High Roller

For some reason, this week has drug by. I honestly feel like I'm sitting at my desk on a Saturday and that's not an okay feeling. This morning, I barely managed to roll out of bed, throw my hair up and leave the house. Which is why I'm proudly rocking the Liz Phair glasses (and my lack of clear peripheral vision is currently irritating the mess out of me.)

The week definitely started out with a bang, but seemed to fizzle as the days drug on. Yet it's all been very interesting.

Monday, our entire crew went to the Goo Goo Dolls & Counting Crows concert which was a-maz-ing. There's nothing that quite compares to the feeling of belting out intensely familiar lyrics while holding a 24 ounce can of beer, surrounded by good friends in a misty rain.

Tuesday, after a 7 hour staff meeting in which I almost started climbing the walls and cursing my boss, we went to Mafiaoza's and then Mercy Lounge...where John Rich proceeded to buy the entire bar several rounds of shots in an obvious effort to live up to his last name.

Yesterday, I got a call from Decades saying that I'd won my very own Friday Night Dance Party (and about laughed myself out of my chair.) I apparently put my business card into something when we were there last weekend for Stacy's birthday. I have no recollection of doing this, but it obviously paid off. So if anyone is interested in a little retro action on the evening of September 8, head on down to Decades, say you're with me and they'll waive your cover and serve you $2 liquor drinks.

But you must PROMISE to high five me and call me a high-roller at some point during the night. Capice?

Fairest of the Fair

After twenty-three years, I've finally completed the trifecta of redneck "sporting entertainment"...and attended my first ever tractor pull. (I could already proudly claim a pro-wrestling match and demolition derby.) We're talking a big accomplishment here. Pat on the back, anyone?

Saturday night, Charlie and I braved the Wilson County Fair in search of both solid comedic entertainment and corn dogs. And I have to say, the whole experience far exceeded our expectations--we're talking ten times better than the Faith & Tim concert. (Although it might have been a push had Faith & Tim served funnel cakes.)

The entire evening was magical. We ate terrible (for us, but delicious) fair food, cheered on the manic tractor pullers, played carnival games and rode one very intense ride.

We definitely spent a good four hours just walking around, trying to absorb all of the gloriousness that is the Wilson County Fair. But it's something that's almost impossible to describe with words. It has to be experienced to be fully appreciated.

Here's what I can tell you though:

• It smells like a heady mixture of B.O., Livestock nastiness, fried food, and Coolwater cologne;
• Wifebeaters and/or jean shorts are must-haves;
• If they technically CAN fry it, they will (ex: Twinkies);
• It is apparently completely acceptable to dogcuss the child that's attached to your arm by way of leash;
  
• It is the place to be if you're on a date with your high school sweetheart/future baby daddy.

All kidding aside, it was honestly the most fun I've had (without any form of alcohol being involved) in a long time.

Luckily for you...there's still four days left. So you too can experience a little slice of deep-fried country heaven.

Get 'er done.

Family Ties

I spent part of last week at something that most people dread: the good ole family reunion. Which crazily, I love. There's just something so comforting about being around people that have known you all of your life, yet love you anyway.

There are about 30 of us that get together in the North Carolina mountains every summer. We rent several houses and do cheesy things like themed shrimp boils and game nights. And I love every minute of it. Mainly because I feel so blessed to have such a wonderfully loud, close-knit family. As much as they can irritate me at times, I wouldn't trade them for the world.

Madden also attended the family reunion and probably got more attention in 3 days than she'll get in the next 3 months. Not only were my younger cousins scratching each other's faces for a chance to hold her, there was a summer camp for foster kids right down the road. Which caused our daily walks to feel bizarrely like brushes with the Vietcong. Little people would literally hurl themselves at us from behind trees, guerrilla warfare-style. Which was cute, but startling.

My favorite part of the entire trip was when several of my cousins and I got tipsy on margaritas, crashed a barn dance and square danced for three hours straight. Which sounds terrible, but was actually loads of fun. I promenaded, do-si-doed and twirled to my heart's content.

Don't laugh, but I'm seriously considering finding a square dance club in town. I might be the only member under 65, but hey...that'd make it even more fun.

But if the gramps started playing grab ass, I'd be out of there before you could say "two step".

MyStalkers

**WARNING: Bitch Factor is HIGH**

Several months ago, I swore up and down that I'd never participate in the madness that is Myspace. But it inevitably sucked me in with it's sweet promise of office-boredom relief, so I signed up, jazzed up my profile and commenced looking up middle school crushes.

