Two Truth and One Lie - The Answers!

Yesterday's MckLinky with all the lying and truthing business was pretty fun and I loved reading y'all's comments! So now it's time to fess up. Here's the real deal. No lie.


I have been contacted by two separate production companies and was asked to apply/audition for two separate reality TV shows. I was "too normal" for one and "not redneck enough to eat possum" for the other.

This one is true!

Several years ago I was contacted by a production assistant from ABC and asked to send in pictures, essays and forms because they thought I would be a great character on the reality show "Wife Swap". Turns out, they found me quite boring. And really, I pretty much am. I don't dress up like a princess and LARP, I don't rule my house like a dictator, I don't have freaky routines and beliefs. I'm just me. Boring, normal me. I like me that way.

Two years ago I was emailed by a production assistant from Pink Sneakers Media and asked to interview and send in audition tapes for the show "My Big Redneck Christmas" which airs on CMT. We ended up sending in two tapes, did several phone interviews and made it down to the last two families in the running. The family that won, though, I guess shot light-up deer off their roof, ate a deep-fried possum and really took the term "redneck" to heart. We just exchange tacky gifts and celebrate Festivus. We just shoot possum, but we don't eat them afterwards. It probably worked out for the best.


My claim to fame is that, in college, my sister went on a date with Joe Don Rooney from the country group Rascal Flatts. They went to Jim Bob's Steak and Ribs for dinner and two-stepped in the parking lot after they ate.

This one is true as well!

Joe Don is from Picher, OK, and we actually grew up separately together. Our schools were the same size so between football, Speech and Debate, Band, etc. we occasionally would run into him. I knew him because Joe Don, my cousin Ben and my sister are the same age. When Joe Don and Sis went to NEO together in 1994 they joined the BSU (Baptist Student Union). To raise money the BSU held a date auction. Sis and her friend "bought" Joe Don and his friend, took them out for a steak dinner and, because Jim Bob's always had a line out the door on the weekend, country music was piped outside. The couples two-stepped in the parking lot. Then Joe Don went on to fame and fortune and a Playboy Bunny. Sis went on to have kids. And I tell everyone I know this story.

When I was 19 I was arrested during a traffic stop due to a case of mistaken identity. America's Most Wanted had just aired and the license plate had been put on the air incorrectly - the incorrect number being mine. I was cuffed and put in the back of the Highway Patrolman's car and very nearly taken to jail before it was cleared up and I was let go with apologies.

This one is the lie.

I've never even gotten a traffic ticket. Remember when I said I was boring? I kinda meant it.

But I can tell you about my one brush with the law: When I was a Sophomore a group of us girls "went uptown" to drag Main and beforehand had Cyndi's grownup, married sister buy us wine coolers and cigarettes. Cyndi's car had t-tops and because we wanted to be uber cool we pulled into the Civic Center parking lot to take them out. As we were taking them out, a car full of our friends, also Sophomores, also 16, pulled in beside us and proceeded to drunkenly scream, holler and just generally cause a ruckus while waving their bottles of Mad Dog 20/20 around. Oh and did I mention that the Civic Center and police station share a parking lot?? We were so busted by Officer Dan Dorey who made up dump the wine coolers and break every cigarette we had. How none of us got arrested is beyond me. He didn't even take our names or anything. Retired officer Dan Dorey now substitutes occasionally at my kids' school. I doubt he remembers me.

Thank God.





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MckLinky Monday: Two Truths and a Lie

Oh, that Mrs. Priss over at The Real Housewives of Oklahoma....she's playing games again. Today's game is "Two Truths and One Lie" where apparently we all forget what our mommas taught us and well, we tell a lie.

Basically what I'm going to do is tell you three things, two of which are true and one of which isn't. You decide which is which and leave your answers in the comments. I guess I'll come back like, one of these days and tell you if you got them right. Or something.

Here we go:

1. I have been contacted by two separate production companies and was asked to apply/audition for two separate reality TV shows. I was "too normal" for one and "not redneck enough to eat possum" for the other.

2. When I was 19 I was arrested during a traffic stop due to a case of mistaken identity. America's Most Wanted had just aired and the license plate had been put on the air incorrectly - the incorrect number being mine. I was cuffed and put in the back of the Highway Patrolman's car and very nearly taken to jail before it was cleared up and I was let go with apologies.

