Redheads, Butt Chins and Douche Bags

Saturday was another awesome night in the A.

BF loves golf, and he's actually pretty good. He and his buddies have two big tournaments every year so he was in Big Canoe this weekend trying to win another trophy. What's a girl to do? Why get drunk with her girlfriends, of course.

Saturday night, I met my friend Lala out at a bar. I named her Lala because she's sweet and peppy like a song. The girl is a ton of fun. She's a redhead so I don't think I even need to tell you how sassy and fiesty she is.

Lala threw an engagment party that night for W, her best friend and roommate. Needless to say, my girl wanted to get hammered after it was over. We started at Atkins Park in the Highlands, and I got there about ten minutes before she arrived. Some fratastic guy with a popped collar kept staring at me, and actually started to say something to me, but I gave him my best stink-eye and he scurried away to hit on a prissy Georgia girl. Phew.

Lala shows up and immediately gets hit on while she's trying to get us beers. Of course, that guy had a googly-eyed friend who wanted to talk to me. Dude had a toupee. A bad one. Ah, I hate being a good wingwoman, but I am the best.

When we get our beers, we walk away like bitches who can't be bothered.

We hang out, drink a few beers, and in an hour, Lala is slurring her words like Keith Richards after he fell out of that coconut tree. A guy she's been seeing starts texting, begging us to meet him and his buddies in Buckhead. Buckhead might as well be called Doucheville it's so full of d-bags, floppy haired guys with croakies and Georgia girls in dresses too fancy for Miller Lite. But again, I am the best wingwoman so I offer to drive.

Lala insists that we take a shot for the road so I ask the bartender for one shot of Vodka-Red Bull and one shot of just Red Bull to fool my friend with. I am also a good designated driver.

On our drive, I watch as the vodka has its way with my friend. The slurring turns to screaming and wooing. She loves my boyfriend, as everyone does because he's the nicest person on the planet, and insists we call him. It's midnight, and after a long day of golf, poker and beer, I'm certain he's either passed out or on his way. She grabs my phone and leaves him a voicemail full of things like: "awe-sommmmmmmme!" "beeeeeeeeer!" and "woooooooooooooo!"

We take a back way that winds us near where the Awful Ex used to live, and I mention that I dated an asshole who used to live nearby. She asks why he was an asshole, because while we've been friends for about 4 years, she didn't know me when I dated him. I tell a couple quick stories of his general shittiness, and the vodka in her gets mad. "Nooooooooo way! That guy sucks and you're awesommmmme." I laugh, and then she asks his name.

Foolishly, I tell her, and she punches it in on her iPhone. Oh, Apple, how much drunk drama have you caused with that contraption? She tells me she wants to find him on Facebook so she can send him a message that she thinks he's way hot and wants to hook up with him. She says it'll be the most hilarious thing ever. At this point, superlatives are the only way she's describing things. Everything and everyone is the most ______ ever. I wish I had drunk enthusiasm when I sat down to write papers.

I laugh while saying, "No, please don't, we don't even talk anymore." She insists that she can be "covert" though in her drunkenness says "co-ver." She shouts, "I found him! I found him!" and shows me a picture of some guy who looks Mexican. I laugh and say that's not him, and she asks me why I don't like Mexicans. The next picture she finds is of a guy getting dry humped by a girl. Also not the asshole. Thankfully, the guy we're meeting texts, and she has something else to fixate her Vodka-Red Bull energy on.

We walk into the bar, see her guy (Air Force cuz he used to be in it), and he buys us beers. Air Force says something about his chin dimple, and I tell him I like it, it makes him look like Buzz Lightyear. Within five minutes Lala falls off the bar stool. Not on the ground, just onto someone. It happens three more times before we leave, and each time she says the chair is broken. She's so cute and charming even when wasted that I start to get mad at the chair for tipping itself over.

We leave around 1:30 because his friends want to go to Hole in the Wall. Hole in the Wall is the cesspool that it sounds like. It's in the basement of a skanky bar and manages to be even skankier. Not to mention it's a good hike, and I'm wearing cute (thus uncomfortable) shoes. As we're walking, Lala tries to talk Air Force into ditching his friends and going to a closer bar with us. She says she knows a bartender. He's thinking it over, and I sing the Georgia Tech fight song to persuade him. He's a Tech fan too, and my rendition wins him over. A drunken stranger walked by and clapped for me so I know it was good. Also, Lala promises he can stay at her place that night, but I'm sure my team spirit made all the difference.

We bar hop a little more, never find Lala's bartender friend, and the whole time I'm impressed she's still standing. You know those big balloons that have streamers as arms and legs and walk around the room by themselves? They bob up and down while swaying from side to side. That's what Lala looked like by 2 a.m. She tripped a few times and kicked over a beer bottle at one point and almost got thrown out. Ever resourceful, my fiesty redheaded friend tells the bouncer another girl did it. He raises an eyebrow, but she's too cute to argue with and stumbles past him.

It's 2:30 and almost closing time. We're sitting at the bar, and I watch the female bartender fight with a drunk asshole. He's suited up, but his tie is loose and crooked. His shirt has one corner untucked, and he's a hot mess. I hear the bartender say, "No, honey, you have your card. I gave your card back to you." He mumbles something, and she says, "No, see here? These are the receipts. I already charged you so you have your card. See? That's your name? And that's your signature there. See? That's where you didn't tip me." He mumbles again, crumples up the receipt and stumbles a foot or two away. The bartender winks at me and rolls her eyes.

A guy behind me asks me what his chances are with taking her home. I say not good because she's hot and drunk guys probably do that every night. He says, "Yeah, but I have a butt chin," and shows it off for me. Buzz Lightyear again! To infinity and beyond! I laugh, telling him he looks like a cartoon. He rolls his eyes laughing and says, "And I have a good sense of humor too, right?" I agree, and he asks the bartender what his chances are at taking her home. She tells him she's married to the guy on the other end of the bar. He shrugs.

I make the mistake of thinking he's with The Suit and say, "You know, even if she was single, your buddy here would have ruined your chances because he didn't leave her a tip." He turns to The Suit and says, "You didn't tip her?" The Suit shrugs and says, "Yeah. So what? I don't have to leave a tip." I turn away because Air Force thinks it's time to take our drunken redhead home. I agree, and as I grab my bag, I hear Butt Chin call The Suit a douche bag and hear The Suit tell Butt Chin, "Yeah, well, you like to suck cock. You like dick in your mouth." I'm astounded at his agreement that he is in fact a douchebag while also take offense at his insinuation that there's something wrong with liking to give blowjobs.

I ask Butt Chin if they're friends, and both guys get angry at my presumption. They are not friends, they are mortal enemies. Butt Chin is defending the honor of the bartender that rejected him, and The Suit is angry at life in general. As we walk out the door, I see a bouncer try to break them up because they're shouting in each other's faces and shoving each other. I totally started a bar fight.

I drive Air Force and Lala back to her condo, but since she passed out in the car, I'm pretty sure he didn't get lucky. Chalk up another point for Alcohol, King of Good Times and Bad.

Alcohol, You're Fired.

Oh geez. So I'm breaking up with alcohol forever. We've had fights before, but nothing like two days ago. It was so major it should have been televised on pay-per-view with slutty girls in little bikinis holding up signs.

I've had a great summer, but a super busy one. I taught a class and took one, both of which kept me super busy and the bf and I took trips every weekend. I shouldn't complain, I know, but I also had to cram every week so I could party on the weekends and never got to read for fun and blah blah poor me. School ended last week, and I decided to put my cramming skills to good use and squeeze a full awesome summer into a week and a half.

The bf and I took a trip to St. Maaren, which was lovely, and had plenty of fruity umbrella drinks and hot hotel sex. Then my school friend Kiki and I went to Savannah. Which is known for debauchery so we fit right in.

We got sneaky drunk from sangria at Molly's MacPherson's. Check it out, but just know that it's delicious and deadly. That was the first night. I sent the following drunk texts to my bf:

Drunk drunk drunk but I miss you aw

Sangria Savannah woo!

I want to know why I can't buy french fries at 3 a.m. on a Monday. Isn't this America?

