Caroline Wilson's Diary

Thank Ya Jesus for Confirmation

I dragged myself into the hair salon around 7:30pm tonight.  I needed a change.  Needed to get my hair did.  Um hm. 

As Mary distributed the color through my full mane to cover the one strand of gray that I found, I thought, "This is different.  Two colors.  More of one color than I preferred, but it looks nice."

And then, the storm.  The worst storm of the season pummels us. I leave the salon thinking, my "do" is going to get "undid".   Driving is dangerous.  I pray.  I repent.  I pray.  You never know, this could be that great getting up morning (even though it was 9:00pm).  I see several cars pull over, so me being the smart girl that I am I pull over too.

As I sat in my car, in the parking lot of the a convenience store, I saw it just as clear as day.  It's the confirmation that I've been waiting for.  Even through the worst storm, I could see it clearly.  Confirmation, right?

I look at the object of my affection and smile.  I admit, it has been the object of my desire for the  past four years.  I roll down the window.  Rain drenches the interior of my Honda Accord, but I don't care.  I stare in awe.  Drool falls from the corner of my mouth.

Wow!

"Thank Ya Jesus for confirmation," I whisper.  I feel my tongue start to roll -- and then the utterance."  Only God and Holy Spirit knew what I said.

Oh, you want to know what I'm gawking at, right?  My dream car.  A sleek, stylish, BMW 650i.  It was the convertible.

The driver rolls down his window, and he had the she's-hitting-on-me-look.

I said to myself, "The Devil is a liar.  Dude, I can't even tell what you look like, but your car is the finest piece of machinery I've ever seen.  With my new "do", I'd sure look good in your car.  Without you,"  I add.

I should take this as confirmation  that God wants me to have that car.  I see it once a day, I know He knows that I'll look good in it.

However, as spiritual as I'm trying to make this, I'm going to wait for more confirmation.  Like the 80K to pay for the finest piece of machinery that I've ever seen.

But in the meantime, I'm just going to say, when I see it, "Thank Ya Jesus for confirmation."

She Gets On My Nerves

Who in the world is the automated voice lady?

Why do I ask?  Because she gets on my last nerves -- I mean the black one.

Why is it that every time I call a company she answers the phone? 

Who the heck is she? 

Does she ever go home?

Does she have a husband -- a family?

She tells me to speak my response, but her automated technology doesn't understand a word I say.

"Ms. Automated Voice Lady, you're getting on my nerves,"  I scream.  "Get me a representative."

Finally, she responds, "I'm sorry -- I didn't understand your response.  Please call back at another time."

Click!  Silence!  Dial Tone.

I pause and give that I-know-you-didn't-just-hang-up-on-me look.

It should have put the fear of God in her, but she doesn't care.  She's automated.

I can't stand her.  She gets on my nerves.

The Epiphany: The Devil Is A Liar

Have you seen Annie Lee's Blue Monday?  Well here it is!

Okay, what's the story? You ask.  Well, if you read the last post, you know that I have a favorite restaurant.  For those of you who know me, it's the P---.  Yeah! That one.  Why is it my favorite?  Because....ummmmm....I'm a 20 year veteran of this place, and they have the best Italian food this side of the River Jordan. I eat there at least once a week.  It's gotten so bad that every time I walk into the place they seat me in the same place -- in the corner where I can still hear the conversations, and read whatever book that doesn't make me look like the lonely eater.  I get kissed by every server, and the owners (I like that).  They already know what I'm going to order.  I''ll surprise them one day.

Okay, stop the she's still eating out after the debacle last month, and with the bad economy.  Well, if you're single --I mean unmarried as my sister, Jaqi, would say --then eating out doesn't require you to worry about what you have to put on the George Foreman Grill for dinner, or what can be microwaved so late in the evening.  Besides, I work late and....I don't know.  It's easier to have someone cook for you!  SO DON'T JUDGE ME!

Well, tonight the restaurant was full of young couples, gazing into each others eyes and saying things that I haven't heard since Mary birthed Jesus. 

I begin to feel self-conscious.  Why are they staring at me?  "Rat bastards need to mind their business."

"Jesus, where'd that come from," I think.  "They're real people.  They're not rat bastards.  Forgive me, Lord."

And then I realized that I allowed Satan to  put the picture of Annies Lee's Blue Monday in my head. I imagined myself in another 20 years -- the old hag with breasts hanging down to her ankles (okay, Annie Lee's character doesn't depict the breast thing, but she's smaller than me), gray hair, sitting in the corner,eating the same thing, alone, and all the patrons wonder why she's eating alone again.

Oh, but GOD!  He gave me an epiphany.   I said He gave me an epipppphhhhhannnnyyyy!

The Devil is a Liar straight from the pits of hell.  I'm not that Annie Lee character -- I only look like her when I wake up most mornings...Okay, I've given up lying.  I look like her every morning, but nobody sees me.

I encourage myself and think of those young couples looking at me..."They're just jealous because I'm getting all the attention from the cute servers and owners. They don't know what I look like in the morning.   Heeeeeyyyyyyy!" 

And I say to my servers, "What time can I expect my hug and kisses next week.  They say, "Whenever you come in."