I don't think saying WOW would do it...

Tonight I went on stage for perhaps the last time in the Big City. I can't say how much tonight meant to me, and Mom? I'm sorry for blogging under the influence of several beers.

First, I got to hang out with and catch up with a pair of brothers who I haven't seen since I was about thirteen years old. Shout out to you boys, because who in their right mind would want to be seen near me after knowing me through my years of Jewel loving teenage angst?

Mal helped me get ready and I went to the bar in jeans (That I picked out and bouth MYSELF) and a tank top (That I picked out and bought MYSELF) and of course, my trusty fedora and my business jacket. I looked fuckin' hot.

EVERYONE who I invited showed up, and it was so great to see so many familiar faces in the audience. A few people couldn't make it because of exams and so forth, and if that person is you? I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND because no matter how hot I looked, even I wouldn't miss out on studying time to see my hot self perform.

I started out with Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash (Because I've fallen in love with him after downloading a shitload of his songs in their original form) and then I did House of The Risin' Sun.

And I promptly forgot the lyrics in the third verse.

I'm not sure how this sort of thing happens. Really. Why must the brain malfunction as it does? I think I have sang this song perhaps EVERY SINGLE DAY since I first picked up a guitar. And yet, standing on stage tonight? I forgot EVERY POSSIBLE LYRIC YOU COULD FORGET.

What is wrong with me?

At any rate, I made the BEST POSSIBLE RECOVERY YOU COULD MAKE. I have always admired and strived to be the entertainer my Oldest Brother is. He can walk onto a stage, have presence, make people laugh, and fuck up every single song he attempts, and yet still? People buy him free beers. Bastards.

Tonight, I made one of THOSE recoveries. I just started talking nonchallantly as I continued strumming in my 3/4 time (and yes, Mom, you could have set a tic-toc to it!) I just talked into the mic like it was my job, lamenting the fact that I had forgotten the lyrics, and MAN, does it suck to do that on stage in front of a bunch of people....

Then I did two originals that I ROCKED, and there was so much clapping and cheering and so forth. The sound guy mentioned my TOTALLY WICKED AWESOME guitar, but he didn't give it more introduction time than he did me, thank goodness.

And then? I got encored. And it was the best feeling ever. And so many people were screaming "Amanda! You're so awesome, we love you! Another Song, Another Song!" that the sound guy came up and told me to go ahead and do another one.

So I did a more upbeat song that I sing really well, ano original, and all night? I just felt like such a rockstar. I know that being on stage in front of twenty of your nearest and dearest doesn't quite equate to being the next Willie Nelson or the next Metallica....

But my God, did I feel like it tonight.

Thank you so much to those who made it out. This was perhaps the best night I've had in the Big City yet.

Amanda

Girls with Guns....

Easy steps to becoming a sharp shooting redneck in one hour or less:
First, you need a lesson from SuperNan on how to hold the gun. My dad will also probably accost you at this point and demand that you make a triangle with your two hands and look through it at a point on the wall. You'll be confused, but because he's my dad, you're going to listen. An hour later someone will explain to you that the point of this exercise was to determine whether you are right or left eye dominant.

Then, you need to go out to the shooting range, also known as the field behind the house. The boys will show up with four-wheelers and big trucks, and you can stand beside them smoking a cigarette and feeling like the ultimate redneck.

After you'd declared yourself an official redneck, you get to learn how to stand with the gun. Here you can see that Mal has, indeed, learned the rules of gun safety: Her finger isn't on the trigger, nor is it pointed directly at her own face. For a first timer, Mal did pretty well hitting one of the three clay pidgeons she shot at. After her first hit, she decided to call it quits for the day, probably because at this point, neither her nor I could feel our fingers any more.

After you'd made yourself the sharpest shooter in all of CowTown, you get to pose beside your redneck friend with the guns. And you get to make fun of her for wearing a coat that bears strong resemblence to a sleeping bag you brought to camp with you in the seventh grade.


