I gave away a lot of stuff

3 Word Wednesday

Aloof, Temporary, Whole

Three words. Write. 

What if you were the one who gave me flowers? 

I was thinking of us today.  I remember the night we spent under the stars because we didn’t have the key to the house. We spent the night being awkward and aloof. I remember talking and nervously holding hands. I thought it was sweet you didn’t talk much, and now I know you never say much, even when you are mad. I wonder sometimes if you knew that night, or when exactly you knew you wouldn’t leave my life. 

I am different than you, I talk constantly, but I also keep my own secrets; things that are precious to me that I don’t want anyone to ruin. I don’t always let you know my thoughts when I think of you or what I’m feeling, maybe I should.  I am protective when it comes to my feelings.  You shut me out too.  There are times when we are together and I feel very alone. I try to hold you tight, you resist and wiggle free, and I am reminded you are not mine and I am not yours.   It is hard trying to feel both joy and sadness at the same time.  You travel so much and are hardly here. I tell you to wear your glasses when you drive because you are a horrible driver, but you don’t think you drive poorly. You can risk your own life, and I think if you knew how valuable you are to me, you wouldn’t be so careless.  People ask me if I am lonely when you are not here, and for me it is no different than when you are here.    

No, I don’t need another person to make me whole, but you are a part of me and sometimes I wish our relationship was different.  Different in a good way, in a way that you would consider me more and not be so selfish.  For you, everything bends to your will, even me. I hate that I give in so easily to you and don’t get the same in return.  I realize relationships are so temporary, and nothing will last forever.   Perhaps the next person to be selfish will be me.  

What is that smell? Skunk Ape?

THREE WORD WEDNESDAY

Three words and write…

Obedient, adjective: complying or willing to comply with orders or requests; submissive to another's will.

Raspy, adjective: hoarse or harsh-sounding.

Somber, adjective: dark or dull in color or tone; gloomy; oppressively solemn or sober in mood; grave.

Here is some fiction for you on this short work week we are having...

 What is that smell?  No , not rain, no not smoke, could it be Skunk Ape? 

There are still small parts of the world that are inhabited with people who live outside.  Sure, it is not unusual to see these people photographed in periodicals and located in different parts of the world, but you never expect to see one of these people down the street from your house.  I’m not talking about Big foot, I’m talking about people living outside the normal lines that dictate that civilized humans live under a roof and not out in the open.  I’m not talking about normal homeless people either.  I’m talking about someone who chooses to be naked and live in the woods.  I saw one of these people yesterday.  Believe me or don’t believe me, but here is the story…

I had decided to go for a drive last night. It was a cool evening and it had just rained and the moisture hung thick in the air.  I drove my car with the windows down.   My childhood home is about ten miles from my current home and it is in the middle of some fields, frozen in time, on a dirt road; still the same as when my family lived there, except for the age of the house showing where the porch has fallen on one side.  My treehouse is gone, and the circular pond that used to be in the front yard has been filled in.  The house is uninhabited, it looks somber.  There is still furniture in the house.  Someone owns it and posted no trespassing signs all around.  I visit the house sometime because it holds memories of my childhood and I like being able to step back in time and remember the shenanigans me and my brother shared. 

My brother and I were left alone all day long in the summer and we did as we pleased.  Thinking back if you had seen us in our early years you would have thought of us as those wild people I mentioned before.  I remember my brother and I did everything together and there was no one to be obedient to.  In the mornings we would get out of bed and dress ourselves.  I copied my brother and if he went without a shirt, I went without a shirt.  Our ages were less than ten or twelve and I didn’t have a developed body of a teen, so I didn’t think anything of it, neither was there anyone to tell me any different. Wearing only our shorts, we would go out into the world exploring, building, swimming, fishing or riding our pony. We did everything outdoors. We didn’t even think about going home for lunch, if we were fishing, we would start a fire and cook the fish over the fire.  We knew how to survive, for us it was like an instinct. We had a carefree childhood. 

