"Well, I Do Declare!!!!!!!!"...Miss Cherry's International Travel Tips...Part: Pure Blarney...Ireland

Not so long ago, Miss Cherry and her best friend, Sunny, decided that a trip to Ireland was in order. Matter of fact, not only was it in order…it was overdue. So overdue, that it didn’t take all that much to pull the trigger…just a semi-significant amount of vodka and cranberry, and one shiny, loaded debit card with a recently raised daily limit of $4,000.00. Didn’t take long to connect all of those dots…as, where there is a will, funding, vodka, and friends…there will always be a way. Straight up. Miss Cherry and Sunny…ten days later…found themselves in Dublin, Ireland.

Travel Tip Number One…If you exchange your US Dollars into Euro, only carry a small amount with you…not the whole kit and caboodle. Remember: You have a safe in your room that loves to hold your money, passport and jewelry. Why? If your shiny, new, Texas-sized wallet is too much of a temptation for some happy go lucky thief in the Temple Bar District of Dublin…he will only be able to pay a portion of his electric bill, not the entire buildings. If you are to donate to the local pickpockets, only contribute enough for a pint of Guinness, not cases and cases of Jamison for his next extended family gathering. In other words, plan for a little tomfoolery, but don’t be a fool.

Travel Tip Number Two…specific to the Temple Bar District of Dublin. If a toothless, little Irish man dressed as a leprechaun follows you down the street, he is not offering up a pot of gold. Run away. If he starts pulling on your arm, trying to get you down an alley…kick him where it counts…then…run away. If you realize in the middle of it all that your wallet with all of its necessary contents…i.e. money…has been stolen, and that you are now stranded with your best friend in a bar district on the night that Ireland beat Estonia for a some cup after thirty years...now is not the time for wavering. If a human rights attorney in a suit walks up to you and your friend and says…”You Ladies look you need to be saved. Here have a slice of pizza and I’ll put you in a cab to send you back to your hotel”…you do it. You eat that slice of pizza, thank him profusely, and get your lily white ass back to your hotel pronto. But first, take his card and send him a nice thank you note upon your return to your home soil. Manners count.

Travel Tip Number Three…be on time or arrive early for any and all events or travel tours. They appreciate you…and in Ireland, this means…more Jamison for you. Bottom line…with a sunny disposition, big smile, good manners and the right attitude…they will put you and your best friend in the front seat of the bus, and sit the late Europeans in the back. Again…more Jamison for you…and you get to hold the map and act like you know where you’re going. Oh, and one more tip on this subject…when you stop along the way…always buy some little cookie or treat for the driver. And, if you’re lucky enough to get Stephen Murphy…this will mean…more Jamison for you.

Travel Tip Number Four…when in Ireland, watch out for the Scottish. They look and sound similar to the harmless, friendly Irish, but they aren’t…they’re Scots. Which means…they take it all to the next level…and you better watch them closely. They’re wild. Not in “funny, ha-ha” wild, but in “Oh, shit…where did that come from…run away” wild. Just remember…Highlanders in sheep’s clothing. Just keep an eye on them…they’re tricky.

Travel Tip Number Five…do not route through Amsterdam on your way back from Ireland. It’s like throwing ice cold water on your ten days of happiness and frivolity. Going from the lilting sounds of an Irish accent, broad smiles and all around general happiness of Ireland…to the serious, solemn, don’t look at me or make eye contact of the Dutch…is quite a jolt. Also, if you just so happen to get a sinus infection, and need some form of medication to get on the plane…the over the counters are pretty dicey. “Let’s see…we have the hemp section right next to any and all meds…all written in foreign languages.” So, the second part of this tip would be…packing your own meds. It’s a crap shoot if you don’t.

Travel Tip Number Six…You will always be “suspicious” if you route through Amsterdam back to the States. Always. No exceptions. For Miss Cherry and Sunny…they had to pass through Minnesota customs to get back to Dallas.

“Miss Bo Berry…what was the nature of your visit to Amsterdam?”

“I had a layover in Amsterdam, on my way back from Ireland.”

“So, you are in real estate? Did you conduct any real estate in Amsterdam?”

“No, sir. I flew from Dublin, and was in Amsterdam for about twelve hours. It was a layover on our travel route back to Dallas.”

“What did you buy in Amsterdam? Did you buy that fur coat?”

Now, Miss Cherry was wearing her faux fur from the Thrift Store/Resale Shop. Looks real, but it isn’t. It’s faux. Fake. But, Miss Cherry does look quite good in it.

“No, sir. I bought cheese, chocolate and little Dutch cheese slicers in Amsterdam. Make-up, wool gloves, and Christmas cards in Dublin. This is a fake fur coat I bought in Texas at a Thrift Store for $40.00.”

“So, you bought cheese, chocolate and a fur coat in Amsterdam?”

“No, sir. I bought this coat in Arlington, Texas at a Thrift Store for $40.00. It’s fake. It isn’t fur. It’s synthetic.”

“So, when you bought the fur in Amsterdam, how much did you pay for it?”

Jesus…Mary…and Joseph.

“I paid $40.00 for this synthetic coat that is made out of some plastic product to look like a real fur…in a Thrift Store next to the DMV in Arlington, Texas three years ago.”

Stares at it. Put’s the lotion on it. Put’s the lotion back into the pail.

“What is the purpose of your visit to Minneapolis?”

“Sir, I have a six hour layover before I catch my flight back to Dallas.”

“Do you plan on conducting any real estate business during your six hours, or possibly leaving the airport?”

“No, sir. I plan on using the Ladies restroom, first. Then, I plan on eating a small bag of Cheetos, drinking a Coca Cola, and then…turning on my phone and calling my doctor…as I have a raging sinus infection. I might even eat some of the cheese and chocolate I bought in Amsterdam. Who knows? I might even take this fake fur off and use it as a pillow, and take a nap. I can tell you this…I can’t wait to get back to Dallas. It will be nice to be back on Texas soil.”

It walks away. It doesn’t talk. It has stopped talking.

And, that was that. He stamped the passport and gave it back. Miss Cherry went from Dublin to Amsterdam. No problem. The Dutch didn’t care when she left. It took customs in Minneapolis to give her crap about a fake fur coat. All she could think was…”I must look like his ex-wife who probably left him for the postman…who apparently rang her bell twice.”

Anyway, Miss Cherry and Sunny had a grand time. Much needed, much deserved. They both came back better off…as they drank a ton of Guinness while they were in Ireland. And, if you didn’t already know…Guinness makes you strong. Even when you can’t possibly fit one more pint into your Guinness soaked body…the Irish are so thoughtful. They have created “Lassie” glasses…tiny Guinness glasses to give you a wee little sip…when you can’t take in one more drop. All to make you strong.

They are so thoughtful.

 

Slice of Life: Tales of Halloween…Monster Mash 2003

Miss Cherry understood the importance of making friends in Elementary School. Friendships to carry you through Middle School, High School, College and beyond. A strong friend base is extremely important, and it all starts to build when you are young. After all, as independent, bright and talented as any child might be…deep down…they still have a fundamental need to “fit in” or belong.

Children like to be invited to sleep over at a friend’s house, or to go to a birthday party. They like to be included in the activities of other children and their families. Kids like to socialize, laugh…all part of belonging.  So, it was with this in mind, that Cherry sat her 5^th Grade son down and opened the conversation…

“Sweetheart, you’ll be invited to friend’s homes soon enough. You are basically the new kid again.”

The new kid…either a blessing or a curse. And, for my son…the social ninja…to not have been accepted back into his various public school friend groups…the ones he had before I yanked him out and dropped him into private school again…to then be yanked out and dropped back into public…well, it was devastating.

“Its okay, Honey. So…you aren’t being invited to the parties. We are just out of the social loop. Remember, when we were off in private school and swimming…they were living their lives. It’s what happens. You have to stay engaged in friendships.”

Silence from one very sad, little boy. “Listen, Sweetheart. This is just about getting back into the friendships that you have…and creating new ones. I have a great idea…we will throw the Halloween Party of the Century…invite the entire 5^th Grade…and you just watch what happens. Nothing like throwing a great party to meet new people.”

