Mandi-Corruptor, Instigator, and My Best Friend!

THIS heifer right here. You've read the stories. You know just by looking at her that any moral defects I have as an adult are all her fault. This is Mandi. This is "the bestie". I found that bottom picture there, and had to share it. That's from when we first met and were working together at McDonald's back in 2002. The second one was last Christmas, when she decided we both needed duck lips for a selfie. Yes, we're grown women in our mid-thirties who still enjoy a good selfie session, and please believe, the majority of them look like those up there.

There are way too many stories to go along with these selfies, as well as the 15 years of friendship between the two of us. I just wanted to share the pics. But should you ever be lucky enough to cross paths with us, be warned. We have no filter, no act-right, and not a single ounce of shame. You'll never find another pair of crazy gals like us though! We're quirkier than your average pair. 

1) If either of us is crying, DO NOT--I repeat--DO NOT HUG THE CRYING PERSON!!! Sure, it's a kind gesture, but it makes the emotional issue that much worse.

2) Sugar coating isn't going to happen where clothing is concerned. Example: If you look bad in something you're trying on, you'll likely get something along the lines of "That looks stupid. Take it off."

3) We are happily boring. Our days at the bars and clubs are long gone. We tend to spend our free time in pajamas, vegging out on our favorite shows, browsing Pinterest, or just plain old laying around. We enjoy the occasional glass of moscato, and the frequent trip to Taco Bell. 

4) Neither of us do bugs. At all. Don't think for one second that we're above calling someone to come over and handle a particularly large spider. 

5) We frequently talk in movie quotes and song lyrics. And yes, we are thoroughly amused with ourselves. 

I know it's a random post, but I'm pretty proud of my bestie. If God ever intended for me to have a sister, she must've been it. I'm pretty sure he knew better than to give both of us to one parent though. I don't think anyone would be equipped to handle that. 

Love you, Hooker!!!! 

Adventures of an Amateur Spider Fighter

  

    Spiders are a pretty common phobia. Then again, I’m scared of just about any insect; especially grasshoppers. I grew up in the middle of the country, in a tiny trailer located smack dab in the middle of a cow pasture. In places like these, grasshoppers were abundant, and got as long as your arm (yes I’m exaggerating). My dad used to catch them, chase me around with them, and then throw them on me. I never fully recovered from that, and still to this day have a mild panic attack at the mere sight of the hoppy, green nuisance. I digress. Typical girlie girl behavior would always come out in my cozy little household where bugs or rodents were concerned. Mandi, her husband Rushy, their little one Jaxon (who might have been 3 at the time), and I all lived in a gorgeous double-wide together. Jaxon had gone to spend his usual Saturday night with his aunt Jackie, and Rushy was on duty at the police department overnight. For Mandi and I, this meant we had the opportunity to go out and have our grown up lady fun at the bar.

    We’d been there no more than an hour or so, dancing and catching up with friends, when Mandi realized Rushy had texted her. “Emergency. 911. Call me”, was all the text said. People, let me express how important it is that there is an actual emergency when you text someone a message like that. She stepped outside to call him, and came back looking irritated. After a good bit of beating around the bush, and starting sentences that made things sound absolutely bleak, Rushy finally explained that Jaxon was throwing up, so we needed to go get him. Not exactly “emergency 911” material and he’d scared us to death!  We drive from Jacksonville to Beebe and pick up a paler-than-usual, pitiful Nugget (aka Jaxon), and drive him home. We no more than walk inside than he hurls on the floor. Again—no biggie. After we've cleaned up the mess, bathed the child, and gotten ourselves comfortable, we parted ways for bed. I told Mandi if she needed me to come wake me up.

I’d just climbed into bed and was snuggling down under the covers when there was a knock on my bedroom door. I opened it and was greeted by a very pale, wide-eyed Mandi with a sleepy Jaxon on her hip. “What’s the matter?” I asked, worried that a hospital trip may be in order. “There’s a spider on my pillow!” she cheerleader-whispered. What exactly it was that she expected me to do, I don’t know, but not wanting to deal with the eight-legged critter myself, I quickly blurted out, “Well kill it!” Eyes still wide, she shook her head and said she could not. Insert sigh of resignation and acceptance of fate. I collected all I would need to achieve the task of assassinating the spider.