One time we got in trouble because we turned on the water hose in the driveway and made a river to play in.  I know we played with the water on for most of the day.  Before our father got home we made sure to sprinkle the dry part of the driveway with the hose so it would look like it had rained.  Our small minds did not think of the two miles our father had to drive on the dirt road before he got to our driveway, that were dry as a desert.  He knew it had not rained.  I’m sure we got more trouble than I remember, but I do remember us arguing with father that it had rained and he listened and then corrected us.  He may have not been so mad about the water, as he was about us lying to him.  Arguing with father was a no, no in our home, and lying, that was not tolerated. 

 I drove down the muddy dirt road, first I drove past the house and wanted to drive down to the bridge where the road covers the creek to see how high the rain had raised the water level.  I  know there can be wild animals in the road out here in the country, so I drove with enough speed to keep the car from getting stuck in the mud, and slow enough to be able to stop if there was an obstacle I needed to avoid in my path.  I watched the road ahead, and there was a slight haze from the steam in the air after the rain. I thought I saw what looked like a tall, thin person run across the road about 100 feet in front of me.  I slowed down in case the person was not alone.  It happened so fast that I didn’t have my wits about me, to soak in more details of what I had seen.  I slowed and as I reached the spot where someone should have been standing on the side of the road, there wasn’t anyone.  I drove on to the bridge and watched my rearview mirror to see if I saw the person again.  I did not.  The end of the road had a dead end and I drove to the end and then stopped at the bridge to peer over the edge.  I could see where the beavers did a number on the creek and dammed up one side.  I spotted a couple of small beavers, but knew they were children to bigger beavers judging by the size of the tree’s that were down, a much larger animal gnawed the trunks. 

I got into my car and an uneasy feeling came over me.  I cannot explain it, but I didn’t want to drive back toward the house.  It was twilight and I knew if I wanted to stop at the house I needed to drive on.  As I approached the spot where the person had crossed the road, I did notice footprints on the freshly rained over dirt road.  I tried to look into the tree line and then I heard a loud crack, and felt blood trickle from my forehead and down the edge of my eye.  I had been hit by something. I stopped, and then I saw him.  

The man was thin, not really dirty, but his feet were muddy he spoke with a raspy voice, he was too far from the car for me to make out the words that seemed to come out of his mouth in slow motion. He was approaching the car fast and I felt my body go cold.  I stomped on the gas pedal and the car tires spun in the mud trying to get traction.  I eased up and stomped it again, the tires took grip to the dirt and the car lurched forward.  The speed caused the car to fishtail and spun in the direction of the man.  I managed to turn the car away and as I passed him I heard another thud.  This time the rock hit the car.  The naked man stood in the middle of the road. I could see him in my rearview window.  I drove down that road as fast as I could and did not relax until I drove onto the paved road and onto the main road that would take me back home.  I stopped at the nearest gas station and wiped the blood from my forehead, it was a surface scratch, I didn’t need stitches.  I thought of telling someone what had just happened, but decided against it.  What would I have said, “hey there is a naked man on the dirt road throwing rocks at cars?”   Uhhhh, yes, that is exactly what I would have said, if I had reported it. 

I was shaking as I drove the rest of the way home.  I feel like if I had been hit a little harder by the rock or a little to the left, I might have become a missing person.  No one knew I went to my childhood home; the road that had only one solitary house on it, no one would have reason to drive down it. No one would even think that would have driven out to the country to the old homestead. No one would have even looked for me until this morning when I didn’t show up for work. I know he would have done me harm.  If he had needed help, he would not have hidden, also he could walk the couple of miles to civilization.  I know I was in danger.  

I told you what happened as best I remember it. Honestly, I will try to forget it ever happened.

Let the Lower Alabama Skunk Ape Hunt begin! Is he a skunk ape if he is hairless??

Happy South, Ya’ll!!

