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.

From a Thursday Point of View

Nothin' matters but the weekend.

Y'all, Roadchick is tired. Too much work, not enough time off. She's workin' for the weekend - waiting for it to be finally Friday.

No stories, Patient Reader. Unless you want to hear about Roadchick knitting and passing out into a 9 hour sleep each night for the past 3 nights. No? Roadchick does not blame you.

She does, however, crave sleep like a "BLT on fresh French bread" (Merci Beaucoup, mes amis Ya-Yas!)

She'll be back soon, and hopefully with a story to tell. In the meantime, keep the shiny side up and the grimy side down.

10-4

I've Got All My Sisters With Me

Roadchick has had a very busy, very interesting weekend. Let's rewind, shall we?

Friday night, Roadchick went to her best friend's house to hang out for awhile. She was figuring on playing some cards and not much else. But, it was not to be. Best friend's stepdaughter was needing a ride to the other side of creation so Roadchick went along for the ride. Little did she know that on the way back, she would be treated to the East Side Tour.

What is the East Side Tour, you ask? It is a personally guided tour of the East Side of Nashville, led by none other than Best Friend's Husband. The exact details of the tour have escaped her at the moment, but Roadchick does remember there being something about the locations of various donut shops and other assorted establishments that one cannot live without. But, y'all, Roadchick could not hang. It was 10:00 and Roadchick was yawning like a toddler up past her bedtime. She headed home.

The next day dawned with a phonecall from a friend of Roadchick calling her to talk. At 7:15. In the morning. Now, to be fair to the friend, where he was, it was an hour later. And he had been up for several hours because he drives a truck. And he was bored. And returning Roadchick's call from the day before. So she talked to him until the first cup of coffee was consumed and then...got ready to go to Target.

No, Patient Reader, she did NOT go to Target on Friday like she said. She believes in shopping under pressure. So, to Target she went. And snagged baby gear and a gift bag. And a killer pair of shoes. And all the various stuff that she managed to run out of in the 8 weeks since she last shopped. Like shampoo. And lotion. No, she has not gone without bathing, but she did have to break into the travel stash to get her over the hump. So, Roadchick is now re-stocked and ready to go.

The baby shower. Oy vey. Did Roadchick mention that she HATES baby showers? Well, she does. But she went. And was forced to wear a nametag made out of a blue napkin folded into a diaper shape. With her name on it, obviously. Only to find out that it was part of a party game. When the moment arrived, everyone had to take off their nametags and unfold them to see if . . .it was a dirty diaper. Because if it was, the lucky (unlucky?) participant won a door prize. Roadchick did not win. Roadchick is not disappointed. After the gift opening, Roadchick bailed. And headed for Nashville.

Back to Best Friend's house and then to the movies to see Nacho Libre. Cute. Somewhat funny. The line "because sometimes, when you are a man, you will wear stretchy pants in your bedroom" will be used time and again. That's a promise.

After the movie, Roadchick, Best Friend, and Best Friend's husband headed out for drinks. Roadchick had a hard time because her Club ADHD affliction was not indulged and she had to stay stationary for what seemed to be a VERY LONG TIME. But then...Roadchick and posse headed for The Bad Karaoke Bar that was mentioned in a previous post about meeting Cleopatra. Roadchick has not been back to The Bad Karaoke Bar since that fateful New Year's Eve. Apparently, while Roadchick was away, pursuing the offerings of eHarmony and sampling the clubs downtown, The Bad Karaoke Bar has turned into a gay bar.

Roadchick was amazed. She was surprised. And the karaoke? Still bad. No drag queen divas struttin' it for the homefolks. She briefly considered doing some Judy for the crowd and then decided that there was still not enough beer in Tennessee to warrant such action. So, she played darts instead. And the evening did not suck. And Roadchick was no longer bored and wanting to move on.

But, it was time to go. Back to Best Friend's house to watch TV and hang out for awhile longer. And Roadchick was amazed to find out that Hulk Hogan has his own reality show a la The Osbournes. Hogan Knows Best. And Roadchick was entertained. It almost made her wish she had good cable. Almost. But not quite.

There was knitting this weekend also. The Preppy Warshrag is becoming a reality. And if Roadchick gets it together, she might even find a digital camera to take a picture of her masterpiece for you, Patient Reader.

