Did you know? Get to know Potholes….

You may be a relatively new reader here at Potholes and Pantyhose. Or, you may have suffered with me through the Iweb times. Or, you may be here for the first time and wondered what the heck you were doing here.

You may have decided you wanted to create me…

…married me, grew up with me, go to church with me or have never met me (much to your benefit, I’m sure). But, here you are, reading about me, learning who this weirdo is, as if I matter.

But, there are a few things you may not know about me or my life. And, maybe after this post, wished you didn’t know. Just in case you want to feel a little more normal today, did you know that:

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The sound of a crow cawing makes me sad.

Click on the “Photo Source” to hear the sound for yourself. You be the judge. Happy or sad?

My husband has an altar ego on myspace (of all ridiculous places) named “KrunkTymeK“.

We had a house that blew up.

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If attending a large function, I tend to color coordinate people-meaning I rearrange people in my mind so that they “match” their surroundings. Thus the reason I tend to sit on the first or second row in order to not be distracted by my freakishness.

I am licensed to drive one of these, and did so for David Copperfield (yes, the magician with gigantic eyebows), the Flaming Lips and other “famous” people. They all still have morning breath just like the rest of us.

We were told that Cowboy was a “Cowgirl” until we went to get “her” fixed. God rest his/her soul.

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I almost died choking on one of these when I was a stupid kid.

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And last, but certainly not least, clowns freak me out for obvious reasons. I mean, seriously. Come on.

Small Town Coffee Time

I grew up in a rather small town. The Dutch Maid grocery store tripled as a gas station and a post office. After morning farm chores were finished, the old men used to gather at the Daylight Donuts-without changing their boots. The smell was an intoxicating mixture of confectionary sugar, burnt coffee and cow dung.

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There were no “salons” or “spas” in my hometown. I had my hair cut by a man named Noel at his shop that still sported a swirling red, blue and white barber pole.

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We waved at everyone driving by-especially if we were on a rural road.
And a newcomer was easily recognized for the lack of the “two-finger-lift-while-still-holding-the-steering-wheel” wave.

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That said, Biceps grew up in a town roughly 4% of the size of my town. They have one hanging stoplight-recently switched from a flashing yellow to a full-on green, yellow and red.

Image Credit: David Friedman/Getty Images
The video store doubles as the town’s tanning headquarters. And there is still no place with Wi-fi when one certain blogger goes to visit. (me).

I miss my small town-I even miss Bicep’s small town. Just a short drive outside of Tulsa, I find a bit of that flavor once again in Muskogee. Biceps began the Fire Academy today and I decided to accompany him on his adventure.

I packed up the laptop, some snacks and threw on my comfy-but-cute shoes. The only free Wi-fi in Muskogee happens to be at McDonald’s-which is also the only coffee shop open before 10am.

After setting up camp in the corner on a hard plastic bench, I noticed a peculiar amount of gray hairs infiltrating the burger joint. This was their coffee shop.

And they knew I didn’t belong. It might have been that I asked for a ‘tall’ cup of coffee. They felt the need to protect their turf, slowly adding me to their circle, to make sure I was on the up and up.

“What’s a pretty girl doing here all alone at this time of day?,” one asks over his shoulder, as if I was at a bar at 2am.
“You look like Cher,” another states on his way to the bathroom.
“Well, Cowboy, what’re ya doing today?”, the first one asks of his buddy who just walked in. “See that girl over there. She’s working hard.”
“I suppose I ought to head to the library,” Cowboy responds, nodding in my direction. “I have a couple overdue books I ought to pay for. I remember the fines used to be a penny a day. Now, they’re probably a dollar. She is working hard. We shouldn’t bother her.”
“Mh-hm,” said my Cher complimenter.
“We don’t want to bother you while yer working so hard on your laptop,” said another. “But did you know that they threw my newspaper away yesterday when I left it for just a minute?” (I did not see the need for this information.)
“They don’t speak English. So he just bought another one,” said Cowboy.

And on and on it went. I couldn’t quit smiling, laughing and being just a bit nostalgic for home. The only thing missing was cow poop on their boots and donuts in hand.

Fun at the Museum

What do you do when you and your best friend drive for two hours to see an amazing museum and then suddenly realize you’ve forgotten your camera? Instead of coming home with beautiful shots of the perfectly landscaped grounds, the overflowing waterfalls and the priceless works of art, you settle for what your iphone can do.

And you do stupid things like stick out your arms behind marble busts of someone famous while no one is looking.

You take great silhouette’s of your friend’s backside when the opportunity affords itself.

You also coerce aforementioned friend to make kissing faces at the installations.

(This is something I’m sure the artist would have wanted you to do.)

The same friend, if she’s got a good head on her shoulders, will sometimes offer her own artistic interpretation of a large Pinocchio without regard to how she may appear to other museum goers.

Of course, anything that reminds either of you of the other, you must pose next to it…

… and mimic it as best as you can.

But, don’t disregard the strangers around you. They may unknowingly offer their legs to a giant head.

And even though you know your photos will be gritty and not “keepers”, you have the most fun of your life with your BFF-because any time with her is a good time.

Regardless if you come home with fancy photos or not-you have at least fuzzy photos of the fun had by all.