Jailbait

The landlord drama has officially come to a head. (Drum roll, please.)

He's BEEN ARRESTED. As in cuffed and thrown in the slammer.

But it gets better. Not only is he in jail, he is in jail in NAPLES, FLORIDA. Because they think he was fleeing the country.

Let that soak in for a minute.

Apparently he's had a warrant out for his arrest for years now (which most definitely explains why he rarely left the house).

The only reason we know about this is because the ex-fiance broke into his side to find his financial information so she could post his bail. (And seemed quite irritated about this fact.)

When asked what specifically his warrant was for, she said (and I quote), "There's no telling. I actually wouldn't be surprised if it was for murder. Skeletons have just been coming out of his closet left and right these days."

Grrrrreat. That's just the kind of reassuring thing you'd like to hear about a man who has creeped you out since day one.

So now we're stuck. The last thing I want to do is move. But I also don't want him to post bail and we bump into each other in the hallway next week. Talk about some awkward conversation. "So, heard you spent a little time in lock-down. And how was that?"

The silver lining: maybe if he stays locked up for a bit, we won't have to pay rent for the month of December. Or maybe if he does manage to post bail, I can talk him out of it based on emotional trauma endured while worrying that he's an ax-murderer.

I just hope he paid the electric bill before being incarcerated. Because if our lights get shut off in two days because of his irresponsibility, I swear I'll cut a bitch...

Growing, Growing...Grown.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever truly feel like an adult.

Don't get me wrong, I've grown up in leaps and bounds since leaving college. In the last two years of being on my own, my personality, belief systems and dreams have solidified. I know who I am...and I like her.

For the first time in my life, I feel perfectly content in my own skin.

But at the very same time, I have a hard time picturing myself as a glorified adult. Legally I am one, but the officialness of my age does nothing to change how I feel inside.

Sometimes I sit in professional business meetings in my professional business attire and feel like an impostor. Like someone playing dress-up. I worry that my colleagues and clients can sense my desire to be sleeping late or gabbing with friends instead of discussing important marketing strategies.

Admittedly, there's a big part of me that doesn't ever want to feel like an adult. I never want to lose my spontaneity and sense of adventure. I never want to lose my belief that people are essentially good and that our time here is too precious to be spent in mediocrity.

I long to someday be a 75-year-old lady who occasionally gets startled by her reflection because it doesn't coincide with her youthful, idealistic self. To have aged and matured, but not completely grown up, to not have lost my childlike delight in a world that can only be described as glorious.

In the last two years, I've unquestionably grown as a person. And I've learned a lot along the way. But I'm definitely not done yet. I truly believe that while our backgrounds and circumstances may have influenced who we are, we are solely responsible for who we become.

And that in the end, life is not about being anything. It's about becoming who you are.

In my case, I hope that that someone is nothing short of wonderful. In every sense of the word.

Tribute to Greatness

Congrats Emmitt...you definitely showed America that tough guys can still dance like pretty girls. But let's be honest. Dancing with the Stars was never the same after the ousting of everyone's favorite closeted gay man, Joey Lawrence.

In an effort to fully capture Joey's essence, I've put together a small pictorial timeline of his career/grooming habits. Enjoy!

Career debut--a recurring role on Gimme a Break!:
Look at that chili-bowl of preciousness! (I think if you showed this little guy a picture of his future Dancing With the Stars self, he'd cry and run to mommy.)

--Temporary career hiatus. Most likely due to inevitable "gawky" stage.--

Bada bing! JL returns to the scene in the early 90s as heartthrob Joey Russo in Blossom. Don't laugh, but I actually had this poster hanging in my room:
Although, had I known this one existed, I would have had it as well:
After his stunning album debut (circa 1994), he disappeared again...only to be seen in the occasional made-for-TV movie and after-school special.

