99 Bottles of Beer on the wall.....

And what to do with all those caps?

Take one down,
throw 'em around.....

And glue them back
on the walls, of course!




It's Friday,
bring on
the
peace!

Feel the love!

Pass the beer, please!

The Emporer's New Clothes....

"Levi's are fine
with holes in their knees,

Faded old fannies

with no zipper keys.

When the Emperor got dressed

in the Emperor's new clothes...

He probably had on Levi's

and was wearing the holes....."

My daughter's favorite nursey rhyme.... Yeah, I wasn't exactly Mother Goose.....

My life story, told in blue....

I was wearing the peaknuckle pair when we went to The Tampa Fest and ended up on the 11:00 news, 16 and dancing in the broken water main.....

Gary Long's 501 blues when I hitchhiked to Peace Creek...

The no-name-brand with the silver belt and the rhinestone butterfly at the David Bowie concert....

His new pair the morning of the hurricane...

The ones I have on for the last three lives....

And then you wear them for years and years....

They're supposed to hang around. Until they're tattered and torn, with holes in the knees, until the legs fall off, too tired to keep going, until they accidently become cut-offs with holes in the rumps. Then you scribble on the pockets, patch the seams, trim the fringe from the bottoms....
until they disappear in the washing machine, nothing left but the tags.....

We're desperate. I'm down to one pair of "I can wear these out in public" cut-offs. And this is Florida. Skinny's still running around in a pair Kimbies bought in high school, held together with an embroidered guitar strap. She's wearing a ghost of threads.

So here's the deal, guys. Dig through your closets, empty your stash. If you've got jeans you're not wearing, send them south.

These girls gotta have cut-offs!

Singleton and Skinny

c/o Justgivemepeace

269 Market Place Boulevard

#115

Cartersville, GA 30121

We'll even trade ya. Painted beer bottle caps or something!

Don't pack lighters in your Suitcase....

Chey has a lot of luggage. She has stories and nightmares, family trees with hanging moss and empty nests, credit cards in other names….She has a lot of luggage. She smiles easily and hugs heartily. Welcomes you into her world and as you take that first tenuous step onto the other side, you trip…..everyone does. Dozens of half empty suitcases are scattered everywhere, their Samsonite security codes busted wide open, their latches pried apart. Contents of a chaotic life flung haphazardly across her living room floor. And still she smiles. Throws a few beloved trinkets in an overnight bag and faces another day….

Amazing woman….What you don't know won't hurt you...

We all tote our weight. Histories we’d rather not share. Blood lines we can’t trace. Moments we can’t forget, and those we can’t remember that haunt us in the night.

It makes us who we are. And why.

It’s how laugh lines are painted on our faces, and scrowls scribbled on our foreheads. Why we develop silly little ticks like hair twirling, foot tapping, gum chomping. Why we smoke so much, drink so much, stutter once in a while. Sometimes, why we smile....

Why some of us choose our paths, and some fall fatefully forward…

Suitcases. Secrets. We all have them. Stuffed full of all we are and all we’ve been.

Some are neatly packed briefcases, organized and alphabetized, bar-coded for a rainy day or a funeral parade. Some are rancid garbage cans left out in the sun for the neighbors to puke over and stray dogs to rummage through. Some are designer labeled, lined with potpourri…..all haughty-taughtied up. Some are nothing more than a tattered levi pocket, it’s contents so comfortable and at home, a pencil rubbing on our back hip…

There are really really big suitcases and really really little ones. But we all tote ‘em.

I just stuffed a lifetime in a really really tiny one.

I can take it anywhere…




to be continued...

It's Friday and we're off to the Parade......

“I hate men in costumes.” Please quote me on that.

I am not turned on by a man with a lopsided cowboy hat perched on his head, like a toppled bird nest, and pointy shoes. First off, men have big feet and the extra 3 ½ inches it takes to fit their toes into the point looks absurd to me. And I don’t know how they drive those big trucks that go with the get-up. It’s a wonder they don’t get their rattlesnake tips all caught up in the under-the-dash wires just shifting from stop to go. And besides that, I don’t think Fords look like horses. At all.

I’m not crazy about the baseball hat thing either. Not backwards at all. And toss in the “I just bought these today” white sneakers and tidy whitey under shirt cuffed at the sleeve, and I get all confused. Is this West Side Story? Should I run back inside and whip up a dress?

And then there’s “The Suit”. OK, OK, OK. I know you dress up like that all day in the Florida sun to call on all your VIP customers, but it’s hot here. We bake here actually. If you’re not Richard Gere, leave the pinstripes at home. This is the south baby.

And don’t forget “My Bad.” Yeah. His mama taught him well. His shorts are the size of a teepee tent, just flashing a little ankle below and a lotta Joe boxer up top. His neck is drenched in electroplate, maybe even a tooth or two to match. And the doo……. The gelled and moused spikes, poking straight up in the air…..I can’t see the “running my fingers through your hair” thing….

Nah. I don’t do men in costumes. I like mine in levis and button downs, T-shirts and khakis. Just everyday threads. With everyday hair. And an everyday smile. In an everyday world. My world.

No wonder you stood out in the crowd.