Yep. He loves me. The next day we drank on the beach for 3 hours then at the hotel pool. After a quick disco nap (thanks for teaching me that term, Z!), the party was kicked back into gear.

I'd say the night took a major down turn at Wet Willie's. Do you know what Wet Willie's is? It's spring break every night in that place. Frozen fruit concoctions that all come with warning labels. Kiki had the bright idea to get drunk fast by drinking grain alcohol. I'll confess that I've heard of that stuff and that it can kick your ass, but I've never had any. And never will again.

The rest of the night is an absolute blur. We met three guys from the British Royal Navy. One sang Elvis. Kiki wanted to get some, and I was an excellent wing woman. While she made out with her new friend at the bar, I had intelligent drunk talk. We talked about the E.U. and whether Britain should join. Way out of my league after grain alcohol, but I nodded and managed to follow along. We went to a gay bar, where I flashed a lesbian and let her poke my boob through my padded bra. I also announced that I love lesbians.

And the sweet bf got these texts:

Pour some sugar on me. In the name of love.

Savannah is hot.

Aren't lesbians great? I could be one but I'd miss sexy sex sex.

At the end of the night, I threw up like a six year old on Halloween and got so worried about my friend because she didn't hurl that I woke her to make sure she wasn't dead from alcohol poisoning. In the horrible headache that was morning, I woke up my friend who's a nurse to ask if it was possible to break my throat. He told me to take Advil and promised that I didn't have a flap inside my mouth that could be upside down.

So screw you, Alcohol. You may whisper sweet nothings in the evening, but by morning you're just an ugly bitch that stole my stereo along with my dignity.

Forget The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, Where's the Party?

Halloweeeeeen! My all-time favorite holiday. Every year seems to top the last. We had a huge group of crazy characters out – 15 in total. And there were some funny costumes. My friend JP was a Rorshach blot test. That was creative, but not many people got it. One girl asked if he was Captain Underpants. The funniest was my friend Gov dressed as a Douchebag. Did I mention he has a super serious job?

Oh my gosh, and I love the subway on Halloween. Everyone sitting around like everything's normal while wearing crazy costumes. I saw a hotdog, a taco and a puffy sponge. Last year, we saw three girls dressed as the Fanta Girls, and Gov actually worked with one of them.

I, of course, was Catwoman, and it was super fun. I had a whip and felt all tough and badass. I kept all of Adams Morgan safe from jewel thieves and muggers all night. You're welcome. When we were walking to the first bar, a guy dressed as a cat started talking to me. He thought I was with JP, and I did not correct him.

“You look hot.”

“Um, thank you.”

Then looking at JP, he said, “Sorry, dude. No offense.”

“None taken. She looks hot.”

“Meow!” He started laughing hysterically and pawing in the air like a crazy person. “Hey, if things with you two don’t work out, you and I can always go to an alley and drink some milk!”

“Yeah, that’s true…”

Then some random drunk guy dressed as a rasta guy (possibly not a costume?) said, “Hey, Catwoman. Hey, Cat Man.” I love drunk people.

We showed up at the first bar and started handing our IDs to the door guy. One colossal problem - I couldn’t find mine. I told the door guy, who seemed genuinely disappointed and told me I could come inside to look for it. I didn’t have it with me. I had my Metro card and my credit card, but no stinking driver’s license. Oh no – was Halloween ruined?

One friend offered to go back to the house with me. But the house is all the way in Fucking, Virginia, and even with taking a cab, I’d lose an hour and a half. Not to mention how expensive it’d be.

Aw, but my friend Britney Spears saved the night (she was dressed as Britney from the “Toxic” video). We’re both the same height, both have blue eyes and blond hair, and she suggested giving her ID to me. I could take a few friends, find another bar and test it out. If it worked, one of the friends would wait half an hour before getting Britney and everyone to meet me. Not to mention I was wearing a Catwoman mask so it'd be a slamdunk.

I thanked her and headed off to another bar. We walked up to the bouncer, and I was nervous! I’m such a bad liar. I tried talking to the guy in hopes of distracting him, but he looked suspicious and said, “Lift it up.”

I knew he was talking about my mask, but I was scared! I was such a little goodie-goodie I'd never even used a fake ID before. I did what Mama said, “Use what the good Lord gave ya.” I opened my coat and flashed my sexy Catwoman costume. The bouncers cracked up. The guy said, “The mask! The mask! I meant for you to lift up your mask!” So, between giggles, I did, and he told me to go in saying, “The next time you think someone’s saying that to you, the answer is no!”

Triumph.

We danced our little asses off all night long. I’m not sure that I love anything else more in the world than dancing. I always make friends with the deejay and spend half my night requesting songs. My one Halloween wish was to dance with a stranger, and that wish was granted. I danced with some guy who looked just like Usher. Hot.

I have decided that pirates have a thing for me so next year, I may be a pirate wench. Last year, a pirate told me, “Surrender the booty!” I laughed and asked if that worked on anyone. He sighed and said, “Not yet.”

This year, I got more pirate love. Dude was a scrawny, little thing, and after telling me he liked my costume, he asked what I was dressed as. Ha.

“I’m Catwoman. You’re a pirate, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s your sword?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Where’s your parrot?”

“I don’t have one of those either. I do have an eyepatch though,” as he said this, he pulled his eyepatch down off his forehead and onto his eyes. But he got the string caught in one eye and panicked saying, “Oh! I can’t see! I can’t see!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Be careful with that eyepatch - they're tricky. Good costume, though.”

“Thanks. I’ve had it since I was seven. I was a fat child, but I’m a small adult.”

So that was a lot of self-disclosure. Again, I love drunk people.

I didn’t see as many Sarah Palin’s or Joe the Plumber’s as I thought. We counted only two of each. I talked to one Sarah Palin, though. I said I had some really tough questions for her. She responded that she didn’t have any answers and then flashed an Obama shirt from under her suit jacket. I also saw Batman and challenged him to a fight. He responded with a pervy wink.

A friend I saw Saturday night showed me a photo of him from Halloween. He dressed as himself in a bubble bath. It was hilarious. He cut out the bottom of a white laundry basket and wore it around his waist. It was full of white balloons, and he wore a shower cap and goggles. He also carried a rubber ducky. So cute.

Boy woke up early Saturday morning and stepped outside to get something out of his car. It was around 8:30, and he spotted a dude doing the Walk of Shame from the Metro still wearing his costume from the night before. He said the guy was dressed as Super Mario and had a metal cart around his waist, complete with a steering wheel. He was Mario Cart. The funniest is the guy made the most of his absurdity by steering himself as he walked.

Seriously, there is no better holiday.

Why I Should Be a Celebrity

I wouldn't say dumb or crazy shit. And neither would you. Actually, maybe that's why we're not celebrities. Dumb and crazy is interesting.



"I went in like a crop-duster with my nose flying first and snorted the cocaine off the dog. You get a little bugs, you get little hairs, you get grease and goo from the ground; it's not at all a healthy thing to do." - Gary Busey explaining how he reacted after accidentally spilling cocaine on his dog

"Do I have a large frog in my hair? Something's crawling out of my scalp. No, but I mean I feel it. I'm not worried about the looks. I'm worried about the sensation of my brain being eaten." - Joaquin Phoenix being interviewed on the red carpet at a movie premiere

"Don't ever paint your boobs. Really. It sucked. I learned my lesson. I'm never gonna paint my boobs ever again. It's not worth it. Do not paint your boobs. It's a pain in...the boobs." - Kendra from The Girls Next Door...after she painted her boobs

Who Said 30 Was Old?!

Phew. W's Dirty 30 birthday weekend is over, and I survived. We had a really great time and partied like we were 21!

Punky (W would appreciate that nickname) loves to dress up so I decided for her big night, we should all dress in our best 80s outfit. Ringing in her milestone decked out in the decade of our youth. She looked slammin’ in an off-the-shoulder black sequin top, jean skirt and leggings with black and white stars. What really clinched it was her Kelly McGillis hair. I wore a bright pink dress with sequins, silver leggings and bright pink heels. And a rad side ponytail. Our other friends were rocking 80s gear too, and one wore a flashy yellow jacket. I kept telling him he looked like he just walked out of a Peter Gabriel video. I wanna be your sledge-ham-mer!!

