Happy 80th Birthday, Willie!

Today is my man Willie Nelson's 80th birthday.

Seriously?  If I am lucky enough to live to be 80, I'd be thrilled to be able to do half the things he does now.

He still plays over a hundred shows a year.  He releases at least one, and usually more studio albums every year.  He has his own biodiesel company.  He is an activist for green living, the environment, and  *cough*marijuana*cough*.  He is a staunch supporter of farmers and American farming.  He founded Farm Aid.  That hits me close to home.

He is one of the most prolific American songwriters of our time or any other, having written such classics as Crazy, Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away, Angel Flying Too Close To The Ground, Family Bible, Hello Walls, On The Road Again, Pretty Paper, Yesterday's Wine, Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain, Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys, and Good Hearted Woman, just to name a few.

By age seven, Willie Hugh Nelson (I named my mustang after him, by the way) had already figured out what he loved to do, and he has been doing it every day of his life since then.

If that isn't the definition of success, I'm not sure what is.

Willie is a singer, a songwriter, an activist, and an icon.

He's the very definition of old-school, while still managing to keep up with and even exceed the times with his attention to and focus on green living and the environment.

He's my absolute favorite singer/songwriter of all time.

In honor of his 80th birthday today, I'm going to share with you some of my favorite Wille songs and performances.

Some are old, some are new, but they are all my Willie.

Happy Birthday, old man.  Here's to many more.

Yard Sale Drinking Game

Every year for the past oh-my-god-I-don't-know-how-many years I have had a yard sale to rid my house of the large amounts of junk that breed here while I sleep and/or am passed out.  Every year, I BEG you people to tell me "NEVER AGAIN!" and "TAKE IT STRAIGHT TO GOODWILL!" and every year you disappoint me, just like you did last year and the year before.  But that's ok, I'm resourceful, and I found a way to deal with it much better this year, thankyouverymuch.

Welcome to the Yard Sale Drinking Game, Day 1.  I'm mj, your hostess.  The rules are simple.

1. Any time someone says "Hot enough for ya?" take a shot of tequila.
2. Any time someone says "How ya like this rain?" take a shot of gin.
3. Any time someone says "How much ya want for this?" about something that is clearly priced, take a shot of whisky.
4. Any time someone tries to buy something that is clearly NOT for sale (like your car, your lawnmower, or your kids) chug a beer.
5. Any time someone asks for something randomly specific, like a set of 1976 Encyclopedias or a motor that will fit a Bissell 66T61 upright vacuum, take a shot of vodka.
6.  Also, if someone buys today's mystery item, which is this whole box of Elmos (don't ask.  Please, god, don't ask):

 drink an entire bottle of liquor of your choice.


7:20am:  Ok, time to set up.  Of course, it hasn't rained here in 8 weeks, but it's raining buckets today, so I'll just set everything up in the garage.  It's a change of plans, but I can handle it.  Plus I have plenty of time since I didn't advertise the start time until 8am.  Oh, here's a car.  And another.  Oh, hello 14 old people.  No, you come right on in.  Yes, you're early.  Yes, it sure is raining hard.  (2 shots of whisky, 1 shot of tequila, 7 shots of gin)

10am:  Sure, lady you can sit in my car, but first you have to buy something.  Ha ha.  No, really, I'm not joking.  Ok, sure, thanks for your business.  No, go ahead.  It's unlocked.  Just don't drive off in it.  Oh, you're just going to sit there in it and make "VROOM VROOM" noises?  Oh, alrighty then, I'll just go back over here to my liquor stash.  (chug a beer, take 2 shots of tequila just for the hell of it)

12pm:  How much for the Elmos?  You mean the ones that say "Elmos $1 each" on the box?  Hmmm, there are probably 15 of them in the box, so how about $25 for the whole box?  Oh, you wanna talk me down to $20?  SOLD!!!!  One box of Elmos sold to the man with more tattoos than teeth!  You, sir, have bought today's mystery item.  Oh, it doesn't really mean anything for you, but I'm pretty excited about it.  (drink a whole bottle of gin)

1pm:  Oh, hello sir.  Oh, you didn't see my signs?  Hmmm. I'll have to check on that.  Oh, it's because you have a bad eye?  Ok.  Oh, yes, yes I see your new eye that the VA got you.  It's very... nice.  Very nice.  I had no idea the VA did eye transplants.  No, I think it's wonderful that they got you a new one, really.  You know what?  Why don't I just GIVE you this lamp?  Here, I'll help you load it in your car. No, really, I saw your nice new eye the first 6 times you showed it to me, so I don't need to see it again.  Oh, ok, one more time then.  (there's not an "I don't want to look at your new body part replacement" category.  Drink whatever's handy)

2pm:  I am DONE for the day.  Now I get to do it all over again tomorrow!  (drink all the liquor that's left, which ain't much, then call RJ to make a stop at the liquor store on his way home from work)



Yard Sale Drinking Game, Day 2:  The rules are simple.

Actually, you know what?  Screw all the rules.  I'm just gonna fill up this here big ole Sonic foam cup with an adult beverage and call it good.   We do need a mystery item for the day, though.  How about this sweater:

What IS this sweater?!?!?  Where did it come from?!?!?!  It is a pink and green
Christmas sweater, and that is so wrong, and so ugly, and so bad.  I don't
understand this sweater?!?!?  Why is it even in my life?  WHY????????