Equipped with oven mitts on both hands, a foam bat from Jaxon’s room, and a broom, I puffed out my chest and slowly walked to Mandi and Rushy’s bedroom. I didn't see it. Where did it go?? “It’s right there!” Mandi whispered, pointing. Nope. Still didn't see it. Giving me a slight shove, she pointed again. “RIGHT. THERE!” When she shoved me, I stumbled a bit, and this must have amused the spider, because it did it’s creepy little spider shuffle, which scared me to death. I took a deep breath, gathered my bearings, and ran toward it, bat and broom raised high! I swung the broom down onto the spider with all I had. And it bounced. Off of the bed and onto the floor where it scurried.

    Nope. DONE.

    I dropped all my armor, screamed and let loose an obscenity or four, and ran out, slamming the door behind me (because as you know, spiders can’t crawl underneath doors). After a brief discussion, we decided to call in reinforcement. Mandi sent Rushy a text. “Emergency 911. Get home ASAP.” Less than 10 minutes later, Rushy burst through the door, wild-eyed and ready to eff something or someone up. “What’s wrong? What is it?” He asked. Mandi very calmly explained. “There’s a big-ass spider in our bedroom, your son is sick, and we’re not sleeping in there until the spider is dead and gone.” Rushy disappeared into the bedroom. We found ourselves pretty amused at the grunts, bangs, crashes, and shuffles coming from in there. He finally emerged, and announced that the spider was no more!

When he complained that Mandi shouldn't have sent him the emergency text, she smiled.

“Kind of silly to get everybody all riled up over something that really isn't that big of a deal, now isn't it?”

…..We still call Rushy to fight our spider battles. 

Humor at Church: The Holy Ghost

  I was raised Pentecostal/Apostolic. For those of you who aren’t familiar, this means we are very vocal, very physical, and very emotional with our worship. It can be shocking and maybe even frightening for someone not used to what goes on at the revivals or Sunday service (or any service for that matter). We have shouting, we have tears, and we have flailing. There’s always someone speaking in tongues. Having said that, I’ll share a humorous bit of my churchgoing experience with you, and maybe you’ll agree that going to church with family can be such a good thing!

   I have a little brother named Brandon. I say little. He’s a good foot taller than me, but he’s 4 years younger. When we moved from Donaldson to Malvern, Arkansas, Mom decided she wanted to try out a new church. I don’t remember what directed us to this particular little Pentecostal church, but we were going to try it, by golly! I want to say it was a Wednesday night service. Everyone was so friendly and welcoming. The music began, and so did the worship. There were hands lifted everywhere. Voices switching between singing along with the hymns and speaking their hearts to the Lord above. Some were tearful; others peaceful. I’d been witnessing this practically since birth, so I was perfectly comfortable.

   And then it happened. A woman, who looked to be maybe in her mid-twenties at most, became much immersed in the Spirit. She began to sway, lifting her hands. She began to cry, and to speak in tongues. Then, without stopping any of these things, she began to run around the sanctuary. Brandon was maybe 6 years old at the time, and had been sitting quietly during all of this. I don’t know what made me look, but I glanced over at him, and his eyes were as big as saucers! I turned back to face the front, and he nudged my leg. We were taught that it was wrong to talk during church, and he knew that, but he persistently nudged me. I leaned over so we could whisper. “What is it?” I asked. He shook his head slightly, and leaned in toward me. “I know what’s wrong with that girl. I know why she’s screamin’” he replied. I asked him what he meant, and he paused for a moment. Then, very solemnly and factually, he explained.

“That Holy Ghost is tryin’ to get her and she’s scared!”

Mom heard it, I heard it, and we decided it best to leave before anyone realized we were overcome with the giggles.