Here’s the thing about having a blog. When you go to do something with friends, you get one of two reactions. Either a frightened, “Is this gonna end up on the blog?” or “I can’t believe you didn’t write about that.”
You can’t win. Your friend will prowl the blog looking for evidence you wrote about that time the two of you got kicked out of a Dollar General because they had caftans and you insisted on trying each one on and modeling it throughout the store while your friend composed a lovely running commentary describing the quality of polyester used. If it’s not there, you will be subject to a dressing down about your inability to recognize a funny story because that right there was comedy. OR you will choose to write about that time in college you came out of the bathroom at some dive and found her on top of the bar dancing to “Rhinestone Cowboy”, and even though you never mentioned her real name, said what city it was, and the song was actually “Can’t Touch This”, she is MORTIFIED BEYOND BELIEF and will seriously consider taking away your godparent privileges.
This weekend I went down to my ancestral home of Laurel, Mississippi. I mentioned it briefly yesterday, but I didn’t have a lot of time to write about it. While I was there I hung out with my old friend JASON JASON JASON. I want to make sure you know his name because yesterday I got a call along the lines of, “Dude, seriously? I didn’t even rate my name getting mentioned?” So I told him I never know how people are going to react to being mentioned by name. Then JASON said it was fine to call him by name as long as I didn’t tell the story about the time we went cow tipping and he ended up drunk and on a tractor singing that song about the tumbling tumble weeds. Kidding! That didn’t happen. Or did it?
Point being, we went to this Loblolly Festival in downtown Laurel to hear two very excellent bands, Fat Man Squeeze and Blue Mountain. You probably know Blue Mountain, but you may not know Fat Man Squeeze. You need to. You need to know a band that has a bluegrass song about Obi Wan Kenobi. The Food-On-A-Stick Lobby was well represented at Loblollypalooza ’11. So was the Mesh Netting Lobby.
Y’all, Imma take the music down and dim the lights. I’m fixin’ to get serious. We need to talk about dog tutus. Honey, your dog does not need a tutu.
When you put a tutu on your dog, he starts plotting ways to get you back. Things like waiting until you’re all dressed up to go out to dinner and then crapping all over your new shoes. Or dragging his butt all over your new carpet. I promise you there will be a 75% increase in butt dragging the moment you bring home a tutu for Fido. Your dog does not like to wear a tutu any more than she likes having her toenails painted. Just stop. Please? I’ve never seen so many booths filled with dog tutus in my life. Okay, honestly? I’d never been to a crafts fair where there were dog tutus, but I don’t get out much.
The Mesh Netting Lobby would also like you to buy a wreath this year. For any occasion. ANY occasion. Approximately 521,309 yards of net is used to make a wreath. Or swag. You could also have a swag. Birthday? Mesh wreath. Saints game? Mesh wreath. Graduate from dental school? Mesh swag. Case of the Grumpy Mondays? Mesh wreath.
You like magnolias shot through with mesh and metallic? BOOM…
Perhaps you want to celebrate your love of flip flops? BAM…
Do you love both mesh AND John Deere tractors? It’s your lucky day, mutha humpa…
One would THINK that at a festival named after a pine tree, there would have been a number of wreaths made of pine. ONE WOULD BE WRONG. I think, perhaps, in a bit of meta-carving, one of the guys carving figures with a chain saw was carving a pine tree, but we weren’t entirely sure. There were also a number of booths displaying these yard signs painted like pumpkins and ornaments and you can get your family’s name or initials painted WHILE YOU WAIT, no less. I believe most of them were supposed to look like this,
Yeah, for every cool booth, there were 300 booths filled with that kind of crap. Listen, if THAT’S the bar for creative expression, I really don’t understand why I don’t have my own sitcom. For realsies.
Other than that, it was a good afternoon. Beers were drunk. Babies were cooed over. Meth heads were dancing.
Duuuude. You know there’s always that one guy? You know the one.
Free entertainment, folks. You can’t beat that with a stick. Even though you might want to. Over and over and over again.