At 7 pm, we arrive at a Japanese restaurant/karaoke bar. There were 12 of us total, and we were the only customers. The manager looked a few years older than us, which was confirmed when we explained we were dressed in the decade of our youth, and he pointed out that he was older than us and the 80s weren’t even the decade of his youth. He asked why we weren’t wearing Hammer Pants, and we answered honestly – “Because that’s not cute.”

We whisper about how hot the manager is in that “bad boy” way. He had piercings and tattoos…including barbed wire around one of his bulging biceps.

By 7:30, my 22 oz. Japanese beer bottle is half empty, I've already gulped down a Cosmo (it matched my outfit) and Punky finished her bottle of saki. The table has already downed two shots. We are drunk and getting louder by the minute. I shout, "Woo! 30 is awe-some!"

By 8:00, large quantities of alcohol have been consumed by the table. Food has been devoured. We are drunk and demanding karaoke start time be bumped up from 9:30 to right the hell now. Hot Manager says no.

Five minutes later, we decide to start karaoke anyway, and our table sings “Like a Prayer” acapella. Still the only people in the restaurant, and the sushi chef looks like his ears are bleeding.

Punky and I try to talk our friend, JP, into taking another shot with us, but he tells us we are already too drunk for 8:30.

Eventually, Hot Manager caves and begins karaoke early. Drunk girls victorious! We promptly start the evening off with shouting “Like a Prayer.”

The next hour is a bit of a blur. Another 22 oz. beer. And it seemed as though we sang every other song. All I knew was Punky was picking them, and then dragging me up with her. Here are the ones I remember – “What I Got," “I Kissed a Girl” (we didn’t select this, but I think Hot Manager did in hopes we would act out the lyrics…we did not), “Don’t Stop Believin’,” “Rock Your Body,” “Love Shack”…other songs I can’t remember…I do remember some guy sang “Livin’ on a Prayer,” and I made fun of him for not knowing the words. Everyone should know that song – it’s the national anthem of bars.

After singing “Oops! I Did It Again,” I walk past Hot Manager on my way to my seat. I ask if we’re annoying him with our bad music yet. He laughs and lies that no, we’re not, and then points out that I never have the microphone. I tell him that’s because I’m not a good singer, but I provide decent backup. He says he noticed I was a good backup dancer. Ooo ahh Hot Manager is flirting. I giggle back to our table where I attempt to share this tidbit with my friend Elle, but have difficulty because our side ponytails keep knocking into each other.

At about 10:30, my “date” arrives.

Ok, so the night before JP told me about a guy he went to law school with that just moved to DC. He thought we’d hit it off and wanted to introduce us. After a fair amount of peer pressure from my friends telling me, “Don’t be lame!” and “You need to get some!” along with JP’s promises that the guy was both nice and cute, I said sure. Friends have such persuasive arguments. Lucky for me, JP wasn’t lying. Dude was hot. And smart and funny and nice. But his most noticeable characteristic was his hotness and his hunky man arms. He’ll be known as “Guns” from here on for obvious reasons – he should have a permit for those things.

So Guns shows up, and we exchange awkward smiles. It’s an odd thing to be set up while all your friends are watching with wide eyes and nodding enthusiastically…and when you’re drunk. We talk for about two minutes before it’s Saki Bomb time. Saki Bomb! Saki Bomb! Saki Bomb!

A little after 11, we’re ready for our grand finale. Punky’s all time favorite song is Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll.” We shout and shake and throw our fists wildly in the air.

Everyone scampers to the door, but I see Hot Manager waiting to say goodbye. He tells me I’m a good dancer. Aw. So I tease him and tell him he should have danced with us. He says, “No, I can’t dance,” but that’s what all guys say so I tease again, “Oh, I’m sure that’s not true! You just don’t try!” And then he says, “No, I really can’t dance. My leg was severed below my knee and re-attached.” Then he lifted his pant leg to show me. Holy Scar Tissue, Batman. I think my jaw literally dropped. Drunk and rude, I asked, “Oh my gosh! That’s awful. How’d it happen?” I expected “Iraq” or “Afghanistan,” but he said, “Oh, nothing, just some guys out front tried to kill me.” Wha-huh?

Drunk and clumsy, Punky and I hop down to the sidewalk where I learn we’re on our way to a bar a few blocks away…and then to a strip club! She decided that she did want to go to one before she turned 30 after all. I decide that for this to take place, I need more alcohol.

We walk several blocks, while we comfort our friend, Gov, who just got dumped via text for telling the girl he was going to a strip club. I called him Gov because he has a good government job. All my friends are smart, serious people by day, but him especially. This is important to point out because he later gets obliterated like a street vagrant in Amsterdam.

Nothing too interesting happened at the next bar, but Punky and I did try to make friends with a girl in the bathroom. I thought she was also at a party because she was wearing a flapper dress. "Oh good! You're here for a party too! I thought we were the only ones in costumes! Hee hee!" She was actually just wearing a flapper dress. Oops. But seriously, who does that?

An hour or so later, we leave the bar, which happens to be next to the strip club we’re about to enter. JP instructs us to “act sober.” He says they don’t let drunken idiots in, and I think this strip club has high standards for an establishment with naked women dancing about. I put my serious face on, but the bouncer starts talking to Guns about football. I cannot keep my mouth shut when football comes up. It turns out they’re both Eagles fans, and I contribute that as a Colts fan, I hate the Steelers. My cover is blown. The bouncer looks at me sideways and laughs, pointing out that they were talking about Philadelphia, not Pittsburgh. I defend myself by saying, “It’s the same state! I hate the Steelers!” Punky, who doesn’t follow any sport at all, asks why. “Because a few years ago, they beat the Colts in the playoffs, and it was so upsetting, I cried! It was one of only two football games in my life that ever made me cry.” The bouncer laughs at me and lets us all in. Yay drunk me.

We’re seated at two tables in front of the little stage the naked lady is dancing on. I order beer and stare at boobs. Guns tells me that his firm brought him here a few times when he was a summer associate, and it’s a nice strip club because the strippers don’t hassle you for money or gyrate on you. I am fascinated and appalled with a business culture where taking prospective employees to strip clubs for lunch is common practice. I decide this is an important cultural experience for me as my class on Monday will be discussing Ariel Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs – Women and the Rise of Raunch Culture.

I’m distracted by all the nakedness (do you know they actually wear stripper heels??), but Guns seems totally uninterested. I notice JP and Punky in an intense conversation, and I know that they’re critiquing the strippers. I drink more.

I try to talk to Guns about the stripper, but he couldn’t care less, which is also fascinating to me. For each girl, I make him tell me if her boobs are real. He shrugs and says, “No, almost all of them are fake.” We talk about music, and he tells me he used to be in a band. He plays the guitar. Seriously, Universe? I didn’t even pick this one out.

I’m on my second beer and though I’m still distracted by the naked ladies, I’m also interested in my conversation with Guns. It probably helps that I’m totally wasted. Over the course of the next two and a half hours, here’s a sampling of my conversation with him and JP and Punky’s conversation about the strippers –

Me: So what bands do you listen to?

Guns: Mostly old stuff, actually. I really like Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin…I don’t know, most people don’t listen to that, though. What do you like?

M: I like some old stuff! I like the Stones, and I really love Tom Petty. I think he’s a great American hero.

G: You like Tom Petty?! I like Tom Petty!

**********

JP: I mean, this one’s ok, she’s got a better ass than the last one.

Punky: Yeah, but her boobs are still fake, and that bothers me.

**********

M: Almost Famous is my favorite movie.

G: I love that movie! It has a great soundtrack.

M: The best! The movie’s all about how important music is. And Kate Hudson is so cute in it.

G: Yeah! She is! That’s one of my favorite movies too! That's so cool!!

**********

P: Ok, now this one isn’t even trying. She looks bored.

JP: Yeah…but they all have that look. Can you really blame them?

**********

M: You lived in New York? So did I! Where did you live?

