As I drove to her abode in my Cayman green Ford Ranger, I tried to figure out why Mother was so insistent on where I parked. She told me three or four times to park directly in front of her light lavendar (( yeah, for real )) stucco duplex....and then she told me that SHE'D be driving to Acapulco's. I finally gave up trying to figure out her reasoning on this one and decided to just give in. Hell, she even told me to make sure that I parked where the sidewalk ended.............?
I followed her directions to the T. My feet hit the sidewalk like I was walking on red carpet and I strolled to her front porch. It was really just a glorified stoop, but she'd crammed everything she could into that small space. As I walked up the three steps to her stoop, I was greeted with a white wicker love seat, a 3 shelved rack with multiple colored geraniums filling every shelf, and a white cement shabby chic lion in the corner. I swear she had to use lube to fit it all in. I doubted how comfortable anyone would feel with all that stuff surrounding them as I rang the door bell. It was one of those LOUD doorbells, too, -- that didn't ring, but rather BONGED like The Gong Show. For some strange reason, I found that to be ironic and wondered if it was an omen for things to come that evening.
Suddenly, she was outside with me on that dinky stoopy porch. She'd come out the door so fast, that I didnt' even get a chance for a peak inside. You KNOW, I hated that. Now, it doesn't matter to me what someone has or how expensive their possessions are, but I do like to see their taste. It tells a lot about someone (( we won't talk about my up-the-wall-carpet apartment cuz I didn't decorate it )). You don't have to be rich to have good taste, and you don't have to have ugly things cuz you are poor (( some of my best finds were discovered for a quarter at a yard sale )). Anyway, my glimpse into her personality would have to wait until another time. She told me to get into the passenger side of her car and stressed that I didn't light up -- which kind of pissed me off that someone would think I'd be so rude as to smoke a cigarette in his or her car without permission. Puhlease, I'm from Oklahoma. We DO have manners.
Did I say car? Hmmm...Well, I should have said tank, cuz it was one of those BIG old gas guzzling Oldsmobiles with a shiny white exterior and funny blue fabric interiors. I don't know how old it was, and it would have been rude for me to ask, but it certainly wasn't from the nineties, but it was immaculately clean inside and out. The odometer was just a little over 5,000 which gave me the impression that it had either turned over once or that Mother didn't drive much..........When we finally got inside the car and shut our doors, I had the chance to look over at her. Her was a him, now, but she still felt like a her. Oh, he was dressed like a guy. He had kind of a Garanimal style -- dark brown boat shoes,light khakis and a short sleeved plaid shirt. It just kind of looked liked he paired the tags together to figure out what matched...I'd find out, eventually, that I wasn't too far off base.... I know his attire sounds pretty subdued for a flashy drag queen, but that is the way he always dressed, I'd find out. I guess he saved all of the flash and glitz for the stage because there was nothing about his boy clothing that revealed he was gay much less a lady of the gay night. Of course, there was the black and blue bump on his head which I surmised must be the left-overs of the bar pole bang, but he also had some scratches on his cheek. Hmm..maybe he has a cat, I thought. He backed out of the drive-way and the radio went up full blast. I looked over at him with disapproval, and he instantly reached over and turned down the music.
"Do you like Mexican?" he asked.
I just gave him a look like he was the stupidest person on Earth, and he started to guffaw.
"Oh, that's right. I guess you eat it all the time...hehehe. Honey, I just love Acapulco's, and it's much more Americanized than that place you work. Besides, they have dollar margarita's on Tuesday nights..."
"I didn't think you drank," I offered.
"I don't. I thought you might want to have a drink. That's why I offered to drive. I heard that you are very careful about drinking and driving."
Hmmm...This IS a small town, I thought to myself.
"I never drink and drive because my cousin was killed by a drunk driver the day after Thanksgiving 5 years ago...."I trailed off into thought. Melissa and her cheering buddy and friend, Mona, were headed back to my hometown after a day of shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year. A drunk driver crossed the center line and murdered Melissa that day. Mona was badly hurt, but she recovered eventually. Yes, Melissa was my cousin, but she wasn't just my cousin. You see, My dad and his brother are twins. My cousins lived down the road from us, and we were very literally raised together, spent our summers together, attended the same church together, went fishing together....you get the picture She was more like my sister than my cousin, and she was also my friend. However, Melissa is the one who let the cat out of the bag and then all hell broke loose -- just a few months before she died. Melissa had seen me together with my first boyfriend, and I guess she could tell by the way we were interacting that we were more than friends. Instead of asking me about it, she went home and told her parents of her supposition. Hell, it was the summer of my freshman year in college, and she was a year older. It wasn't like we were kids. Of course, her mother -- being a Godly hairdresser -- had to tell the whole damn town, and my dad's twin had to tell him. NO ONE BOTHERED TO ASK ME. Then my grandma, before she completely forgot me, had to stick her nose in it all, and by Christmas, my parents had disenrolled me from college, quit my job for me, and moved me home...and that all happened in one day. To say the least, things went down hill from there....and no, I don't drink and drive because of Melissa....and I didn't talk to her again after she confessed for me either. Heck, I lost my entire family because of a supposition. For a long time, I placed the fault at Melissa's feet; it would take me years to realize that she'd only relayed the story to my family because she cared about me through a narrow-minded, Christian heart.........