Hard to believe, but Joey popped back up (for a microscopic period of time) in the late 90s looking both handsome and masculine. Blink and you missed it:
But things went rapidly downhill from there... Not wanting to be completely forgotten in Hollywood, Joey would cleverly show up at random red carpet events sporting new (increasingly gay) looks:
It also appears that Joey developed an aversion to body hair. Notice the perfect arches of his freshly waxed eyebrows:
This one is downright frightening. Due mainly to the presence of a sparkly necklace, metallic shirt and (drumroll, please) purse strap:
Which brings us to his present-day glory:
I think this picture sums up his transformation perfectly:
Oh, Joey...I hope that despite your embarrassing loss on DWTS, your career will continue to skyrocket. Because I absolutely can't wait to see where you go from here. (Judging by the sailor dance alone, it will surely be magical.)

P.S. If Rascal Flatts ever needs an additional vocalist/backup dancer, your name should be FIRST on their list...

Woodland Warrior

I've had one of the best weekends of my life and never entered a bar or touched my cell phone. The Social Director was temporarily out of commission--and it was fantastic.

My parents are divorced. As a result, I spend Thanksgiving with my mom in North Carolina and always feel a tad guilty about not seeing my dad. So we've started a tradition where several weeks before Thanksgiving, we ditch civilization and head for the hills for 48 hours of solid father/daughter bonding time.

Here's my cute Pops as we're starting out. He's super excited to be doing "boy things" with his only progeny:
My dad raised me to be a hardcore camper. We don't do piddly "drive your truck to the campsite and unload" camping. With him, you have to carry everything you need on your back. Which made our 10 mile trek feel more like 30. But it's honestly more fun that way...because you feel like you've actually accomplished something.
You definitely know you're in East Tennessee when...
...you stumble across an old moonshine still during your hike up the mountain. We both died laughing at the blatantly-realized stereotype (and half wished that it'd been operational).

Once we reached our destination and set up camp, we threw some steaks on the fire and settled in for the cold night. It wasn't long before my dad pulled out a Nalgene bottle of whiskey and we got to telling stories. He told me about all the bad stuff he did as a kid and I added my own "when I was 15, I used to take the car out for illegal joyrides and haven't told you until now" kind of tales.

Eventually our talk turned to politics, relationships and basic life observations. After half of the bottle disappeared, we made a pact. If the GOP wins the White House again in 2008, we're packing up and heading for some tiny Caribbean island to open a pottery/furniture workshop and live like kings. Mark our drunken words.

The next morning (after surviving the 36 degree night), we decided to nurse our hangovers with fresh air and a day hike to a little-known observation point. About halfway there, I honestly thought I was going to die...but somehow found the stamina to trek on. And was so glad I did:
The incredible bird's-eye view of the Tennessee River Gorge was spectacular. A picture definitely can't do it justice. As I stood there in awe, I couldn't help but feel grateful. For this beautiful world, for my amazing father, and for the instant clarity that my problems are insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Overall, the trip was a monsterous success. We got sore muscles and dirty clothes, but we also got closer than ever before.

And this was just small time. Thanksgiving Trek 2K7 might land us in Colorado or Northern California. After that? Who knows. As long as we're together with a little Jack Daniels, it's sure to be a great time.

flab·ber·gast·ed (adj.): As if struck dumb with astonishment

I've recently been informed that when you do a Google search for my name (not sure I want to know why this person did this), my blog is the first link to appear. Which apparently means it's the most-visited of the half-a-million-odd other sites.

Which completely floors me. And why some of my friends have now nicknamed me "The Nashville Carrie" (hell, at least it's not "Samantha").

I don't quite understand how so many people from across the country find my blog (shoutout to Joe, the Arby's PR Maven). I guess that's the magic of the world wide web...New York City slickers can follow my little ole Music City life without ever leaving their homes. Creepy, yet cool.

<Shameless Plug: I love to write. Love it. And getting paid makes it that much sweeter. Freelance could easily be my middle name. Just give me a topic and watch me go. So, Glamour, The New Yorker, hell...Reader's Digest: if you're reading this, just holla. I'll respond, pen in hand.>

And now picking up the shards of my remaining dignity, thanks for reading. It makes writing much more fun. In a nutshell, you're appreciated...and it truly thrills me that my blog is result numero uno.

