Sex Personals In East
Chronicles Of A Misplaced Cowgirl
The beer always flowed in Texas like the Red and the Rio Grande but here the Baptists rule and if you are seen coming out of a red dot, which is literally a white building with a huge red circle on it to designate it as a liquor store, then heaven forbid the ladies on the porch swing across the street would be a whispering a flurry behind your back about how bloodshot your eyes looked yesterday in church. Why, Lord have mercy knows you only came to church because your daddy insisted and the poor man, bless his soul, sitting there so proudly with his two daughters sitting on either side of him in the pew! Now, that younger one with all those piercing! Lord have mercy, can you imagine her daddy's shame? Then the oldest one, well don't she think she is something! She isn't pulling any wool over this old woman's eyes riding into town on a high horse and hiding her alcoholism! Yep, I am the Paris Hilton of this county, I hear those lovely belles voices ringing loud and clear! This is the chronicle of a misplaced cowgirl and how a few old southern belles, a few hoochie mamas, a GRIT or two, and my overly pierced sister altered the course of my life in one long, hot summer!
My sister, the one with the two lip piercings, multiple ear piercings, and oh, let us not forget the cartilage piercing since that, for some odd reason, does not count as an ear piercing, is right now ducking her head in and out of my room. Her voice is oddly reminiscent of a fog horn blowing deep into the night. Her short hair had at one time been dyed a shocking color called atomic orange but had now faded to a dark red with black roots. The wave of her hair was one that would make a flapper jealous! My sister wasn't a rare beauty, rather an earthy beauty just coming into her own. She is only sixteen to my twenty eight, a total opposite of me, and Lord I pray will someday be toned down since normal is only the setting on my dryer to her!
Me, the older sister, the conservative of two daughters. No piercing, not even in my ears and no shocking colors in my hair! Unlike my sister, I did not shave all my hair off for cancer research and make the front page of a major city newspaper. I never have had a way of wearing hideous plaid bell bottoms with the frayed cuffs splayed widely around the ankles, pink sequined platform flip flops and a tight black AC/DC rock star shirt, and make the whole outfit look fresh, hip, almost a new classic! My signature rather, is pink cowboy boots and low slung hip huggers blue jeans. Pair that with a baby doll t-shirt and a cowgirl hat-voila! That is me! I guess if I could relate to anyone I would be like Carrie on Sex and the City but my sister would be a Miranda before she lost her virginity!
My sister and I have the same dad, different mothers and we are eleven years different in age yet we look alike, finish each other sentences and share a zest for writing and the arts. We both love word searches, animals, our dad and the United States of America! She wants to liberate Ireland and save the world someday and me, well I just want to settle down and leave the cowgirl world behind. Guess that dream is what drove me clear across the southern United States one April night, out of Texas and into South Carolina. Two different worlds, one world apart. I miss Texas, plain and simple. The smell of the damp earth beneath the East Texas pines after a brief thunderstorm. Riding horseback along some desolate county road watching the sunset over a longhorns back. The morning sky was something that a Remington painting couldn't even touch. Shoot, Thomas Kinkade couldn't even capture the light and colors in the morning sky! I miss the smell of taco meat wafting in the humid summer air and the sound of a rodeo announcer blaring across an arena, my horse snorting and pawing anxiously beneath me! I miss my home! Your trolling across the dance floor when suddenly this gorgeous cowboy taps you on the back only to have you turn into his arms and you two step away with him! Yep, I have waltzed across Texas many a time! I miss the music in Austin, Cowtown, Houston, and the skyline of Dallas at night. Now, here I sit in Carolina so far from home relieving memories every time a sixteen foot gooseneck trailer rumbles by with a load of horses. Oh, they have horses out here but again a world of difference. I come from the world of western horses, rugged men in wranglers, cowboy hats slung low over their furrowed brow and larger than life women! I now reside in a historic place full of GRITS aka Girls Raised In The South which to me spells out a modern southern belle and horses bred for racing and polo matches. The food here sure isn't Texas! Brisket here is tough, greasy and slathered in a mustard sauce whereas at home it would be tender, burnt at the edges and you put your own red barbecue sauce on it. Finger licking good!
