My Hillbilly Weekend

Although I’ve been on ASP in my teens, it’s been quite some time since I’ve set foot in Kentucky. Walking up to the first house on my visit I passed bees swarming over empty pop cans. Stephen had explained that this is a hillbilly 401K; I made a note to let my friends in D.C. know about this solution to Social Security.

Walking into Steve and Rose’s house was like walking onto the set of a movie set in 1960s Alabama. I rather expected to see Shirley MacLaine walk out and introduce herself as Steve and Rose’s glamorous relative from Mobile. The first thing I noticed, in addition to the stench of cigarette smoke, was a very small infant in a carrier. Although it has been well documented that cigarette smoke is harmful, particularly to infants, Steve and Rose are clearly old-fashioned people who don’t follow such modern thinking. In addition to their old-fashioned values, Steve and Rose show their religion proudly, with angels adorning the house.

In addition to Steve and Rose, we met their daughter, Crystal. She may have been 18, or she may have been 38. There was an aura of mystery about her, and even after spending some time with her, I was unable to figure out whether or not she was retarded. Steve and Rose provided equal mystery in their conversation, as I struggled to adapt my hearing to the accent of the uneducated, possibly inbred hillbilly.

There were two other small children clamoring around the kitchen, for the most part amusing themselves through simple activities such as playing with dog food and chewing cardboard boxes. It’s nice to see that in an era where children are inundated with technology, the simple pleasures of life haven’t been lost. There were also several aquariums next to the door, which both interested and worried me. I realized, with a start, that the fish probably received more attention and care than the children.

The last image I had as I left was of mom and daughter, smoking together on the porch, as Normal Rockwell a moment as I have ever seen.

Our next stop was Barbara’s, who was out of town visiting a sick relative. The trailer was adorned with kitsch that reminded me of my great-aunt’s garage sale. In the trailer we met we met Selena, who was very friendly and told us to feel free to look around. She was relaxing on the couch watching country-fried home videos, with an old guy who may have been her relative, her “companion,” or perhaps both.

Barbara’s son, who introduced himself as Denny, walked Stephen and Kevan around the house, talking about the work that ASP had done, under the impression that Stephen and Kevan were coming around this week to work on it. I saw a mug in the kitchen that said “Danny.” Maybe we had misunderstood him, or maybe this was random kitsch.

We stopped next at the ASP center, where my first question was “Where is a restroom I can use?” After being directed to the staff’s private bathroom, I realized my mistake, but it was too late. I’m not sure whether the college kids who run the center lived in squalor prior to moving here or if they adapted this hillbilly trait; it’s a chicken-and-egg question I may never know the answer to.

As we pulled up to our next stop, Stephen said “This lady’s your age.” I’m 30, so I was quite shocked when introduced to Hazel, who appeared to be 40. I smelled the mildew as soon as I walked in, and we sat down at the kitchen table as Hazel lit up her cigarette and pulled the centerpiece – an ashtray – closer to her. She told Stephen she had and a car and a job working at Captain D’s. There were only 4 chairs at the table, so Shawnda, Hazel’s daughter, sat on a tub of lard that doubled as a stool. I can only assume this was lifted from Captain D’s. At one point she referenced crazy Mary, who was the friendly woman who had been leaving as we arrived. I asked what was crazy about her, and was told that she used to be quite the alcoholic.

Hazel’s husband Neil wasn’t home, but I did learn from the conversation that he’s one point away from being retarded. I got the picture Hazel believed this one point was really holding him back. That one point undoubtedly meant the difference in some serious government handout that they were being deprived of, and the bitterness in her voice was palpable.

Approaching the home of Opal and Justin, Stephen commented that there were lots of ‘billies there. They pretty much stood around doing nothing the whole time we visited. I supposed that was better than doing something destructive or stupid. I wondered if their brains were ever stimulated at all. There were what seemed to be hundreds of mangy dogs, cats, and various other animals running around, which I took great care to avoid.

I was starting to get tired as we approached our final destination of the day, and felt I had seen enough of Appalachia to sustain me for quite some time. Stephen had informed me that we would be staying with his friends the Coalminers, and after the people we had met that day, I was terrified. The home was ordinary from the outside, and as we stepped into the pages of Better Homes & Gardens, we were welcomed by the fragrant scent of candles and a friendly soccer mom with a touch of a Kentucky accent. As we stepped back outside for a moment, I was only assured it wasn’t a mirage when Stephen said “It’s like f*cking Pottery Barn!”

