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Monticello District Judge set a Drew County man’s bond at $100,000 following his arrest Friday in connection with drug charges. James Kevin Dunnahoe, 44, of Drew County was arrested Friday by agents of the Tenth Drug Task Force following a traffic stop and is currently being held at the Drew County Detention Facility.
According to Lt. Jason Akers, Dunnahoe was stopped for traffic violations on Highway 138 near Winchester by agents and was found to have what is estimated to be several grams of 'Ice' methamphetamine in his pocket.
A search warrant for Dunnahoe’s residence at 131 Brixie Road, Monticello, was subsequently obtained, and agents, assisted by the Drew County Sheriff's Department and the McGehee Police Department, searched the residence and confiscated approximately seven grams of ice methamphetamine, in addition to an unspecified amount of marijuana, "a laser sighted handgun, a rifle and a shotgun,” Akers said, “in addition to baggies, scales and other paraphernalia” that were allegedly used to distribute the narcotics. Agents also seized more than $1,000 in currency from Dunnahoe at the time of his arrest, he said.
Dunnahoe was charged with three felonies, including possession of marijuana and methamphetamine with the intent to deliver, possession of drugs and a firearm, possession of drug paraphernalia, as well as driving left of center.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
~Rainy Day Woman~
I HAVE to show ya'll one of my most favorite things EVER. It's my new record player, and I've been meaning to post it on myspace but haven't had time. I know it's a sin to desire Earthly things, but I have fullfledgedly DESIRED records for as long as I can remember.
Records?? Yup, music records. I have a thing for em. It's a big ol' long story, but I'll just skip ahead and tell ya the conclusion because I'm feeling extremely attention-deficit this morning...as you shall see (as a matter of fact, this is the first true 'rambling' that I've done publicly so it's a kind of a big deal...I usually only let my myspace besties see the extremes of my flightiness).
~The needle is making that lil thunk thunk...thunk thunk...sound because the chunky lady has sung!~
After years of desperate attempts at peeling away from my dearest mom's grasp one of the most awesome country, gospel and oldies record collections in HISTORY, in my opinion, she has finally gifted me with about half of em. They would prolly be worth about $15 at a garage sale, but they're priceless to me. I grew up on them and wore so many of them out, but lots of em are still shiny, great ones like Waylon Jennings, Johnny Horton, & I'll always luv my ol' Hank. :) ~I think I (finally) know what he meant when he sang about the Lost Highway...~
This morning, I woke up, and hoping just like the little wide-eyed eight-year-old beside me that school would get a snow day, I headed to one of the best Christmas gifts, besides my records, that I've ever in my life gotten....a Crossley vintage auto-rama record player/radio. It looks like it came straight from Graceland, or Jerry Lee Lewis' pink house, at the least. Thanks, again, Sis. I LOVE it!!! No snow day, though....it's just a rainy day. (Why, YES! That IS an allsusion to the Waylon Jennings song!)
I've been listening to the greatest songs ever this morning...they are playing one right after another, from Tom T. Hall's "I Love" (which is why I'm in this cheesy mood cuz it does that to me hahaa) to "Fancy Free" by the Oak Ridge Boys, and even a little Charley Pride. OH, and they just played "All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down." So true. So true. Thankfully.
I especially love KXSA 103.1 fm because listening to that station stirs my soul and reminds me of the years I've spent at my dad's body shop, ALL my hubby's shops, the race track, weekends and inside jokes with my besties, car trips with my sis, and a decade of listening to Larry Doggett predict the weather as I fried chicken and mashed taters at dinnertime for my hubby.
Larry Doggett, by the way, the longtime local dj for our little area, is a singer on one of my records. Ain't that neat? I worked with him when I did news a while back for the radio stations, and KNEW that I remembered him from somewhere but could never figure out why until my mom gave me the record collection a few weeks ago. His family traveled as a gospel group back in the day, and I even have one of THEIR records! He's my buddy, and I wish him well.
As I conclude, I realize that I MUST compile soon a list of my records so that ya'll can see how fabulous my collection is. It'll make ya just want to go out and drink some Jose Quervo with a lil salt and lime, kiss all the cowboys, and shoot out the lights...ohhh gotta go. "Common Man" by Conley is on and needs some lipsyncing....
~There's some common people that I hang out with....they're my good time buddies. They're my friends....-Conley~
Monday, January 26, 2009
True love and homegrown tomatoes
This blogpost may be copied with credit.
By Jayme Lawson
~True Love and Homegrown Tomatoes~
Dedicated to Angela and Jeremy, and everyone else in Warren, Arkansas....
If you have found yourself blessed enough to live in Bradley County:
Make sure you have plenty of bread and milk if the weather hints at ice ANYWHERE in Iowa, Texas, Missouri, Mississippi, Hawaii, Oklahoma, Minnesota or El Dorado, because all two grocery stores will be wiped out within an hour.
There are things in your wardrobe adorned with appliquéd tomatoes.
The remainder of your wardrobe which possesses not tomatoes shall be orange and black.
Those garments which are not orange and black should be fireproof and approved by a dirt track or race team.
Further, remaining garments must be camouflage or hunting orange, slightly brighter than Lumberjack shades.
You can no longer follow the yellow brick road because it’s red.
You have rescheduled a wedding, a funeral, or a root canal to coincide with high school football, especially the root canal because the dentist is going to be cooking hamburgers at the game.
