Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I still want my turkey leg.

Because I didn't eat one....I had to find one online. best. google. find. ever.

So...I know I have been gone for a while but I have had some time sucks on my life that have happily distracted me a little bit from blogging, but fear not, I am back and with a vengeance. Today is the last day of Moustache May so that time suck will recede, and hopefully, I will have more time for my first priority, writing and entertaining you fine people. [Tangent: Judge away for my participation with friends on a website that celebrates month long ironic facial hair...you will never understand the awesome. Need proof?]


Besides participating in the above ballyhoo this fine Memorial Day weekend with some of my favorite 'stached enthusiasts, I also did something I have always wanted to do, but never done. I went to a Renaissance Festival. [Tangent: I am not what you can a larper/Ren fest kinda gal. It is in no way my scene...but I love festivals, people watching and food tents- so it seemed like the mother ship was honing me in.] I am not sure if it lived up to my lofty expectations, especially considering the "Sorry, We're Out of Turkey Legs" signs that were hung on every food tent, but I did learn some valuable lessons that I would like to share: 

Lessons learned at The Tennessee Renaissance Festival:

  • Fried Oreos are like crack and magic kinda awesome. As a chunked out middle schooler, I am sure I dreamed of a funnel cake/oreo hybrid...and now, as a thinner adult, I know this mystical thing to be a reality.
  • Its completely appropriate for you to tart up your child in fishnets and high boots with the caveat that you are "in character"
  • Ren fest enthusiasts are not AT ALL body conscious. There were multiple points in the day where I had to double take a woman in a midriff top, wondering if they had given birth to triplets hours earlier. Usually her stretched out Tweety Tattoo was an indicator.
  • Pirates and Klingons apparently had some part of the medieval lifestyle...at least according to the costumes I saw roving around in the woods [Tangent: It seems some just hit the Party City day after Halloween sale and chose to get the most out of their clearance purchase.] 
  • Nothing can beat an adult male in a full Link costume.
  • Camel rides were available, which leads me to believe Jerusalem was annexed into the European Rennaissance period. 
  • It detracts a bit from a period costume when the wearer has a yard beer in their right hand and a pack of Basic ultras in their left. 
So basically, long story short...I marked the Ren Fest off my bucket list and got some tan, so all in all Win/Win...but I still am craving a turkey leg .

I will leave you with one last mythological present:

Thursday, May 19, 2011

awash in a sea of 'stache.

Its a Wednesday in East Nashville, and I am wearing a fake moustache and getting down to some righteous early 90's R&B jams....that makes for the beginnings of an interesting story.

How did I get to this karmically awesome place? Since becoming an official Moustache May lurker a couple weeks back, I have enjoyed copious amounts of ridiculous moments and awkward guffaws.  Last night was no exception- at the Nashville area Mid May Moustache Meet-up [Tangent: Gentlemen with ironic facial hair apparently love alliterative phrases.] My friends (new and old) arrived at The Edgefield after I ate some mash up of waffle fries, cheese, guac and awesome at Rosepepper Cantina. We were unfashionable early so we helped secure a table with the two gents that made the evening possible. The bartenders were all be-stached with faux facial hair and even the TVs in the bar area were adorned with full moustachioed regalia. Everyone knows I love a ridiculously executed thematic gathering- so of course, I was eating it up.
why does this exist?

Within about 20 minutes, distinguished gents started filtering in two by two and the more drinks embibed determined how energetic a greeting they received, although it was usually some variation of "Hey, Moustache!"  Making things more fun were the specialty shooters: the "cookie duster" and "moustache ride." Excuse me, waiter....I think I'm ready for a moustache ride. How many times in your life will you get the opportunity to say that? [Tangent: If you answer : often, you have found this site in error.]

