Gettin' Rednecked

If there were a contest (and there should be) to determine who had the most redneck weekend of them all, Roadchick and crew would win hands down.

Roadchick (contrary to the dismal, depressing tone of her last post) has met a new guy. In order to distinguish him from all the other new guys lately, this one shall be called "Redneck". Not that he is, not really. It's more of a circumstantial thing but when the workboot fits...

Redneck and Roadchick have been dating for several weeks and things are going pretty well. The 'chick is becoming a little leary of talking about her boys here because once she introduces them to y'all, something always happens. So, whichever of you is doing the hoodoo on the 'chick's relationships - knock it off. It's not nice. It's making Roadchick crazy. And she's getting ready to whip out her own brand of voodoo on you. So there. Nyah.

Because things have been going well and Roadchick and Redneck are still in the first blush of dating when you can't stand to be away from the "Other" for more than 24 hours, they decided that multiple trips to the county fair were in order. The first trip was last Thursday night, in order to partake of the demolition derby. Y'all know that that was a good time. There were multiple near-runnings-over (as in - hey! that car just ran over the top of that other car - cool!) and an engine compartment fire that required the services of seven fireman. One to operate the fire extinguisher and the other six to stand around and crouch down to make sure that the fire was out. Good times, y'all.

On Friday evening, Roadchick's ex-in-laws were coming into town to spend a couple of days before heading out for other relatives' homes in other parts of the state. The Outlaws stay with Roadchick and Rockboy while in the Nashville area. They always have, they always will, and a good time is had by all.

On Saturday, Roadchick, Rockboy, and the Outlaws did a little bit of yard saleing (saling? sailing?), acted like the worst sort of tourists in downtown Nashville by stopping in the middle of busy streets in order to take pictures, and eating at every opportunity. In the late afternoon, Roadchick, Rockboy, and the Outlaws headed for Redneck's house. Hee.

Are you keeping score, Patient Reader? Do y'all know who is included in this entourage at this point? If you answered:

• Roadchick
• Rockboy
• The Outlaws
• Redneck

you would be correct. Yes, new boyfriend and the Outlaws, together. Think it can't get much more rednecky? You'd be absolutely WRONG.

After a fantastic dinner of catfish, hushpuppies, and cole slaw at a local riverside establishment, the Entourage left to pick up Redneck's son (now known as Skaterboy) and Redneck's ex-father-in-law. Before heading BACK to the county fair for the Mud Drag Races.

As drag races go, they weren't much to blog about. The crowning event of the evening was when Redneck bought Roadchick a present. From the fair. Because nothing says love like a gift from the fair. And it was a surprise.

When Redneck returned from buying Cokes, he sat next to Roadchick and was fiddling around with something behind her back. When she asked what it was, he said it was a surprise. What kind of surprise, she wanted to know. A secret surprise. That she couldn't see. Even though it was for her. But she was allowed to know that it was a necklace.

When it was finally around her neck, she dug in her bag to find a mirror and what she saw made her eyes tear up with emotion. For around her neck was a Redneck necklace. Made up of spikey things mixed with beads that had rebel flags on them. Awww.

Redneck was laughing his butt off. So was Roadchick. And she wore the necklace proudly. And then that made Redneck a little bit nervous and he told her that she could take the necklace off because it was a joke. But Roadchick said that she didn't think so - she was going to wear her redneck necklace every time she saw him from now on.

So, a quick recap:

• Catfish, hushpuppies, cole slaw
• Roadchick
• Rockboy
• 1 full set of Outlaws
• 1 partial set of Outlaws
• Redneck
• Skaterboy
• County fair
• Mud Drag Races
• Redneck necklace

Submitted for a full vote: Roadchick wins the Redneckedness-of-the-Weekend Award. What do y'all think???

Sunday Scribblings: The Monster. . .

The biggest monster that the 'chick fears is the Monster of Alone.

The fear that the "One" will never appear in her life.

The fear that it will be Roadchick, the crazy cat lady.

The fear that she will die alone.

The fear that she will be that "poor lady" that gets invited to things because "she's all on her own, you know."

The fear that she won't be special to someone, be wanted and needed.

The fear that she'll be left to figure it out on her own, always.

The fear that it won't cease to matter.

The fear that at the end of the day, what she knows now will be what she always knows.

The fear that. . .acceptance will never come.

The fear of the Monster of Alone.

Save Yer Confedrut Money, Boys!

Y'all, why did no one tell the 'chick? It had to be obvious.

Y'all were snickering behind the 'chick's back, pointing and giggling like her zipper was undone and not ONE of you was willing to tell Roadchick that. . .

Apparently, she is a redneck.

Oh. Lawsy. Mercy.

This realization hit her today. After just denying to a co-worker that she was a redneck. Or that the new boy is a redneck. And then began the list of activities that she'd participated in during the past week to ten days.

Let's list them, shall we?

• Saw Talladega Nights
• Visited the Jack Daniel's Distillery in Lynchburg, TN (for the 48th time, she might add)
• Is going to the demolition derby at a nearby county fair tomorrow
• Is going to a car show in September with more to follow in October
• Had an in-depth discussion about the finer points of a zero-turning-radius lawnmower
• Saw Snakes on a Plane and wondered what all the fuss was about

Y'all knew it and never said a WORD.

You'll have to excuse Roadchick now, she has to go put a great big rebel flag on the back window of her car. And barbeque something. And then there's that sale at the Walmart.

Sheesh.

Snakes on a Plane!

Warning, danger Will Robinson - although this is a short, short post there could be enough information to constitute a "spoiler" so if you haven't seen SoaP and plan to, you may want to skip this until AFTER you've seen the movie.

The 'chick has a question that has been burning in her mind since seeing Snakes on a Plane on Friday night.

The plane. It's all full of snakeses. Hissing, biting, crazy snakeses. In a pheromone induced frenzy.

No one, Samuel L. Jackson included, can figure out what to do about the dratted, nasty snakeses. Poking them with sticks seems to upset them. What to do?

A tiny bit of information about snakeses - they're cold-blooded as the herpetologist (snake expert, not herpes expert, and Roadchick knows that you were thinking that, shame on you) kindly points out in the movie. Also pointed out by Paula Abdul in her hit song "Cold Blooded Snake".

To solve the problem, why didn't they (whoever "they" might be) just drop the temperature in the plane to make the snakeses really, really cold and therefore, immobile? Not to mention the fact that unless they were stored in a climate controlled baggage compartment (unlikely) they wouldn't have had the energy to be all "Snakes on a Plane". But of course, that also would have negated the entire movie. "Cold Snakes Napping in the Cargo Hold" might not be quite the same box office draw as "Snakes on a Plane!!!"

Just sayin' is all.

This is why people won't go to the movies with Roadchick.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled day, already in progress.

Sunday Scribblings: The Inner Life of Pets

Or: Living Large with Roadchick

First of all, let me tell you - I'm telling this story and the 'chick is typing it for me. (No thumbs, you know, for the space bar.) But rest assured, I'm sitting here, right next to the laptop, making sure that what she puts down is correct and exactly what I told her.

I'm the Speedbump in Roadchick's life. I'm a rescue kitty. Some of Roadchick's friends found me on the Nashville Archery Range when I was just little tee-tiny, maybe just a few weeks old. I was so hungry that I was trying to dig up worms. Those nice people brought me home and fed me and took me to the vet for shots and all that stuff and when I was bigger, they asked Roadchick if she wanted a kitty.

Roadchick had a kitty before and when the kitty was old and sick she had to drop her off at the end of the Rainbow Bridge and she was very sad. She had the other kitty for 17 years! (Longer than Rockboy!) But it had been a few months since the other kitty crossed the Rainbow Bridge and Roadchick was thinking that she would like to get another kitty.

When she found out that I was solid black and had short hair, she agreed to let me move into her space. I spent the first car ride home sitting on her shoulder and yowling at the cars going by. When we got home, I met my new big brother, Rockboy. Rockboy is a human bean. He teases me and plays with me and fills my food bowl up for me. He talks to me too, and even dyed his hair black so he could look just like me!

My mom, Roadchick, thinks that I think I am a person. I don't know what she's talking about! Of course I am a person! My mom also thinks it's pretty cool that I will play fetch with a ponytail holder. If she shoots it across the room for me, I'll run and go get it and bring it back so we can do it all over again.

Life is pretty good at the 'chick's house. There are lots of windows so I can watch the birds on Kitty TV and there are lots of soft, comfy places to take a nap. I hate it when my mom and my brother leave in the mornings. I don't know why I can't go with them, but while they're gone, I snoop all over the house and do all the stuff I'm not supposed to do, like laying on the dining room table. I don't know how Mom always knows that I've been up there!

It's hard being Roadchick's cat because I don't really like to ride in the car. The 'chick would take me places but I'm askeered of the car and I don't like to wear a leash although I do wear a collar. I have a cousin named Darkness that belongs to Roadchick's friend Truckman. He rides around in one of those great big trucks all the time! That is where he lives. He has lots of adventures too. He's a guard cat.

I'm an attack cat. My mom wanted to put up another one of my pictures so y'all could see it but Blogger won't let her upload any pictures and she doesn't know why. She said some bad words, but I won't repeat them.

Mom said I have to finish this up now because she has to get to work. Something about making money and stuff like that. I think she worries about working too much - if you wait long enough, someone will always fill up your food bowl.

TGIF

It's Finally Over

Rest in peace, Janet.

