The Lynnster Zone

babbling since february 1997

Archive for the 'friends are evil' Category


Yep, That About Sums Up the ’80s

Posted by Lynnster on June 25, 2008

SHack: well you were at night court more than me
Lynnster: What? Only because before I met you I used to go there to watch and laugh at people!
SHack: and you never bailed me out
Lynnster: What! I was there every single time!
SHack: but jay always bailed me out
Lynnster: Because I never had money because nobody would have ever eaten if not for me!
SHack: you’d have left me there to rot
Lynnster: I probably should have.
SHack: then you dumped me
Lynnster: Because I was tired of narcissistic sociopath musicians.
SHack: that’s most of your ex-boyfriends
Lynnster: No, you were the only sociopath.
SHack: i played better than all of them though
Lynnster: When you were sober maybe.
SHack: that one night at cantrells
Lynnster: You were banned from Cantrell’s!
SHack: elliston then
Lynnster: You got banned from there too!
SHack: i never got banned from the exit in
Lynnster: Probably only because they forgot to.
SHack: i was never banned in murfreesboro
Lynnster: Well, there’s no accounting for taste.

Posted in friends are evil, im mayhem, middle tennessee, music, music junkie stuff, nashville, nashville '80s music, the ex files, west end boys & girls | No Comments »

Hey Hey, We’re The… (More Liveblogging Radio Lynnster)

Posted by Lynnster on February 17, 2007

Oh, come on. It’s not like none of y’all (well, some of y’all) didn’t know it was coming.

Go listen to your bad ’80s hair metal (Slaughter who? Winger wha…?) and quit e-mailing me, Steve. : P

And buy me the DVD box sets for my birthday while you’re at it.

Posted in friends are evil, music, music junkie stuff, other obsessions, west end boys & girls | 1 Comment »

Can’t Do Much More Damage After Having Just Played The Osmonds

Posted by Lynnster on February 17, 2007

My retarded friend Stevie Kane, who is monitoring my Last.fm playlist live by RSS feed tonight (GEEK!!!) and making sure to e-mail smartass commentary after every track, can kiss my butt here, and I don’t care what anybody says. Bread’s “Everything I Own” is still one of the best lost love songs EVER.

Again, as Newscoma would say - shut up.

Posted in friends are evil, giggles, music, music junkie stuff, west end boys & girls | 2 Comments »

Showering, Snacking, & Smiley Has Cursed Me

Posted by Lynnster on January 30, 2007

Bits ‘n pieces, changing the subject from all this tech talk ‘cos now I’m starting to bore my own self…

First, I’m planning to attend the Saturday Sarcastro Showering this weekend unless Tennessee sees a blizzard afoot. Hope I get to meet some more of you lovely NIT folks there. (Along with the ones I already know are going, of course, as well as those I’ve already met in person.) That would be rad.

Second, having been addicted to Extra sugar-free gum in Polar Ice and Eclipse mints in Winterfrost for some time (why I don’t prefer the Polar Ice mints too is beyond me), I must report that I have stepped out of my little box this week and am enjoying some Trident Splash gum in Apple Raspberry, and Trident White in Cool Colada. I know you needed to know all that. (P.S. The Cool Colada is especially yummy.)

Lastly - dear god, please tell me there is somebody else who now can’t go to this blog without starting to dance in one’s computer chair and softly humming or singing to themselves: “Rex, Rex, Rex L. Camino…”? Smiley’s 12 Days of Blogger Christmas was by far one of the most brilliant things I’ve ever had the privilege to witness on the Internet, but has resulted in a lasting affliction for moi, I’m afraid. If only I had a Carmen Miranda fruit basket hat, that would make it all perfect. (And probably keep me occupied when my family commits me to the psych ward, too.)

Posted in blogfolks, blogstuff, friends are evil, friends are good, nashville is talking, other obsessions, travelin' | 6 Comments »

Interior Decorating Continueth…

Posted by Lynnster on December 29, 2006

OK, I feel a little more moved in here now to the new blog now that I have my Last.fm music charts/stats back up (and on their own page, no less). I know most people/readers don’t care, but I do, and my old friend Stevie Kane has been about to die not being able to see what I’m listening to at any hour of the day. He is weird like that, pay him no mind.

