Karmatic Retribution...and Bragging

 Karma's a bitch. She really is. I can't tell you how many times I showed up at home and sprang a last minute project on my parents who would then have to rush off to Wal-Mart and stay up until the wee hours to help me finish something I should have been working on for weeks. Now, Bella has daily homework, and I have to say, I tend to ignore it unless there is something she is required to turn in. I am a little miffed at the idea of her having homework every day, because she can't read yet, so it's up to me to keep track of it for her and number one, I am not reliable when it comes to that kind of stuff and number two, I think this teaches the kids that their parents will help them get their homework done. So obviously, this has finally come back to bite me in the ass.

A couple of weeks ago the entire kindergarten had what they referred to as "The Kindergarten Rodeo" which included a parade of children riding stick horses they'd made. You were supposed to do the stick horse over spring break, but I totally forgot about it. The rodeo loomed and one day Bella came home and announced the stick horse was due the next morning.

Eric wanted to use a left over clothing rod we had from when I redid my closet, but first of all, those things are stupidly expensive so I didn't want to chop it down for use as a homework project, and secondly, it was like 2 inches in diameter and heavy, and I doubted Bella could carry it. So off to Home Depot I went at 6 pm. I bought a dowel rod and brought it home, we had some leftover paint from when we painted Bella's room, so I had her help me paint the stick, and that was pretty much all she got to do. I usually have her make her own projects by herself as much as possible, but this time I knew there wasn't time.

Everyone else ate dinner and got ready for bed, and I sat there, cutting up material originally meant for use as a dress for Bella (I bought it when she was 2 and I was determined I was going to start sewing). I was pretty sure this thing was going to turn out looking like something Thanatos would ride into Hades, but I persevered nonetheless. No daughter of mine was going to school in some stick horse made from a curtain rod and an old sock.

Eric got the girls ready for bed as I cursed at my sewing machine, in the grand tradition started by my mother. Now, my mom is basically the living embodiment of Betty Crocker. I swear she exudes sunshine from all her pores, she has endless patience and a kind word and a baked good for everyone. That being said, she's got a bit of a temper on her, and though she was raised in a strict Southern Baptist home, she has a string of curse words she reserves solely for her sewing machine. As a kid, the infernal machine in question was a Kenmore, but now she has a Brother, which I can only assume has been subjected to equal amounts of verbal abuse.

I am certain I exacerbated her complicated relationship with her Kenmore as a kid when I would constantly come home expecting her to work miracles on it. One such time I came home and announced that she needed to make not one but two Indian costumes for "Indian Day" (I went to elementary school before political correctness). I said I needed one, and I had promised my best friend my super talented mom would make her one too. Oh, and I need them tomorrow, mom. My mom worked a full-time job, so she didn't even hear about this until after 5 pm. That blessed woman stayed up until after 2 am finishing those costumes, and when I skipped off to school with them after a good night's rest I discovered my friend had gotten someone else to make one for her already. Oh well, mom didn't need that sleep, right?

I'm proud of the half-assed outfit too. The shirt and hat are from Wal-Mart
and cost a total of $11. The cowboy hat is actually a woman's sized hat,
I had to use my awful, broken Spanish to communicate with a
Wal-Mart employee to find it. The boots would be more appropriate for
"Eskimo day" if that were even a thing.

I have felt bad about that for twenty years now, but karma got me back with this damned stick horse. As he was turning off lights and heading to bed my husband said, "I feel bad going to sleep," and I said, "Don't, this is my punishment. I've been waiting for it for twenty years now." and with that baffling statement he shuffled off to bed to leave me to it. I have never been good with a sewing machine, the main issues I have are threading the damn thing, and maintaining a good speed with the foot pedal. My sewing machine is a Singer, and it seems to have two speeds: almost not moving, and oops, you've sewn your hand to the fabric.