When you're not out shooting stuff, you get to go to the rink my great Grandfather built and have a sword fight on ice. The Precious Boy is learning how to skate this year, and what a skater he's become! He's finally mastered the art of using two feet to skate instead of pushing with one and sliding with the other. While we were learning how to do this, it was quite a bit like the blind leading the blind, seeing as I can hardly remain vertical on ice myself. If nothing else, he got a kick out of the fact that I fall down just as much, if not more often, than he does.

It was a grand spring break; probably my best yet. This one didn't involve some strange illness, having my wisdom teeth out, working eight million hours, or any family crises. (These are all things that my spring breaks usually consist of. Sigh.)

I have a few more random pictures from break that will be up at my site later in the day, so stop by and check them out if you have a minute!

Toonses

The Outside Looking In....

Joining someone else's family for any period of time is usually overwhelming. When I first met The Berry Queen & King, I was shocked to learn that it was not, in fact, a violation of several federal laws and a few county by-laws to stack dirty dishes on top of one another. The thought horrified me, and still does to this day, because good heavens, why would any sane people want to to have to wash both sides of one dish? Why would you double your workload like that? Don't people who do things like this realize that there is important television to be watching?

Mal is here at the Ranch, for her first ever glimpse into the way my family functions. If you've been here forever, you know the rules. Don't stack the dirty dishes. I might scream and throttle you with a pepper mill. Don't crumple my mother's table cloth. She could very well lose her mind entirely, wrap it around your neck, and strangle you with it to prevent such a thing ever happening again. And finally, you aren't allowed to give my dad's dog commands. It's some wierd training thing he follows whereby the dog only listens to its owner so as not to be confused.

I suppose that some of these rules should be clarified, in particular the dog one. My brother's dog is still here at the Ranch with us, and this animal has the ability to inspire hysteria into anything composed of atoms as it enters the room. She causes dust to fly, she wreaks havoc on perfectly laid out construction toys, and her tail is a nightmare that just keeps happening all the live-long day. She can take out drinks, bowls of food, small children, and I'm sure, if you let her, an entire small nation with three wags of her outrageously long and wag-gy tail.

I entered the living room yesterday to the sight of Mall beneath approximately one hundred and seventy five pounds worth of dogs, licking, jumping, wiggling, panting, and generally trying to consume her like an ice cream cone on a hot day. Mal was sitting perfectly still, as though there were not three obnoxious creatures messing her coiffed hair and putting their dogg-y paws on her outfit.

I tried asking her what the hell she was doing, trapped beneath this mess of dog, but every time she opened her mouth, three doggy noses dove forward to see if they could wrangle up some makeout time. I waded through the mess, trying to haul dogs off her her as best I could, laughing at my poor friend's plight.

"Why on Earth didn't you just yell at them to get down?"

"I thought the rule was no commanding dogs? So I was hoping they'd go away."

Is the Pope Catholic? Do dogs pee on brick walls? Will I throw my body across the room like a mother bear to protect her children should the safety of my socks come into danger?

Of course something so measly as hope will not call off those dogs. You need a bull-horn, a cattle prod, some sort of eletrified fencing mechanism, and full body armour to protect yourself from these beasts, and I don't even have faith that these would deterr them fro more than a minute.

Yes, Mal. This is how we live. Surrounded by dogs who bark, wiggle, stampede throughout the house, are capable of sending my ninety pound grandmother flying through the air, and who spend all day every day looking for a crotch to sniff. Don't tell them they have no goals.

Hope. Pffft. Hope is for pansies. In this house you get by with the help of special favors from God, an ability to hold back your Cosmos, and a deep-seated understanding that he who wades his way into the fray, slashing and beating off the others who live here with large jewelry stones and sheer will is the only one who is going to come out on top, free of dog trauma, and with the last Coke from the fridge.

Toonses