s intelligence, moxy, heart and soul. Cherry learned a long time ago that it’s not the packaging…it’s the contents. 

So, as she went out there in the world…a single, middle aged Texas Woman…she would stick to the way her parents raised her…to her core ideals…to her intelligence, moxy, heart and soul…and let her greatest accomplishments be what she gave to others, and what she gave to the world.  She would walk right past the shallow and false…and maintain a keen eye.

Of course, Cherry would still expose portions of her Boobies…and her Hair would still have that 70’s quality plus a dose of Texas sensibilities.  Bling would come and go.  She would perpetuate the Texas Trifecta out in the world…with one critical addition to the formula.  Cherry would let people know that Texas Women are expected by their families to use their brains for good and not evil.  They are expected to shoot out in the world to lead…govern…teach…contribute.  They are expected to be strong for their families…and the community around them.  A wild spirit is a strong spirit. They are expected to get up off of their pretty asses and do something. Exercise options.

So, what’s wrong with looking good as you do it?  Cherry says…”You should use what God gave you.  Use it for good. Contribute and make every moment count. Save the evil for when you really need it, make no excuses and be strong enough to take the fall. Make your Momma and Daddy proud. If you have Boobies, wear a bra.  If you don’t have Boobies, go get some…they are simply wonderful. Give everything and everyone your “A” game.  Lastly, regarding Hair…go big…or go home.”