Janet March disappeared from Nashville, Tennessee 10 years ago. Her husband, Perry March, was found guilty today of 2nd degree murder, abuse of a corpse, and tampering with evidence. Her family and friends will always miss her but maybe now they can start putting some closure to her disappearance and death. You can read the full story here.

CBS's show, 48 Hours, did a story about the case and you can read about that here.

The 'chick's thoughts and prayers are with her family and friends.

Insomnia and Old Friends

Y'all, the 'chick has been thinking about friendship this morning. She usually does when she has a bout of insomnia and she's got one today.

When the 'chick wakes up at some ungodly hour, like 3 a.m., she's tired and edgy and bored and there is NOTHING on TV at that hour. Books are not acceptable because she winds up a little too involved (maybe due to the fatigue?) in all the emotional rollercoaster stuff going on. Instead, she starts thinking about her friends.

Who hasn't she heard from lately? Who is she playing phone tag with? Who is awake that she could call? (No one, usually.)

For some reason, insomnia makes her chatty - maybe just needing company to know that she's not the only person left in the world, sitting awake and wondering why.

Roadchick has a friend named Fileboy.

Fileboy used to work with the 'chick. He did the filing - see how sharp Roadchick and Fileboy are? His name is entirely appropriate. Fileboy had another job but he did the filing for some extra money.

When Roadchick started working there, Fileboy had already been there for awhile. The corner that was hers was directly adjacent to where Fileboy did his sorting and filing. Roadchick lived in a corner, surrounded by filing cabinets and a couple of skinny partitions that made up her "office" and enclosed her world. At first, the 'chick wasn't too sure about this set-up: very little privacy and no way to block out noise if she was needing to think something out.

She also wasn't too sure about Fileboy - not because there was anything wrong with him or he was putting out "danger" vibes, but just because. . . well, who knows why? Sometimes the 'chick can be a little awkward when meeting someone new, especially if she knows that she is going to wind up spending a great deal of time with that person. (Could that be why she's such a dating nightmare? No, but later on that.)

Slowly. . . slowly, the thaw set in and Fileboy and Roadchick found out that they shared a great deal besides a common wall of file cabinets. Their birthdays were only two days apart. Both Scorpios. Both with a sense of humor that could be as dark as it was wacky and silly. And both able to talk their heads off for 8 hours and not miss a beat.

During the first year, not that long after they met, their birthdays approached. Since their birthdays were only two days apart, it was decided that they would celebrate them together. This was fine with Fileboy and Roadchick.

On the appointed day, Fileboy and Roadchick were in a state of high anticipation. It was Birthday Day. Lunch! Cake! Funny Card(s)! Celebration!

Apparently, the rest of the office had not put quite the thought into the festivities as the 'chick and the 'boy had. Roadchick had already observed at least a birthday or two with the company and knew that some sort of lunch and a cake were the norm. And a card. At least.

Lunchtime approached.

Nothing was mentioned.

Fileboy and Roadchick conferred in whispers, wondering if a big surprise party was planned.

Well, no. There was nothing planned.

Someone else finally realized that whoops! there was a birthday that was supposed to be going on and spread the word.

Rockchick and Fileboy were asked if they'd brought lunch. Well, no, because they were under the impression that a lunch would be provided. Roadchick rummaged in her desk and found a can of soup. Fileboy went to Sonic and got a grilled cheese sandwich. A co-worker made a Kroger run and came back with a cake. And one candle. One candle for Fileboy and Roadchick to blow out together.

The frosting on that cake wound up being the cement that put the final touches on their friendship.

It's been the 'chick's experience that sometimes in life, people are lucky enough to find each other. Friendship can be another kind of soulmate - not the romantic, lovey dovey soulmate that most people dream of, but another, equally satisfying sort of soulmate. The person that you genuinely enjoy with the sense of humor that mirrors your own and the only demand placed upon you is to be present.

Roadchick and Fileboy went on to share some other adventures together before he got an offer on a job out of town and he took it. They've stayed in touch, postcards from him (always unique or quirky) and an occasional package of little things that each of them knew that the other would love. Roadchick sent him a box that had a pocket gnome in it and some other goodies that just said "Fileboy" to her. He sent an airline sized bottle of Skyy Orange Vodka that evidently said "Roadchick" to him. He brought her a swizzle stick from Mr. Pink in New York City.

It's been awhile since the 'chick has heard from Fileboy. Insomnia always seems to bring him to mind and although it was too early to call him and wake him up, it was not too early to sit down and write about a person that touched her life.

Who is the Fileboy in your life? Has it been awhile since you've talked to him or her? The 'chick is tossing out a challenge - get in touch with your Fileboy & let them know you're thinking of them.

Now, on to Other Things

Now that the 'chick has posted the tricksy HTML for the DNA thing...ONWARD!

Update to the Skull In The Basement: the 'chick inquired yesterday and there are no updates from the CSI/Medical Examiner lady. The head has not been returned. The 'chick went to the house for lunch and had a good look 'round, but didn't spot any other skulls or loose body parts. She did not inquire where the leftover roast came from though.

Funny of the morning: This morning, Roadchick and her son, Rockboy, drove through (thru?) McDonald's because you can never have enough greasy goodness in the morning. When the 'chick was driving forward to join the queue at the speaker, she was CUT OFF by a rather large man in a Volvo. Now, y'all - is the Roadchick wrong for thinking that that was not necessary? It's not like McDonald's is going to RUN OUT of food. Not like there is only one McMuffin left in the free world. Anyway.

Because Roadchick has a memory like a Commodore Vic 20 computer, she writes herself little notes about things that she wants to mention here. (Actually, that's kind of sad and pitiful, but let's examine that another day, ok?) There is actually quite a list of stuff and a lot of it has to do with television commercials. (Again, another sad commentary that not only does Roadchick apparently watch a LOT of TV, she also has time to take NOTES (!) about it and save them up like some sort of nuclear squirrel hoard.)

But, with no shame and no pride to get in the way, here we go:

1. Local sign company: Why (why?!?) did you make all of your employees dress up like Coneheads from Saturday Night Live? Why? The 'chick hopes they were richly compensated to make up for the fact that every single living person that knows them has taped or TiVo'd that commercial and will blackmail and ridicule them for the rest of their lives and beyond.

2. Local patio furniture company: "We make your patio furniture dreams come true."
What? People dream about patio furniture? All the 'chick can say about that is...she wants some of whatever y'all are smoking because she has never ONCE dreamed of patio furniture. Ever.

3. Edge Active Care Shaving Gel: An ugly (sort of ugly. not very attractive, anyway.) guy sitting there (or standing, it's been a little bit and apparently, the notes were not as good as she thought) after using this wonderful shaving gel. And then, there are these female hands rubbing all over his face. Eww. It's the creepiness of the disembodied hands that the 'chick doesn't like. That, and the fact that if you use THIS PRODUCT, you too can have creepy female hands all over you because, after all, women base all relationships (personal and sexual) on what shaving gel you're using. Men, take note. Buy this gel - NOW!



4. Jack-In-The-Box: What does the guy inside the head look like? And why does he have regular skin on his hands, not plastic hands?

5. Gatorade: This is a commercial that cracks the 'chick up. The one with the bobble heads running around, playing basketball & the closing line is "Shut your big head up." This has been added to the 'chick's list of sayings.

Other Random Stuff:
One of Roadchick's friends was trying out the Yahoo Personals thing. She had a date with a gentleman the other night. He was not really what she was expecting, but apparently a nice man. Who brought her a HANGING PLANT as a date-gift. To the restaurant. Roadchick cannot top that one. She hopes she can never top that one.

Roadchick's personal home laptop died a slow and smoky death. She had to pull the old desktop computer out of dry dock and hook it up. It's been awhile since she's used it. She forgot that it still runs Windows 95. Slooowwwwwwly. Most of her posting will be done from work. Why? Because the hamster inside the desktop computer is old and tired and Roadchick's patience is being tried this week so she resorts to whacking the computer for being old and slow. Better to not add to the aggravation. Better still would be a winning lottery ticket that would enable her to buy a new laptop or an unemployed computer nerd to do her posting for her. "Boy, take a blog post!" "Yes ma'am, Ms. Roadchick, right away!" Hee!

The 'chick is on the road for work this week, so hopefully some sort of interesting something will happen. It usually does. And the 'chick will be there, notepad in hand, taking notes about it so she can remember to tell y'all about it later on.

The 'chick's DNA

Y'all, this is eerily accurate. Give it a try & see.

Encouraging Creator

You can mouse over the colors in the strip & it gives a little information about how high (or low) the 'chick scored in that area. The 'chick has added her comments in italic type.

You are a Creator

Your imagination, confidence, willingness to explore, and appreciation of beauty make you a CREATOR. It also means that the 'chick gets in trouble pretty regularly.

You are independent, and you enjoy your self-sufficiency. Red, white, and blue right to the bone. And very prone to saying, "No, that's ok, the 'chick doesn't need any help." Stubborn is another way of saying the exact same thing.

Defying convention, you are very innovative, and you have a vivid imagination. Did y'all want the 'chick's autograph?

The look of things is important to you, and you have a keen eye for aesthetic beauty in multiple arenas. NO Harley mirrors in the living room EVER!

You have a strong interest in what is new and exciting—and that includes forging ahead with new ideas, not simply discovering what is already out there. The 'chick is a sucker for infomercials. A sucker. She will BE an infomercial someday.

Your eagerness to seek new and varied experiences leads you into many different situations. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Heads in basements. Questions by security guards.