The last person out of town really DOES turn the lights out during conference games.
You remember every Saturday morning not to sit in that one particular lil lady’s booth at Molly’s Diner, because she WILL yell at you ‘You’re sitting my booth!‘ The waitresses, apologetically to all parties involved, move whoever dared to post there. Thankfully, I never made that mistake. But I’ve seen three or four times the little lady wander off to talk to the other regulars then return to people at her table. The funny thing is she’ll just laugh and talk with you once you move, and she’s happily seated. I almost dropped my bacon the first time I heard her. I don’t know who she is, but don’t sit in her booth.
You know that Big Boy, Cherry and the Early Girls are not porn stars.
You eat mayo mater sandwiches in the summer and canned salsa in the winter.
You enter an Orb of Stupidity as you approach the four way stop next to the Dollar General and everyone’s commons sense goes out the window. Enter at your own risk. Further, you understand that between Sonic and KFC traffic rules do not apply.
You know not to talk on your cell phone in the gas station for fear of retribution from the phone Nazi (she's my friend and I told her about this already, so don't be offended).
If you want to go out for a real special dinner, you can have Chinese, Mexican, or Chinese.
You still go to the pink tomato festival hoping to find a chilled Bradley to cool you off, even when there haven't been any tomatoes there in 4 yrs counting.
You completely understand why they put a carnival at a tomato festival, but not at a fair. You try not to miss the carnies during the actual fair time when the powers that be don‘t schedule em to appear.
You have a bumper sticker on your van that says try using plastic toilet paper, log a load for kids, or support your dirt track racer.
You learn to keep your basset hounds closely guarded because there is a local long-eared bandit lurking about.
Your cell phone ring is "Home-Grown Tomatoes". What is ‘Homegrown Tomatoes”, you may ask? Well, it’s a song by John Denver and Guy Clark. Wanna hear it? Here it go:
Ain't nothin' in the world that I like better
Than bacon & lettuce & homegrown tomatoes
Up in the mornin' out in the garden
Get you a ripe one don't get a hard one
Plant `em in the spring eat `em in the summer
All winter with out `em's a culinary bummer
I forget all about the sweatin' & diggin'
Everytime I go out & pick me a big one
Homegrown tomatoes homegrown tomatoes
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can't buy
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes
You can go out to eat & that's for sure
But it's nothin' a homegrown tomato won't cure
Put `em in a salad, put `em in a stew
You can make your very own tomato juice
Eat `em with eggs, eat `em with gravy
Eat `em with beans, pinto or navy
Put `em on the site put `em in the middle
Put a homegrown tomato on a hotcake griddle
If I's to change this life I lead
I'd be Johnny Tomato Seed
`Cause I know what this country needs
Homegrown tomatoes in every yard you see
When I die don't bury me
In a box in a cemetary
Out in the garden would be much better
I could be pushin' up homegrown tomatoes
You pull over on the side of the highway out of respect for ragged pickups pulling trailers with bald tires stacked high with waxy cardboard boxes.
You do the same for log trucks.
A night on the town consists of driving to Wal-Mart over in Monticello followed by dinner at Taco Bell, or Wendy’s or Rays or Breaker…anything but McDonald’s or Sonic.
You make fun of people in Banks and Wilmar because you live in a way bigger place.
You quickly learn to lock your bicycle chains because of the notorious hustle gang that roams the streets.
You can pretend you’re vacationing in Tijuana the opening week of harvest.
Ninety-seven percent of the air you breathe is sawdust.
You try to guess the secret sound on the radio every morning while you brush your teeth.
There are more car washes than there are any other business in town.
You have seen more than once the guy with spinner hubcaps have to get out at the red light and start his spinners spinning again.
There’s nothing like Cash’s coffee and fresh morning air scented with diesel fumes.
You may have a next door neighbor who has been arrested for assault charges over getting in a scuffle over a 25 cent Nora Roberts novel at a garage sale.
There are more flea markets on the square than there are fleas on LULU the shop dog.
You cower in fear as Hoosier, the other local shop dog, stands over you with his big humungous slack jaws drooling dog slobber all over the fried bologna sandwich you got from Molly’s. But you love him anyways.
The sound of the tornado warnings grow more familiar than your spouse's voice.
Instead of cookies you leave Santa a helpin' of fried green tomatoes.
You get used to living in a town where the population is a citizen/cop one-to-one ratio.
You’ll realize the loud booming at noon on Friday is not a shoot out at Molly's, the equivalent to high noon at the OK Coral, but is just the weekly tornado warning yet again.
You still sigh in nostalgic wistfulness as you cross what used to be the big bridge.
You know the legend of the 20 point buck.
You spend the weekends between football season perfecting your ringers for the local horseshoe tournaments.
You known not to disturb anyone who has a dale Earnhardt flag on their porch during Sunday afternoons.
You know where Possum Valley is, but you don't tell anyone.
You would let a blind folded drunk edward scissorhands cut your hair before you would venture near that blonde at the yadda yadda hair salon.
You think the Mad Butcher is way better than the Piggly Wiggly.
You know the Family Dollar crackers taste better than the Dollar General crackers.
You have been to Spanky’s, but you don't admit it….unless you’ve been awarded the ‘I got spanked at Spanky’s’ teeshirt.
