Wally and I actually did adult stuff and shit this past weekend.  Like, without children. I’m not even kidding.

We were standing there together, surrounded by 100,000 other adults and it struck me, oh my god, we’re doing adult shit instead of pretending to be fascinated by a white tiger at the zoo!  I wasn’t sure what to do with myself.

We went to a big 3-day country music concert in our hometown called BamaJam.

I can’t believe I just typed that. I don’t even like country music and I like my hometown even less. But this event seems to be turning into a pretty big deal, something close to Woodstock, I suppose, only change 100,000 hippies with 100,000 rednecks.

So basically it was my version of hell.

I said I don’t like country music, but between you and me, I’ll admit I have one weakness for it. I do love Alan Jackson and he’s the only reason we went. Sure, there were other people there like Taylor Swift and Kid Rock, but Alan Jackson has held a special place in my heart from the time 3-year-old Payton sang his song, It’s Five 0′clock Somewhere at his Baptist preschool where they couldn’t even dress up as a witch or devil for Halloween, they were that uptight..

I always heard Alan Jackson was really tall, but to tell the truth, I have action figures taller than he is. That picture, dear reader, is at 10x zoom, so we weren’t even that close.

This is why I don’t care for concerts either. In order to get close enough to see the performers, you have to get there hours ahead of time, like my life revolves around a music star who doesn’t know I exist or something. They don’t know how unimportant I am in the internet!

Also, did you know concerts are loud? Even outdoor concerts. My ears! Now we know where Payton gets his hypersensitive hearing from. In fact, I take credit for all of his positive attributes and blame Wally for all the negative ones.

Wally and I had three-day passes but ended up only going for one. Yes, we turned down FREE time away from our children. What in the hell would cause us to do such a mentally unbalanced thing?

It would be those 100,000 rednecks.

Meet Robert…

…who is in his 50’s, doing an ASS DANCE to COUNTRY MUSIC not 6 feet from me.

If that isn’t bad enough, how about my 50something year old mother who was drunk dancing right behind me?  I text’d my 16 yr old niece to come save me and when she wouldn’t help me, I had to bum a cigarette from my aunt just to get through it.

Then there were all the double negatives flying everywhere; left, right, up, down.  It’s one of the reasons I haven’t been able to write in over a week. Do I even remember anything close to proper grammar? I’m amazed I’ve learnted, the; kind of proper, grammartical things, given mys upbringing. I, hope your, proud two.

I simply can’t relate to people who not only revel in ignorance but take pride in it too. Or the brand of their pickup trucks.  One singer told a story of which brand truck each of his relatives drove, and boy howdy, did that get the rednecks riled up.  After the name of a brand, thunderous cheers went up with Chevy being the clear winner.

Now I don’t know about you but I think BlogHer should do something like that at the opening ceremonies, or whatever it is they do to open the event. Can’t you see them calling out the names of minivans and the cheers going up?

Grand Caravan!

Sienna!

Odyssey!

So after the double negatives, pickup truck lunacy, and not only images of the Rebel Flag flying repeatedly on the big screens but some hick teenagers draping themselves in it (I’m not making that shit up), I did the only thing I could do.

I ran around the old peanut field, looking for a black man to love on just so I could piss rednecks off.

I found him.

Cowboy Troy

I was so overjoyed to see him that I ran to find Wally so I could share the diversity.

I actually purchased two exorbitantly priced shots of bourbon to share with him. Only Cowboy Troy wouldn’t drink it. Something about my balls were bigger than his and when I asked him if we could compare chest hairs, he suddenly had to go behind stage to get ready for his performance.

But whatever, I wasn’t letting him get away from me that easy. I positioned myself right on the front row for his concert, which turned out to be the best thing for me since after his concert I couldn’t hear a goddamn thing so all of the double negatives flew right over my head.

In fact, after several more expensive shots of bourbon (but still better than the $20 six packs of bud light), I started talking to Wally about him buying me a girl cowboy hat and that I should come back tomorrow wearing cowboy boots and jean shorts, possibly with a red checkered shirt tied at my waist, just like 20,000 other women.

It was then Wally said I had to go. So you would think end of redneck experiences, right? And I would be saved from reverting completely back to country roots, right? Oh no.

No, no, no, no.

In order to get out, we had to trample through more than ankle deep mud that smelled like cow ass. The concert was in a 600 acre peanut field and it rained almost the entire night before.

My husband? At the age of 37 hasn’t forgotten how to go mud-riding, even after 20 years.  While big, fancy four-wheel drive trucks were getting stuck because the mud was THAT FUCKING BAD, Wally was THE MAN and got us through all of the slipping, sliding and the OH SHIT, WE ARE GOING TO FISHTAIL AND HIT THAT FUCKING CAR without getting stuck.

Of course, there were a couple of times we thought we were doomed to wait our turn for the tow truck to pull us out, but that’s when I would roll down my window and yell my old “Yeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaw!” and TADA! We came through. All because of me.

You can’t even comprehend how authentic that “yeehaw” was.

It sort of scares me, how I opened my mouth and it just came out perfectly. Three different times.

Someone please send me tickets to an opera before it’s too late.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 12th, 2009 at 12:01 am and is filed under Marital Bon Mot, Royal Holiday. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.