At some point, I was told that The Edgefield had previously booked a DJ specializing (....wait for it...) in New Jack Swing. [Tangent: Apparently nowadays, DJ is a loose term. If you have a MacBook pro and an extensive Itunes collection, you can be a disc jockey at a bar. Within these confines, I could be a disc jockey. If only there was a market that would enjoy my schitzo bluegrass/90s alterna/showtunes/folk/powerpop megamix with a smattering of Billy Joel. There isn't. It's a party of one.] Once the Bobby Brown and Boyz II Men started, I was a lost cause and moustaches took a backseat to my utter revelation that I knew every word to every song playing, even recognizing the lyrics to this long lost gem:



Although this mixture of rad songs from my middle school mixtapes and facial hair was just a coincidental booking- to me it was genius and ridiculous. As I lip synced along to En Vogue and watched my male friends totally nergasm as they gossiped Moustache May, discussing the intricacies of waxing, hair growth and staging photos- I was reminded of the magic of this month. [Tangent: I can only compare the level of devotion of these fellas to that of men that participate in fantasy football/baseball/hockey etc.  I showed my sister some of the pictures from "photoshop friday" last weekend. As she looked them over she just said, "wow, some people have too much free time." To me its not a waste. Some people garden...some play the harp....others grow a swanky stache. Choose your poison.]

Unfortunately, I am an 85 year old woman inside and remembered that I had to leave early because I had a buzz, a low tank of gas, a murky idea of how to get outta East Nashville and a big girl job to tend to in the morning. Luckily, upon arriving at the office today, my co-lurker, Alicia, recounted all the ballyhoo I had missed, making me excited for the "Stache Bash" at the end of May.

And apparently I missed glamour shots. Dammit. I will have to photoshop myself in at some point... ya know....when I have some free time.



So to recap, ain't no party like a moustache party because a moustache party don't stop.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Cicadas: not so buzzworthy


For the last month, all I have been hearing about is the re-emergence of the 13 year cicadas in Middle Tennessee. If you are not a local, you may be questioning what the hell you are about to read about, but cicadas are bugs about the size of a date [Tangent: I really am bad at size comparisons clearly because I think dates are nasty.] with red eyes that make a nails-on-the chalkboard screech as they hurdle through the air. Cicadas are a bit "hit it and quite it"- they come out, mate and then lay their eggs underground to come out in either 8 or 13 year cycles. (learn more about it on this site that my friend and follower Jessy worked on.)

To me, it's a bit mind boggling Wes Craven or John Carpenter hasn't jumped onboard a horror movie franchise. I mean I have seen worse film concepts (see below):



Being a native, as soon as I realized this was "the year", I started having Nam-style flashbacks of changing classes outside in high school and having douche bags classmates shake the trees as ladies passed, which caused a swarm of black winged demons to be released en mass. I also have faint memory of little Kimmie not wanting to go outside and play because their carcasses were covering the patio. [Tangent: At the time of my first cicada run-in, I was scared E.T. and 99% of the Showbiz Pizza gang, so anything with the tiniest ounce of a creepy factor made me throw a grand mal freakout.]


However, now I am am old, and I LOVE the weird, creepy and scary...I would welcome the temporary novelty of cicada invasion. To my dismay all my cicadas in my backyard were kind and courteous and more often heard than seen. I see friend's posts on facebook and twitter detailing their run-ins with the bugs and I hate to admit I felt a little left out. 

Maybe its the fact that I have been "hermitically" sealed in my house for several days trying to keep allergens at bay [Tangent: By the way....I am healed!] or the fact that locally, we have gotten a hella lotta rain and had cold temperatures, but I have only seen one measly living cicada (and it was very polite). Is it weird that I am slightly disappointed by this? Likely...but I never claimed normalcy. 

Friday, May 13, 2011

a smooth criminal


Its Friday, and I feel like a sack of vomit, [Tangent: Don't worry fair friends that know about my last illness. This is nothing. This is a like a bee sting. Just a teeny tiny wee little virus that has made me have the cough of a 40 year smoker and the voice of a pre-op transexual. Other than that- I am the bee's knees...I promise...no collapsed lungs...I'm good. OK?] so despite feeling the urge to breakout and do things, I am sitting around watching Criminal Minds off the DVR and picking the chewable Amoxicillin tablets out of my teeth that the doc perscribed this morning. [Spoiler Alert: They taste like moldy Pez....not as delicious as Ricolla honey-lemon cough drops or ol' school Dimetapp.]

Since I have moved back in with my favorite 60-year-old housemates (Mom and Dad), I have become very accustomed to the programming aimed at their demographic [Tangent: Because of this I actually am interested in the fact that Ashton Kutcher is going to replace Charlie Sheen on 2 1/2 Men because I will likely watch it at some point....my parents lap that show up.] because my episodes of US of Tara and Bored to Death are consistently being recorded over by marathons of NCIS or CSI: Whatever or Law & Order: Yadda Yadda or Bones or Criminal Minds. The latter of which, I actually kinda love and willingly watch marathon style.