But, just remember, y'all - sing it loud and sing it proud - we are family...

No Riders

Well folks, Roadchick is driving solo at the moment. The Man has a lot of stuff going on both personally and professionally so he's needing a little bit of space. This little development threw Roadchick - she was not expecting it, but it's all right.

So, to keep from unproductive brooding and sulking over the turn of events, Roadchick indulged in a little bit of retail therapy to get her over the hump.

She probably hasn't mentioned it before, but Roadchick is also a Knitter. So, to Stitch&Bitch she went and snagged some Sugar&Cream dishcloth cotton at her favorite yarn store. Yes, Patient Reader, Roadchick is knitting warshrags. They're addictive. They are the crack cocaine of knitting because they're so easy and so fast and oh, so satisfying.

Roadchick admits to stealing the picture below from Sheila, the owner of the yarn store. But, in the interest of keepin' it real, Roadchick's latest excursion into the land of warshrags will be completed in hot pink and lime green with some white thrown in for good measure. Not just warshrags, y'all - preppy warshrags. So prep, they're ready for Harvard.



Picture it, y'all - PREPPY warshrags. GO TO HELL warshrags. Just like your daddy's golf pants.

And, Roadchick also picked up the pretty pink & white yarn she needed to put decorative edging on the bambino sweater she is knitting for an as of yet to be decided bebe. She had a bebe in mind, but right now, she is not sure if the previously designated bebe will get the sweater, mainly because there is another man involved with that (it's his daughter that is pregnant) and he is also a Very Busy Man and very Wrapped Up In His Children And Their Various Activities And Pursuits. So, if Roadchick is feeling generous and the correct phone call comes when the finishing stitches are being put in, then the bebe shall have a pretty pink and white sweater.

And, speaking of bebes - Roadchick has to go to a baby shower this weekend. Roadchick hates showers of any kind be they baby, wedding, housewarming - it does not matter. She LOATHES them. So, on her way home tonight, if she remembers, Roadchick will fly into her local Target and grab some kind of baby gear and a gift bag and be done with the whole horrible project.

And after that? Hanging out with her friends, finally going to see DaVinci Code, eating some dinner, drinking some drinks, and playing some cards. And in her spare moments, knitting. But what Roadchick will NOT be doing is waiting for the phone to ring.

Never, In a Million Years

Did Roadchick think she would be seen at Fan Fair. Never. Well, now it's called CMA Music Festival or something like that, but still. The closest Roadchick got to the festivities was checking people into hotel rooms when that was her day gig.

The Man, however, is a big country music fan. Roadchick likes country music but is not of the fan mentality. Well, she didn't used to be. (See the post about Ronnie Milsap.) In order to spend time with the Man, Roadchick made her way downtown not once, but TWICE during the weekend. On Saturday, Roadchick also took her son and his girlfriend along because another friend's father is a musician and was performing. Chuck Gatlin is an awesome performer and if y'all are ever in Music City and have the chance to see him - do. Even if you have to Mapquest a map to where he's playing.

Roadchick's crew and the Man met up and listened to music for awhile and headed back to Hard Rock Cafe, because, after all, is there anywhere else to eat? Of course not.
The Man had a 4 day pass to all of the events and concerts so when he headed off for the evening concert at the Coliseum, Roadchick and her crew headed for home.

On Sunday, Roadchick and the Man made plans to meet up downtown and hang out for awhile before he headed off for the final concert of Fan Fair. The Man wanted pictures of Sammy Kershaw so he went to take those and Roadchick hung around the gate like the worst sort of groupie - the kind that is too CHEAP to purchase a ticket to the event but still hopes the band notices her. While she was hanging around and trying to look cool, one of the security guys started chatting to Roadchick. Asking her what she was "mixed with". Roadchick, ever the brightest bulb on Broadway, immediately thinks of alcoholic drinks and cut up fruit and lovely mixers. This, of course, made no sense whatsoever. Roadchick, undaunted, moves closer and says..."Excuse me?" The security guy who had cornrows that ended in braids on his shoulders, repeats himself. Unfortunately without clarifying what "mixed with" meant.

