Retchin' Gretchen

I like all types of music...so labeling me as a "country music fan" or "rockaholic" doesn't really apply. Bad music occurs in all genres. I'm here today to expound on one of those examples: Gretchen Wilson.

I hate Gretchen Wilson with the fire of a thousand hot suns, or rather, her music and what she has come to represent AND glorify. Once you get past the voice that sounds like its coming from the back of her nose, you get to the message.

"I'm uneducated white trash and that is a good thing. Everyone should have lots of babies with different dad's and live in a trailer park on welfare."

The recent controversy stems from her song (of which I am delighted that I've never heard) "Skoal Ring". She loves chew, and she gets turned on when she tastes it on her man's lips. (Writer pauses while reader fights back waves of nausea.) If she were to tell me she was dating a chemist, I would automatically assume its just some guy who has his own meth lab.

Wilson has come to represent everything bad that people think about country music; the very stereotypes that good country artists are trying to debunk. She sucks...and I can't wait for her 15 minutes to end so she can slip back to obscurity. In fact, I will be very happy when this whole "Trailer Park Chic" fad wanes and goes by the way of the trucker hat.

I'll just stick to the women of country to who still have class and style: Martina McBride, Faith Hill and Patsy Cline. At least these women can actually carry a tune.

PT Cruiser Convention...KC Edition

Being the owner of a PT Cruiser, I was able to attend the PT Cruiser's Club National Convention, right here in my back yard (well, sort of). Friday night, there was a T-Bones game followed by a "Show and Glow". I did not participate in this event seeing how the only thing that glows on my car are the headlights, but I did peruse the other cars...all dressed up for people to see. Some cars had themes...your standard cute junk like Betty Boop, teddy bears and fairies; some college worshippers (K-State and Nebraska), some featured dragons, spiders, and one lady had her car themed with cats...which included a large pair of cat ears on the top and a long tail on the back. Then, some peope abandon all sense and reason and create what I have dubbed the "More Dollars Than Sense" cars. Some guy from Texas had his on hydraulic lifts, spinners, fancy doors that open skyward, plus a Playstation set-up for each passenger...it looked like it came from one of the "Pimp My Ride" shows. Another couple from Oklahoma had their PT equipped car with the same doors, strobe lights and a fog machine. Whenever someone would get to close to the car, the woman's head would fly off her shoulders, spin 360 degrees, and land on back on her shoulders before she would exhale a stream of fire and a tirade upon the unfortunate individual who got too close. Honestly, if you don't want people touching your car...take a page out of real car shows and put up ropes or some sort of barricade! I was hoping for the guy from Texas to win just because the lady from Oklahoma was a real mean cow.

Today, it was hot as all getout. Everyone was showing their cars, a couple vendors were there peddling car-customizing stuff (I relented and had some small flames and a pinstripe added to my car). There was a big raffle, and I won a couple items...something I can give to my nephew for Christmas, a new coffee maker (which will come in handy when Mom comes to stay with me), and some brakelight covers for my PT. After all the booty was given away, we lined up and drove to the Kansas Raceway. There had to been at least 100 PT Cruisers...of many shapes and colors. The wait to get on the track might not have seemed so long if someone would have forseen that we would be roasting, and thought to set up some sort of beverage station or something.

I got to drive around the track on two separate instances. The first was was fun, but I was right behind the pace car, and I didn't get to go as fast as the people behind me. So the next time, I made sure I was toward the back of the line so I could allow some distance to pass between me and the next car...then I floored it. Talk about a rush! I wasn't aware that my car could go that fast, but it held up well, and not once did I hit the wall. I'm not a huge NASCAR fan, and this experience didn't make me one...but if someone offered me the chance to drive a real car around the track without a pace car in front of me...I wouldn't necessarily be opposed to it. :o)

So now I am home. I opted not to go to the awards thing tonight. I was too tired, too dehydrated, and I really didn't care. I think I almost fell asleep in my car waiting for my turn to drive on the track. I got my daybed set up, and I think I will spend the rest of the evening in my nice cool apartment, drinking whatever I can put ice cubes in.

Welcome to my new roomie!

So, my parents have finally found a buyer for their house. They close next month on the 8th, my mother is moving in with me on the 12th until she finds a job down at the lake, or one month...whichever happens to come first as Jerry has given her only 1 month to stay with me. This is fine, I imagine he would much rather have his wife with him than over a hundred miles away.

In the meanwhile, I have been preparing the second room for her pending stay. My new furniture is delivered on Friday. Fun for me.