You know that Food Stamp racing isn't something that happens when they open the door of the Harvest Foods on the third.
Weddings still resemble the 1989 one in Steel Magnolias, including the shot gun, grumpy old women, ugly dogs and possum for dessert.
You have been snipe hunting ….and caught one.
You aren't shocked when your kid comes home and says someone called him a "punta".
You really wonder why there isn't a Taco Bell in warren.. I mean really.
Every time you go by the YMCA, you wanna sing ‘Hey, young man….come and listen to me….’
You’re tired of hearing Feliz Navidad in stores at Christmas time.
You have been naked at some point at Ozment’s Bluff.
You plan your swimming activities by how high the river is at the bridge. Similarly, you have submitted your urine sample as a donation during droughts to the Saline River.
People in Florida, California and Timbuktu email you on Facebook and want to know if you've ever been to the Pink Tomato Festival. Likewise, people in Georgia email you and want to trade peaches for maters.
You will always think the guy that sells 1999 Nike tennis shoes, fur rugs and Fubu suits by the motel is a little scary.
You know not to sit on in the last booth on the right side of Molly’s after church because there is a picture of a man’s butt that says ‘Say no to crack.‘ And speaking of Molly’s, when you haven’t been for a week, you start suffering from sign withdrawals.
The only biker gang in town is comprised of 14 year olds and steals schwinns and huffys.
Oh I just remembered…it’s probably not there anymore, but once when I went to the sno-cone stand, the summer town attaction, there was a chalk outline of a person in the parking space in between the sno-cone stand and courthouse, and a bunch of YMCA kids were trying to see how many could fit inside the body at once.
Who needs a Wal-Mart? We have a co-op.
The only season that outshines racing season is deer season.
You aren’t popular unless you spend New Year’s Day at Wilmar Hunting Club with their barbecued hog snacks wrapped in aluminum foil and strapped to the back of your four-wheeler, whilst out of 4,876 people, 4, 874 of ’em get stuck, lost or go a’swimmin in da crick.
You will become a master at rotating your daily wearing of FoodStamp racing, Arkansas Hogs, Budweiser & Mossy Oak caps almost as well as you rotate the tires on your skidder.
In conclusion, we love God, our families, our friends, tomatoes, and Wal-Mart even though they didn’t love us and put their store here instead.
We even love the Super Bowl, but we still just can’t understand why our beloved Lumberjacks hadn’t made it there yet.
~If you live in Warren, you understand the only two things that money can't buy...that's true love and homegrown tomatoes~
By Jayme Lawson
~True Love and Homegrown Tomatoes~
Dedicated to Angela and Jeremy, and everyone else in Warren, Arkansas....
If you have found yourself blessed enough to live in Bradley County:
Make sure you have plenty of bread and milk if the weather hints at ice ANYWHERE in Iowa, Texas, Missouri, Mississippi, Hawaii, Oklahoma, Minnesota or El Dorado, because all two grocery stores will be wiped out within an hour.
There are things in your wardrobe adorned with appliquéd tomatoes.
The remainder of your wardrobe which possesses not tomatoes shall be orange and black.
Those garments which are not orange and black should be fireproof and approved by a dirt track or race team.
Further, remaining garments must be camouflage or hunting orange, slightly brighter than Lumberjack shades.
You can no longer follow the yellow brick road because it’s red.
You have rescheduled a wedding, a funeral, or a root canal to coincide with high school football, especially the root canal because the dentist is going to be cooking hamburgers at the game.
The last person out of town really DOES turn the lights out during conference games.
You remember every Saturday morning not to sit in that one particular lil lady’s booth at Molly’s Diner, because she WILL yell at you ‘You’re sitting my booth!‘ The waitresses, apologetically to all parties involved, move whoever dared to post there. Thankfully, I never made that mistake. But I’ve seen three or four times the little lady wander off to talk to the other regulars then return to people at her table. The funny thing is she’ll just laugh and talk with you once you move, and she’s happily seated. I almost dropped my bacon the first time I heard her. I don’t know who she is, but don’t sit in her booth.
You know that Big Boy, Cherry and the Early Girls are not porn stars.
You eat mayo mater sandwiches in the summer and canned salsa in the winter.
You enter an Orb of Stupidity as you approach the four way stop next to the Dollar General and everyone’s commons sense goes out the window. Enter at your own risk. Further, you understand that between Sonic and KFC traffic rules do not apply.
You know not to talk on your cell phone in the gas station for fear of retribution from the phone Nazi (she's my friend and I told her about this already, so don't be offended).
If you want to go out for a real special dinner, you can have Chinese, Mexican, or Chinese.
You still go to the pink tomato festival hoping to find a chilled Bradley to cool you off, even when there haven't been any tomatoes there in 4 yrs counting.
You completely understand why they put a carnival at a tomato festival, but not at a fair. You try not to miss the carnies during the actual fair time when the powers that be don‘t schedule em to appear.
You have a bumper sticker on your van that says try using plastic toilet paper, log a load for kids, or support your dirt track racer.
You learn to keep your basset hounds closely guarded because there is a local long-eared bandit lurking about.