G: The Upper East Side.

M: Me too!

G: No way!

**********

P: Why don’t any of them have pubic hair? I think that’s just weird.

JP: Yeah, you gotta have something. Otherwise it’s like a child, and that’s creepy.

**********

G: I used to hang out at a bar up there a lot, you might know it. Did you ever go to Brother Jimmy’s?

M: I love that bar! I went there all the time! They knew me by name, and I went back a couple years ago after not having been there for like three years, and the same door guy was working. He remembered me and said, “Hey! Where have you been?”

G: That place was a lot of fun. I really like wings, and their wings are great.

M: You like wings?! I like wings! They had great wings specials for Monday Night Football.

G: Yeah! They did!

**********

P: Do you think she’s happy?

JP: Happy? I don’t know. Does it matter? She looks alright.

**********

M: Whoa! You like the Outer Banks?! I love the Outer Banks!

**********

P: Oh, this one’s not as pretty as the last.

JP: Yeah, her face is wrecked.

**********

G: You’re voting for Obama?! I’m voting for Obama!

**********

P: Aw, I like this one. She’s enthusiastic. She really looks like she’s having fun!

JP: Yeah, she’s the best one. You should give her a dollar. [which is exactly what Punky did]

**********

M: You breathe air?! I breathe air! [ok, this is an exaggeration, but around 2:30, we were about there]

It was at this point that I noticed Gov had his head on the table. I looked at Punky, and she shrugged. I see that while his head was on the table, his lips are moving, and he's in conversation. I figured he must be ok. He’s very responsible.

Several minutes pass, and I look back at the table to see that Gov is missing. Our friend in the Peter Gabriel jacket announces that Gov just threw up. In the strip club. He made it to the bathroom, but still…he puked at a strip club. Check, please!

Eventually, Gov comes back and takes a nap in his chair. We sort out the bill and all walk out…except Gov, who kind of shuffles. As I walk past the stripper, I thank her and tell her she is a lovely lady.

On the street, Guns and I have a little make out. At some point, he grabs my ass, and I giggle. “I’m sorry, I can’t stop thinking about the strippers. Can you? I mean, you just grabbed my ass, but all I could think about was all the naked asses I’ve seen in the past two and a half hours.” He laughs and says he can’t believe I just said that. But, come on, you know he was totally thinking it.

It’s late, and Punky and I have to get up early to drive home. Aw Guns is sweet and asks me to hang out tomorrow. He wanted to have lunch and watch football. I love this guy. But, alas, it’s way past midnight, and Cinderella needs to get her ass to bed. We say goodnight, and Punky thanks everyone for her best birthday ever. Gov snores.

I woke up early Sunday morning with crusty drunk eyes, but my side ponytail still firmly in place. The drive home was long and excruciating because, sadly, I am not 21 anymore. Not even close.

Sex and Politics

Ta da. This is my first drunk blog. Here I am, sitting in my little pj’s, drinking a Magic Hat. Yum. I’m in DC right now, and boy, do I miss it. I spent the evening hanging out with some of my most favorite people and drinking my favorite delicious beer.

I am lucky to have a lot of awesome friends. The one I’ve been seeing a lot lately, W, went to high school with me. A couple of our other close friends from high school live in DC, and we’ve good some other good friends here too. When the group all gets together, we have the best conversations.

You know when someone you’re dating meets your family for the first time? And you’re wondering and hoping they’ll get along really well together? That’s what it’s like when I introduce a guy to these friends. I have a lot of friends, all over the place, and they’re all really different, but these friends…I don’t know what it is, but if you don’t get this group, you don’t get me.

Tonight we talked about everything – from sex to politics to current events to our lives and the futures we imagine for ourselves. Here’s a bunch of random shit from the night. G means girl, and B means boy, just to provide a little clarification. I’m really just telling you the ridiculous things that were said and ignoring all the serious ones because like I said, I'm a little drunk.

G: So are you still dating that doctor?

B: Nah, not really.

G: Was it her boobs?

B: I mean, they were really big and overwhelming at first. They were so big, I didn’t know what to do with them. I just batted them around like cat toys.

G: So they were too much for you?

B: No, I wouldn’t say that. They grew on me.

B2: Did you name them?

B: You couldn’t name them. They’re so big, they’re in different hemispheres. One was in summer, and one was in fall. I mean, if you named them, they’d have four names.

G: Yes, well, good for you, but why aren’t you seeing her anymore if you were so turned on?

B: Oh. She got tired of me, I think.

G2: Of you grabbing her boobs all the time?

B: Yeah, probably. But her boobs were really great.

G3: Aw, don't say that! You used to love little boobs. We need more men like you on our side!

B: I don't know. I can't decide, but I may be spoiled. Although they weren’t great to look at, and you see them a lot more than you touch them. I don’t know. It’s a tough call.

B2: Whatever. We just like boobs. All boobs. We don't discriminate. We're just happy to see them.

********************

G: I cannot believe that you seriously think Sarah Palin is a viable candidate.

B2: Oh you just hate women.

G: Yeah, that must be it…I’m self-loathing like that…

B: Yeah, you look at her and see that hot cheerleader in high school that stole your boyfriend.

G: Actually, I probably hate her because I love women, and she’s making us all look bad.

B: She does seem pretty dumb on national issues, I’ll give you that.

G: Thank you! I'm sure she does a good job on the state and local level, but she’s not qualified to be in charge of anything nationally.

B: Maybe, but I’d let her be in charge of me any day…I'd let her tell me what to do! And I hope she keeps the glasses on. She's got that whole "sexy librarian" thing going for her.

(I should clarify that the guys were joking when they said all of that. Don’t want you to hate them or think they’re sexist pigs. Well, they do all think she’s hot.)

********************

B2: So are you guys like totally turned on by the gyno?

G: The gyno? Are you kidding?

G2: No, he’s serious. He asks this all the time.

G: Um, no. It’s uncomfortable, sometimes it kinda hurts, we don’t like it at all.

B2: But not just a little bit?

G and G2: No!

G3: Are you turned on by the cough test?

B2: No, but that’s different.

G2: It’s not different.

B2: And I mean, we’re just thinking about if we look too small or something.

G3: You’re worried your penis looks too small to the doctor? Why do guys not understand that all flaccid penises are small? You're the ones with penis envy.

B2: Well, but sometimes they look bigger than others. So we’re always hoping for the middle range, I’d say.

G2: You guys like to imagine that we’re always turned on by strangers. We don’t work like that.

B2: Guys do. We’re turned on all the time.

G3: Yeah, we know. That’s why you masturbate all the time.

B2: What? You guys don’t?

G3: Isn’t this something you figured out at 16?

B2: I just choose not to believe you.

********************

B2: I think it’s Poo Button time…where's the laptop?

All the girls in unison: NO!

(Men are disgusting. If you don't know what that is, you're lucky - DON'T LOOK IT UP. Don't say I didn't warn you!)

********************

G4: I think that before you actually turn 30, you have to go to a strip club at least once.

G2: I don’t know if that’s true, but I am kinda curious…

B3: You want to go to a strip club?! Sweet!

B: There are a couple nice ones around here. You want a classy one? Or does it matter?

G2: Classy! Gross, why would I want to go to any other kind?

G3: Ew how many other kinds are there?

B2: Strippers are gross, dude. I remember for my buddy’s bachelor party, we hired these strippers, and they were nasty. They came to the house and danced around and stuff naked. Then they told us they were getting wet and asked for paper towels to wipe themselves! It was the grossest thing I’ve ever seen. But we did pay them extra money to sit on our friend’s face. That was funny.

G3: He is so gonna get you back for that when you get married.

********************

B: What do normal people talk about? I don't think I'm good at conversation. I only have two things I talk about. Sex and politics. And we’ve already talked about both.

G: So now you don’t have anything else to say?

B: No, probably not. But seriously, what do people talk about? I don’t think it’s like this.

********************

G: I’m horny!

B: Eat some cake.