You're not set on one way of doing things, and you are creative when it comes to finding novel solutions to complex problems. Duct tape. Crazy glue. Relying on the kindness of strangers.

You trust yourself to be innovative and resourceful. "Oh, it'll work out SOMEHOW."

Your confidence allows you to take your general awareness and channel it into creativity. Channeling. Spirit guides. Muses.

You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well. Read: "Should the 'chick buy this pretty pink kleenex? Of course she should! Oh, wait! The mens might be uncomfortable with that."

Generally, you believe that you control your life, and that external forces only play a limited role in determining what happens to you. HA! If that were true, would air conditioners all over town be breaking down???


If you want to be different:

Appreciate the earthly, practical elements of things—there is beauty in form as well. Become ONE with the broom and mop.

While you are good at thinking abstractly, focusing on details a bit more may help you discover things about the world. "The 'chick cannot be overdrawn - she still has checks left. Look! Kitties on the checks!"


How you relate to others:

You are Encouraging

Your outgoing nature, understanding of others, and directness make you ENCOURAGING. And amazingly unpopular at large gatherings . . . directness will get you every time!

You want others to do well for themselves, and you generally believe in their abilities. Do your own work - Roadchick doesn't get paid to do your job too!

You often know what's good for people because of your caring nature and your worldview. Proof: Roadchick should run for public office!

When you care about someone, you don't keep it to yourself: you are good at letting people know that you're thinking of them. One of the Seven Deadly Sins, trust her on this.

Because you trust people, you take violations of that trust very seriously. Never, ever ask a stranger to hold your purse at a concert, even if you do have to pee.

You thrive in social situations, and even though you know who you like and who you don't like, you can interact well with many different types of people. Because she's a Rock Star!

You have a healthy respect for people who have earned what they have, and you strive to be similar to successful others. Role Model: Anna Nicole Smith - NOT!

You are a loyal friend and a good listener. Just ask Auntie Roadchick!

You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well. But no crying in line at the grocery store. Ever. Even if the last copy of Oprah is gone.

Generally, you believe that you control your life, and that external forces only play a limited role in determining what happens to you. Again - A/Cs all over town would disagree with that statement.


If you want to be different:

Sometimes, in the course of being encouraging, you can be a bit judgmental—this can make it more difficult for others to follow your advice. Roadchick? Judgmental? Surely not!

While you are an expert at getting the most out of the world and taking advantage of many experiences, you might gain some insight by taking the time to be alone, reflect on things, or just observe the goings-on in the world. Roadchick vants to be alone. She's ready for her close-up, Mr. DeMille.


That little tidbit was too good to wait, so the 'chick wanted to share it. Especially before she lost all the tricksy HTML to make the DNA bar appear.

Sunday Scribblings: Who Else Can Roadchick Still Be?

This is actually a topic that crosses Roadchick's mind pretty frequently. The Roadchick of the future will be a distillation of who she is now.

Popular media has several examples of who the 'chick will be when she is older. Whenever she sees one, she makes sure to point it out to everyone around.

One of these is Maxine.



To the uninitiated, Maxine is a character on a series of greeting cards published by Hallmark Cards. Maxine is a spicy, sassy old gal who has no problem whatsoever making her opinions known. There is not an ounce of political correctness in this old girl.

Another woman that the 'chick will emulate is Medea. Tyler Perry's Medea.



Medea is the charming woman on the left, holding the cast iron skillet. Medea is a no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is woman. She has a grasp of language that is as true as it is comical. One of the 'chick's favorite lines from Medea (spoken after someone told Medea not to get smart with them) is as follows:

"I've been smart . . . I'm just getting here."

Medea can see a situation and get to the heart of it immediately. She is loving but strict. She has definite values. She loves her family and friends but will tease them mercilessly. She is loyal. She will do anything for you if she loves you. Cross her or one she loves, and she will pull her gun out of her purse. She believes in women standing up for themselves and taking responsibility for their lives. She meddles and she manages.

Roadchick can see herself as one of the Golden Girls.



She can see parts of herself in each of the characters. Sweet Rose, who is definitely ditzy sometimes. Roadchick has her moments. (Remember - not the brightest bulb on Broadway!) Dorothy - so organized and definitely long-suffering. Blanche, with her string of boyfriends and the "Southernisms" that she drops left and right. But the Golden Girl that the 'chick admires most is Sophia, who kept them all in line and always had a story: "Picture it, Sicily, 1943..." It was Sophia that kept it real no matter what was going on. It was Sophia that was always willing to call it like she saw it.

Roadchick would like to think that she is a woman like that. She knows her friends are definitely her Golden Girls.

What Roadchick wants to be when she grows up is the kind of woman that is strong and funny and loyal and loving. The kind of woman that can tell you that you've got no business wearing that miniskirt/halter top/blue eyeshadow/that haircut at the same time she is feeding everyone in the house. She wants to be the kind of woman that is never afraid to speak up or speak her mind. She wants to have the wisdom of years and not be ashamed to use it. She wants to lose vanity and increase vitality. She wants to earn the face that she has at 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 and beyond.

This is Roadchick's motto:

Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, "Holy %#*@, what a ride!"

She wants to live every minute and not regret a second of it.

Heads Up!

So, the saga continues. . .

Co-worker returned from letting the dog out and the rest of the story was revealed. While she was there, the medical examiner came and took pictures of the basement and the skull, and for some reason, the front door of the house. Co-worker was not allowed near the backyard where the entrance to the basement is. While the picture taking was going on, she was being questioned by homicide detectives.

Do you live here?
How long have you lived here?
Do you ever go in the basement?
Do you store anything in the basement?

See, now, Patient Reader - that last question - that is the one that would have put Roadchick in handcuffs. She would not have been able to resist (had she known what was going on) saying something along the lines of:

"Just a collection of heads, why?"

The medical examiner, all tripped out on her CSI-like power, left the yard carrying the skull in a brown paper grocery bag. Hee! Riches, I tell you! The only thing that would have made it any better was if there was a big Kroger logo on the side of it!

The neighborhood is safe now - the head is in custody.

There were more details to be had though, and y'all, it just gets better and better!

The landlord who is out of town, knew that the head was down there! When he was packing up his dad's stuff after his dad passed away, the head was already in the collection and for some reason - he KEPT it and just put it in a box and stored the box in the basement of the rental house. Do ya think he might have mentioned that to someone? Just maybe? "Um, hey, y'all - just so you know - there's a skull in a box down there, so don't freak out."

Then Roadchick started wondering - did the skull belong to the dad....or was it Dad's skull? If you see where the 'chick is going with that...

The whole scenario has led to jokes all day long - how many phrases can you think of containing the word "head"? As it turns out, quite a few!

Co-worker commented, upon seeing the medical examiner leaving with the head in a grocery bag, "Well, she's off with the head." (The detectives were not amused. Roadchick was greatly amused.)

Other comments included:

-Don't get aHEAD of yourself.
-I'm HEADing out now.
-aHEAD of the pack.
-use your HEAD.
-that's such a HEAD trip.

and a few others that have escaped Roadchick but she may come back and add them if she remembers.

Co-worker has been christened "Gacy" since she's got parts of dead bodies in her basement.

Apparently, to get TMI out of your head....it actually takes a HEAD!

If There Is a Skull in Your Basement

. . . You might just be a redneck.

Just when the 'chick was despairing, endless TMI tapes playing in her head, she was given a Gift.

What Gift? The Gift of this Story, entirely true, and playing out as the 'chick types:

One of Roadchick's co-workers went home to let her dog out before going to lunch. When she got to her house, there were forty-eleven police cars all around her house. She approached cautiously to see what was going on.

The A/C at her house had not been working. (Yes, Patient Reader, Roadchick visited her last week, don't even go there.) The nice man from the A/C place came over to fix it. There was ductwork out of place in the basement so he was down there, doing whatever one does to misplaced ductwork to make it all better. In the process of doing this, he set his roll of tape on top of a box. The tape fell into the box and somehow the whole thing fell over.

Mr. A/C Man opens up the box to get his tape back and grinning up at him is. . .



a skull.

Naturally, he didn't much like that. He called the police who sent out forty-eleven cars.

While all of this was going on, Roadchick's co-worker appeared and was asked questions. As it turns out, the skull is not new. Oh no. Not new at all. She called the landlord and he was able to shed a little light on the subject. It seems that his father used to be the coroner and the house had belonged to him.

Ok...now, the 'chick is thinking that it's starting to sound like an explanation, but what she isn't understanding is. . . since when do coroners keep souvenirs???

Updates will follow as more information becomes available!

TMI

Lately, just lately, Roadchick has been overhearing conversations. This is not something she set out to do, it's just something that's happened. Not to say that she didn't listen in once the overhearing started of course...just that she was not intentionally eavesdropping. Not droppin' no eaves on purpose.

Y'all - please - if it's not something you'd tell your mama, don't tell it in the line at Kroger. Please. Please. And if it is something you'd tell your mama but it involves bodily fluids of any sort - please, don't tell it in the line at Kroger.

Oh, and by the way? That cell phone that you're talking on? We can still hear YOUR end of the conversation. Just a little heads up for ya.

The 'chick is a little bit cranky today and she's not exactly sure why but she suspects that it has something to do with being on the receiving end of TOO MUCH INFORMATION.

Y'all know what TMI is, don't you? TMI is when you go into a little too much detail about any given subject although it's usually perpetrated in conversations related to sex, illness, or bodily functions.

