Friday, November 6, 2015

Triple Crown

Enough about horseshit.

We came to Kentucky, learned of horses, walked barefoot in the bluegrass, won a coffeemaker, but best of all, we had a great time with our Sisters. Next trip we would head south to Dixieland. We had several months to prepare for an October trip to Atlanta, Georgia. But, first, we had to get the hell out of the hollers of Kentucky, across the Smokies, and back to our homes in King and Charlotte, North Carolina...without incident.

And we were prepared, by golly. Always the last to leave the trailer RV park on the Sunday of each event and usually with the longest distance to drive, Cindy Einstein and I tore down camp directly after our evening meal and festivities with our Sisters late Saturday night. We packed pink flamingos, recycled PBR cans, and loaded up and hitched Bella to the Suburban. We were on a roll. Hell, we even removed the stabilizers from underneath Bella and had them packed. All there was left to do next morning would be throw on some duds, remove the chocks from the wheels, and hit the road jack. Off to sleep in our sweet, shabby chic cotton sheets.

"Goodnight, Thelma."
"Goodnight, Louise."
"I love you, Thelma."
"I love you, Louise."

Next morning...

"Louise! Omigod the trailer is spinning!" screamed Cindy.

"The hell?!!!" Thelma damn near scared the shit outta me again. She's gonna give me the big one before it's over...

"I'm dizzy! I'm drunk!"

As I was startled into awake-ed-ness, I felt heat rise from my face. "Holy crap, Thelma, I think I'm sunburned!"

To quote my double mother-in-law, ha,  I blurted out, "Now, ain't we something. Together we ain't worth two red cents."

Being pretty accustomed to dizziness since my sudden onset deafness a few years earlier, I thought to myself...welcome to my world, Sister. I looked in my travel mirror and thought, face and shoulders are sun- and wind burned. Cindy stumbled around and made her morning coffee. Dizzy or dead, that woman's gonna have her Arbuckle's McCoffee first thing. 

"Maybe you got that vertigo your mama gits," I said. She laid back down to rest while waiting for her coffee to brew.

Meanwhile, I stepped outside the camper to make a beeline to the bathhouse, because, we were after all, on a roll to leave Kentucky at a decent time. You know, at the same time all the other campers normally pull out. Well, my beeline looked more like a drunken sailor pulled over on the side of the interstate walking the white line for the po-po. Ohmyshit, I thought as I steadied myself, I'm drunk, too?

Now, how was I gone 'splain this sunburn and seasickness to my Mister? We were in the mountains, for goodness sake, not at the ocean, ha.

See what had happened wuz...

In an attempt to, FOR  ONCE, appear (at least) to have our ponies ducks in a row, we had removed the four stabilizers from beneath the trailer as one less thing to do the following morning. Well, live and learn, my ol' pappy used to always say.  There's a reason they are called STABLE-izers. While we could not really feel it while comfy 'neath our cozy covers, that bitch the trailer apparently rocked and rolled all night long. We were drunker 'n two 'ol coots gittin' roostered at Miss Kitty's Saloon.

I don't know how Towanda pulled it off, but we left that campground on time, just as she had planned, drunk or otherwise. As we were leaving, we heard voices cautioning us to whoa up. The shit. What now?

"Y'all got a taillight out on the trailer!!! Ya need to git that fixed at the first parts store ya git to! Bye! Happy Trails! See you next time!" some of our Sisters yelled.

Cindy just laughed out loud and said, "thanks for the heads up! We're on it! Bye!"

Y'all. That damn taillight's been out since our very first trip with Sisters on the Fly two Februarys ago.

So, with a full tank of gas, Towanda drove us to the first parts store Cracker Barrel we could git to, ha.  Then it was eastbound hammer down from there.


"Louise! We gotta pull over! Hold on!!!"

Lord Jesus Christ, I said. No, really, I said Lord Jesus Christ. I was praying.