The Runaway Train

I have a new favorite song. Sugarland's Already Gone. I’ve been playing it on repeat for a week. I have never listened to a song so obsessively before, but I just can’t get enough. Music makes us feel. It can make us aware of feelings we have that we didn’t know we had because we didn’t know how to express them. It can also sharpen our feelings and put them into perspective so that we understand ourselves better. It can teach us and inspire us.

I’m not going to aggrandize and say that this song does all or any of those things. But it does make me feel. And it makes me think. Nostalgia is, I think, what this song does for me.

My Mama mapped out the road that she knows
Which hands you shake and which hands you hold
In my hand-me-down Mercury, ready to roll
She knew that I had to go
And hangout, make lots of noise
Lay out late with a boy
Make the mistakes that she made 'cause she knew all along

I was already gone
I was already gone
I was already gone
Life is a runaway train you can't wait to jump on

This is the first verse, and I like it because it makes me remember being young. I mean, I am young still, of course, but I mean really young. I think about high school and college and how little I knew and how much I wanted to learn. I still make lots of noise and always will, but there’s something about the noise of your youth. And while the nighttime will always be magical, there’s something very special about the nights of our youth too, isn’t there?

My high school boyfriend - ooo was he hot. Everyone thought so. He had piercing green eyes, dark hair, a crooked grin that told you he was too cool for school (as evidenced when he later dropped out of college). His hair was long too. Something I’ve found truly repulsive in men since, but at 16, it was hot. I learned a lot from that boy…

Have you ever had an all-night date? I don’t even mean one of those hot and heavy nights where you stay up all night doing naked things. I mean a date. I want to see Nick and Norah’s Playlist so bad! And part of the reason is because they have one wild, all night date moving from one unexpected adventure to the next.

I had my first late night date my freshman year of college. It wasn’t technically all night, but it might as well have been. We ended up on the steps of The Vulcan in Birmingham, Alabama, and he kissed me for the first time. He had green eyes too, come to think of it. He was good looking, intelligent, kind and grew up in Kenya. A man of the world!

I heard once about a couple in Florida that started their first date watching the sunset on the Gulf Coast, then drove all night to see the sunrise on the Atlantic Coast. Ro-man-tic! If there ever was a perfect date, that’d be it. Because honestly, I’m looking for a partner in crime who’s up for anything and always says yes to crazy.

The verse also makes me think about when I moved to New York. Everyone in my family thought I was nuts, they were all mad at me, but especially my mom. She really didn't understand why I wasn't following her map. But when I moved, she was in the Uhaul with me, took care of everything and helped me move in and decorate. As great as she was, I know she cried on the way home. She loves me, she accepts me for who I am and even though she has a hard time understanding my decisions, she always supports them. And she knows I need to be independent so it's ok that I am.

They say the first time won't ever last
But that didn't stop me the first time he laughed
All my friends tried to warn me the day that we met
"Girl, don't you lose your heart yet"
But his dark eyes dared me with danger
And sparks fly like flame to a paper
Fire in his touch burning me up, but still I held on

I was already gone
I was already gone
I was already gone
Life is a runaway train you can't wait to jump on

This verse makes me think about the Firestarter. I dated him for a little over a year when I lived in New York right after college. He was a bad boy, and while I know it’s just a phase, phew is it one I’m glad I had. He taught me about passion. I knew all along he wasn’t the one, but I couldn’t make myself walk away. I was fixated. Spellbound.

Passion is a funny thing. It can trick you into thinking there’s something deeper – that’s how it helps you justify sticking around. The times in my life when I have felt incredible passion and lust, those feelings didn’t fade away like the warning we’ve all heard. It was always just as hot and firey as the first time. But eventually it's not as satisfying because there actually is more to a relationship than what happens inside the bedroom.

Just the other day, I told a friend of mine that I had figured something out. I said, “I know why people get married.” She laughed and said, “Oh good, why?” (I should add this friend is already married.) “When you find someone you have hot passion with, but also connect with in all the important ways too.” She laughed at my revelation because it was not news to her, but hey – I learn new things every day.

I can categorize all of my relationships as being dominated either by sexual passion or emotional connection. It just never occurred to me it was possible that you didn’t have to choose between them. Or that passion can last a lifetime.

Passion definitely has to be there. It puts the "crazy" in crazy love. There's the thrill of the first few months, when you're discovering each other's bodies, finding all the secret spots and learning each other. The first all-night naked romp. The first all-day naked romp. Then there's the thrill of the passion that comes from sharing for the first time that you're falling for each other - sweet nothings lead to the hottest of hot. And there is nothing like the first time you say "I love you." Nothing is sexier, and you cling tighter to him than ever before, hoping it will never end.

The last time I saw him, we packed up my things
And he smiled like the first time he told me his name
And we cried with each other
We split the blame for the parts that we couldn't change
Pictures, dishes and socks
It's our whole life down to one box
There he was waving goodbye on the front porch alone

But I was already gone
I was already gone
I was already gone
I was already gone
I was already gone

Thankfully, I have never been divorced. I pray I will never know such pain. But break-ups...ah, I know what those feel like. I think I've experienced those from every possible angle. I hate the last kiss. What's the saddest is when you know it's the last kiss, but no one says it. You know it's nearing the end, you might not be sure exactly when it's coming, but then you kiss that one kiss...and you know...that was the last.

The Firestarter taught me many lessons about life and love. He was my first adult relationship. It’s different when you’re an adult. The love is bigger and deeper, but it also hurts more. I think that’s because you share a life together. You share friends, you share space, you share days and nights, and you come to depend on each other in a million little ways.

It hurts the most when you do the final exchange. When you give him his stuff back, and all the evidence of the love is gone.

Now there’s only one toothbrush in the toothbrush holder. His shirts are no longer hanging in the closet. Even the things that used to irritate you, you’re sad to see gone like his socks he left on the floor or the cord to his laptop you always tripped on.

I kept my ex’s Old Spice Bodywash for awhile. It's not that we broke up and then haven't seen each other. I saw him just a couple weeks ago, but it’s not the kind of thing you give back. I kept it for over 6 months, hidden under my sink because it made me sad to look at it.

I ended things. It was my decision. And when I finally told him, I was already gone. I had been gone for awhile. It’s weird, isn’t it? How you can leave something but still be in it?

We can’t wait to grow up. I had the earliest curfew of all my friends, and I couldn’t wait to stay out late. That was my big rebellion my freshman year. Well, that and Fruit Rollups for breakfast. My high school boyfriend hurt me. And that guy I kissed in Birmingham turned out to have a host of issues I was too young to deal with. The Firestarter burned up my living room and broke my heart for the first time, it hurt in ways I didn't know it could. He wasn’t the last, and the hurt wasn't the worst.

All the fun and excitement of trying new things, testing boundaries, taking leaps can bring pain and heartache too. It is a wild runaway train, but the risks and the costs are worth the ride. Every bit of life – the good and the bad – that we can experience makes every pleasure sweeter, every smile wider and every minute brighter. That's what I've learned in the past month. That and all my hugs have been longer and tighter.

It's Great to be a Tennessee VOL!

Usually in the fall, there’s nothing better than some good ole Tennessee football. This year is a little different than the others. Cuz we friggin’ suck. Aw but I do still love my Vols more than anything.

I’ve been going to Tennessee games for as long as I can remember. And man, were we terrible back then. Thanks, Johnny Majors. For showing up drunk and doing nothing.

I remember my mom and I went to see Tennessee play Florida one year. I was really little, and it was a home game. We lost, of course, like we still do to those rotten Gators, but we lost bad – got shut out I think. All the UT fans were sullen and sad, shuffling quietly back to our cars, while the Florida fans were shouting and taunting us. I didn’t understand why they were being so mean. They should be happy they won. So I asked my mom why they were doing that. She said, “Cuz they're a bunch of assholes.”

Yes, no matter what, we love our Tennessee Volunteers. Glorious or hideous, we’ll always love em. And that’s why we dragged our 1-3 asses down to Neyland Stadium Saturday in hopes that we could beat a team we’d never even heard of. We tried to give them the game, but they didn’t take it so we won 13 to 9.

Q: How would you compare Tennessee’s defense, offense and special teams?
A: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly.

Q: What are UT’s chances of returning to the Georgia Dome this year?
A: Gone With the Wind.

