Tag. I'm it...

Is this a bad time?

Nah.

In fact, as I was getting your comment email about this, I was also on the phone, telling Giant I wasn't gonna make my 24-hour deadline with this machine and that I'd just bring it back tomorrow and pay the $20.
I'm so tired, I don't care.

Then, I see this and figure, "Cool..." and hafta actually stop and think which would be better... to do it now or go to sleep and do it later...

I'm leaning toward "now".
Tired as I am, I might forget "later".

So, lem'me see...

I once drove an International Eagle tractor trailer between Mobile and Montgomery, Alabama* at 70+mph, with about 6 or 7 other trucks behind me.
(*I was heading north or east, whichever, going from Texas to Jersey.)
The reason I did this was because I'd gone to Texas with a guy I was living with on a quick turnaround run while I waited for my new 911 job to start.
We were delivering baskets, or some such shit and were supposed to bring back a load of spinach.
Well...
the stupid spinach got rained on or some damned thing and they couldn't pick it for a while, so we got delayed in our return.
A lot.
So much so, that we got desperate enough to find another driver who was going to Jersey to get me back there.

Yeah.
I got into some random Marine dude's truck and not only left the state of Texas and my (also Marine) boyfriend behind, I drove the guy's truck for a few hours so he could sleep.

The best part?
We traded seats at 70mph, going down the road.
Didn't even swerve.

Now, before you think I'm 100 percent completely insane (as opposed to the mere 99.999 percent that I am)... I did talk to my Dad about this before I did it.
He had the guy's name and company name and truck number and alla that shit.
Also, the guy, his name was Danny, had been a Marine, as had my boyfriend and they just did what Marines do for each other and I kinda knew it'd be okay myself.

And, it was.
He did the Marines proud.
And, I did my boyfriend's industry proud.
Drove that large-and-in-charge ve-hickle right on down the road just like I knew what I was doin'.
That was fun.

What else?
Hmmmm....

Clint Black called me at home once.
Got my answering machine.
This was back in the days of actual answering machines with casette tapes, so I took the tape and made a copy of it.
Still have it, somewhere.

What else?

What?
Ya wanna know why he called?

Well, it's been about 20 years.
I think I'm safe now...

I used to work at a copshop.
A copshop with a DMV computer.

On long midnights, it wasn't uncommon to pass the time looking up people's info.
Nothing major, just driving record, tickets, address... shit like that.
We all looked up Elvis (dead 20 years by then), plate numbers we saw on Cops, our friends, ourselves... they even had a few "test entries" for Fred Flintstone, Wile E. Coyote...

So, one night, I decided to look up Clint.
(This was before he married Lisa Hartman and I gave up on him.)

There was this one particular result that seemed like a possible, so I made note of it.

Months later, I hear it's gonna be Clint's birthday and I remember I have that address.

So... I wrote to it.
Not only that, I sent it with one of those big green cards on it that ya hafta sign when you get it.
Included in my letter was my phone number.

A week or so later, I get home from work and my then-boyfriend (not the trucker) says, "You've got a message." and points at the machine.

I said I'd get it in a minute and he said he thought I'd wanna get it now, 'cause it's CLINT BLACK.

"'Scuse me?"

"It is. Listen to it."

So, I did and it was.

He was just wonderin' where I'd gotten his HOME ADDRESS.

Oh shit.

He wasn't pissed, thank God, just rawther "concerned".
Can't say I blame him.
Not that I'm dangerous (much), but... I could see immediately just how deep a Grand Canyon of shit it was I was suspended over.

I went immediately to my Lt. (whom I'd known all my life and, outside of work, still called "Uncle) and told him what I'd done.

After he stopped banging his head on his desk, he suggested I figure out a way to handle this QUICKLY and MYSELF, lest it go any further and the deparment get invovled.
Or the Feds.
Or PRISON.

*gulp*

I wrote Clint another letter.
Said, "Oh, Jesus. I didn't really think it was you. See, I work at a police department and I have really long nails. One night, I was doing a DL lookup by number and got the number wrong, but it came back to a Clint Black. Being a fan, I thought that was cute, so I made note of it. Then, when I heard you had a birthday coming up, I decided to just write and see what happened. I never expected and this I apologize for alarming you and blah, blah, blah."