“Mom, no one will come. I’m not popular anymore and my friends aren’t letting me back into our group.”

“Oh, they’ll come alright. You just watch.”

So, since Cherry was in charge of the school directory (thank you very much)…and a Home Room Mom…she blanketed the 5^th Grade with invitations…both via the U. S. Mail…and back packs. Over one hundred kids were invited…sixty RSVP’d.  Well over one hundred plus kids were dropped on the doorstep. It was a drop and run. Apparently, her son’s party had become a date night for many of the parents. And, she was unknowingly contributing to the “happy couple/adult/cocktail” program all over community.

The home and yard had been artistically turned into a horrifying, spooky, creepy, haunted house…complete with Grimm Reapers (aka teenagers) roaming through the levels of the home, terrifying unsuspecting ten year olds. A Gypsy Fortune Teller (aka her beautiful daughter) in the front room…telling “fortunes”…which was somehow turned into a ‘does so and so like me?’ opportunity by all of the little girls, and a ‘let’s stare at his sister’s boobs’ night for the boys. In the living room, a death match had begun on the Dance Dance Revolution Pads, with the game blasting on the big screen. It became all about boys vs. girls, of course. The girls blew them out of the water. Surround sound Halloween music and pop blasting through the house…strobe lights turning the living room into a club scene. Total and complete…anarchy.

The kitchen was filled with the gross and gooey…which they took great delight in eating. One little boy would walk around with the Zombie Fingers Cookies (thank you, Martha Stewart)…and make it a big production as he consumed the sugar cookie flesh. Every flavor of soda flowed, Skittles were hitting their system. Dry ice was in and under everything. “Miss Cherry, this food is so gross and scary…but it’s sooooo gooooood!!!!!”

For Miss Cherry and Miss Melissa (best other 5^th Grade Mom in the World)…there was vodka. A full handle of vodka and a Cosmo set up. It made sense. Vodka rich Cosmos for the stupid adults, soda for the ten year olds. Miss Melissa was dressed in a red body suit, complete with a red sequined devil’s tail and horn…and a pitchfork…which she used effectively. Miss Cherry couldn’t dress in her normal Halloween costume…Monica Lewinsky…which she understood to be inappropriate to the age group. She had to settle for either a last minute lame vampire or exhausted Mom…so she decided to go with both.

“Do you see little Arianna up on the hearth?”

“Is she dressed as a Go Go Dancer? What is that costume?”

“Well, she’s in her own little world on that hearth. She’s been up there the entire party, and won’t let anyone up there to dance with her. What are your thoughts on that Miss Melissa?”

“Stripper. Future Stripper.”

“Yep. That little girl has a bright future in the adult entertainment industry.”

About that time, Cherry was joined by another Grimm Reaper…one of her son’s best friends…the cutest little girl in the 5^th Grade…Sydney.  She has opted out of all princess, Go Go Dancer…girly costumes…and has decided to express her inner sarcastic darkness. She slides up out of nowhere…“Hello, Miss Cherry. So, I scared you good, huh?”

“Yes, you did…Miss Sydney…you Grimm Reaper, you. What are those girls doing over there?”

“Where?”

“In the middle of the dance floor…what are they doing? What is that dance?”

And, about that time…one of the little girls notices she’s being watched and says…”Miss Cherry, may we please pop?”

“What’s popping?”

“It’s just a dance, Miss Cherry. It’s a lot of fun.”

“Sure, sweetheart…pop away.”

Back to Sydney. “So, how is your Mom?”

“Miss Cherry?”

“Yes”

“When they ask you if they can pop, you should say no. It’s a “no popping” dance floor.”

Cherry and Melissa turn around to see these little girls all popping their behinds up like strippers, and Arianna on the hearth adding the popping to her repertoire.

"NO POPPING!!!!!”  And, they resume their normal dance moves. Little tricky ghouls. Don’t dress like a princess and act like a stripper. Anyway, turning back to grab her Cosmo…thin air.

“Sydney, have you seen Miss Cherry’s Cosmo? I keep setting them down, and I can’t find them once I do.”

“Well, it was here…but Cody has been stealing your drinks all night for a group of boys. You shouldn’t put your drink down, Miss Cherry. They distract you…and then, take your drink and share it. Actually, they are getting kinda drunk. One of them was running from one of the teenagers dressed as a Grimm Reaper and ran right into a door.”

Great. So, after an Executive meeting with Miss Melissa…a pact was made not to sacrifice one more ounce of vodka out of neglect. Sneaky little ghouls. Need to keep them organized and busy.

“Okay kids, time for the scavenger hunt. I’m going to divide you into groups of twenty and assign you a teenager or adult. We are going to go out into the neighborhood, try to get the things on our lists…and the first group back wins!”

No response. A strobe light going off, silent stares. Finally, one of their leaders stepped up to say…. “WE WANT TO STAY HERE AND PLAY DANCE DANCE REVOLUTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!! “ To which all of the kids started cheering him on. And to top it off, Arianna is refusing to leave the hearth. Drunk, stripper dancing, sneaky, tricky…uncooperative…little ghouls. Adults rule, kids drool.

Eventually, the first several groups out into the neighborhood. Made Cherry turn to Melissa and say…”I’ll tell you what…when I was a kid, scavenger hunts were too cool. Neighbors handed you the paper clip, rubber band, toilet roll, old newspaper…and whatever else a Mom put on the list. Just so you could bring back your loot and make the art project. Maybe they’ll enjoy the Halloween Party art project.” Miss Melissa had her doubts.

Unfortunately, time had taken its toll on the scavenger hunt from the 60’s and 70’s. It was a million years later, and outdated…from the perspective of a 5^th Grader. The hunt was non-party-productive.

“Miss Cherry, Miss Gladys on the corner said to tell you that ‘if one more group of screaming kids comes to her front door for a toilet roll…she’s calling the cops’…and that she will want the toilet paper, rubber bands and paper clips back after your Halloween fiasco.”

There you go…Gladys had no sense of wonderment. Who would call the cops on a 5^th Grade Monster Mash? Easy answer…grumpy neighbors who never turned their lights on for the kids at Halloween. I guess the ten year olds pushed right through the lack of holiday cooperation, and were going for the gold. Maybe, Cody and his gang were adding “Bud Light” to their list…who knows? But, since a cop shut down would be damaging to the party purpose, kids were herded back, and candied up. This suited those ghouls just fine. They danced and ran around in the house. Miss Melissa and Miss Cherry drank their vodka. It was a win-win. No cops were called to the scene.

Parents started showing up to pick up their kiddos. Cherry and Melissa had a nice visit with Arianna’s Mom who thought Arianna had special talents, and then, dragged her off the hearth.

Then, they took Cody’s Mom aside to discuss the accidental alcohol intake. Her reply…”That kid steals alcohol all of the time. We had to install a lock on the liquor cabinet. He’s a handful. (wink) Do you have a Cosmo for me?”

So, all of the kids went away sugared up and beyond happy. The parents didn’t have to roam the neighborhood for hours…and Cherry’s son made more friends than he could ever imagine. He had the party of the world…in 5^th Grade terms. Matter of fact…this prompted the question…”Miss Cherry, will you have another Halloween Party next year when we are in 6^th Grade?”

She had to think about that one. After all, having taught 6^th Grade Religious Education at St. Maria’s for years, she knew what happened mid-year in the 6^th Grade….the conversion. The conversion from sweet kid to…”I’m almost in Junior High.” It was the time when they were nearing that twelve year old mark in life…and attitude started emerging…and the phrase…”That sucks!”…entered their vocabulary. They’d be kissing in the bathrooms, breaking up and going steady…stealing more alcohol. But…really…Halloween did fall before the mid-year mark. It just might be doable.

“I’m not so sure, sweetheart. Maybe…if y’all are really good for your parents and teachers over the next year, we’ll see. Being that y’all are a bunch of ghouls…zombies…pirates…ninjas…ghosts…well, what can I expect? Full of mischief, all of you!”…a wink and a smile.

When it is all said and done…honestly…happy little ghoul equals a happy Mom. So, it takes you a couple of months to fully recover all of the stolen martini glasses from wherever Cody hid them?  So, what? Think of it all as hidden treasure, and you’ll do be just fine.

