Now it’s no secret that I can be a bit obsessive.

(See: Food Network, Christy Nockels’ voice, ongoing hair / highlighting issues, Mississippi State basketball, Monk & Neagle’s new CD, fried food, diet Coke, etc.)

I’ve been this way my whole life, and while I would like to say that I’m going to relax a little bit here in the latter half of my 30’s and try to dial down the obsess-o-meter, I know better than to make that sort of bold statement because, after all, I am the same person who, about three weeks ago, bought every remaining container of Eucalyptus & Spearmint soap at my neighborhood Bath & Body Works because the soap was half price and WHAT IF THEY STOP MAKING IT? WHAT IF I CAN’T FIND IT EVER AGAIN?

So. Where was I? Somewhere slightly to the left of sanity? Why yes. Of course.

Well.

Ever since Big Mama mentioned in our first podcast that she thought I should wear jeans to the Deeper Still deal, I have been slightly obsessed with jeans. And lest you think that I’ve found a new obsession, I would just like to state for the record that I have merely re-activated an obsession, as is my inalienable right as an American.

I believe you can find provisions for this in the Constitution and other official government-y-type document thingies.

As some of you may remember, earlier this year I had a bit of an existential jean crisis, and the internet came to my rescue, as it has done so often in the last two years. I tried a couple of different brands after I read through my comments, and while I liked the brands I tried, I didn’t love them.

I mean, they were nice enough, and they were cute, too - but we just didn’t have that “spark.”

I didn’t think much about jeans during spring and summer because why would you even think about wearing any sort of full-length denim garment when it’s TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY NINE DEGREES OUTSIDE, but now that there’s that first hint of fall in the air, I’m ready to think about jeans again. So I’ve been paying attention to jeans, trying on some jeans, attempting to discern the trends (by the way, Big Mama has a mini-encyclopedia of jean-trend information here), and giving some deep thought to which jeans I’m going to pursue for Fall ‘07.

And if you’re thinking, “Sister, you may have a little too much time on your hands,” I would just like to say that you’re exactly right. Thank you for noticing.

But really, a girl has to have an alternate thought activity while listening to a four year-old sing “There’s a party in my tummy! So yummy! So yummy!” six or seventy two times in a row.

Everysingleday.

Anyway, I mentioned last week that I was going to choose comfort over style for the Deeper Still conference, and I really and truly did just that. I abandoned my search for The Perfect Jeans and packed my suitcase with whatever was clean. At the time I thought that my decision was because of my Profound Spiritual Maturity, but Saturday morning, when the praise team took the stage, I realized what had actually happened.

Y’all, there is no doubt in my mind that the Lord led me to empty myself of any pre-conference preoccupation with fashion because He knew in His divine wisdom about the jeans that Angela Cottrell was going to be wearing last Saturday morning.

DON’T YOU SEE, INTERNETS? Had I been worried with my own wardrobe, I would not have had room in my heart for Angela’s jeans. But since I was but an empty fashion vessel when I arrived at the Sommet Center that morning, I was ready for a fresh wide-legged work, a new denim direction.

And I’m telling you: those jeans filled my fashion cup to overflowing.

Oh, He is faithful.

I put the jeans in the back of my mind so that I wouldn’t miss the real purpose of the weekend, but when we broke for lunch I called my podcast partner to give her a re-cap of Beth Moore’s session, tell her that Christy Nockels was in the house (!!!), and relay as much information as I possibly could about Angela’s jeans (trouser cut, wide legs, dark wash, perfect hem).

She was on the case immediately.

I saw the jeans one more time during afternoon worship, and I figured it would be the last time I’d ever have contact with them because I couldn’t fathom that I’d ever be able to find a similar pair. I was okay with that - I really was - because even if the jeans had only crossed my path for a short period of time, I knew that they would remain a precious, inspirational memory that I would carry in my heart for the rest of my earthly days.

About thirty minutes after the worship time was over, I headed out to the concession stand to get some lunch since the lines during the actual lunch break were just a little bit longer than endless. I was looking down at my phone, checking my missed calls, and when I finally took my place in line and looked up, I saw a guy about four feet away from me who looked really familiar.

Probably because I had recently seen his face on a Jumbotron as he led 22,000 people in worship.

Yep. Travis Cottrell.