Sunday in the old South is very different than anywhere in the world! It is the one day in the week when suddenly everyone is dressed in their best and doing the catwalk in the church aisle which is now the red carpet runway of the Milan fashion show and you are Naomi Campbell or Cindy Crawford working it! The old men in the church are wiping drool from the corners of their bottom lip, lost in lusty thoughts about the young girls, hereafter called the Hoochie Mamas, while their wives are thinking about the next garden club meeting or historic society meeting oblivious to their husband beside them. Doesn't the Bible speak against dressing in a manner that is provocative to an old man? Then again I believe the Bible speaks against a wife being oblivious to her husband as well. Anyway, a hoochie mama by Texas definition is a woman who has the money for designer labels but wears them like a high class call girl. Also, a hoochie mama usually has the right last name so no one dares to say a bad word about her since, Lord have mercy, her Father strike you dead and I am not talking about her heavenly Father! The little old Southern Belles, hanging themselves in their own family trees, speak highly of them like this: "Why there is sweet little so and so! My! Doesn't she have on a beautiful dress today? Why, I do recall when I once had the legs to wear such a nice hemline but that was in the days of rumble seats and Model Ts, dontcha know? I was never a flapper, though..". Flappers, by the old Belles definition, were women who basically kept the alcohol and fun flowing in the speakeasies but they were never whores. The old Belles always say these things behind your back with a huge hat on their head, their voice is sweet and thick like the wisteria in April. Now the GRITS and the Belles do not have to take their hats off in church whereas in Texas we do out of respect for the Lord. This appalled me and I found myself anticipating Preacher Terry mentioning something about hats and respect for the Lord before he began his sermon but instead he overlooked the gaudy hats sprouting fake flowers that kept diverting my thoughts from his sermon to the hats! I hate those hats! They are hideous! I mean if you want to wear flowers wear them on a lapel pin or in a print but don't put them on your hat! Save the fake flowers for your mamas gravesite!
Anyway, between the hoochie mamas, the Belles and GRITS hats, my own thoughts on the weird people surrounding me, I suddenly found myself not hearing a word Preacher Terry was saying! By the end of the service I found myself looking for the lightening bolt so I could stand, fearing not God striking me dead, directly in the bolts path but unfortunately he is God and notorious for unanswered prayers! Trying to leave the church is no laughing matter either! You are caught up in a line that reminds me of how a heifer feels in a chute when we load her into a trailer to be taken to an auction. Yep, same feeling that somehow I am heading straight to a slaughter house! You steadily march onward shaking hands with the various people, finally a few words to the preacher and just when you think you can breathe fresh freedom outside you are suddenly surrounded by the Belles and Grits again! They repeatedly tell you about your tiny waist, how wonderful your Daddy is, how great it is your baby sister is home and when you feel your stomach lurching into your throat your illustrious Daddy slaps you on the back to remind you that it is hell being the daughter of a famous man! Thanks Daddy, just what I needed. My father is like a politician in many ways. The ladies love him, the men are like old college friends to him and he kisses a lot of babies. My father is my idol to say the least. He is strong, lithe, politically correct even if you may not want to hear what he has to say. Yet I know someday soon I will have to let him go just like his physical body is letting go of his soul...
The memories flow in my mind. Vivid like a picture taken yesterday. I was laying on my bed trying to sleep when suddenly I heard Toby Keith croon Upstairs Downtown. I began to cry because suddenly I was eighteen again leaving the damp cornfields of Southern Illinois behind as the Greyhound bus wheels hummed along Interstate 55. There I was young and bright eyed taking on the world and not the college world. I didn't need college, I was smart ya know! Then the wolf came at the door oddly at the same time my job laid me off. I moved around, I lost my babies one at a time. My babies, something that to speak of brings tears to my eyes right now. Uncontrollable, rolling, huge tears that I am powerless to stop. Show me a baby with big blue eyes and curls and I will show you my memories of CJ, Carly and Trey. My three babies that I wish to Christ in Heaven I could hold right now. Unfortunately, I done everything I could with the circumstances I was facing and I lost. I was painted out to be a Brittney Spears when inside of me all I wanted was to be loved, to be held, to be someone's baby not someone they were using and setting up. I needed Daddy back then but he wasn't there. A bitter custody battle tore me from him when I was only eleven leaving me at the mercy of a family that was worse than a pack of starving wolves. I survived the wolves but it cost me dearly..... The memories are overwhelming and I must find my way loose from them before they hang me in their tangled web.