It's telling someone that you don't know that well exactly what it was like having sex with your ex-wife. It's being privy to all the gory details of someone's recent bout with an intestinal virus. It's the auditory equivalent of sneezing on someone's sandwich and not even apologizing.

The biggest problem that the 'chick is having with TMI is that once she's been given the information SHE CAN'T GET IT OUT OF HER HEAD. Last night, the 'chick was chatting on the phone to one of the boys - just a friendship boy - and he felt it necessary to give the full details on his sex life with his ex-wife. Roadchick feels as though she has spiders walking around in her head now. It was WAY more than she ever wanted to know - ever. She is not exactly sure how she is supposed to face him now. It makes her squirmy. Eww.

It's the flashback, people! Roadchick is going about her day, happily, doing this and doing that and WHAM!...there it is again. How to stop the flashback???

It's like getting a song stuck in your head - for some reason, the main offender in this category for Roadchick is Uncle John's Band, either the Grateful Dead version or the Jimmy Buffet version - it does not matter. (Oh great, now that is rattling around too, like some freaky porn soundtrack - not pretty, y'all, not a BIT pretty.)

It's almost time for lunch in Roadchick's world - she may have to drink her lunch today. Maybe that will erase the memory.

(Note to all: No, Roadchick does NOT drink at lunch although the way the day is working out, she is beginning to wish she did.)

No news....no, really - NO NEWS

Y'all, Roadchick is in a slump. For the past couple of days, nothing has been happening - well, nothing interesting anyway and the 'chick has nothing to report.

This is sad.

However, you will notice that it does NOT stop the 'chick from posting an entry. This is the electronic version of talking to hear herself speak. Posting to see herself type.

The spell of bad luck / funky mojo / born under a bad sign continues pretty much unabated.

On Saturday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Huh, that's odd - lower back pain." And promptly IGNORED this warning and went on about her day, cleaning and fiddling around the house.

People, do not do this. This is stupidity.

On Sunday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Huh, the pain's not too bad - just a little sore and stiff." And promptly IGNORED this warning and helped Best Friend move some furniture and stuff.

People, do not do this. This is stupidity.

On Monday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Oh wow - sitting up has become an impossible task - this is not good." And Roadchick tried to ignore it and got up and went to work and wound up standing on her feet for 6 out of 8 hours.

People, do not do this. This is insanity.

So, now it's Tuesday. The 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Don't want to get up - ~whine~ - it hurts - ~whine~ - whyever does the Roadchick deserve this? ~whine~"
No, it's not necessary to point out that at this point, the pain is pretty much self-inflicted. Just hush up.

The 'chick has taken her car in to have the A/C fixed. The good news in the cesspool of the 'chick's life is that. . . the A/C work is actually covered under the extended warranty. (Will wonders never cease?) And a rental car is covered if the work cannot be finished today. The bad news is - Roadchick has been at work since 6:15 a.m. and she is ready to go home and she can't because she doesn't have a car. ~whine~ And the wrong part has been ordered but they still may be able to get the right part and get it installed, and . . . and . . .and

And what they don't understand is that Roadchick is ready to go home RIGHT NOW.

(Patient Reader, aren't you glad that Roadchick absolutely doesn't mind writing posts that contain absolutely nothing of value and no humor whatsoever??? Of course you are.)

Hmm, what else that is not news???

The eHarmony thing - Roadchick did some house cleaning there also. Haven't heard from you in a reasonable amount of time? You are SO closed out. The 'chick is emailing a little bit with a couple of guys - they're nice so far but not near the meeting up stages yet. Besides, the horoscope for Scorpio today said to put off meeting "new interests" for a few days. Considering the state of her back - she ain't meetin' no one, no how. Sitting up for very long is painful and laying down might just give the wrong impression. Ya think???

Hee.

Roadchick just found out that her car will not be ready today. But, the nice man at Carmax arranged for a rental car if Roadchick would just call this number . . .
So, Roadchick called the number and the man on the other end said yes indeedy, a rental car could be had. What kind of car did the 'chick want? He seemed a little disappointed when Roadchick told him she wanted whatever $25 per day would get her, since that is what is covered on the warranty.

Roadchick has the feeling that she is going to be driving home in a Yugo. Hopefully it will have an automatic transmission because the last time that she drove a manual, she was 16 and was NONE TOO GOOD AT IT then. Dangerously bad. Scary bad. And that was on flat land, not hill country like she lives in now.

Say a prayer and stay off of I-65.

Natural Habitat

One of Roadchick's favorite blog writers, Crazy Aunt Purl, mentioned once that she loves to see where other writers live, their natural habitat, as it were.

Roadchick agrees. This is fun of the highest level - to be able to "see" where someone lives and writes. She imagines this is why MTV's Cribs is so popular. Or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

Now, the 'chick cannot claim enough fame and riches to warrant a spot with Lifestyles, and she isn't musical enough to warrant time on Cribs, so, Patient Reader, instead. . .

Welcome to Bloghomes of the Poor and Aspiring!

The 'chick lives in the Nashville, Tennessee area. (Note to crazy stalkers: Roadchick is poor. And crazy. And possibly armed with guns. And an attack cat. And, apparently, a toilet that will BITE you!)

Attack cat

In the interest of maintaining at least the impression of security and not-stupidness, Roadchick will not show you the outside of her house. It's a typical Tennessee house of the new construction variety. Brick. (Note to crazy stalkers: with an electric security fence. And laser-guided weapons.)

Roadchick has moved through many, many phases in interior decorating. When she first moved out on her own, the house that she lived in was basically, a Florida beach shack. Except it wasn't on the beach. (High shackiness, low beachiness) This house lent itself to a "country" style of decor. The fact that Roadchick and the now-former Mr. Roadchick were flat BROKE and relied on the kindness of relatives also influenced the "country" decor. Roadchick suspects that she would not have purchased the dark brown velour hide-a-bed sofa in the Early American Style if it had been up to her. Still, free, and better than sitting on the floor. To complement her "country" house, Roadchick developed an unnatural affection for cows. Black and white cows. (Shut up, she was 18.) And "country" blue. And...things of that nature.

(Although, Patient Reader, Roadchick did have [and still has] a kick-ass collection of antique tins. . .old tobacco tins, baking powder, etc.)

When she first moved to TN, she lived in an apartment and unfortunately, the whole country thing continued. However, the Early American sofa did not make the trip. Thank goodness. But now, things shifted a little. Cows were still entertaining but not nearly as aesthetically pleasing as sunflowers and watermelon. After all - Tennessee! Country music! Mountains! Country girl! Low decorating budget! Walmart!

Shut up.

No, really.

Moving to a house in TN, the 'chick started to come into her own. The country decor was slowly pared down and Roadchick discovered that she liked things a little more minimalistic and not quite so fussy and frou-frou and needing to be dusted. There were more earth colors, stone, and smooth lines.

Now, Patient Reader, do not take this to mean that she had free rein because the now former Mr. Roadchick had ideas of his own with regard to decorating. And, it tried the 'chick's patience. For, you see, his idea of interior decorating was to put the "good" Harley mirror in the living room. Roadchick has nothing against Harley mirrors. But perhaps not in the living room. A den, sure. An office, maybe. The garage, possibly.

When the now former Mr. Roadchick packed his U-Haul and left, he took the Harley mirrors and Roadchick started considering her options.

The change was gradual. With her first income tax refund, she went living room furniture shopping. And fell in love. Head over heels in love.

With what, you ask?

Mid-Century Modern. With an unholy affection for vintage barware. And anything martini-related.

Roadchick suspects that she belonged in the 50's and 60's. This is what she found:



Over time, it's evolved but the 'chick has to say that right now, at this very moment in time, her habitat definitely reflects her style and personality and she absolutely LOVES it.

She had always suspected that she really, really liked black and white photography, especially of nature and architecture. It turned out to be true! Imagine that!

She had always suspected that she might be a little "quirky". And when she started finding tacky souvenir crap from the 60s, it was proven to be true. But, people, how could she NOT bring home the four monkeys? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, and have no fun? A souvenir of Las Vegas, Nevada? She could no more leave those monkeys languishing in the hot noonday sun of a yard sale than she could sprout wings and fly. Or those funny little plates with witty little sayings: "I'm not a fast cook; I'm not a slow cook, I'm a half-fast cook." (Say it out loud if you're not gettin' it.) Deliciousness. And quirky. Very, very quirky.





So, Patient Reader, hopefully that will help you envision where the 'chick is when she's writing to you. You will be able to imagine her in the wild.

Actually, there is one more picture that the 'chick will share with you. It is her daytime habitat at work. Well, part of it - the other part is inside her car but you can't see that until she cleans it up a little. But, Roadchick digresses. Here is the Roadchick's office:



Be sure to tune in next time when Roadchick will . . . well, there's just no telling what you might wind up with next time.

A Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

Roadchick would like to withdraw her remarks from yesterday, titled as hot, Hot HOT! She cannot be sure, but has a sneaking suspicion that her comments may have irked Someone in the Great Celestial Above and for that, she is most sorry. She apologizes. She abases herself before you.

She thought that the A/C going out wherever she went was annoying. And uncomfortable. She thought that plans due a full 23 days earlier was enough to rend garments and tear her hair. She was wrong. She was so, so wrong.

Universe, Roadchick is having the respect now. Oh, yes. Lot and lots of respect. She will not complain anymore. (Much.) (Well, she will try not to.)