Q: What do you think about Vanderbilt being the only undefeated team in the SEC?
A: Revenge of the Nerds.
(This one could apply to Duke’s football team too. Sorry, Blue Devils, but we need our coach back.)

I think the best thing about going to a UT game is the rednecks. I love rednecks. I’m not even trying to be mean or make fun of them. I'm serious – I really love Tennessee rednecks. A man dressed in camo (besides orange and white, camo is Tennessee’s third color that only true fans wear) gave us directions on Saturday. Once I went to a game and parked in a yard where the guy taking the money offered me a swig of one of the surrounding counties’ finest. That’s moonshine, y’all. And you know I took it.

To tell the truth, I think I like the Yankees so much because going to Yankee Stadium reminds me of Neyland Stadium. Turns out New Yorkers are not that different from rednecks. They have a lot of spirit. They get really into the game, shouting and yelling all the time. They even boo their own team because they demand absolute perfection. The loudest shouter in all of Neyland has seats near ours. "Dadblammit, REF! Open your EYES!" He’s also a deacon at our church. And everyone, from the smallest kids to the girliest girls, knows the players’ names and the team's stats.

Q: How many UT fans does it take eat a 'possum?
A: Two. One to eat and one to watch out for traffic.
(The funniest thing about this joke is about ten years ago a State Rep. from Knoxville sponsored a law making it legal to eat roadkill in the Great State of Tennessee.)

I think I love fireworks so much because fireworks mean Tennessee scored. Even the air above the stadium celebrates in orange and white. Seriously - look at that picture. Literally every person in the stadium is wearing orange. You really have to love your team to wear Big Orange. It doesn’t look good on anyone and is so bright it reflects sunlight. It’s blinding.

Q: Why did fans choose orange as Tennessee’s color?
A: So we could go huntin' on Friday, go to the game on Saturday and pick up trash on the highway Sunday.

I got my master’s at the University of Georgia. A school in the Old South nestled inside the Classic City. I loved it, but be clear on this – my two favorite teams are Tennessee and whoever plays Georgia. Those fans are nasty mean. A five year old yelled “Fuck Tennessee!” at me while his dad laughed. One guy called me a stupid bitch. I told him he was a sore loser, which you know is true. Though I hear it’s worse in Gainesville. One girl I knew had bricks thrown at her car. SEC Football = Full Scale War

And my belief that all girls in the SEC knew their football was totally obliterated. Most of those Georgia girls don’t even know what team their school is playing next weekend. But they do love their little red and black sundresses. A confusing tradition. How can you walk up concrete steps and stand on bleachers in heels? More importantly, why would you?

In Tennessee, we wear jeans and the aforementioned Big Orange. We leave our heels at home for church Sunday morning, where we go to pray for next weekend's game. Our purses are not cute for their sole purpose is to stash Jack Daniels. We shout as loud as the boys. We cuss when we get mad at the special teams (cuz it’s always special teams' fault – the only thing special about them is they should ride a short bus to games). For all good boys and girls, football is life.

Q: Why aren’t there any prostitutes in Tennessee?
A: Cuz they’re all VOLUNTEERS!

That’s a terrible joke.

Rocky Top is the single greatest anthem of all time. I think it’s even better than the national anthem, and I don’t care if a Republican calls me unpatriotic for saying so. It’s got everything. Moonshine, wild women, mountains, rocks, dirt. We love our fight song so much, we sing it incessantly. We sing it in the car on the way to the game. We sing it at the tailgate. We sing it while walking to the stadium. It’s our ringtone, our ringback tone, our personal theme song.

We play it when we get a first down, a field goal, a touchdown, a good call or when Fat Phil finds the last Krispy Kreme. I was trying to explain how much we love Rocky Top to a friend once and decided to count just how many times we played it in a single game. 33. And that was a game against South Carolina when South Carolina was bad (pre-Spurier, Carolina Girl!).

When we finished the upper deck onto our stadium after winning the NCAA National Freaking Championship in 1998, fans that sat up there were disappointed with their seats because it was too hard to hear the Pride of the Southland Marching Band. Which meant it was too hard to hear Rocky Top all 33 times per game. The band listened to the people, and now there’s a traveling mini-band whose entire purpose is to make their way across the upper deck playing Rocky Top.

Rocky Top you'll always be
Home sweet home to me
Good ol' Rocky Top (woo!)
Rocky Top Tennessee,
Rocky Top Tennessee

GO VOLS!

We'll always love you. Even when you’re bad.

* I wanna give a big "Go Vols" shout-out to govolsxtra.com for linking to this little blog of mine. Visit that site for all the latest updates about how the Vols will resuscitate the football program. And if any of the powers that be are reading (eh hem, this means you, Mike Hamilton!), please get Fulmer to retire so we can bring David Cutcliffe back home to be our head coach. Fulmer's a good coach and a great vol, but it's time to say goodbye. We want Cutcliffe!!! NOW!

Why Dating is Like the Gong Show

I drove in the rain tonight from Atlanta to Knoxville. I’ll be on the road a lot over the next couple of months so I might as well get used to it, but ugh. Driving in the rain sucks. And, of course, almost no one I called answered. My friend Brad did talk to me for awhile, which was nice because conversation is always good with an old friend.

Brad and I talked a little about what it is to be excited about someone that you’re dating. I think it’s rare. And usually dwindles with time, though that’s not how it’s supposed to work when it’s right. It’s damn hard to find anyone exciting, but it’s always something that I think you can pick out in the first few moments you spend with someone.

I told my mom once that it’s gotten to the point where I have such a good idea of what I’m looking for, I can tell almost instantly. Remember that old children’s book about the bird that falls out of its nest and is looking for its mother? It was called “Are You My Mother?” So I told my mom I feel like that little bird except my book would be called, “Are You My Boyfriend?”

Like when the little bird finds a bulldozer and asks, “Are You My Mother?” and, seeing that a bulldozer doesn’t have wings or feathers, it realizes instantly, “No…you’re not my mother.” I meet a cute guy and think, “Are You My Boyfriend?” and then he asks if I’m for or against global warming, and I instantly think, “No…you’re not my boyfriend.”

So that’s one way to describe it. Another is that dating is like The Gong Show. Because, honestly, aren’t there more circus freaks and variety show acts out there than anything? You meet one such clown, give him a few moments of your valuable time, and then he shows his crazy and GONG! Next contestant, please!

I had a bad date Friday. Bad. Horrible. Top of the worst list. I didn't really know him, but we talked on the phone a few times, and he was really funny. Funny will trick you every time, girls! We agreed to meet at a local brewery for some beer and then grab dinner after. My best guy friend, Goofer, sent me a text that day inviting me to meet him, his girlfriend and a couple friends at the same brewery. Total coincidence, but I thought it was funny and at least if the guy turned out to be a tool, I’d still have fun.

To protect the innocent (or not so innocent), I’ll give the tool (cuz he did turn out to be one) a nickname. I dub him “Captain Awkward” for obvious reasons – he was the captain of awkward. I get that it’s hard to be a dude. It’s hard to ask a girl out, and if you’re visibly nervous on the first date, you get a pass in my book. But Captain Awkward exhibited awkward behavior before we even stepped out of our vehicles.

I parked first and called him. We figured out where to meet, and then he awkwardly laughs and says, “Uh…huh huh…so when you see me tonight, I’m just gonna go ahead and apologize for the way I look.”

“Oh…um, what?” I am totally confused.

“Huh huh…well, yeah, see I kinda had a beard for a week and it was itching, and when I shaved it just now, I figured out why it was itching huh huh.”

“Oh…um, what?”

“It’s all broken out and stuff. There are these huge red bumps, and I guess that’s what was itchy. So huh huh just know that I don’t normally look like this.”

“Oh…ok…well, I’m sure it’s fine…so I’ll see you there then.”

Immediately, I hang up and call my mom to tell her this latest development and that I am now worried I’m going on a date with a dude who has hives all over his face. Could I catch them? But when I see Captain Awkward, he looks fine. Cute even. Sure, he has a couple red spots on his chin, but they clearly look like razor burn and needed no explanation.

