Living in Nashville, one has the opportunity to attend many music-related events. This is the week of Tin Pan South, a songwriter's festival that occurs annually here in the Music City. This is the 15th year this event has taken place.
At the risk of being labelled a hater, let the 'chick take a moment to admit that she just doesn't get it. The 'chick likes music. She likes live music. She has attended many, many concerts. But she doesn't get why people like to go and hear the people that wrote the songs sing them. They have musical ability and can play guitar and have good voices. But usually, they are the ones that never quite made it to the spotlight. They are the ones who write the songs that make the whole world sing but they're not the ones singing them.
On Tuesday night, the 'chick attended one of the sessions with a group of friends. It was in a bar - always a good thing for these events. There were familiar faces and the 'chick always likes being recognized. So far, so good.
Then the singing started.
There were three women and one man up on the stage. Each of them took turns showcasing different songs they had written and even recorded on the type of CDs that you have to buy at the event because you can't find them anywhere else. The man was excellent. One of his songs was funny, several were poignant - overall, just fine.
One of the women only sang songs about relationships gone wrong. She did finally figure out that the only common demoninator in all her failed relationships was her, but at the cost of the 'chick's sanity.
The other pair of women were a songwriting "group" and their songs all seemed to involve children and angels and puppies and kittens. The contrast between all the sweetness and light and the "he done me wrong" songs from the other female made the 'chick's head spin.
She turned her attention to the crowd instead. Seated at a table close by, there was a young blonde woman in jeans. Seated directly behind her was an older gentleman who, at first glance, appeared to be her father. It was her date.
Blonde woman was exhibiting the signs well-known to women everywhere of "leave me the hell alone - if you're hanging on me, I can't pick up that hot cowboy at the bar." Daddy wasn't getting the hint and actually followed Blondie to the bathroom.
This amused the 'chick to no end and she made sure to point it out for the viewing pleasure of everyone in the group.
As the evening drew to a close and the "done me wrong" singer finished her set, she chose the perfect song: You just can't walk away from a love like ours.
Judging from how fast Blondie was moving, apparently you can't walk away, but you sure as hell can run.
A new Goodwill store has opened a few blocks from the 'chick's house. Normally, members of the Roadtrip household are not much on shopping at thrift stores except for books or things like that. Digging through racks of previously worn clothing does not rate high on the fun-o-meter.
Last Saturday, Redneck and Roadchick made a trip to the new Goodwill store out of curiousity. There were no parking spaces left. People were parking in the road. Clearly, something good was going on.
It was the Grand Opening of the new store and in honor of the occasion, just about everything was 50% off their already low, low prices. People were carrying huge armloads of clothes. There were squalling children and strollers everywhere. (Did you know that you can buy wedding dresses at Goodwill? You can. However, you CANNOT buy underwear at Goodwill. This is a good thing.)
Redneck wandered off to the Men's Department to look for jeans. Roadchick strolled through housewares and books. Since Redneck was still picking through the racks, the 'chick headed to Women's to see if there was anything worthwhile. There was the usual Megamart-type crap but there were also a LOT of designer label item too. Intrigued, the 'chick dug a little deeper and started her own armload of clothes.
Several outfits later, she emerged from the racks and found Redneck wandering the aisles. He'd found a pair of brand new Levi's for $2.
The total bill for the excursion? $13.
Yesterday, Redneck and the 'chick returned. Once again - jackpot. The 'chick found two more skirts and a shirt and paid $5. Hard to say no to DKNY for $1.50.
It's entirely possible that next Saturday will find the 'chick hunting the racks again. Someone needs to start donating some Manolo's so the 'chick will have some new/used shoes to wear with her new/used clothes.
Lord, y'all, it's been a hell of a week so far.
This morning, the 'chick woke up healthy. By mid-afternoon, she was praying for death and still had a two hour drive ahead of her, just to get home. A lovely co-worker came to the monthly staff meeting with the flu last week. So, just to be on the safe side, considering that the 'chick was coughing her head off, she went to the doctor when she finally got home.
Luckily, her doctor's office does a walk-in clinic in the evenings since the 'chick's illnesses usually refuse to be scheduled or occur during convenient daytime hours.
Roadchick likes her doctor although she avoids going most of the time. He knows this about her so he was shocked to hear that the 'chick's symptoms started only this afternoon. Usually the 'chick will wait a week or two until one of two things happens. 1) She is nearly dead and frightens people in the waiting room. 2) She has battled her way through the initial illness but cannot shake the secondary infection, is nearly dead, and frightens people in the waiting room. The doctor always asks: "Why did you wait so long to come in?" And the 'chick always responds: "Because the 'chick was much too sick to come sit at the doctor's office."
As soon as he heard that there had been flu exposure, he stepped back, feeling for the doorknob.
"Um, I'll just have the nurse do a flu test. Takes about 10 minutes."
And with that, he was gone.
The nurse came in with a rather long cotton swab. The 'chick regarded her, wondering exactly where she thought that overgrown q-tip was going to go. Fortunately, it was only for a nasal swab. Although the 'chick has excellent control over her gag reflex, it does not extend to cotton swabs on long sticks.
Ten minutes later, Dr. Disappearo returned, looking much happier. No flu, according to the q-tip. The 'chick was happy when she saw that he was carrying a sample bag. It's just like Halloween for grown-ups. All you have to do is open wide and say ahhhhhhh. . .and sometimes you get good things.
Come to think of it, that might work well in other situations too.
1. Go to wikipedia and type in your birthday, month and day only.
2. List 3 events that occurred on that day.
3. List 2 important birthdays.
4. List 1 death.
5. List a holiday or observance. (if any)
6. Tag 5 other bloggers.
Birthday:
~~~October 27~~~
Events:
1904 - The first underground New York City Subway line opens; the system becomes biggest in United States of America, and one of the biggest in world.
1961 - NASA launched the first Saturn I rocket in Mission Saturn-Apollo 1.
2004 - Curse of the Bambino: The Boston Red Sox defeat the St. Louis Cardinals in Game 4 of the World Series, winning their first championship since 1918.
Birthdays:
1967 - Scott Weiland, American singer (Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver)
1984 - Kelly Osbourne, English television personality (Ozzy Osbourne's daughter)
Deaths:
2003 - Rod Roddy, American television announcer (b. 1937) (from "The Price Is Right" game show) - Guess he was finally told to "Come on down!" Rest in peace, Rod.
Holidays:
United States - Navy Day
Tagged:
Pacian
Autrice
Kim G.
and anyone else that would like to play
The other night, Redneck and the 'chick went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. It's just a little place in the town where he lives and the food is really good.
As they drove through the parking lot, a mariachi band was entering the restaurant. Redneck asked the 'chick if she still wanted to have dinner there, since it was pretty apparent that the band was going to be playing. The 'chick was feeling adventurous and they decided to stay.
Halfway through the chips and salsa, the band appeared in the bar area. They made their way slowly from table to table, taking requests and playing songs. The 'chick informed Redneck that she really, really wanted a pair of black mariachi pants with silver chains. By now, Redneck knows to just nod and smile and eventually the 'chick will forget all about it.
Until that very moment, it had never occurred to the 'chick that mariachi bands played anything other than typical, mariachi-type music. She was wrong. This mariachi band was much more accomplished than that.
In addition to playing the old standards like La Bamba, Tequila, and O Ye Como Va, this mariachi band also blazed through the fight song of the University of Tennessee (Rocky Top) and that old wedding favorite, the Chicken Dance. (Pollo dance?)
The evening came to an abrupt end though, because when the mariachis approached Redneck and Roadchick and asked if they had any requests, the 'chick blurted out: Yo quiero los pantalones!
There was dead silence for a moment, until the head mariachi, taking the safest way out, calmly informed the 'chick that they didn't know the music to that song. They quickly moved on to another table, away from the 'chick's apparently clothes-snatching ways.
They were just lucky that Redneck doesn't speak Spanish, because he was going to ask for their wallets.