3. My claim to fame is that, in college, my sister went on a date with Joe Don Rooney from the country group Rascal Flatts. They went to Jim Bob's Steak and Ribs for dinner and two-stepped in the parking lot after they ate.

So run along now and tell me which one you think is the big fat lie.

And don't tell my momma I've been fibbin'.

You can play along, too! Come on....you know you wanna....

Show Some Love, Wouldya?

Back when I was in 2nd grade I had this boyfriend named Brian. Now, don't dismiss it because we were eight. I mean, we were married like, 27 times at the school carnival that year. Brian had an older sister who I thought was the bomb diggity. Honestly, I think the light of heaven shone through the Farrah Faucett "feathers" in her hair. I felt so special when Edie paid attention to me and said I was "cute".

Time marched on....Brian left for a few years, Edie graduated high school, Brian came back (with muscles and long hair *swoon*), but the magic was lost. While Brian was off growing muscles, facial hair and a 'do that would make any 80's hair band member jealous, I was working hard to hone my mad nerd skillz. I had become a quintessential geek.

The 27 marriages fell apart.

Fast forward to adulthood, enter email and Facebook. A few years back I got an email from a woman named Beckie who said she was married to my first husband. That kind of took me aback at first because frankly, I had forgotten about those magical 27 moments at the alter with Brian in the corner of the gymnasium back in 2nd grade. She told me she harbored no ill will and was actually a reader of my blog and thought I was hilarious. I met her in a casino one evening and when I heard a little voice ask, "Are you Redneck Diva?" I was shocked, then delighted and I think I scared the poor woman to death when I hugged her neck probably a little too tightly. And then last year Brian's big sister, Edie, friended me on Facebook. Be still my geeky heart! She doesn't have Farrah Faucett feathered hair anymore, but she's still awesome. And she needs our help.

This is where you come in, Constant Reader.

Edie is a finalist in a contest with The Tulsa Dentist and needs your help! If she wins she will get a $50,000+ complete, head-to-toe makeover and folks, that beats out Farrah Faucett feathers any ol' day. She told me the last estimate on her dental work alone was over $10,000 alone. She also informed me she was a breastfeedin' momma for FORTY EIGHT MONTHS and had three C-sections. Girl needs a little lift, methinks. She's deserving, she's a great gal and anyone who said I was "cute" when I was in 2nd grade is going to get my support.

So here's what you can do: If  you're on Facebook already, search for The Tulsa Dentist (or just click that link), "like" the page and then click the Photos tab. Find EDIE and leave a simple comment with the word "vote" in her album. That's it! And if you're not on Facebook already.....WHY NOT? I'm there!

I appreciate you, Edie appreciates you and I'm pretty sure her boobs will appreciate you if they get a good hoisiting in the near future.

Thanks for your support. *snicker*

Viewer Discretion Advised

We have reached a very uncomforable place in our house.

We have satellite TV and the 250-channel package of mind-numbing entertainment on two, count 'em TWO TV's. We have three kids and I babysit my two-year-old cousin during the school year. I don't mind the kids' shows at all. I have an intense crush on Mover Scott from Imagination Movers and I sometimes watch iCarly when the kids aren't in the room. It's also no secret that I think Phineas and Ferb is one of the greatest cartoons of all time. Paul would rather attend a Mary Kay party than watch iCarly. Drake and Josh makes him nauseous. Those two twins that live in a hotel? He considers them boils on the butt of humanity.

Most of the time when Paul gets home from work the TV is off because if I didn't the children would sit there slack-jawed and drooling all day long in the summer. While I enjoy most of their shows I, too, have my limits. I like the sound of a quiet house. Sometimes the TV lends to intense sensory overload for me and I cannot stand having it on one second longer. It's off more than it's on during the day.

But my darling husband comes in from work, sits in his recliner and magically the remote is in his hand and the TV is on the Reality Channel, something I consider a boil on the butt of humanity. He also loves Animal Planet and CourtTV. Typically he's asleep within 10 minutes and the kids draw straws to see who gets to slip the remote from under his hand. Then it's flipped to Nick or Disney. I'd rather watch those annoying twins than anything on Reality. After dinner, though, Paul's after-work nap out of the way, the reality begins anew. I do not understand why watching cops arrest drunken prostitutes and wrestle a gang member to the ground while dodging a spray of bullets is entertainment to him. He gets a kick out of watching those "caught on tape" shows where, for an hour at a time, you can watch people repeatedly fall through the ice, trip over dogs, straddle a hand rail while skateboarding, do backflips off trampolines and break their arms in 47 different ways. I don't get it.