We get our beer, he’s nervous, I smile sweetly and ask him questions about himself. He mentioned that he lived with his brother so I ask about that. He awkwardly adds that he also has an older brother who he doesn’t talk to at all. Then laughs uncomfortably (huh huh!) and adds that I probably don’t wanna hear about that. Oh no, I do not. No need to make this conversation even more awkward.

We see my friends and say hello. They invite us to come outside on the patio with them, and we agree we will later. After several more minutes of dull chit chat, my friend passes us again and extends the same offer. I’ve already downed two beers, and this guy is not getting cuter or more interesting so I suggest we go hang with the group.

We talk together, and I feel better about Captain Awkward. I give him the benefit of the doubt (when will I learn my lesson about this?), and after the third beer, decide that he’s probably a nice guy who’s just nervous. He makes a couple bad jokes no one gets and starts to get moody and…dare I say it? More awkward! Alcohol cannot even salvage this date. Then he says something that I think means he’s racist. Oh double no.

Admittedly, a few minutes do go by with me talking to one of my girlfriends and Captain Awkward talking to Goofer. And admittedly, it cannot be easy to have a girl’s best friend crash your first date. But adults should know how to play well with others, and any dude that wants to be my dude is gonna have to hold his own with my friends. It’s a necessity – period. And a task that Captain Awkward is not up for.

He leans over and asks, “So are you gonna go eat with them?” Because they invited us both to join them all for dinner.

“Yeah, I think we should, it’d be fun!” I smile sweetly. I am trying to conquer his awkwardness with kindness.

“Well, I’m not gonna go.”

“Oh…ok.” I say, while still smiling.

“And I think you know why…”

“Oh…ok.” Still smiling…not wanting to talk about why…

“And I really am sorry about the way I look. Like I told you, I normally don’t look this bad. So I just want you to know that.”

Wha-huh? “No…you look fine!” He really did look fine. Cute even!

“No, it’s ok, I mean, you can tell me. I know it’s my looks so, I just want you to know I normally look better than this.”

“No. Really. It’s not your looks. You look fine.”

“You keep saying that, but I know you’re just being nice. I know I look bad. I don’t usually look like this so…”

“Honestly. You look fine. There’s nothing wrong with the way you look.”

“Well…so what is it then?”

I blink.

“It’s ok, you can tell me, I mean you say it’s not my looks so then what is it? Just tell me.”

“Actually, you were really nervous before and then that made me feel nervous and…I don’t know what to say.” Patience is wearing thin.

“Nervous?” he asks while laughing nervously, “Huh huh…I wasn’t nervous, I mean, nervous? Really? Huh huh...”

“I thought so. Yes.”

“When? Like just now?”

“From the beginning, I thought you seemed really nervous. Which is ok, I mean…”

“I wasn’t nervous.” And now Captain Awkward should be crowned Captain Defensive. “I mean, you can just tell me what it is. Really, I want you to.”

“And now you’re making me feel really uncomfortable with how you keep talking about something being wrong with the way you look.” Oh yes, she can be honest!

“Well, you’re making me feel really uncomfortable by being standoffish.” Mayday! Mayday! At this point, I start pinching the girl standing next to me. And eventually she turns around and starts talking to me. Phew. After a couple really awkward!!! minutes, Captain Awkward turns to Goofer, and says, “I’m gonna go get another beer.”

As soon as he walks away, I start laughing and say, “He’s leaving! He’s leaving! He’s leaving, and he’s not even going to say anything to me!”

Goofer says, “What? No, he’s just going to get a beer. He’ll be back. He told me.”

I am hysterical now like nothing has ever been funnier and cackle, “No! Look! He’s leaving! There he goes!” I point as we watch him jump the balcony and walk down the stairs. Thankfully, one of the girls is smart enough (and kind enough) to tell me to stop laughing so he doesn’t see and then asks what happened.

Before I can explain, we see him angrily rip off his collared shirt (he had a t-shirt underneath), throw his hat off and then stomp through the parking lot like he was having a temper tantrum. GONG!

Back Where I Come From

Oh my gosh. I love Tennessee. It is hilarious. Especially, I think, to people who are not from here, but as an old Tennessean, I think I have the right to laugh a bit louder.

We had a terrible thunderstorm last night. That's not funny, of course, but the rednecks reacting to it just cracked me up.

My mom and I went to visit my grandfather yesterday, and he lives about two hours from Knoxville. Mom drove up there so I was driving back. I kept desperately searching the radio for the new Sugarland song (Ooo ooo ooo ooo ooo!) when we heard a severe thunderstorm warning for the area we were driving into. We heard that at an exit along the interstate we hadn't yet approached, there was a powerline down on the other side of us so we knew we'd hit some traffic. Those rubberneckers. Gotta love em.

All of a sudden, it hit! Thunder, lightening and a monsoon of a downpour. My mom is, of course, freaking out next to me offering helpful suggestions like "Slow down!" and "Be careful!" About as helpful as when I advise Peyton Manning to "Throw the ball!!" and tell my Vols to "Get a touchdown!"

The worst was yet to come, though, because soon it started hailing. This really sent her off. She continued with her helpful remarks.

"Oh my gosh! It's hailing! Can you see that?"

"I don't see why it has to rain so hard. Do you??"

"There's a truck next to you!"

Yes, thank you. My mom is the ultimate backseat driver. Her gasps and tight grip on the door didn't help much either. She was really concerned about the hail, which is understandable, but there's not much that can be done about it at the time. I really hate it when people pull over on the side of the road during a storm. Be tough, and weather it out, people. Parking on the highway for half an hour just seems useless and chickenshit to me.

"It's hailing so hard, I think we should pull over." - Mom

"Ok, it's your car. I will if you want me to." - Me

"It's hailing! Ooo look at the size of it!" - Mom

"Yeah. Do you want me to pull over?" - Me

"It's raining so hard! Watch out!" - Mom

"Mom. Do you want me to pull over or are you ok?"

"Look at the hail! It's soooo BIG!" - Mom

I decided to keep on driving, but became rather alarmed when she started shouting, "Be careful! My brakes don't work!" Not the thing you want to hear as you're navigating on an interstate in a thunderstorm. I yelled back, "Why am I driving a car with brakes that don't work!?! Are you crazy?!?"

I had the radio turned up because music calms me, and eventually they stopped playing songs and started talking about the traffic and the power outages. Then the rednecks started calling. To the station's credit, the first caller was legitimate and offered important information. She was stuck on the other side of the interstate, where it was closed, and told people the best way to turn around and get away from it. After that, though, every Jim Bob and Ellie Sue wanted to hear their voices on the radio.

"Yes, we have a call from Ellie Sue. Are you there, Ellie Sue?"

"Oh sure, uh huh. I'm here. I'm out here on Cedar Lane. There's a tree down."

"Ok, a tree down, you say?"

"Yuh. It's down, but itaint in the road or nothing. Ain't blocking traffic any. But there is a wreck. It's at the traffic light."

"Oh...ok...the traffic light?"

"Yuh."

"Ok, then thanks for calling."

I asked my mom why the woman thought anyone needed to hear about a road that had only one traffic light. She said, "All the rednecks have cell phones now."

More ridiculous calls followed. And they aired all of them. Rednecks (and I can call them that because they're my people) just love to be on the radio or on TV. Before a UT football game, every drunk idiot calls up from his tailgate just to say "Go Vols!"

And I just hate it that whenever a tornado hits in the Southland, they find the most ignorant redneck - always fat, sometimes in a moo-moo, sometimes with a mullet and/or handlebar mustache. I remember I was in Birmingham about ten years ago when a tornado ripped through downtown Nashville. I remember this exactly. A man with a blond mustache and mullet, wearing a ripped up t-shirt and jeans, was on CNN, and this was what he said:

"Uh huh. Well, we was comin' on outta that there Nascar Cafe, and I looked up in the sky. And you know what the first thing I thought was? I thought about that movie Twister, ya seen it? And I thought about how them Hollywood movies are spot on. It looked just like them twisters in that movie. Just like em, I say."

Oh, thanks for makin' me proud to be from the Great State of Tennessee.