Over the past few weekends, Roadchick and Redneck have been attending auctions. Now, lest you think that these were high-falutin' affairs, let the 'chick assure you that they most certainly were not, unless Sotheby's or Christie's has started serving nachos and cheese sticks at their sales.
There is a place in Nashville that holds an auction every Saturday night. They have all sorts of things up for bid, from packages of socks (hopefully new) to home appliances and electronics to furniture. What they have changes every week, so you never know what you might find.
This auction house also buys the contents of storage units whose owners have fallen behind on their rent. All sorts of things come out of those - the items mentioned above as well as mysterious boxes of various items that the renter saw fit to pack up and put in storage.
The mystery boxes are sold complete, contents undisclosed. You never know what's inside until it's handed over to the highest bidder.
Normally, the 'chick is restrained at these affairs, always worried that a misplaced twitch or scratch would find her the high bidder on a 1972 Ford Pinto or a lovely clock embellished with ceramic unicorns.
Two weekends ago, the 'chick caught auction fever. Going home with heartburn from auction cheese sticks was no longer satisfying. She longed to take something home with her that would last. That she could point to on a shelf, to prove that she is a shrewd bidder.
The last mystery box of the evening was being held aloft. The 'chick caught her breath, bidding number clutched tightly. She was ready.
The bidding opened at $2 and rose steadily to $9. Going once, going twice. . . SOLD!
The man brought the box to the 'chick and she savored the moment. What would be inside? A crystal decanter and wine glasses? Silverware? Some rare books, first editions, autographed by the author?
Slowly, the 'chick removed the tape holding the box shut and folded back the top.
Inside?
Inside were two 4-packs of off-brand toilet paper, a bottle of dish detergent, and a (heavy) box of lawn & leaf bags.
Unfortunately, there are no do-overs at the auction.
Somewhat, anyway.
The BlogLaughs review of the Roadtrip is up.
A few lovers, a few haters, but it's all good.
However, it's been brought to the 'chick's attention that some people might find her habit of writing in third-person somewhat . . . offensive or distracting.
Never let it be said that it's not all about y'all. Here's your chance to cast a vote to determine the future of the Roadtrip.
You'll have to hit "refresh" to see your answers added in if you choose to play along.
Your answers will be taken into consideration, but it's entirely possible that since it's the 'chick's blog, she'll do whatever the hell she wants to anyway.
Writing about Sylvia Browne the other day made the 'chick think about her own real-life encounters with spirits. A few years ago, Roadchick and Rockboy were moving out of the house that they'd lived in for about five years. The amount of packing to be done was insane and seemed like it would never end.
During that time, odd things began happening around the house. The TV would suddenly change channels but no one was touching the remote. Or else it would come on unexpectedly when no one was in the room. Lights turned themselves on and off.
It was a little disturbing at first, but after a couple of days, Rockboy and the 'chick decided that there was a ghost in the house. It didn't seem to be doing any harm, so they went about their business and the ghost went about its business.
Then the Outlaws came to visit. (Side note: It's never a good time to come visit when people are packing up to move.) Luckily the Outlaws are good sports and without having to be asked twice, climbed into the attic to get everything out of there that Roadchick would've just left behind for the new owners. Especially since most of it belonged to the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick. They learned to not be alarmed when the TV or lights started acting up.
One evening, while everyone was in other parts of the house, the dishwasher turned on. Without human assistance. Considering that it took an instruction manual and an engineering degree to get the dishwasher to work, it was not an accident. It was also not loaded with dirty dishes which proved that the ghost was not female.
The 'chick had had enough. She finally had to have a talk with the ghost.
"Roadchick and Rockboy are moving. If you want to do something useful, pack a box. If you want to be entertaining, find a way for the 'chick to get E! Network on cable."
The male ghost was never heard from again.
There are not many days that the 'chick gets to indulge in daytime TV. Her bosses do not understand that it is vital to be able to keep up with what is happening on "Montel" and "Ellen" and "Oprah". It's more special when you're on a first-name basis.
Wednesday morning was different.
Roadchick got a call from the office manager on Tuesday night. She said the building would be closed for at least part of the day on Wednesday because a pipe broke and there was no water.
Wednesdays are always a good day to be home because Sylvia Browne is on the Montel show, doing her psychic thing. She knows who the murderer is in an unsolved case. She knows that a man in the audience has a piece of metal in his pocket and it changed his life. One man in the audience has already had 42 lives. The 'chick doesn't want 42 lives, unless she gets richer in each one.
Sylvia never gives out winning lottery numbers or tells people which horse to bet on in the third race.
The 'chick wants to go on Montel and talk to Sylvia Browne. She spends time wondering what she would ask if she had the chance. Would she ask which departed relative was thinking of her? Would she ask where her missing earrings are? Would she ask which career best suited her?
The sad reality is that if the 'chick had the chance to talk to Sylvia Browne, she would most likely disgrace herself and ask something completely stupid.
"What are the 11 herbs and spices in the secret recipe for Kentucky Fried Chicken?"
Sylvia Browne is the Google of the spirit world.
From Yahoo News:
NEW YORK - Naomi Campbell says she very much regrets losing her temper and hitting her maid with a cell phone over a pair of missing jeans last year. "I felt very remorseful for having thrown the phone at someone that didn't deserve it," the 35-year-old supermodel tells the TV show "Extra" in an interview set to air Tuesday. "I have a deep sense of shame for the things I've done."
What made her do it? It was "tiredness, lack of sleep (and) just so many things," she says.
"I was being really destructive to myself. ... I didn't know how to reach out," she says. "It was a really scary time."
Campbell, who has a reputation for angry outbursts, pleaded guilty to misdemeanor assault last month for hitting Ana Scolavino in the back of the head with the phone last March. Scolavino was treated for a head injury.
"I threw a cell phone in the apartment. The cell phone hit Ana," Campbell said at her court appearance. "This was an accident because I did not intend to hit her."
In exchange for her guilty plea, she was ordered to pay Scolavino's medical expenses of $363, do five days of community service and attend a two-day anger-management program.
"I do therapy every day," Campbell tells "Extra," adding that she's also partaking in the healing powers of crystals: "I think they bring great energy. ... You should see how many I travel with."
___
Here's what wasn't said:
"I warned that bitch to stay the hell out of my closet. Did she listen? Hell no. Like her fat ass could fit in my jeans. And that cell phone wasn't worth a damn after that. I ought to make her pay for that. Damn hard head."
The 'chick translates for you:
"I have a deep sense of shame for the things I've done." Translation: It was a shame I got caught. I can't believe she turned me in. Does she not know who I am???
"I didn't know how to reach out," she says. Translation: You mean that's NOT what "Reach out and touch someone" means???
"This was an accident because I did not intend to hit her." Translation: Or at least, not where she could prove that I did.
"I do therapy every day," Campbell tells "Extra," adding that she's also partaking in the healing powers of crystals: "I think they bring great energy. ... You should see how many I travel with." Translation: Shopping counts as "therapy", right? My crystals cost more than the medical treatment for the head injury.
___
In the want ads tomorrow:
Wanted, personal maid. Must have references and pass a background check. Must wear larger jeans than employer. Helmet provided. Must be able to carry large bag of crystals.
The 'chick routinely listens in on conversations when she's standing in line at the store or wherever she needs some amusement.
The prize-winner was overheard today, at Walgreens. A small boy and his mother were standing in line at the pharmacy and talking to another woman. Apparently, they all went to church together.
Woman (to small boy): We missed your daddy at church on Sunday. Was he sick?
Boy: No, Daddy couldn't come to church because his dick hurt.
Mother: ...horrified look...stammering
Woman: Really...
Mother: (trying to be discreet) Chuck had a vasectomy on Friday.
Woman: Oh, ok, well, that would explain him not being there.
Boy: We can't use the bag of frozen peas that he was holding there.
Mother: (now even more horrified) Well, the doctor did say that peas would conform really well....of course we've thrown them away.
Woman: (nodding, making a mental note to NEVER eat pea salad at the church potlucks again.)
Boy: Daddy said peas are good for his pee-pee.
Mother: Hush now.
Woman: Well, uh, I think I'll just go see if my pictures are done being developed.