Finally I gave up and started hand sewing it. It took me three hours but I finally finished the stick horse head, and shoved it barbarically onto its pike, presumably as an example to other arrogant stick horses. WARNING: Here's where the bragging comes in: As difficult as it was, I am somewhat amazed that it turned out so well, considering how harried the project was. I can only say that it's a good thing I have my secret hoard of craft supplies, or Bella'd have been riding a stick horse that looked like it came from a dumpster. But now that my kid knows I can work miracles, I'll be required to do this again one day. Until then, I will live in fear of my just deserts.

Doing Things the Hard Way

I keep seeing pins for "life hacks" about how to do things easier or quicker, so I thought I'd toast to my own insanity and blog about a few things I do that are actually much harder than necessary. I wrote a really funny article recently for Wide Open Country called "20 Ridiculous Pinterest Projects That Ain't Nobody Got Time For" and this is sort of the opposite of that. I like to cook and bake, so every once in a while I do things the hard way because I think I do it better. So, without further ado, here are my favorite ridiculously over-complicated recipes:

Cinnamon Rolls

Yeah, you can totally buy these from the grocery store, but dammit they always have raisins and I HATE raisins. Seriously, ew. I could buy them from a bakery but they'd be expensive, and I'd have to get up at the crack of dawn, because if you sleep in all the cinnamon rolls are gone by the time you get there, no matter where you go. Because cinnamon rolls are awesome. This recipe requires a yeast dough, so you have to wait for it to rise. Sometimes I make this the night before I want to eat it and leave the rolls in the pan in the fridge overnight, but they really do taste better made and baked on the same day. So these are for like, when you don't really want breakfast until 11 but you'll still be up at 7. *Sarcasm Font* Totally practical, right?

This recipe is originally a Paula Deen Recipe, don't look at me like that, you can hardly taste the racism. Plus I started making this before that came to light, so my innocence is grandfathered in, right?

Click Here for the Cinnamon Rolls Recipe

My changes:

Sometimes I use coconut oil instead of butter in the dough.

I use half granulated sugar and half brown sugar.

I use milk instead of water in the icing recipe.

I only cook these for 15 minutes, because at 30 minutes they have the consistency of hockey pucks.

I leave out the raisins and nuts.

Lasagna

My mom really only cooks on holidays, and one of her specialties is homemade lasagna. I didn't eat frozen, boxed lasagna until my husband bought it after we were married. Gross. Stouffer's should be ashamed of themselves, because that crap is nasty. I had never had it in a restaurant because I was certain it could never be as good as my mom's, until 2010 when my hubs took me to Little Italy in New York City. I figured if there was ever any place that would be worth trying restaurant lasagna, it would be on Mulberry Street, and was I ever right. I have never been so close to heaven. I have been trying since then to recreate it, but I don't have a drop of Italian blood in me, and I lack the prerequisite Italian grandmother to help me out, so I'm still working on this recipe. I've ended up combining my mom's recipe with one from the New York Times, partially because these ingredients are really hard to find in Texas, and partially because I am too lazy to do it properly (but not lazy enough to ever allow my husband to buy Stouffer's again).

Click Here for the New York Times Lasagna Recipe

My changes:

I use bacon instead of pancetta because it's damn near impossible to find in Texas, and really expensive.

I use cottage cheese instead of ricotta because that's how my mom did it, and I find cottage cheese less annoying to work with than sticky ricotta.

I use ground Italian sausage and ground beef, and don't always bother making the meatballs, but it's better if you do, just more time-consuming.

Chicken Pot Pies

This I got into because my husband practically begged me to make him some homemade chicken pot pies, and I've found that, though it's far more time-consuming than sticking a frozen one in the oven, it's not only lower calorie, it's also way more delicious. I don't make my own pie crust though, I'm not completely crazy.

Ingredients:

You will need four soufflé dishes, like these - I bought mine four to a package from Garden Ridge (now called At Home) for less than $10.

2 Pre-made, rolled pie crusts in box, such as Pillsbury (but I use the HEB brand because I find them to be better)

Carrots, celery, potatoes, corn, peas, green beans or whatever you want in your pot pie, the amount you use will depend on how many veggies you want, I usually use about a half a cup of all of these. You can use canned veggies, and I usually do with corn and peas, but with everything else i generally use fresh and then I sauté the green beans and boil the potatoes, carrots and celery. You want the veggies to be cooked when you put them into the pies. If you use canned, they can be cold out of the can though.