Your cell phone ring is "Home-Grown Tomatoes". What is ‘Homegrown Tomatoes”, you may ask? Well, it’s a song by John Denver and Guy Clark. Wanna hear it? Here it go:
Ain't nothin' in the world that I like better
Than bacon & lettuce & homegrown tomatoes
Up in the mornin' out in the garden
Get you a ripe one don't get a hard one
Plant `em in the spring eat `em in the summer
All winter with out `em's a culinary bummer
I forget all about the sweatin' & diggin'
Everytime I go out & pick me a big one
Homegrown tomatoes homegrown tomatoes
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes
Only two things that money can't buy
That's true love & homegrown tomatoes
You can go out to eat & that's for sure
But it's nothin' a homegrown tomato won't cure
Put `em in a salad, put `em in a stew
You can make your very own tomato juice
Eat `em with eggs, eat `em with gravy
Eat `em with beans, pinto or navy
Put `em on the site put `em in the middle
Put a homegrown tomato on a hotcake griddle
If I's to change this life I lead
I'd be Johnny Tomato Seed
`Cause I know what this country needs
Homegrown tomatoes in every yard you see
When I die don't bury me
In a box in a cemetary
Out in the garden would be much better
I could be pushin' up homegrown tomatoes
You pull over on the side of the highway out of respect for ragged pickups pulling trailers with bald tires stacked high with waxy cardboard boxes.
You do the same for log trucks.
A night on the town consists of driving to Wal-Mart over in Monticello followed by dinner at Taco Bell, or Wendy’s or Rays or Breaker…anything but McDonald’s or Sonic.
You make fun of people in Banks and Wilmar because you live in a way bigger place.
You quickly learn to lock your bicycle chains because of the notorious hustle gang that roams the streets.
You can pretend you’re vacationing in Tijuana the opening week of harvest.
Ninety-seven percent of the air you breathe is sawdust.
You try to guess the secret sound on the radio every morning while you brush your teeth.
There are more car washes than there are any other business in town.
You have seen more than once the guy with spinner hubcaps have to get out at the red light and start his spinners spinning again.
There’s nothing like Cash’s coffee and fresh morning air scented with diesel fumes.
You may have a next door neighbor who has been arrested for assault charges over getting in a scuffle over a 25 cent Nora Roberts novel at a garage sale.
There are more flea markets on the square than there are fleas on LULU the shop dog.
You cower in fear as Hoosier, the other local shop dog, stands over you with his big humungous slack jaws drooling dog slobber all over the fried bologna sandwich you got from Molly’s. But you love him anyways.
The sound of the tornado warnings grow more familiar than your spouse's voice.
Instead of cookies you leave Santa a helpin' of fried green tomatoes.
You get used to living in a town where the population is a citizen/cop one-to-one ratio.
You’ll realize the loud booming at noon on Friday is not a shoot out at Molly's, the equivalent to high noon at the OK Coral, but is just the weekly tornado warning yet again.
You still sigh in nostalgic wistfulness as you cross what used to be the big bridge.
You know the legend of the 20 point buck.
You spend the weekends between football season perfecting your ringers for the local horseshoe tournaments.
You known not to disturb anyone who has a dale Earnhardt flag on their porch during Sunday afternoons.
You know where Possum Valley is, but you don't tell anyone.
You would let a blind folded drunk edward scissorhands cut your hair before you would venture near that blonde at the yadda yadda hair salon.
You think the Mad Butcher is way better than the Piggly Wiggly.
You know the Family Dollar crackers taste better than the Dollar General crackers.
You have been to Spanky’s, but you don't admit it….unless you’ve been awarded the ‘I got spanked at Spanky’s’ teeshirt.
You know that Food Stamp racing isn't something that happens when they open the door of the Harvest Foods on the third.
Weddings still resemble the 1989 one in Steel Magnolias, including the shot gun, grumpy old women, ugly dogs and possum for dessert.
You have been snipe hunting ….and caught one.
You aren't shocked when your kid comes home and says someone called him a "punta".
You really wonder why there isn't a Taco Bell in warren.. I mean really.
Every time you go by the YMCA, you wanna sing ‘Hey, young man….come and listen to me….’
You’re tired of hearing Feliz Navidad in stores at Christmas time.
You have been naked at some point at Ozment’s Bluff.
You plan your swimming activities by how high the river is at the bridge. Similarly, you have submitted your urine sample as a donation during droughts to the Saline River.
People in Florida, California and Timbuktu email you on Facebook and want to know if you've ever been to the Pink Tomato Festival. Likewise, people in Georgia email you and want to trade peaches for maters.
You will always think the guy that sells 1999 Nike tennis shoes, fur rugs and Fubu suits by the motel is a little scary.
You know not to sit on in the last booth on the right side of Molly’s after church because there is a picture of a man’s butt that says ‘Say no to crack.‘ And speaking of Molly’s, when you haven’t been for a week, you start suffering from sign withdrawals.
The only biker gang in town is comprised of 14 year olds and steals schwinns and huffys.
Oh I just remembered…it’s probably not there anymore, but once when I went to the sno-cone stand, the summer town attaction, there was a chalk outline of a person in the parking space in between the sno-cone stand and courthouse, and a bunch of YMCA kids were trying to see how many could fit inside the body at once.
Who needs a Wal-Mart? We have a co-op.
The only season that outshines racing season is deer season.
