Sunday, September 30, 2007

Six Degrees of Southern Separation

Connectivity isn't just about the internet, believe it or not. You can get it anywhere, especially in the South. Of course in my hometown you can't drive down the road without practically running over one of my kinfolks, but that's not really fair, as you're in my hometown. My mother is one of 4, her mother is one of 12, my father is one of 8, his mother was one of 6 and his father was one of 7, at least, I think he was. You don't know? I can feel your disbelief, well, dammit, I have a lot of kinfolk, it gets confusing after about 200 or more. So, yeah I think so, but don't quote me on it. Let's just say that when there's a funeral on either side of my family, it can turn into standing room only event.

I mentioned an old and dear friend passing away and going to the viewing. Now for those that don't know; a viewing is a Southernism. It's sort of like a Wake. However, since most of the folks down here in this part of the South are Baptists or Protestant, there's no drinking. Depending on the family and/or the deceased's wishes the casket may or may not be opened there might not be any viewing done either. What you are essientially there for is to visit the deceased's kin.

That's what The Poor Sainted Hubby and I did and the capital letters are needed in this case, because the Poor Sainted Hubby deserves mondo brownie points.

First he drove to West Funroe, which he hates to do and did it at night BP#1. Secondly he was taking me to my ex-bf's funeral where he didn't know anyone BP#2. It doesn't matter that we'd not been involved for over 20 years, some men would have still balked at it, but he didn't. We get there and I immediately am engulfed in the past relativity of yakkity yak and he melts into the background so easily that I actually forgot he was there BP#3. I was good friends with his sisters, Tish and Sussan and, and Tish's husband Joey too you see as well as Susan's ex husband Scotty as well as their parents. In fact for a time in high school we were almost inseparable. Yes, we were evil children, but we never got caught. Almost never.

We're all talking (endlessly) and it was wonderful to see my old friends despite the tragic circumstances. It was also awful to judge how old we're all getting by the fact that our children are all grown up, but that's life, it passes and the alternative to growing older is worse and also final. Remembering our friend was what we did, by sharing our memories, which is what a viewing is for.

However, towards the end of the night Joey (a yakker to rival even me and dayam, that's saying something!) made a remark about coveting my cousin's car and my husband smugly replied that his cousin's gold Trans-am was much more heinously righteous. I laughingly pushed back his bangs and said that Jackie had put the lightening bolt shaped scar on Saint Hubby's head making him into the grown up version of Harry Potter (who he looks somewhat like). Once the name was said the Six Degrees of Southern Separation Game began.

Joey laughed and shook his head, "My sister was married to him."
St Hubby frowned and said the most important thing. "She's crazy! She made him get rid of that car!"
Joey throws up his hands, "I know, what can you do? Relatives."
St Hubby, who has been known to hold a grudge for quite a while. "Eh, he took my toys when I was two. He deserved it."

Thus, peace and redneck harmony was restored as they talked about Cameros, Mustangs and T-tops until Tina Turner arrived. Oh don't get excited.. it's the redneck version. Lemme tell you if Ike ever put his hand on this one, he'd have drawn back a nub the first time. I can't tell any secrets about her though, cuz she knows my nickname.

Off to Make Some Brownies


Saturday, September 22, 2007

Path Not Taken, Road Not Traveled, Heart Still Broken

Different decisions sent me down different paths than my friends and lovers. Some of them were right, some wrong, and some weren't even my decisions at all. It's only when I look back and can see the way the paths overlap, looping back and forth, connecting and weaving that I understand how Fate has a hand in things, and that I have no control over it. It still hurts like hell.

The past has a way of coming back to haunt me when I least expect it. A breath-stealing slap in the in the face to show me things thought I'd put away. I only thought I'd forgot but no, it's been waiting for just this perfect moment to come roaring back with the vengence of a lover scorned.

Events, people, places, things once beloved, were shoved into the back of my mind busy with the present, a heart full to the brim with the new. Mental keepsakes were safely pressed and folded and filed, but they lingered, like a cancer I thought were in remission. In reality, it was just waiting, for that one word, or name, or thought, or smell, or dear God, a song and just exploded into life. These cells, these visions regenerated with vivid clarity and I was simply....there again, like I'd never left at all.

The past is a scary thing, because I can't change it. Instead, it just lingers in the darkness like a chain tightening around the heart showing what could have been. However, when the past dies, ends, becomes a closed avenue, something strange happens. I freeze and wonder in that selfish, center of the universe way humans have, could I have done something to change it? Here is where the F-word comes in again, Fate. If I could go back, knowing what I know now, would I change any of my decisions, sure, should I? No, but I do know that a dear friend is gone, and this world a much dimmer place without him in it. I'll miss you, Perry.