1 chicken breast

1 recipe white gravy, you can use my own recipe from my article on Wide Open Country for biscuits and gravy.

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 400 degrees

Take one pre-made pie crust out of the box and roll it into a ball, kneed it until all the flour on the outside has been absorbed back into the crust. Cut the ball into four equal pieces, then roll each out. 

Form each pie crust inside and around the edges of each soufflé dish, you'll want to make certain to fold a little bit over the top of each dish so that the crust doesn't simply slide down into the dish as it bakes. 

Using a fork, poke holes in each pie crust and put them all into the oven to bake for about 7 minutes, or until the crust looks done, as in, no longer raw.

Take the pie crusts out of the oven and set them aside (you'll want to leave the oven on).

Sautee, boil or otherwise cook whatever vegetables you want in your pot-pie.

Cook the chicken (I pan-fry mine) and dice the chicken once it's cooked.

Prepare the gravy (see linked recipe above for instructions, omitting the sausage and bacon added).

Combine all ingredients in a large mixing bowl until gravy covers everything, then spoon the mixture into the cooked pie crusts. 

Take remaining pie shell and kneed it until all the flour on the outside is absorbed, then cut the dough into four equal parts, and roll them out.

Place one raw pie crust on each prepared pot pie, pushing the crust down so that it sticks to the cooked pie crust. Cut four small slits in the top of each raw pie crust to vent.

Cook each pot pie again until the top crust is cooked, 7-10 minutes.

Pizza

Once I mastered cinnamon roll dough, pizza dough was a breeze. The great thing about this recipe is that it doesn't need to rise, so this doesn't take much more time than any other made-from-scratch dinner. It's still longer than opening a box and turning on an oven, but I get to put as much cheese on it as I want, and I loooove CHEESE. I've also used half the dough to make a thin-crust version, which is really good too. The great thing about making your own pizza is that you can put whatever you want on it. I've made this as a standard pepperoni, a sausage and green pepper, and even a chicken alfredo bacon pizza.

Click Here for the Pizza Crust Recipe

Pre-heat the oven to 425 degrees

Roll out the pizza dough and then put it in your pizza pan

Cover in desired sauce (You can make your own, but I usually just buy pre-made spaghetti sauce)

Cover in grated cheese of choice (I have found that grating your own cheese makes it melt better than buying pre-grated cheese at the store)

Cover in meat (make sure it's cooked, unless it's pepperoni, which usually comes pre-sliced and pre-cooked)

Cover in sliced veggies if you want, these don't have to be cooked.

Put the Pizza in the oven and cook it for 15 minutes.

Dai Due

Homegrown fruit and dried herbs on the windowsill. 

Caveat Lector:

Let it be known that I am not a "foodie" nor do not write restaurant reviews. I was inspired to write this piece upon visiting the best restaurant on the planet. I am not exaggerating. I seriously doubt I could love any place in the world as much as Dai Due. It has everything that I think makes a restaurant perfect. These are my own opinions though, as someone who has worked in restaurants, and does not review them.

Our view from the bar, you can see the herbs hanging
out to dry at the top right.

Here's the TLDR on why I love Dai Due:

1. Everything is genuinely fresh. They literally rolled a side of venison out to the butcher shop right in front of us as we sat eating. The bartender told us the owner used to actually hunt for the food to supply the restaurant. He doesn't have time for that anymore, but come on, that's incredible!

2. The decor is simple, but elegant. It doesn't feel pretentious in any way, and you don't have to dress up to go.

3. The food is mouthwateringly delectable. I wish I had some now. And later. And forever. Till death do us part.

4. The Food presentation and the food itself is gourmet, arranged aesthetically pleasingly, totally unique and inspired, and the menu changes often.