You aren’t popular unless you spend New Year’s Day at Wilmar Hunting Club with their barbecued hog snacks wrapped in aluminum foil and strapped to the back of your four-wheeler, whilst out of 4,876 people, 4, 874 of ’em get stuck, lost or go a’swimmin in da crick.
You will become a master at rotating your daily wearing of FoodStamp racing, Arkansas Hogs, Budweiser & Mossy Oak caps almost as well as you rotate the tires on your skidder.
In conclusion, we love God, our families, our friends, tomatoes, and Wal-Mart even though they didn’t love us and put their store here instead.
We even love the Super Bowl, but we still just can’t understand why our beloved Lumberjacks hadn’t made it there yet.
~If you live in Warren, you understand the only two things that money can't buy...that's true love and homegrown tomatoes~
Saturday, January 24, 2009
~Hack jobs~
I'm so irked.
A few months ago, I took Becca to the beauty salon...she wanted her hair short, and a lady in Warren had opened a shop; I've known her family since childhood in Monticello and decided to patronize her...
She was busy and assured me the other girl would do a good job...she BUTCHERED Becca's hair...I don't know what she did wrong, but I heard '90 angles' and 'what did you do that for' as she and the lady I knew argued over the hackjob.
I wasn't angry...I can't cut hair and am slow to judge people who have talents I don't possess. The lady took Becca, put her in HER chair, and after 45 minutes and three more inches, finally fixed Becca's hair. It was extremely short, but adorable.
Before the girl had started Becca's hair, I had told her I needed a cut, too. So while the other lady was trying to salvage my daughter's 'do, the other one asked if I was ready for mine. I felt embarasssed for her because I had just watched her screw up Becca's hair, and assumed it's because I had asked for a difficult cut. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told her that yes, she could still trim my hair. I couldn't tell she did ANYTHING to it. It was the WORST trim I've ever been given.
This morning, Chris went to town to get his hair cut because he's flying out to meet CORPORATES in Georgia this week....he has a full week of working in the home store, meetings and powwows with executives (His service department was third in their chain, btw, so I'm very proud of him). He came home wearing his racing cap, but it looked two sizes too big on him. He said, "You're not going to believe this" and took off his hat.
Apparently, his regular girl wasn't open, so he went to the other lady's place instead...she was busy and sat him in a chair...the girl that butchered Becca's and sucked with mine appeared. He didn't know any better, so he let her cut it...I'm telling ya'll, I could have shaved his head, poured lighter fluid on it, set it afire, stomped it out with soccer cleats then drawn hair on with a magic marker and it would have been less of a hack job then what this girl did.
He said in his panicky voice: 'She just kept cutting and cutting', all the while feeling around on his head saying 'What's this, what's this?' at funky spots all over his scalp. It's horrible, and whilst I try really hard not to be a brat and go off on people, I called the beauty shop...I told the owner I appreciated HER skills but the idiot that butchered my hubby's hair was going to run her out of business quickly if she didn't do something soon. I said a few other things, but I try to keep this blog censored so I'll leave that out...I'm so tempted to post a huge picture of the hairdresser on here and say 'Beware of this stupid girl', but I won't do that. Just make sure if you're in Warren, Arkansas, you know the hairdresser really well before she takes scissors to your head
Thankfully, Chris hair grows faster than drama so it'll be filled out a little by morning, and a lot more by Monday. I just hope they don't mistake him for a refugee and send him off to some 3rd world country when he tries to get on the plane. I'm tempted to make him a teeshirt that says 'My hair is usually sexier than this.'
A few months ago, I took Becca to the beauty salon...she wanted her hair short, and a lady in Warren had opened a shop; I've known her family since childhood in Monticello and decided to patronize her...
She was busy and assured me the other girl would do a good job...she BUTCHERED Becca's hair...I don't know what she did wrong, but I heard '90 angles' and 'what did you do that for' as she and the lady I knew argued over the hackjob.
I wasn't angry...I can't cut hair and am slow to judge people who have talents I don't possess. The lady took Becca, put her in HER chair, and after 45 minutes and three more inches, finally fixed Becca's hair. It was extremely short, but adorable.
Before the girl had started Becca's hair, I had told her I needed a cut, too. So while the other lady was trying to salvage my daughter's 'do, the other one asked if I was ready for mine. I felt embarasssed for her because I had just watched her screw up Becca's hair, and assumed it's because I had asked for a difficult cut. I gave her the benefit of the doubt and told her that yes, she could still trim my hair. I couldn't tell she did ANYTHING to it. It was the WORST trim I've ever been given.
This morning, Chris went to town to get his hair cut because he's flying out to meet CORPORATES in Georgia this week....he has a full week of working in the home store, meetings and powwows with executives (His service department was third in their chain, btw, so I'm very proud of him). He came home wearing his racing cap, but it looked two sizes too big on him. He said, "You're not going to believe this" and took off his hat.
Apparently, his regular girl wasn't open, so he went to the other lady's place instead...she was busy and sat him in a chair...the girl that butchered Becca's and sucked with mine appeared. He didn't know any better, so he let her cut it...I'm telling ya'll, I could have shaved his head, poured lighter fluid on it, set it afire, stomped it out with soccer cleats then drawn hair on with a magic marker and it would have been less of a hack job then what this girl did.