-        DP

Say "Hello" dang it!!

Here in the South we are having rainy afternoons.  I get a little drowsy and my hair is unmentionable, except when I get greeted with, “what the heck happened to you??”   Yes, the hair is a disaster, but thankfully that is no reflection of the rest of me that managed to dress herself and apply make-up and coordinate with matching ear rings.  I also applied my favorite gift ever- LIP GLOSS, from the incredibly optimistic words of that red headed mop head of an orphan, Annie-“you are never fully dressed without a smile.” 

Ok, Ok, don’t walk away just yet, I know you don’t give a flip about the weather report, I have some gossip… 

Here is what you missed; as all good plans go- they were flushed down the toilet.  I had amazing plans for the weekend, which is unusual for me and I was ready.  Did I say ready?

 I meant I was R- E-A-D-Y!!!!

I shopped.  I got a new outfit.  I bought snacks and beverages.  And a really good book for the lows of the weekend, not that the company I had plans with needed to be ignored, but silent reading on a beach was in the plans.  I picked “The History of Love,” by Nicole Krauss.  I can’t review it because I haven’t started reading it yet.  It’s Tuesday and I need to ravish it this week before it needs to be returned to the library.  So yes, I have that planned.  It’s 252 pages are worth reading.  If you know anything about me, I pick a book by the first sentence, “When they write my obituary;” and the last sentence, “She tapped me twice.”     The main character didn’t die and that is good enough reason for me to read it.   Perhaps I will review it, but don’t count on it.  Read it yourself. That’s my review.

Back to it, my solitude has been broken by people stopping in at the cottage.  I don’t mind. I keep a semi-orderly house and I do notice the stalkers that drive by.  If that’s you, I’ve seen you.  Anyway, I got a little visit by a friend who invited me out.  I like hanging out with this girly girl because she amuses me.  I adore her, she is also a stalker.  In her phone she has an album of the guys she crushes on so when she begins to talk about them, she flashes me photos.  Guys have no shame, from the photos I saw way more skin than I would have if I went to the beach. 

I have a habit of saying yes to things I should say no to, but for the sake of friendship, I say yes.  We went out to hear a local band and that was cool for a while, but we were easily bored and when she got the text, “Come to the Honky Tonk.”  That would be the #1 Honky Tonk in South Alabama.  There is a banner on the wall stating it so.  I, of course did not agree full hearted, I needed to know the band playing.  It turned out to be a band that I know and so I agreed.  I thought I might know more peeps there since she was going to meet a guy, and I could hang with them.  

We go.  We see.  We drink.  for hours...

I DON’T KNOW ANYONE IN THE HONKY TONK, except my girlfriend and she was huddled up with what's his name, I didn't even find out...

This is becoming a trend with me.  It is not long before I meet some people.  I met local radio host, car salesmen from the “Do it” commercials, my co-workers neighbor, some of my face book “friends” who claimed they know me – Also stalkers now on check…

I also learned you should never greet someone with, “ah, you have a reputation…” people will start interrogating you about what you might or might not know and it can get really awkward. 

Full disclosure, I did know one person in the whole place.  I grew up with him and I sat in view of him and he could have recognized me, but he didn’t.  After about three hours of him not talking to me, I sent him a text, “hey, I didn’t know cowboys wore visors.” He had been fishing in the Gulf all day and was still in his fishing attire.  No one bothers to put on fresh clean clothes apparently to come to the honky tonk.  I should have came out in my pajamas. Why do girls even bother, when guys dont?????

 It was fun watching him look around.  Finally I gave in and walked over to him.  He was shocked and said he had no idea it was me.  I took that as a compliment.   Also it was a total let down to the evening.  I could have set the night on a course that had no return!  I could have line danced! I could have inappropriately groped members of the opposite sex!  I could have done shots!  I could have known every person in that dang Honky Tonk and owned the place before I left!!  