And in that moment, two thoughts occurred to me:

1) Maybe I should introduce myself and tell him how much his ministry has meant to me.
and
2) MINISTRY-SCHMINISTRY! NOW IS MY CHANCE TO FIND OUT ABOUT ANGELA’S JEANS!

Remember, girls: I am a person of Profound Spiritual Maturity.

But you will probably not be surprised to learn that, in the end, I did not say a single word to Travis.

Because I am nothing if not a chicken - a loser, jeans-obsessed chicken.

With inch-long roots, I might add.

On my way home last Sunday I thought of the jeans more often than I can tell you, and I was just sick - SICK - that I didn’t SPEAK UP, ALREADY and mention the jeans when I saw Travis at the concession stand.

And by the way, if you’re wanting to give me a lecture about how I need to be more bold, you’ll be glad to know that Emma Kate has already taken care of that. Twice. Since Monday.

But y’all, the Lord has been at work during this time of fashion uncertainty. He really has.

First of all, Melanie found some trouser jeans at Target that are both inexpensive AND sassy. They aren’t exactly like Angela’s, but they are cute. And sometimes cute is enough.

Then, Thursday night, thanks to Mel’s near-constant efforts to help me find the jeans, I got an email from A Source Who Shall Remain Unnamed, also known as An Angel Straight From Heaven. And thanks to the critical, timely information provided by Source / Angel, I was able to make some terrific strides with my jeans-related inquiries and can now show you this picture of the jeans Angela was wearing, though her denim may have been a little lighter, and I can’t be completely certain that the waistband is identical, not that I’ve scrutinized this photo or anything:

Somebody say “Hallelujah” one time.

(I think it goes without saying that I would never, ever tuck in a shirt if I wore these jeans.)

(But that is perfectly fine because I haven’t tucked in a shirt since 2001.)

(And honestly, aren’t those legs the greatest things you’ve ever seen?)

Now I may get a little teary-eyed as I tell you the last part of this story (HOLD ON, INTERNETS - THERE’S AN END IN SIGHT), but I trust that you can understand how tender my heart must be at this point.

Last night, in Steinmart(s), I found a pair of jeans that are almost identical to the ones in the picture.

I did, y’all. I really did.

The waistband and the tops of the pockets are a little different, but that is of little concern since no eyes will ever gaze upon those parts of the jeans outside of the privacy of my own home.

And do you know what? I already love my new jeans. I do. I know it might seem soon, but sometimes, when you put on the right pair of jeans, you just know that you know that you know. There’s absolutely no question that I owe Angela’s jeans a big “thank you” for putting a fashion dream in my heart - a dream that has led me down the somewhat unexpected trouser-jean path.

So THANK YOU, Angela’s Jeans. I don’t even know how to begin to express my gratitude.

But I can honestly say that I will never be the same.

Oh no.

I will never be the same.

Leigh at Speaking Thru Me sells adorable purses to help support her speaking ministry. We’ve planned to do a giveaway for the last couple of months (I mean, who doesn’t need a super cute bag for fall?), and oh have mercy, the day is finally here.

So, if you’d like to be eligible to win one of TWO Scripture purses that Leigh is giving away, all you have to do is 1) hop over to Leigh’s, 2) take a look around (she has even more cute purses that you can find through her sidebar), and then 3) come back here and tell me which purse is your favorite.

It’s oh-so-simple.

And, even better - you will look oh-so-sassy carrying your new bag.

I’ll leave comments open until next Tuesday.

Have fun, y’all!

I forgot to tell y’all something!

I bought some jeans!

I did!

And you’re not going to believe where. Well, yeah you probably will. But first, an explanation.

I read every single one of your eighty eight comments about blue jeans, and I investigated most of the recommended jeans on the interweb. Style-wise I really liked several of them, and y’all are so jean-savvy that you actually told me about brands I didn’t even know existed. I did recognize the Gloria Vanderbilt brand, however, because when I was in fifth grade I had some aqua green GV corduroys (complete with the swan logo on the hip pocket), and I used to wear them to the skating rink and keep my comb in my back pocket just like I liked it. I could scarcely make it around the rink one time before I had to whip out that plastic Goody comb; it seems that even at the ripe old age of ten I realized that skating might great for the legs, but it’s flat-out murder on the hair.