We both hopped out of the Suburban to inspect the side of the trailer facing the highway. At this point, the vertigo was on like donkey kong, y'all. We stood swayed next to moving traffic in an effort to assess apparent damage Bella had sustained during the high winds we experienced at the campground. The picture below was taken after we made it back (thankyousweetjesus) to Cindy's house. It was difficult enough standing steady with 18-wheelers blowing past us. Twon't no way I could snap a picture as this was happening. Talk about road kill, geez.

The whole dadgum lower side of the trailer had buckled and was practically flapping in the wind by the time we finally parked Bella.  Our good and observant Sisters had warned us of a taillight issue that we've known about since the beginning of time, but they failed to notice the wind damage to Bella as we left the campground.  On a wing and a prayer, my 'ol pappy used to always say.

Now, with that same wing and prayer, I jumped into my Ford and skeedaddle'd back to Charlotte. I can't speak for Thelma (actually I can, ha), but I felt as if  we had won the Triple Crown with all the mishaps we conquered this trip. And the coffeemaker is our trophy. I'm going to say we did anyway. Cause I'm the writer. And I can. 

Sunday, November 1, 2015

Talk Derby to Me**

The real Sister Louise
Our hostesses for Horsin' Round the Bluegrass, Sisters Koren & Louise

"Thelma, wake up! We gotta wrangle up our thoroughbreds ponies and corral 'em on up to the big event."

We shoulda seen it coming. "Eleventh Hour Louise" and "Nick of Time Thelma" up to all hours of the night preparing for the Kentucky Derby stick horse show. In fact, I think we finally gave up around five in the morning.

But, dem ponies shore were purdy most.

Don't let these jockeys fool you. Just cause they dressed the part don't mean their horses were all that. I'll give 'em an A for effort and for having to pack all that shit to haul to this event, ha.

That's a whole mess of burgoo!
There aren't many Sister events that don't include a dutch oven cookoff. The Sisters really outdid themselves this time round. One day, me and Thelma might just try our hand at it. Might, ha.

That's some fancy shit cookware right there.
Horse shit everywhere!

Me and Thelma dined with royalty.  And a jolly good time we had! Just look at Thelma's face.
"We went skinny dippin' and we did things that frightened the fish." (Shelby, Steel Magnolias)
Lord Jesus I ain't never seen so much bumping and grinding since I first watched "Dirty Dancing" on VHS cassette. The eldest Sister of our group pranced on stage with her pony made from her geriatric walker. The moves she made with that Tennessee walker would frighten rattlers, grizzlies, and fish. The pavilion erupted in laughter. We didn't see that coming, ha.

A collective, "ohshet!" rang out when my fellow contestants witnessed my wardrobe malfunction on live television. That's me, the fake Louise, grabbing my balls pearls as they scattered across the stage.
Yep, it was a real Janet Jackson moment. This shit happens to me everywhere I go. Just ask Thelma. 
Critics still argue today that I staged the whole thing thereby receiving the judges' sympathy votes resulting in a top three finish...
“(She’s) a really good horse, and she ran like it today. She always comes to run; that’s the kind of horse she is. She got beat today by really good horses. That can happen.”
 -M. Garcia, D. Smith, jockey, with her horse shit-eating grin, on her third place finish.

That's right, betches, THIRD place. I won a coffeemaker. Which was really cool, except I don't drink coffee, ha.

**Alternate title of this story could/should be, Talk Shit to Me. I know. A real potty mouth. So I cuss a little, but I still love Jesus.

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Oh, Horse Feathers!

The logical side of my brain was saying, alcohol and hot glue don't mix, but the silly drunken side of my brain was saying, who cares if it's two in the morning and our beds are covered in wood chips and sequins.
Me and Thelma left the pavilion carrying two, unfinished, wooden stick horses back to our trailer to decorate with craft supplies we brought from home. There would be a contest on Saturday, and prizes would be awarded for the top three "best in show" horses. Well, y'all know how we like winning...
The average artsy-fartsy kind of person would probably have a ball of yarn on hand to create a mane for a stick horse. Not us. We ain't average.  Me and Thelma may not know how to straddle a real horse, but our stick horses were gone sho nuff look as close to real as you could get.  That's when Thelma whipped out a package of hair weaves/extensions. That's when I lost it. I don't know when I've laughed so hard.