But alas, none of that happened. I socialized with strangers,  I had a few draft beers and basically sat there looking, “Hot!!” his words, not mine.   If I had never talked to him, I could have stroke the match that burned the place down and the night would have been legendary. 

As we caught up with “you alright?”, “Yes, you?”  He kept talking, and because of the loud music he had to speak into my ear, his words took me someplace else, he said the words, “I still hear his laugh; I remember the way he moved; I see his smile.”  He was remembering my brother. 

I was the one who was set on fire. I shed a few tears. I thought my weekend was a bust, but just when I thought I was solitary, I was reminded I’m part of the whole.  No one walks alone, and if they do, it’s only for a short while.  Friends have a way of loving you like no one else.  Cherish your friends, cherish your memories, and laugh about the good times. 

I know you wanted some juicy gossip, but I’m not sharing all my secrets….And if you see me out, and are not sure its me, say, " hello" anyway.  It might be me or someone just as interesting. 

Sending you some Love, happiness and contentment. 

-      X O X O X O 
-        -Daily Panic

 

Eggs and Cheese

Three Word Wednesday

Hauntingly, adjective: poignant and evocative; difficult to ignore or forget.

Impulse, noun: a sudden strong and unreflective urge or desire to act; the tendency to act impulsively; a driving or motivating force; an impetus; a pulse of electrical energy; a brief current.

Linger, verb: stay in a place longer than necessary, typically because of a reluctance to leave; (linger over) spend a long time over (something); be slow to disappear or die.

Eggs and Cheese

Matthew 18:20

19"Again I say to you, that if two of you agree on earth about anything that they may ask, it shall be done for them by My Father who is in heaven. 20"For where two or three have gathered together in My name, I am there in their midst.”

The other day right after work I was at the grocery store, I made my way over to the refrigerated section to get eggs.  There was a man hugging a crying woman trying to comfort her.  He was speaking loud and saying “I am so sorry.” I tried to grab my eggs and not draw attention to myself, but the man saw me and said, “Lady, do you have some words to tell my friend here?  She just lost her daughter and she is so sad and we need to lift her up.”

The lady was emotional and still crying.  I know the grief of losing someone you love, so I said to her, “May God give you peace and replace your pain with love.” She grabbed me like I was saving her from drowning. I awkwardly held her and he man cheered us on, “That’s what I’m talking about!”  We were approached by more shoppers and the man announced what was going on, “My beautiful friend here has lost her daughter and we are trying to comfort her.” He repeated himself as someone new approached, " “My friend has lost her daughter, she died, and we are trying to comfort her.” 

Everyone tried to give their condolences and a crowd of about seven now gathered. 

The man asked, “Will you pray with us? Gather together and lets hold hands, anyone want to lead the prayer?”

One heavy set woman said, “I never pass up a chance to praise Jesus! I’ll lead the prayer.” 

The grief stricken woman stopped hugging me but still had hold of my hand and we both impulsively took hold of another stranger’s hand.  We were all blocking the aisle, and I was thinking please let this be a short prayer…

“Oh Lord Jesus!!!”  The woman began with the gusto of a Baptist preacher about to preach about fire and brimstone hailing down upon us sinners.  “Take hold of…” 

I thought she paused the prayer to find out the crying woman’s name, but instead she shouted out, “Our sister!!!  Let her feel your presence, Oh heavenly father!”

Then almost inaudible, in a haunting whisper she spoke, “give her peace, heal her broken heart.”

There was another long pause, “We are all so broken, we lay this burden at your feet!!!  Fill our vessels!  Fill us with the waterfall of your comfort and peace. Cleanse us with the wine of your spirit, may our dirty souls be not vinegar, but wine!”

Wine???

“Take from us, Oh Lord!!, these daggers in our hearts!!! Change us with the fruit of your spirit that we will be refreshed and glorify you!” Her voice had the cadence of highs and lows that elevated the emotion in the aisle.  It was hard not to get caught up in it and feel the spirit surge through us. I know that God is everywhere, and there was no doubt that the presence of God was right there in the grocery store as she prayed.  