No, Patient Reader, do not point out that Roadchick should have figured it out by now, because she had NOT. Finally, security guy explains himself. "Are you part Indian?"

Now, of course, Patient Reader, you most likely do not know what Roadchick looks like. She is blonde. Almost white-blonde. With blue, blue eyes. And reasonably fair skin. She could not look like more of a Viking or German Beer Maid if she tried. Roadchick is NOT part Indian. Not the tiniest sliver.

But, now Roadchick is beginning to understand. (Remember - not the brightest bulb on Broadway.) Security guy is chatting her up. So, Roadchick chats back, explaining that she is pretty much a white girl and the Man is inside the fence, taking pictures. And she is waiting for him to return. Because he is inside the fence and she is not. Because she (sniffle) doesn't have a pass. If she had 5 more minutes, she would have been inside that fence, Patient Reader. Roadchick guarantees it. But, the Man returned and off they went, back down Broadway with the rest of the tourists.

All too soon, it was time for the Man to go to the concert and Roadchick to head home. So, the Man walked her back to the corner, hugged and kissed her goodbye, and headed off into the Fan Fair sunset while Roadchick turned the corner and headed to her car. Halfway down the block, Roadchick saw something hanging from a parking meter. She moved closer, approaching cautiously, not wanting to attract attention to the fact that THERE WAS A 4 DAY PASS HANGING FROM SAID PARKING METER AND NO ONE WAS ANYWHERE NEAR IT except for a group of skater kids that would have scammed the pass just to be mean to Roadchick. This was a sign from Above that she was MEANT to go to the concert.

Y'all, Roadchick got the pass and got her tail on a shuttle bus to the Coliseum. While on the bus, she called the Man. She asked him where his seat was and it was in the nosebleeds somewhere. He wondered why she was asking such a thing. Roadchick calmly informed him that her seat was Lower Level, Row 4. The Man was speechless for a moment and then asked if she had bought a ticket to the concert. Hell, no. If Roadchick was going to buy something like that, she would have had it a long time ago, not 3 minutes before the show was going to start unless she had planned it that way. Scalpers.

Roadchick explained where her ticket came from and the Man was amazed. He met her at the Coliseum after he finished walking there. Roadchick, on the other hand, was fresh as a daisy since she rode the bus. Because, she's a lazy tourist. No extra walking for her if she can help it.

And, on that night, the last night of the festival,Mr. Ronnie Milsap was performing with Los Lonely Boys. Oh. My. God. Roadchick has not the words. She is praying that there will be an album. She wishes she was a big enough dork to have smuggled in a video camera or something. Y'all - it was so worth it.

It was worth it even though she had to walk back across the pedestrian bridge that is 10,000 miles tall and all uphill both ways. In the rain. In flip-flops. And a white shirt. She would do it again in a heartbeat.

And, she would do it again in a heartbeat just to be able to spend that time with the Man.

Because, sometimes? She acts like she is 12.

Whew!

Y'all, it's been a busy, busy few weeks in Roadchick's life. (Which explains the lack of posting - there hasn't been time to write about it since she was out experiencing it! And all for YOU, Patient Reader, for YOU!)

Roadchick has been to Dukesfest 2006. What is Dukesfest 2006 you ask? It is only THE premier gathering of Dukes of Hazzard fans in the world! It is also really frightening to realize that there are that many caution-orange tshirts with the big "01" & General Lee printed on the front. And who knew that you practically needed one to get through the gates? Not Roadchick. She does not own a General Lee tshirt. She still does not own a General Lee tshirt. Toward the end, her resolve was wavering but she escaped without buying one.

And, at Dukesfest, there were 101 General Lees. The cars, not the tshirts. But, people, tell Roadchick if she's right or not - if you've seen one General Lee, you've pretty much seen them all. The same for the Hazzard County sheriff's cars. But, ladies - there was only ONE replica of Daisy Duke's jeep, Dixie. Roadchick knows why this is - the entire world has forgotten the existence of the Dixie. Roadchick knows this is the truth because until she saw the Dixie, she had forgotten it existed.

Roadchick, the Man, and her son took all of this in in about 30 minutes and then headed to the Hard Rock Cafe for refreshments and dinner. Roadchick and the Man were thankful that the tickets had been given to them for free because to have paid for all that Dukeness would have been....silly. There was nothing to actually DO there, other than walk around and look at General Lees.