Mother: It was nice to see you ...
See parents? Your kids do listen to what you say.
Gentlemen, the ladies have spoken. The illustrious panel consists of Mist 1, Ariel, Heather, and the 'chick.
Here's what you said you wanted to know:
Preference - little foreplay with long period of intercourse, or foreplay to orgasm with shorter period of intercourse following?
Roadchick says: Yes. To either one. As long as it's mutually satisfying. And frequent.
Mist says: Yes. Thank you. Can we do it again later?
Ariel says: It matters on the guy to me. If it's someone I barely know then foreplay to orgasm minus the intercourse all together. I, personally, think intercourse is a more personal interaction between two people.
Heather says: switch it up some. sex gets boring if it's predictable. if you aren't fluent in her body language use english. ask her in an appropriate manner though. standing at the end of the bed with your pants around your ankles saying, 'so which do you want more of, intercourse or foreplay?' will probably end up with you getting no action at all. start with the foreplay and take your cues from her, asking would you like me to continue (fill in the blank) or would you like me to (fill in the blank) is fairly foolproof. better yet, lots of both! unless of course you're gonna be late for work or the kids are banging on the door trying to get in. ;-)
Unless you actually like to fight, why is it that you all will keep doing a thing again and again, knowing that it has provoked a fight every single time in the past, and therefore knowing full well that it's going to cause a fight again?
Roadchick says: That's kind of difficult to answer since of course the 'chick would never do anything to intentionally annoy someone. Her sister-in-law, however, routinely does something to the 'chick's brother that cracks her the hell up. Roadchick's brother keeps a bottle of water in the fridge. It is his bottle, he fills it up, and he drinks directly from the bottle. It's his bottle. Sister-in-law routinely moves it to the back of the fridge, hidden behind the milk or juice or something. When Brother accused her of doing it deliberately, she told him that, yes, indeed, she did move it, just to piss him off. Maybe it's just payback for something that you keep doing over and over again, knowing that it will annoy the female in your life.
Mist says: I'm very good at fighting. I don't like to to fight, but if you will play along, I am usually up for an opportunity to demonstrate the proper technique for storming out of a room angrily, the Silent Treatment, drinking the last beer to spite you, and other passive aggressive behaviors. However, I don't think this question is about fighting. This question really addresses what happens when you settle into a relationship. At first, all those little quirks were cute. You even encouraged them. Now, they drive you nuts. Really, I don't understand why you continue to let those things bother you. If you know they are going to create a fight, why don't you just build up a tolerance to those things?
Ariel says: I think both sexes do this—sometimes it's accidental. Sometimes I know it'll piss you off and I'll do it purely for spite.
Heather says: j and i have this problem too. we both do things that annoy the piss out of the other. i can't speak for him but on my part it's usually that i'm not thinking of him specifically when i'm doing whatever it is. by the time i realise what i've done it's too late. however if you're talking major things, like maxing out the credit cards on unnecessary purchases remember this. fighting about something is not the same as resolving an issue. until you two have had a calm and rational discussion about it and come to a decision you can both live with you will both feel like you're in the right and the same thing will happen over and over again. compromise has to be a factor in every relationship, be it a friendship, business, or a marriage. the trick is to find that middle road and stay on it.
Most of you seem to want to go out with nice guys. Why do you then so often end up with the A$$holes? And when you find a nice one, you end up taking advantage and taking them for granted because they're not A$$holes and you know you can get away with it. What is up with that?
Roadchick says: Sometimes, we want a Bad Boy. Sometimes we want you to quit being quite so nice and do something a little shocking or exciting. Sometimes we want you to slay dragons for us. And sometimes, we want to see how far we can push you before you will finally push back. Women like to know that their man is strong and secure. Let yourself be pushed around a little too often by the woman in your life and you'll regret it because then she can't respect you. And she wants to be able to respect you. She also wants to know that you'll kick somebody's ass if he messes with her.
The other thing is - just like girls know when another girl is a bitch? Y'all know if a guy is an asshole. Sometimes, the girls can't tell that they're actually dating an Asshole. That's when the Men Friends in her life need to step in and tell her, in detail if necessary, that she's dating an Asshole in Disguise.
Mist says: Are you a nice guy? Are you sure about that? Do you have a friend or brother who's an a$$hole? Have him call me. I'm not sure that I believe in the nice guy/a$$hole theory. I think that it's a convenient excuse. Also, I think we're all a$$holes in our own way, it just takes a special someone to bring it out of us.
Ariel says: I should know exactly what to say to this question because I typically fall for the assholes. Personally I think it's because I used to think I could change/save the guy from himself and his asshole ways. He was a challenge—I would mold him into what I wanted him to be with time and lots of force. Most of the nice guys I meet are so nice that it comes off as fake after being with the assholes.
Heather says: i call it the fix him syndrome. 'i know he could be a good man, he just needs some help getting there.' which then becomes 'he's such a good guy, i don't deserve him. he doesn't see it yet but he will and then he'll start treating me like dirt.' as a measure of self protection she decides to get a head start. none of this is done consciously, rather on a subconsciouses level. on the other hand though some women are just bitches and don't care how they treat people.
Why can't yall just say what you mean? For example:
me: whats wrong?
her: A)nothing, B)I don't want to talk about it
me: okay.
(a week, two, or 12 passes)
during a totally completely unrelated minor argument....
her: "well you COULD have found out what was bothering me that time 6 weeks ago but you took my 'nothing' and 'I don't want to talk about it' as meaning nothing and I don't want to talk about it. Now you must die you insensitive prick!"
Roadchick says: The 'chick does NOT do that. She's probably a little more direct with her feelings that some are comfortable with. However, the ladies that do this are subconsciously probing to see how "in tune" you are with them. Can you tell what is wrong? Why not? It' obvious, isn't it. (No, of course it's not.) Roadchick's mom is an offender in this area. The best way to gently re-train this behavior is to continue to do exactly what you're doing - ignore it, don't reward it, and don't play into the argument later down the road. It's painful, but it does work.
Mist says: I don't understand this question. I don't have the ability to hold my tongue. If there is an irritant, everyone must know. I don't think that I've even given anyone the opportunity to as me if anything is wrong. Surely, this question is a joke. I am here to provide valuable advice. I demand to be taken seriously and prank questions like this will not be tolerated.
Ariel says: If you know that there's something wrong, don't let "I don't' want to talk about it" or "nothing" be the answer. If you really care what's bothering me then bug the hell outta me until I let it out. Oh yes, I will hold onto it for 6 weeks because you didn't care enough 6 weeks ago to take the time to find out. (cough) Maybe this is hitting a little too close to home this morning.
Heather says: a) nothing = i don't know right now, i'm just crabby/angry/sad. ~or~ it's not a big deal, we'll talk later, just not right now
b) i don't want to talk about it = the last time i told you (blank) was wrong you made me feel like it was an insignificant problem, making me feel like ~i~ was insignificant and i'm not going to allow you to make me feel that way again. ~or~ i'm too pissed off at you/him/her to talk about this rationally right now, give me some time to chill.
you can avoid the whole 'now you must die you insensitive prick' stage by asking her a day or two later about it. 'hey honey, i know you were pretty upset the other day. are you ok now, would you like to talk about it? i can't help if i don't know what was bothering you. i know i'm dense sometimes but help me out here.' this is best done when it's just the two of you and you've just handed her a pint of her favorite ben and jerry's. yelling 'hey! what the hell was wrong with you the other day anyway?' during a commercial break while she's in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner is not going to get you any useful information... a black eye maybe. :-)
as to why we don't just say what's on our mind, it's called shorthand. when we're pissy/sad/confused it's sometimes easier to just use shorthand than to have to explain everything.
When something is clearly bothering us, and you ask what is wrong, and we tell you "I don't wanna talk about it. It isn't you. " then why do you all hear "I wanna tell you all about it. It must be all about you. Now ask me a million questions and REALLY get me pissed off."