So day two commenced, and day two ended, pretty much in a hazy drunken stupor.  As it should be.  I have very little ACTUAL, FACTUAL recollection of what happened that day, but at the end of the day when I woke up, I was several hundred dollars richer and I wasn't entirely sure what had transpired.

You know, just like how I think prostitutes feel.

And THAT, my friends, is the right way to have a yard sale.

Folding Towels

For the first eight or so years of my life, I didn't realize that bath towels should be folded.

See, here's the thing.

My Mama, who was the single hardest working person I've ever known, just didn't do things that didn't have any sort of actual practical purpose.  So in the midst of working on the farm all day, taking care of all four kids, working as a waitress to make ends meet, and doing laundry, cooking and keeping house for us all, some things were deemed, I assume, unnecessary.  Like folding towels.

The towels were washed every day in one of these:

Then hung on the line to dry.  

After they were dry, Mama would bring them inside and unceremoniously shove them into the largest cabinet in the bathroom, where they would all be used and dirtied again by the next day so she could do it all over again.

Folding them was never even on the radar, until my oldest sister went off to college and came home that first weekend all full of high-falutin' stories of classes, professors, new friends and folded towels.

It seemed so foreign and fancy, this towel folding business.   I mean, really, what was the point?  They were all going to get used in just a few hours to dry someone's butt anyway, so why spend all the time putting them into neat little squares?

But my sister was adamant that this was how the rest of the world lived, so my Mama gave it a shot.  Results were mixed, to say the least.  It never really became a strength of hers, and I guess it was part of my legacy.  

Some things I learned from my Mama were how to make really good biscuits and gravy, how to make dressing from scratch, how to paint a room without taping a single thing, how to can, and how to sew, but I never, ever really mastered the art of towel folding.

For years I folded them exactly into quarters, no matter the size of the towel.  After RJ came into my towel folding life, he did some sort of complicated "fold it once lengthwise then into thirds" maneuver that I have never quite mastered despite my best efforts, and I even went through an unfortunate "rolling" phase once when I saw a picture of some in a magazine, but unlike some things that just come naturally to me that I learned at a young age, like using baking soda on a bug bite or sting, I just never really got my towel groove.

I took a load of towels out of the dryer the other day, and after I folded them I realized that every single one of them was folded differently.

So I Googled it, and it seems like everybody has an opinion, even Oprah, but opinions vary wildly.  I even wasted minutes of my life watching several YouTube videos about it, and I'm still not sure what right looks like.

So what do you think? Quarters? Rolled? Lengthwise first? Surely this is a skill that someone out there has mastered.  Please share.  

My linen closet thanks you in advance.

UPDATE:  My bloggy friend Janet over at Monkey Business has provided this fine photo essay on how towels SHOULD look after being folded.  Thanks Janet!

On Rick Springfield, barbed wire necklaces, goldfish, and school fundraisers.

One day a couple months ago, RJ's dad called him.

"Hey, how would you guys like front row seats and meet and greet passes to see Rick Springfield?"

Ummm, lemme think about it for like .675 seconds.

"Yes!"

At this point, I was already humming "Jesse's Girl" under my breath and planning what to wear with my hot hooker boots and secretly hoping that Ricky might fall in love with me, just a little, and maybe write a song about me and I was already thinking that "Bobby's Girl" had a nice ring to it when I heard RJ, who was still on the phone with his dad, say "Oh, well I guess we can't go then.  That's the same date as zj's school's Fall Festival."

Well, damn.

RJ and I don't always agree on much everything, but the one thing we always agree on, so much that we don't even have to discuss it, is that the kids come first.  Always.  Even if it means I don't get to become the next ex-Mrs. Springfield.

Since I couldn't, ya know, have a life-changing experience with Ricky that night, I did what any other crazy Mama with aspirations of taking over the PTO would do.  I signed up to volunteer at one of the booths.

My assignment came, and I was scheduled to work the sand art booth from 6-7pm.  Piece of cake, surely.

The night of the Fall Festival arrived, and after a quick moment for me to mourn the loss of meeting my Ricky, the entire J family piled into the car and took off.

To give you a little background here, let me just say that zj's school would be considered a rural school.  And that's on a really, really good day.   Most days, I think, it would be considered a redneck haven or possible a white trash mecca.  As a girl with a little, ok a LOT of redneck experience, this doesn't concern me at all, but RJ is usually a bit taken aback at first whenever we walk into these situations.  Plus, since I've gotten away from the redneck lifestyle a bit over the years, so it usually takes me a few minutes to re-acclimate.   It had been a LONG time since I'd seen that many wallets on chains, Confederate flag shirts and people openly chewing tobacco in one place.  Well, since my last family reunion, anyway.

We checked things out, let zj play a few games, and then RJ agreed to take the boys to get something to eat while I worked my stint at the booth.  As I was walking away, I turned around and joked "No blue hairspray and no goldfish, please."

This is what is known to you literary types as FORESHADOWING.