I felt a jerk, the praying woman raised up both of her arms as if to shove our prayer to heaven while still holding hands with the people on each side of her. Then she bellowed, “Take it from us, Lord!!  Take it!!”  I’m sure her prayer could be heard into the parking lot.  There was no way Jesus didn’t hear our prayer.  

The man chimed in, “Yes, Jesus!  Amen!!!”  

The rest of the crowd took that as our cue and we each said, “amen” even though the prayer may have not been over.  Everyone seemed to disburse, except me who was still attached to the grieving mother. 

“Thank you, Thank you!” The man said shaking hands and hugging each shopper as if he were a preacher releasing us from services. 

“I need to get some eggs,” I said and released her hand.  She wiped her eyes and nodded. She lingered and walked with me a little as I continued to shop, I felt compelled to ask the woman how long it had been since her daughter passed, feeling the rawness of the emotion as is might have been this week or in the past few days.  I know that grief is strongest when it is fresh. 

She had not talked at all during the display of affection or the prayer.  She stopped in front of the tall display of green beans and looked around us as if she were about to tell me a secret she didn’t want anyone to know.  Then she looked into my eyes and said, “I have no idea who that man was, and my daughter died over a year and a half ago!” 

I’m sure I had the look of someone who had just been surprised, and I started laughing.  The woman seemed agitated and I said, “I’m sorry for your loss, but we just had church! With eggs and cheese!” 

Praise the Lord!  Oh my soul!  

Happy South Ya'll!  

- Daily Panic

FAUTE DE MIEUX

3WW

Beautiful, adjective: pleasing the senses or mind aesthetically; of a very high standard; excellent.

Desperate, adjective: feeling, showing, or involving a hopeless sense that a situation is so bad as to be impossible to deal with; (of an act or attempt) tried in despair or when everything else has failed; having little hope of success; (of a situation) extremely bad, serious, or dangerous; (of a person) having a great need or desire for something; (of a person or fight) violent or dangerous.

Hush, verb: make (someone) be quiet or stop talking; be quiet; suppress public mention of something; noun: a silence. 

(this is the start of a story...) 

FAUTE DE MIEUX

:  for lack of something better or more desirable

 There is a really big change in my life and I needed a spiritual intervention.  Mystic as I am I verbally throw my immediate needs out to God, the stars and the whole universe.  It is much like fishing in a very large pond in which there have been tales that all the fish have died, but with sheer optimism, I cast my bait out and wait.

I don’t know if it is my age or my faith that is failing faster, but today I felt a desperate urge.  I felt like I could not wait for the whole universe to give me the answers so I consulted a gypsy or fortune teller, or that kid that I went to high school’s mom, she is all these things.  I didn’t really know the kid, he had a different tone of darkness to his flesh that was akin to a gray with deep hollow set eyes.  He never seemed approachable.  I see him out in the yard and I know 20 years later he still lives with his mother.

His mother has a huge billboard in front of her tiny house and the living room has a neon sign that flashes “OPEN” nearly 24 hours a day.  The house is three blocks from my own, and I come and go at all hours and this is how I know that she may get little sleep or it isn’t needed since from experience of being hypnotized, that from small sessions of being in an altered state, one can awaken and be fully rested.  I wanted to ask her these things but I had to stay on task.  She asked what I was there for and I stated three things: 1. A House, 2. A man, 3. A profitable store. 

“Come with me to this very adventurous place,” she said.  Almost immediately I felt I was definitely somewhere else than her living room.  The room shifted and changed. 

“You once lived a very different life.”

 I nodded. 

“You want to have that life now.”

I shook my head, “No.  I desire my own life, the one I deserve.” 

I looked into her beautiful green eyes and I saw a twinkle in the woman’s eye.  She saw my future life and I think she knew it agreed with me.    