Roadchick says: Because it's always all about us. Don't you GET that? Females are very in-tune emotionally. Everything is tied to emotion. The relationship is tied into emotion so if one part of that relationship is having an issue, it affects the relationship, therefore directly affecting the female. The easiest way to deflect the frantic female is to give her a little information about what is bothering you, request some time to yourself to process the situation, and reassure her that if you need to talk, you'll let her know. Give her a hug and kiss and tell her you love her. That's all she really wants to know anyway - that it's NOT her, and you love her.
Mist says: Either you are in a very open relationship or you have multiple personalities. Clearly, when you say "us" and "we," you are talking about you and your other selves. This would be enough to drive any woman crazy. It's hard enough to be in a relationship with one man, but add a few other personalities to the mix and you have a recipe for lots of arguments and opportunities to sleep on the couch. She is not asking you a million questions, she is asking all of you. The way I see it, you have two options; 1.) tell your other personalities to buy her nice shoes, or 2.) integrate. I am willing to pass on my shrink's phone number so that you (collectively) can get some help.
Ariel says: It's because if the shoe was on our foot we really do want to talk about it when we say we don't want to talk about it. Sometimes. Hell, I don't know. Most of the time if I'm told "No, seriously, I don't want to talk about it" I just shrug it off and go wait for him to come and talk to me about it. I think we care and want to be able to make the problem go away even if we had nothing to do with it.
Heather says: we don't hear 'i wanna tell you all about it.' depending on your tone of voice and body language we hear either 'i have a boo-boo and need help but i'm a guy and can't ask for it.' ~or~ 'oh goody! gossip! you've got to hear what so and so did!
How do we open the subject of a threesome without getting killed? Guys all dig this scene. You all will never bring it up even if you're curious and/or interested. So how do we do it respectfully without dodging shoes, coke bottles, and the family cat?
Roadchick says: Best advice? Know your girl. If you're seriously considering this, then you should, by that point in the relationship, know your partner well enough to know if they have a bit of the freak about them. Are willing to experiment. You could start a little smaller - role play or costumes and see how she does with it. If it goes well, expand a little further. A threesome is threatening to most women because you might love the other girl more than her. You might leave her for the other girl. It's all emotion based - not sex-based like for the guys.
Mist says: Buy me some shoes. If they are really nice I will not throw them at you. I also will not throw the cat because I will need someone to sleep with while you are getting used to sleeping outside. As for the threesome, be careful what you wish for. It may not go exactly the way that you intend it too. There is too much possibility for disaster. No matter how it goes, you will probably end up regretting it. Why not have an arrangement with me that I can sleep with other people and tell you about it in graphic detail later so that you feel like you were there? That sounds like a good compromise. No, you can't do the same.
Ariel says: I prefer a straight up approach—tell me it's something you want to try, ask me if it's something I want to try, respect my decision either way—If I say no, don't pout and talk about how all the other girls do it—If I say yes, for the love of god don't do a victory dance.
Heather says: ok, for starters not all guys are into this! i brought this up with an ex years ago and the next thing i knew i was a bi-sexual slut who couldn't keep her pants up if she was paid to! needless to say i was shocked. especially since the only reason i brought it up in the first place was that his birthday was coming up and i wanted to fulfill a fantasy for him. i've never asked anyone since and i never will. the point to all this is that the following is just a guess. i just don't know from experience. two ideas come to mind. 1) watch porn with her. if scenes involving threesomes make her hotter than one on one scenes, she's probably receptive to the idea. you could ask her if she's ever wanted to try it. but try to do so in such a manner that makes it clear that you're ok with either answer and you're not going to disappear off the face of the earth if she says no. or you can try number 2) while doing something that is not directly related to sex such as cooking or cleaning (when its just the two of you) ask her what her fantasies are, you may get lucky. just make sure she's in a good mood first. don't try this when she's been running around all day or working at a job she hates. after expressing a willingness to act out one of her fantasies tell her some of yours. just make sure one of them includes a ~romantic~ seduction of her. you know, candles, roses, wine with a cork. none of that box stuff. and one that's totally off the wall. like having sex while skydiving. that way a threesome sounds perfectly normal compared to the rest. either way, good luck with this one.
My wife will not let me go to a Strip Club unless she goes. Then she'll help pick the girls for the table dances, have a couples table dance, and even help the dancer with the "arousing" bits. Why is that? Is it a control thing, or does she just not trust me alone?
Roadchick says: She's making sure that even though you're looking at some strange, you are NOT forgetting who you're married to. The 'chick suspects, unless wife is bi, this is an example of the "I'm a good sport and just a little kinky" trick. Your wife could give a shit about being at the strip club except for the fact that she is making sure that YOU don't give too much of a shit about being at the strip club. And she's claiming her territory in front of the dancers.
Mist says: At my local strip clubs, we are discouraged from helping with arousing bits. In fact, we get escorted out for helping with arousing bits. Where is this fine establishment where you can help with the arousing bits? I'll see you and your wife there. You'll recognize me by my big hair, I'll recognize you because you'll be the man on a short leash. Also, I really, really like saying "arousing bits."
Ariel says: It sounds to me like a control thing. If she's that involved maybe it gets her hot and bothered too and it just doesn't seem appropriate for her to go alone.
Heather says: personally, i like to think that j can't become aroused without me. i'm not stupid though and i know that isn't the case. it's one thing to watch porn and another to actually have the girl right there in flesh and blood. and tassels. and g-strings. and whatever else. you can fantasize all you want about porn stars but in reality very few of you will actually meet them. much less have a chance to sleep with them. as for the girl at the local strip joint, she's right there for the taking. j and i have never been to a strip club together but i think i would be seriously insecure about it. i ~know~ he loves me and isn't going anywhere but still.... at least your girl and you enjoy the clubs together. be glad you get that much.
My girlfriend asks me what I want for dinner. I tell her anything will be fun, whatever she feels like cooking. Then, whatever she cooks, I'll happily eat. Yet this annoys her, why?
Roadchick says: Because she cannot think of a single thing that sounds even remotely appetizing or interesting and she's hoping that you'll be decisive and say: I want meatloaf (or steak, or whatever) and then she can 1) fix what you've said you'd really like to have ...and...2) not have to try to figure something out. Sometimes, we really do want to give you what you want. Take advantage of that when it's offered.
Mist says: The bigger question is, if you know that this annoys her, why not just say tacos or meatloaf or pan-seared tuna? Incidentally, please make pan-seared tuna night Wednesdays so as not to conflict with anything else in my schedule. Let's say, 6-ish?
Ariel says: Dude, take the effort to say wtf you want to eat. Most likely if she asked you she has no clue what to cook and really needs your input on ideas. As my mother used to say "I'm fresh outta anything and whatever is moldy"
Heather says: would it kill you to help in the decision making process? i get this all the time, only j usually doesn't like what i've made. sometimes we just don't know what to make or we're not really into cooking at the moment but we've gotta eat. when she asks what you want ask her what your choices are and does she have a preference. if she does have a preference say ' that's great, i was thinking the same thing.' offer to set the table or help cook. but don't just disappear till the dinner bell is rung. if she doesn't have a preference, pick something, it doesn't matter what, just something off of the list of choices she gave you. and again, offer to help. chances are that she's not only annoyed that you didn't help making the decision, but that you didn't help either.
Men are more visually stimulated than women. If we're at a mall, I'll see a hot chick and look. Its my girlfriend I'm going home to, it's my girlfriend that I'm holding hands with at the time, it's a natural reaction, so WHY does that piss her off so bad? Is SHE insecure?
Roadchick says: Yes. Are you just NOW figuring that out? It's threatening because yeah, that is a hot chick - maybe she's hotter than girlfriend - what if you're tired of girlfriend and want the hot chick - you'll leave girlfriend and then she'll be alone and people will call her the crazy cat lady . . .
It's all emotion-based. All of it. We're all insecure in one way or another. Maybe a previous boyfriend was a real dick and flirted constantly with other women and cheated on her. Is that your fault? No. Are you going to pay for his screw-ups? Yep, until she is comfortable and secure that you are NOT that guy. Try saying something like: She's hot, but so are you _____ and mention something about her that you DO think is hot. Y'all are visual. Surprise, surprise, guys: Girls are auditory. Talk to her. Talk dirty to her. You might be surprised what those words can do for you.