[And don't even pretend like you don't know what I'm talking about. Your jeans may have been Chic instead of Gloria Vanderbilt, but you totally had that comb in your back pocket. Oh yes ma'am you did. And you sure enough used it right before you got ready for a couple skate. YEAH you did.]

[And hands up if you did the cross-over-arms-hold-hands-with-a-partner-lean-back-and-skate-in-a-circle move.]

Anyway, I was resolved to hit the mall and shop for jeans a couple of weekends ago, but then I remembered that I hate a mall. I really do. We have a big Shopping Extravaganza with every store you’d ever need and/or want about ten minutes from our house, and I never, ever want to go. It overwhelms me. I figure that between all the stores there are at least 174 brands of denim from which to choose, and while I wanted to be adventurous and try on every single brand y’all recommended, I couldn’t do it. I worried that I would get to the fifth brand and lose my mind in the dressing room and run through the store with the legs of the jeans on my arms and be all, “RARRRR! RARRRR!” as I tried to escape from my denim prison.

And y’all would be terribly disappointed in me.

So I decided that it made to the most sense to limit my search to the stores I visit almost daily: Walmart(s) and Steinmart(s).

Why, you ask?

1) Because both stores are close to my house.
and
2) Because I am cheap.

My friend Lea Margaret swears by a brand called Jeanstar that they (supposedly) carry at Steinmart(s), so I thought I’d try those first. OH! But this was after I bought a pair of jeans at Ross for TWELVE NINETY NINE that actually fit pretty well but, according to D., made me look like someone who was secretly hoping to leave her life as a mama behind so that she could join an all-girl hip-hop group. Which is perfectly understandable, really, because I do have some mad rapping skillz.

Anyway, my Steinmart(s) does not carry the Jeanstar brand, apparently, but I did try on a different brand that seemed like they might have some potential until I realized that they had a big glittery butterfly decal on the right leg. And I know they’re God’s creatures and all, but I am terribly frightened of butterflies what with that whole larvae stage and cocoon emergence and what have you, not to mention the fact that if I was planning to wear blue jeans with a butterfly on the leg, I probably should’ve gotten that out of my system back in my skating rink days. They would’ve looked fabulous with a Goody comb tucked in the back pocket.

So then I went to Walmart(s) because I remembered T. at There Is A Season’s comment where she mentioned something about Faded Glory jeans. Actually I think she said “FG jeans,” but I knew what the initials stood for because I am all about some Walmart fashion.

To make a long story endless, I will tell you that the Faded Glory stretch boot cut jeans are my favorite jeans ever. They come up high enough over a post-baby belly (yes, I had my child almost four years ago, but apparently I hold on to that extra flab because I’m, I don’t know? sentimental about it? maybe?) so that the dreaded muffin-top effect is but a faint memory. They’re also cut really long in the legs so that they look great with boots - and they’re generous enough in the thighs that they make a nice, straight line from your hips to your knees, thereby concealing those pesky saddlebags, not that I have any of those since I’m a size 2 and weigh 104 pounds.

Pardon me while I clear my throat for a moment.

Also, the Faded Glory stretch bootcuts jeans don’t have any “adornment” on the pockets except for some very simple stitching, and I love that because I’m not sure why any mama would want and/or need reflective bedazzling on her rear end. At least in my case, big silver studs across the back pockets of jeans do nothing but create a marquee effect, a marquee that’s pretty much telling everyone to LOOK HERE because it’s BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER BEFORE.

Best of all? Faded Glory stretch boot cut jeans are less than $20. LESS THAN TWENTY DOLLARS.

Now all I need is a comb and some roller skates, and I’ll be good to go.

Today I called Emma Kate because I had a little news I wanted to share with her, but when I said, “I have some news,” she immediately assumed that I was pregnant. Which of course I’m not. And if I were? Hello? I would have totally told the whole internet by now.

For the record, I would like to state that the assumption of pregnancy is perhaps the very toughest act to follow in terms of storytelling expectations. Anything after that is a letdown. It’s like someone guessing that your husband gave you a trip around the world for Christmas - and then you have to say no, actually, he gave me hubcaps.