5. The prices are reasonable. You'd think that a place this awesome would break the bank, but it totally doesn't. Now, it's not cheap, but it's doable. We live on one income, so this is important. We were able to eat lunch and have two beers apiece plus desert for about $50 plus tip. That's only slightly more than what you'd spend at Chili's, for much better food and atmosphere. (We don't normally spend $50 on lunch but this was our first weekend alone together in a while so it was like a date.)

Here's the Whole Enchilada:

Preserves! And check out that awesome vintage register
on the bottom shelf!!!

Eric's mom took the girls this past weekend, so Eric and I headed out to have some grown-up time. I had told him I wanted to go day drinking like we used to when we were in our early 20's and didn't have kids yet. It turns out I am far too cheap a date these days for that. I was done after two beers. But I digress. I wanted to go downtown, because I love downtown and never get to go there now that I'm no longer working down there. My only other requirement was that he take me someplace "Austin-ish". I was pretty demanding. "I want to go someplace people have heard of, some place people are talking about. Go to CultureMap Austin and search for restaurant lists or something like that." I wanted him to make it up to me for the last time he took me out to "Chinos Burritos" in Round Rock, a Chinese-Mexican fusion place that I later described as "diarrhea waiting to happen". I was dubious of his choice at first, but he assured me that it was an actual "Austin-ish" type place that people were talking about, and was supposed to be featured in GQ soon. So along I went.

The bartender, she was such a good sport. Forgive me, I forgot her name.

Boy, did he deliver. He took me to a place I couldn't pronounce called "Dai Due" and we sat at the bar. I asked the bartender how to pronounce the name of the restaurant, and like a total tourist I made her completely uncomfortable by asking if I could take her picture. She reluctantly agreed and informed me the restaurant is pronounced "die DOO-ay" that's "die" as in "the food is to die for". I loved everything about this place immediately. You can smell the wood-burning grill from the parking lot, and it smells like smokey heaven. Inside, I referred to the decor as "modern farm", and it was positively alluring. Boughs of fresh herbs were tied up and drying against the exposed brick wall next to the grill. The glasses and plates matched, but the silverware was charmingly eclectic. Everything looked like it could have hopped directly off a Pinterest board and into reality. Not only was the decor simple and beautiful, everything was also useful. I worked in the restaurant industry for six years, from high school through college plus one extra year when I was looking for work after graduation, so I know about restaurants and how they function. Everything about this place was pretty much the polar opposite of what I know. Instead of a stainless steel line and heating lamps to dry out your dinner, there was a wood-fired grill to keep food warm. Instead of a nasty plastic fruit tray filled with maraschino cherries and grody looking bar fruit, there were jars upon jars of labeled preserved fruit on shelves right above the bar. It was clear the bartender had taken some out and had been using them for twists and whatnot. In the windowsill there were various dried herbs, labeled and obviously being used. Instead of brightly-colored, brand-heavy tap handles, there were steak-knives (!!!) to dispense the several different kinds of craft beer. Tucked in between two booths there was a nonchalant record player with several albums. I didn't stop to ask if it was working or in use, but it certainly may have been, it looked functional.

Steak-knife tap handles!!!

I am a pretty social individual, and I like sitting at bars for the purpose of talking to other people (which is not really as acceptable to do if you sit at a table) so I struck up a conversation with the couple next to us who advised us to try the lamb tamales. It looked really good, but we'd had Mexican food the night before, so I decided on the cheese burger instead, and saved the tamales for my next visit. I could tell they change the menu pretty often because it was printed out on regular 8.5x11 paper, as if they were done new each day, and in fact the bartender confirmed that the menu does change almost daily. When my burger came, it was the neatest burger I have ever been served. it wasn't greasy or flowing with juice and melted cheese, it somehow sat perfectly inside its bun. It was served with pickled carrots as a side and oh my dear lord baby Jesus I had no idea how delicious pickled carrots are. They were selling them by the jar but they were $8 and I knew I'd probably eat the whole jar before we even got home. The burger itself was unlike any I have had. I can't even pinpoint what all was in it, other than mouthwateringly thick cuts of bacon and a kind of homemade mustard that tasted like nectar of the gods. After lunch we had another beer and a slice of the apple bread pudding. That was gone so fast I didn't even get a picture of it. It was so unbelievably delicious. It had a perfect cinnamon sugar crust on top that was light and crunchy, and the rest of the dish was warm and soft. It was topped with whipped cream and a kind of cinnamon honey drizzle.