Because I love this show, I allow myself not to nit-pick and dwell a couple key issues I have with it.

Issue 1: I really only like the Mandy Patinkin episodes, mostly because with Joe Montegna as the chief narrator, I only hear the voice of Fat Tony from The Simpsons. It's distracting mostly because I am crazy.

Ex 2: Although I love  Garcia as the wacky tech expert character, she also sometimes makes me go "hmmm...." Because my parents have barraged me with ensemble crime dramas, I find her strikingly similar to the gothy chick from NCIS.


Trust I don't let these two issues bother me too much, mostly I only have eyes for one gentleman on this show. No, not that sweet chocolately Shemar Moore or that Dharma and Greg fellow. No, I love me some Dr. Spencer Reid.

That's right- the nerdy fella with the penchant for cardigans old timey glasses and unpredictable hairstyles is basically the reason I started watching the series. [I can sense the judgement beginning.]



Other than being held captive by murderers and cult leaders played by two of my teen idols [Luke Perry and James Van Der Beek respectively.], Wikipedia describes him as socially awkward and possibly having Aspergers. Sure he's kinda skinny and weird and occasionally talks like a robot, but he's SMART!  I question this crush regularly, especially when I admit it to someone and they look at me puzzled and say, "Really, that guy?" But I could care less, he's so dreamy. [Tangent: Show of hands....how many of you think this tacky, ultra-photoshopped (and obviously produced by a 14-year old) should replace pictures of my dog, Newman, as my computer's wallpaper ?]

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

bonfire bon voyage and some culture shock


On Saturday, some of my oldest and dearest friends from high school got together and gathered 'round a bonfire to eat hot dogs and drink adult beverages and play some rousing games of "would you rather?"- but the real intention for Saturday evening's festivities was to bid bon voyage to my friend Ty, who left for Afghanistan this week. [Tangent: It has been forever since I have been to a good quality bonfire and it was perfection. Although, I am pretty sure the inhaled concoction of smoke and deep woods Off! has angered my allergies. Oh well, you live ya learn.]  My friend Ty joined the Army about 4-5 years ago, after she had graduated college and started a career- kinda the opposite of the way most people do it, but she has always been the gal to go against expectations.
this is my visualization of what Ty looked like in combat in Iraq- very troop beverly hills
I jokingly refer to her as Army Barbie because all through college, she was the one that was always put together with full makeup and hair perfection, and she didn't love the fact that occasionally my conversation topics veer into farts and dick joke territory. [Tangent: This is not to say she is a prissy bitch, OH NO! She will cut you. That's the lovely thing about my friends.] However while at the bonfire amid the barrage of questions about all aspects of her near future (from hair color to food)- she raised an interesting cultural taboo that I was unaware of: People in a many Middle Eastern countries don't use toilet paper! [Tangent: Despite always living in Middle Tennessee and never having left the country even while owning a legit passport, I consider myself a cultured gal. As a child, I subscribed to National Geographic: World after all. The fact that something this huge could completely fly under my radar unsettles me.] It's not that people in many cultures substitute toiler paper with something else (a napkin, a paper town, a Kleenex, a post-it, an old t-shirt), no third party in brought into the clean up- the left hand is used. Ty even said that she offered some locals her roll of Charmin and they looked at her as if she was insane, "why would I wipe off my hand with your crazy paper?" She didn't explain to them that it was indeed a buttwipe barrier and not a disposable hand towel.

I am in no position to judge any other culture, especially given the US's ridiculous celebrated obesity epidemic, so I will just say that this news is fascinating to me. 
potty humor and puns. magnifique.


I was a little in disbelief, and kinda thought some people had lied to my friend as a way of hazing her Army style, but no: I confirmed today per my friend Tyler, a teacher in Saudi Arabia, that indeed hand wiping is "a thing" in many cultures. He concluded that many bathrooms in his neck of the sand were consistently swampy and water-logged due to bathroom-goers hosing off their hands post poop. Consider my mind a bit boggled.  

 










Before you get all judgey and weird and high-horsey, please consider that this is not the rule across the board, but is just an aspect of their culture. There are likely things about the US that other countries find illogical.



Monday, May 9, 2011

I am my mother's daughter


Anyone who has ever talked to me for more than 5 minutes knows how much I love my mother and father. They both have this special brand of undiagnosed insanity that gets me from day to day. They are so much more than family, they are my roommates after all.