I have a couple of things to add and modify, probably over the weekend, that I just didn’t have time for before Christmas, and then I’ll be mostly fine with things here. Just a little additional straightening up. WordPress is so easy to manage that it has severely lessened my usual extreme anal retentiveness about such things that I normally would have spent a couple hundred hours on. Compared to past efforts, the new blog has taken practically no time. I’ve quickly become a big WordPress fan in the last few weeks.

I’ve learned from talking with a few people that a lot of folks don’t know WordPress is free, but it is indeed. You can pay for some upgrading (like having your own domain) but the free version has most of the basic bells and whistles - other than not being able to use Javascript, it’s missing nothing I had before and a lot of functions are a huge improvement from what I had before. I highly recommend it, I don’t think anyone using that thing that rhymes with Dogger (old or new) will be disappointed! If nothing else, try it out for free and play around with it and see what you think. It totally rocks for me.

Posted in blogstuff, friends are evil, updates to the zone, west end boys & girls | 2 Comments »

Ain’t No Haints Gonna Scare Me Off

Posted by Lynnster on November 1, 2006

… just maybe the police.

Even tho it’s a day late, a Halloween story is in order today, I reckon. Though this actually occurred in the summer, not at Halloween, but it’s a haunted house story (in a manner of speaking) so it counts. (It’s also YET ANOTHER drinking story, but all I can say to that - again - it was the ’80s, that’s what we did, blah blah blah. Heh.)

Anyway, onto the story. I might have told this one before but it’s always worth telling again since it’s the only time in my life I truly almost was arrested.

Normally I was one of those people who could have several drinks or beers and conduct myself just fine, or at least well enough not to embarrass myself to death. Back in my partying days, I could hold my liquor usually. Or at least had the sense not to get plastered somewhere where it mattered if I made an idiot out of myself.

There were a handful of such occasions during high school and college days, however, when I had no business being out in public. Most unfortunately, those rare occasions were always the ones when friends would decide they were going to (wherever) and taking me along, which was always a big mistake - and usually I protested beforehand, because there was always still enough sense left to know that I didn’t need to be going somewhere, so it wasn’t like they weren’t warned - but sometimes they took me anyway.

On one of those occasions, I got dragged 20 miles away to the next town and the walk-in theater. (Yes, I specify walk-in because we didn’t have one in my town - we had an old and decomposing drive-in, and another drive-in just across the river on the other side of the neighboring town which was way cooler, better sound, and a topnotch snack bar.)

First bad sign, which should have been obvious to anyone who knew me - it was a peppermint schnapps night and there was an empty half pint bottle as evidence. And it was only, like, 6:30 in the evening.

I was being so completely obnoxious on the drive over that Andy and Jana, the two friends who had the misguided notion that it was this great idea to put me in the car and take me to the movie with them, were likely regretting it halfway over to the next town, but by then it was too late. They couldn’t put me out of the car out there on the highway - well, I guess they could have, but they didn’t - I guess the thought of me winding up passed out on my face in the middle of the wildlife refuge gave pause. And if they turned around and dumped me back off uptown with other friends, they’d have missed the movie.

I don’t recall what movie it was, but it was some fall blockbuster of 1982 and was opening night, and the theater, naturally, was packed and had almost sold out. Half of my town was there, and among the sea of faces and in my drunken haze I recognized many more I had grown up with in earlier days in the town where the theater was. Grand.

There’s hardly any seats and we can’t find three together, it’s so packed, but we finally found two together (Jana demanding to Andy, “YOU sit with her!”) and one behind those two. And the movie’s starting and the lights are going down, but not so much that you can’t still (unfortunately) see people.

Which means that when we made our way to our seats - in the middle and towards the front of the theater, no less - and I (A) tripped and stumbled all the way there, and (B) when attempting to take my seat, my ass landed smack on the floor instead of in the seat because I didn’t have the good sense to hold the seat down - five million people I knew saw the whole thing. And cracked up. (I laughed too, but that’s beside the point, plus, I was trashed anyhow.)

It gets better. We get thru the movie, mercifully with no further events. And then - instead of taking my drunk ass back across the county line to uptown hometown where I can be wasted in peace and only to the amusement of those who I didn’t really care if they saw me that wasted - instead of that, where do they take me next?