My mother is very excited at the prospect of "quality time" spent with her only daughter. "We're going to have fun!" she chirps and giggles in such a way that leaves me worried. The last time we "had fun", I had to shell out $25 on the largest straw sombrero with VIVA MEXICO on the front, then half dragging her back to a cruise ship while she is singing loudly about how much she loves tequila. She did wonder where she could find the best margarita in Kansas City, making it sound like a possible quest while she is staying with me. Needless to say, I am concerned.

Any other time, I don't know that I would entertain the thought of having another roommate (being married would be a different story entirely). I tried that back in the day when I was poor and going through school. You have to deal with their habits and such (like having their 11 brothers and sisters over all at once for dinner). Financially, it is a sound idea for a lot of people, and most people can make the roommate situation work for them. I, however, like my own space. I know where most everything is in my apartment, and I never have to worry about a roomie's Neanderthal boyfriend coming over to vegetate on my couch, eat my food, and make really, really retarded comments while trying to sound like their IQ is over 70. Been there, done that, have the t-shirt. It's impossible to set limits when the other party is paying half the rent, as some of my more unfortunate friends have discovered.

On the up side, my mother has hinted at the possibility of Mom-Cooked Meals...of which I currently only get on holidays. She might also be handy for cleaning and walking the dog. Not to mention I can show her some really neat places in the area, not to mention assist her in her quest to find KC's Most Perfect Margarita. She will need someone to drive her.

But I draw the line at buying another sombrero.

Ahhh...the people you meet!

My friend Kristi and myself have been known to go out late at night. Being both night nurses, we do stuff so we can stay up late, usually on a night before we have to go in and work. This makes sleeping during the day more easier, and it is just something fun to do. Our usual activity is going to the Brass Rail to play pool. The Brass Rail is a nice place...only 75 cents a table, very clean, and the food is good. Kristi is rather good at playing pool. I suck something awful. Out of 10 shots, I might have one or two good ones, and I could never play on a regulation table because they are roughly the size of a football field...but this doesn't dissuade me from my dream of being a pool shark someday. Anyway, we go, have some nachos, some sodas (hers usually spiked with the Captain), she kicks my butt in pool, and we always attract the biggest dorks in the entire establishment. Last night being no exception.

So, our table is next to the jukebox...which happens to be playing every crappy country song on the planet. Our table also is next to one where two guys are playing, I am guessing to be in their late 40's, early 50's. One is short, flashy and loud, the other tall, quiet and wearing a pink shirt. Inevitibly, the flashy one meanders over and wants to play doubles. The pink-shirt guy and Kristi play as a team, and of course, I get the loud one. Pink-shirt guy is Mensa, a graduate of West Point, and most importantly...plays in a pool league. Loudy owns his own business and is more focused on bragging than he is playing. Predictably...we lost every game. You know the type...he measures his success in life by what he owns and who he knows. He spent a lot of time dropping names, apparently hoping to impress. Neither Kristi nor myself care. Pink shirt guy keeps quiet, maybe he is embarassed to be friends with such a weiner.

Inevitably, conversation turns to our profession...registered nurses with a level one trauma center. Loudy then expounds on why we shouldn't treat "them". Those inner city crack heads that shoot themselves...Loudy thinks we should just let them kill each other off, and he even suggested that we should help. This launched Kristi into a long tirade with the guy, who apparently saw things in terms of "us vs. them"...us being people who had money, and them being everyone else who didn't. Us also being everyone who was white, them being everyone else. I was waiting patiently for Kristi to haul off and bitch-slap him, I was actually hoping for it. Pink-shirt guy is just remaining quiet and playing pool. Eventually, it was just him and I playing because the other two were in heated discussion. Pink-shirt guy felt sorry I sucked to bad at pool, he eventually just started giving me tips. As for his opinion of the night's topic of discussion..."Garbage comes in all colors".

Apparently, it also comes with different sized bank accounts.

The garbage comment was kind of iroinic because it turns out pink-shirt guy owned a garbage hauling business in my old hometown. I guess you couldn't find a greater authority on trash. I almost asked him if Loudy was someone he found on a route...but I thought better of it.

Loudy said he would never come to our hospital beause of the patients we saw. Kristi and I decided that was probably a blessing in disguise because we wouldn't like to take care of someone like him. We would do it, though, if it came down to it because if it were my family member laying in that bed...I would want someone to take care of them, without giving thought to race, creed, socioeconomic status or otherwise. I may not like what my patient's do in their life...but at the end of the day, I don't have to answer for it. As long as I know I've done the best I can do, I can sleep at night...or during the day.