Roadchick has learned her lesson - the cell phone that kept mysteriously shutting itself off and telling her "No Service". . . the near side-swiping that she managed to avoid on the interstate . . . the client that is refusing to move into a lovely three bedroom home and now wants an entirely new residential agency. . .

But, Universe, while all those things are horrid enough . . .more than adequate to get the 'chick's attention . . .it was the thing that happened to her first thing this morning that has caused her to learn her lesson and learn it well.

Universe, it was not a bit funny for Roadchick's toilet seat to BREAK first thing this morning. When she was still mostly asleep. And only wanting to have a pee. It's not nice for the whole thing to come apart in her hands and then FALL to UNUSABLE pieces on the floor.

Roadchick is sorry. She will no longer complain. She will be kind to bunnies and kitties and the people that try her patience. (Yes, Universe, she knows that she was already kind to bunnies and kitties.) (Yes, Universe, she is aware that the odds of her being kind to the people that try her patience are about as likely as her TOILET SEAT miraculously repairing iteself and returning to usable form.)(But she will try.)

If you have any messages for Roadchick, you will be able to find her, hiding underneath her bed, where it is safe, if somewhat dusty.

Sincerely,
Roadchick

Sunday Scribblings: Who Else Might Roadchick Have Been?

To Roadchick, this is a funny question. Why, you ask? Because Roadchick is so many people - no, not in that scary Sybil-like way with multiple personalities...although catch her at the wrong time of the month...oh -too much information, isn't it?

Roadchick has been blessed with an active imagination. Over-active at times. Roadchick has been known to walk through an airport pretending to herself that yes, she is indeed, with the band. What band, you ask? Why, whatever band you think she is with - she will agree. She has even signed autographs before on exactly that sort of assumption.

(Allow Roadchick to take a moment to apologize to whoever is in possession of that scrawled signature - it is NOT worth anything on eBay. Diddly. Squat. And, there is no such person, living or dead, known as Scarlett Satin. And you should have known better. And you should not have encouraged Roadchick in that manner. Or bribed her with beers. Or told her that you had seen her in concert.)

Roadchick is a Reader. She will read anything. No, really - anything. She has been known to come home from flea markets lugging out-of-date textbooks to read. Fiction, non-fiction, it truly does not matter.

Because Roadchick is a Reader, she can lose herself in the story. She has been on the Decatur Road with Scarlett O'Hara. She has been there with Siddalee Walker when Vivi Walker was whipping all the kids with a belt. She has been Lusa Landowski chasing luna moths and missing her dead husband. She has travelled with Ford Prefect. She has cowered in the back of Professor Snape's potions class, hoping that he would not call on her.

Active imagination.
Too active, sometimes.

As Roadchick reflects on all the people she has been, it occurs to her that along with an over-active imagination, she also has Delusions of Grandeur. Because when she is someone else, it is always someone more famous than she is.

She is the Rock Star. She is the Locations Scout. She is the Travel Author. She is Somebody, and darn it, you'd better get to the appreciatin' pretty dang quick.

She is on her way to rehearsal. She is on her way to Somewhere Foreign. (Never mind that it's a domestic flight to Tampa.) She is On Assignment.

Patient Reader, please do not take this to mean that Roadchick is not happy with who she is. Roadchick is proud of who she is and what she does. But...she has to admit...that sometimes, just sometimes, it's really a blast to walk to the front of a line at a club and be admitted on sheer pretense. (And an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of bulls#&t.)

So if you're ever going through the airport and are tempted to ask for an autograph - do. You just never know if it might be the 'chick, livin' large.

hot, Hot, HOT!

Y'all, can Roadchick vent? Just for a little minute? Because, Roadchick has had just about all she is going to stand.

What has got the 'chick's panties in a wad? There are numerous, numerous things.

You want more details? Roadchick will be happy to oblige.

Y'all - it's HOT.
Screeching, roasting, brain-meltingly HOT.
The 'chick does not do extremes of temperature well.
So, because the heat makes her unbelievably cranky...

The A/C in Roadchick's car is not working. As in: non-operational. As in: ain't workin.

Because, apparently, A/C isn't supposed to work when it's this hot.

And because it's scorching hot and the A/C isn't working, Roadchick was volunteered to drive about 50 miles (in THIS heat!) to a meeting for work. And expected to look polished and presentable when she arrived. And to conduct herself like the professional that she has fooled her bosses into thinking she is. And remain coherent and somewhat intelligent (no - do NOT go there) and present plans and offer suggestions and formalize agreements.

Now, y'all know that Roadchick was scheming on how to arrive and not look like she had been clobbered with a sweat-bomb. So, a skirt. Hiked up to hooker length in the car for maximum coolness. The truck drivers LOVED this. Roadchick knows. She has never received so many horn-honkings or thumbs ups in her life.

She survived the meeting. Her notes are garbled and sweaty, but with today's forensic technology, she should be able to decipher them. (She should be deciphering them now, but, ~whine~, she's hot and doesn't want to.)

She returned to her office in lovely NashVegas to be greeted with the announcement that the building's A/C is not working. Well, it's kind of working, but not really. So they're SHUTTING IT OFF. People, this is absolutely NOT allowed. It's 98 kajillion degrees outside.

Once again, Roadchick is starting to take this personally. Apparently A/C outages are following Roadchick like the plague. "Don't let her come over - your A/C will mysteriously stop working!"

Oh, and the plan? From the meeting that Roadchick just went to? That plan? The one that Roadchick thought was due on September 1? Wrong.

IT'S DUE ON AUGUST 7TH. EXACTLY 4 DAYS (2 WEEKEND DAYS INCLUDED) FROM THIS VERY MINUTE. ~sigh~

In related chaos-driven news, Roadchick has to go to her mother's house on the way home from work today. There is a letter that needs to be typed and Roadchick is expected to stop (in THIS heat!), make polite conversation, fend off offerings of items that her mother no longer wants (No, Mom, really, Roadchick does not need ceramic ducks. But thank you.), be instructed on how to properly and correctly type a letter (as if Roadchick doesn't type all day long, for MONEY), and finally escape, feeling as though the hounds of hell are on her heels.

And then return the next day, typed letter in hand with 7 copies, all properly addressed. (In THIS heat.)

Hee.

Roadchick is losing her patience, not that she had much to begin with. She is beginning to dream, longingly, of the lovely mental hospital tucked into a bend of the river in Chattanooga. Because, you see, Patient Reader, she has a feeling that their A/C is working and if it isn't? There's plenty of Thorazine to go around so you won't even care.

Oh, The Shame

Y'all - Roadchick HAS to apologize! She is stupid. She is technically inept. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa!!!

What is Roadchick babbling on about, you ask?

Patient Reader, Roadchick IS an idiot.

She was feeling like the red-headed stepchild, not feelin' the love...no one leaving comments about ANY of her posts...

(Remember - NOT the brightest bulb on Broadway!) (This phrase ~sigh~ is probably going to be repeated again and again and again...there may need to be a contest or something.)

She FORGOT (COMPLETELY FORGOT!!) that she has to "moderate" her comments and allow them to post and guess what folks??? Yep, that would be right - never occurred to her. Not one little bit. She was even moping and sulky about it. Needing medication over it.

Roadchick, shamefully, has the feeling that she just might be contributing to the dumb blonde stereotype. It is entirely possibly that the stereotype was created because of Roadchick.

So, Patient Reader - please, please accept Roadchick's most sincere apology for not posting your lovely (!) comments sooner.

Sunday Scribblings: Two Cents

Roadchick considers herself to be the idiot child of the Sunday Scribblings crowd - a bit of the Klass Klown, if you will. But, Roadchick read several of the selections that were posted on this topic and she was impressed. (She can recognize good writing, even if unable to perpetrate it herself.)

One writer sparked a chain of remembrance in Roadchick...all the advice that she has received over the years, usually unsolicited, mostly unwanted, and always from people that had her "best interests" at heart.

It amazes Roadchick that people are always so willing to offer the benefit of their wisdom and in doing so, rarely make the effort to temper their advice with kindness, because, after all - this is for your own good! No matter if it hurts. No matter if it cuts straight to the heart and makes you bleed. The Giver moves away, into their own life, never realizing that their careless words will be pulled out and worried over far into the future, in those dark moments in a hopeless void and be woven into the litany of self-doubt that is on an endless playback loop.

Roadchick cannot count the number of times she has been told: "You don't want to do that, dear. It cannot possibly work out." And sometimes, Roadchick would listen and let a dream or opportunity pass her by and be left to play the game of "What If".

Roadchick cannot count the number of times she has been told: "You MUST do this. If you don't, you will absolutely RUIN your life." And Roadchick has enough of the rebel in her that she will RUN the other direction from this type of advice because she has found that it usually comes from people trying to live vicariously through others. That was not her dream - it never was.

Roadchick is honest enough to admit that most of the Two Cents she has been subjected to has come from members of her family. The time that she wanted to pursue Fashion Merchandising in college and her mother was convinced that a secretarial school was a Much Wiser Choice. And now, twenty years later? Roadchick does neither and she loves what she is doing. But it took a lot of years and a lot of fights for Roadchick to be "allowed" to follow her own star and not hitch to someone else's. Roadchick had never hitched to another's star, but was wily enough to conceal it until her own course was assured.

And, in the interest of Honesty and Disclosure, Roadchick is guilty of putting her Two Cents in, often unasked and mostly unwanted. Roadchick's kindergarten teacher saw it early on: "Roadchick likes to "help" with others' worksheets." Translation: "Roadchick is a bossy, nosy little wench who won't keep her eyes on her own paper."