“Hush, no further explanation. You must follow my instructions, follow them… you promise?”

Again I nodded sincerely, I couldn’t speak, maybe it was her voice or her energy when she hushed me.  I felt a little woozy.

Burn sage inside your current home, wave it around to make sure all the smoke gets into every crevice.  Play three violin songs. Plant soybeans in the mountains.  Buy Indian money drawing soap and bathe with it daily for a week and white roses. Your wishes will all come.

Your wishes will all come.

I found the sage and burned it. The smoke trickled in a thin line and I knew that it would take forever to fill the house.  I decided I would have to get more sage.   

… To be continued.

Catching up

Just as a side note - 

this was written as an e-mail to a pen-pal of mine - you know who you are 

(and yes, I changed a bit of it  because as we all learned from presidental canidate HC, private emails are just that... private) 

I do call him a pen-pal because this is how we communicate.  We are writers.

PS
If you want to pen me a note- just post below in the comment section. The above certificate does read "others" and not just one person. Technicalities, schmechcanallities.Tomato / Mater... Perhaps just by you reading this and you are a poet, you could comment and that would merrit "outstanding."    

Catching up- A letter.  

Hello. Things are good here.  I nothing much to report.  No breaking news.  I am pondering - "What are verizon reward points and what do I do with them?"  but other than that....   Share your knowledge if you have a clue as to what they are.  

I'm reading a lot.  I hate to sound un - read... is that a thing? In my spare - est of time, my new pastime is not candy crush.  My ADD meds kept me playing and I realized I had a real problem when I was playing openly and not in secret like all addicts do when addicted to crack.  

My new hobby is the magazinge periodical known as, Oxford American. I have always been an avid reader but I've taken it to a whole other level!  If you haven't read it or subscribe -  you are missing out on some delicious reading.  

At the library, where they hold my copy, I am ridiculed a lot for looking studious when reading it.  (you would not think that librarians would ostrasize someone  READING in a library, but this is the deep south- and they know I only have a 3.75 GPA from twenty years ago- It's tough to get that 4.0 when reading is so discourged) From my experience, just by being seen reading Oxford American in public will make you appear much more intelligent.  

In the beginning of each issue there are snippets of information about the contributors.  I bide my spare-est of time making a list of these people to internet stalk, then bookmark their .com's for further reading.  (essays and what knots where they have articles in other well known publications like The New Yorker ,Readers Digest, Food, or GQ which you may be familiar with) Next ,I make a list of books in my memo pad on my phone and harass the librarians since their high tech web card catalog is ALWAYS on the blitz  and make them order said books, if not in circulation and not yet read by all of us not so bright red-necks.  Then I check out (3) three - no more than that because in order to keep the lights on at the two new libraries we have just built in our metropolis, they have shortened the check out time to two weeks instead of the usual four.  I have to pay a late fine if I get more than three books.  Reading does interfere with my stalking, so I have to do it in a timely manner.  

Back to my original topic of being "un- read", in said magazine they sort the contributing authors.  Alphabetical, which is standard but to my surprise they have no less than (4) four contributors that are poets.  POETS.  POETS who have published BOOKS.  This would be your tribe.  I struggle with poetry.  It would be my literary killer if that existed.  

Killed by poetry. - future obit of the Daily Panic.   

When web stalking the authors I came across these poets because they are on the list and my curious mind read some pieces.  I wondered if some of these poets were chosen to fill some status qou in publication or what the level of good is determined in poetry, but It wasnt all sparkly to me, at least not enough to override my ADD meds and I looked away and found something else interesting. But you, my friend________,  ( If you are poetic, you may insert your own name here)  Poets are your tribe.  You might find them a tasteful read or kitty litter enough to know you write better than they (no offense to contributors) and get to serious work and get published or find your niche with that publisher who has been looking for you since there is an opening in the literary world for one more poet.  