I got to my assigned station a couple minutes early.  It was one little round table, a shitload of colored sand, some funnels, and it was piled three deep with kids.

"Um, I'm here to work?"  I said to one of the two people who was working the booth.

"Oh, thank god.  Here's the extra sand, here are some funnels, and here are the things they can choose from to fill.  It costs four tickets.  Have fun!"

And with that, she took off toward parts unknown.

The other grown-up there, presumably a teacher, said, "I have to leave in a few minutes too, but I'll be right back."


Famous last words.

She also took off, never to be seen again, leaving me with hundreds of kids who all needed help getting their funnels into the little openings of their necklaces or bracelets or whatever so they could overfill them with colored sand - "Why isn't there any more pink?  I WAAANNNNTTT pink!"  "Suck it up kid.  Life's full of disappointments.  You'll get used to it.  Just look around." -  and then unsuccessfully close the tops so the sand spilled out all over the cafeteria floor, making the whole area look like some sort of weird psychedelic acid-trippy beach.

THIS is why I'm not a teacher.

At 7 on the dot, my replacement showed up, and I gave her some basic instructions, but because I'm THAT person I couldn't just abandon her, so I stuck around for another 45 minutes just to make sure she could handle it.

When I finally walked away - "Are you SURE you can do this last 15 minutes by yourself? The teacher promised she would be RIGHT back.  She should be here ANY minute now."  - to look for my family, this is what I found:

One with rainbow-colored hair.

One with blue hair.

Some lovely prizes - because nothing says school fundraiser like neon orange barbed wire jewelry and four wheel drive tattoos.

Oh, and one more thing.  

Well, actually, there are TWO of them.

One for each kid, or course.

My liquor store.

I live in a wet county that is surrounded by several dry counties.

This has absolutely nothing to do with the weather.

For you people who actually live in the world and haven't heard of this concept, this is what it means.

The county I live in sells liquor.  There are liquor stores.  You can buy a case of beer at the gas station.  You know, it's like... civilization.

In the dry counties around me, this is not the case.

There are no liquor stores.

You can't buy beer.  Or wine.  Or vodka.  Or gin.  Or tequila.

Bootlegging still exists.

When a wet county exists in the middle of several dry counties, there are usually a plethora of liquor stores.  This is certainly true in my situation.  Directions to my house include the phrase "Go over the bridge and past all the liquor stores," and everybody knows exactly where I'm talking about.

It's high class out here in the boonies, y'all.

Anyhoo, I picked MY liquor store early on, based on a couple things.  1) It was on the side of the road that prevented me from crossing the street and/or making a left turn - because I HATE to make left turns - and 2) It has a drive-thru.  As the Mama of two very active little boys who could do a shitload of damage in a place full of glass bottles, I appreciated the option of pulling up to a window and placing my order.  Also, they always had suckers there for the kiddos, because who would go through a liquor store drive-thru unless you had a carload of kids, right?

What I didn't count on was was the fact that the lady who is ALWAYS on drive-thru duty, 24 hours a day, six days a week (liquor stores are still closed on Sundays out here in the wild, ya know, because of God) would stay drunk at work and would be largely unable to fill any order that was more complicated than "a case of Bud Light, please."

I occasionally get a wild hair and try different tactics to see if she will be able to do something crazy like, I don't know, sell me a bottle of wine.  Last week, I thought that if maybe, just maybe, I went early enough in the morning, right at opening time, that she perhaps wouldn't be too drunk to help me buy wine without getting out of the car and dragging my kids inside the place.

Lazy and entitled.  That's me.

I pulled up to the drive-thru and waited patiently for her to come to the window.  Minutes pass, and she finally woke up and opened the window.  Uh-oh.  She had recently moved into Hangover City, from the looks of her.

"Good Morning," I said cheerfully.  "I'd like a 12 pack of Bud Light Lime in the bottle and two bottles of Oliver Soft Red wine."

Blank stare.

"A 12 Pack of Bud Light Lime in bottles and two Oliver Soft Reds, please."

Blank stare.

"A 12 PACK OF BUD LIGHT LIME IN BOTTLES AND TWO BOTTLES OF OLIVER SOFT RED WINE!" I screamed.

"PLEASE!"

Something switched on in her alcohol-soaked brain, and she started moving around.  First up, she pulled out a handful of suckers, which she thrust at me, then she turned and wandered off in the direction of the beer.

She came back toward me with a case of beer, clearly cans, and no wine.  She then put it on the counter, grabbed a second handful of suckers which she passed out the window to me, and started to ring my sale.

"Um, excuse me?  I'm sorry (I really wasn't.  I don't know why I always feel compelled to apologize to  other people when I tell them they're wrong.) but that looks like cans.  I asked for bottles.  And also, my wine?  The Oliver Soft Red?"

She reached down under the counter and I saw my life flash before my eyes as I envisioned a gun coming up and pointing at my face and OH MY GOD I'M TOO YOUNG TO DIE!  I DON'T EVEN HAVE A TATTOO YET!  handed me a bunch of doggie treats.  Um, ok?  Thanks?  My kid will love these?  I guess pet owners use the drive-thru, too.  Then, once again without saying a word, she turned and wandered off toward the beer.