While I've reconnected with countless of old friends and flames, I've managed to stick to a strict "friend request" policy. If I've never seen your face in person, I won't accept your request. Period. No matter how hot you are or how many shirtless pictures you have displayed. Nothing personal.

The logic here is simple, folks. If we've never had any interaction, we can't be considered "friends". Even internet ones.

It never ceases to amaze me how people can have 796 Myspace friends. Really? Because gosh, you must be super popular and maybe we SHOULD be friends so that a little of your coolness might rub off on me. Or...I could just laugh and click the "deny" button.

And don't even get me started on the horrible (and somewhat hysterical) messages that flood my inbox. Sometimes I feel like my profile has a huge banner on it that reads: If you're a semi-illiterate, 30-something reeking of desperation, you NEED to message this girl!!

Here are clips from some of my favorites:

Wow your gorgous... VERY nice.. So, do you like a tall man in uniform? ;o)

(Do you have testicles? Then why are you using smiley face with noses?)

You are just too cute. 5'2 huh? I would have to be careful to not step on you if we ever met. :) Tell me about yourself...

(There we go with the smiley faces again...why don't YOU tell ME how many times a day you get rejected for being completely lame?)

Lovin what i saw and read. Sound like we might have some things in common. Would like to get to know more if u r interested.

(Common, huh? Considering you probably couldn't form a complete sentence to save your life...I really don't think so.)

So...to all of you MyStalkers out there who might be reading this...don't even try it. I won't be your friend and I won't respond to your messages.

P.S. The word "hot" is only spelled with one "t". (Or did they not cover that in your GED practice course?)

Goner

I've fallen dizzyingly, achingly in love. In just four days. Which I never thought possible...until now.

After wrestling with the idea for several months, I finally broke down and adopted a stray puppy. She melted my heart the instant I saw her and I just couldn't say no. I named her Madden (which unfortunately for you fellas, is not after John. "Madden" is the Celtic word for "little dog" and fits her quite well.) She's only 8 weeks old and is absolutely perfect.
Surprisingly, the whole "puppy thing" hasn't been hard. She's already housebroken and thankfully sleeps through the night (pressed against my neck if I'll let her). She only barks when she's playing and LOVES to sit in laps.

I miss her so much when I'm at work and can't wait to get home to her excited, wriggling little body. If I could take her everywhere with me, I would (although I definitely draw the line at using a special "dog purse").

This is the first time in my life that I've had something completely dependent on me (besides a goldfish, which doesn't really count). But I love the feeling. Especially because that "something" has such a precious face...and a fat, spotted belly.
Even my crotchety, pervert landlord had nothing bad to say when he met her.

Which just might be a sign of the apocalypse. Be forewarned.

Oh, Nashville...

As embarrassing as this is to admit, I went to the Faith Hill & Tim McGraw concert Saturday night. (Don't judge. A friend had a free ticket and I figured it might be hugely entertaining...which it was.)

The people-watching atmosphere was almost too much to handle...I could barely process all the snarky comments running through my head. As soon as I saw the middle aged couple wearing homemade "Real Life Tim & Faith" t-shirts, I'd spot a fanny-pack-wearing, mullet-sporting man in the distance.

It was astounding.

Due solely to the fact I had on neither a) cowboy boots or b) a black concert tee, I was quite a minority in the concert-goer population. The plethora of cowboy boots in attendance had been paired with everything from denim halter tops to Carhartt overalls (the black concert tees on the other hand, had mainly been paired with DD breasts and/or beer guts.)

After seemingly hours spent pushing through hordes of near hysterical, redneck fans, we finally found our seats and settled in to wait for the show to begin.

Halfway through typing a text message, I noticed the group of young women sitting directly in front of us. And about dropped my cell phone.

Each and every one of them had gotten prom updos (circa 1997) for the occasion.

NO. FREAKING. LIE.

I burst out laughing. I couldn't help it. I so badly wanted to tap one on the shoulder and inquire about their fancy dos, but didn't think I could make it through with a straight face. So I just sat, quietly gasping for air behind them.

I'd finally calmed myself enough by the time the concert started to reasonably enjoy the show. Which was admittedly quite good. They've both got great voices and are natural performers. And look damn cute together while doing it (singing, that is).

But despite Faith & Tim's prowess on stage, I couldn't help but be distracted by the very drunk women three rows down. They were excited...and bound and determined to prove they knew EVERY word to EVERY song performed. And Lawd, when the first few bars of "Don't Take the Girl" started up, you'd think the rapture was upon us.

I wish I had a video...but one that also included a shot of one of the very same ladies puking out of a Yukon parked on Broadway several hours later. I think it'd make for quite the inspiring YouTube montage.