Roadchick's Best Friend knows this about Roadchick and loves Roadchick enough to tell her: "Keep your eyes on your own worksheet." This code phrase is enough for Roadchick to STOP dispensing advice like Lortab and mind her own business. Because, Roadchick is pretty convinced that if people would just listen to her, their problems would be solved because she can see it SO clearly. Obviously, Roadchick should run for public office.

Roadchick has resolved to keep her Two Cents to herself, in the bank and earning interest, until she is asked for her input. Sometimes, Roadchick has to bite her tongue. And sometimes, she has to walk away before the advice just pops out. But Roadchick has resolved to be a kinder, gentler Roadchick...like a million points of light (or something similar) so she keeps on trying.

But, if you're in need of advice, Patient Reader, Auntie Roadchick is ready and willing to assist you in managing your personal life. But you have to ask, first.

Turn Left on Memory Lane

In lieu of writing about adventures or dates or roadtrips, Roadchick is going to tell y'all a little story. It's actually a little bit of history, but that sounds so boring that Roadchick is calling it a story, instead.

This is the story of how Roadchick's blog came to be called "All-American Girl's Roadtrip"

Once upon a time, many, many years ago, Roadchick worked in a hotel. While working at the hotel, Roadchick had a very good friend called....well, in the interest of keeping private parties private, let's just call her Friendage. (Roadchick trusts that she will know who she is.)

Roadchick and Friendage found themselves in much the same situation that Roadchick and Best Friend found themselves in a few weeks ago EXCEPT the situations were reversed. Roadchick was the Smug Married and Friendage was the one that was needing to escape Nashville because she was not feelin' the love.

So, what to do? Roadchick and Friendage decided to go to Memphis. Far enough away to qualify as a roadtrip, close enough to not require plane fare. The best of both worlds. The itinerary was planned and a date was set. Saturday. To Memphis. One room reserved at the Holiday Inn Express in Tunica, MS. (Yes, Patient Reader, that was the extent of the itinerary.)

On the appointed morning, Roadchick and Friendage met up at the hotel. Rendezvous point, if you will. While plotti...err, planning, a long-term guest from Mexico overheard the conversation and asked what was going on.

"Going to Graceland."

He appeared very interested in this diversion and stood there looking hopeful. Well, Roadchick has a soft heart. Possibly soft in the head, but don't go there. Roadchick and Friendage looked at each other. There was agreement & Mexico Man was invited along for the ride. After all, a person can't possibly come all the way from Mexico, stay in the US for 8 months, and NOT see Graceland. Never mind that Roadchick had reached a grand age of approximately 30 years old without seeing it - that is NOT the point.

Mexico Man disappeared to his room for about 30 seconds and re-emerged with a backpack. For a weekend. In Memphis. Roadchick and Friendage had considerably more luggage than that. Looking back, it is best that he did not have more luggage - there wasn't room for it.

The first indicator that the three travelers might be in trouble was trying to fit three adults into a car designed to carry two adults and a monkey. Traveling by Saturn would be interesting. Mexico Man bravely sat in the back, Friendage was driving, and Roadchick was riding shotgun. With her seat pulled forward so Mexico Man would have room for his legs. Which meant that Roadchick did NOT have room for her legs. Remember this point. It's very important later in the story.

So. Onward.

Driving westward, it occured to Roadchick and Friendage that a bathroom break was in order. And snacks. And, look! an exit...for Bucksnort, TN. (Roadchick kids you not - check an atlas if you don't believe her.)

Roadchick travels through life mostly unencumbered by sayings and addages and tidbits of advice but there are times she has made exceptions to the rule.

It's NEVER a good idea to buy food from a bait shop, no matter how extensive the selection of Elvis memorabilia is.

After wandering, dazed, through Elvis keyrings and snowglobes and bottle openers and an entire SET of Elvis and Priscilla juice glasses, Roadchick approached the cash register.

"What ARE you doing???" Roadchick asked Friendage.

"What?" replied Friendage, looking at Roadchick as though she were the crazy one.

"What are you eating?"

"Ummm, just some of these pork rinds. They're giving away free samples." replied Friendage, waving an arm toward pork rinds dumped out ON A BAIT SHOP COUNTER with a sign that did indeed say: Free Samples
And possibly "Bust a Gut" or something similar. Roadchick could be wrong.

"So, you're saying that you are EATING pork rinds that are laying on a bait shop counter BECAUSE THEY ARE FREE?"

"They're bacon-flavored." As if that explained it.

Mexico Man watched all of this from a distance. Mexico Man, from Mexico, where tourists are told to not drink the water....DID NOT EAT THE FREE SAMPLES. This means something, Roadchick is sure.

Memphis. Still in the distance. Time to hit the road before happy hour started and the pork rinds kicked in.

Time spent in a car is a good time for discussions and memories and explanations so Roadchick and Friendage spent some of the time explaining American culture to Mexico Man. It reminded Roadchick of the scene in Breakfast at Tiffany's where the Brazilian diplomat, Jose de Silva-Perrera, visits Holly's apartment where a wild & swingin' party is taking place, and states: "Thank you for allowing me to observe life in a typical, American home."

Mexico Man listened intently and then christened the adventure: the Authentic, All-American Girls' Roadtrip.

And it was good.

America shuddered at the thought that Roadchick and Friendage were representing American culture as a typical example, but still - it was good.

Memphis drew closer. Roadchick turned to Friendage and asked: Where is your atlas?

Friendage looked at Roadchick.

"Didn't you bring one?"

(Obviously not.)

At that particular point in history, Roadchick had not spent any amount of time in Memphis. Neither had Friendage. And Mexico Man certainly had not.

Still, how hard could it be to find Graceland??? In Memphis. The home of the King of Rock and Roll. Surely there would be billboards, neon signs, and a golden line painted down the road to his front door. Wouldn't there? Well, no.

The timing of the trip had Roadchick and crew arriving in Memphis during a particularly busy time of road construction, the majority of which was centered at Elvis Presley Boulevard. And during this road construction, the workers found it necessary to take down all the exit ramp signs, billboards, and neon signs with arrows pointing to the King's home. Oh, and paint over the golden line in the road, too.

Roadchick, Friendage, and Mexico Man shot past the exit, chatting merrily the whole way. And wound up in Mississippi. Unless a visit to the King's birthplace in Tupelo was in order, new directions were in order.

The nice lady at the Welcome Center had heard the request a million bazillion times but still managed to be witty.

"Let me guess. You missed the exit because the sign is down, the neon is off, and the golden line has been painted over, right?" Nods all around. New directions were given. And this parting advice: "The King is home today, but he is resting so you probably won't see him."

Nonsense. If the King was in, he would want to see Roadchick and crew. After all, we were on the Authentic All-American Girls' Roadtrip.

Roadchick had always pictured Graceland in the middle of a beautiful, park-like setting with gently rolling hills. Roadchick was shocked to discover that Graceland is perched between the Heartbreak Hotel and a KFC.

KFC, Roadchick could understand. The King might get hungry. The Tiger Market and Quickie Car Wash threw her.

Friendage parked the car and Roadchick promptly fell out when she tried to untangle her legs. The entire episode was caught on tape by some Japanese tourists. There are probably copies on the Internet if you know where to look.

Mexico Man was laughing too hard to get out of the backseat. Friendage was collapsed on the hood of the car, wailing. Roadchick gathered the tattered shreds of her dignity, brushed off the seat of her jeans, and everyone headed inside.

The bargain price of $8.75 was the ticket of admission to the Shrine of Tacky. Roadchick was in heaven. Each guest is provided with a mini-headset and tape player for the "Guided Tour". Roadchick's tape player had dead batteries.

Inside Graceland, there are no living employees to assist you with these matters. Roadchick sucked it up and pretended she was deaf and Friendage obliged by explaining things in sign language. No, not real sign language. The tour through the house was all too short. Roadchick wants to LIVE in the Jungle Room.

The tour ends in the Garden. In the Garden is a Memorial Garden. And in the Memorial Garden, is the Eternal Flame of Elvis.

Roadchick was annoyed.

Friendage asked her what was wrong.

Roadchick explained that she came on the tour, fully expecting to see the place where the King of Rock and Roll mounted his throne for the last time.

Friendage gave Roadchick the look that is normally reserved for Very Dangerous People.

"You cannot possibly think that they were going to let you track through Elvis's bathroom."

And Roadchick held up her camera in evidence that she fully expected to be allowed to track through Elvis's bathroom and expected to take pictures as well.

Mexico Man had wandered away while this was going on and was gazing in wonder at the Japanese tourists from the parking lot. They were taking turns posing in front of the Eternal Flame of Elvis while pretending to light their cigarettes from the flame and videotaping the whole process.

It was time to go, before someone talked Roadchick into the same pose.

Roadchick, Friendage, and Mexico Man headed to Tunica. A word of warning. Make reservations. Roadchick and Friendage had reservations. Mexico Man did not. And on a Saturday night in Tunica, there are no rooms to be had. It was true - there was no room at the Holiday Inn.

Mexico Man had to bunk with Roadchick and Friendage. The room was divided up. Roadchick could not sleep. Mexico Man snored and was nearly smothered with a pillow. Everytime Roadchick would start to drop off, Friendage would start punching her pillow. And then, the pork rinds kicked in.

When going to Memphis, make reservations, NEVER, EVER eat pork rinds off a bait shop counter, and always pack an atlas, because contrary to popular belief, not all roads lead to Graceland.