Love always,


Tuesday, September 11, 2007


It's hard to believe it's been six years since the skyline of NYC was changed forever. I just remember thinking how awful it was that a plane accidently hit the tower. Talk about innocence lost, huh? When the Pentagon was targeted too, it was still awful, but by then, I was ready for it and knew what was going on, so I was more mad than anything.
Many died, others were heroes. All should be remembered today as well as the soldiers that are still fighting. Whether you think the war's justified, a senseless bid for vengeance, a waste of taxpayer's money or a combination of all three, I still say we have to remember the tragedy that happened today. Then, there's the old saying about learning our history, let's do that, because this is something I don't ever want to see happen again.

Through it all though, I'm still proud to be an American.
Jenna Leigh

Saturday, September 08, 2007

Faith, Saints and Cable TV

My husband is in a bit of a slump. Oh, no not writing wise. That part is fine and dandy. I'm talking about nothing to watch on the bewwb tube. He loves the television but right now, if you haven't noticed, we've reached a point where Summer is over but, strangely enough, Fall hasn't begun just yet. How could the networks let this season gap happen to the innocent TV sluts like my hubby? He's bereft, bewildered, bothered, and bummed and about his lack of viewing prospects. I'm just pissed that we have all these channels and there still ain't shit to watch. Why the heck are we paying for cable anyway?

I can remember having four channels when I was a kid. NBC, ABC, CBS, and Public Broadcasting. You're either nodding with me, or you're too damn young to remember what a big deal it was to get Fox. I'm more than likely old enough to have changed your diapers.

Do you know who White Snake, Def Leppard, Twisted Sister or Duran Duran are? Was their music ever played on the channel known as MTV? If your answer to either of my questions are no, then git, you little teensy babies you. Go and watch your big brothers and sisters on the Rugrats.

Back to the season gap rant, which ties in with the foosball is of the devil rant I have every year at this time. *sighs*

So, last night with the hubby was bad. The Saints played football, he was all excited and ready to watch it and then, crap if Faith Hill didn't come out and start singin' the national anthem. He despises her since the unfortunate *giggles and tosses back long blonde hair* Oh, but I thank I sang Piece of My Heart better than Janis Joplin *flutters lashes and flashes perfect teeth* incident which happened well over ten years ago.

However, this slight against his precious Janis has festered in his soul like a blight on a pristine rose growing black and bitter with rage and hate. It hasn't gotten better with time, like any of those trite little songs and poems say it will because upon seeing Faith or hearing her voice, astonishingly nasty words burst forth from this usually sweet and calm person's mouth. He has even been known to yell out the c word about her. He usually saves this word for persons that pull out in front of him or slam on their brakes, thus endangering the lives of him and his loved ones. So, don't do that, or say you sing better than Janis, and you won't be thought of as a c*nt in his book.

Side note: Yall, I've yelled his name to come help me wash dishes when he was in the next room and he didn't hear me. Ha! However, I muttered that I may perhaps think that Faith did sing PoMH slightly more in tune than Janis. I repeat that I muttered it under my breath while walking away from a man whose spent half his life listening to frickin Prince and hell yes, Janis at a decibel level detectable on Mars. This man not only heard me say this, but called ME a c*nt. *growls* Oh, yes he did. He said it once, but I said it fifty two times in thirty minutes until he pleaded with me to stop. So, I won, by reclaiming this word since I happen to be the owner of one, thank you very much. He didn't get any of it for quite a while, mind you.

Back to the football game...

By the way he thinks she jinxed the Saints. *snorts* Oh as if! They don't need any help with that, they suck well enough on their own. But I digress, I happen to like Mrs. McGraw, which means hubby and I have The Faith Wars all the time, and as Teen Mean's on my side, he don't stand a chance.

Jenna Leigh
Waiting on the Fall Season
Until then, I'll just aggravate the hell outta JMorgan *evil smiles*

Thursday, September 06, 2007

Paco? ..Hell

I'd promised myself and more importantly the EFO, no more animals in the house, especially not a D- O-G. So, imagine my surprise and his dismay when hubby and I heard a strange high pitched noise on Sunday night. At first, I shushed him because, frankly, I didn't figure anything was more important that Harry Connick Jr romancing Sandra Goofball on Hope Floats. Seriously, how insane was she? He's hot! I'd have dropped my womanizing hubby in a heartbeat and rode that cowboy right down the middle of mainstreet. But that's just me. Where was I? Oh yeah, a strange noise on the porch. Finally, I looked out on my porch and lo and behold, something almost as cute as the Connick walked right in my front door.

I could have put him right out again, like the EFO was meowing for me to do, but in my defence, it was almost dark and we've got coyotes, panthers and bears.. OH MY! Plus, look at that face, he's so sweet. He likes me bestest, I know this. *coughs* Although,I keep telling myself that I'm only 'holding' him until someone claims him, over daughter's dead hmm--well, over someone's dead body--I know and you know ain't nobody coming back for this dog so I'm stuck.