Mist says: I keep trying to tell you not to look at me in the mall. I appreciate that you recognize how well my slutty jeans fit me. You should know that when my friends and I burst out in laughter, it's because of you and how you look holding her hand admiring my jeans. We see that look in your girlfriend's eyes and we know that you're in for it. G*d, that never gets old. Another question, why do you go to the mall with your girlfriend? Have her call me, we'll shop together. You can't be that much fun to shop with.
Ariel says: Yes, but most women are. We also want to be the center of attention so if you want to look at some other female while you're holding our hand it's not good.
Heather says: does this 'look' involve drool or an erection? if so you're out of line. and yes, she is insecure. you can help counter her insecurity by either saying something catty, ie: what was she thinking wearing a t-shirt today, it's 20 below out!' or something smooth, ie: sure she's got a nice butt, however you have the sexiest eyes/smile/legs i've ever seen. followed by a kiss. a nice kiss, not a peck on the cheek but not something that's gonna get you thrown out of the mall either.
Is there any possible way to make the 'switch' from a girl you have dated a few times to her close friend?
Roadchick says: Wow, y'all like to live dangerously. Sure, give it a try. But be forewarned - previous girlfriend will absolutely tell new girlfriend all of your....shortcomings. In detail. Possibly with pictures.
Mist says: Yes. Absolutely. Here are some things that will help you make this transition as smooth as possible. You will need to continue to take her out to dinner and call her right before you go to bed. You will have to meet her parents and you will not be able to date anyone else. Introduce her to people as your future wife and call her cute nicknames in public. Always, always walk with your hand in her back pocket. Then, when she gets sick of you, she will suggest that the two of you remain friends (note: she may not mean it when she suggests the whole friendship thing, but at least you will have had the chance to sleep with her a few more times.) That's the only way.
Ariel says: I haven't had a guy attempt this with me and a fellow friend since high school. I think you have talk to the friend you want to see and see if she and the other friend have set terms regarding if they're "allowed" to see exs. Trust me, most close friends have had this conversation at one point or another.
Heather says: ok, 1st things 1st. have you dated girl 'a' in the last month or so? if so you're screwed for now. if not, so far so good. 2nd, keep in mind that girl 'a' has told girl 'b' everything. and i do mean ~everything~ so if you managed to piss off girl 'a' you're back to being screwed, or rather not gonna get screwed. if you haven't dated girl 'a' in a while, does she know that you're no longer interested in her as dating material? until she knows that and is good with it, it won't be an easy road at all. if she does know and every things good between you guys then my suggestion is to talk to girl 'a' first and tell her that you would like to ask girl 'b' out but you don't want to cause any unnecessary tension between the two girls. if nothing else she'll like that you cared enough to come to her first. an added benefit would be that she could clue you into whether or not girl 'b' is interested. honesty is the best policy here. and could save you a lot of grief in the long run. if girl 'a' freaks about it you may want to date someone outside her circle for a while. at least until things chill, who knows, you may decide not to date girl 'b' after all. :-)
My wife tells me that if I ever cheat on her she will not kill me fast. She also followed up the statement with: "Have you ever read Stephen King's Misery?" Is this a sign of her love? Or permission to cheat?
Roadchick says: Do you feel lucky? As a general rule, the 'chick would urge caution around psychopathic, hormonal, frustrated women wielding large cleavers and hammers, but you go with whatever works for you.
Mist says: Your wife doesn't know who I am, does she?
Ariel says: Dude, that's one of the worst threats I've ever heard. My ankles ache just thinking about it. Word to the wise: don't cheat unless you don't value your ankles.
Heather says: no and no. it's a threat, pure and simple. a damn good one too. a back rub for you when you know she's tired is a sign of love, a 'wow honey, she's hot! you should do her.' is permission. so unless you're seriously into pain and suffering, cheating is not recommended, what ~is~ recommended is a re-reading of misery and watching the movie to help you decide if it's worth the hassle. after all, just how good could the sex possibly be?
Yesterday, Roadchick and Michael from Cardiac Fantasies were conducting one of their standard email "conversations". These conversations cover a lot of different topics, but one thing the 'chick has discovered is that Michael is the perfect male person to ask questions about what men actually mean when they say something. Or what in the hell was he thinking when he said/did/bought/decided that??? He has never let the 'chick down.
This sparked an idea.
Ladies, this is your chance.
Michael is going to select a couple of other males to assist him in answering your questions in a "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" type of way. Then, Michael will extend an invitation for the men to ask questions and Roadchick and a couple of other females will answer their questions.
Any question is fair game - relationships, friendship, sex, gift-giving - whatever you've always wondered but never had anyone to ask.
Feel free to leave your questions in Comments -or- you can email the 'chick at the address at the top right of the page. If you want to remain anonymous, just say the word and no names will be mentioned.
The deadline for questions is Friday, February 23rd and the answers will be posted shortly after that.
Happy Valentine's Day, y'all!
The other night, the 'chick asked Skaterboy (Redneck's son) if he had gotten his Valentines for school yet. Since he's in the third grade, the Valentine's Day party is still a reality.
In typical male fashion, he said no, he had not, but he guessed he'd better get some before the party. Since Redneck, Roadchick, and Skaterboy were going into town, the 'chick said they'd get some.
The crew headed to Walmart, local Valentine's Day emporium. There were Valentine shirts, pj bottoms, panties, and socks. There was candy and bears. There were decorations and wrapping paper and bows.
What was in short supply was Valentine cards for kids.
Granted, it was a bit late in the Season O' Love to be shopping for such an item, but still...
Skaterboy was forced to choose between SpongeBob Squarepants and Harley-Davidson. He chose the Harley cards. The 'chick asked him if he needed to bring something to the party, like candy.
What he said struck horror and sadness deep into her soul.
Candy is not allowed at school.
WTF? No candy? No candy on Valentine's Day? No chalky candy hearts saying Will U B Mine? No melty, gooey chocolate hearts? No cupcakes with red heart sprinkles and Hawaiian Punch?
Redneck explained that the school was concerned that kids were not eating healthy and made a rule that only "healthy" things can be brought to school. The kids will actually get into trouble if they are caught with candy or soda.
What the hell are these kids being fed at parties? Soy milk? Apples? Bran muffins with carob chips?
The 'chick offered to crash the Valentine Party with an enormous sack of chocolate and sugar but Redneck talked her out of it, explaining that Skaterboy would get into trouble if she did.
It doesn't bode well for the adults of the future. The kids of today need to learn how to spoil others with loads of crap on holidays.
Picture it: Valentine's Day, 20 years in the future. An older Skaterboy arrives at his girlfriend's house, Valentine's Day gift in hand.
She opens it, breathless with anticipation.
Inside: a protein bar and a bottle of water.
Healthy Valentine's Day!
Scary things happen when the 'chick is left to her own devices. Redneck had some things that he needed to do last night, so the 'chick had the night to herself. Now, y'all are thinking that the 'chick must have gone bar-hopping or crashed a party or possibly even robbed a convenience store. Not so.
It occurred to the 'chick that it had been a long time since she had cleaned the house. Really cleaned. So, once Rockboy had taken off with his friends, the 'chick got started. Dusting, vacuuming, doing laundry, sweeping the floors, mopping. It was when the mopping started that the 'chick began to suspect that she needed to be medicated. Mopping is not a favored activity at Chez Roadtrip.
The thorazine dart did not help - it only added to this cleaning. . . fervor so to round off a lovely evening, the 'chick washed the light sconces from her bathroom and bedroom, the dining room, the living room, and kitchen.
Don't ever do this. Let Auntie Roadchick tell you why.
If you remove the protective coating of dust, hairspray, cat hair, and who-knows-what-else, then you can really see what needs to be cleaned. That dim, romantic, mood lighting is no more. You now have the equivalent of a surgical suite right in your own home.