She was back relatively quickly with what appeared to be the correct beer.  And still no wine.  As she started ringing it up, I prompted gently, "Um, my wine?'  Her response once again was to wander away without looking up.  She came back with two bottles of wine that she immediately put into a paper bag.   We finished our transaction smoothly, I declined more suckers, and I was on my way.

When I got home, I put my beer in the fridge and took the wine out of the bags.  It was Oliver Soft White.  Whatever.  Close enough.  Also, and somewhat inexplicably in my bag I found several Slim Jims which I had not paid for.

So here I sit, drinking my white wine, eating a free Slim Jim and tossing doggie treats up in the air for the boys to catch in their mouths and bring back to me.

Tomorrow, I'm planning to go back through the drive-thru to get some rum.

I can't wait to see what I come home with this time.

Perfect Fried Green Tomatoes. You're Welcome.

When I was a kid, we always had a garden.

I grew up on a farm, and I remember the rows and rows and rows of corn, tomatoes, squash, watermelons, green beans, onions, lettuce...

A typical meal might be green beans and new potatoes, corn on the cob, fried green tomatoes, and cornbread.

Yum.

I could still eat like that every day of my life and be perfectly happy.

Well, except for the days I want Hibachi.  We didn't have that on the farm.

Since I made the transition from farm girl to full-fledged SUV driving, capri-pant wearing, cookie-baking suburban Mama, I've tried a couple times to grow some vegetables.

The first time I planted two tomato plants that were promptly eaten by squirrels.

The second time I tried to create my own version of raised beds in some old tires and thought I might have something going on there until wild blackberry bushes grew up all around them and I couldn't get to them for several months and forgot all about them till the fall when the bushes died and I found one giant mutant squash that was bigger than the tire it was growing out of.

Suburbia, my ass.  It's a jungle out there.

I've given up - for now.

Now I buy my fresh vegetables from an old guy with no teeth and no shirt who sets up a stand on the side of the road and charges $5 for three tomatoes but it's totally worth it and I forgive him because he always has mums for cheap in the fall, and since I kill plant several of those every year it's a fair trade-off.

Well, except the part where he doesn't wear a shirt.  Ain't nothin' fair about old-guy belly.

Anyway, I stopped the other day and got some green tomatoes, and came home ready to cook and eat them all.

Except I'm apparently a failure in the kitchen.  I was out of flour.  And cornmeal.  Both of which I needed.

So anyway, I embraced my inner farm girl and did what we do best - I improvised, I used what I had, and I succeeded.

These were by far the best fried green tomatoes I had ever made.

WHAT YOU NEED:
2-3 green tomatoes
1 box Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix
1/2 cup Bisquick
1 1/2 teaspoon salt, divided
1/2 teaspoon black pepper
a couple dashes paprika (ok, you don't really need this, but it gives the whole recipe a certain "I have lived in the world and met a spice that is not salt" flair, doncha think?)
Canola oil for frying

WHAT YOU DO:
Slice the tomatoes and put them into a bowl.   There is a definite art form to this.  I prefer my green tomatoes sliced somewhere in the 1/4 inch thick range.  Any thinner, they burn.  Any thicker, they don't soften enough in the middle.  Use a ruler if you have to.  Or not.  After your tomatoes are sliced, cover them with water and add 1 teaspoon of salt.  Let them sit for at least 30 minutes to an hour.  Sometimes I do this step a day ahead.  You can cover them and put them in the fridge, then they're ready whenever you want.

After your tomatoes are finished soaking in the salt water, mix the corn muffin mix, Bisquick, salt, pepper and paprika in a gallon sized ziplock bag.  Drain the tomatoes and shake off the excess water, then toss 'em all in the bag and give 'em a good shake or three, till they are all coated.   Take them out and lay them on a baking sheet or similar, and let them sit for at least 20 minutes.  There is probably some scientific reaction happening at this point, but all I know is if you skip this step and go straight to frying, all your breading will fall off in the oil.

After at least 20 minutes, heat your 1/2 inch of oil over medium heat in a deep skillet, then fry them up, a single layer at a time, until they are golden brown.

Drain on paper towels.

Eat them, fresh out of the skillet while standing over the sink, between two slices of white bread like God intended.

No, really. I'm pretty sure it's in the Bible somewhere.

I heard he was run out of town...

Back row: Proctor (my grandfather), John, Charlie, Henry.  Middle row: Cora, Elsie.  Front row: Franklin and Mary Jane, my great grandparents

I don't know a lot about my ancestors.

As a late in life baby, all my grandparents and a lot of their contemporaries were dead long before I was born.

I have always been curious about those who came before me, and I admire people like my friend Jennifer who spend hours in cemeteries and libraries tracking down obscure birth dates and names and details that would otherwise be lost.

Most of the stories I know about my father's family I heard from my Mama, who heard them from my Daddy and his sisters over the years.  I'm not even sure where I got the picture above, and I probably wouldn't even know who they were, but my grandfather (Proctor, the tall one in the back on the left) looks so much like my Daddy it takes my breath away.

But as best as I can tell, my Daddy's family was a colorful bunch.

Looking at the picture above, I can kinda believe it.