In the town where I was raised
The clock ticks and the cattle graze
Time passed with Amazing Grace
Back where I come from
Now you can lie on a riverbank
Paint your name on a water tank
Or miscount all the beers you drank
Back where I come from

Back where I come from
Where I'll be when it's said and done
I'm proud as anyone
Back where I come from

We learned in Sunday school
Who made the sun shine through
I know who made the moonshine, too
Back where I come from
Blue eyes on a Saturday night
Tan legs in the broad day light
TV's, they were black and white
Back where I come from

Back where I come from
Where I'll be when it's said and done
I'm proud as anyone
Back where I come from

Some say it's a backward place
Narrow minds on a narrow way
I make it a point to say
That that's where I come from

That's where I come from
Where I'll be when it's said and done
I'm proud as anyone
That's where I come from
Back where I come from
I'm an old Tennessean
And I'm proud as anyone
That's where I come from

She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy

I’d like to dedicate this little diddy to a good friend – Brad – who loves Kenny and even looks like him. And I don’t mean he looks like him as in my mom says so and Brad says so. I mean that people often approach him and ask if he is Kenny. Just when he’s wearing a baseball hat because, unlike dear Kenny, Brad still has a full head of thick hair. Brad also took me on my first tractor ride. Romantic, right? And I was ironically wearing a shirt that said, “It’s Better in New York.”

Well, I'm what I am and I'm what I'm not
and I'm sure happy with what I've got
I live and love and laugh a lot
and that's all I need

A friend told me a few weeks ago that he guessed it was “ok” that I liked country music since I’m from Tennessee. This friend is from New Jersey so I guess it’s ok that he said that. Really, there are many great things about country music. A good country song tells you a story. It’s honest and true. And makes me feel like I’m at the lake drinking a cold beer in the summertime. Everything you need to know about life, you can learn from a country song.

Yesterday was a country music extravaganza. We saw five bands and heard 7 ½ hours of country music. It was awe-some. After LeeAnn Rimes had us up and dancing, my cousin C and I took a bathroom break. We were standing in a long line for the women’s restroom when we saw a woman laying into a guy. It was a very loud, very public fight. I heard her say, “You’re a fucking asshole,” “You lie, you’re a liar, you lied to me,” and “How could you do that?”

The girl was beautiful, but the guy looked like a guido from Long Island. Probably needed someone to Nair his back, had a big ol’ beer belly and even had a thick gold chain. The worst was that he seemed totally unphased and even bored with the fight. Just had this look on his face like, “What?” I have no idea what this girl was doing with him, but if we’re honest with ourselves, ladies, we’ve all slummed it before.

C and I are loud mouths so we start shouting things like, “You tell him, honey!” “You can do better!” “You’re too good for him!” All the things we’d want to hear if we were fighting with a loser. Gotta support a sista, right? “That’s right! Tell him what’s up!”

Commitment
Someone who'll go the distance
I need somebody with staying power
Who will make me go weak in the knees
Commitment
And everything that goes with it
I need honor and love in my life from somebody
Who's playin' for keeps

Eventually, we got the women standing around us to join in, and we were all cheering her on. Guido took off with his tail between his legs. Unfortunately, so did the girl. We all clapped and cheered for her, but she walked off in tears. Poor dear. I hope she wasn’t fighting while LeeAnn played “Commitment” cuz I think that day it would’ve been her anthem. We saw a real live country song in action.

Now the greatest thing about a country music extravaganza is all the drunk rednecks. Sure, we looked like idiots too in our matching orange shirts and cowgirl hats, but we were sober. The woman in a moo-moo behind us was so wasted she started hugging everyone and professing her love. She told my mom about three times, which was almost scarier to my sweet mama than walking past a gay club in Chelsea, and finally the woman asked Mom if she loved her too. My mom said yes, and the woman used Mom’s cowgirl hat to stand her beer bottle on. If that’s not redneck love, I don’t know what is.

Life's too short, let's get to livin' it
Let's give it all we can give it
Let your hair down, turn the music up
We gonna paint the town flat, tear it up
The party starts here get in line
Beer thirty, a honky tonk time

The couple in front of us were equally entertaining. The man was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off so we had a better view of his fat arms. The woman was wearing a tiny tank top that showed off her granny bra and muffin top nicely. I kept debating which was classier – showing the granny or the muffin top. It’s a toss-up. Both were wearing camouflage hats. The man had a camo cowboy hat on, and the woman a camo fishing cap. Welcome to Georgia, y’all.

After awhile, C and I needed another beer and bathroom break. Before we left, Camo Fish showed up with a footlong hot dog covered in mustard, relish and chili. Yum. We definitely missed the best part of the day, but I almost think hearing our moms re-tell it was funnier. Apparently, while we were gone she put on a little phallacio show with the dog. Imagine my surprise when I return to hear my mother say, “That woman just gave that man a blowjob with a hotdog.”

I don’t know what that means, but hearing my mom say “blowjob” was disturbing enough. She has no business even knowing what that word means. Between fits of giggles, Mom explains that the woman held her hotdog up to the man’s mouth and pretended to give it a blowjob. When I said, “Ew, with the mustard and relish on it too?” Mom told me Camo Fish licked all of that off. Slowly. Tell the truth, fellas, is nothing hotter than a woman sucking up chili?

At this point, another couple standing in front of us turns around. The girl is a Georgia fan, and the guy is a Tennessee fan so they ask C if they can take a picture with her. Apparently, it’s some kind of lame bet, and the girl’s punishment for having terrible taste in football is to be photographed with a Vol. C says sure and makes friends with them before telling the guy it’s about time he put a ring on his girl's finger and made an honest woman out of her. He says, “Is that so?” and C tells him he’s “of age.” He turns around, and we are no longer friends.

Til you put a girl in it
You aint got nothin
What's it all worth
Without a little lovin
Put a girl in it
Some huggin and some kissin
If you're world's got somethin missin
Just put a girl in it

Finally, our star shows up and rocks our faces off country style. As soon as Kenny’s on stage, my mom starts asking when he’s gonna tell her his tractor’s sexy. Her favorite song. He plays all his greatest hits, and I find I am strangely turned on by this small man and his tight ass. I decide it’s his big hot arm muscles and crooked grin. I always prefer guys from the North to Southern guys, and there are many good reasons for that. But damn, there were some hot men in cowboy hats last night, and I decided to add “cowboy” to the list of hook-ups I should have before I settle down.

Camo Fish and Camo Cow are having fun too. All the people around us are standing on their fold-up chairs so, of course, we are too so we can see. Camo Fish is swaying with a beer bottle in one hand and a Gatorade in the other. She’s water-backing like a true alcoholic. Throughout the set, I tell her a total of four times that her beer bottle came dangerously close to my head. Her excuse is that she doesn’t drink. O…k…well, ya sure are now, sweetheart.

When the sun goes down, we'll be groovin
When the sun goes down,we'll be feeling alright
When the sun sinks down over the water
Everything gets hotter when the sun goes down

Eventually, the inevitable happens. Camo Fish falls. On my mother. It’s a domino effect, and everyone topples to the ground. My mom shoves Camo Fish forward with a fury I haven’t seen since I was little and drew her a picture on the wall. Camo Fish apologizes and minutes later fights with Camo Cow. He storms off, and she gives him the bird. Oh, I love rednecks.

In defiance, she climbs back up on her chair, and everyone in our section exchanges worried glances. The guy next to me with a unibomber beard and acid trip t-shirt motions that we should push her off. We ask her to get down. She does and then says, “Y’all are cute. Are you in some kind of a club?” pointing at our shirts. I respond, “Yeah. Family. The kind you can’t get out of.” She says cool and stumbles off. Applause all around.

It was a great concert. Kenny proved why he’s always Entertainer of the Year and even played my mom’s favorite song. All in all, another great family outing.

She thinks my tractor's sexy
It really turns her on
She's always staring at me
While I'm chuggin along
She likes the way it's pullin' while we're tillin' up the land
She's even kind of crazy 'bout my farmer's tan
She's the only one who really understands what gets me
She thinks my tractor's sexy