For mother's day, I told my mom that I would write a blog about her...it was an offhanded comment but a comment that made her start crying [Tangent: To put it mildly, my mom is not afraid to feel feelings. She always cries... at everything from Ellen giveaways to parades. I even once caught her sobbing watching Khloe and Lamar getting married on Keeping up With the Kardashians.] This mushiness gene is something I love about my mom, and for quite some time, I have thought my tin man sensibilities meant that it had skipped a generation. However lately, I have come to realize that I am shapeshifting into my sweet mama. I did turn into a bag of goo the other day when I saw this commercial...



Then I took mom to see Water For Elephants on Sunday, and from the Polish spoken in the opening sequence- I was gone. Giant ugly tears all over my face. I kept looking over at my mom sitting next to me and kept thinking of her Polish mama that I never got to meet. My mom's parents died when she was barely a teenager, so all I know of them is distant stories, but I know they were amazing because they made her.

I may be a little biased, but seriously anyone that has ever met my mom loves her and considers her a surrogate mother without being in her periphery for 5 minutes. With 85% certainty I can say, my friends are only using me as a means of getting to my mother. This is the woman that taught me all the words to King of The Road when I was 7 and still gives me and my siblings (ages 28-36) an Easter basket every year. She is so unbelievably funny and without question is the most hilarious person I have ever encountered.

Over the course of 2010, Mama and I definitely went through a lot together including both of our little brushes with death (Ex A and Ex B). It will definitely take some time to forget the way it felt sitting in the hallway outside her hospital room after seeing all the doctors in nurses rush in not knowing what was going on, or the way it felt when I opened my eyes and she wasn't there. I love her with every corner of my heart and know the feeling is mutual. There is no way to repay her for the times I have made her worry, the grilled cheese sandwiches she has made for me or the millions of legendary hugs. I thought the best thing to do would be to rip off my friend Sam, and thank my mom for the many things she has passed on to me:
  • My mom gave me a love of projects, which is most of the reason I became an advertising major. Whenever I was assigned a school diorama or book report, she would help and we would both always get very carried away and stay up too late making log cabins out of sticks or salt maps of Tennessee topography.
  • My mom taught me how to be frugal...when I was little she used to give me a penny for every coupon I clipped
  • My mom instilled in me the merits of practicality. I remember when I was little I really wanted Chuck Taylor All-Stars, but since I don't walk on my shoes, they were never something my family spent a lot of money on....so she cut the tongue tag off an old pair belonging to my sister and glued it onto a knockoff pair she bought me. I loved them.
  • Every Halloween was a big deal in my family. My mom always made our costumes...and she still kinda does...I mean she gave my 30-year-old sister a kick ass Snooki pouf last year.
  • She has passed on a love of hot dogs. I swear I still think a could tell you at least 10 happy memories that revolved around hot dogs. She has also taught us not to be pretentious, obviously.
  • I still say for the most part me and mom have very similar taste in music. If Simon and Garfunkel were still cranking out tunes- I would have their poster on my wall. 
Basically,  long story short- I love you ladybug!
that's right...elton john! Look how excited we are.

Friday, May 6, 2011

moustache may I?


So...I have previously stated how much I appreciate a good beard, but what about the sweet creepy cousin of the beard- the moustache? [Tangent: Apparently that is how the moustache enthusiasts spell it, but mustache is what spellcheck deems correct...go figure? Apparently Bill Gates is not a facial hair aficionado.]  Previous to about a year ago this month, I can't lie I was a little leery of this breed of facial hair configuration. It's a look that I had always identified with 1970's porn stars and 1980's Nascar drivers (and maybe 1890's train robbers.) However, a year later- I am born again in the church of 'stache and came away with a true understanding of how magical an above the lip strip can be- all it took was Moustache May.