So, his name is Paco, and we did this so Teen Mean wouldn't saddle him with something like Tinkerbell, Honey, Baby or Sassy. He's tiny, so he needed a macho name to make up for his lack of size. I know she would have because the minute she got home from work, she squealed and picked him up in her arms and told me with a smirk that she could be just like Paris Hilton now. My husband roared back that she could be Elle on Legally Blonde, but never, ever Paris. Ever. Teen Mean just shrugged and took Paco for his first of many car rides. He seemed to enjoy it if his butt wiggles were any indication. He sleeps with her too, which is good because the only time he got into our bed, he showed a strange inclination for snuggling under my husband's armpit that I'm sure would have freaked him out if he'd woken up. I've not told him about it .. yet. I'm going to save that for a fight, or a long car drive, whichever comes first.

Welcome to the Insane Asylum Paco. And kudos to EFO who has been nice, so far. Oh crap, he's coming after me, isn't he? Crap.

I being of unsound mind..
Jenna Leigh

Tuesday, September 04, 2007

Still Goin Braless?

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Five Ribbons!
Comical at times and full of passion, BRALESS IN THE BUICK is a rare novel that kept me up all night reading because I absolutely couldn’t put it down. I thoroughly enjoyed Ms. Leigh’s writing style as she told the story of Allie and Jake with precise definition, giving her characters life on the pages. From the meddling neighbors, to the secrets Mr. FBI kept, the story is full of surprises with an ending guaranteed to make you smile. A highly recommended must read for any lover of romance!

Thanks so much to Lacey at Romance Junkies!!

This just in: the great and powerful E leader of Champagne Books has given me a greenlight on Dateless in the Dodge, the sequel for Braless. And I didn't have to work Monday. Man, my week's just getting better and better. *looks down at the picture of Hugh* Yeah, it's all good.


Saturday, September 01, 2007

Disturbing Revelations

Today, whilst lazing in my lady lounger, I flipped through the channels and came across an old movie that was favorite of my mothers. Please note, she'd watch any frickin movie with Guns of, or Buffalo or Shoot Em in the title. In fact, one of my names for her is Western Watchin Woman. I usually don't watch the damn things because I've seen them all, many many many times and frankly, I'm sick to death of them. Heck, I know them by heart, like Jaws which, I know isn't a western, but still..Da dun, da dun GAAH!

Anyhoo, WWW has scarred me for life, I mean, I love John Wayne as much as the next good ole American redneck, but you usually can't pay me to watch one of his movies unless it's McClintock, because Maureen O'Hara is so cool in it. I love the end when he tosses his hat up on the weather vane and she croons, "Never misses." What she really means is *coughs* good sex *coughs* He'd damn well better never miss, because you know and I know ain't no way she'd put up with his crap without some serious sock rockin' in the bargain. Hell, he's The Duke! I'm not talking about a Duke movie this time though, it was a fair chance it would be because the hubby is just as in luuurve with him and even more so with O'Hara. Dear God, she's got red hair, she's Irish and she's mean, he'd jump her geriatric ass right now, are yall kidding me? Hubby's a hoor.

I caught the title of the movie in question because I'd just added Kim Harrison et al's Holidays Are Hell antho to my wishlist on Amazon and hooted at her kewl bastardization of yet another Clint-flick. I love that! Dead Witch Walking, The Good the Bad and the Undead, Every Which Way but Dead, A Fistful of Charms, and For a Few Demons More are all plays on his movies. It took me a few titles to get that because I'm goofy. Plays on words are some of my favorite things. In the Holidays are Hell antho, she does it again with Two Ghosts for Sister Rachel, which brings me to my movie of the day, Two Mules for Sister Sara and my freak out for the week, or probably the rest of the year, depending on what the hell else the woman does. I just never know with her.

I love Clint, for real. He's a tough bad ass s.o.b. and he don't take no prisoners in his Dirty Harry movies. Many remember him mostly for these and the line "Do ya feel lucky punk, well do ya?" I do too, it's a cool line. But, my mother thought he was a hawt cowboy and she said so, repeatedly. At the time I thought boys had cooties and I thought ew. Wait, I still think boys have cooties, but that's beside the point. Some of her Clint's Most Hawt Genes must have transferred to me if only by osmosis because I saw a resemblence today albeit faint between her crush and my own. *gulp* I.. I.. I can't be crushin on my man because my mother liked someone over twenty years ago, can I? He doesn't really look like him, does he? But that's exactly what I thought when I saw Clint sans hat with his beard and that hat hair which.. is.. sort of sticking straight up in the damn air. Oh damn. Clint don't got cooties, he was sorta hot. I know some will say I'm crazy but they look enough alike to make me think, Aack! I've turned into my mama! Kitta laughed and so did Meme, they're so mean to me.

You be the judge. Heck, if I'm wrong, you have to admit a blog's always better..

with a picture of Hugh.

And hell, Clint ain't half bad either.

Not tha Mama yet cuz Charles Bronson.. um no.