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mother said just like everyone always says in those type of sitations but never really means.
"I'm sorry for many things, " I said a little too thoughtfully.
"Well, you can have fun tonight, " Mother said as she tried to lighten the mood. "You can be Cooter Brown if you want cuz I'm driving," Mother laughed as she slapped me on my knee and guffawed.
I didn't really know who this Cooter Brown was, but it sounded kind of nasty.
"Uh, well, I'll just be me, thanks," I said and the conversation kind of ended for a bit cuz I reached over and turned up the radio and tried to shield myself from the discomfort that was slowly creeping up my back.
Acapulco's was on Ouachita which was only a few blocks away from Mother's duplex, so we were parallel parking within a few minutes after leaving her place. When we got inside, it didn't really feel like a Mexican restaurant. Actually, it was pretty nice inside. The ceilings were HIGH and the perimeter of the building was double decker glass. There were so many tropical plants in this place that I almost expected to see Parrots looming on their branches. We took a booth in the Ouachita window and faced each other, and I finally got a good look at him. Hmmm...kinda' Donald Trumpish with better -- but not much -- hair AND he not only had the bruise and scratch on the right side of his face, but his left eye looked a little swollen, too. I couldn't contain my surprise.
"What happened? I asked with that begging tone in my voice that pretty much signalled that I wanted to hear all the dirt.
Suddenly, a well-built blonde American waiter was beside us, and I ordered a dollar Margarita on the rox (( you can drink Rox Margaritas much quicker than those frozen brain-freeze sissy Margs )). The waiter looked at mother, smiled broadly and THEY said in unison:
"A Virgin Pina Colada with a splash of Dr. Pepper and a pink parasol." as they both giggled and laughed.
I followed her directions to the T. My feet hit the sidewalk like I was walking on red carpet and I strolled to her front porch. It was really just a glorified stoop, but she'd crammed everything she could into that small space. As I walked up the three steps to her stoop, I was greeted with a white wicker love seat, a 3 shelved rack with multiple colored geraniums filling every shelf, and a white cement shabby chic lion in the corner. I swear she had to use lube to fit it all in. I doubted how comfortable anyone would feel with all that stuff surrounding them as I rang the door bell. It was one of those LOUD doorbells, too, -- that didn't ring, but rather BONGED like The Gong Show. For some strange reason, I found that to be ironic and wondered if it was an omen for things to come that evening.
Suddenly, she was outside with me on that dinky stoopy porch. She'd come out the door so fast, that I didnt' even get a chance for a peak inside. You KNOW, I hated that. Now, it doesn't matter to me what someone has or how expensive their possessions are, but I do like to see their taste. It tells a lot about someone (( we won't talk about my up-the-wall-carpet apartment cuz I didn't decorate it )). You don't have to be rich to have good taste, and you don't have to have ugly things cuz you are poor (( some of my best finds were discovered for a quarter at a yard sale )). Anyway, my glimpse into her personality would have to wait until another time. She told me to get into the passenger side of her car and stressed that I didn't light up -- which kind of pissed me off that someone would think I'd be so rude as to smoke a cigarette in his or her car without permission. Puhlease, I'm from Oklahoma. We DO have manners.