Yes, Patient Reader, there IS a Man. The Man has been around for about 6 weeks and so far, so good. Roadchick and the Man have a lot in common and like to do a lot of the same things - even down to Club ADHD.

What is Club ADHD, you ask? Club ADHD is the inability to stay in the same club longer than it takes to finish exactly ONE beer. After one beer, one must get up and move on down the road to the next venue. It is permissable to return to an establishment that was entertaining but one is not allowed to remain for longer than one beer because that causes boredom to set in. This could be a match made in heaven. Well, eHarmony heaven. Thank you Dr. Neil Clark Warren.

What else? Allow Roadchick to consult her list of adventures. . .

Roadchick and the Man went to a radio interview of Ronnie Milsap. More precisely, "An Intimate Evening with Eddie Stubbs and Ronnie Milsap". Y'all, let Roadchick just say...Ronnie Milsap is an amazing man. Roadchick knew less than nothing of Ronnie Milsap other than he was a blind piano player that did country music. Roadchick could not have told you a song that he did if her life depended upon it. But, Roadchick has joined the brethren. Ronnie Milsap has converted her.

He was AMAZING. (Did Roadchick mention that already???) He told the audience of about 300 people that he would be glad to stay until everyone that wanted to meet him or have their picture taken with him had had the chance to do that. "Why do y'all think I wore this shirt?" AMAZING. And he was really nice and funny. Oh, and the piano? The man can flat PLAY the piano now. Roadchick was stunned into silence.

The same night that Roadchick joined the Ronnie Milsap Brethren, she also saw Wheatus (of "Teenage Dirtbag" radio fame) at a little small club. That was completely painted black inside. With nowhere for anyone to sit. Although the "management" did provide two barstools for the old folks to sit on. These were considerately placed against the sound booth for maximum vibration to all internal organs. Roadchick was glad to go home afterward. Although, she can now say that she saw Wheatus perform "Teenage Dirtbag" live and in person.

What? You want to hear more about Ronnie Milsap? Stay tuned, Patient Reader - there is another chapter to that story. . .

Where am I?

Menlo
Hoxie
Tasco
Studley
all on US Highway 24
visit Nicodemus or Stockton
keep moving east
or south, to Zurich
or north, to Glade
are there flowers in Bloom?
or hens, in Fowler?
Sun City and Lake City
side by side
vacationers' paradise
in a cold snap
(January, or so)
head north to Coats
and eastward, for Christmas
Partridge and a Pretty Prairie
Eureka! and Climax
10 miles apart in distance
light years in reality or actuality
but comforting to know, only 20 minutes by car
if only:
he'd ask for directions

Do You See What I See?

This is from an email that I received about growing up in the 70s and 80s. You knew you were a 70s or 80s girl if you wanted to be a Solid Gold Dancer when you grew up.

Heh.

There are so many places I could go with this.

Maybe I won't. But don't let me stop you.

I'm (finally) legal

~Proud Moment~

The State of TN...those lovely people....have finally gotten around to sending out the "lovely certificate suitable for framing and displaying prominently upon the wall" that I HAD to have in order to keep working in the job that I have. Since the state said so. Even though my directors love me. A lot.

When did I apply and test for this lovely piece of paper, you're wanting to know? That would be MORE THAN ONE YEAR AGO. Idiots.

By now, you're probably wondering what on earth I'm going on about - in order to be a "support coordinator" (translation: social worker/case manager) in TN, you have to be certified. (No, not certifiable, although I am certainly that on some days.)

In order to get certfied, you have to go through a three month training course at Clover Bottom.....and then have someone from the State of TN Department of We'll Certify You When We Darn Well Feel Like It come and watch you conduct a meeting for an annual plan and a home visit.

Then you wait for 18 months and hope that you actually GET the certficate, because it's all very secret and hush-hush. What happens if you don't pass and get a Lovely Certificate Suitable for Framing and Displaying Prominently Upon the Wall, you ask? You get to try one more time....and if you don't nail it then, you're free to do whatever you want with your life, but not to work as a support coordinator in the Gret Stet of TN.

Anyway. A good time was had by all.