Then last week out of the blue, some random distant cousin who I don't even know sent a five page history of our family to another of my cousins, who shared it with me.

Combined with some of the stories I heard from my Mama, here are some things I know about my great grandfather (Franklin, seated, left).

• He was a farmer and his wife was a homemaker.  
• In the 1920's he sold tobacco for five cents a pound.
• He helped build the Addison Dam, which was located near Stephensport, Ky in Breckinridge County.
• He once saw Frank & Jesse James while visiting Central City, Ky.
• He was born August 25, 1866 and died April 22, 1947.
• He was married on January 1, 1900.  Happy New Years!
• He was a known womanizer.
• Once there was some trouble involving either a) a woman or b) a stolen horse or c) both and he was either d) almost hanged or e) run out of town.

Take your pick.

Looking at the picture of him there, I can believe any or all combinations of that story.  He just looks like he was up to no good, doesn't he?  

Also, for some reason when I look at this picture of him, I get a feeling that he was someone who had a sense of humor, liked to have a good time, and probably never, ever needed to borrow any trouble.

But that's just my mind filling in the gaps, I guess.

So on this Father's Day, I'd like to give a big ole shout-out to my great grandfather, Franklin Marion Allen.  Although I never knew you, I suspect some part of you still lives on in some part of me.  

And although I can't be certain, I also suspect that it may be that little bit of a mischievous streak I find in myself from time to time.

Yep, I think that might just be it.

Bluegrass Cellular Heartland Festival 5k - with Redneck playlist!

I ran another little 5k last week.

Loads of fun.

I wonder why, even though races always seem like torture, I'm constantly looking for the next one?

But this was just a little 5k, just a few minutes from home, and it seemed like a good idea.

The highlight, for me and for the 600+ people who got to experience HIM, was that zj also ran.

For real.

Yes, he's five.

No, he didn't train.

Yes, he finished.

Yes, it was his idea.

No, I didn't make him.

Yes, he was the youngest runner (by two years).

But even though he made MANY fans along the course (RJ ran with him, it's not like we just put him out there alone), and even though I'm one proud Mama, let's get back to ME, shall we?

Here's how it happened.

On the way to the race:  I'm all set.  I'm going to run the entire race to the Footloose soundtrack.  No more rednecky music for me.  Uh-uh.  No way.  This music is upbeat, and fun, and I think it will be perfect 5k music.  Except... maybe I'll just add this one Loretta Lynn song.  And maybe some Tanya Tucker.  And I'm in a bit of a Conway Twitty mood this morning... Ohhh... and some Oak Ridge Boys, too...

Starting Line: On the playlist: When I Die, I May Not Go To Heaven by Tanya Tucker Well, I guess the drawback to running races near home is that you see a ton of people that you recognize but don't really know.  Oh, hi, vaguely familiar and somewhat generic lady with brown hair.  *smile and slight head nod*  And hello to you, random guy who is either the guy who works the window at Chick-Fil-A or the anesthesiologist who gave me a spinal before cj was born.  *nodding, eye contact*  Ah, here we go!

On the playlist: Van Lear Rose by Loretta Lynn  Oh. Dear. Lord. It's freakin' hot.  But not hot enough to say, take off my shirt like that bear guy.  Seriously dude?  You might want to Nair that shit up.  

On the playlist: Trying To Love Two Women by The Oak Ridge Boys  Ok, this is going pretty well.  I'm running fast, making great time, feeling good.  Wowza.  I rock! I am an excellent runner!

Mile One - On the Playlist: Tight Fittin' Jeans by Conway Twitty Ok, this is NOT going well. I started too fast, I have a stitch in my side, and IT. IS. HOT.  I suck at running.  Why am I even here?  It's not even 8 o'clock in the morning, and I'm out here sweating like a whore in church and in a reasonable amount of pain.  Only crazy people do this kind of thing.  Oh wait... I remember now...  Hey, is that guy running SIDEWAYS?  Why yes, yes he is...

On the playlist: Ten Rounds With Jose Cuervo by Tracy Byrd  Ok, that's a much more reasonable pace.  I'm sure to finish by, say, NOON if I can keep this up.  But at least I'm keeping up with that little girl over there.  Awwww... how cute.  She can't be more than nine or ten, and she looks so determined.  How sweet that she's so focused even at that age... HEY! She's passing me.  It's ON now, bitch.

On the playlist: Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter  Whew.  Ok, I passed her.  Snippy little thing.  Who does she think she is, anyway?  Didn't her parents teach her to respect her elders, and to get out of the way when they elbow you pass you?  

On the playlist: Stand By Your Man by the Dixie Chicks  I know this isn't an affluent community or anything, but seriously?  This water from the water station is HOT.  Like, fresh out of the coffee pot hot.  If you can afford water, you can afford ice, people.  Ok, mj, focus on being grateful that you even get water...  Oh, screw grateful. You?  Yes, I'm talking to you.  Go get me a margarita.  Frozen.  Extra salt.

Mile Two - On the playlist: I Walk The Line by the Los Lonely Boys  Oh look, it's Sideways Guy again.  And... he's still running sideways.  But now I can see that it's so he can "coach" that woman through her race, if by coaching, I mean yelling.  And if by race, I mean barely moving.