to me, ol' Sal would be Moustache Mayor everyday.
Last May, my friend, Binkley, undertook the month long creative photo project helmed by this website, and allowed me to be involved. He must have recognized my ability to take the ridiculous very seriously. [Tangent: "Involving me" basically means that I foisted my my insane ideas upon him or I lent him access to my puppy or  feather boa. Since I don't have a penis or the ability to grow stubble (thank god on both counts), I wasn't an active part of it.] Coming up with crazy concepts was a fun bonding activity for me and B and it was interesting to be on the outskirts of such a bizarre fraternity of facial hair. It was touching to hear my friend get so excited about his unorthodox new hobby. The need to spread the joy was imminent, so I involved my one of my best friends, Alicia, in my admittedly creepy dedication to checking the site. [Tangent: I know this seems tragically lame and a waste of time that I could have spent feeding the hungry or organizing sack races to fight Lupus...or something of that nature, but my love of a good internet time suck is fierce. Also, the site has made provisions for this kind of activity, so it can't be that unusual. Those admirers and 'stache respecters male and female can sign up as lurkers. This year, you bet your moustachioed ass that I have a lurker profile....because last year I was just unofficially lurking, which makes me more of a creeper. My logic is sometimes like a silly straw, but to me being an official lurker seemed more kosher.]

Sabotage homage.
Almost daily, over the course of May 2010, Alicia and I would email and text each other commentary, trading notes on our moustache picks as if they were stats off of baseball cards. Jokingly, we even coined the term "mush crushes." [Tangent: Mush crush= guys with staches who were decidedly easy on the eyes.] My innocent appreciation varied from day to day due to my overwhelming indecisiveness, but Alicia only had eyes for one. The day she laid her peepers on the following picture- little cartoon hearts started appearing around her cranium:

Her Mush Crush's name was Miguelito, and Alicia liked what she saw on her computer screen. Because my good gal pal is a photography savant, she immediately recognized his impressive level of skill. Because my friend is a lover of The Big Lebowski, she recognized his stellar taste. Because Alicia owns those very novelty sunglasses and wears them unabashedly, she knew it was love.

well...at least my friend did.

All my friends, especially the ladies, are ridiculously ballsy and Miguelito's facebook link was plainly listed on his profile, so mi amiga decided to send him a fan letter, where somewhere in it she assured him she was not a crazy shut-in. She just listened to her heart instead of her head. Apparently, he didn't think she was a stalker, because the fan letter snowballed into lots of back and forth emails...which progressed into marathon phone calls...and led to a road trip to Detroit...and after less then a year-  resulted in Miguel moving to Nashville so they could have one happy moustache family.
now she lurks from a shorter distance...like the couch...
Unfortunately, this is the last official year for this incarnation of Moustache May, but it has certainly made an impact at least in a couple lives. Feeling left out? Don't worry...you to can be'stache yourself any time of year. This one's on me.

Monday, May 2, 2011

osama bin blog post


You know how they say you remember where you were when important events happened. [Tangent: I was laying in bed watching 20/20 when Princess Diana got in her wreck...I was coming home from school Sophomore year when a friend called to tell me about Columbine...I was getting ready for a Psychology exam in my dorm when 9/11 happened...I was en route to my friend Alicia's house when Michael Jackson died.]. While some were at Ground Zero singing "God Bless America" when Osama Bin Laden was killed- I was watching Family Guy on Cartoon Network with my father. [Tangent: This is not as exciting a story to tell my children, but its a Sunday night, and I am working girl- sue me for having a lame lifestyle.] Because that station is uninterrupted in times of turmoil, I found out through a spurt of Facebook postings. Score one for social media. I assumed it was scam like hitting "like" and winning a free ipad, but CNN confirmed that it was indeed not the result of a drunk college kid really froggy on May Day. 

To put it super mildly, Osama Bin Laden was an evil asshole, and its refreshing to know an an eye for an eye (or thousands) was finally accomplished, but rejoicing death reminds me that at my core- I am a pacifistic lass. [Tangent: The scenes on TV remind me of The Wizard of Oz and all the Lollipop Guild and Lullabye League members scurry out and reclaim Munchkinland.]  I hate to be Captain Wet Blanket, but life is not as cut and dry as Super Mario Brothers has led us to believe. Its not like once you beat King Koopa- you win the war. Life is more complex, those little turtle shelled bastards and leaping spiders are still around to get ya when you start to get too cocky...so don't let the blaring Lee Greenwood deafen you. 
 I am ridiculously proud of my country, but am still sad that one of my best friends is leaving for Afghanistan for her second tour of duty to go fight in a week or so. The first thing I did was text her and asked if this news meant she got to stay home where its safe. Her reply, "I wish."