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

Ancient History; or, In Which We Meet Cleopatra

As we join our brave heroine (heroin?!? Have you ever noticed that the word “heroin” is in the word “heroine”? More on that later. No reading ahead.)she is wondering why her boyfriend suddenly lost his freaking mind around Thanksgiving and had essentially abandoned her at the height (the very HEIGHT, I tell you) of the festive season. Well, said boyfriend did manage to make it to the Christmas day festivities at her brother's house. And collect several rather expensive and well-thought-out giftages that various members of our heroine's family had purchased just for him, because her family loves her and wants her to be happy. (Gift bribery, I tell you!) There were several other phone calls during the week between Christmas and New Year's. The villain of our piece told the heroine (now known as Cleopatra, baby) that he had to babysit his grandkids on New Year's Eve. (Shut up. Yes, I'm aware that maybe, just maybe, a man with GRANDKIDS might be too old for me. No, don't say it. Shhh.) And, our sweet, misguided, totally deluded heroine, Cleopatra, believed him and even offered to "help out". He declined her offer because "his daughter was not comfortable with that idea". (Shut up. No, really.) So, Cleo headed out on the town with her bestest friend Beth and her husband, and Dawn (who was having issues with her spouse) and went to the Bad Karaoke Bar downtown for an evening of Southern Rock played by a band that had mastered (!) a whopping 30% of their 20 song playlist. (We know this because 1.} We sat right in front of the amplifier and 2.} Every time someone made a request they were handed a ratty sheet of legal paper with the aforementioned 20 songs and told - "These are the only songs we know how to play." They did NOT mention that "know how to play" included "putting the CD into the stereo in the Ford Econoline van with the rebel flag airbrushed on it". But, I digress.) So, our heroine made the best of a sad situation, being danceless and kissless during the evening and did her best to ring in the New Year with a festive air.

Cleo made her way home without mishap and awoke the next morning, filled with the fresh hope of a New Year, called the boyfriend to extend wishes for a most happy and prosperous New Year. (We use the term "morning" loosely, since it was around lunchtime.) She got the boyfriend's voicemail so she left her New Year's wishes on the machine and went about her day. Her phone rang a couple of hours later and her heart leapt (LEAPT!) with joy, for it was he. (Him? Grammar police, where ARE you??) She answered the phone, dripping with Southern sweetness and holiday cheer. (Patient Reader, this part is known as the defining moment of our little tale.)

When Cleo answered the phone, boyfriend YELLED at her. The conversation is as follows:
Cleo: Hello?
Boyfriend: It's OVER.
Cleo: What?
Boyfriend: It's OVER.
Cleo: Wh..what? (shaky voice)
Boyfriend: Stop calling me. I don't want you in my life. Don't call me, don't contact me at all.
Cleo: - - - -
White Trash Voice in the Background: Tell her why.
Boyfriend: I'm back with Mary (previous girlfriend, who probably rates a story of her own)
Cleo: Ok - - -
Cleo: click of the phone being hung up by her in shock

So, our brave little (shut up. she is.) heroine managed to keep it together long enough to call Dawn, all the while wondering if she was going to die before she could draw a breath because oddly enough, her breathing apparatus seemed to have malfunctioned and she could not seem to remember how to exchange carbon dioxide for new oxygen. She spent the rest of the day at Dawn’s trying to reconstruct what could have happened to her wonderful relationship that was destined (DESTINED!) for happiness. To this day, we still do not have a good answer to that question.

However, after months of silence, boyfriend spoke to Dawn (about another issue because Dawn, being the good friend she is, was busily HATING (!) boyfriend by proxy and engaged in much amusing name-calling and reputation-smearing along with Cleo) and said that Cleo was "tying him down". Cleo and Dawn were confused by this statement, because although Cleo had visions of happiness and bliss, she had never once said the "M" word (marriage) and was always very easy-going about plans and such. She strived to be laid back and non-clingy. It should be noted for the record that boyfriend was the one that had actively pursued Cleo and called her several times a day and wanted to come over 8 days a week and bought her gifts (including several sets of matching (MATCHING!) t-shirts that they would wear at the same time, because, aw! how cute). Anyway. Boyfriend then had the nerve to tell Dawn that he "wanted to be Cleo's friend" but Dawn, being the good, good friend that she is, told boyfriend, "Leave her alone. She's going out with a really nice guy." (Which she is – she may have finally found the prince in the frog pond.)

