Wednesday, June 04, 2008

Kentucky Update

I'm tarred. I'm not used to 14 hour work days... Yes, that would make me a wuss. My dad used to get up at 3 in the a.m., milk cows till 6 in the a.m., go haul hay for 4 or five hours or any other farm chore that required 12 eggs for breakfast. (No kidding, the man ate a pan of biscuits and a dozen eggs for breakfast to prepare for his day.) And for those of you that haven't had the pleasure hauling hay, it is probably the sweatiest work on the face of the planet. The last time I hauled hay, it felt like I had been kicked in the groin, excepted all over. Kind of a full body crotch kick... or something.

Anywho... that little digression just put a stop to all my plans for whining about working 14 hour days... playing the piano while watching my hot wife dance and sing. Poor little me. Thanks dad. Dangit.

Other than that, I saw a few people today at the Mcdonalds that looked like their foreheads were juuuuuust a tad on the broad side, if you know what I mean. I also talked to a local that just about make me leak in my underoos with his southern wit. "We're just a bunch of hillbillies up her, although we prefer to be called "Appalachian Americans." Southern humor is the best.

Oh, and I get to wear a cowboy hat and a cowboy shirt for the show. The two ladies that came to fit me asked me if I had any jeans. I looked down at the jeans on my lower half and said, "what the heck do you call these?" The taller one replied, "Sugar those ain't jeans." The southern boy in me wanted to return the cattiness with a comment about how her hair was a fire hazard, but then I remembered how darn funny REAL southern people are, and when they give you a verbal lashing, it just means they like you. I laughed and reluctantly agreed. She asked me if I had any Wranglers. I paused and said, "yes." I lied through my city-slicking teeth. They knew I was lyin' but I stood firm against their suspiciously raised eyebrows.

Wranglers are an offense to geometry. Worst of all Wranglers look make you look like you've got a hungry butt because they always ride up your crack and make your arse look three times as big as the good Lord made it. And I don't need any help in that area thank you kindly. The best thing about designer jeans is they sort of hide your butt, or make you look like you've got a butt if you don't have one. It sort of like, "hey, there are the pockets but wait... wait... ooooooh, there's the butt, or is there? Whatever the case, they must work out."

Well, time to turn in. I hope you have enjoyed this update.