Cherry's Dating Horror Stories...part of the "Thank God It Wasn't Me Series"...Mr. Perfect

Miss Cherry just loooovesss those random conversations that make life too fun. Little celebrations of the ridiculous events that resonate. So, it was the beyond random conversation with the New Service Customer Service Cutie at her soon to be Cable, Internet and TV provider…somewhere in the Midwest…that triggered a memory for Cherry…and it went something like this…

“So, Ma’am…do you want the bundled package? And how soon do want the install?”

“ASAP, and Yes. I am in desperate need of internet…as it’s ruining my life to not have it right now. And, about the TV…I haven’t had cable in a year. I shut it down because I was saturated.”

“Oh, I get it. What did you watch?”

“Well, I had pneumonia for over 27 weeks last year…and spent month after month…laying on the couch…in a pool of sweat…unable to breathe or move…unable to write or talk. The only thing I could really do was push the buttons on my remote. So…I got hooked on all of The Real Housewives. All of them. Matter of fact, I got hooked on everything. History Channel, SyFy Channel, Food Network, Cooking Channel, Crime Shows…you name it…I was hooked on it. That time frame pickled my brain on so many levels.”

“I get it. I was in a car accident last year…and spent 9 months in a bed…unable to move. All you do is watch TV. I got hooked on Law and Order, NCIS, all of the crime channels, and How I Met Your Mother. I’m saturated too. And, here I work for a cable company.”

We laughed. I expressed my sympathy for her accident. She understood. I understood.

“You know, sweetie…(she’s only 20 years old…same age as my son)…haven’t you found that since you have been watching these crime and detective shows…you notice things you haven’t noticed before?”

“Oh, yes!!!!!  I see details in everything. Sometimes they mess with my head.”

“I know…me too. So, I’m laying there watching…Children Who Kill…and I’m going through my mental list of my kid’s friends thinking…who do I need to watch closely?”

And she laughs.

“I have a funny story about my new CSI skills, if you want to hear it?”

“Yes, Ma’am…you are making me laugh…and making my day. Please, do! (and she starts belly laughing)”

So, I start telling her about meeting a guy that was…”the one”…for one of my friends. Of course, he wasn’t “the one”…and she is now with the proper “the one”…but it’s a great story of using all of those CSI skills in real life dating scenarios.  Anyway…it goes like this…

“Cherry, you have to meet him. He’s perfect. What an amazing guy!!!!!! Please! Please, come by the restaurant where we are…so you can meet him and tell me what you think.”

So, I agree…and drive 45 minutes to walk into a sports bar/restaurant…to meet Mr. Perfect. I walk in and they are sitting at the bar…which places me flanking the corner with him…and I’m to his right. He is extremely nice. Full scotch and water sitting in front of him…my friend with her wine. He orders me a drink. I order a small appetizer. It comes…I share…and at one point…I drop my napkin from the barstool to the floor. I bend down to try to reach it…and I see a huge pool of golden liquid.

To the bartender…“Excuse me, Sir. But I think someone has spilled something on the floor here…and you might want to send someone to clean it up before someone steps into it and possibly falls. It’s pretty large, so you might want to bring a mop.”

Mr. Perfect chimes in…”Oh, I spilled my beer earlier.” And I think…”hmmmm, he’s drinking scotch and water. This has happened since I have been sitting here.”

“When did you spill your beer?”

“Earlier, before you came.” To which my girlfriend chimes in…”But, you aren’t drinking beer.” Silence.

So, I bend down to investigate. After all, I have been watching CSI (Crime Scene Investigation) for over a year, and all those skills are now in the forefront of my mind. I am now…a Forensic Goddess. Time to figure this shit out.

“Well, let me see. If you had been drinking a beer, and it had fallen from this height…assuming it wasn’t a glass mug or container…it would have spilled and bounced…or broken. No glass. And, I see that they are serving beer in glass. In addition, there is no splatter.”

“Splatter? What in the Hell are you talking about? I dropped my beer.”

“No, actually you didn’t. If you check closely, the edges of this rather large puddle are solid, which means this has come from a single source…continuous stream. Might I add, there is no splatter. That is very important. There is always splatter with a drop. It’s an impact thing.”

Mr. Perfect is very angry right now…and honestly, I’m just tired and investigating. I feel it is my solemn duty to check this man out for my girlfriend. First red flag, big drinker…possible alcoholic. Second flag…he’s a big, fat liar. He didn’t drop shit…there…was…no…splatter.

So, he excuses himself and walks towards the restrooms. I watch him walk. Every single time his right foot touches down…splatters…two to three little drops. Houston, we have a problem. But, this is something I’m going to have discuss with my girlfriend in the light of day. Never seen this before…nope…this is a new one.

He comes back, and I excuse myself to leave. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Perfect. Have a nice night.” To which he says…”Wait, Cherry. We’re going CW dancing, meeting Gigi and Lili. You should join us.”

I don’t. The next day, I hear from my girlfriend, who says…”Isn’t he perfect? The only thing about him is that he has a sweating problem. Only on the front. He sweated all night. I stopped dancing with him, because he got the front of my clothes wet. He got Gigi and Lili wet too. Then, he spent the night, and sweat all over my bed. It’s soaked. What’s the best way to remove sweat from a mattress? Can you come over and help me figure this whole mattress thing out? Also, I probably need to clean the leather in my Mercedes. He sweat all over that as well.”

Silence. “Sweetheart, I should have pulled you aside last night…but I wanted to think about it. He isn’t perfect, even though I know you really like him. He isn’t Mr. Perfect…He’s Mr. Pee Pants. All of that is urine.”

Horror. Shock. Crying. Understandably. Which made me jump in my car and head to her home. We investigated all of the scenes of the crime…and determined…he’s Mr. Pee Pants. So, my friend calls him to confront him. He says he can’t control it when he’s drinking. Why? He’s a hideous, advanced alcoholic. And honestly, he doesn’t care. I guess peeing on the floor of a restaurant bar is just another day in the life of this man.

The kicker is…she kept dating him. Compassion. So, it wasn’t until several weeks later, when we were all sitting in her home for her Christmas Party…with her sister and sister’s family, other family, friends…it all came to a head. He just stood there, and without a care in the world...peed on himself. Didn’t care, just kept on drinking, laughing…sucked down all of the bottles in her liquor cabinet. A huge wet spot grew until the entire front of his pants was soaked.

The mattress was tossed and replaced. And, so was the boyfriend. I am happy to report that my dear friend is happily married to a man who not only can control his liquor intake…but his bladder as well. He actually is...Mr. Perfect.

“Ma’am…OH MY GOD!!!! That’s horrible. But, I must say…a wonderful use of all of those hours of watching CSI.”

And, we laughed so hard…that she didn’t schedule my installment on the correct day…matter of fact, she had me two weeks out. I don’t really care. All of those shows can wait.

Miss Cherry needs to just read a book. Honestly, it will probably get her in less trouble out and about. Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. Thank God, it wasn't me.

Conversations with Sunny...Who Let the Dogs Out?

So...last night I went up to a local yockel bar...to see some old friends. All the Ladies sitting around catching up...husbands...kids...travel...work...hormones...being single (for some)...you know, the stuff we like to talk about when we are hanging en masse. It was a blast plus a blast from the past. Anyway...

After a couple of hours, we moved to another local haunt...The Monkey...as it was Songwriters Night, and we wanted to be able to sit outside on that beautiful, temperate night...have a cocktail...listen to some live music...and visit. Our Cosmos were converted to a Cape Cod...and we had to settle for little squatty glasses with more cranberry with vodka. Anyway...

Along comes a drunk, swaggering guy in a baseball cap...with his eye on the table. He has his eye on the table...I have my eye on him. Coming up behind Miss Jules...he puts his hand on her shoulder, and says..."Mind if I sit down next to you?"...(squatting down just enough for the slide into the picnic table position.) Anyway...

"NO." Loud with finger pointing straight at him.

"What?"

"I said...NO! Move on. NOW."