When this information was relayed to Cleo, she used the immortal words of Kid Rock.
"I had plenty of friends 'fore I met you; I don't need no more."

The other thing, mentioned waaaaay up at the top of this entry when I saw "heroin" in "heroine" is....for some reason (Organic brain disease??) over the past few weeks, I've been seeing other words inside the words I'm looking at. The easiest time I have of doing this is in web addresses. For instance, in
sonicdriveins.com - we see the words dri veins. This has happened with alarming regularity recently. It's amusing, but I have to re-read things sometimes because my brain does not register what I'm reading correctly. This is in addition to a dismaying propensity for adding extra letters and/or syllables to words. I managed to confuse the fire out of our office manager one morning when I asked her to pull up a report for me. I had to stop and walk away and start over a minute later. I also cannot say the term "flat panel" (as in flat panel tv) without saying "flat planel". Curious!

Because, sometimes?

I'm lazy.

Your Linguistic Profile:

45% General American English

25% Dixie

10% Upper Midwestern

10% Yankee

5% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

In Which We Learn to Follow the 5 P's

The eHarmony thing? I've learned something about myself. After answering the same question 40 kajillion times, it gets old and very deja vu. If I have to tell one more man my "3 wishes for the future" or "3 relationship skills that I possess" I may actually fall right off the deep end.

This is not eHarmony's fault. Apparently, I should have already found "the one" and then I wouldn't have to type the same things over and over again. I'm still meeting some really nice guys though and that is why I'm trying to put a fresh spin on what is basically the same answer.

What else?

Oh - the time change. Y'all, this messes me up every year. I woke up feeling all virtuous about being awake at 8:00 on a Sunday, especially after being up until 2 am and then I realized that I forgot to roll the clocks forward.

I was on vacation this past week. Vacationing at home, no matter HOW good they make it look in the ladies magazines touting budget-friendly tips such as stuffing throw pillows with dryer lint or making Halloween costumes from lawn&leaf bags and used meat trays. Y'all, vacationing at home sucks. This was due to my failure to follow the Principle of the 5 P's.

Prior
Planning
Prevents
Poor
Performance

But, I had a lot of vacation days that I had to use up or I was going to lose them. And I have a 16 year old on Spring Break that would have been on the phone to me every 10 minutes all week long wanting to go do something and could I please drive home (30 miles) to give him a ride? And pick up all his friends? And buy them all lunch because they're starving? People, I stayed home.

We did go to Chattanooga one day.....and there are stories there.....and I will share them....soon.

What the....?

So, I had a date tonight with one of the guys that I met on eHarmony. This is the second time that I've seen him and he's a nice guy. The thing that makes me wonder is why would you ask someone out and not give a thought to the fact that it's Saturday night in a reasonably large city and think that you're just going to walk into a restaurant at 7:00? Everything had a minimum of a 2 hour wait. Ok. On to plan B.

We went to the movies. I don't pay a lot of attention to what is playing at the movies but maybe I should start. We wound up seeing Date Movie because it was starting in a few minutes. This is the lamest movie I have ever seen. I don't really like those kind of movies anyway and this was a compilation of every bad date movie ever made from A Big Fat Greek Wedding to When Harry Met Sally and it even had a little Austin Powers thrown in. I admit I was more amused by the previews. I recommend Robin Williams' new movie, RV, when it comes out.

We finally ate dinner after the movie and it was all right. Not anything extra, but all right. When we left the restaurant at Megaopolis Mall, he said he figured he was going to head home AND THEN LEFT ME TO WALK THE MILE TO MY CAR ON MY OWN. I know that I was shaking my head in amazement all the way back to the car.

Guys, please, even if the date sucked - walk the female back to her car, especially at night, especially in the city.

Sheesh.

They like me...they really, really like me

So, I've been doing the eHarmony thing. No, it's not because I'm a sad loser who can't find a date. Well, ok, yes, in a way it is. But, y'all - I work in an office full of women and the single guys that I know are single for a REASON!

