…and probably don’t want to know about me, but since I’ve been away for a little bit, I’ll treat you to something revealing and narcissistic just because that’s the kind of mood I’m in.
1. I own a pair of Arizona cutoff denim shorts from 6th grade. (Yes, that’s them above.) They’re high-waisted as hell and at one point in my teenage life I cut them shorter than their original Bermuda-length. I received them as a birthday present on my 12th birthday from my old friend Sarah, who loosely inspired the name of this blog. (Lance. Not While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping.) No, I don’t wear these suckers. I save them for body image purposes. Feel free to elbow me in the face for this, but these shorts represent a standard to which I hold myself. I don’t slip them on often; maybe once or twice a year. I use them as a means to gauge my weight and fluff my ego. I can’t possibly be the only woman who holds onto an item of clothing for the mere purpose of being able to say, if I can still fit into these coochie cutters, I’m doin’ alright. Last week, I sauntered out of the bedroom wearing the Arizona cutoffs and Joe just shook his head in disgust. “That’s a disappointment waiting to happen,” he said. “What?” I asked, appalled by his response. “After you punch out a few kids those things are never gonna fit.”
2. I haven’t been to the dentist in 16 years. The last time I went to the dentist was around the same time I received the Arizona cut-offs. No, my teeth are not rotting.
3. I unabashedly love country music. And the same goes for country music videos. It comforts me and reminds me of home. It gives my erratic consciousness something simple to focus on. It fills me with warmth like a cold beer on a hot day and makes me wistful for dusty roads, lemonade, orange Popsicles and corn on the cob. Like most popular music, country music has been bastardized by corporate branding and political pandering, but that doesn’t mean I don’t cry when I hear an old Alan Jackson song. Remember when we had Verizon FIOS for less than four hours before our flat screen imploded? Those four hours were spent tuned to CMT. While I worked in my office, Dixie Chicks and Brad Paisley videos played out on the flat screen. I’m certain if I reveal this, my non-country-music-loving husband will have some wiseass thing to say about what really fried our TV, but I’m putting it out there anyway. I might not always agree with the politics of country music, but I can belt out Tobey Keith’s Should’ve Been a Cowboy better than a drunken Texas frat boy on a Friday night. Sure, the Top 20 stuff is hokey, aw-shucks, good ‘ol days, god-fearing boozy righteousness, but it’s the chicken soup to my homesickness. So alert the hipster police. I’m a card-carrying, shit-kicking redneck at heart.