...except that means that my computer-savvy grandmother has a good chance of stumbling upon it now. And the sheer repercussions of that happening puts fear deep into my soul.

You Give Love a Bad Name

After standing in line for an hour and a half last Thursday to express my opinion through the polls, I feel a mite let down. For several reasons, but the main being Amendment #1.

I know gay marriage is a controversial topic. I know that people's opinions on it can run the gamut. And everyone is indeed entitled to their own.

But with that being said, the passing of this amendment (that marriage is only constituted as legal between a man and a woman) makes me incensed. Firstly, gay marriage is such a deeply moral and personal issue that it doesn't belong anywhere in the political arena. It's not something that can just be decided by a vote and then forgotten. Secondly, it's completely discriminatory. I am firmly in the camp that gay people don't choose to be gay, they just are. And have every right to be treated as equals in this country despite their sexual preferences. It's ludicrous to hate someone solely on who they love.

And please don't give me the "marriage is sacred" bullshit. Over the last 40 odd years, heterosexuals have been treating marriage as anything but sacred. Answer me this: if Britney Spears has already had two divorces by the tender age of 25, why can't the 25-year relationship of my mom's friends, Jeffrey and Mike, be legalized?

Makes me madder than a Baptist in a brothel.

I only hope that my children's generation will be much less bigoted than my own. But I'm climbing off my soapbox now...

Last night, in an effort to relieve my bad post-election mood, Stacy and I grabbed a bottle of wine and finally saw Borat.

While waiting for the movie to begin, I began digging in my purse for my cell phone. I felt someone watching me, and when I looked up, I was staring straight into the face of Jon Bon Jovi. Who was closely followed by Richie Sambora. They smiled and slid into my row.

I froze in disbelief. Because these weren't your run-of-the-mill Nashville stars. They were STAR stars. Legends, if you will.

The movie started and far exceeded my expectations. But I didn't like it near as much as JBJ did. There were parts where he'd literally be bent over, cackling like a banshee. Which caused me to laugh even harder.

When the movie ended, we were all standing in the aisle, waiting for the line to move. I got a little brave (mostly due to the wine) and said, "After you, Mr. Bon Jovi." And immediately felt like a goober. But he just nodded and grinned.

So, I've officially watched a movie with half of the band Bon Jovi. I'll apologize in advance to all my friends who'll be forced to hear this amazing story retold again and again. At least you'll know what my (hopefully bigot-free) grandkids will someday feel like.

CMAwful

So, there's been a scandal with the Faith Hill reaction at the CMA Awards last night. Blah, blah, blah. Yes, it was entertaining. Yes, we rewound it several times on the Tivo for a good laugh. But in my opinion, her faux pas (intended or not) was only First Runner Up in the chuckle department. What took the crown, you ask?

The FASHION (or rather, the complete lack thereof).

As of late, male country stars seem to be striving harder and harder to look like West Coast rockers. But the end result is more "let's get these farmboys drunk and let them loose in David Bowie's dressing room for shits and giggles"...less "badass musician". It's horrifying.

Exhibit A. Brooks and Dunn:
Now, Ronnie Dunn looks okay. Granted, he's sporting several pounds of gold in the form of 12 necklaces...but his bling is nothing in comparison to Kix Brooks' gold lame'-ish suit. If the tech-guys can't shine the spotlight directly on you for fear of starting a small fire, you might consider a wardrobe change. Just a suggestion.

Exhibit B. "Wait, is that guy still alive?":
Oh, Billy Ray... It looks like he took full advantage of Keith Urban's rehab stint to get a little media attention. He clearly figured he could trade in his signature mullet for Keith's highlighted, flat ironed hairstyle, throw on some incognito sunglasses and no one would know the difference. Sorry, Billy...we've got your number. The giant flavor savor gave you away.