I truly enjoyed the Coalminers, including two cute, clean children, and also took to their namesake, Mike, when he came home from the mines. Stephen had said if we timed it right we’d get dinner, and the Coalminers did not disappoint. Laurie and I made the trip to Wal-Mart, where she agonized for quite some about the best cuts for steaks. She also took this opportunity to tell me how wonderful my brother is, and I managed to keep a straight face while agreeing.

Back at the home of the Kentucky Cleavers, we let the boys prepare the stakes while Laurie and I relaxed. Mike asked me point blank “So you ain’t got a man?” I simply answered no, whereupon he offered to find me a Kentucky coalminer. To be continued….

I sat out on the rocking chair in the morning, enjoying the view of the rolling hills and dreading leaving this Utopia. But all good things do come to an end.

I had seen Stephen’s picture’s of Roger Brown and was well-prepared for the sight of him. What I was unprepared for, until it was time to get out of the car and I received a heads-up from Kevan, was the smells I would be encountering at RB’s. Luckily, RB emerged from his trailer so that I was not forced to endure the stench inside. Unfortunately, there were more than enough smells outside to sufficiently gross me out.

Roger asked Stephen if he was man enough, and as we came over to a garbage can filled with the foulest smelling water I’ve ever encountered, Roger pulled out a gnarly-looking snapping turtle. I will admit to being fascinated by this creature, but my sense of smell got the better of me and left me dry heaving as I backed away seconds later. I went and rested comfortably on the hood of the car and watched the spectacle from a safe olfactory distance. I was more than amused minutes later as I saw Stephen’s reaction as he finally caught wind of the smell of the turtle’s watery haven. He stuck it out, though, and was able to learn that turtle meat is “twice better than chicken” (though he resisted Roger’s offer to take some with him).

Janice’s house is adorned with so much wicker and floral I wondered if she had a personal relationship with Laura Ashley. Janice and Les were sitting side-by-side in their recliners, and we joined them for some fascinating programs on BBC America. Janice was a teacher for many years, and speaks intelligently about current events. Les may have that knowledge, but as I couldn’t understand a word he said, I really can’t be certain.

Joyce is a true altruist; she takes in foster kids for the money. I was having trouble keeping track of all of them. There was Megan, who looked like a 16-year-old, and whose husband who was literally 5 times her size. Joyce had said something about him having 2 years to live. I really didn’t catch the ailment, but my money’s on obesity.

For the final leg of the journey, we returned to Hazel’s where I met Neil, who didn’t seem any more retarded than any of the other hillbillies I’d met, and their 10-year-old son, Adrian.

Wow.... home in Ohio I can reflect on my life and realize that although I don't have a real job, I could be much worse off :-).

I bought a red dress.....

Working at Macy's, I could be temped to shop. All the time. There's cute clothes, cute jewelry, cute household stuff....

How Columbus runined Journey

I like a lot of things about Columbus, but the one thing I hate, and absolutely don't understand, is the pure hatred of all things related to Michigan. And I'm not talking about the University of Michigan football team. I understand there's a rivalry that goes way back, and I respect the sports rivalry.

What I have an issue with is hating anything related to Michigan. People in Columbus will actively try to drive someone off the road because they have a Michigan license plate. I cannot understand how people think it's perfectly acceptable to try to cause someone to crash their car because they're from another state.

The other night at the bar, the song Don't Stop Believin' by Journey, one of the greatest bar songs ever, came on. After the line "Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit" the DJ turned down the music and yelled "Because Michigan still f**king sucks!"

Um what?! Journey has absolutely nothing to do with UofM football! Nothing! At all!

People in Columbus need to get over their hatred of all things Michigan. They should enjoy the football rivalry for what it is: a rivalry between 2 sports teams. When they take it to such an extreme, it really demonstrates two traits of the football tradition in Columbus: ignorance and low class.

Go Bucks - that's something to be proud of.

Dear Caroline.....

My old roommate is a nasty piece of work. Just nasty. From the day I moved in, she started with snide comments and unwelcoming gestures, such as moving my mom's shoes off the doormat. If you can't put your shoes on a doormat, where can you put them?! Proud of her reputation as an ice queen, this woman made my life hell for 6 months. How did I end up with such a person? A friend of a friend of a friend recommended her as "the sweetest person."