I signed up at the end of January and since then, I've been on at least 10 dates and everyone that I've met has been really nice. Have I found my true love yet? No, not yet, but there are some possibilities there. Will you be seeing me in a commercial anytime soon? Who knows? Has it been worth it? Definitely.

But here's the thing - I don't know a damn thing about adult dating. I know about high school dating. I did a lot of that. I know about getting married - I did that a year out of high school. So, my expectations are probably off. I don't know how much contact to expect from a guy that I seem to have hit it off with. If it's not to the serious one-on-one dating stage, how often should I expect to hear from him? I talked to some of my single girl friends and the consensus seems to be: expect nothing and you will not be disappointed.

And - how often does one call a guy? Is it a reciprocal thing? Is it too forward to call guys? Do they feel threatened? I'm sure I don't know so for the time being, I'm resorting to an occasional text message if I think it's been too many days without contact. If there is no response to that, then I just stop. Yes, I know that people are busy and I also know that a lot of these guys are just as confused as I am.

Where are the RULES, people? Someone write out some damn rules and post them somewhere.

And what is up with guys emailing, emailing, emailing; calling, calling, calling - then taking you out - and then....nothing. Now, I understand the "there's no chemistry there" thing, and that's fine. But, lord, y'all - just SAY so. Don't just disappear like Houdini.

All that said, it's been wonderful and if any of y'all are single and having a hard time to find someone to go out with, try it. I've met some wonderful people and it's really made it easier for me to talk to people I don't know since I'm getting so much practice at it.

Brainiac

Your Brain's Pattern

Structured and organized, you have a knack for thinking clearly. You are very logical - and you don't let your thoughts get polluted with emotions. And while your thoughts are pretty serious, they're anything from boring. It's minds like yours that have built the great cities of the world!

What Pattern Is Your Brain?

Which would you be?

Your HARE DAEMON represents your passive,
kindhearted, and honorable nature. Though you
are occasionally shy with new people, friends
admire your unshakable tranquility, even in the
face of chaos.


What Animal Would Your Daemon Settle As?
brought to you by Quizilla

Birthday

Your Birthdate: October 27

You are a spiritual soul - a person who tries to find meaning in everything. You spend a good amount of time meditating, trying to figure out life. Helping others is also important to you. You enjoy social activities with that goal. You are very generous and giving. Yet you expect very little in return. Your strength: Getting along with anyone and everyone Your weakness: Needing a good amount of downtime to recharge Your power color: Cobalt blue Your power symbol: Dove Your power month: September

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Selling to the Lowest Common Denominator

Am I the only one that’s noticed that television commercials are getting incredibly stupid? I’ll admit that I watch a fair amount of television, usually while I’m knitting. I don’t know if my tolerance is getting low or if I’m suddenly more aware or if the commercials are actually that stupid. I suspect it’s the commercials.

I’ve seen this one a few times: it’s the Tampax Pearl tampon commercial where the couple is in a rowboat in the middle of a lake and all of a sudden! the boat springs a leak. Oh my! What to do? Well, if it was me, I think I’d notice a HOLE in the bottom of the boat that looks like someone shot a bullet through it, but hey, that’s just me. So now, Mister and Miss Adorable Couple are in quite a pickle. There is water coming into the boat. The man scrambles, looks for a solution. Girlfriend sits quietly for a moment, considering the problem and then reaches into her tote bag and pulls out an entire BOX of Tampax Pearl tampons. Ladies, back me up here – on a date, got your period, take a tampon or two or even three . . .but the whole BOX? In a tote bag? On a BOAT? A ROWBOAT??? Where in the hell does she think she’s going to have the opportunity to use an ENTIRE box of tampons? Even the boat only has one hole in its bottom. And the next question is – if that tampon can stop an entire LAKE from coming into the boat, why can that same tampon manage to leak while you’re wearing white pants?