The burly man in in the foreground pulling tickets is the owner, chef, hunter,
and all around badass. He served us our desert and was very friendly. You
can see the wood fire grill in the background.

In all, I am in love with Dai Due, and I expect to go there again very soon, and very often. As soon as the GQ article comes out, I will link it here, if I can. Here's what the Austin Chronicle had to say about Dai Due.

Eric's "Texas Breakfast" is on top, my most wonderful perfect
cheese burger is on bottom.

"Cameltoe" and Other Songs for Which We Owe Our Kids an Explanation

FannyPack/Image via Boobypack <-- check out this product,
it's pretty cool! <-- I was not paid to say that, and I don't own
one, it just looks interesting to me.

So, I've never been quite sure if I'm classified as a 90's kid or an 80's kid, because I was born in the 80's, but spent most of my formative years in the 90's. I started kindergarten in the Fall of 1989, and graduated high school in May 2002. So my primary education took up the whole of the 90's. I think this makes me a 90's kid. I don't really remember much about the 80's anyway, except that everyone had big hair and loud makeup, and my teenage brothers had really stinky knee-length soccer socks that had colored stripes at the top.

Recently my husband and I were discussing how truly obscene the R&B songs from the late 90's were, I mean, they were really unabashed and blatantly sexual. I remember a few in particular that I used to sing along to the radio with, having no idea at all what I was singing about. For example, Ginuwine's "Pony" which in 8th grade had me singing:
   
     "If you're horny/
      let's do it/
      ride it, my pony/
      my saddle's waiting/
      come and jump on it"

Or Next's "Too Close" which starts out with the line:
   
     "I wonder if she can tell I'm hard right now?"

...and the lyrics don't get any better from there. I'm sure I made my parents cringe on multiple occasions, but don't worry mom, I really didn't have the vaguest conception what those songs were about.

It made me start thinking about all the other popular songs from the 90's and early 2000's, and some were seriously ridiculous. On an unrelated note, "Seriously ridiculous" is a great oxymoron. I just decided to compile a few here for examination and discussion, in hopes that we'll come to a consensus and be able to explain them to our kids one day when they ask.

The Thong Song by Sisqo (1999)

In 1999 Sisqo let the ladies in on the secrets of what guys talk about. Um, apparently, that is women with "dumps like a truck"... what does that even mean, Sisqo? And why do you spell your name so weirdly? You see, kids, in the late 90's and early 2000's women wore these really uncomfortable and allegedly sexy undergarments known as "thongs" (that were basically perpetual wedgie underwear) in order to avoid the dreaded panty line (scary music plays that sound eerily like the Ying Yang Twins - seriously those dudes sang about ball sweat and panty lines). Women would buy elaborate thongs and allow them to hang out the top of their super low-waisted pants (low-waisted pants are the reason "tunic-length" shirts became popular, we had to cover our plumber cracks somehow). As Maggie Smith said in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, "I don't understand having that underwear up your ass crack, they don't cover a G.D. thang."

Blue (Da Ba Dee) by Eiffel 65 (1998)

So listen up here's the story about a little song that made just no damn sense at all, and all day and all night they would play it on the radio, and force us all to feel blue. Da Ba Dee Da Ba Die. You see kids, people did a lot of psychotropic drugs in the 90's, which resulted in a lot of really weird and repetitive, bass heavy dance music. Hope you brought your glow sticks. The only good thing that came out of this song is all the speculation of what exactly the lyrics were. That's right kids, this was a time before the proliferation of Google and online lyrics databases. My favorite was my best friend's little sister who speculated the lyrics were "I'm blue, if I was green I would die", which makes more sense than the actual lyrics.