I pull myself over to my vanity watching the makeup run in thick black rivers. War paint, that is all it is but right now I need all the war paint I can get to hide the pain in my blue eyes. Gosh are they puffy right now! Nathan calls and I stare deep into the phone wondering if I should answer it and give unrequited love a chance to stab me again. No, not today but he is persistent so I answer it. He wants me to move to Texas, no he wants me to get a plane ticket and send my sister to him. Oh he hopes I am not mad and I lie again, masking my pain. The storm outside rages almost in unison with the storm inside my mind, my sister bellows across the house telling me in her foghorn voice that she is ready to go out to eat. She wants to go to the Mexican restaurant because she is Dating one of the waiters, her pappi as she calls him. I wonder when I will find love, when will I feel like that again but I know there will never be another like the first. I silently admit that to myself. I thought when I found my daddy that the search would be over, like maybe I was searching for something to fill the void in my soul that he left behind. The knawing hunger is gone but the search is still ongoing. I want to know what it is like to lose myself like I lost myself in Nathan, who was the first man since my true love that I unconditionally let in my life. Nathan forced me away though, the memories of his ex never far behind his eyes. Now he says he is over her and wants to be with someone, me. Yeah, right. Yahoo Personals never lies and his profile is recent and updated. He wants a woman, someone he can control, someone to be his sugar mama. Am I that? No, never. I stare back into the mirror shocked at what I see. Funny how a mirror lies and tells you how beautiful you look when it sees only one dimension of you and you see the rest, all the layers. I may look okay on the outside but on the inside the depression is eating me like alcohol eats the liver of an alcoholic. Will I ever smile again?
I stand a statuesque five feet eight inches without heels but put me in a pair of stilettos and my sexy black cargo tuxedo pants and guess what boys, I am ready to take you on. I am killer tonite, all in black except for my red stilettos. Every woman should own a pair of red high heels! My mood lifted I talk, cajole and flirt with all the waiters at our favorite restaurant. I notice keenly how daddy feels, his eyes once a bright blue are now dimming. The illness is washing over him like a river, he is succumbing daily to it and I wonder why me? I am not selfish, I love taking care of him but why am I the one who will probably bury a parent before my children are grown? I try to shake the thought out of my head hoping that it does not show or bring my mood down. Daddy is clairvoyant and he reads my mind deftly, like it is a open edition of the New York Times. He sweeps the clouds of doubt away with a quick smile and a flash of those blue eyes. His eyes are almost clear at times, an unusual color that I have inherited. My sister is embarrassed suddenly and my eyes flash quickly over to her. It is like I am in a dream listening to her tell me about the waiter, George, and how he creeps her out. Fransisco is the one she is Dating and he obviously has feelings for her. I wonder if it is because of her age, if she is a trophy? I hope not, I pray that I am wrong but I read a mix in his eyes, as if he doesn't know what he wants of her.
I thanked God when I got home to my office, my space in the house where I could crank up Toby Keith and lose myself in the memories. The memories of Ronnie, my third grade boyfriend if you can call it that. I remember back to our high school years when me and my best friend Erin would cruise the main drag of Hillsboro Illinois. We would ride in an open top convertible driven by our best friend Josh. He was my Teddy Bear back then but then he lost a massive amount of weight and it transformed him into this monster I refuse to know. I miss those days when were free.... I remember Erin and I loved two guys who were best friends. They never knew we existed though. Oh, wait a minute, yes they did. I remember one Valentines Day when one of us and I am not saying who since that is dispute that drove two friends apart! One of us ordered roses and sent them to those guys. They have never spoken to us since and I regret going along with that. Hind sight is fifty fifty they say. Gosh, I am back in my old high school again. The memories are rolling like an old reel film and I find myself under a summer sky with that crazy grin, loving life, feeling the burn in my soul as I told my friends what I wanted to do with my life. There we were cruising the strip again in that mustang, KNIS76 on the plates, the wind in our hair as we rounded the courthouse in Hillsboro. Hollering at the guys parked uptown, watching Stephen on his roller blades as he rounded a corner heading to the Orpheum Theater to show off to the girls coming out. We were heading into Subway and he literally came at me laughing as I ducked and he jumped over me. Why is it when you are seventeen you want to be older? Seventeen is the age of freedom, the days of fun in the sun, the one time in your life when you know exactly who you are. Those days are gone and sadly I find the reel film slipping and slapping in my mind, letting me know the end of the movie is near. The smell of popcorn stings my nose and I feel like I am back in the Orpheum watching a movie, eating buttery popcorn and sipping syrupy cokes. Those were the days when food was food and we did not count calories. We were cool with our makeup on, our tight jeans, our attitudes that we knew it all. Yeah we were a rock, ready to roll, and we were in love! Seventeen...