It had happened...I had finally rounded that corner in the single world where I just didn't care about being so nice. The beautiful married ladies at the table just laughed. It was like I had become the self-appointed table guard dog. So, I told them exactly what Sunny had told me several years back about being out in a bar.

"Cherry, you can't be nice. Don't make eye contact. Don't smile. Ignore them. I was out there a long time, and you have no idea what men in bars are like. Don't be nice to them. Tell them to go away, and mean it!"

And, she was right. I hadn't spent time in nightclubs or bars my entire life. I was married young, had a couple of kids, had a crazy career...so, when I became single...I didn't really consider hanging in bars part of my world. For me, it's always been about being with friends and family. Bars just aren't my thing.

"You aren't used to the bar scene. You're going to have to put away that sweet, conversational Miss Cherry persona...and become a bitch. Period. Cherry…be a bitch. It’s the only thing they’ll understand. If you are nice or polite, they will use it against you. Remember…be a bitch.”

The next morning, I’m talking to Sunny. I just had to tell of my breakthrough. I was so proud.

“Sunny!!!!! You’re not going to believe this! (I tell her about yelling at the guy at the bar to back off my friend) It’s official…I have become you.”

She starts laughing. So, I tell her about my recent experiences of trying to work on my laptop at a local restaurant, as I was tired of the Starbucks scene. Unfortunately, being accessible is sometimes confused for being available. Starbucks was sitting on my last nerve. So, I plugged in and hooked onto WiFi. Love those Sweet Potato Chips and Salsa.

“I’ve never thought of the bar at this restaurant as an actual ‘bar’…but here I was…researching Italian platters and Georgian antiques…and the seat next to me went into rotation. I’d even put my crap in the seat…and they’d move it.”

And it did. And I didn’t get it at the time. “What are you working on? I love your hair. You’re a hottie. You have nice teeth. Look at your big, brown eyes. Can I touch your hair? Do you need a back rub, you’re working so hard? I like your necklace, I like the way it drops down. Can I buy you a drink? Do you live near here? (DON’T TOUCH MY HAIR) Why? I love your hair. I bet men tell you about your hair and how they want to pull it?  Give me your hand, I want to look at your palm. You have small, pretty hands and wrists…can I hold your hand? Will you go out to dinner with me right now? How about tomorrow? Why are you packing it up? Are you leaving? Where are you going? Can I walk you out to your car? (NO) If I go get a bottle of wine, will you share it with me on this beautiful night? We can sit on my back deck and watch the moon. (NO NO NO NO NO NO NO) It’s alright…the best people wait.”

I look at the bartender and ask…”What the Hell? This is a restaurant.” He replies…”Yes it is. But, this one is turning more into a bar. If you need me, just tug on your ear, and I’ll get rid of them. I do it all the time.” It was then that I really learned…you can’t be a single woman sitting at a bar…and not have them come out of the woodwork. Hammerheads. You can be working…it just doesn’t matter. You are at a bar…and they are going to hit on you. Period. Anyway…

“Sunny, I was you last night. I saw him coming and let him have it. It was like scolding a dog. Matter of fact, he was a dog - mangy, drunk dog. You know…if I had a squirt bottle…I would have squirted him on the nose.”

“Cherry!!! That’s a great idea!”

“I think it’s my million dollar idea…kind of like the pet rock…”Miss Cherry’s ‘BAD DOG’ Dating Squirt Bottle”…in red, of course. You can carry it in your purse, and pull it out and squirt them on the nose and say…”GO AWAY! BAD DOG!” And, when they are sitting there with the water on their nose…squirt them again…just for good measure.

I think I’m on to something here. Best idea I’ve had all day. Gonna have to look into that, maybe start merchandising these squirt bottles…I’ll make a cool mil…and then pull the trigger on that trip to Southern France I’ve been needing for about 6 months now.

I just love it when a plan comes together.

Wild, Wild Love

 Miss Cherry believes that for every yin there’s a yang. For every up, there is a down. Ebb and flow, in and out, surge and retract. When it comes to love, Miss Cherry believes that there is a primal force that can draw two people together…and they will either be consumed by it, drawing power…or consumed by it, to their destruction. Let’s talk about both.

Dating is a strange brew of hopes, desires, experiences…good and bad…, mind, body and soul. Some people date recreationally, always looking for their next conquest, their next high, reveling in the hunt. Capture and conquer…then, bored…they move on to find their next conquest. It’s a never ending hunger that can’t be filled. They will never be satisfied, as they are so intent on feeding their broken primal soul, that they can’t recognize the needs of another. A hit and run…per se. I’m going to totally intoxicate you, draw every last drop from your being to reinforce mine, and then, let you go. A primal force…taking and leaving. Powerful, intoxicating…devastating.

“Oh, Cherry. You fixed someone up good, and they moved on? I told you he was fixer upper.”

“I know…I am such a loser lately. He just seemed so sad, so broken. When we broke up he said…’I can never thank you enough for the friendship and care that you have given to me. If it weren’t for you, I’d be in a ditch somewhere dead. I had given up on life, and then, you came along. You have helped me through this period of my life, and I will always love and respect you for it.’ I knew that we weren’t right for each other from the very beginning. I’m too much of a free spirit, and he hid his behind a dark wall. I’m just mad at myself for giving him so much time and consideration. He was a pure taker. A great kisser, but a taker, nonetheless. I hate when that happens.”

“He wasn’t your equal, Cherry. You know it, I know it. He’s a broken man, but powerful. He sucked everything out of you, and then left. A person can only take so much. No more broken men…do you understand me? NO MORE BROKEN MEN!”

Some people date the wrong people. They are constantly looking for someone who “fits the mold.” That perfect person who is magically going to go the distance. It’s a primal spark that is recognized, faint and smoldering down. It’s enough of the primal to draw you to something about them that feeds your spirit, then, repel you when you realize that they won’t be giving back. You are on the opposite end of someone depleting your primal force. They hold the power over you, irresponsibly, selfishly...taking yours…forcing you to leave before they diminish your internal force. Not as powerful, not as intoxicating…but equally devastating.

“It’s as if he knows that I’m happy and peaceful…then, has to drop a nuclear bomb to blow it up. I’m walking on eggshells here, and they are cutting my feet. The ups and downs are too radical…too severe. Each time I reach a new height, and then sink to a new all time low. It’s normal for him…it’s Hell for me. I can’t take it anymore.”

“Cherry, he is internally broken and has a hurt spirit. You can’t change that fact. You could pour every ounce of who you are into that man, and he’s still going to punish you for caring about him. I know that there are so many pieces of this man’s personality that resonate with you…but…you have to keep away from him. You can’t truly be his friend. He will always be drawn to your spirit, and you will always be hurt. NO MORE BROKEN MEN! My God, Cherry, quit wasting your time on broken men. JUST SAY NO!”

Okay, Nancy Reagan.

“I’m hearing you loud and clear. No more broken men. I honestly woke up the other day and the first thought that entered my mind was…’Cherry, you can’t do this anymore. You’re done.’…and I was done. Done with him, done with any of the men I have been dating. Done. I recognized that my internal primal strength was drawing broken men to me, and I was unconsciously allowing it. I prayed about it, and God gave me my answer. I've cleared out all of the people I've gathered up during my devastation phase, and now I'm firmly back into healthy. I get it now. No more broken men.”

Miss Cherry believes in the primal. She recognizes its existence when she meets a man. She knows automatically if he is strong, wild and emotionally intelligent. She can see his primal, and she knows how it will all match up to hers. If he is stronger, she looks for emotional intelligence and heart. If he is weaker, she doesn't judge, but tries to understand the source. What Miss Cherry has learned is to trust her inner instincts. Embrace the primal, and know her basic strengths and weaknesses.

Miss Cherry has a wild spirit, and for years, she has tried to tame and control…ignore and reject…bits and pieces of her primal. The result has been a series of unfortunate actions and consequences. Because, believe you me, there are consequences to every action, every word, every thought. When you deny the primal, you deny your inner spirit of creativity and intelligence…your sensual nature. And, when you accept less than what you deserve, what feeds your spirit…the core of who you are…then, you set yourself on a path of disappointment and wasted time.