He said in his panicky voice: 'She just kept cutting and cutting', all the while feeling around on his head saying 'What's this, what's this?' at funky spots all over his scalp. It's horrible, and whilst I try really hard not to be a brat and go off on people, I called the beauty shop...I told the owner I appreciated HER skills but the idiot that butchered my hubby's hair was going to run her out of business quickly if she didn't do something soon. I said a few other things, but I try to keep this blog censored so I'll leave that out...I'm so tempted to post a huge picture of the hairdresser on here and say 'Beware of this stupid girl', but I won't do that. Just make sure if you're in Warren, Arkansas, you know the hairdresser really well before she takes scissors to your head
Thankfully, Chris hair grows faster than drama so it'll be filled out a little by morning, and a lot more by Monday. I just hope they don't mistake him for a refugee and send him off to some 3rd world country when he tries to get on the plane. I'm tempted to make him a teeshirt that says 'My hair is usually sexier than this.'
Friday, January 23, 2009
~A triple-dog dare~
This is another old one from my private page. I was not going to post it publicly because it's dumb, but I was tripledog-dared. And I rarely pass up a tripledog-dare. It's a wonder I haven't shot my eye out yet. I DID stick my tongue to the end of a frozen orange juice can when I was a kid once and got stuck though. It hurt, too.
~~~~~~
I told at least three or four of ya'll something I wanted for Christmas, but I don't remember who. Since I can't remember who exactly I told and can't go back and say 'oops', I'm just going to tell all of ya'll in case there's someone besides me that doesn't already know about this. However, by the looks of my research, I think I MUST BE the only person that didn't know this.
I told my sister last night same thing I've told a few people. My sister has been TORTURING ME about what she got me for Christmas. And I have guessed EVERYTHING I can think of. I said 'Is it a banana hammock?"
My sister was like "WHAT???? You dummy! Do you even KNOW what a banana hammock is???" I said, 'Uh, Yeah. It's a hammock for your bananas. I've wanted one forever."
"OMG, Jayme." Then I could hear her calling her hubby away from the Bears/Packers showdown. "Bobbbb! Do you know what this fool just said she wants for Christmas? A banana hamock." I didn't see what was so funny. Bob was a chef and is all OCD about his kitchen so I figured he'd say "I'd like one of those, too." Instead, I heard him in the background say "Well, my Lord," and start laughing.
I googled and searched on my most favorite online dictionary, and I'm posting what I found.
First, though, this is the banana hammock I want:
Ain't it cute??? I want a real hammock, too, then I saw the following pic, and I wish my sofa was a hammock:
Anyhoo, I want a banana hammock because I never have anywhere to put my bananas, and they are my most favorite fruit.
And this is what I found along the lines of my sister's claims on my fav dictionary site:
~A man's speedo swimsuit.
"Look at all of the banana hammocks in Fort Lauderdale. "
~A men's style of undergarment that holds the genitalia in a sling-like hammock apparatus, allowing the ******* to protrude offensively. Favored by greasy Europeans at the beach, and even greasier weightlifters during competition and posedown sessions.
"When I was swimming at the Y the other day, this hairy Italian hedgehog was hanging out at the pool all day showing off his silky red banana hammock."
"Joe: This banana hammock's crushing my hardyboys. It's no mystery."
"This banana hammock is chafing my butt cheeks"
"I think I'll wear a banana hammock instead of boxers today."
"I have to lose the winter tire, so my banana hammock still fits."
~A phrase used between guys to tell one another to check out one girl or another
"Hey, Vince... banana hammock at 5 o'clock."
~An athletic supporter. A jock strap. Very common since at least the 1950s.
"What are you giving your husband for his birthday Jane?"
"I thought I'd get him a new banana hammock, Mavis."
~~~~~~
I told at least three or four of ya'll something I wanted for Christmas, but I don't remember who. Since I can't remember who exactly I told and can't go back and say 'oops', I'm just going to tell all of ya'll in case there's someone besides me that doesn't already know about this. However, by the looks of my research, I think I MUST BE the only person that didn't know this.
I told my sister last night same thing I've told a few people. My sister has been TORTURING ME about what she got me for Christmas. And I have guessed EVERYTHING I can think of. I said 'Is it a banana hammock?"
My sister was like "WHAT???? You dummy! Do you even KNOW what a banana hammock is???" I said, 'Uh, Yeah. It's a hammock for your bananas. I've wanted one forever."
"OMG, Jayme." Then I could hear her calling her hubby away from the Bears/Packers showdown. "Bobbbb! Do you know what this fool just said she wants for Christmas? A banana hamock." I didn't see what was so funny. Bob was a chef and is all OCD about his kitchen so I figured he'd say "I'd like one of those, too." Instead, I heard him in the background say "Well, my Lord," and start laughing.
I googled and searched on my most favorite online dictionary, and I'm posting what I found.
First, though, this is the banana hammock I want:
Ain't it cute??? I want a real hammock, too, then I saw the following pic, and I wish my sofa was a hammock:
Anyhoo, I want a banana hammock because I never have anywhere to put my bananas, and they are my most favorite fruit.
And this is what I found along the lines of my sister's claims on my fav dictionary site:
~A man's speedo swimsuit.
"Look at all of the banana hammocks in Fort Lauderdale. "
~A men's style of undergarment that holds the genitalia in a sling-like hammock apparatus, allowing the ******* to protrude offensively. Favored by greasy Europeans at the beach, and even greasier weightlifters during competition and posedown sessions.