What's a horse mane without braids and feathers?


By the time we finished, it looked like Hobby Lobby had thrown up inside Bella. There was fringe, pom poms, rhinestones, felt, glue strings, sequins, ribbon, appliques, buttons, feathers, and strands of pearls...enough to decorate an entire stable full of stick horses. 
Disclosure:  I Google'd horseshit tack before we could place the accessories. What. I ain't never been on a horse before. I didn't know a bridle from a harness.  Still don't. I barely remember enough to tell this story, ha.


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Road Kill Cafe

You kill it, we grill it.

Or, stuff it and place a tiara on its head to accompany you as your dinner guest...

"How you doin?"
Our hostesses for Horsin' 'Round the Bluegrass pulled out all the stops for Friday night's meal. They arranged for dinner to be catered by the very popular Roadside Café (Oui oui, café with l'apostrophe. It's French like a fry.) and their polished, very capable wait staff.  

"I'm gone need to see some ID's, bitches."

"Can I git yawl some more shine?"

A sot in every crowd.
View from our table.

Dinner was served buffet style, and I never did see a menu but it all tasted like chicken anyway. Mercy law, my belly was full as a tick on a coon hound.

Yes, me and Thelma were stacked to a fill. We graciously excused ourselves and stumbled returned to our abode on wheels. Earlier in the day, we rustled up our ponies for Saturday's derby but we had yet to decorate groom them. It was gonna be a long and silly night full of sequins and rhinestones.

Mess With Me - Mess With the Whole Trailer Park

Earlier I referred to all Sisters as having "homes on wheels." That's so not accurate. While the majority of our Sisters tow their own travel trailers, many of us make other accommodations when attending SOTF events. Look at me. I don't own shet, ha, though Sister Thelma will beg to differ. She did indeed give me a key to Bella's front door and insisted I was part-owner. (Technically, I'm not, but you can't argue with a Pritchett.)  So,  I travel the highways riding shotgun with Thelma at the wheel towing our 1971 Play Mor trailer, "Bella". Often times, the campgrounds we visit have freestanding cottages that some Sisters prefer to rent. Others will even stay in a local motel and travel to and from the campground for the scheduled festivities. Tents are a popular choice as well. In addition, there are those who sleep in their vehicles-turned-glampers and some pretty unconventional-looking pull-alongs, too.

No matter what our accommodations, we are all glamper gals and members in good standing of the prestigious TTA (Trailer Trash Association, not to be confused with Homeowners Association, which we probably are not are NOT in good standing as of this trip). 

With an array of activities -  horseback riding, distillery tours, antiquing, dutch oven cooking class - our hostesses organized to choose from, the 30+ Sisters split up individually or in groups to participate.  Thelma and I took the individual route.  She went junking/antiquing/thrifting...I mean, the sun did come up that day, duh. And me? I chose to enjoy the beautiful day relaxing in the lush, blue fescue, writing stories in my head.  The trailer park was as peaceful as a church on Sunday.

Make that, an Episcopal church on Sunday.

Monday, August 17, 2015

This Ain't Yore Basic Subdivision

Sometimes I wish I lived in an Airstream
Homemade curtains live just like a gypsy-Miranda Lambert

Worried the Homeowners Association might show up unannounced and assess penalties, we quickly toured the trailer park for a wam-bam-thank-you-ma'am peek at our Sisters' homes on wheels. 

One woman's trash is another one's treasure. And in the eyes of us Sisters, trash is a beautiful thing.


The nerve...
"Thelma, we need this for Bella!"


Certain that Thelma and I would return to find a citation of sorts from the HOA hanging on Bella's window, imagine our delight when we realized we had dodged yet another bullet! AND, while the glamping gods were smiling upon us, doggone if they didn't send our Sisters by to pick up our beverages grocery list to fill...just for us!

"Beer run!"

Could this be a trap?  An April Fool's prank?  I don't know, but me and Thelma Lou were quite enjoying this spell of good fortune. So much so, we decided to enter a couple of ponies in the derby while we enjoyed our temporary residential status in the Bluegrass State.

"I wonder how the HOA feels about boarding horses, Thelma?"