A primal match is a couple who feeds each other’s spirit…taking and giving…equally. The power created between the two builds a life, a love…protecting it above all else…out of a spiritual need to belong to and with someone else. A primal match grows in power as times goes by…because both people are feeding the spirit of each other….there is no depletion…no devastation. Everything that is created builds upon the last, building to last. You have been claimed, you have claimed…and it now becomes a cherished, necessary force of nature. You crave it at a spiritual level. Your match is in your blood.

“Sunny, I feel like a she wolf. Do you understand what I’m saying? I feel like a wolf.”

“Of course I do, Cherry…you are a wolf. You have always been a wolf.”

“I know. But, I feel like a beautiful, strong, powerful wolf…running hard and fast…I see things before they happen, I hear things before they’re seen…I know when to run and when to wait. I feel everything around me, I want to smell and taste everything with my senses. As much as I give, I receive. It has tapped into the core of who I am, and I have returned to my primal.”

“Cherry, you have just returned to yourself.”

“My primal is out and strong…and she won’t ever go back in hiding again. I want a man who is as primal as I, and it will feed me. I want to be my best, I want to give my best…give it all. And, if a man is primal, it will absolutely humble me.”

Of course, Miss Cherry is still going to go get a mani/pedi once a week, and have an overpriced cup of coffee with her friends. She is still going to drive around in Colette with the top down, with the Hello Kitty pinata strapped in the passenger side. She is still going to look for the silly, for the lighthearted…and spread sunshine wherever she goes.

But, deep deep down inside of her…her wolf is out. She is primal and strong. She looks at the Technicolor of life, and absorbs it. She expresses herself, knowing that it is beautiful and melodic to a kindred spirit.

Wild love is primal love. Primal love is heady and intoxicating. It covers you with its power, feeding your spirit…making you stronger. The stronger you become…the more you give.

Primal love. Miss Cherry is going to run, jump and play...with strength, intelligence...OPI Red on her toes...and a wildness in her soul. It's a beautiful thing.

Meshuga...You so Crazy!

Miss Cherry has been harping on Crazy Chicks for some timenow. Even though she has become quite vocal on the subject, there just neverseems to be an opportunity for all of this craziness to fade to black. Crazykeeps rearing its ugly head, demanding everyone’s immediate attention, gettingin the sand in the proverbial sandbox of life. Messy, messy, messy.  Crazy just won’t go away.  

Alright, alright…here you go…Crazy…a blog just for you. Of course, I know that this won’t be enough to for you to play well with others, as sharing isn't your thing. Your constant demands are wearing thin on my middle-aged patience. You are a big pain in my ass, and your fifteen minutes of Cherry’s Bowl of Life fame are starting…right...now.

Meshuga had arrived, dropped like a well executed nuclea rbomb…hitting the target…blowing up Cherry’s new happy little world. The explosion caused her to break a frown…threatening that space between her eyes which was currently line free.  Remember the sage beauty tip meets words of wisdom from Fa-leesh-i-a, “It’s not worth it. It’s just not worth it. Rub that line away.”  So, as Miss Cherry was rubbing that frown line away, outside the house “All Hell” was breaking loose. Crazy had arrived.

Anyway, there she was…in all her 5-0” glory…trying to kick in a window, cussing, screaming, threatening, whining, slinging guilt, slinging insults, slinging snot, crying, begging and berating. She’d go to the front door and attack the door bell. Then, she’d head to the backyard and continue her tirade. Forty-five minutes went by before she had the satisfaction of her target appearing. As he stood there trying to settle her down, asking calmly for her to leave…another forty-five minutes…Miss Cherry listened to the litany of words, emotions and manipulation that was being deployed by this woman. Every single manipulation tactic was blasted at this man…as she moved effortlessly from rage to guilt, tears to mockery, begging to berate. Crazy was on point, and she was hitting on all cylinders. All Miss Cherry could do was sit inside the house, and listen.

At one point, Cherry went to the window to take a look at this woman who was raining Hell on this little house. There she was…a little bitty thing…which came as a total surprise.She thought that this Crazy was at least 12 feet tall, judging by the way she was carrying on outside the house. No amount of reasoning and managing would get her little Crazy ass off that property…just the neighbors calling the cops…and Miss Cherry staying inside...and her being forced off of the property. She reminded Cherry of that girl when you were little, who just had to ruin other people’s stuff…the one who pulled the heads off of your Barbie’s and jacked with your slinky. The bomb hit, and after everything settled, nothing went back right afterwards. Cherry’s new happy little world dating this nice man…ended.

When Cherry related the story…exhausted and shocked…to her besties…it was done in the only way she knew how…from the full perspective of a woman…looking at another‘s behavior. This woman’s behavior was practiced…honed from years and years of getting away with acting like a spoiled, hideous brat. Just as men know other men…women know women. This chick was trying to bully,guilt and threaten a man back into her life, into her control. It wasn’t a moment of passion or love. It wasn’t pure anger or angst. This woman was meshuga, and she knew exactly what she was doing. Enough press for her, she has already wasted enough of Miss Cherry’s time. These women are a dime a dozen.

Let’s straight talk about meshuga. Let’s call it out. “Meshuga”…the best definition comes from Urban Dictionary…Yiddish roots…meaning…”a person who is senseless, crazy, acts crazy.” Used in a sentence…“Cherry, that bitch is meshuga. You can’t compete with crazy. It’s not worth it.”

Chardonnay was Cherry’s dear friend who was in spirit…her Jewish Yenta…and an interesting cultural mixture of Italian, American Indian,and Spanish.  She had an Uncle Vinnie, which Cherry thought was completely cool. A labor union president…perfect. If Cherry had an Uncle Vinnie, she would have been rocking that family connection for years.

“If you don’t watch it, I’m calling Uncle Vinnie, and we’ll see what he has to say about it. Of course, he’ll say…”My sweet little Tiramisu,what do you want your Uncle to do?”…and I would say…”I’m not happy. Make it go away.”  And that would be that…The Family.

Chardonnay had all the fun blood flowing, and lent a strong viewpoint from her experience, leveraging her many years in New York City. It was Chardonnay who first said to Cherry, “Not for nothing’…that bitch is meshuga. You can’t compete.”

“Who’s competing? Chardonnay, there is the time before-Crazy,and the time after-Crazy…after-Crazy has now surpassed the good time…it’s over. No competition. Everyone has moved on. Done.” So, it was during this conversation about the inner workings of meshuga that Cherry and Chardonnay came up with a classification system…as all Crazy isn’t alike.

Here it is folks…The Meshuga Classification System. ”Meshuga One” and “Meshuga Two”…kind of like “Thing One” and “Thing Two” from Dr. Seuss days; alike but oh so different. See what you think.

“Meshuga One”…situational crazy…dropping your basket…momentary loss of all reason…”a good chick loses it.”  This Crazy is visited upon the sane, sweet, normal woman who is pushed beyond her emotional and physical limits. She loses temporary control, and ends up doing something she regrets. “One” doesn’t blame others,she blames herself.  This awareness and culpability sets her apart, and is a reflection of her normalcy. After her actions, she is embarrassed, and takes full responsibility for her temporary insanity. Oftentimes, this kind of Crazy rises up and is so powerful, that the results can be devastating. If she isn’t incarcerated or dead…with slow recovery…she can resume her normal life, get back to it. Deep down inside of her she now knows of what she is capable, and makes a conscience decision to control and prevent it.

We’ll start with the second time Miss Cherry went Meshuga One, the day she found out that her seventeen year old daughter was pregnant,via letter. The world came crashing down, and all she could do was try to fill up her time, while her brain was processing the entire situation. Running errands around town, crying and trying to maintain control, she kept busy. Looking back, it was a defining moment for her. On the other end of the teen pregnancy came Miss Cherry’s first grandchild and he and his little sister are the apples of her eyes. God’s blessings. At the time, though, the bottom dropped out from underneath her, and she felt that all of the years of fighting for her daughter, trying to get her over and past daddy issues, had failed.

