A couple of weeks ago I had planned on getting a haircut because I really need one. I’m starting to get a little bushy on the sides since the girl who cut it last time didn’t know what the hell she was doing. She cut it so short that I was dangerously close to being mistaken for a boy. I wanted it short, but not that short. That was over a month ago and it’s grown out a bit since then. The sides and back are shaggy and need cleaning up.
That friday I drove an hour to pick up the mail and to make a deposit for my dad. While I was there I was going to stop by my mom’s hairdresser’s shop and see if she could fix it.
After running all of my errands I decided that since I was supposed to go with my sister to the trail ride/concert/party that Saturday night, I needed alcohol. I wasn’t actually going for the trail ride part, just the drinking & partying parts. Don’t misunderstand. I can ride. I just choose not to. Plus I’m so damn short that it takes a ladder or step stool just for me to get on a horse. Instead of humiliating myself I choose instead to just dress the part and go have some fun at the ho-down. There was sure to be lots of cowboys and firemen. The trail ride/concert was to benefit the local fire department. Yee haw! You ain’t gotta tell me twice.
So after making the very difficult decision to choose alcohol over a haircut, I went to the local liquor store. Keep in mind that this is the same town that my parents lived in for 17 years before just recently moving out-of-state. My dad, the Preacher, is well known because of all the work that he did in helping people over the years, and in being a minister and a police officer. With that said, most everyone there also knows that I’m the Preacher’s daughter.
I went into the liquor store and there sat four older people just hanging out shootin’ the shit as they like to say. I didn’t recognize any of them so I quietly walked back into the wine room and looked around. I hadn’t originally planned on buying wine, but I didn’t want to look like a complete alcoholic. Gotta keep up appearances you know. LOL
After I picked out a nice bottle of Chianti I walked back into the main store to find my tequila. I’m a Jose Cuervo kind of girl and easily found the tequila section. It’s been a while since I’ve bought a fifth of anything though, and the prices were a little higher than I had expected. I decided that I’d just go for a pint of Jose Cuervo instead of buying the cheap stuff. Only buying a pint would also keep me from getting totally wasted and possibly doing something very stupid. Tequila and I have a love-hate relationship you see. I love it when I’m drinking it, but I hate it the next day.
When I was checking out, the older woman at the register asked if that was my car out front with the cute little monkeys on the seat covers. I looked outside at my car and after a second I told her that it was. What is actually on my seat covers is Jack from The Nightmare Before Christmas. She thought that the skeleton was a monkey. I didn’t think she would understand if I tried explaining that it was actually a skeleton on them. She would probably have thought I was a witch or Satan worshipper or something. Those small Southern town types can be kind of weird about that stuff sometimes. My being in there buying Chianti and Tequila probably wouldn’t have helped in my attempts to convince her otherwise.
I checked out and went on my merry way. Before getting in my car though, I realized that the service station next door is the one where Pastor Momma’s Boy works. He was standing out front. For a split second I considered stopping by to follow up on the accusations that he had made against the Preacher, but decided that probably wasn’t a good idea either. If he saw me coming out of the liquor store then it would definitely weaken my credibility in his eyes. So again, I’ve missed my chance to confront him. His day will come though. Have no fear. He had just better hope that I’m not packing heat when that day comes. As much weight as he’s gained, I’m pretty sure that now I can draw faster than he can. I may only have six bullets, but that’s five more than Barney Fife ever had.
Late Saturday morning I dropped my nephew off at the babysitter and then went back home. I was going to rest up a little before getting ready to go to the concert later that night.
I never made it to the concert. Instead I drove three hours to New Orleans to see Manwhore. Yes, I said Manwhore. After everything I’ve been through with him, I still can’t seem to get past him. I was still in love with him, keyword is was. Most of the time I wished it weren’t so, but that’s just how it was. There’s just something about him that kept me coming back for more.
I know what you’re thinking. “What the heck is wrong with this girl? Is she really that stupid or just a glutton for punishment?” Yes, and? LOL Well, you’ll be glad to know that he and I are finished for good now. I’ve had to go hard-core cold-turkey and delete his numbers from my phone and address books.
So there ya go! Tequila shots anyone? I’ve got limes! 😉