Ka-Boom, it's my birthday!

Howdy, y'all!

People always ask me how I like sharing a birthday with our nation. Well, I like it fine. I was 10 years old before I realized all the fireworks and whoop-dee-doo every Fourth of July wasn't specifically on account of me.

My middle daughter, Mace, always says that explains a lot.

Well, I'm not going to take too long on the computer and the Wide World of the Web today. We're having a picnic at Himmarshee Park -- BBQ ribs, baked beans and corn-on-the-cob. And, of course, my favorite dessert, butterscotch pie.

I told Ida not to bother making her potato salad this year, but I know she'll bring it anyway. Last year, my fiance Sal was the only one who'd eat it. It went through him like green grass through a goose, if you get my meaning.

Anyway, just wanted to say Happy Birthday to ME (and also to the US of A.)

Love, Mama

My Best Friend's a Judas

Dear Mama,

I am so mad at my former best friend I'm fixin' to knock her teeth down her throat just so I can watch her spit 'em out single-file.
She betrayed me with my no-account boyfriend, Darryl! They did the deed in the king-sized bed I'm still paying off on my credit card. Even worse, I just found out she's pregnant.
I lost my best friend and my boyfriend (though, honestly, Darryl is no loss.)
Here's my question: I've been invited to the baby shower. Do I have to bring a gift?
Signed,
Done Wrong


Dear Done,

Honey, the only thing worse than a cheating man is a Judas best friend. And believe me, I've known my share of both. If she wasn't in the family way, I'd declare open season on those teeth of hers and tell you to start knockin'.
But there's a way to get her back so you won't get hauled in for assault.
Go to that baby shower looking like a million bucks. Her ankles are likely all swollen and she feels big as a house, so she'll see the contrast right off. Talk about how getting rid of Darryl is the best thing that ever happened to you. You know she already regrets hooking up, so this'll remind her what a loser he is. And, finally, bring the nicest gift you can afford. You'll look like the better woman, and Lord knows that poor child deserves something special considering the no-class parents he's got.

Love, Mama

Who'd Make the Best President?

Dear Mama,

I'm curious about how Himmarshee (and you!) will vote in the presidential election? You've helped so many people with love and fashion tips, I thought you might have something to say about politics, too.


Signed,
Are you Red or Blue?



Dear Red or Blue,

Well, honey, I'm a Summer, so neither of those colors is right for me. I favor pastels. Primary colors look best on gals with Winter complexions and coloring. Stop by and see me sometime at Hair Today Dyed Tomorrow beauty parlor, and I'll give you a free sample of your own seasonal color chart.

As for your other question, politics was something my mama always told us to steer clear of in polite company. I found out why during my marriage to Husband No. 3. He was a nice man otherwise, but he could talk the hind leg off a dog when it came to politics. He had some real strong opinions, too. Plus, he'd argue them louder and louder, just like those folks on cable TV.

Once, at Thanksgiving, No. 3 lit into my nephew, who's a bit of a liberal, if you get my drift. Kenny took it as long as he could, until he finally ended up dumping a nearly full serving dish of Ida's green bean casserole right over my ex's head. I was mad about my tablecloth, but it gave me a secret thrill to see my sister-in-law's awful cream of mushroom soup and canned onion ring concoction dripping down No. 3's brow.

Two birds with one stone.

Anyway, trying to persuade someone to your political views is like getting into a pissing match with a polecat. One of you is sure to end up stinking.

Love,
Mama

I'm Famous, Y'all!

Take a gander at the book cover on your right. Have you ever seen anything so exciting?
Of course, it wasn't exciting for the poor soul I found stuffed into my trunk like a piece of Samsonite luggage, may he rest in peace.
But for me it was a thrill to see the cover. It's a Coming Attraction for one of my stories, which will be on all the bookshelves Oct. 1, 2008.
You might remember me telling you about that snooty author, the one who's been running around taking the credit for writing Mama Does Time. So she wrote it down, big deal. I'm the one who lived it.
And Miss Smarty Pants Sharp better not forget that.
Anyhoo, I hope you like the cover. And, by the way, that poor soul in the trunk actually deserved what he got ... but you can read all about it in Mama Does Time.
PS: In case you forgot, I'm Mama.
PSS: You better hurry and write Ask Mama if you need some advice. Once my fancy book tour starts, I won't have as much time to pass out my pearls of wisdom.

Gridiron Griping

Dear Mama,

I was hoping you could help me with my man. Problem is the Falcons. We married on a good year when they only lost a few games. Life was good then, but all that's changed.
Maybe you saw them play last season? They stunk up the stadium, that's for sure.
When the Falcons loose, Earl don't even talk at all until Wednesday or Thursday. He mopes around the house, kickin' at the dog and mumblin' about yards gained and sacks. By Friday he's bitchin' about next weeks game.
I can't stand it!
I tried callin' the coach and askin' for a better Fall, but he just laughed. I don't think I can take another year of Earl tossin' beer cans at the TV.
Sincerely,
Fourth Down and Out

Dear Fourth Down,

I sympathize with you, honey. Husband No. 3 was a nut for NASCAR. Back then, the late, great Dale Earnhardt was dominating the track. But on those rare days ol' Dale didn't win .... whoo-eee, Watch Out! I'd have to tip-toe around the house like I did when No. 2 was hung-over. And that was a lot of walking on my toes, I'll tell you that.
Short of you solving the Falcons' quarterback problems yourself, I think you'd better prepare for another losing season.
But you're missing an opportunity to bond with your man. You can sit down and watch the game with him, and both of you can toss beer cans at the TV. Nothing like cursing pitiful coaching together to build your relationship. When he bitches about the defense, you bitch about it, too.
But for heaven's sake, put the poor dog outside. It's enough the Falcons' fans suffer; the dog shouldn't have to, too.