I hope you know my tone is encouraging not wise - *ss  because I know it takes more than a writing workshop to make someone a writer and not all of us can write erotica.  Follow your star!   Keep rhyming or whatever iambic pentamiter or octagon it is that poets write by! 

I hope to find my words again too.  I have some novels to write, especially when I finish doing all this reading or no longer need the ADD meds.  They are helping me shed a few pounds so it's a win win WIN.  

Have a great weekend and tell ________ ( insert the name of any signigicant other or your sister) hello from me!  Let her know the book I am currently reading is "The Dinner" by Herman Koch.  It is sumarrized on the back cover as, "chilling, nasty, smart, shocking, and unputdownable" by the author that wrote "Gone Girl," Gillian Flynn.   Maybe one day some one will say that about our publications.I have to read it so I know what I'm up against, if I am to have any chance in writing something "unputdownable." 

Your pen-pal 

(we might have to change it to keypad pal? or  Southern correspondent pal? I only write with a pen when I have to sign the back of my big ol' paycheck) 

- Daily Panic

Junior's

If any of you are familiar with that cinema classic,  “Deliverance,” well I have a somewhat similar story, but it did not take place in the backwoods and no one got molested, …just almost molested. 

My story takes place in a local watering hole.  It would be considered a bit out of the way since it is not in town, but it is easily located on a state highway.  I am going to name the place “Junior’s.” I changed the name because  I don’t want to make "Junior’s" a tourist attraction. It really is for local’s only and when you hear my story, you will know why.  I would have called it," Bubba’s" (since the place is owned by someone’s brother) but that too relates to another well-known cinema classic, “Forest Gump.” 

Now Junior’s has a history.  This double-wide trailer- Yes, I said double-wide trailer, which most people live in, or have car lot offices out of, or have as a luxury home on the lake, well in this instance this large sardine can lined with paneling started off as a eat’n place.  I don't remember the name, it was Someth'n Someth'n Grill or what not. They had the biggest and the best grilled hamburgers and were the first eat’n place once you crossed the state line, unless you count the new Race Track gas station on the other highway, which I don’t believe made hamburgers, but if you were hungry you could get a pizza or fried chicken or those hot dogs that got a nice tan spinning around under heat lamps. 

Most people know not to grill indoors, and this may not be the case of what happened there, maybe they grilled outdoors and a spark flew over and  lit that mobile home ablaze, or perhaps the grease from frying French fries to eat with those delicious burgers caught fire.  I don’t know the details because at the time of the incident I was unfamiliar with the place.  To make this story shorter, the original place caught fire, someone restored it to its glory- minus the kitchen and turned the place into a bar.  Several pool tables were added and a stage.  

If you are hungry when you go there, even though there isn’t a kitchen,  they offer free beer dogs.  For those of you not southern, a beer dog is a hot dog that is cooked in a crock pot with beer. The crock pot is positioned on a tiny table by the door and I don’t know if it is a gimmick to bring in the crowd when the beer dogs are just right, perhaps those who find them mouth-watering, know the smell as well as one might know a turkey is just right by the way the smell of  it fills the house; the aroma must bring patrons in.  I have never had a beer dog, so I can’t say one way or the other.  I have witnessed people eating them and they were not taken to the hospital.  A hospital visit is my gauge if food is dangerous or not.  Hospital = danger / no hospital = fine to eat. 

Please do not confuse this place with the barn further down the highway, this is a double-wide trailer.  I have been to the barn establishment.  On the particular night I was there, there was to be a bikini contest and apparently grandma’s and grandpa’s came out to watch.  One nice woman in a moo –moo (today it’s called a caftan, a moo-moo is not as stylish) pointed out her granddaughter to me, after she threw back a shot of whiskey, and told me that her tiny string bikini clad, oiled up, granddaughter was just precious, while the grandpa in the overalls  without a shirt on, was sleeping on the bar on the other side of her, because the hour was well past 8 pm.  No, now Junior’s is not the barn. If you need to know more distinction Junior’s is on the right and the barn is on the left of the highway, if you are going South.  

