Have I mentioned that my inner hick, is well, not so inner? I am out, loud and proud.
I adore country music.
By which I mean GOOD country music. Not Garth, not Alan, and certainly not Shania.
I have a deep and abiding love for Corb. He's clever, witty, pens a saucy tune, and is really damn cute, to boot.
Did I mention he's been to my house? Funny story...
The point is, I have my brother's truck for a month. I've gone country. I'm driving that 4x4, V8, half ton, son-of-a-bitch truck like I'm mud-bogging in the bush. It's fun!
So much for my image of myself being all environmentally friendly and dedicated to bus travel. I'm driving to work tomorrow. I'm gonna ride the gas and brake at the same time, too. And take up two lanes. 'Cuz I'm a hick.
And, I hope I see the creepy little fool who slowed down and checked me out me as I was walking to Construction Inc. the other day. I'm gonna mow him down. Technically, you report to me, asshole. We just haven't met, yet.
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Funny story. I went to University with Corb (we knew him as "Corby" then). He wasn't there long, but he lived in rez and he borrowed my lycra pants (it was the '80's) for an airband contest (it was the '80's). Anyway - he and a bunch of other guys joined me at my parents' house one day. Corby took my father aside and said to him "I've been in your daughter's pants." I'm damned lucky dad didn't have a heart attack and died right there. Who would do my renos? ('cause remember - it's all about ME!)
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