It was a little too far past Halloween to pass off the cobwebs as decorations and even the most die-hard Halloween lover would be hard pressed to think that the 'chick was just "planning ahead". So, more dusting: of the ceilings and corners, more dusting of the furniture, more vacuuming of the floor.
Thankfully, the strange mood began to pass and the 'chick settled into bed. Closing her eyes, her mind began racing once more.
Two days. Two days of being mostly at home. Two days. Visions of roast chicken and mashed potatoes began to dance through her head. Followed by desserts: cakes, brownies, cookies, perhaps even another stab at Nemesis Pudding. A grocery list was composed in her head, almost as if she had been hypnotized.
The 'chick fell asleep, conforted by the thought that all this Domestic Goddess business would surely be well behind her come morning.
So, it's morning now and the carpet shampooer is calling to the 'chick. It's a seductive whisper, a promise that "this won't take long and you'll feel wonderful afterward".
The 'chick has to hurry. Rockboy will be home before long.
Valentine's Day is coming, y'all. It's on February 14th, in case you weren't aware of that.
Roadchick has been thinking about Valentine's Day. It's been a long time since there was a "special someone" in her life to share it with. Somehow, the 'chick just wasn't dating anyone each time the Holiday of Love rolled around.
When the 'chick was still married, the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick was not known for having great skills in the gift-giving arena. At Christmas, the 'chick could usually count on receiving socks and some sort of appliance. Unfortunately, these were not the appliances that relied on batteries - they were the appliances that required the 'chick to do some sort of cleaning or cooking.
Still, each year, as Valentine's Day approached, the 'chick would be hopeful, certain that this was the year that she would get a piece of jewelry or flowers or something that was at least a little bit romantic. Something that showed that her spouse had actually listened when she dropped not-so-subtle hints, such as, "Wow, that is an amazing necklace. The 'chick wishes she had one." and left the sales flyer folded open at the page with a sticky note on it with a message like: This would look so great with that black sweater.
Alas, the hint was never picked up once it was dropped.
One year, actually the last year that they were married, the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick came home on Valentine's Day carrying a long box, festively wrapped in shiny red foil with a big bow on it. The 'chick's heart leapt, certain that this time it would be different.
After a few minutes of breathless anticipation, the 'chick was allowed to open her gift. She eagerly ripped the bow from the package and tore the paper away. The box did not give any clues but it was gratifyingly heavy. Slowly, preserving the moment, the 'chick opened one end of the box and slid the styrofoam packing out.
After all their years together, he had finally gotten it right. The Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick had bought the perfect Valentine's gift.
Because nothing says "I love you" like a .22 rifle. It's the gift that keeps on giving.
The 'chick came here today intending to do a little post about Valentine's Day and shopping and hearts and flowers.
Instead, when she got here, she found an eviction notice on the blog's door. SWITCH NOW! (Or, go to your dashboard. You can only do this ONCE.) Blogger is getting ready to make the 'chick move. She can feel it. But, that's what you get when you're living in the rent-controlled apartments of Blogger.
Now, here she is, scrambling around, trying to gather her valuables into a pile by the door in case the "flawless" switch is maybe not so flawless. And the landlord is standing there, tapping his foot, eyeing stuff and wondering how much it will bring on eBay.
The 'chick is notoriously suspicious of "new and improved" technology. See, the thing is - with the "old and crappy" technology, the bugs have been worked out for the most part. The exterminator has been making regular visits. With the new - not so much. There are colonies of pests yet to be discovered - after they've eaten the equivalent of a cashmere sweater.
Why, yes. The 'chick is comparing the quality of her writing to a cashmere sweater. Thank you for noticing.
But, Roadchick will join the 21st century kicking and screaming and possibly ranting about parachute pants and break dancing.
In related issues (and always at least 3 days late and several dollars short) - did y'all see Prince do the half-time show at the Super Bowl??? The man can wail on that guitar. Rockboy is even in awe of his mad skillz and that takes some doing since Rockboy is a self-taught classical guitarist.
The 'chick has to say, though, that 'Prince' and 'Super Bowl Half-time Show' were two things that she never figured to say together.
Have y'all noticed that since the Janet Jackson wardrobe "malfunction" the NFL has had men headlining the half-time show? The 'chick has noticed. She doesn't know what all the fuss about Janet's boob was about though - get Anna Nicole Smith up there and let her have a wardrobe malfunction and then you've got some news.
Now, who wants to help pack?
Hi, y'all!
It feels like the 'chick has not posted anything worthwhile in a LOOOOONG time. It is not necessary to agree with the 'chick in comments. Really. She knows. And apologizes.
So, what have y'all been doing?
Life at Chez Roadtrip has been just a little chaotic lately. All the lame ducks are quacking at once and the 'chick has been driving (literally driving) herself demented trying to be everything to everyone at the same time. But, things seem to be settling down a little (knock on wood) and hopefully life will get back to what approaches normal in Roadchick's world.
This morning, the 'chick was trying to catch up on some of her blog reading instead of working and found, much to her surprise, that the Roadtrip is up for review at BlogLaughs. The 'chick is a reviewer for BlogLaughs and offered the Roadtrip up for ritualistic sacrifice during a period when there weren't a lot of blogs in the queue for review. Needless to say - TERRIFIED NOW! Especially, since just lately, the Roadtrip has been as funny as a case of the clap.
A couple of weeks ago, Rockboy's band did a show at a little music club in lovely downtown NashVegas. The club is in a definitely questionable area, located directly in front of the World's Largest Adult Bookstore and just down the street from the Mission, where Nashville's homeless can get a hot meal and a warm place to sleep. (Yes, the 'chick regularly donates money since her time is rather full, what with her day job supporting the mentally retarded and developmentally disabled, rescuing her own personal lame ducks, and doing the laundry.) So, on the day, Roadchick, proud band mama that she is, arrived at the club around 6:00 p.m. and met up with Rockboy and his bandmates. They all hung around in the bitter cold until the side door was unlocked so the amps and guitars could be unloaded and carried inside. As soon as the doors opened, a flock of homeless guys appeared from the darkened side streets.
As the 'chick was supervising a Marshall full stack amp sitting on the sidewalk, one of the homeless guys approached and proceeded to chat up the 'chick.
Homie: Hey, pretty baby - got any money?
'Chick: No.
Homie: Pretty baby - nice car.
'Chick: Thanks. (Intercepting a grabbing motion) No, don't touch that amp. Because the 'chick will absolutely kick your ass over it. Step back. Now.
Homie: Ok, ok - no problem.
Homie: (Rummaging inside his jacket)
'Chick: (Watching, arms folded)
Homie: (Producing a wrinkled bag of sour cream & onion potato chips)
Homie: Pretty baby - chips? Chips? (Offering the bag)
'Chick: No, thanks though.
Homie: (Wandering through the opened door of the club, still shaking his bag of chips)
Homie hung around for awhile before being escorted out the side door by the management of the club. Apparently, he is a regular. And regularly booted.
A couple of hours later, the 'chick went out to the car to plug her cell phone into the charger. Immediately, another homeless guy approached, hands out. The 'chick kept an eye on him but continued on with what she was doing. As she walked back around front, the man approached.
Homie #2: Hey, giving away money?
'Chick: Really? Where? Because if someone is, you'll have to get in line behind the 'chick.
Now, before anyone tells the 'chick that she is mean and heartless - don't. Please don't. The 'chick loves puppies and kitties and fluffy soft ducklings. They're delicious.
Waiting around for the show to start is always a boring time. Many cigarettes are smoked by many people, the girlfriends all primp and giggle, the musicians act cool and talk about record deals. This time though, there was amusement. It came in the form of a cell phone call. The drummer of the band had given his cell phone to the rhythm guitarist to hold while he did a partial set-up of his drum kit.
The phone rang and the Boy answered it. It was the drummer's girlfriend. She did not realize she was not talking to her drummer boyfriend. Mistake. Big, big mistake.
Girl: (talk, chat, talk, chat)
Boy: So, you know, it would be good if you would give my 8 friends a ride home after the show. To show that you really do want to be with me.