On the playlist: Jose Cuervo by Tanya Tucker Ok, Sideways Guy.  Give her a break, will ya?  Your woman friend or whatever she is clearly isn't as fit as you, and clearly would like to cut you from groin to nose with a rusty knife.  Let up on her a little bit, ok?  Your constant chant of "Pick it up, PICK IT UP PICKITUP!" doesn't appear to be incredibly motivational to her.  Also, judging from the look on her face, if you happen to live with her you might want to sleep with one eye open tonight.  Just a little advice, dude.  From me to you.

On the playlist: If You're Gonna Play in Texas by Alabama  Hey, there's that little girl again!  I thought I completely incapacitated was well past her by now.  What are you trying to prove, girlie?  Ok, I didn't want to make this ugly, but have you ever pissed off a hot, sweaty, tired redneck before?  Yeah, life lesson time... 

On the playlist: Drinkin' My Baby Goodbye by Charlie Daniels  Almost done.  My time totally sucks.  I'm hot, tired, and grumpy.  Hey!  I just realized that I don't have anything on the race calendar for July.  I'll have to start looking as soon as I get home...

Mile 3 to finish line: Footloose by Kenny Loggins  See, I totally ran a whole race listening to something that's not rednecky country music!  Oh, wait... Hmmm... Well, anyway, I wonder where my kid is?

Super special big shout-out to the fine folks running the race for totally rigging the door prize drawing so zj could win.  I will love you forever for it. 

Yard work as a performance art.

I really enjoy yard work.

I know, insanity.

I  also really enjoy country music.

Again, insanity.

When I can combine the two, it's a little slice of Heaven.

Also, for some reason, every single time I head outside to mow, my neighbor - not the bitchy one, another one - a guy I don't really know, 'cause he's pretty new to the street, decides to mow his grass, too.  Immediately after I start.  Every single time.

The importance of all of these seemingly unrelated things will become clear in a minute.

Last week when I went out to mow, iPod in hand, I was joined quickly by my neighbor guy, who just decided, right then, to mow his yard, too.

Whatever.  I'm a trendsetter.

We did our usual nod/smile/kinda-wave-with-half-your-hand thing, then I hopped on the mower, cranked up the iPod, threw in the earbuds, and started to mow.

I did my usual 'round the house pattern, which was matched in a mirror image by my neighbor guy.  His yard isn't quite as big as mine, but I was going faster, so pretty much every time I was at the front of my house, so was neighbor guy, but going in the opposite direction.  At this point, I...  HEY!  I LOVE THIS SONG!

*Singing at top of lungs*


I said the night you left me,
Nothin' worse could ever happen,
But seeing you with someone else proved that I was wrong.
And when your eyes met mine,
I knew that you were gone forever,
Along with all the reasons , I had for hanging on. 


Waving at neighbor guy.  Wonder why he's going so slow?

I always thought that someday,
We might get back together.
I just thought you needed time to spread your wings and fly.
But when I saw the lovin' way,
You held onto each other,
It was all that I could do, not to break right down and cry.


 Hmmm... He's totally stopped now.  Hope he's not having trouble with his mower...


I'd be better off in a pine box,
On a slow train back to Georgia,
Or in the grey walls of a prison doing time.
I think I'd rather die,
And go to hell and face the devil,
Than to lie here with you and him together on my mind.


It must not be trouble with his mower, because he's laughing.  Hey!  I think he's laughing at me.  OH SHIT!  He can hear me.

Um.. what to do?  Do I play it off as cool, and keep going, or do I stop and address this and be done with it?  What would Chuck Norris do?

 So I stopped.

At this point, he's at a full-blown, rolling on the ground belly laugh, the likes of which I haven't seen since watching Talladega Nights while consuming two bottles of wine and a six pack of Miller Light.  "oh we, we go together like cocaine and waffles." "... absolutely ma-am, I would love to sign your baby ..."  

Anyway, back to the story here.  Focus, people.

Me: "Uh, hi.  I guess you heard me singing, huh?"  I'm super cool when I've been caught acting like a crazy person.

Neighbor Guy: "Yep.  It's ok, though.  I like country music." *wipes tears of laughter from eyes with hem of t-shirt, exposing large round flabby white belly* "That's Johnny Cash, right?"

Me: *Uncomfortable laughter* "Actually, it's Doug Stone."  And clearly you don't know ANYTHING about country music, so stop pretending you do.  Poser.  You are now dead to me.  Ptuah.  "Well, I guess I'd better finish this up.  Have a good one."   Loser. 


So I hopped back up on my mower, cranked it up, and popped my earbuds back in my ears.  Next up, Deana Carter.

*Singing at top of lungs*

He was working through college on my grandpa's farm 
I was thirsting for for knowledge and he had a car 
I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child 
When one restless summer we found love growing wild 
On the banks of the river on a well beaten path 
Funny how those memories they last 

I still remember when thirty was old 
My biggest fear was September when he had to go 
A few cards and letters and one long distance call 
We drifted away like the leaves in the fall 
But year after year I come back to this place 
Just to remember the taste 

The fields have grown over now 
Years since they've seen a plow 
There's nothing time hasn't touched 
Is it really him or the loss of my innocence 
I've been missing so much 

Like strawberry wine and seventeen 
The hot July moon saw everything 
My first taste of love oh bittersweet 
Green on the vine 
Like strawberry wine 



Take THAT neighbor guy.