It wasn’t the first time she saw the impregnator across town driving, or even the second. It was the third time she sees this “boy with impregnating sperm” on the road, same day…in his answer to Fast & Furious…seat leaning down…obnoxious rap blaring out of the open windows…hat on sideways…stopped in traffic, two cars up and over.  Each time Cherry had driven past him, she had thought…”What would Jesus do?”…and kept going.

But for whatever reason, the third time that she saw him…when she asked herself…”What would Jesus do?”…the answer came back…not from Heaven, she’s sure…”Cold cock his ass.” There you go. Miss Cherry went Meshuga One. She jumped out of her Tahoe,walked over…and cold cocked that piece of shit…right through the window. If she could have pulled his 6’4” frame through the window, and stomped on him with her flip flops…she would have done it. Instead, embarrassed as Hell, realizing that there was a 100% probability that someone sitting in traffic knew her, she climbed back into the Tahoe…and drove straight home. Cherry locked herself in the bed room and had a private meltdown. No witnesses …just a few broken knickknacks…and some places on the walls that needed touch up.

She later apologized to the boy, and he said…”It’s understandable,Miss Cherry. I’m sorry I got your daughter pregnant. I would have punched me too. That was a long time coming.” Meshuga One. But, this wasn’t the first. This was the second time, and Miss Cherry decided that she had reached her limit. Meshuga One needed to go away forever.

The first time Cherry went Meshuga One… (Note: this is the big one)… was on the day that her husband came to get his stuff. There she was,two small kids, 100% support of her family, putting her husband through school…a second time…and he goes and gets a girlfriend. They were in a garage band together and communicated through their music, while Cherry worked her ass off supporting her family.

While Miss Cherry was on her second business trip ever, the GF left her own family for the evening and came to Cherry’s house…made dinner for Cherry’s husband…bathed Cherry’s kids…and tucked the kids in with a song. Cherry’s husband got something else.

“Mommy, Miss Lizzie came over, cooked us dinner, and she satin your chair at the table. Then, she gave me a bath and sang me a song. I liked the song. Can you sing ‘Here comes the Sun’ to me tonight?  Then, you can sing your song ‘When you wish upon a star’. Okay? She is Daddy’s friend and she comes over when you aren’t here. But, Mommy…I missed you.” Literally, one of the creepiest and scummiest things a woman can do to another woman. Sent chills up Miss Cherry’s spine.

It wasn’t long before there was a split, as Cherry didn’t feel that she needed to support a family, cheating husband, and his Subway/Hotel Six habit with his married GF. Subway foot longs. I don’t know about you, but if the choice was nothing or a sub at Hotel Six…for Cherry…Jared could go turn the lights off…she’d go with nothing. As affairs go, that was pretty lame, don’t you think? I digress.

Miss Cherry and her hubby split. Some pretty shady stuff here, so, henceforth, we will call Cherry’s husband’s troll  in this story…”MBGFFH”…”Married Bitch Girlfriend from Hell.” Two families…decimated.

“Mommy, Daddy wants us to call her Mommy, but you are my Mommy. I was put in time out for a long time because I wouldn’t call her Mommy.I said…’You aren’t my Mommy’…so now they want me to call her Momma Liz. Is that okay if I call her Momma Liz? Is it okay with you if I call her Momma Liz? I don’t like time out; I don’t want to go into time out anymore.”  Cherry told him to say…”My Mommy said I can call you Momma Liz or Lizzie Borden, whichever one fits.”

Miss Cherry was a numbed out zombie as she carefully packed and labeled his boxes. She just wanted this part over…the move out. She couldn’t handle anymore fighting or drama. She was going for peace. Unfortunately,it was not to be. Trigger points and pushing buttons prevailed. Bad day.

The first trigger point, Cherry’s husband wanted her to pack the stash of condoms that were in the top drawer of the High Boy, and asked for them directly.  He asked her to pack them in the top of a box and make sure to label which one they were in. He wanted their condoms. She kept her cool.

Second trigger point, Cherry had asked that he bring a mutual friend to neutralize the situation, and keep everything nice and civil. She knew that everything would run smoothly if they had a mutual friend present,and arranged for John to come to the house. John just required that Cherry’s hubby give him a call and make arrangements for a time. The hubby blew the plan off, showed up unannounced and alone, wanting Cherry to help him move his shit into the back of his truck. She felt that he could do it all on his own.  After all, he had a MBGFFH, and felt“empowered by their love.”  She was upset, the beginnings of what was to be a massive anxiety attack…feeling it slowly bubble up from insider of her. As it began, she kept her cool.

Third trigger, he told her to keep the wedding portraits and family pictures, as he didn’t want them. He was “starting a new family” That,made her cry. The bubble was rising, and now she was crying. He mistakenly thought that since he had her crying, he now had an advantage over her. Wrong.

So, like an empowered idiot, he followed with the fourth trigger,”My MBGFFH wants me to take…today…half of the china, crystal pieces and stemware. She didn’t get any at her wedding, and I told her that they would be hers if she wanted them. After all, half of them are mine.” 

For some reason, that was the spark that blew up the world. The bubble hadn’t burst yet…but it was now stuck in her throat. The woman had laid in Cherry’s bed and fucked her husband, cooked and sat at her table, bathed and sang to her children…and now…she wasn’t satisfied with her formal place setting lot in life? Are you fucking kidding me?

 ”You know what, you tell that troll bitch of yours that she can have my husband, but she sure as Hell can’t have my china. Fuck her. She wanted you, she can have you, but she will not have one piece of my fucking china. What kind of woman wants another woman’s china? That’s unheard of.  (Horror) What a classless grasping bitch. My china? (Horror) That is so not “Southern.” No self-respecting Texas girl would ever touch another woman’s china; let alone her stemware. Fucking New York Italian Yankee Bitch!  I’ll smash every single piece of it…before I will give it to her. Tell her I said to Fuck off. Tell her that I can’t help that she’s a fucking troll, and has zero taste. She can’t have my china, she can’t have my life, and she can’t have my family. She can have you; I give her you…with a big, fat, fucking, red bow tied around your dick. Use up every condom with my blessing… (Little did he know that Cherry’s Mom had systematically poked holes with a tiny needle…in each and every condom they packed)…and you, sweetheart, are a fucking piece of shit to even ask. Fuck you. Fuck her. Get the fuck out of my house.” This was followed with a litany of…”You’re crazy, Cherry”-isms.

Then, a magic pair of balls grew on this man, and he decided to set some policy. “You will leave this house, and I will get whatever I want…I am taking half of the china, and you are going to stop calling her names. Do you hear me? When I’m done, I’ll call you and tell you when you can come back.” He stormed out, and called within thirty minutes.

Cherry told him…calmly…as she had gained control post-“bitch wants my china” threat…”If you don’t come get all of your stuff that I so carefully and nicely packed for you…I’m throwing it in the front yard and putting up a sign that says…FREE.  You have thirty minutes.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” And, he hung up. Called back in forty-five minutes. “So, did you throw my stuff in the front yard?” Laughing.

“Why, as a matter of fact, I did.” Boy, and had she. He didn’t believe her, and told her so.

Cherry had waited for thirty minutes, no hubby. The anger,humiliation, frustration, and betrayal hit her on all fronts. It overloaded her heart and mind…exploding outward. The bubble burst. Full on anxiety attack from Hell. She didn’t want him to ever enter her home again. So, first she carried all of the boxes, clothes and items…and sat them in the front yard. That didn’tmake it better. So, she systematically opened the boxes and dumped them all out into the front yard. The baseball hat collection, up in the trees. Guitars,smashed. TV thrown and broken. All of hubby’s belongings…minus any china…scattered across her front lawn by 10 AM on a nice, suburbia Saturday morning.  People thought she was having a yard sale. The anxiety was trying to calm. But he didn’t show up.

So when he called, she was ready, “I’m asking you one more time…come get your shit. It is scattered across the front lawn.”

“You are full of shit. You don’t have it in you, Cherry. You wouldn’t dare.” Mocking her.  

“Laugh all you want. I’m warning you, if you don’t come get all of your shit out of the front yard, I am turning on the sprinkler system, and running it until you come. You have forty-five minutes to get your sorry, cheating ass to this house, and gather your shit from the front yard.”