The McDonald’s up the street where EVERYONE congregates after a movie. Why did anyone think this was a good idea?

And it’s there that I made one of the grandest faux pas in high school history due to the horrific judgment of my severely inebriated state. There was a guy there who I was friends with, who just happened to be there with his longtime girlfriend (who I was not really good friends with at the time, but would be later on down the line). They showed up at our table to say hi.

Funny thing about this guy is one of my female relatives had been in town visiting a week or two before that. There’d been a pool party at my house and said guy ended up liplocked with this female relative of mine for the duration of the evening. Longtime girlfriend was - of course - NOT there.

Yeah, so guess what drunk opened her big mouth and sort of wound up causing one of the biggest breakups in Northwest Tennessee history in 1982. I wouldn’t say inadvertently. I would almost say directly, except I was just vague enough to make the information not all that easily understood (apparently I had SOME sense) - but trashed enough for it to be obvious I knew something certain other persons (i.e., longtime girlfriend) at the table were not supposed to know - and it was a few more weeks before the actual crash and burn of the breakup. But yeah, it eventually came around, and it was pretty much my drunkass, big mouth fault.

(On the other hand, if he hadn’t been cheating on her in the first place…? Right? No? Whatever.)

Anyway, that was one of the rare you-shouldn’t-take-her-out-in-public events.

But this was supposed to be a haunted house story, correct?

So now it’s 1985, and my ass has chosen this particular Friday evening after working all day at the answering service (another horror story in itself) to stay home and out of everyone’s way, not bothering a soul and minding my own business. Just me, the stereo, one very nice lime, a shaker of salt, and a full bottle of tequila.

Wherever Kelli and Andy were supposed to be that evening, I have no idea. But the next thing I know they’re there in the apartment Andy and I were sharing at the time in Jackson, disturbing my private party, and with this fabulous idea that they’re going to go check out a haunted house.

And the completely idiotic idea that they’re going to take me with them.

I said no a dozen times. I just wanted to stay there at home, shoot (more) tequila and get drunk(er). Veg at the apartment, out of sight, doing my thing and not bothering anyone. “I’m fine right where I am,” I kept protesting.

“Oh, come on, come on,” Kelli cajoled. “It’ll be fun!”

Which was probably time #724 of the 1,016 times she’s talked me into doing something that no one in their right mind should ever do. They, of course, soon dragged me off and out into the car, and off we went.

But the first thing we had to do, ten miles or so down the road, was yours truly - of course - suddenly had to go to the bathroom. In a VERY bad part of town.

There’s no place around except the Krystal, where two cops (a portent of things to come?) just happened to be sitting inside munching on a bag full of Krystals. “Go on, it’ll be OK,” Kelli said. “The police are in there. You won’t get robbed or raped or murdered with the police in there eating Krystals.”

What I am wearing is probably the icing on the cake of this particular tale. It is, again, 1985 - and I am wearing what is really a Minnie Mouse nightshirt in dayglo 1980’s neon colors, but is functioning this evening as a t-shirt minidress with a somewhat matching dayglo neon Esprit belt to boot (I think it was chartreuse); period-appropriate dayglo neon ’80s jewelry, including some godawful ugly jangly necklace and long dangle earrings that don’t match but are indeed part of a set (one spelled out B-O-Y, I don’t remember what the other earring had on it); the prerequsite armload of neon-colored bangles and black plastic bracelets; and fuschia plastic thong sandals. I am also (of course) wearing makeup in colors not seen in nature, thick black liquid eyeliner, and this atrocious neon-y fuschia lace scarfy thing tied in my hair.

(Look, it was 1985, okay?)

So there I go, weaving my way through Krystal en route to the bathroom, totally blitzed on tequila. Pretty much looking like Madonna Jr., and being the only white face in there. Probably the only one for miles, save for my so-called friends waiting outside in the car.

Next it was off to said haunted house, where we proceeded to break in via a back kitchen door. Unable to get the door open, we climbed through an already open window in the door, which was no easy feat for me due to (A) aforementioned copious amounts of tequila and (B) aforementioned plastic thong sandals, which dropped off my feet an untold number of times before successful entrance into said abandoned kitchen, flashlights in tow.