The asshole probably thinks it's Dolly Parton anyway.

Yeah, I just ran a mini marathon. My feet could star in a zombie movie. With redneck playlist!!!

So the running bug bit me a while back and it bit HARD.   I'm not an especially good runner.  My form is bad, my pacing is poor, my toes are black and look like they have been stepped on by an overweight elephant.  Also, I'm not really at a training level to run a mini-marathon.  Oh, and my feet... My poor, battered feet...  I am currently missing a toenail, am about to lose another one, and only have two that aren't black or bruised.  I have feet issues.  Serious ones.  But whatever.  I'd post a picture, but I don't want to run both my readers off.  It's ugly.  Maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I'll tell you all about my most recent shoe fitting, which led me to wear a pair of brand new, un-broken in, untried shoes for my longest race ever,  but for now, let's focus on the race, shall we?

Anyway, I signed up for, ran (mostly) and successfully completed this little mini, feet be damned.  Here's how it went down:

Starting Line - on the playlist:  Harper Valley PTA by Bobbie Gentry  I always wonder about the women at these races who have to get up at least three hours early to tease and/or otherwise bouffant their hair and carefully apply their makeup.  That woman up there has AT LEAST half a can of Aqua Net on her beehive.  That shit is going to melt once she starts sweating.  Hey!  Why is she in a faster corral than me?  Oh, here we go!!!

Mile one - on the playlist:  Van Lear Rose by Loretta Lynn  Ok, I wanted music to start that would help me pace myself, but... this song is so SLOW I'm practically running backward.  Hmmm... these shoes aren't feeling too great.  Actually, my left foot sort of seems like it may explode soon.  Hey Will, 5:30 Asics Pace Runner, do your really thing dropping trou and going pee in the middle of the race while a pace group is following you is a great idea? Ok, I guess you do.  Carry on, then.  And I kinda need to pee, too.  And what's that weird smell?

Mile two - on the playlist:  I Don't Want To Get Over You by Norah Jones and Willie Nelson  It's my man Willie's birthday today!  Love ya Willie!  Aw... isn't it sweet that the band kids are playing for us?  But could you crank it down a notch?  I'm trying to listen to Willie here.  And... my left foot is REALLY going to explode now.  It's ok, I didn't like that foot very much anyway.   Hi Mr. Policeman.  You are doing a good job keeping the traffic from crushing us on these side streets.  I appreciate that very much.  I'd appreciate it more maybe if you weren't the THIRD COP IN A ROW who was either playing Angry Birds and/or texting your wife/girlfriend/both on your iPhone.  I'm on to you.  I have an iPhone, and I know what it means when you hold it sideways...  And I REALLY need to pee.  And I STILL smell that smell.

Mile three - on the playlist:  I Feel Lucky by Mary Chapin Carpenter   Hmmm... this isn't the best neighborhood, is it?  Damn, my foot hurts.  Anyway, you adorable pit bull, you... you just stay on that side of the chain link fence, ok?  I really don't feel like being bitten today.  Unless maybe you could gnaw my left foot off.  Then it might be ok.  Hey, is that a hooker passed out on that porch?  Also, I'm thinking about peeing on myself.  REAL runners do that, right?  That smell... not going away.  What could that possibly be?

Mile four - on the playlist:  You're the Reason Our Kids are Ugly by Loretta Lynn and Conway Twitty  OMG IS THAT A PORTAPOTTY LINE?  I'm totally stopping...  8 minutes later... Whew, that's better.  I can totally do this.  Well, I could totally do this if my left foot weren't about to explode.  Ok, and that smell keeps getting worse.  And worse.  Are we near a dog food factory or something?  Oh... I think I figured it out.  I'M THE SMELL.  It smells like teen spirit up in here, y'all.  And it's bad stuff.  

Mile five - on the playlist:  Tainted Love by Soft Cell  Not.  Feeling. Well.  Nauseous.  Foot. Hurts.  And how the HELL did that song get on my playlist?  Maybe I'll step over here for a minute... My sincerest apologies go out to the members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and/or their groundskeepers for any vomit I may have left near your building.  I can assure you that it is in no way a reflection of how I feel about your fine organization.  

Mile six - on the playlist:  Lyin' Eyes by the Eagles  Ok, I feel better, except for my left foot.  And I'm not sure that will ever be the same again.  Did that Grandma in front of me just Jump. Up. In. The. Air. And. Do. A. Leprechaun. Heel. Kick?  Why yes, yes she did.  Go Grandma.  Right now I hate you with a passion that is indescribable, you and your show-offy heel kicky 70 year old feet that work properly.  Bitch.  I think I'm going to step over here to the side and maybe do a quick amputation.  Or maybe I'll just take my sock off and try running without it...

Mile six point one - on the playlist: Did I Shave My Legs For This by Deana Carter Alrighty, the no sock thing was a bad idea.  Guess I'll get out of traffic and put that sucker back on...  My left shoe, however, I think I can do without. 