Love,
Mama

Never too much Leopard!

Dear Mama,

I've seen you around town at the Speckled Perch and whatnot and I think you have the best fashion sense of any woman in Himmarshee, a lot better than those Yankees on TV.

I can see you like to match and I do, too. My question is this. My no good sister is marrying my ex boyfriend next month. She did not ask me to be a bridesmaid so I'm planning to wear a leopard dress just to show her up. My question is this: is it too much to have shoes to match? My girlfriends are divided on this.

Signed, Bitter and Proud of it

Dear Bitter,

I always say when it comes to animal prints, a little bit is never enough. (Of course, I say that about a lot of things .... including marriages.)

Your girlfriends are wrong, honey. Go whole hog: not just the shoes in matching leopard, but a purse and a scarf, too. Maybe you can even have the manicure gal at Hair Today, Dyed Tomorrow do your nails in black-and-gold spots. You'll outshine that slutty sister like a jungle cat trumps a tabby.

Be careful with those fake nails, though. I predict a catfight before the cake's cut, and nobody wants to find a pinky nail in their chicken pasta.

Love, Mama

Red Flannel and Elvis

Dear Mama,

I'm a newlywed, and I want to make sure I have proper eteekit to fit in with my new husband's family. I have a few questions, and I'd really aprechiate your help.

Will my food stamps buy beer at the Red Neck Alley Inn?

My husband, DeWayne, looks so cute in that red flannel union suit so I don't mind none that he wears it everyday. Even in the summer. But I say we need to bring it down to the laundromat every Sunday, right after church. DeWayne says it can wait 2 sermons. Mama, how often do you think his union suit should be washed?

I'm an Elvis fan. Don't get me wrong. But that life-size cut-out DeWayne moves around our trailer creeps me out sometimes. I don't mind him at the dinner table much. But when Elvis lays in bed with us, well, like I said, Elvis is the king. But am I wrong to think he shouldn't be between us when we sleep?

I'm shure I'll have more questins for ya', Mama. Thanks for yer help.

Love and Nascar, Molly Sue Ann Bob Billy JoJo Walker




Dear Molly Sue Ann etc. etc. etc.,


Honey, I wouldn't worry a bit about fitting in. If you've already scoped out the beer and bowling at the Red Neck Alley, you sound like the perfect match for your new man and his family.
As I see it, you've got yourself a husband, nearby bowling, AND Elvis. Count your blessings, gal! You could have a Rottweiler named Cujo in bed with you, like another one of my advice-seekers who wrote in. At least Elvis don't bite!
As for buying the beer, the way you handle that is to sell some of your food stamps first for cash. But I'd save the booze for nights DeWayne refuses to wash that red flannel, and I'd opt for something a little stronger than beer.
As for me personally, I can't abide the smell of liquor or an unwashed man after Husband No. 2. But you've got plenty of time to find out how much you're willing to take in the name of matrimony.

Love,
Mama

Well, I Never!

Did you see what that smart-aleck author did now? I don't think it's one bit funny that she stuck that picture of a mule up there where my blogger photo should be!
Now, I'll admit I can be a little bit stubborn at times ... and I have been known to tie on the feedbag a fair bit, especially when it comes to barbecue or butterscotch pie.
But, really, a mule?
That Deborah Sharp is about to pluck my last nerve. Mercy me, that gal could make a preacher cuss!

Did That Snippy Writer Scare Y'all Off?

I've been wondering why I wasn't getting too many letters here in the Wide World of the Web, and then I saw that high-falutin' Note to Readers from that smarty-pants writer, Deborah Sharp.
Well, let me just tell you . . . y'all shouldn't be afraid to ask for my advice. I tell it like it is, but I'm never mean (which is more than I can say for Little Miss Too-Big-For-Her-Britches Sharp.)
I DO NOT crave attention, I've never run a "scheme,'' and as for me thinking I sprung to life on my own .... well, shouldn't that be "sprang,'' Miss Know-it-All English Major?
So, anyways, send in those Eeee mails. Honey, I've been through it all: bad love affairs, awful hair, a little misunderstanding that landed me in jail for a murder I didn't commit.




You can't surprise me, and I might surprise you. So sharpen your pencils and drop me a line.
Sincerely,

Rosalee Deveraux
(AKA: "Mama" )

PS: I learned all about AKA in jail: it means Also Known As, which is another way of saying it's my alias. Look it up, Miss Fancy Author.

Monster Gift?

Dear Mama, I just found out my boyfriend plans to give me two tickets to the Monster Truck rally for Christmas this year. This comes after last year's gift (a gas grill) and the year before that (a circular saw). I've hinted and hinted and hinted that I'd be happier with a more feminine present (I'm sure that stupid saw cost more than a tiny diamond necklace would!) But so far, he hasn't taken the hint. What should I do?

Signed, Trucked Up



Dear Trucked,
Honey, you ought to be glad he's getting you any gifts at all. Husband No. 2 never got me one present in five years of marriage. That man was tighter than a wet boot. Dumb, too. If brains were blue ink, No. 2 couldn't dot an i.
I can see your point, though. Any woman in her right mind would prefer jewelry to power tools. Even so, you're lucky your beau wants your company at the Monster Truck show. Maybe you should buy yourself a pretty pendant and wear it (with your earplugs) when y'all go to see the ultimate smackdown between Bigfoot and King Krunch.

Love, Mama