Did I mention why it was okay for us to be breaking into this “haunted” house? The house was an old, long-abandoned Victorian among many other old and long abandoned huge houses in downtown Jackson. The owner was long gone, but the house was still owned by the family - the family of Kelli’s sometimes, then-on-again-off-again, boyfriend. Who, a few years later would become her permanent husband - but at the time, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

The house was creepy enough tho the whole experience was kind of anticlimactic. The downstairs was still fully furnished, and the really creepy part (other than the fact that we were in a very old and very dark and very long-empty house) was that there was stuff everywhere. Not as if someone was still living there; more like there had been an intended estate sale that never happened. A humongous buffet in the dining room and the dining room table - both just covered with all kinds of oddities, tons of junk. Hardly any floor space to walk through any of the downstairs rooms, because there was so just much stuff everywhere.

The one single really “eek! haunted house!” moment came when we made our way to the foyer. There was this sole wooden chair semi-facing the front door of the house, as if someone had just set it there on purpose. On the chair was a very old, creepy-looking and worn, hardcover book, also seemingly set there on purpose.

The title of the book was Knock on Any Door.

Okay, that kind of creeped us out a little but again, it was kind of anticlimactic. Just creepy enough to give us a bit of the shivers, but it wasn’t like a screaming moment of terror.

Next, we headed up what was really a very grand wooden staircase in the front hall, towards the upstairs. Okay, upstairs was a little bit scarier. For one thing, all the rooms upstairs were completely empty. And the streetlights outside that were shining through the windows gave it a different, eerier feel than downstairs.

We didn’t see much of interest upstairs and, after briefly losing Andy for a moment, ended up congregating in one of the front bedrooms. It was oddly and inexplicably chilly in that room.

“I feel like someone died in here,” someone said. Which one of us, I don’t know.

Suddenly, there was this jarring sound from the back part of the house. Kelli and I both shrieked.

But from where Andy stood, he could see out the front windows. “Get down!” he shushed us. “The cops are outside.” Great.

So there the three of us are, Kelli and I hunkered down on one side of the room, Andy on the other, hoping we won’t get caught and hoping they’ll go away. Actually, I’m not hoping anything, I’m too toasted to care, but at least I was having the good sense at the time to stay still and keep quiet.

And I have to admit that even tho the whole “haunted house” experience this run had been pretty much a bust as far as terror and fright - and even tho I knew it was the cops - hiding there and waiting in that desperately cold room, listening to the footsteps slowly coming up those heavy wooden stairs - yep, that was kind of creepy. Tho probably more creepy in an “OK, we’re getting arrested” kind of way.

When the lone police officer got to the top, he almost immediately found us (of course). As another officer came lumbering up the stairs behind him and into the room, he shined his flashlight around the room in our faces. “Okay, stand up and put your hands in the air.”

Which the three of us did, of course.

And then I proceeded to take one hand and point at Kelli, telling the cops: “Talk to HER! She’s the one! It was HER idea!”

So, after ratting out my best friend, and the cops obviously deciding we were unarmed and harmless idiots (especially the drunk and wobbling Madonna clone in the Minnie Mouse nightshirt), they walked us downstairs and gathered us on the front porch to decide what to do with us. Andy, in his best radio announcer’s voice, was being Mr. Public Relations trying to smooth talk his way (and, I guess, our way) out of trouble. Kelli was silent and afraid to open her mouth, tho what she really wanted to do was cuss me out for ratting on her, of course.

I wasn’t saying a word either, mainly because I was so trashed and basically just thinking, “I really hope we don’t get arrested, and I wonder how much tequila is left in that bottle at the apartment.”

Out on the porch, the officer that had initially found us is patiently explaining to us, as if we’re all three-year-olds, the definition of breaking and entering, and obviously trying to decide whether we are intelligent enough to comprehend the fact that we might just be going to jail momentarily.

But Kelli was going to explain our way out of this. I don’t recall exactly what she said, but here’s the paraphrased version:

“Look, I know this looks bad, but it’s not like we were REALLY breaking and entering. This is my boyfriend’s grandmother’s house. And the window in the back door was open anyway. We didn’t have to BREAK anything. We just ENTERED.”