Girl: (now on speaker phone) Well...um...you know my car is kind of small....I can't fit all of them in.
Boy: So you make a few trips.
Girl: Um...well, you know I have to be home by midnight....and my dad checks the mileage on the car....
This type of conversation continued on in the same vein for awhile and then....then, it happened.
Boy: I know that it's really kind of soon but....I love you.
Girl: (still totally unaware that 1. it's NOT her boyfriend and 2. she's on speakerphone) ..........(pause)......Really? Do you mean that?
Boy: No. This is (fill in name here)
Girl: Hangs up phone.
Now, y'all - it was WRONG. WRONG. WRONG. But funny as hell. In order to atone for laughing her ass off, the 'chick did go tell the drummer to collect his phone immediately and call his girlfriend to calm her down.
One week later, the band did another show at a different venue. Yes, drummer and girlfriend are still together. The waiting was a little easier this time because instead of perching on amps and looking for amusement, the 'chick had learned a valuable lesson.
Roadchick and the band went to Burger King instead. It was delicious.
How do y'all wait? How do you wait for things to happen, to wait to find out if something is going to happen?
How do you manage the anticipation or dread?
The 'chick has a situation going on in her real-world life that is involving a gawd-awful amount of waiting. If y'all have been hanging around the Roadtrip for any length of time, you know that the 'chick does not: 1) suffer fools gladly -OR- 2) wait patiently.
Sometimes, it seems like the not-knowing in the worst part. If you can finally get some real facts, dates, information then you can get down to the business of wrapping your head around it and accepting the reality. You know how good (or bad) it's going to be.
Yes, Patient Reader, all of this is very mysterious, Roadchick knows.
But here's your chance to offer advice and opinions to the 'chick:
How do YOU wait?
Y'all, Auntie Roadchick had a story for you but it's going to have to wait.
Why, you ask?
Because, in the span of a two minute phone call from Rockboy, the 'chick went from ready to tell a story to highly pissed off and not ready to tell any stories, except this one.
And, it's not really a story. It's a rant. The 'chick is venting and y'all get to watch.
Why, oh why, on the ONE day that the 'chick could count on coming home after work and staying home and maybe having a wild girlish fling at getting the laundry done, does Rockboy (who should've been home after school) get a ride from a friend to the mall? Now, going to the mall is not necessarily a killing offense but making a tired, cranky, stressed-out mama get BACK into the car and drive 15 miles to the mall to get a teenager's tail home again just might get you killed. He obviously did not think before acting. He did not consult with the tired, cranky, stressed-out mama before embarking on this course of action. He is obviously out of his rabbit-ass mind.
And NCIS is on tonight.
Roadchick loves NCIS.
The chaufferring expedition is going to interefere with uninterrupted NCIS viewing. Someone is NOT going to like the ride home much.
And you can take that to the bank.
And pass the ammunition!
Well, y'all, the 'chick has returned to the land of the living. Thanks so much for all the good wishes.
Now, to prove the theory that no good deed goes unpunished - Redneck is sick. Bless his little heart. The 'chick left him tucked up in bed, phone close at hand, with a cat standing guard.
Actually, the 'chick has been feeling better for a couple of days but work has been absolutely crazy. The 'chick has been on the road, visiting other offices, doing visits, training a new employee, and trying to get some of her own work done. (Getting her own work done = posting something to the blog before everyone thought the 'chick was dead.)
Join Roadchick in the story corner, boys and girls. It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Bice did a post the other day about "Odd Time Religion" and it brought to mind this little story.
A few years ago, Roadchick was invited to attend a church service at a little church up in the hills. Although not a regular church-goer, the 'chick has attended from time to time - just not at this church.
It sounded pleasant enough, so Roadchick accepted.
On Sunday morning, Roadchick put on her Sunday best and presented herself at the church at the appointed hour. Her friends joined her and they all went in together.
The service was moving along nicely - a few hymns were hammered out on the out-of-tune piano - and the congregation boldly sang along. Roadchick chose to lip-synch since she didn't actually KNOW the words (or the tune). (A side-note: Hymns are vastly different depending on which denomination you attend. Catholic hymns are NOT Baptist hymns - not by a long shot.)
After a few announcements (Pancake breakfast, annual parish turkey shoot), the congregation settled in for the sermon.
Brother R.D. did not disappoint.
He commenced with the praying, hands in the air, speaking to his personal Savior. Apparently, it was a good connection and the Savior was answering.
Brother R.D.: Lawd...we're a sinful bunch...sinful....mean....hateful
Brother R.D.: Lawd....You're right...we don't deserve Your goodness...Your mercy....
Brother R.D.: ..........(long pause)..............
Brother R.D.: Lawd, You're RIGHT! (hands high in the air) We must REPENT! REPENT AND BE SAVED! FOR AMONGST US, THERE IS A ......FORNICATOR. AND A DRUNKARD! COVETING THY NEIGHBOR'S ASS!
Y'all, no one moved. No one breathed. No one blinked. We didn't dare. We all knew it was us and any movement would've been an admission of guilt. Roadchick was struggling to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter.
But, just like in that Christmas song, Cousin David knew just what to do. Well, not actually the 'chick's Cousin David...but it was a guy named David....anyway.
David apparently took all of this to heart and there was not forgiveness or contrition in his heart. It's possible that a crushing hangover clouded his decision, but the 'chick is not judging.
David left his seat and headed up the aisle. As he walked, he reached into his jacket pocket (camouflage) and pulled out an enormous hunting knife. When he reached the pulpit, he almost casually put the knife to Brother R.D.'s throat and informed him in a very matter-of-fact voice that he, personally, didn't appreciate his faults and short-comings being brought before the congregation by Brother R.D. when, after all, his sins were his to confess or not, as he chose.
As David gently instructed Brother R.D. on the error of his ways, the little ridgetop church slowly began to empty...one seat at a time. From the back. As quietly as possible. So as to not disturb David. Or Brother R.D.
After a few minutes, David's brother slowly approached the pulpit and began talking to David like nothing had happened. Told him that he always had admired that hunting knife, and where did David say that it had come from again? Would David mind if he just had a look at it for a minute. . . he wanted to see if it would fit in the sheath on the side of his boot.
Amazingly, David handed the knife over, and crisis was averted. No one was hurt (which was a good thing).
Brother R.D. was oddly subdued for a long time after that, people say.
Roadchick would not know. She never returned there.
That Old Time Religion can be a killer.
Due to hideous, unrelenting illness. Those of you that follow along might also have noted that
Michael is also sick. It's his fault that the 'chick is sick. Somehow, he managed to pass a virus through the Innernets. Someone call Microsoft!
Back soon, y'all. Stay healthy!
A couple of weekends ago, the Roadie crew (Roadchick, Redneck, Rockboy, Skaterboy, and Rockboy's girlfriend)(thanks Kim G.!) took in the Monster Truck show at the Nashville Municipal Auditorium. The Roadie crew knew it was going to be a good time when one of the trucks caught fire before the actual show ever started.
This fire should be filed under: Hey y'all, look at this!
Apparently, the truck (the Jerry "The King" Lawler truck, if anyone is keeping score) had developed an alcohol leak, unbeknownst to any of the pit crew. One of the crew members, being conscientious and making sure everything was in proper running order, stepped under the truck to make a final check. With a lighter.
Poof!
Why this particular crew member didn't use a flashlight is not known but the 'chick is willing to bet that in the future, he will.
There was much running around and stamping on flames on the floor and blowing (as in birthday candles) of the flames under the hood. A crew member that still had his thinking faculties intact finally used a fire extinguisher to put out the flames under the hood. Needless to say, this truck did not run.
Monster truck shows are an open invitation for every redneck in the tri-state region to make a roadtrip to the event. It felt like Old Home Week.
While standing on the sidewalk before the show began, the 'chick was hailed from a passing car by a little girl that is the granddaughter of a good friend. It's good to be a star.
After the monster truck show, the Roadie crew decided to go bowling and a good time was had by all.
The only way to have a more redneck day would have been to round out the evening by going cow-tipping. It's a good thing that there is no livestock within the city limits.