"When I was swimming at the Y the other day, this hairy Italian hedgehog was hanging out at the pool all day showing off his silky red banana hammock."
"Joe: This banana hammock's crushing my hardyboys. It's no mystery."
"This banana hammock is chafing my butt cheeks"
"I think I'll wear a banana hammock instead of boxers today."
"I have to lose the winter tire, so my banana hammock still fits."
~A phrase used between guys to tell one another to check out one girl or another
"Hey, Vince... banana hammock at 5 o'clock."
~An athletic supporter. A jock strap. Very common since at least the 1950s.
"What are you giving your husband for his birthday Jane?"
"I thought I'd get him a new banana hammock, Mavis."
~Come & listen to my story 'bout a man named Jed~
“She tried to hide it by the faded denim clothes she wore
But I knew she'd never been inside a bar before”
My mother always says she's 'never been to a honky tonk and wants to go just once.' We've tried to take her several times, but she always goes 'NOOO! What if someone sees me there?!?' A friend, rest his soul, used to say "Baptists are the friendliest people in the world, except when they see each other in the liquor store." Haa. I think that's funny, and I love my Baptists...I'm a Baptist, and I understand the truth in that lil saying....I fight my spiritual battles and have remembered my church covenant every time I've ever taken a sip.
My mother, though she’s never graced the doors of a bar, is the root of my classic country passion. Her favorite is Marty Robbins’ In the Misty Moonlight (their song) and anything Conway Twitty. She has told me of the time dad took her to one of his concerts, and as he finished singing one of MY personal Conway Twitty favorites “Don’t Cry, Joni”, a woman stood up in the back and screamed, “Serves ya right!” I realize you may have to google the song to see why that’s so funny.
Conway Twitty, by the way, was born Harold Lloyd Jenkins in Mississippi. When he was 10 years old, his family moved to Helena, Arkansas, and it was there he grew and later formed his first singing group, The Phillips County Ramblers. Within two years, he had his own radio show and was offered to play baseball with the Philadelphia Phillies, but an Army draft ended that dream. Following his discharge from the Army, he headed to Memphis, Tenn., and worked with Sam Phillips at Sun Studios, the home of greats like Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash. However, he didn’t think he name was marketable, so in 1957, he was looking at a road map and noticed Conway, Arkansas, and Twitty, Texas. Just so ya know...
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ya’ll come see us now, ya hear?”
The other day, I took my daddy to town for dinner and shopping. In the car, my daddy couldn't see the stereo panel very well, and he was really trying to find me some good music, so he bounced from cd 1 to am to cd 4 to fm to cd 2. Just as I could tell he was getting frustrated and I was feeling bad about that, a few notes played on cd 5. "OH! I love this one! You'll like it!," he said excitedly and turned up the volume. I was disappointed a little that it wasn‘t “Rainy Day Woman” by Waylon Jennings, which I know for a fact is Number One on CD 4 in their car. "It's Jed Clampit," he said. He was right...I did enjoy it.
Now, I don’t know if that’s his birth name or if he just had a fondness for the Beverly Hillbillies, but Jed Clampit is a Monticello-rooted musician who used to be friends with my dad and stop by the shop when I was little to see him in between his road trips. I couldn't have been more than 8 the first time I met him and was certain he was the long-haired guy from the Oak Ridge Boys, whose songs I lip-synced often back then. By the time I saw him again a few years later, I confused him with the ZZTop guy.
One of the few cars, trucks, buses, vans, 18-wheelers, or delivery trailers that I actually specifically remember of the thousands that went in out of our bays...the thousands I crawled around, sanded, leaned and turned ratchets on all the time throughout my childhood and first half of my adulthood... was Mr. Jed’s big ol’ tour bus that my dad painted. During racing season, I get to glance at it each Saturday as I speed down the highway south of Monticello towards the dirt track.
My dad and I ran his errands with Mr. Jed singing beautiful gospel songs all the way; I dropped my dad off, came home and logged onto myspace. My friend Randy (who I think we should start calling Rob hahaha) had an update…he had just became friends with JED CLAMPIT. I was stunned! I was shocked Mr. Jed had a page, but more shocked I HAD JUST BEEN LISTENING TO HIS MUSIC, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Perhaps Randy has some kind of cosmic connection to my dad, because he worked for years with my daddy’s family at Radio Shack/Strykers, and my dad always thought he was ‘a good kid.’
I added Jed Clampit and sent him a note with the request…”OMGoSH, Mr. Jed! This is Big Ben’s youngest daughter and I took him to town tonight and we were listening to YOUR songs!” I have not seen this man since before I was in junior high, and I was just shocked.
He emailed back and said, “Tell Big Ben hi,“ and said he plays at the River on Wednesday nights. So THAT’S why Randy the Robber had added him…
I called my Daddy and told him, and he’s really excited about it. My mom has shingles this week, so if she’s better next week, I’ma take her to the place which has a bar. She could possibly kick, scream and pray all the way there, but I'ma do it anyways.