About that same time, one of the other cops on the porch is getting on his radio. “Yeah, I’m at (whatever the address was),” he says into the radio. “We’ve got some kids that broke into my grandmother’s house.”

Kelli, meet your future husband’s cousin, the cop. Cop, meet your cousin’s future wife and mother of his child. All right, an anecdote for family Thanksgivings and Christmases for years to come!

Anyway, yep, a few more offhand threats of jail and stern warnings later, they let us go. Yep, Kelli’s then-sometimes-boyfriend-later-husband was somewhere between Pissed with a capital P that his name even got brought into it in the first place, and mildly amused at how dumb we were. And yep, I got back to the apartment, shot more tequila, and passed out oblivious to the world until daylight. Thankfully in my own bed, and not a bunk in the Madison County Jail.

I drink very, very infrequently these days - an occasional beer here and there, mimosas on Christmas Day (always), and I can’t turn down a Wallaby Darned at the Outback - and I can’t shoot tequila anymore, after a particularly gruesome bout with that in 1987. Still to this day, I can’t smell it without my stomach twisting in knots. But I do have the good sense to know that the Goldschlager is best kept in the fridge at home - and so is Lynnster - and not out in public.

Thing is, I ALWAYS knew that kinda thing - and often said so in huge protest - it’s just that no one listened to me and dragged me out with them anyhow. Often much to their regret later, but that was their own damn fault.

And oh yeah - the “haunted house”? Years later, Kelli’s hubby said he thought someone in the family DID die long ago in that bedroom that was so cold. Eek.

Posted in * top funny babble, ancient history, extremely '80s, friends are evil, friends are good, giggles, scary creepy stuff, wasted, west tennessee | No Comments »

Voices from the Grave

Posted by Lynnster on October 17, 2006

While hunting for something else tonight, I came across some stuff I’d forgotten was still stored somewhere. Old pages and blogging and stuff that had never been disposed of of KC’s. And some IM logs. And I don’t know what all else. There’s a little from Greg and Duncan, but it’s mostly KC stuff. Some pretty funny, and some just as annoying and obnoxious as ever. I’ll have to pick thru it and see what gems there may be worth sharing, besides the one below.

Seeing as how there’s a sort of nostalgic theme going this week, might as well keep it up. So here you go, one of KC’s favorite anecdotes about yours truly…

…One of my favorites was ’round ‘86, one of the many nights when there was nothing better to do, that a bunch of us piled into the old KCmobile and went to the drive-in - me, Scott, Joey, Josie, Emily and Lynnster.

Seeing as how most of us were fairly broke at the time and always looking for a way to skirt a buck, it only made sense to try to hide as many of the girls we could in the trunk to get out of paying their admission price. We tried to get all three in there, but that was impossible, especially since Joey’s guitar was in the trunk too. Emily was taller than the other two, so we decided she was out, and Josie had been drinking Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill and was known for frequent motion sickness so we decided that wasn’t a good idea either, so we forced Lynnster into the trunk, being the smallest and shortest. She’d also been pretty crabby all day long, so we were kinda glad to be rid of her temporarily…

…in fact, SO glad to be rid of her we didn’t get her out of the trunk when we parked. About the time the movie started, we started hearing little knocking noises and muffled “hey, get me out of here”s from behind.

Scott and I spent a while with “Well, should we get her out now?” and “No, I don’t think so, do you think so?”. Emily’s getting madder and madder ’cause we won’t give her the keys.

Joey’s going “Man, you better let her out, you KNOW she’s only going to get worse.” Josie’s too sick to care either way. Meanwhile the noise and the banging from the trunk is getting louder and louder.

About midway through the movie - yep, midway - the security guard is making his rounds of the lot, and upon hearing the cacophony coming from the rear of the vehicle, comes up to me and asks what’s going on here.

Scott says, “Well, there’s a girl in the trunk.” The security guard asks if she wants to be in the trunk, we say, no, probably not (and laughing).

The security guard asks why she’s in the trunk. I say, “Well, she’s been a pain in the ass all day, so we just left her in there.” He nods, trying not to crack a smile. In the meantime, there’s all kinds of yelling, banging, loud four letter words, threats and other such coming from the rear.