Mile seven - on the playlist:  Mind Your Own Business by Hank Williams Jr.  Hi Old Guy.  You must be Gene, since your shirt says "Gene's 38th Mini Marathon."  Either you're Gene, or you rolled Gene in the parking lot and stole his shirt.  Yes, I know I'm carrying my shoe.  Yes, I know it's a bad idea to wear new shoes on race day.  Yes, I understand that the same thing happened to you back in '78 in Memphis.  No, really I don't care.  Gene, I appreciate your wise words and witty anecdotes and all, but I think I might move on over to the side and put my shoe back on.  No, no, you go on ahead.  I don't want to hold you up.

Mile eight - on the playlist:  It's A Great Day To Be Alive by Travis Tritt  Great news!  Now my left foot is completely numb, so it no longer matters if it explodes.  Except exploded foot is going to be Hell to clean out of those shoes before I return them... Hey!  Is this Churchill Downs we're running through?  Awesome!  Also, the smell of horse piss is stronger than the smell of ME, and also considerably more pleasant.  Hey lady?  Why would you stop in the middle of a race to take pictures?  Don't you know you can buy a postcard?  Whatever.  Cool!  Beer tents.  I'm gonna be over there asleep under that pallet of Bud Light Lime if you need me.

Mile nine - on the playlist: Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker  I love this song.  It's one of those songs I just can't help but sing along to...  Oh, what are you looking at, lady?  It's a good song.  Besides, you are dressed like a middle aged, overweight Wonder Woman.  Clearly drawing attention to yourself is something you know a little bit about.  These people who stand out here and hand out water to all us thristy folks are awesome, but this group from Walgreens is the only group who is keeping the cups and bottles and other trash picked up along the way.  Clearly, being of the retail sort, they are used to picking up after other people.  And... my foot hurts. 

Mile ten - on the playlist:  One More Last Chance by Vince Gill Why are all the people around me congratulating each other?  We have THREE.  POINT.  ONE.  FREAKIN'. MILES. LEFT.  That's a 5k, people.  There is a more than even chance that SOMEBODY will drop out past this point.  Like me, maybe.  Wonder how that works?  Do I just raise my hand and ask to be excused?  Get a hall pass, maybe?  Or do I just go sit down on the side of the road and a bus comes and gets me in a few minutes and takes me to the gladiator ring with all the other losers and we get fed to the lions?  Hmmm...  I should have researched that a little better.  I hate being unprepared.  Guess I better keep going.

Mile eleven - on the playlist:  The Church on Cumberland Road by Shenandoah Seriously?!?!?!  Do you guys really think a mini-marathon is a good place to come on a getting-to-know-you date?  Also, dude, I'm pretty sure a line that starts with "I've made lots of bad choices in my life..." is NOT the way to guarantee a follow-up date.  And honey, you are way cute, but you are a hot sweaty mess right now, and your ponytail, which was probably all cute and perky this morning, is all higgledy-piggledy and askew.  You really don't want a guy to see you like that until after the third date.  And... my foot cannot possibly still be a functioning limb at this point.  That's ok, though.  I'll just get one of those super duper replacements like the Bionic Woman has.

Mile twelve - on the playlist:  Bye Bye by Jo Dee Messina One mile and change to go!  At this point, it will be easier to finish than to quit, because of the car is parked pretty close to the finish line.  Smart thinkin', huh?  Hey, is that Austin Powers up there?  Dammit.  I must be dehydrated and delusional.  Nope, that really is some yahoo dressed like Austin Powers.  Also, maybe I'll just get a peg leg and become a pirate, since my left foot is going to fall off soon.  Pirates are in right now, aren't they?  I'd hate to be a pirate if they were so last week...

Mile thirteen - on the playlist:  Beer for My Horses by Toby Keith & Willie Nelson There are two free drink tickets in my pocket calling my name.  After I finish this #&!@*$# race, I will drink beer.  And eat.  Possibly a whole cow.  With a couple chickens and a loaf of bread on the side.  And a pizza for dessert. And maybe a bottle of wine.  Or three.  Oh, and ice cream... Right after I throw up again... 

Finish Line - on the playlist:  Ready to Run by the Dixie Chicks  I can see the finish line!!!  I'm running FULL OUT!  Ok, maybe not.  How about moderately paced?  Anyway, surely the 10,000 people or so standing around the finish line aren't done already.  Yep, they're done already.  Including all those folks over there who are actual marathon runners.  They've run twice as far as I have, plus they've all had time to cool down, dry off, grab a bite to eat, tell a few funny stories, and... OH WHATEVER.  I'm done!  I did it!  And I got a freakin' medal to prove it.  Hey, why does my medal say "Wal-Mart" on it?


And here I am a couple days later, happy I did it, proud I finished, sore, tired, and planning how to do better next time... and there will be a next time.  


Actually, it's kind of like being pregnant.  It sucks and you're miserable the entire time, but you forget quickly enough, and do it all over again, because the rewards are worth the pain.


So, here's to the Derby City Marathon in 2012. 


I'm thinking by then, I'll be ready to run the whole damn 26.2.