My daddy’s the best Baptist deacon I know, and my mom is, if nothing else, the funniest deacon‘s wife you‘ll ever meet. So, Mr. Jed (and Randy), I’m taking my mom to fulfill her sinful dream and my daddy to visit you. There’s either gonna be a reunion or a revival….maybe both.
www.myspace.com/jedclampitmusic
But I knew she'd never been inside a bar before”
My mother always says she's 'never been to a honky tonk and wants to go just once.' We've tried to take her several times, but she always goes 'NOOO! What if someone sees me there?!?' A friend, rest his soul, used to say "Baptists are the friendliest people in the world, except when they see each other in the liquor store." Haa. I think that's funny, and I love my Baptists...I'm a Baptist, and I understand the truth in that lil saying....I fight my spiritual battles and have remembered my church covenant every time I've ever taken a sip.
My mother, though she’s never graced the doors of a bar, is the root of my classic country passion. Her favorite is Marty Robbins’ In the Misty Moonlight (their song) and anything Conway Twitty. She has told me of the time dad took her to one of his concerts, and as he finished singing one of MY personal Conway Twitty favorites “Don’t Cry, Joni”, a woman stood up in the back and screamed, “Serves ya right!” I realize you may have to google the song to see why that’s so funny.
Conway Twitty, by the way, was born Harold Lloyd Jenkins in Mississippi. When he was 10 years old, his family moved to Helena, Arkansas, and it was there he grew and later formed his first singing group, The Phillips County Ramblers. Within two years, he had his own radio show and was offered to play baseball with the Philadelphia Phillies, but an Army draft ended that dream. Following his discharge from the Army, he headed to Memphis, Tenn., and worked with Sam Phillips at Sun Studios, the home of greats like Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash. However, he didn’t think he name was marketable, so in 1957, he was looking at a road map and noticed Conway, Arkansas, and Twitty, Texas. Just so ya know...
~~~~~~~~~~
“Ya’ll come see us now, ya hear?”
The other day, I took my daddy to town for dinner and shopping. In the car, my daddy couldn't see the stereo panel very well, and he was really trying to find me some good music, so he bounced from cd 1 to am to cd 4 to fm to cd 2. Just as I could tell he was getting frustrated and I was feeling bad about that, a few notes played on cd 5. "OH! I love this one! You'll like it!," he said excitedly and turned up the volume. I was disappointed a little that it wasn‘t “Rainy Day Woman” by Waylon Jennings, which I know for a fact is Number One on CD 4 in their car. "It's Jed Clampit," he said. He was right...I did enjoy it.
Now, I don’t know if that’s his birth name or if he just had a fondness for the Beverly Hillbillies, but Jed Clampit is a Monticello-rooted musician who used to be friends with my dad and stop by the shop when I was little to see him in between his road trips. I couldn't have been more than 8 the first time I met him and was certain he was the long-haired guy from the Oak Ridge Boys, whose songs I lip-synced often back then. By the time I saw him again a few years later, I confused him with the ZZTop guy.
One of the few cars, trucks, buses, vans, 18-wheelers, or delivery trailers that I actually specifically remember of the thousands that went in out of our bays...the thousands I crawled around, sanded, leaned and turned ratchets on all the time throughout my childhood and first half of my adulthood... was Mr. Jed’s big ol’ tour bus that my dad painted. During racing season, I get to glance at it each Saturday as I speed down the highway south of Monticello towards the dirt track.
My dad and I ran his errands with Mr. Jed singing beautiful gospel songs all the way; I dropped my dad off, came home and logged onto myspace. My friend Randy (who I think we should start calling Rob hahaha) had an update…he had just became friends with JED CLAMPIT. I was stunned! I was shocked Mr. Jed had a page, but more shocked I HAD JUST BEEN LISTENING TO HIS MUSIC, FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. Perhaps Randy has some kind of cosmic connection to my dad, because he worked for years with my daddy’s family at Radio Shack/Strykers, and my dad always thought he was ‘a good kid.’
I added Jed Clampit and sent him a note with the request…”OMGoSH, Mr. Jed! This is Big Ben’s youngest daughter and I took him to town tonight and we were listening to YOUR songs!” I have not seen this man since before I was in junior high, and I was just shocked.
He emailed back and said, “Tell Big Ben hi,“ and said he plays at the River on Wednesday nights. So THAT’S why Randy the Robber had added him…
I called my Daddy and told him, and he’s really excited about it. My mom has shingles this week, so if she’s better next week, I’ma take her to the place which has a bar. She could possibly kick, scream and pray all the way there, but I'ma do it anyways.
My daddy’s the best Baptist deacon I know, and my mom is, if nothing else, the funniest deacon‘s wife you‘ll ever meet. So, Mr. Jed (and Randy), I’m taking my mom to fulfill her sinful dream and my daddy to visit you. There’s either gonna be a reunion or a revival….maybe both.
www.myspace.com/jedclampitmusic
~I'm here, there, everywhere...~
I saw a thing a few weeks ago on my friend Dean's blog, but now I can't find it anywhere. It had to do with live feeds, and putting all your pages in one location, or something to that effect.
What I need is a page that I can check everything from, including yahoo, myspace, facebook, twitter, my blog, and a few other websites i go to often, such as the pine bluff commercial and monticellolive (woop woop joe...i just gave ya a shoutout!).
IS there something like this that exists, and where do I find it?
What I need is a page that I can check everything from, including yahoo, myspace, facebook, twitter, my blog, and a few other websites i go to often, such as the pine bluff commercial and monticellolive (woop woop joe...i just gave ya a shoutout!).
IS there something like this that exists, and where do I find it?
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