After hemming and hawing for a bit, guard finally asks would I open up the trunk. “Sure,” I say, and we proceed to the trunk and unlock it, knowing full well Her Screamingness is wanting to call me everything but a white boy. Upon spotting the guard, whose uniform is dangerously like that of a Murfreesboro police officer, she shuts up.

Security guard says, “Miss, are you a victim of a kidnapping?”

I can see the little wheels in her head turning…

But of course she says no. “Okay,” says the security guard, “that’s all I wanted to know.” Whereupon he closes the trunk back up, smiles and gives a little wave to me and Scott, and walks away.

The silence from the trunk was deafening for the rest of the movie, other than Scott and me cracking up from time to time.

The great thing about it was he didn’t even ask us to pay for her admission price, knowing full well we’d snuck her in, but then again I guess he figured since she wasn’t seeing the movie……

Posted in ancient history, friends are evil, giggles, middle tennessee, west end boys & girls | No Comments »

We Like to Talk a Lot

Posted by Lynnster on October 15, 2006

One day back in July, Scott and I amused ourselves for the better part of an afternoon zapping MySpace comments back and forth (because we obviously had nothing better to do), quoting our friends from snippets of long-gone conversations from 15-20 years ago. Much hilarity ensued, and I suppose really only served to prove that we are really just as obnoxious, immature and juvenile at 40 and 42 as we were at 20 and 22.

Anyway, here are a few completely out of context and priceless (tho mostly non-family friendly) Kodak moments, circa 1986-1991…

“…for a bunch of so-called creative people, you assholes have NO imagination!”

“Uh………..is there some other reason why all this X is laying out on the griddle, or was someone just planning to have a REALLY happy breakfast this morning?”

“Okay, so… my freezer’s full of acid, and there’s X stashed in every small appliance in here as well as the mop bucket and under the dustpan. You guys either want me to go to jail for a VERY long time, or you want me to start cooking and cleaning around here more often. Which is it?”

(the following were all from the same afternoon…)

“I think he’s still breathing. But if he’s not, the answer to that would be Miss Jo Walker on the veranda with the stiletto heel.”

“Veranda. Veran-DUH. Duh, duh, DUH! Where’d you go to school? Oh, that’s right… you’re from hippie liberal Oregon, where debutantes, grits, and good taste in footwear don’t exist.”

“Hey, man, it was ONLY a testicle.”

“You don’t need to reproduce anyway. The world was not in need of more drug-addicted, narcissistic sociopaths last time I checked.”

“The words ‘veranda’ and ‘debutante’ don’t exist in the everyday vocabulary usage of sane people. And ‘fixin’ to’ is just PLAIN BAD ENGLISH!!!”

Posted in * top funny babble, friends are evil, friends are good, giggles, nashville, west end boys & girls | No Comments »

Your Feets Too Big

Posted by Lynnster on March 30, 2006

Thursdays are my day off. Thursdays are good.

Going to see the Tim Lee Band from Knoxville play here in Memphis tonight, hopefully - should be an excellent time!

I’ve been having a little minor (and, of course, in jest) war of words lately online with one of my oldest and dearest friends, Jo Walker. Josie and I were the only two females in the bunch I ran with in college - one of several different groups of folks I hung out with but this gang was the closest and included some of those famous for their appearances throughout my blog over the last nine years such as KC, Greg, Duncan, etc. I wound up part of the group because KC and I had known each other since we were little kids; Jo sort of became osmosed (is that a word?) into it ‘cos she was related to 50% of the guys in the group and everybody, really, but me and a couple of others were related to each other anyway somehow someway, mostly cousins and then a couple of sets of brothers. Jo wasn’t related to KC but was related to Greg (cousins), who was related to KC (cousins again), so in a way it was like everyone was related to everyone else and truthfully at some point I think we all forgot that some of us weren’t related to each other. Well, except for those of us who were dating at the time, of course.

Anyway, Jo eventually wound up marrying Stevie Kane, another of our group (and who I almost got smushed into a pulp with when we almost hit a concrete wall head-on many years ago driving back from lunch hour in Memphis, another momentous event documented here many years ago in this blog). I’m still not quite sure what turned that around where she agreed to marry him since she wouldn’t speak to him for fifteen years after he killed her pet fish and burned her apartment building to the ground (two unrelated incidents), and she used to say things - whenever it was pointed out that Stevie Kane was single and available - like “Over my dead body,” and so on and so forth. But anyway, yeah, they’re married and it’s weird but it’s all good.