His latest love is Billy the Exterminator.

 

I am not a fan. I frankly just can't get past the dude's sunglasses. And his hair. And his gloves. And that thing on his chin. I think Billy is a okay guy, don't get me wrong. I think he genuinely likes helping people and tries to capture and release animals when he can rather than kill, but uhm....if Billy can get a reality show why can't I???? Seriously. We made it down to the final two families in the running for My Big Redneck Christmas two years ago, but we weren't trashy enough and the folks that ate possum won. I guess we need to kick up the trashy. And the leather and tattoos.

Forget cowbell, we need more possum.

Paul is constantly imparting wisdom from good ol' Billy to anyone who will listen. He told me the other night that if I will just look at a snake's eye I can tell whether it's poisonous or not and therefore whether I can risk a bite or not.

*blink blink*

Okay, here's the dealy-o, Mister Animal Pants. I will not be getting voluntarily close enough to a snake to see the shape of its pupil, THEREFORE I will not be in charge of judging whether or not a snake is dangerous or not. Snakes are dangerous. Always. And here's why: I will hurt myself getting away from one regardless of the color, shape of it's head, pattern, rattle, tongue, pupils or whether or not it buys its clothes from The Gap or Gap Outlet, thus rendering it dangerous. Snakes are dangerous. Period.

And now our son has jumped on the Billy Bandwagon. I am about to have a Billy Ban in this house.

As we were coming up the drive the other night there was a possum in the driveway. Paul swerved to hit it and succeeded. As we got into the yard we saw an armadillo digging a hole. Paul again swerved to hit it, but missed. Armadillos are far craftier and more agile than their non-armored counterpart, obviously. After we got in the house Sam was sitting in the couch all pouty. When I asked why he looked so angry he said it was because Daddy had killed the possum and had tried to kill the armadillo. I explained that they are nasty, disease-ridden creatures who serve no purpose on our property whatsoever. Unless you consider making my dog bark at 4am a purpose -- which I don't.

Then Sam went into this ridiculous diatribe about how horrible we were for killing them, they didn't deserve to die, why couldn't we just let them go about their merry little animal ways. He got all kinds of fired up. Fired up or a non-confrontational 11 year old, anyway. I told him we're rednecks, we kill the critters that invade and destroy our property and well, he'd better start cleaning his room better, 'sall I'm sayin'. He grinned and eventually gave up, figuring out he wasn't going to win an argument where he was trying to fight for the rights of marsupials and reptimammals everywhere.

Then after he had gone to bed there was a segment on Billy the Exterminator where Billy and his leather-clad brother had to remove armadillos from a prayer garden. Because of the diseases they carry. Even Billy admitted that armadillos are more than just nuisances, they are a health hazard.

And, in a moment of parental surreality, I found myself hollering down the hallway to my half-asleep child, "Hey, Sam! Guess what? BILLY THE EXTERMINATOR SAYS ARMADILLOS ARE NASTY. BILLY THE EXTERMINATOR JUST REMOVED ARMADILLOS FROM A PRAYER GARDEN. BILLY THE EXTERMINATOR SAYS ARMADILLOS CARRY DISEASE AND ARE HARMFUL TO CHILDREN."

Mmm hmmm. I told him.

Paul just sat there in his recliner staring at me, the TV paused, while I yelled insanely down the hall to where our son had more than likely been sleeping, but probably wasn't anymore. When I was done, I breathed in a heavy breath, feeling satisfied, feeling like I had justified all past and future armadillo issues by ..... *sigh* ...... imparting the wisdom of Billy the Exterminator to my child.

Paul then grinned, pushed play on the TV and said, "Way to go, Momma. Way. To. Go. Now, let's see what Billy says about alligators."

Chasing Lilacs

Hey, because you are all awesome and stuff you should mosey over to my review blog and check out my review of the book Chasing Lilacs and the giveaway I have going on right now.

Also? The author of Chasing Lilacs, Carla Stewart, is going to be doing a book signing at Chapters bookstore in Miami, OK, on Thursday, August 12th from 3:30 to 5:30 pm. You should go. All the cool kids will be there.

So get to moseying. Seriously. Tell your friends and neighbors, too. Everyone should mosey. It's fun.