The 'chick sent out the call for help and y'all responded. Without further ado, here are your questions and the 'chick's answers.
Fringes asks:
What are your five all-time favorite movies?
This list is always changing, but right now, the 'chick is in love with:
1. Slingblade
2. Chocolat
3. Goodfellas
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's
5. Memoirs of a Geisha
Who are your five all-time favorite boyfriends?
Heh. Tricky question.
1. Redneck, of course.
2. Kid Rock
3. George Clooney
4. Sean Connery
5. Bam Margera (for those cradle-robbing instincts)
Why did you stop talking to your best friend from high school?
She was a bitch. Actually, she accused the 'chick of trying to steal her loser boyfriend. The 'chick had no interest in stealing that genetics experiment gone wrong, but the former BFF didn't believe that.
How do you deal with solicitors at your door? Are you friendly or do you use your rifle on 'em?
The 'chick doesn't get many solicitors anymore. The main reason is because the neighborhood she lives in prohibits door-to-door sales. This does not stop various churches from stopping by from time to time to try to persuade the 'chick that her soul needs savin'. The 'chick gently discourages these pilgrims by inviting them in to see her altar. Since Rockboy usually has some sort of hardcore metal blaring in the background, the faithful usually take this to mean that there just might be a sacrifice of some sort on the altar and decline the invitation.
In years past, in another neighborhood, when the Jehovah's Witnesses were making the rounds, the 'chick would call her neighbor to warn him they were on the way. He would answer the door in his underwear, drinking a beer, and waving his service pistol around (he was a cop). As you can imagine, that also tended to discourage repeat visits.
Never, ever give them money. Ever. Even to make them go away when you have a hangover.
Susan asks:
What's your favorite pick-up line?
Take your pants off and roll over.
Fords or Chevys and why?
Chevy. Always. Forever.
Ford=Fix On Road Daily
The 'chick is a Chevy girl.
No Junkstangs in her garage. Payback wouldn't have it.
If you were on a deserted island, what would you take?
A speedboat.
Do you know the way to San Jose?
Go south, turn right.
What exactly do you think the male in the song "Sylvia's Mother" did to Sylvia that was so bad that her mom wouldn't even let him tell her goooodbbyyyeee?
He was obviously a bum with no money. He never did deposit forty cents more for the next three minutes. Puhleeze.
Bice asks:
How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?
One, two, thuh~ree....crunch...three. It'd be less if it was a liquid center.
What tricks can you do with your toes?
They disappear when the 'chick stands up. (Mother Nature loves the 'chick.)
Tell us about the first/last time you remember wearing a dress.
A couple of months ago, the 'chick had to go to a funeral and came to work in her "going-to-a-funeral-or-possibly-a-costume-party-dressed-as-Calleigh-Duquane-from-CSI-Miami" best. About half the people in the 'chick's office asked if she had a job interview. The other half jokingly wanted to know "who died".
Belly button, innie or outie?
Actually, the 'chick prefers a snap to a button.
Mist says:
I always like it when people talk about me. Other than that, my newest infatuation is with all the new judge shows on tv. I'd like to be on one. Do you wanna try to get on Judge Christina or something?
Um, why? Are you going to sue the 'chick? How 'bout Jerry Springer instead? That way the whole crew of Bloggies can come along to share in the dysFUNction.
Michael asks:
Describe your most bizzare dream.
When the 'chick was pregnant with Rockboy she had a LOT of bizzare dreams. The worst was the dream that there were giant cockroaches living in the attic and they were waiting for the baby to be born. The same dream also included the 'chick's mother as a witch. Which was oddly accurate. Anyway.
Tell us about something you hide IRL (in real life)
Chocolate. It ALL belongs to the 'chick and y'all can't have any. Ditto for the vodka. Oh, and the porn.
If you had one place to vacation without worrying about the cost, where would it be and why?
Great Britain. Because that is actually where the 'chick should be. She has a feeling that her temperment is better suited to being there. Plus, she adores high tea. And gin.
What is the aerial speed of a swallow carrying a coconut?
A European swallow or an African swallow? Flying singly or in pairs with the coconut suspended between them? Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
Sorry. Got carried away there.
Pacian asks:
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, what is that?
About 1.6 million after the lawyers take their cut.
Y'all, the 'chick hopes that this entertained you as much as it did her. Thanks so much for playing along!
The 'chick's got nothin'.
If you have a question or a topic that you'd like to see discussed, post a comment. If there are enough questions, the 'chick will put them together into an "interview" of sorts.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
Up until just the other day, the title of this post was a defining force in the 'chick's life. This phrase is a Roadchick original and should be considered copyrighted, trademarked, and generally owned by the 'chick. However, if it applies to your situation, you are welcome to use it. Please rinse it off and return it when you're done.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
Four little words that defined her state of being after one too many late nights or a wicked bout of insomnia or too many days on the road for work.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
It was the glue that held the 'chick together somedays.
It was her stock answer for when someone would ask how it was going or how on earth she could get 22 minutes of sleep and still be at work, early, gettin' it done before heading out for the evening only to do it all again the next day.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
So, the whole "quit smoking" thing. It's messing up the system. It's got the 'chick down to:
Caffeine and stupid
And, y'all, that's not nearly as funny.
The 'chick was talking to a friend yesterday and he was trying to distract her from her addiction long enough for the full body force wave of pure need that was all she could focus on to diminish. Because the 'chick wanted a cigarette so badly that her teeth itched.
Nice, Patient, Good Friend: So, I had a meeting with the boss and then went to lunch.
'chick: Lunch? Lunch? The 'chick would like to EAT a pack of cigarettes. With a cigar for dessert. And possibly a nice tobacco salad to start.
Nice, Patient, Good Friend: (insert some soothing commentary here that has NOTHING to do with smoking)
'chick: (still obsessing) See, this is why the 'chick never did cocaine. Because she would've liked it and she would've done it until it killed her. The cigarettes are probably killing her but it was so gradual that it didn't matter. Unless instant death occured because she was hit by a truck while rummaging on the floor for a lit cigarette that she dropped while opening her beer.
It's Michael's fault. It all started with the guest blogger thing.
Now, all of a sudden, it's a blog-orgy. Well, never let it be said that the 'chick didn't do what everyone else was doing. Why yes, she WILL jump off that cliff with the rest of y'all!
Everyone loving up on everyone else.
Donkey wrote an entire post including all of his blog crushes. Somehow, the 'chick was paired with someone named Uncle Junior, but hey, actually, that probably really would happen.
Then, the 'chick and Fringes and Susan started an entire smooch-fest over in the corner by the liquor cabinet. Sylvia's mother even showed up. But hey, Love Will Keep Us Together. You've Got a Friend.
Meanwhile, Mist is writing her manifesto and shopping for shoes and drops in for drinks from time to time. She makes all of us feel like we're on the Diva Radar, if only for a moment.
Lest it be said that the 'chick is a cold bitch, let her say here and now:
Roadchick hearts y'all. Every one of you.
Sometimes the 'chick manages to surprise even herself.
In the last post, the 'chick went on (and on) about not making resolutions, too lazy, no dedication, poor follow-through, blah blah blah.
And, this is true.
Except.
See the lazy part?
That is the key.
What key, Patient Reader?
The key to anything at all. Laziness.
It all started about 8:00 p.m. on January 1. The 'chick had smoked the last cigarette in the pack a little earlier.
(This is the defining moment, y'all.)
"Hmm, out of cigarettes. Wish someone would go get some more." (LAZINESS) Since there was no one there to hear that random thought, the cigarette pack stayed empty. And has stayed empty simply because the 'chick is too lazy to go get more.
When you are too lazy to get your own cigarettes, it's entirely possible that you are too lazy to smoke. Well, not entirely. But you get the idea.
The 'chick is working on a World Laziness Federation. Wars would end. Who would fight them? Too much like work! Need to lose weight? Cultivate that laziness and DON'T get up and go to the fridge. Watch the pounds melt away!
Join with the 'chick and embrace your inner sloth! No equipment needed!