Forty-five minutes passes…no hubby. He isn’t taking her serious. He doesn’t think she has this in her. He thinks that they can bully and insult her, and she is just going to take it all.

Cherry walks into the garage…flips on the front sprinklers…and walks outside to stand in the middle of the carnage. It was then that it all hit her, the devastation. The bubble had burst, and the anxiety had hit her nerves like a thousand sharp needles. Sitting down, with the sprinklers soaking her to the bone, she put her head in her hands…and started to cry. The cries were coming from so deep, that she lay down on the grass and just let it all go.

Across the street lived the elderly couple, Mr. Bob and Miss Loomey. Wise and sweet, Mr. Bob walks across to where Cherry is sitting…soaked…and takes her hand. They had set up three lawn chairs in their driveway, and had cold beer waiting for her. He called it his “Polish Patio.”

“Cherry, when we saw the stuff being dumped in the front yard, I said…’Loomey…fry up some spring rolls while I keep an eye on her. She has reached her limit,’ so, Loomey has been watching you through the kitchen window,and I have been standing by in my garage, just in case I saw anything that I didn’t like. Now that you have gotten that out of your system…let’s sit righ there…drink some cold beer…eat spring rolls…and watch the sprinklers destroy it all. I have always liked him, but I do have to say…he deserves this…leaving his family the way he did. You know that woman has been showing up at lunch time, staying for an hour, and leaving each day. We wondered if you knew that she had been coming to your home every day for months, while you were at work. He deserves this. So, you just sit here and cry, Sweet Girl…and we’ll watch the sprinklers and drink beer. You got it out of your system, and made a mess. You stood up for yourself. It’s over now…Okay?”

“Okay. Thank you.” And, Cherry cried.

Miss Loomey hugged and loved on her, cuddling her up tight, feeding her spring rolls. The best spring rolls ever. Mr. Bob kept popping open cans of ice cold beer. Meshuga One was subsiding, and eventually, Cherry returned right back to her normal, sane self. She had gone crazy, and was horrified. 

Eventually, a good hour or so later…as Mr. Bob had called him…Cherry’s hubby pulled up, and quietly, with respect came over and apologized…(as instructed by Mr. Bob)...asking her to please shut off the sprinklers. Cherry turned off the water, and it was over. Cherry resumed her normal, sane life…embarrassed. She was 32 years old, and the life she had built…her perfect had been wrecked. She had gone nuts for a day, in front of her entire neighborhood. She knew tha tshe was responsible for how she processed and reacted to what life often dealt…and that she didn’t want to ever go Meshuga One again. Nobody is worth it.

“Mommy, Daddy and Momma Lizzie told us that they are going to get married and we would be a new family. They are even going to take us away from you so that we can live with them. We are going to have a new sister, and she told us…’My Mommy said that I was going to have a new Daddy by Christmas’…Mommy, I don’t want to live with them. You are my Mommy, I don’t like Momma Lizzie. She’s mean. Are you and Daddy still married? How can he be someone else’s husband if he is your husband?” And, he was and he couldn’t.

Cherry took both of her little children, put them in counseling, delaying the divorce for one year.When the family counselor gave her the green light, saying…”Your kids are going to be fine”…she signed. Three months later, the two ex’s married. They filed to get the kids for their new “uber” family, and lost. This started the emotional abuse phase.

If Cherry’s kids didn’t step up to the “new family” plan…get under control…they would punish and isolate them. Time out turned into hours,and weekends for her little son. Cherry’s ex-husband had married a certified Meshuga Two. And, the fact that this woman now had control over the children’s emotions and well-being horrified Cherry. That man had thrown over his wife and two children for Crazy.  Nothing like a good set of “Daddy Issues” and abandonment to take innocent children and monkeywrench their little brains. Miss Cherry isn’t a “Meshuga Two” – considering them to be some of the lowest life forms on the face of this planet. To a Meshuga Two, she gives no quarter.

“Meshuga Two” is a person hardwired to be a nut job. It is in the brain…part of this person at a cellular level. Part of their psyche,deep seeded, and not leaving anytime soon. She has seen “Two” in action, and it usually starts and ends with the word, “NO”. No you can’t have this or that…no, no, no. When “Two” tears loose, she bullies, intimidates, screams, cries, whines, insults, and is physically,emotionally, and verbally…abusive. “ Two” is abusive by nature, and it is through this abuse that they get what they want.

 It is a hideous sight to see, a person sitting on the other side of a Meshuga Two….watching someone go bat shit crazy on a nice, genuine person. Cherry finds that there are more”Two”s running around mid-life than when she was younger. They have honed their skills, and are master manipulators now. The “Two”s  grab a hold of a nice man, and emotionally tear him up, a wrecking ball hitting a perfectly nice building. You can rebuild, but it will never be the same.

It’s difficult for the Cherry’s and Betty’s of the world to come in directly after a Meshuga Two. The damage is too fresh, too raw. Some men run towards the good, some like to stay on the Dark Side. Sometimes men are addicted to “Two”s just as some women are addicted to crazy, abusive, bad boys.

Aren’t y’all sick of this conversation? Actually, at this point, Miss Cherry is sick of discussing Crazy…and will stop writing about meshuga. Enough is enough. Limit…reached. Fifteen minutes…completed.

There comes a point in every woman’s life that she takes a physical, emotional and spiritual accounting of her words, actions, deeds and contributions to her world, and to that of the world around her. You are either living abundantly or at a deficit. Sometimes you are right in the middle,wanting to improve the quality of your life, and those whose lives you affect.Some women want to slow it down, some want to speed it up. Whatever your situation, you know…deep down…how to recognize meshuga and prevent it from impacting your life. You know exactly who you are…and of what you are made.

Miss Cherry is made of good, strong stuff. She doesn’t abide Crazy. She takes Crazy and sends it right out the door. Life is too, too short.

Well, Miss Cherry doesn’t want any drama. She wants a peaceful, easy feeling guy who is fun, intelligent, sexy, accomplished and athletic and who doesn’t crave meshuga. She wants a man who appreciates  that she is one in a million…a gem…and not one of many. She isn’t going to lie,cheat, steal, abuse, manipulate or taking a wrecking ball to his world. She wants to build, not break.

Cherry wants a man who loves his Mother. They are the best ones, the ones who have a healthy respect and love for the women in their lives. Cherry has dated and known men who are misogynists, and finds that their hatred and distrust can’t be hidden for long…a perpetual emotional mind field...a negative drama taken to a new level. She can spot a misogynist from a mile away. Unfortunately, it takes practice. A man without “Mommy issues” is a good man indeed. Order up, please.

Miss Cherry finds that the man who loves and tolerates meshuga, usually has some serious “Mommy issues” to reconcile. The abuse feeds something deep down. Healthy, will never satisfy unhealthy. There will always be that little voice inside of him that says…”Feed me. I can’t get enough. I need more. You are not enough.” A meshuga is a challenge? Hell, no, she isn’t. She is a game. The game is to gain control and prove that all of those mommy issues can go away, and that they are worthy of being loved. Their emotional female model and the way they relate to women are warped.  It’s all just an internal game of chess. Domination and validation. Some sick shit here.

Finally, Cherry’s take on negative drama…“Life is full of drama…positive and negative. Who wants to be in a relationship with someone who lives on negative drama? Life will come at you hard and fast with the negative…you need positive drama to diffuse it. Life isn’t a game...the true challenge is to live it...and live it well.

What is positive drama? The excitement of creating something together… pure energy. Being part of something bigger than yourself. Love is positive drama. You can keep everything else, I’ll take the love. Leave crazy well enough alone, and grab the good. I’m serious…I’ll choose healthy love…every single time. Why? My life can’t abide the other.

I have only one life to live, and I choose healthy.”

Thank God for that.

No more Meshuga for me.