I know whereof I speak on this particular issue because when I was eleven my daddy proudly gave my mama hubcaps for Christmas, and Mama thought it was a joke because she had spent the entire month of November dropping four or eighty-six hints that she wanted a pair of diamond earrings. Daddy, however, believed that the hubcaps were a perfectly lovely gift because at the time Mama was driving a Ford that lost a hubcap whenever she thought about driving over a pebble.

Needless to say, Mama failed to see the merit in the practical nature of Daddy’s tenderhearted yuletide gesture.

And also needless to say, when EK heard my actual news this afternoon, she wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as she would have been over, say, a baby, so I just gave up on my story and instead asked her what she was doing, because as best as I could tell she was wadding up plastic grocery bags and rubbing them against the mouthpiece of her phone.

As it turned out, she was buying some jeans. I can’t remember the specific brand EK was purchasing, but I can tell you without hesitation that they were not in fact Mom Jeans because Miss Thing would rather cut her hair with a butter knife than wear anything with pleats around the midriff area.

This is after all the same girl who contemplated ending her engagement when her then-fiance’ (now-wonderful husband) questioned whether or not she “needed” a skirt she bought at Goldsmith’s, at which point Emma Kate called me in tears and said in all seriousness that there was absolutely no way she could marry a man who didn’t recognize the importance of a good skirt. However, she came to her senses about fifteen minutes later, and you’ll be glad to know that they continue to live happily ever after.

Anyway, EK told me that she doesn’t mind spending a little extra on good jeans because she wears them every single day. And she doesn’t know it, but her statement about wearing blue jeans every single day has provoked great thought on my part, because what I have come to realize over the course of this afternoon is that I am not a dedicated jeans-wearer, by and large. I mean, I have some jeans, but I am by no means a jeans-connoisseur. As long as I can get away with boot-cut, I’m happy. As long as that whole skinny jeans thing is water under the bridge, I’m good to go.

I think part of the reason for my lack of jeans-dependence is because Mama always discouraged them. I’ve told y’all before about her deep and abiding disappointment in what I was wearing the night D. proposed, and I really think that if I saw her wearing a pair of blue jeans - which, just to be clear, is something I have never seen in my whole life - I would probably require some sort of therapy to recover from the shock of it all.

I’ve never seen D.’s mother wear jeans, either, though she does have some “darling Liz Claiborne pants, I mean they’re not really denim but they sort of look like a darker denim with white stitching? And they’re not tight or anything, oh heavens no, but they do have a little stretchy stretch to them, just enough so that they don’t hug your hips and thighs but they’re not really jeans, heavenly days no, because you know really if you think about it, jeans are sort of scratchy! They are! They’re scratchy!”

So, in the interest of fully exploring this Deeply Important Topic, I have determined that I need to give jeans a more prominent position in my wardrobe. If you have a favorite brand that will not require me to withdraw money from Alex’s college fund in order to purchase them, please let me know.

And please don’t suggest that I buy anything even remotely resembling low-riders. You’ll just have to trust me when I tell you that the outcome of that particular fashion scenario would be a muffin-top effect so stunning that you’d want to slap some butter on me and warm me up in the microwave.

Today as I was perusing the op-ed section of the New York Times the People magazine website, I noticed a blurb that skinny jeans may be on the way out. Apparently photographers have captured Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, and some girl I’m supposed to know because she’s on The O.C., only I’ve never watched that particular program, and all three girls have worn their flared boot-cut jeans in the last week or so. People is speculating that the end of the skinny jean trend is near, and for that reason I think we all need to put an extra fiver in the collection plate this Sunday, cheerfully giving an offering above our tithe to THANK THE LORD ABOVE that we’re done with the straightleg jean for another five or ten years.

You can’t even imagine how relieved I am.

If the end-of-skinny-jeans news wasn’t enough, this afternoon I found a pair of sconces that my cousin Paige gave me a few years ago. I’m planning to hang them above the fireplace (with a painting in between), and I think they’re ever-so-much fun. Here’s a picture of one of them:

See? Told you.

Anyway, I was trying to figure out exactly where to place the sconces, and I sat one down one of them down on the hearth so that I could do a little measuring. When I leaned down to pick it up, this is what I saw on the back:

Of course they are.

Now I love them even more.

In completely random news, I would now like to show you a picture of the cutest box of Kleenex I’ve ever seen.

Now y’all. Is that not adorable? I practically squealed with delight in Publix.

It takes so little, really.