OK, as I kick my soapbox under my desk, I will try to end on an optimistic note.  I enjoy a good inappropriate joke as much as the next person and despite feeling uneasy,  some observations from the interwebs are absolutely worth passing on.  I am boycotting any status/tweet that was somehow linked to Team America: World Police, quoted a Toby Keith song or gave Donald Trump anymore attention/airtime.


"I really hope bin laden didn't get reincarnated as one of Mariah Carey's babies."

"Now somebody HAS to find Carmen San Diego."

"Best part of twitter when things like this happen are people who don't know it happened yet and tweet 'so crazy at the club right now!'shit."

"I wish killing Osama would put an end to teenagers in Brooklyn shouting at Muslim men on the subway & calling them "Osama!", but it won't."

"I think it's safe to say that Obama just bumped that ass munch Hamilton off the 10 dollar bill."


"I predict that Osama’s picture will get little more than a smattering of tepid applause on the next Emmy “In Memoriam” reel."

"Please note: I sent my "dog's doodies r cold" tweet before I heard about Osama. (& this one after.)"

"The Guinness world record holder for hide and seek died today."

"Y'all, remember when William and Kate got married?"

"My fellow Americans, I am proud to -- hold on. What? (...long pause) Really? (*sigh*) Cat Stevens leaves behind a legacy of song..." 

Sunday, May 1, 2011

karma is not a bitch!


Next time I start complaining that there is a sadistic puppeteer pulling my strings, please remind me of what an unbelievably smooth and luck-filled weekend this has been. Its not like I met the love of my life or won Miss America- but there were definitely good vibrations surrounding me. [Tangent: I really feel like I missed the chance to dominate Powerball or at the very least get into some heated battles of rock, paper, scissors.]

1. I went downtown the Friday before the Country Music Marathon with the assumption that parking would be a clusterf**k and I may or may not get a parking ticket or hit a drunk tourist in cowboy boots by evening's end. Neither occurred- parked for free, had a lovely evening and got in and out quicker than normal. BAFFLING!

2. By shear luck of knowing people with connections, I got the holy grail: unattainable handicapped accessible Predators playoff tickets that I've been pining after. Take that ticketmaster! "Unavailable due to high demand"- my ass.  [Tangent: I know what you are thinking, "Kimmie is not a sporty dame!" but you are incorrect- I just feel watching televised sports is an arduous undertaking, and I save my competitive nature for episodes of American Idol. However, I do enjoy a live game of anything- especially hockey- plus, I am the Pred's good luck charm. Whenever I pay attention to them, they've won by a landslide or at the very least an OT nailbiter. My pressence is needed so they can beat the Canucks in the playoffs. Besides, there are so many good puns to make with the word Canuck. My mind reels with T-shirt making ideas.]

3. Saturday I was sitting at my friend's bar getting drunk on sweet tea and fudge pie...I struck up a conversation with the nice gentleman next to me...I think we discussed how Bubba is a curious name for a pro golfer [<--- the Kimmie version of sports talk.] and possibly the royal wedding.  I have bar sat in his vicinity before and recalled that he had bought me and my friends dinner and drinks last time, but I in no way had expectations for a reboot of that level of undeserved generosity. As he was leaving he handed me a $100 gift card- for "having a fantastic attitude." Seriously?!?! Cherry. Cherry. Cherry. Jackpot.  Rarely has my gift for making small talk ever paid off. It was kind of refreshing- like jumping into a pool of Fresca. 

4. Today, my intentions were to go check out the Franklin Main Street Festival [Tangent: I love a good street fair- stick meat and handicrafts are a recipe for awesome in my cookbook.] but the sky looked as if it was peeled out of a Tim Burton movie, so I ran some errands as I patiently waited for the sunshine.
I had all but given up hope to smell the lovely fragrance of fried pies with my own nostrils, but as I got to be a mile from downtown Franklin,  the sun emerged. As if by bat signal, I honed in on a free handicapped parking space within a block of the entrance and with ample room to let my ramp down- That's like seeing the chupacabra...it just doesn't happen! Usually I have to round the block a few times, scrape the the bottom of Big Brown, knock over some parking cones and spew out a string of expletives before I find somewhere that may or may not be an actual space, and where I may or may not get towed. 

All in all, I will put a "X" in the win column for this weekend. I only hope all remains fine and dandy the rest of the springtime, because this time last year shit was hitting the oscillating fan with the great flood of '10 in Nashville and various other life changes.  Good karma is definitely welcome here.
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