Okay! Okay! Got a name for this "newsletter" experiment.
Based on all the responses, I'm calling it "TWIRP."

Which means:

"This Writer Is Really Peculiar."Newsletter Dated: 5/11/2004 1:09:36 AM

Subject: PreAnnouncement Almost Newsletter News!

Hi ya'll: The date is six days past Cinco De Mayo and nobody invited me to even have a lunch at Taco Bell.

(Okay, I'm fine now.)

Well, this first newsletter is more like a letter that is a precursory note to the notes that will follow in the new newsletter I have decided to call TWIRP.

Back in the days when it was customary for young women to have a special occasion to ask a guy out, my high school had this "excuse to embarrass ourselves" by calling a dance "TWIRP." This meant "The Woman Is Requested To Pay."

Well, my Momma said she wasn't payin' for nothin', arranged for me to have a home-made pantsuit, (complete with sequined lace) and have my hairdresser at the time, Ms. Curtis (yes, it really was a woman, not a guy that called himself "Ms. Curtis") to give me the most God-awful behive hairdo that even the B-52's wouldn't allow in their singing group. Picture that, a pair of pink heels to go with the equally pink outfit, and a skinny 105 pound 5 ft 4 in. 16 year old who wore semi coke-bottle plastic framed black octagonal eyeglasses.

(Yes, I have pics to prove it all--thank goodness I lost them.)

My date was a James Brown saxophone-playin' wanna be named Michael Lawler. (I think I can mention his name because I'm pretty sure someone said "the late" Michael Lawler at our last high school reunion. God rest his soul (I think.)

Well, he had on a brown suit, blue shirt, brown shoes and black socks. (I know, to DIE for.)

What's worse, he wore coke bottle type glasses too. Four-sided.

Coulda done better, you ask? Well of course the guy I wanted to go to the TWIRP dance with was a guy I'd had a crush on, who played saxophone, who was a heart-throb and knew it. Ensley (goofy name, I know) Windham was one of those doe-eyed, sweet milk chocolate brown brothas that will make you want to do things that you were taught not to do in church. And this ringleader could have his pick of the litter. My good friend, (won't mention her name 'cause I want to stay friends with her) asked Ensley out instead.

Darn! And all that was left was Mr.-Say-It-Loud-I'm-buh-LACK-'n'-I'm-Proud.

Seeing that desperate times require desperate measures, I decided since Ensley and Michael were part of a dance band (please don't ask me, I'm gettin' kind old upstairs) that at least I might be able to steal a dance with Mr. Dream Dude.

Well, we danced in one of those Soul Train Line Dance thingys, and that's as close as we got. And Michael may as well been dancin' all by his own self. Talk about GOOFY! It was one of those nights where you welcome beating the curfew.

As for that, I must say that not being a teenager anymore is a true blessing, minus a few bubblewrap poppin' knees every now and again. But the lessons of life growing up taught me so much. So many people I use to think would be good for me and my ego were a definite "oh no!" So glad that God knows best because in the end it is so plainly written in Isaiah 55:8

Isaiah 55:8 - For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the LORD.

Well, so much for this prelimary sorta-kinda newsletter. The REAL one will be comin' atcha at the end of every month, starting May 31. (Why? Because this is a peculiar newsletter that chooses to start at a peculiar time. Ain't that peculiar???

Just call this a warm up session. Spiritually and literally speaking.

Moral: Our lives are God's record player, so we better not EVEN touch His stereo!

blessin's, See you next time! Please subscribe because hey, I ain't normal!

cynth'ya