Another commercial that’s been annoying me is the KFC commercial where the whole family is gathered around the table, looking at each other the way that you would look at a stranger who sits next to you on the bus when every other seat is empty. Who are these people? Why are they here? What could they want? Wait, Mom is going to explain. We are here for dinner. The family is confused. “Dinner? What’s that?” they wonder. And Mom produces a bucket of KFC. Yay, Mom. The tagline of the commercial is priceless and shows exactly where America is as a nation: “Time for a real dinner, bring home KFC.” So, let me get this straight – real dinner is now takeout chicken as opposed to takeout burgers or tacos or sub sandwiches. I’ll admit I don’t cook dinner every night. There are times when I can only cook once a week – but I don’t think I’ve ever tried to kid anyone that bringing home KFC was like Mom had been in the kitchen all afternoon creating a meal. This slogan replaced the “KFC is Kitchen Fresh Chicken”. Whose kitchen? Not mine. Not yours either, I’ll bet.

Weight loss commercials are interesting too. Every diet program out there, from Weight Watchers to L.A. Weight Loss (does that stand for Lard Ass?) to Jenny Craig all parade these women across the screen in a clingy little number spouting about how she’s lost 83 pounds or 112 pounds or some other wondrous number and in small print it says:
“Results not typical”
What?!?
Then show me what IS typical. I don’t want to see your wonder girl in her wonder bra! I want to see the ordinary people with typical weight loss. I got the chance to meet a typical weight loss customer just this morning. She has been going to L.A. Weight Loss for about 7 months. She has lost around 35 pounds. She’s happy and I’m happy for her. I am not happy for Wonder Woman on the commercial.

The new Burger King commercial is just plain creepy. It’s the one for the “New Breakfast Whopper”. It’s a Whopper, all right at 730 calories. It has two of everything – two slices of egg, two sausage patties, two slices of cheese, two slices of bacon, two pieces of bun, and two paramedics to carry you to the emergency room once you’ve consumed one. The sandwich is creepy enough, but when you throw in a Burger King with a plastic head staring in the window at you while holding out his arms and all the birdies in the sky coming to roost on them – that shit is downright horrifying. I don’t want me no part of that. Uh uh. That’s Alfred Hitchcock food. And for breakfast.

Where are the Budweiser frogs when you need them?

Step Down Meals

Y’all, I have a question for you – if there is a step down system to quit smoking, why is there not a step down system for weight loss? Like the patch. Three different dosages errr. . . portion sizes. Do not confuse this with “stepping” or whatever that wacky exercise thing is where you hop up and down off a plastic platform. I mean step down. I’m talking gradual reduction of food intake. And don’t tell me that I can do this on my own at home. I could be making mattress ticking patio furniture covers too, but you don’t see that happening, now do you???

Today, for lunch, I had a Lean Cuisine meal. Glazed chicken to be precise. I like glazed chicken. I like the rice. I like the lil French cut green beans and mushrooms. What I do NOT like is the fact that there is approximately enough to feed an anorexic 4 year old.

People, do they not realize that we are hungry? That if there is not more food, we will devour candy and chips and popcorn to stave off the 2:00 hungries? That fat people NEED more food? Don't they realize that we've been gorging for years???

Here is what I propose – and remember, you heard it here first and if you see it in the supermarket and my name is not on it, someone (or some corporate entity) stole my idea.

There could be a 3 tiered system.

In tier 1 (for people just starting out) ~ a portion of food that would be considered “normal” by overweight standards. Now, I don’t mean a pound of chicken. I suggest adding more food by adding a ton more vegetables and rice. Give us something to EAT, for God’s sake! Something to make us feel full. Something with some bulk and fiber! And yes, I’d be willing to pay more for this. It’s still cheaper than Big Macs and fries and hopefully, better for me. Plus, I would have all that “eating my veggies” karma to float me through the afternoon. And water. Lots and lots of water.

In tier 2 (as we become accustomed to less food) ~ still more food than a standard frozen “diet” meal and still heavy on the vegetables and rice but less than in tier 1.

In tier 3 (because we’re on our way now!) ~ a regular diet frozen meal-sized portion – because we are adjusted to eating less and eating healthy.

I envy the people that get full on so little. I don’t understand it. I’m trying to re-train my body to think that way but my body is protesting. I know that portion size is really skewed in America and that we are not intended to consume 2 and 3 pound meals. I know that every bite after the first one tastes the same so a taste should be enough of some things. Why isn’t it? It’s like a friend of mine once said – I’m sorry that I’m full because I’m not done eating yet. Why don’t I feel that way about exercising?

Think about it.