Unless "sweetest person" is synonymous with "heinous bitch," someone is clearly mistaken.

The nail in the coffin from this roommate/landlord/tyrant was that she withheld $25 from my deposit, claiming she needed it for touch-up paint after I scuffed up her walls. Umm no. The question is, how to fight back?

I've had some small victories recently, standing up for myself. After Bella Bridal measured me for a bridesmaid dress, then insisted that I order it two sizes too big, I was able to get $25 off the cost of my alterations. Although they wouldn't admit they did anything wrong, the lower cost made me feel better about their screw-up. I took my car back to the cleaners when they missed spots on the drivers seat, which they were happy to fix.

But this is far trickier. This girl is proud to be nasty, and, unlike a business, doesn't care that she has a dissatisfied customer. So I wrote a letter to the girl who set me up with this situation, a girl who, whether knowingly or not, lied to me. The buck(eye) has to stop somewhere.

Can I gain 30 pounds in the next 6 weeks?

It seems like a steep challenge, but it's what would be required to fill out my bridesmaid dress for my friend's wedding. After getting measured for the dress, the people at the bridal store recommended a size 4. While this is not a huge size, I am only five feet tall and own nothing in a size 4. I called the bridal store after the measurement to ask about the sizing, and was told that anyone who knows anything about weddings knows that dresses run small. Fine. Not being an expert, I couldn't argue.

This weekend I got to try on the strapless gown, which fell down to my stomach when fully zipped. The dress was absolutely huge on me. Now I have to pay for extensive alterations. Needless to say, Bella Bridal will be hearing from me! And when I go for the next fitting, I'm taking my mom with me so she can make them alter the dress so it fits!

People in Ohio are so nice....

.... so why'd I get stuck with the nasty one as a roommate?

This weekend was my big move away from Crazy (as she's come to be called) and I am so relived to be rid of her. Now I just need my deposit back!

My friends drove down from Cleveland to move me, and drove back afterwards to play in a hockey game. They drove 4 hours round-trip solely for the purpose of moving me. When my cargo van that I reserved from Budget fell through, they packed up their SUV and made several trips back and forth with my stuff. Such nice people. And I'm blessed to have such great friends.

The one thing that wouldn't fit was my bed, but I was sure that someone would know someone with a truck. Sure enough, my new roommate, who I've just met, asked her friend to help us. He came on Sunday morning before 10:00, b/c I had to work at 10:45. He'd never even met me before. Now these are nice people.

So long, Crazy, and please send me my deposit, even though I left scuff marks on the wall (which you were nice enough to mark with post-its so I'd know where to clean).

In Ohio.... we bowl!

In order to meet more people in Columbus, I've joined the Columbus Young Professionals Club. I met a couple of cool girls at a new members dinner, and we've been hanging out. We recently went to a bowling tournament held by the CYP Club. Now bowling has never been my thing, but really, what else was I doing on a random Friday? So I happily agreed to go and be partners with one of my new friends.

I've always hating bowling alleys, because to me they were filled with seedy people, weird smells, and smoke.... oh so much smoke. But the CYP Club had rented out the bowling alley, so there would be all young professionals there (although the definitions of "young" and "professional" are often stretched to the limits at these type of events), and with no smoking in Ohio, I figured it should be okay.

By some miracle (also known as I had a good partner and other people are worse at bowling than me), my friend and I advanced in the single-elimination tournament. In the second round, we were paired up against teams who had their own bowling balls and bowling shoes. I'm not referring to those trendy-but-ugly shoes that resembled bowling shoes.... no these people own their own honest-to-goodness bowling shoes! Where does one even buy bowling shoes? Sports Authority? Or do you find them online? Anyway, needless to say, my friend and I were no competition for the serious bowlers, but one was actually cute and we did have fun!

The last event I went to with the DC Young Professionals was held at an embassy. The bowling alley was a far cry from an embassy.... it wasn't even one of those trendy new Lucky Strike type places.... it was pretty authetically a bowling alley, complete with pitchers of beer, tacky designs on the carpet, and signs up for the "Rock-N-Bowl" held on Saturday nights. At the end of the day, though, both events are young adults getting out, meeting people, and having fun. So does the environment really matter?