Stiletto in the Eye: The Tale of the Evil Fembots, Part "Yah I'm Talking to You"

Miss Cherry believes that if a woman can get your man, he wasn’t your man in the first place. Come on, Ladies…don’t think that anything somewhat illegal you do is going to stop a man who wants to cheat. You can plant a Jason Bourne tracking chip in his shoulder after a well placed rufi or two… Lindsey Lohan his Hoo-Hah - delivering well placed shocks when he gets out of the perimeter of your Hoochie Cooch…you can even check all of his texts,  emails and calls each night after he has fallen asleep on the couch with his hand down the front of his pants…but face it…these are pointless stop gaps. Unless you are willing to become a dedicated, twenty-four hours a day stalker… seven days a week…including potty breaks…he’s going to cheat, if he is so inclined.  If he’s a cheater, it will be going down somewhere, somehow…come Hell or high water…time and time again. Why? There will always be opportunity.

Truism…it takes two to tango. Sitting on the other side of a cheating man is another woman…or in some cases…several “strategically well-placed so as not to meet due to a scheduling misfire” women.  Now this doesn’t apply to the woman who isn’t aware that the cheater wining, dining and ringing her bell odd hours of the day, not to include holidays and special occasions…is supposedly in a committed, exclusive relationship, marriage or something. This is aimed at that special woman who makes it her goal in life to actively pursue a man like a heat seeking missile…the woman who just doesn’t give a damn about the sisterhood…she wants any man currently attached to another woman because she wants to prove that she can have them all…anytime…anywhere…if she wants. The women that I have known that act like this are women who create an air of mystery around their female parts. First, they act like their parts haven’t been used…in…”forever”. “I haven’t had sex in such a long time.” Of course, they have had sex with several men during the week, and have a big weekend planned. I have known women like this…Stiletto in the Eye…they play men like fiddles. They are so special…so elusive…that they have saved themselves for that special man…and they are willing to unveil to this special man…the amazing…Trick Vagina. 

Women know that the Trick Vagina is a bunch of bunk. We watch men fall into this trap time and time again.  The Trick Vagina is the elusive promise of Nirvana. The Trick Vagina will change your life forever! The Trick Vagina is so amazing that it should be listed in the Neiman Marcus Christmas Book as the one of the ultimate Fantasy Gifts, listed somewhere between the Limited edition McLaren 12C Spider and the JetLev R200 jetpack. There I go…digressing…giving The Trick Vagina any press.  Back on subject…Stiletto in the Eye.

It takes a certain kind of woman to calculate, and target a man…digging her stiletto deep into the eye socket of another woman before the body of her relationship has gone cold.

Cherry is smarter than she looks…and truly isn’t judgmental…accepting people for who they are and why.  Since she isn’t a dingbat, acting like it isn’t what it is…stating the obvious can seem sometimes…a little rough. So, here is some level of lessons learned, stated in the obvious: the inner-workings of marriages and relationships can sometimes reach a critical mass of ugliness, so much so, that sometimes there is an overlap of some proportion as a result of a true emotional need. There are men and women everywhere leading separate lives, buried deep into their own emotional Hell. Sometimes men and women get into sticky situation because they are seeking to fill a huge hole in their life. This isn’t a disclaimer, just a fact. Relationships involve humans, and human relations are flawed.

Miss Cherry also realizes that in the single world, dating is filled with a series of Goldilocks moments…too hot, too cold…just right. Relationships are just beyond messy when they don’t work, and beyond amazing when they do…when two people are exactly where they want to be, and with whom.

So, in that light, Miss Cherry will stick with the current state of messy that has taken over her life…being single. It is with complete certainty and true dismay that Cherry can say…without hesitation…without fear of reprisal…because we know it all to be true…women who are single and middle-aged are absolutely horrific to each other on a bad day, and marginal on a good one. It’s the recipe of desperation, coupled with loneliness…aggression and competitive natures…add some inevitable hormonal changes…possibly, if needed, dicey finances…and a healthy portion of the fear of growing old alone...and you get a finished dish of “not-so-hot mess.”  

Middle aged women know that we only have so many years before we do what comes natural to every human being…age. We age and no amount of Botox, surgery or breast augmentation can make us look younger…anymore. It’s the point of diminishing return. You can’t be stretched, tucked, cut, shot up or enhanced too many times without looking like a total freak. At one point, you are just going to have to be your age.  God’s little gift to women all over the world. Unfortunately, men they can look like the Crypt Keeper of Hell, take a pharmaceutical and father children with someone who is younger than you. Have some dignity and get over it. Such is life…a dog eat dog world which occasionally lands another kind of six inch spike directly into your cornea. .

Moving on, let’s discuss what Miss Cherry calls…”Evil Fembots.” We are going to do this in two parts, with the first one being contained within, and the second coming later…same Bat Time, same Bat Channel.  An Evil Fembot is a not-so-lifelike representation of a woman…who lacks heart, compassion and care for any other female but herself. They look like a woman, dress like a woman, smell like a woman, throw their vagina around like a woman…but they use emotional, mental and physical manipulation to secure a man...for whatever purpose suits them at the time. Their target…any man…but generally, they focus on the men of other women, and sometimes, Ex’s. I mean, where would be the fun in dating an available man when the challenge lies in the win-back or the one perceived as unobtainable?

In the words of Miss Cherry’s Not-So-Urban Dictionary, there are several type of women that fall into the multiple categories of…”Evil Fembot’s of the Single Persuasion.” So, let’s take a look at the few that rise to the top…starting with…

Evil Fembot #1: Fakes a friendship with another woman to position herself near a man. This Fembot looks at female friendships as an opportunity to position herself near men. It’s the…”I want to be Cherry’s friend, as she has social access to good-looking men…or…is currently dating a man that I want." A woman’s relationships are stalked through the friendship with a woman, who truly believes…you are her friend. The only reason why you exist in this friend relationship is to give the Fembot access to your valued relationships…and information about the man that you adore. This information can be twisted and wielded like an emotional knife. In the annals of female friendships, this one falls under the category”Big, Ole’ No No.”  No, no, no, no, no…NO! It takes a certain predatory female friend to pull this one off. Going behind another woman’s back, abusing both the friendship and goodwill of the woman and her man. This type of Fembot isn’t interested in actually having a relationship. She sets her radar beam on tracking…and starts pulling it all in. She loves the thrill of the chase… the rush of taking a man from someone who trusts her. All’s fair in love and war. She loves the convenience of it…nothing more than shooting fish in a barrel. Unfortunately, Miss Cherry has met a few of these Fembots…and discharged them – unceremoniously – according to their offense.

Evil Fembot #2: Fakes a friendship with another woman’s family and friends…to again…position herself close to a targeted man. This Fembot uses your loved ones to give you information that they plant in conversations. “Floozy in accounting wants me to tell you that you shouldn’t be friends with Joe and Pete, as they aren’t good guys. She told me you should cut off all contact with them, they are nooooooo good. Bad bad.”…all the while, Floozy in accounting is sleeping with Joe, and pursuing Pete behind everyone’s back…with Pete being the ultimate target. She is just using your loved one to plant information, drive a wedge, and destroy trust. How to spot one of these Fembots? If 90% of the conversation is about a man your friend or family member is dating…let’s just say…it’s not about you. Your loved ones are in play…assets to the Fembot…used and then, discarded. If you find out that you have this type of Fembot circling your friends and family…kick her to the curb. Kick her hard.

Women should be nice to each other. If they can’t, the Evil Fembots should be sent to an island somewhere and left to backstab each other, cut each other off at the knees, and rain chaos upon their little microcosm of Hell. We can drop them off with their Trick Vaginas, collection of Stilettos and then seize their smart phones. No contact list for you. Denied.

“Oh, I’m sorry…did they not tell you that you couldn’t get a signal in the middle of nowhere…this isn’t the special cruise you expected? Well it is...a special cruise for special women like you. Oh…I’m so sorry. Maybe, if you are lucky…a ship of South African pirates will rescue you and manager your needs accordingly. What? You are my friend? I’m sorry…didn’t get the memo.”

Miss Cherry isn’t drinking vodka right now…she might later…but for right now…the important thing is… she isn’t drinking the Kool-Aid either. Neither should you.

The End.

 Now, talk amongst yourselves. No…I didn’t write this about you…I wrote it about someone else. I did, however, write it for all of the nice women out there, who know how to have friendships and support each other. This one is for the sisterhood. This one is for the Bettys...and just in case you were wondering...an Evil Fembot can't be a Betty. Bettys don't act that way.