The phone is buzzing again... Dang why does my phone ring off the hook but is never a Saturday night date? Never. Is there something wrong with me other than my age? In the white mans society I am old baggage and my sister who looks regally beautiful in her stilettos and tight skirts is the fresh meat on the platter. Sting croons in my ears as I eye Reese up and down praying she doesn't develop further. I wish none of the heartache I have suffered. I try to teach her that with beauty comes heart aches. Look at Marilyn, at Anna Nicole, at Judy Garland and so many other "tragic beauties" in our society. My mind rolls back to my Aunt Saundra, Saunie Jo as we called her. She was a tragic beauty and Reese looks oddly like her, acts like her. It is like when Saunie died she was reincarnated in my sister. Both are so intelligent and beautiful. Reese has now given up her multiple lip piercing and ear piercing for a cell phone. She is now normal, her hair died back to its natural dark brown and the curls circle close to her face framing those incredible blue eyes. I have the family eyes with the heavily hooded lids whereas my sister has the eye color but her eye shape is an almond, eerily reminiscent of a geisha. I have the smile of Angelina Jolie according to her but the style of Jackie O and she is now morphing into an exotic beauty. She loves pinstripe pants or a tight pinstripe skirt paired with a black shirt and blazer and her black and white stilettos. She is shorter than I am with less in the chest and more in the rear than me but we look very much alike. Different mothers will give you different gentetics but the same daddy will give you uncanny abilities. Reese is like me and we have ESP. She struggles with her gift and I wish mine would go away. We both have photographic memories, another thing I wish on no one. It is like the past is forever captured on reel film and stuck in my head, constantly replaying itself. Those two gifts cost me so much pain in life and now she is dealing with the stigma herself. I try to help but instead she grabs my favorite volume of Faulkner and storms out of my space retreating into her own. Her space is the bath tub, overflowing with bubbles and candles to light the area. She is the girly girl but she fights it so much. I tell her it is okay to be girly just not Hoochie. She laughs at me and tosses those curls back, so unaware of her beauty. She reminds me of myself back then, confident and edgy, searching for my identity in fashion. It saddens me to think that soon she will be returning to Virginia, to her mother and him, so she can finish school. Her pain is evident in her eyes and I wish I could read it better but she is good at blocking me from her thoughts. Lord I pray silently, don't let her be like me....
Frank calls to tell me he wont be able to talk to me until Monday. Something about a friend in the hospital. Nathan still hasn't called back, nothing new between us. My sister comes in the door in a hideous cow print dorm shirt. I tell her to tell a lie and live it like a movie when a man tries to be coy with her. Funny that is how I live my life anymore.... Lie about your feelings, live like a tortured movie star. That is me, grab a beer, slam it down when the memories get too thick and wonder where the sunshine is, will it ever shine on me again? They wonder what is going through my mind, well here it is. What do you think of it now? I don't say what is on my mind when I get upset, I retreat to the bottom of a beer bottle or a shot of whiskey, numb the pain and life goes on. The million little pieces of me scattered across two states, now three. Will I ever get them back together? With computers we can defrag and pull all the lost pieces together but what can we do with our lives? Should I return to where it all began, one more time, and start there?By cMac McCario - I was born a "Coal Miners Daughter", shy and alone. I grew to be a "Redneck Woman" by my early twenties, the life of the party, but by my mid twenties all anyone could say was "How Bout Them Cowgirls?" Facin...
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