Musta worked.
He never did call me again and then he married what's-'er-face shortly after.

Okay... what else?

Ah... another celebrity story...

I used to love Dwight Yoakam.
And, the word "love" does not even come close, okay?
From the first time I ever saw him til around 2000, I bought every freakin' thing the guy put out.
Albums, videos, T-shirts... you name it, I owned it.
I even saw him perform twice.
It was the second time that killed it for me with him.
It was the first time that it got interesting....

He was playing some tiny outdoor venue, a bar I believe, way down by the shore.
I got off from work (at the first copshop I worked for) and got to the place about... 12 hours early.

Dwight wasn't even there yet.

But, I was.
Had my ass sittin' up against a tree in the driveway, just waitin' to see his bus pull in.

At the time, he only had the first two albums out... Guitars and Hillbilly Deluxe.
I had 'em both and I had 'em both with me for him to sign, if I could finagle that.

So, he shows up, I spend the next few hours staring at his bus and taking about 3700 pictures of it.

He comes out, gets under the tent, and does his show.
I'm right in front, again with the 3700 pictures, and waving two albums at him like he's on fire and I'm trying to wave/blow him out.

I know he saw me.
I saw him seein' me.

He gets done and, as he's winding up, I'm slipping "backstage", to stand by the little steps he was gonna hafta come down to escape to his bus.

While he's still fuckin' around doin' something on stage, I start talking to a bouncer/body guard type who looked remarkably like my Dad.

A few minutes later, Dwight comes flying down the stairs, yelling that somebody pulled a gun on him.

Apprently, I was the first to come to several "security-type"'s minds, because they came-a lookin'.

They found me before I even knew what the fuck was goin' on and when they came up to me, the bouncer I'd been talking to interposed himself between me and them and was saying, "Nope. Wrong. Not her, guys. She's been right here, talkin' to me for the last ten minutes."

They took off elsewhere after that.

I stayed there, kept blabbing to the bouncer, and Brantley Kerns, Dwight's most excellent fiddle player, started by.
He saw my albums and stopped.
Asked me if I wanted him to get them signed.
I stuttered, "Sure!" at him and he took them onto the bus.
Brings 'em back, asks if I wanna see the bus.
I was floored, but, in light of the fact that if I had gotten on that bus a CROWBAR wouldn't have gotten me off of it, I declined and gave 'im a big 'ol kiss on his slightly whiskery cheek, got a picture taken with him and still love him to this day.
Dwight, on the other hand, can kiss my right ass cheek.
"Too fragile", my achin' ASS.
He just wanted to pork a commie's neice.
Then, he sued Pete Anderson...
Dwight's a douchebag.

Anyway....

That's half of it.

I know I need another three things. but, my eyeballs are so sandpapery that I do believe they're making the insides of my eyelids bleeds, or are about to.

I'll get the other three done when I get up.

And, I have four people to tag with this, so far...

Mad Wm.
Paul
Viz
BlogDog
and... there is one other person who comes to mind.
I bet she'd have good ones, too.
But... I ain't sure how it'd be taken, coming from me, and I'm too tired to try puzzling out how to phrase it, so heck widdit.

That's still four out of six.
So, later on, I need to finish my other three, think of two more people and do the comments thing... (tell 'em they've been tagged in their comments).

'Course, one of my people doesn't have comments, but, I do and yer welcome to use 'em, Viz.

Okay, before I fall asleep on the keyboard and wake up with the alphabet superimposed on my face, I'm outta here.

Back later.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 10:58 AM

Comments

Posted by: viszladog3 at February 07, 2007 01:53 PM (zlwno)

Posted by: Catfish at February 08, 2007 07:47 AM (tqQ5h)

Posted by: Libby at February 11, 2007 10:43 PM (DGO1F)

Posted by: werrew at April 06, 2007 01:49 AM (Uyrfp)

Posted by: thecarspeaker at June 23, 2007 10:26 PM (LDEQ0)

Posted by: oqnfcitsdo at August 09, 2007 10:26 AM (V1CVd)

Posted by: sweeta-hn at March 25, 2008 07:38 PM (0lctS)

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