Bringing Sexy Back...with Flannel

Flannel is wonderful in ways that no other material could ever hope to be. I'd even go so far as to call it the John Prine of materials...wow, trust me that says more than you could even comprehend. It's comfortable, durable, warm, wholesome looking, and in my opinion, just plain sexy. When you wear flannel, you are making a clear statement; you're like the Ricky Martin of lumberjacks (o.k. that's really not flattering at all, and creates a horrid visual), but you get what I mean. You're up for any task, and you will look damn good doing it.

I've been playing around with an idea for a business plan: flannel lingerie. What do you think?


For those of you who prefer more conventional methods of wearing flannel, check out this link to see shirts from one of my favorite companies, L.L Bean. All of their products I've ever purchased have been super comfortable and have worn really nicely. Plus, you get free shipping, even if you live in the boonies. Do you guys have any preferred clothing lines for flannel shirts?

                                                           

Word of the Day....

Ustacould (Use to Could) - Verb-ish? - origin: backwoods Nebraska  def: Use to be able to (do something)
EXAMPLE: Question: Can you drink that there 30 pack of PBR in a single sittin'? REPLY: Well, I ustacould, but I've been cuttin' back

No, I didn't steal this from Larry the Cable Guy. My fiance just happened to grow up in the same part of Nebraska as Larry, and apparently they really use this terminology out there. I am going to do my best to completely destroy the English language, and make this word commonplace in good old Western Pa.

I'm sure this man's vocabulary includes the word "ustacould"

John Prine is My Home-Boy

The great John Prine

Well folks, I am about to experience one of my life's biggest tragedies thus far. John Prine,yes,THE John Prine, is coming to the Benedum Center in Pittsburgh on March 2, and unfortunately I will be in Maui.  I know, I know, you guys are all thinking I'm lucky to be going on an 8-day tropical getaway; and yes, I must say I am very excited. However, why, oh why did fate have to be so cruel as to schedule this trip during the same time John Prine will be gracing Pittsburgh with his all-mighty presence?

      It may seem that I am blowing my bad luck out of proportion, however once you've listened to Prine, you'll understand. Or maybe, if you have absolutely no taste in music, you won't. Either way, I am pleading for you to at least listen to the song shown below. For all of you smarty-pants who've been doing some figurin', yes, my blog is named after this tune. It is my favorite diddy of all time, and will without a doubt, be my wedding song. 

C'mon, you have to give kudos to any song that includes the lyrics, "He ain't got laid in a month of Sundays / I caught him once, he was sniffin' my undies." Prine is a genius. 

For all you lucky people who will be home to attend this show of the century, ticket information can be found here.

Imatwang

Well guys, I coined a new word the other day! I do a little songwriting on the side, and I started thinking about how funny it is that all these new age country singers have big-time southern accents, even though most of them didn't even grow up in the sticks. I mean, they completely distort words, so "hell" becomes "hey-al", "something" becomes "sumpn", etc. Personally, I love this. Anyhow, I started writing a song about this phenomenon, and I decided to call it "imatwang".
     
Since moving to the country, I've found that Kevin and I are guilty of imatwang as well. Somehow, we have adopted a very hillbilly, southern dialect, even though neither one of us grew up anywhere near the south. A few months ago we ventured into the big city of Pittsburgh to go out for my friend's birthday. Boy, you should have seen the looks we got when we started calling each other "ma" and "pa" in the middle of the club. I have to work on controlling this in public, since those city folks just do not understand.

Composting 101

Me sending my compost pile back to it's maker

Try as I may to be ecologically conscious, I cannot get my compost pile to work. It sits by the shed, about 100 ft. from by back door, glaring at me in all its shiny plastic glory.  It looks so strange sitting there, like a looming alien form, against the backdrop of weathered, Ceylon blue barn wood. It is dome-shaped, about three feet tall, with vertical vents on the sides. The twist-off lid, a parody of user-friendliness, is covered with a pile of snow, challenging me to a wrestling match, in what is sure to be a true test of strength, will-power, and my extensive vocabulary of curse words.


I thought composting was easy; throw food scraps in, and they’ll rot and turn to dirt. I guess I never contemplated the science behind this miracle. Sure, I read what to put in: old  fruit, vegetable peelings, egg shells, straw, and even brown, unbleached paper, as well as what to avoid ,like  bones and meat scraps. I have been following   these rules to a T, yet my scraps will not rot! Every time I manage to win my battle with the relentless lid, I stare in dismay at the food scraps, still in their food scrap forms, glaring back at me. I can’t help but feel like a complete failure; really, how hard is it to make shit rot?

The other day, my frustration got the best of me, and I (Gasp) threw a banana peel right into the garbage, without even a sideways glance at the little green  bowl I use to collect scraps intended for the compost pile. I got a peevish satisfaction imagining this peel going to the dump, and rotting away into a pile of mushy, moldy gunk. Take that compost pile! I’ll make things rot!  My dog, Toby, shot a hesitant glance at my outburst, and I quickly walked away from the garbage can, very glad that dogs do not easily pass judgment.

So, I guess I’ll have to do my research on composting. It is clearly not as easy as I thought, but I am not yet ready to admit defeat. For some reason I think earthworms are the answer. Where will I get earthworms at this time of year? God only knows, but I will not rest until my scraps have rotted.

To Be, or Not to Be...A Hick

Ok guys, I have to admit that my last post really made me feel self-conscious about my self-implied hick status. So....I started wondering if I fit into this status, or am part of some glorified,  hick-sub/super culture. Below are the reasons I believe I am in the latter group!

1. Both my fiance and I have all of our teeth! :) (however, Merle the coonhound is missing quite a few)
2. We buy free-range eggs and organic milk (umm..disregard the fact we are getting our own chickens this spring)
3. We do not kill things to eat, nor do we eat road-kill
4. On the rare occasion that we venture into the big city, it is usually for an opera or ballet, or some other cultural event (even though we amuse ourselves by blasting Merle Haggard or George Jones, and laughing at the disgusted looks we get)
5. I don't normally go by by first and middle name (Lacy May sounds a little too much like a redneck stripper)
6. We currently do not have a couch or refrigerator on our front porch (although I am tempted....)

There ya have it! Just because we live in the country , does not make us hicks! I'm feeling a little better after having justified this fact.

You Know You're a Hick When......

Yep, these are the men in my life, Kevin and Merle. This picture  has led me to finally admit that yes, we  are hicks. There ya go, it's out for the whole world to see. At first, I thought we were just country bumpkins, but between the coonhound, Kevin's big red GMC, and my one-eyed cat, I now think we've moved on to a whole different class.

Don't worry, Merle did not actually consume any alcohol (Kevin wouldn't share ;) )