Wednesday, June 24, 2009

So groovy now

I am keeping Hubs' vicodin in the medicine cabinet JUST IN CASE. Me + particularly bad bout in the Red Tent + vicodin = la la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la la la la la la.....

I went back to work today, although it still pains Hubs to heave himself off the furniture, cough, poop, etc. There's little I can do about these things. I went home at lunch time to make him a sandwich and do a little doting, and my favorite classic rock station was playing some sweet music.

On the way back to work I heard 'Lovin', Touchin', Squeezin'.' Yes, it's Journey, haters! What's not to love? It takes me back to my Sonora days, tossing back screwdrivers (my former drink of choice -- ah, I had much to learn) at the Victoria Saloon, and singing about NAHNAHNAHNAHNAHNAH, NAHNAHNAHNAHNAH...

The Victoria Saloon/Days Inn

Why does everyone in that town think they are some kind of '70s rock star? I think I kind of thought I was for a while. Everyone there drives old beaters, everyone's hair's a little too long, everyone's a little bit of a hippie (except for the Republicans up the hill), and the town just LOOKS fracking old-timey. They'll throw a parade for any old reason and have odd traditions that involve shooting guns on the main drag and eating free cups of beans.

You can't get cell reception, you'd be hard pressed to find an elevator within a 50 mile radius, and there ain't much to do on a Friday night, unless you feel like tying one on and croaking out your favorite Journey tunes with the locals. There was always a guy there who sang "Witchy Woman," and one of my friends from the paper always sang "Stuck in the Middle with You."

You watch fireworks at the lake (if you can find it), you constantly find yourself listening to the same live bands, and the bartender (who works as a firefighter in the off season) definitely knows your name. You run into county supervisors at the grocery store, A LOT, and you come to resent deer always jumping in the road and endangering your life, whereas before deer were always cute and innocent. The county fair is a big effing deal and every kid who's anybody's got a pig or a cow or something lounging in a stall, waiting to be judged for a cash prize. The fairs still crown queens, and the queens actually show up at events all year long.

The street I worked on for 3 years

The newspaper is only published 5 days a week and doesn't come out til 1 in the afternoon, and yet no one seems to mind this. The paper's website is too pathetic to even look at. The reporters, editors, and advertising crew have been working there for 20 years, on average, and they're never. ever. leaving. The old issues from the 1850's are collecting dust in the basement and no one thinks twice about running down there to browse through them.

No one had voice mail until 4 years ago, and no one had the Internet until 6 years ago. New reporters make $11 an hour and they say "thank you sir may I have another!"

Where was I going with this? Vicodin? Am I on vicodin right now? Not yet, my friends. Not yet.

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