Exhibit C. Rascal effing Flatts:


I know the quality isn't great, but there's too much train-wreckage going on with this band to be fully captured by a picture alone. Thank God for YouTube.

I almost don't know where to start. The lead singer (who is a dead-ringer for Wayne from The Wonder Years) obviously decided he needed some gold as well. In the form of a leather jacket. Which he's wearing over a rhinestone-studded t-shirt. Which he accessorized with approximately 3 necklaces AND a pair of shades...despite being inside at night.

The lone brunette dude decided he'd go more "Prince circa 1987" route with the two-toned leather blazer. Which he sasses up with dogtags, an additional necklace and extremely gelled hair.

And that brings me to the young one. Who proudly rocks a hip, highlighted, soccer mom haircut. He obviously decided he'd go for the "sexy" look with the sheer, black button down shirt that's barely buttoned. In order to maintain a small amount of decorum (read: hide his nipples), he tops it off with a shiny, snakeskin vest. (Rrrrrrr.) And for a final touch, he not only sports two necklaces...but also a "sparkle charm chain" attached to his jeans.

When the realization of this mysteriously-purposed chain dawned, I literally hooted. And rewound the Tivo. And hooted again.

In my opinion, Rascal Flatts started the costume-party-rocker look in Music City and continues to push the envelope.

Exhibit D:
1) Vest made for a small child, 2) random armband, 3) leather snakeskin, 4) gold velvet.

Exhibit E:
1) Different gold leather jacket, 2) "I'm too cool for country" Converse sneakers, 3) Purple iridescent coat, 4) dragon vest, 5) side-tasseled jeans, 6) Cindy Brady-esque hairdo.

I repeat, HORRIFYING.

And the moral of the story is: if you have testicles and I can utter the phrase "sparkle charm chain" in regards to your outfit...your stylist needs to be fired. Immediately.

Life Lesson

As most people who know me know, I am a complete sucker for a dare and rarely get embarrassed. Which always makes for an entertaining combination to those around me.

Sunday morning, in direct response to our costume party festivities, several friends and I decided we had to have some Arby's (for obvious reasons). Stacy dared me to actually wear the amazing "I'm Thinking Arby's" headgear I'd acquired at the Big Brothers Big Sisters picnic into the restaurant. And the gauntlet was officially thrown down.
The minute I walked in, every employee's face lit up and they all started laughing. To the point where I worried that a rather large black lady was going to have to be resuscitated.
Needless to say, I was a hit and took requested pictures with some of the employees.
Every single person in that restaurant stopped to talk to me, give me high fives and chuckle over my stupid headband. Several people actually told me that I'd made their entire week.
I even got stopped by people waiting in the drive-thru line on our way back to our car. One guy laughed so hard he had to wait to catch his breath before he could pull up to the window. But when he did, he gave me a two-thumbs-up.

Not only did this random little dare make people smile, it helped solidify in mind the fact that people are inherently warm and friendly. A goofy foam hat alone managed to break down barriers and helped us see each other as kindred human beings, not just faceless customers in a crowd. I know I'm a bit of a goober, but as we belly laughed, I felt a true kinship with every person in that restaurant.

Several days later, a friend and I ran an errand on our lunch break and she asked if I'd drive her through Arby's. Thinking nothing of it, she ordered and I pulled around to the window. The man standing there gave me a puzzled look and then exclaimed, "Hey! Aren't you the girl with the great hat?!" Before I knew it, four or five employees were crowding the window to say hello. They asked if I would bring them copies of the pictures so they could post them in their breakroom...and I agreed. And I have every intention of bringing individual copies to Decarlos, Catherine and Willie when I do.

As we pulled away, I couldn't help but grin. Several days ago, I probably wouldn't have looked twice at the elderly man who handed me food from the drive-thru. But a stupid dare made me some unexpected new friends.

If we could all manage to let loose, laugh and see each other for who we truly are, I think this world would be a much better place. It almost makes me want to wear "conversation-starters" on a daily basis.

Well, almost.