Ever Elusive

This past Friday was my little sister Tater's 34th birthday. Mom, Pops, Tater, her beau and the Tots came out Saturday evening to ride 4-wheelers and whack around on a few golf balls. The original plan had been to play Redneck Croquet and smack around on the golf balls while on the 4-wheelers, but it was so dastardly hot and Abby had been sick and we just didn't put too much effort into the outdoor activities that night. Abby was still pretty weak and she'd have been disappointed if she hadn't been able to play.

(Anyone else think Sam looks more like he's trying out for a baseball team than hitting a golf ball?)

While we were watching Pops and Paul teach the boys how to hit those itty bitty orange balls with those long, skinny poles on the redneck driving range (one flag in the middle of the field, mowed weekly with the brush hog and the kids earn money finding balls by driving the 4-wheelers out in the field - who needs a country club?) one of the adults suggested we take the kids snipe hunting.

If you're from Oklahoma you are probably grinning right now because you yourself went snipe hunting when you were a kid, right? And snipe aren't indigenous to Oklahoma only - I hear Missourians hunt 'em, too.

Instantly the four youngest kids were interested and excited. BJ, Tater's beau, took them out to find sticks to tap together to call in the elusive, mysterious snipe. I grabbed the camera. (Stay hooked. The first part is hard to hear, but it gets louder.)

 

They didn't rustle up any snipe in that first pre-dark attempt, but they did scare up some chiggers as you can see by the way Sam was digging at his ankles.

Finally at dark BJ and I headed toward the hay bales with four kids and their sticks. He was totally making it exciting for the kids, saying he heard one, whispering, "Was that a snipe? Did you see that?" and I was just praying a possum, raccoon or snake didn't cross my path because it would've been so embarrassing to pee my pants in front of Tater's beau.

After a few minutes BJ grabbed a paper grocery sack out of one of the kids' hands and took off running. He threw himself on the ground and in a flurry of noise, grunting and wrestling, jumped up and declared, "I GOT ONE!" The kids cheered, Tater and I hid our giggles as the kids ran out to see what was in the sack. Pops came out and asked BJ if he could see inside the sack. He instantly withdrew his hand and said, "OW it bit me! Oh wow....I'm bleeding kids. You need to be really careful. It's an angry snipe."

That's when Kady started crying.

Mom came out to see to Pop's "bleeding" finger while Kady all but climbed up my body in an attempt to keep herself off the ground and away from any wandering snipe that might find her toes a tasty snack. After all the grownups looked in the sack it was decided it was a baby snipe and should be let go because the momma might get really mad we'd kidnapped its baby.

That's when Kady's crying turned into hysterical wailing and screaming.

That's also when Abby took Kady inside and assured her that Pops was okay. (Moments after they got inside Abby sent me a text that said, "Please can I tell Kady what's going on. She has a nosebleed she's so upset." Ahh...compassionate big sister.)

BJ "let" the snipe "go" and we were going to go in the house for drinks and air conditioning when Pops whispered to Tater and I that Paul had changed into a dark shirt and had snuck out back to scare the kids. We relayed that info on to BJ who then decided we needed to catch another one. He rallied the remaining troops and off they went again toward the hay bales in the field. We tried a snipe "call" thinking Paul would return the call, but we found out later that while we were calling, he was trying to untangle himself from a batch of blackberry briars out behind the barn and hadn't even made it to the hay bales yet.

Finally after some calling and stick tapping (and wondering on my part if my husband had been eaten by a cougar) the kids, in a tight walking huddle, rounded the side of a hay bale and all we heard over by the fence was RAWR! IIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! and then the sound of six feet running toward us. We were all doubled over laughing and the snipe were forgotten.

Back inside we treated everyone who had chigger bites and Paul put alcohol on his briar scratches and the mystery of snipe hunting was revealed. Unlike all of us grownups who, too, had gone on our own childhood snipe hunts, our children, however, did not laugh when they realized they had just spent over an hour in a field hunting a bird that wasn't there, tapping on sticks, imitating their call and believing they were about to gain a new pet. They sulled up and pouted and one cried. They called us "mean". They said we were "horrible".

We adults were all able to recall our very own snipe hunting experience and told our stories. The children were not amused. They asked how we could lie to them like that.

I shrugged and said, "It was pretty easy, actually. And someday you'll see just how easy when you take your own kids snipe hunting."

They all agreed they would never do such a thing.

But something tells me ..... when my grandkids are about 11 or so we'll hold a new generation of snipe hunting and the legend will live on.

Here's hoping, anyway.