Being Jo Walker’s friend, while she may be one of my favorite people on earth, has always been a great big thorn in my side on some levels. Why, you ask? Well, for one thing, we look absolutely ridiculous together. Josie used to model a long time ago (rolling eyes). She’s nearly 6 feet tall with insanely long legs, and even though I don’t think she has a speck of Native American blood in her, we have always referred to her as the “Indian Princess” or “Indian Goddess”. She’s that tall, about as big around as a toothpick even after having now gone through childbirth, legs up to her neck, long flowing black hair that always just looks just so, and naturally dark skinned so she never has to lay out or set foot in a tanning bed, she has a perpetual great tan. Miss Thang is perfect. I, on the other hand, am 5′2″, unforgivingly average, very much a white white girl, and might have a good hair day one day a month. There was never another more tremendously unmatched pair on the planet than dumpy short little old me and Miss Amazon Indian Goddess.

Then there’s the music thing. Way back in the day, I only knew of a couple of other chick drummers in the general vicinity besides Josie. Now, you’d look at her and never think “chick drummer”. She’s a great one though. This makes me sick for two reasons. The reason she is a chick drummer is because she grew up in a house with the very same thing that was in my house, at least part of the time, growing up - a drum kit. Like my dad, hers was a drummer too. Unlike her, I chose to ignore the drum kit and never bothered to learn how to play. Which is the second reason it makes me sick. I coulda made some sweet money over all these years as a chick drummer.

Of course, on the flip side of that, all you have to do is say two words to Jo in order to send her into paroxysms of vitriol and words that bother my virgin ears - MEG WHITE. (I happen to like Meg White just fine, for the record, but you take your life into your hands mentioning her around Josie.)

Anyway, way back in the old days when everybody used to flop at Scott’s old apartment in West End, which was small to begin with, sometimes it was even harder to find sleeping space because not only the twelve or thirteen of us in our little group, as well as any assortment of dates and girlfriends and boyfriends, would be crashing there as well as, sometimes, most of whomever had been at whichever club that night. As well as, sometimes, whatever band from out of town had been playing at whichever club that night. Sometimes it would just be wall to wall people crashed in every available chair (not many) and the couch (only one) and the floor and you’d have to watch where you stepped if you had to make one of those middle of the night sneaks to the bathroom. This was always especially fun if you’d had too much to drink that night and were, indeed, trying to get to the bathroom to throw up or something.

Now I, of course, had girlfriend rights to the one bed in the house, but more often than not I was mad at him anyway, so most nights I usually wound up either sleeping out in the papasan chair that was out on the balcony curled up with Evan, who was always out on the balcony. Or I’d be sharing the couch with Jo, which was actually a pretty big couch and not bad for sleeping on even with two people, as long as you didn’t mind someone’s feet in your face. So, in essence, I am pretty familiar with Josie Walker’s feet.

Which brings me to the point of this entry about the gorgeous and perfect Jo Walker, former model, super chick drummer extraordinaire, almost 6 foot tall Indian Princess/Goddess.

Let it be known that Jo Walker has got some bigass, ugly, size 9 or 10 (?), boatlike feet!

Hehehe…

Posted in * top general babble, ancient history, concerts & shows, friends are evil, friends are good, giggles, knoxville music, music, nashville, west end boys & girls | No Comments »

It Just Done Slipped My Mind

Posted by Lynnster on February 21, 2006

Yikes, I’ve been gone a while again, huh? Well, it wasn’t really intentional but I’ve been swamped with work and trying to catch up a bunch of other stuff as well, plus there’s been the sleeping (lack thereof) problem. I thought I’d just done it twice in the past month or so but according to what I’ve posted here, I’ve done two three-days-no-sleep stints and one five days (that one with hallucinations as an extra added bonus). Well, happy to say I’ve gotten a little better about that even if it’s only a couple of hours a night sometimes.

Also, my new laptop came - which means I now have a working DVD drive again - and I have been rather obsessively catching up on Six Feet Under and very happily so. Have just finished the part of Season 3 where I left off a couple of years ago when I got busy, and started Season 4 now - right on time