I don’t like to brag or feel superior to anyone, but I do kinda fall under the, looks like a librarian description not the lady standing on the side of the street when it comes to looks.  I have tried that standing on the side of the street look, and I just can’t pull it off.  Perhaps it’s because I get road rash when I trip wearing high heel shoes, and prefer to land on my face instead of breaking the high priced fake nails I got to pull off the look; skin will grow back… I paid good money for those nails and I didn't want to mess them up. When properly painted, a good set of fake nails makes you look expensive.  You can take that however you want. 

At Junior’s watering hole, I guess the ladies dress code was crop tops, tore up blue jean shorts and cowboy boots or less.  And the men’s attire was, "just came in off the field," or what we call casual in the south, our “this ain’t Sunday” clothes.  I wasn’t dressed right, but close enough,  I had a button down top and shorts and wedge shoes.  I stand out in a crowd of Southern folks because I have dark hair and skin, and perhaps to the locals I look a little exotic. With that being said, Likes attract Likes, it’s just science.  One time I was out, I attracted the largest guy in the crowd, who might have played defense for the NFL, that's how big he was and I'm all of five - foot  - nothing in height. The crazy linebacker wanted to cover me in hot sauce, and take me to his okra farm but that’s another story. I just wanted you to know I attract the most visible person where ever I am. 

Friday night at Junior’s, I attracted the person who had been drinking there all week and never went home.  Perhaps that was his RV outside that had a friendly dog that greeted patron’s in the parking lot in hopes for a pat on the head or a gentle caress.  Junior’s did not adhere to the leash law or was oblivious to it, because friendly dog was so friendly he wanted to get in my car and go home with me. Friendly dog knew he probably didn’t fit in with the crowd there at Junior’s either and wanted to be saved.  I already have two dogs that like me at home and I do not need another, so I left him behind.   Sorry friendly dog. 

Mr. Magnetic personality, AKA known as very, very, very drunk guy who must have been between the age of 75 or 80 yrs. old, said only a few sentences to me, “Hey! I like you!” followed by a wink and a bearded grin from underneath an Alabama football cap. “Is that your feller?” “You here with anybody?” Normally these are generally questions anyone who wants to get to know someone would ask, but the kicker question was, “you got any friends in here?” Which made me glance around the room and to my dismay; I didn’t have any friends in there. He was drunk enough to keep asking the same questions with the same wink and grin, over and over again, between swallows of his beer, sometimes he would blow me a pouty kiss, to which I winced.  I got the feeling he was interrogating me so he could roofie me and drag me off to some undisclosed location where the police would find me not in the same condition as I was at the moment.   

I rudely ignored him and kept trying to watch the karaoke singer on the stage, who was a special needs kid. He had the voice of an angel, but his arms flailed about and he spun around. His free arm, not holding the microphone,  punched sideways and his head spun around in a jerking motion that wasn't in a head banging fashion.  It was such a mismatch, my ears heard this amazing voice and my eyes watched the boy wildly twist and turn in his own form of dancing that took up the whole stage. I found out later the boy's name is Peanut, and he has a music CD that a lot of people around these parts give as gifts.  And Peanut is blind, but wow, he can sing karaoke!  

My boyfriend was sitting right at the table across from the talkative lush as this was happening.  I tried to discourage the guy and tell him that his Alabama cap did not make him attractive, an I wasn't interested because I’m an Auburn fan.  Usually in the South this division is as obvious, as the battle of the North and South in the Civil War.  But to no avail.  The boyfriend had enough and said we were leaving, and we did.  On the way out he said the most loving words a Southern girl could hope for, “I almost had to kick his *ss!”

Ahhh, thank you for deliverance!

Happy South ya'll!

- Daily Panic