Voodoo Healings

Do any of y'all know where Roadchick can get a voodoo healing? Because, evidently, she has either a.) been born under a BAD sign or b.) she has royally pissed off the gods/goddesses or c.) someone has placed a spell on her.

One of the new guys that Roadchick was liking pretty well called her up last night. This is a good thing.

New guy tells Roadchick: "Can we be friends?"

Never a good thing.

It got even worse: "Because I like you, but I'm moving to Another State."

This is the SECOND guy that has told Roadchick that he intends to move to Another State. Roadchick is beginning to take this personally.

So, because a little punishment is NEVER enough, Roadchick has met yet ANOTHER New Man. For lunch. And he was nice. And he paid. And he even looked like his picture. And he hugged Roadchick goodbye before heading back to work.

Roadchick has become a bit more cynical, a bit more reserved, a bit more cautious. The phonecall is coming. She is sure of it. It may be after the second or third date, but it is coming.

New Man #3 will call Roadchick to let her know that as it turns out, he is Gay. Or turning Gay. Or moving to Another State. Or going to Prison.

So, as you can see, Patient Reader, Roadchick is in desperate need of a Voodoo Healing. Because she has got some FUNKY mojo going on in her life.

Lost in Confusion

Roadchick admits it - she does not understand men. And she's asking for your help.

During the past couple of weeks, Roadchick has gone out with a couple of guys that on the surface were, Very Nice People. A good time was had by all. Enjoyment was the word of the day (or night). Frolic and frivolity. Dinner, caves, movies, motorcyles, swimming pools, movie stars. Well, no movie stars - Roadchick was carried away with the Beverly Hillbilliness of it all.

Roadchick has NOT been pushy. Roadchick has NOT been clingy. Roadchick has NOT registered for wedding gifts at Club Wed at Target. Roadchick has NOT even asked the fatal question, "When are we going out again?" Roadchick has been a good date. Roadchick understands that most of the people on eHarmony are chatting up other folks at the same time - she certainly is! But does talking to a new(er) person mean that you don't have to talk or email ever again with someone that you seemed to have a good time with?

Roadchick has followed up with a thank you email. She has used her Good Manners. She was not freaky weird in the emails. She mentioned that she enjoyed the evening and thanks for everything. She was friendly but not gushy. She expressed an appropriate level of interest for the timeframe involved. (See above: Not Registering For Wedding Gifts.)

Roadchick does NOT understand when manners went out the window. She has not heard from either of the gentlemen. Roadchick is not hideous, scary, weird, or socially retarded. In fact, both of these men told Roadchick, to her face, unprompted by leading questions, that she is pretty and has beautiful eyes. Both of these guys laughed when Roadchick was funny and appeared to be making an effort to impress Roadchick. There was EFFORT involved, people!

Roadchick is beginning to think it's just another plot by the Man to keep a Good Sister down.

So, Roadchick is asking YOU, Patient Reader, to give her some feedback. What's up with the guys? Why no contact? Do you know? Can you ask a Man in your life what the deal is?

I Put Your Picture Away

Roadchick sat down and cried today....



Her MAN - Kid Rock - is engaged to Pam Anderson.

Roadchick just knew he was lookin' for the Payback...

~sigh~

Pardon me, boy?

Is that the Chattanooga Choo-Choo? Roadchick would not know because although she spent the weekend in Chattanooga, she did not indulge in any touristy activities.

Roadchick and Best Friend had been talking about getting out of town for several weeks. Roadchick needed to go because she was starting to feel burned out and she wasn't feelin' the love for Nashville anymore. Best Friend because she needed some time away from being a "Smug Married".

The original plan was to take a long weekend and go to the beach. Finances were checked and there was a serious lack of the necessary funds to get to the beach (what with gas being $84,000 a gallon) let alone stay for a couple of days or even eat once there.

Then Roadchick and Best Friend thought they would go to Memphis, because Memphis! is a fun place to go. Beale Street is not to be missed. But, discussions revealed that if a major body of water was not involved, neither Roadchick nor Best Friend wanted to drive that far.

What to do? Go to Chattanooga, of course!

On Saturday morning, Roadchick and Best Friend headed out with swimsuits, towels, and enough clothes to last a week but nary a plan in mind. The drive down was pleasant with much discussion about the men in their respective lives and what to do about them. No conclusions were reached although Roadchick did mention a fantastic entry on Crazy Aunt Purl about the state of boys and dating these days. (If you haven't read it - check it out!)

Roadchick and Best Friend made it to Chattanooga and began looking for a place to stay. There were two requirements - it MUST have a pool, and it must be reasonably priced. As they left the interstate at the Lookout Mountain exit, they were hopeful. There were several motels to choose from. Upon closer inspection - none of these had pools, or if they did, they were indoor pools which was not the point. Getting some sun was the point. Onward.

Best Friend drove to the mountain and started up and part way up, there was a little motel straight from Roadchick's wildest dreams. Straight out of the 1950s. Quick discussion took place and the travelers pulled in and made their way to the office. The office, Patient Reader, was a sliding window on the side of the property owner's house. Cuteness!



Roadchick and Best Friend asked if a room was available for the night and there was. Their hearts sang (SANG!) with joy. The lady broke the news - the only room left was the Honeymoon Suite. Roadchick and Best Friend looked at each other and consulted in whispers.

"Could the room be seen?" And, the answer was yes and they were treated to the grand tour. The room had a queen sized bed, a hot tub, a kitchenette, and a private balcony overlooking the river with a fantastic view of downtown. (Also included, at no extra charge, was a stunning view of the local mental hospital, where Roadchick may check in if her life doesn't calm down some. At least the walls would be soft and Thorazine darts would be abundant.) More whispered consultations.



"Ok, we'll take it."

The nice lady checked Roadchick and Best Friend in and handed over the key. A real key. On a plastic tag. From 1960. No digital security procedures here. No computers either. Or online credit card machines. But, truth be told, none were needed. There was no motel crime in the 1950s and that is precisely where Roadchick and Best Friend were. They were not on a weekend getaway - they had fallen into a time warp. Complete with pointed glances from the owners after Roadchick and Best Friend checked in and headed out for some lunch.

The whispers were almost audible:
"There are lesbians in the Honeymoon Suite!"

Which was absolutely untrue. But funny, nevertheless.

The pool was amazing although a little warm for Roadchick's taste but a pool is a pool and it was almost cool after laying (lying?) out in the sun. Roadchick relaxed and read and enjoyed herself completely.

If you, Patient Reader, would like to step back in time, by all means, plan a stay at the Sky Harbor Bavarian Inn on Lookout Mountain.

Roadchick's potential new Man was called as the sun started sinking in the western sky. Now, new Man had taken Roadchick out the night before and performed admirably - thought was put into the evening and a good time was had by all.

Roadchick, in a playful mood, called new Man to see what he was doing. "Nothing much" was the reply. So Roadchick suggested he get himself to Chattanooga to bring dinner to Roadchick and Best Friend. Y'all - he did. He came to Chattanooga, swam for a little while and then took Roadchick and Best Friend to dinner!
Needless to say, Roadchick was impressed by this show of good sportsmanship. The new Man won points for this behavior.

Dinner was at a little place at the bottom of the mountain and the neon out front bragged about BBQ and catfish. It was also full of Little Leaguers in town for a tournament. Roadchick, Best Friend and new Man found a booth, and prepared to order. The catfish was amazingly good, the ribs were passable, and the cheeseburger Roadchick ordered was pretty good but definitely needed a tomato on it. Roadchick was amused that the salad came in a plastic hospital bowl like you get on your tray when you're having something removed from your internal structure. There was discussion about which hospital had a going out of business sale with their dishware. It was determined that it was probably the mental hospital that featured prominently in the view from the private balcony. The good thing about the salad was...you got your own squeeze bottle of dressing so you could use as much as you wanted without having to pester for more little packets. Also, bravo for bringing an entire PITCHER of sweet tea and another of ice to the table so Roadchick would not have to suffer being thirsty and cursing the waitress for not bringing tea faster.

The downside to the Sky Harbor Bavarian Inn was that the pool hours were posted as 10:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. And, they MEAN it. The pool was padlocked at the witching hour and that was that. And not reopened until the precise moment of 10:00 a.m. which bummed Roadchick out because she woke up early and thought about doing a few laps before packing up and heading out. Alas, it was not to be.

Still, the weekend was an absolute success and Roadchick returned to Nashville rejuvinated and feeling much better about life in general.

Oh, and new Man? His fate is yet to be determined. Although he performed admirably in Good Sportsmanship by driving to Chattanooga and taking Roadchick and Best Friend to dinner, he is failing miserably at Good Manners by not answering Roadchick's email, thanking him for a lovely time. Oh, and no phone call, either. Roadchick is big on Good Manners, moreso than Good Sportsmanship. Because sometimes, in the immortal words of Vivi Walker, you have to "forget love and try good manners instead." Stay tuned, y'all...you never know what might happen next.

And they never let poor Roadchick

....join in any Redneck Games!

Y'all, Roadchick did not know there was such a thing until she was listening to the news this morning. Her invitation must have been lost in the mail. One young redneck was heard to proclaim, "There ain't a lot of teeth here, but there is a LOT of beer drinking."

Events include: the cigarette flip, the mudpit belly flop, bobbing for pigs' feet, the big hair contest, the hubcap hurl, the seed spitting contest, bug zapper spitball, dumpster diving, and the armpit serenade.