Did I say car? Hmmm...Well, I should have said tank, cuz it was one of those BIG old gas guzzling Oldsmobiles with a shiny white exterior and funny blue fabric interiors. I don't know how old it was, and it would have been rude for me to ask, but it certainly wasn't from the nineties, but it was immaculately clean inside and out. The odometer was just a little over 5,000 which gave me the impression that it had either turned over once or that Mother didn't drive much..........When we finally got inside the car and shut our doors, I had the chance to look over at her. Her was a him, now, but she still felt like a her. Oh, he was dressed like a guy. He had kind of a Garanimal style -- dark brown boat shoes,light khakis and a short sleeved plaid shirt. It just kind of looked liked he paired the tags together to figure out what matched...I'd find out, eventually, that I wasn't too far off base.... I know his attire sounds pretty subdued for a flashy drag queen, but that is the way he always dressed, I'd find out. I guess he saved all of the flash and glitz for the stage because there was nothing about his boy clothing that revealed he was gay much less a lady of the gay night. Of course, there was the black and blue bump on his head which I surmised must be the left-overs of the bar pole bang, but he also had some scratches on his cheek. Hmm..maybe he has a cat, I thought. He backed out of the drive-way and the radio went up full blast. I looked over at him with disapproval, and he instantly reached over and turned down the music.
"Do you like Mexican?" he asked.
I just gave him a look like he was the stupidest person on Earth, and he started to guffaw.
"Oh, that's right. I guess you eat it all the time...hehehe. Honey, I just love Acapulco's, and it's much more Americanized than that place you work. Besides, they have dollar margarita's on Tuesday nights..."
"I didn't think you drank," I offered.
"I don't. I thought you might want to have a drink. That's why I offered to drive. I heard that you are very careful about drinking and driving."
Hmmm...This IS a small town, I thought to myself.
"I never drink and drive because my cousin was killed by a drunk driver the day after Thanksgiving 5 years ago...."I trailed off into thought. Melissa and her cheering buddy and friend, Mona, were headed back to my hometown after a day of shopping on the busiest shopping day of the year. A drunk driver crossed the center line and murdered Melissa that day. Mona was badly hurt, but she recovered eventually. Yes, Melissa was my cousin, but she wasn't just my cousin. You see, My dad and his brother are twins. My cousins lived down the road from us, and we were very literally raised together, spent our summers together, attended the same church together, went fishing together....you get the picture She was more like my sister than my cousin, and she was also my friend. However, Melissa is the one who let the cat out of the bag and then all hell broke loose -- just a few months before she died. Melissa had seen me together with my first boyfriend, and I guess she could tell by the way we were interacting that we were more than friends. Instead of asking me about it, she went home and told her parents of her supposition. Hell, it was the summer of my freshman year in college, and she was a year older. It wasn't like we were kids. Of course, her mother -- being a Godly hairdresser -- had to tell the whole damn town, and my dad's twin had to tell him. NO ONE BOTHERED TO ASK ME. Then my grandma, before she completely forgot me, had to stick her nose in it all, and by Christmas, my parents had disenrolled me from college, quit my job for me, and moved me home...and that all happened in one day. To say the least, things went down hill from there....and no, I don't drink and drive because of Melissa....and I didn't talk to her again after she confessed for me either. Heck, I lost my entire family because of a supposition. For a long time, I placed the fault at Melissa's feet; it would take me years to realize that she'd only relayed the story to my family because she cared about me through a narrow-minded, Christian heart.........
"Oh, I'm sorry," Mother said just like everyone always says in those type of sitations but never really means.
"I'm sorry for many things, " I said a little too thoughtfully.
"Well, you can have fun tonight, " Mother said as she tried to lighten the mood. "You can be Cooter Brown if you want cuz I'm driving," Mother laughed as she slapped me on my knee and guffawed.
I didn't really know who this Cooter Brown was, but it sounded kind of nasty.
"Uh, well, I'll just be me, thanks," I said and the conversation kind of ended for a bit cuz I reached over and turned up the radio and tried to shield myself from the discomfort that was slowly creeping up my back.
Acapulco's was on Ouachita which was only a few blocks away from Mother's duplex, so we were parallel parking within a few minutes after leaving her place. When we got inside, it didn't really feel like a Mexican restaurant. Actually, it was pretty nice inside. The ceilings were HIGH and the perimeter of the building was double decker glass. There were so many tropical plants in this place that I almost expected to see Parrots looming on their branches. We took a booth in the Ouachita window and faced each other, and I finally got a good look at him. Hmmm...kinda' Donald Trumpish with better -- but not much -- hair AND he not only had the bruise and scratch on the right side of his face, but his left eye looked a little swollen, too. I couldn't contain my surprise.
"What happened? I asked with that begging tone in my voice that pretty much signalled that I wanted to hear all the dirt.
Suddenly, a well-built blonde American waiter was beside us, and I ordered a dollar Margarita on the rox (( you can drink Rox Margaritas much quicker than those frozen brain-freeze sissy Margs )). The waiter looked at mother, smiled broadly and THEY said in unison:
"A Virgin Pina Colada with a splash of Dr. Pepper and a pink parasol." as they both giggled and laughed.
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