Roadchick has taken a personal inventory and is pretty sure that she coulda been a contenda in the cigarette flip and the big hair contest. Not that her hair is big as a rule, but Roadchick remembers back in the day when all hair was large. Roadchick had big rock&roll hair, but she could do big country hair if necessary.

And the cigarette flip...well...let's just say that she's had a bit of practice. Roadchick is proud to announce that in years past, she WON a Miller Lite lava lamp during a bar contest in which one had to flip a folded paper football (remember those?) through the "goal posts" (2 beer truck drivers holding their hands up) and the football that went the farthest, won. Roadchick came home with that lava lamp, much to the disgust of all the redneck boys who had practiced and trained for this very event during all those years in study hall and detention back in high school.

According to the website (linked above), it's $5 per carload to get in to the Redneck games, and y'all can be pretty sure that Roadchick will be marking next year's date on her calendar and planning a roadtrip. Whether or not she will participate will depend on her training schedule....now, where did she put Darlene Hair-Do's phone number???

Motel Stories

Y'all, Roadchick is trying a little something new. You may have noticed in the sidebar, there is a link to a website called "Sunday Scribblings". She is scribbling. Actually, she's been watching the site and this challenge called her name. Because, Patient Reader, Roadchick was in the hotel business. And y'all know there are stories there.

Working in the hotel business is definitely interesting. Just all the different people that you come in contact with during the course of a day make it interesting.

People have asked Roadchick if the stories are true - all the weird things that you hear about people staying at a hotel. Yes, people, the stories are true.

A few entries from files of the weird:

Once upon a time, a large manufacturer was building a plant in a nearby town and Roadchick's hotel was the closest lodging. Many, many executive-type men came and stayed. Executive-types in suits and ties with leather briefcases and cell phones. Professional men. One man, rather high ranking within said corporation was a frequent guest. He never gave off that "caution" vibe that causes hotel employees' antennas to vibrate like the robot on "Lost In Space" - danger, Will Robinson, danger!
Mr. Man called the desk and requested additional towels one fair afternoon. The housekeeper was called and took a stack of snowy towels to the room. The door was slightly ajar - not an unusual turn of events. The housekeeper knocked gently and was told to come in. When she entered, she saw Mr. Executive, clad in nothing but a blanket wrapped around his neck like a cape, jumping up and down on the bed, singing, "Na na na na na na na na BATMAN!" When Roadchick asked her what she did, she replied, "I put the towels on the chair and left."

Then there is the lost and found closet. This is always an interesting place. Y'all, it's AMAZING the things that people leave behind. Things you would think they'd miss before getting out of the parking lot - glasses, keys, wallets, luggage, false teeth. And then there are those items that you would think people would be SURE to take with them - porn mags, sex toys, and other such assorted goodies.

And, Patient Reader, Roadchick has discovered that people, when staying away from home, are pigs. Not all, but a great many of them. Mud on shoes = mud on carpet. Trash everywhere except the trash can. And we won't even discuss the bathroom. Y'all, if you're a guilty party - shame on ya. We always wondered if people lived like that at home and figured that yes, some do.

But along with the funny and the bad, there is the sweet as well. While Roadchick was working there, there was a crew of guys from Mexico that stayed for a long time - about 8 months. They were learning to operate a manufacturing plant that was being transferred to Mexico. They watched out for Roadchick on the nights she was there alone, after midnight. They brought her dinners and lunches. They kept her company and played backgammon. They allowed her to practice her very bad Spanish while they improved their already good English. And they celebrated their first ever Thanksgiving with the crew from the hotel. All the crew members from the hotel made food at home and brought it in. The Mexican guys brought a guitar and sang. And it was one of the loveliest Thanksgivings that Roadchick has ever had. Because those guys were grateful to spend the day with us, and learn about American customs.

So, Roadchick looks back fondly on those days and sometimes she misses them. No two days were ever alike.

But, it also means that Roadchick can do a MEAN housekeeping inspection and she is not too forgiving of nasty hotel rooms that she checks into these days. But, she always leaves the room clean and the trash in the can and takes ALL of her personal items with her.

What? Oh, Roadchick knows what y'all are thinking and shame on you. She meant shampoo.

And the Rockets' Red Glare

The sperm shooting in air . . .

No, Patient Reader, Roadchick has not lost her freaking mind. She went to the fireworks at Riverfront Park in Nashville last night with the Man. And they were lovely. And awe-inspiring. And amazing. Until. . .until. . .there were these white fireworks. And they were kind of squiggly-shaped. And Roadchick started giggling. And the Man was standing next to her, dumb-founded into silence for a moment. And he said it first - those fireworks look like....SPERM! And that was the point that Roadchick burst into all-out hysterics, glad that he said it first because she was wondering if it was her imagination. But no, it was not. Some people a little further back in the crowd were also announcing the stunning similarity to the aforementioned reproductive material. And there were a LOT of them. And they went all over the place. And Roadchick has not the words for further description. Only in Nashville, folks...only in Nashville.

What other activities of note? Let Roadchick ponder the choices. . .

Roadchick and the Man saw the real-life version of Bobby Hill (of King of the Hill fame) as a young adult at a local Waffle House. He was on a cellphone and had the same crewcut and even sounded like Bobby Hill.

Roadchick ordered coffee at the Waffle House and was given a cup with lipstick on it. Ewww. She asked the waitress for a new cup due to the lipstick and the waitress looked puzzled for a short moment until Roadchick explained: "Not my color." Roadchick received a new cup. Hopefully with new coffee, but she cannot be sure of that.

Y'all - Roadchick was under the impression that she had lots more adventures to share with you, but evidently, she does not. Or else, they've hidden themselves due to fatigue. Rest assured that if memory recovery is successful, y'all will be the first to know.

Only two more days until Friday.

On The Road Again

Because Roadchick loves y'all, she made an effort to get herself out of the house on this hot, hot weekend to scare up some adventure for you.

It came to her in a dream, Patient Reader. She woke up on this sunny Sunday morning convinced that she needed to choose a destination and go. Where did she go, you ask?

To Fayetteville. Now, Roadchick has been to Fayetteville before but she thought it would count because it's been years since she went and this time, she was going alone. With a camera and notebook. To see what there was to see.

The answer is - a lot, and not much. Timing, darlings, timing. Sunday morning is not the time to visit a small, Southern town. Unless one is interested in attending Sunday services at any number of churches. However, it is a perfect time to park wherever you would like and take pictures without people getting in the way. And Roadchick is about as patient as a hummingbird on speed so this was a decided advantage.

On a day when things are open, there are shopping opportunities galore, especially if you're looking for antiques or a sandwich. If you are going on a Sunday, take a page out of Roadchick's atlas and pack your own snackables and drink. Roadchick thought she would take advantage of a coffee shop to write down her impressions (how artistic!) while enjoying a latte. Alas, this was not to be. Elk Valley Coffee Company is closed on Sunday. As was the luncheonette (there is still such a thing in Fayetteville!) and the pool hall.

But, Patient Reader, if you love small town squares, Fayetteville is a gem.



Like Roadchick said, the streets were pretty much deserted. She does not know who owned the cars / trucks seen in the picture but they were not seen. Maybe there was a backroom poker game going on at the pool hall. Roadchick does not know.

As she prowled around, a lone skateboarded was parked around the square from her and he was watching her like she might whip out a badge and arrest him for public skateboarding. Cars slowed down to watch Roadchick taking pictures. She has never felt like more of a celebrity or "person of interest" in all her life.

As she wandered down an alleyway behind a church, there was a girl standing in the glass door of the church and she waved and said hi through the glass as Roadchick passed by. This startled Roadchick a little bit. But she managed to wave back to the young girl and then wondered how many Sunday dinner tables she would be discussed over this day. "Did y'all see that woman taking pictures?" "Yeah, maybe she's going to try to rob the luncheonette." "Maybe she's one of those big-time Hollywood location scouts and we're being considered for a movie." Roadchick's imagination gets the better of her sometimes.

In the interest of good reporting, Roadchick also checked out the Walmart. Because how can you go to a strange town and NOT go to Walmart? All right, Roadchick went to Walmart because it was just about the only place in town that she could go to and use the restroom and not have to buy something, like a Big Mac. And she didn't want a Big Mac - she had a nectarine and yogurt in a cooler in the car. Walmart is the same no matter where you go and sometimes that is a comforting thing. Like knowing where the bathroom is located.

There is a beautiful house that has been transformed into an antiques shop. Roadchick wants to live there. Minus the dusty, fusty antiques. It was so beautiful and made Roadchick think of other places - maybe New Orleans.



When Roadchick woke up this morning in a creative frenzy, she also woke up with the desire to paint. As in watercolors. So, Roadchick shot an entire roll of pictures of the things she loves best - buildings and doorways and flowers. She doesn't know that her talent for painting would bring accolades from anyone, but she loves to play with the colors. So, paint she will.

Roadchick and the Man went out on Thursday night. Things may be settling down for him a little bit - Roadchick hopes so, anyway, because she has missed him. But, Roadchick is also proceeding with caution. Her love life has been like a highway covered in black ice - it looks fine and then her ass is in a ditch before she knows it. But, a good time was had by all and there have been phone calls back and forth as well as some pretty amusing text messages. And, hopefully, plans to see Mr. Ronnie Milsap on the 4th of July. Roadchick hopes so, anyway.

Y'all, be careful over the holiday - enjoy & phone a friend if you've enjoyed it a little too much. Roadchick doesn't want to read about y'all in the papers.