Mr. Tangerine Speedo by Caviar (2000)

I'm not sure anyone but me actually remembers this really odd song. I couldn't find an official video for this one, just this ghetto 300 compilation one, but that's the song alright. It really wasn't even that popular but it would get stuck in my head so bad when I was in high school. This song is just so weird that, to this day, I can't make heads or tails of it. I don't really want to take it at face value, but I can't figure out definitively what else it might be about. Apparently I'm still naive. You see kids, in the days before Michael Phelps showed us how wrong we were, speedos were largely a joke, and not considered attractive swimwear. In the 90's music just didn't make any sense, even to those of us who were around.

Tootsee Roll by 69 Boys (1994)

File this one under songs I should not have been listening to at all, because I was in fifth grade when this song was popular. My 10 year old friends and I were skating around at Skate World in Victoria to this baffling song. I'm shuddering just thinking about what debaucherous song my daughter will be dancing to in five years when she starts thinking she and her friends are cool. Aside from being extremely annoying, this song is way too damn long. I mean really, how long are you supposed to slide slide slide slide slide slide slide slide before you can start dipping? And when exactly is that "whoop" coming up? You see kids, just because a hip-hop song is "vintage" doesn't mean it's good.

Honky Tonk Badonkadonk Trace Adkins (2005) 

I don't know if this is the first instance of a country music/hip hop blend, but it's definitely the stupidest one. You see kids, in the late 90's and early 2000's, rappers started calling women's buttocks "badonkadonks" but only if they were adequately curvaceous. For some reason, Trace Adkins wanted to get in on this trend, and made that ill-conceived video featuring seriously skinny women, none of whom have anything close to what could be considered a proper badonkadonk. For five bonus points (no we're not keeping score but who doesn't like bonus points) check out this article on the etymology of the word "badonkadonk" (!!!)

Operate (Or basically any song by Peaches) 2004

I had never heard of Peaches until I saw the movie Mean Girls, and obviously I had to go download this song immediately, burn it to a CD and blast it as I was driving around in my freaking awesome 2000 silver Eclipse with the automatic sun roof. Those were the days. Nothing made sense about Peaches and I think that's why we loved her. Her vulgar and unorthodox songs came with a sick beat that made people dance even if the lyrics didn't make any sense. Ah, so um, you see kids...I got nothing on this one. Murdering a man to harvest his kidney was no more acceptable in the early 2000's than it is today.

Camletoe Fanny Pack (2003)

Don't act like y'all don't remember this instant classic. This is not one you heard on the radio, because (at the risk of sounding like an old person) you see kids, back in the early 2000's, we may have been rocking out to songs about frontal wedgies, but the FCC still didn't allow them on the radio. (Affects old lady voice and starts typing like an old person) BACK IN MY DAY PEOPLE DIDN'T TALK ABOUT SUCH UNTOWARD SUBJECTS! NOWADAYS THEY'LL EVEN SAY "ASS" ON THE COUNTRY STATIONS! WHAT IS THIS WORLD COMING TO? WHERE'S MY MILK OF MAGNESIA? I NEED TO MOVE MY BOWELS AND TAKE A NAP.

NEWS

This picture has nothing to do with this article,
but I had to have something to pin. Moo.

Not that it's news to my family and friends, but I started writing professionally for Wide Open Country in December! I wrote for them through the month of January and then they asked me to come on as a contributor in February just before the site launch! It is very exciting for me to be paid to write about a subject I enjoy (country music) and to have my byline on the articles, so I am super psyched. Last night was the monthly phone meeting (most of the contributors live out of state, with a majority based in Nashville) and I found out they named me the Writer of the Month! I did a little silent scream, which was totally unnecessary because I was muted both on my end and their end of the conference call, and hiding in my closet to avoid interference from my kids and dog. (Don't worry, the hubs was outside with the kiddos).

Also in February I wrote the inaugural blog post for the newly formed Texas Freelance Association! I got the Wide Open Country gig from the Austin Freelance Gigs Facebook group run by Awesome freelancing guru Emily Leach (founder of the Texas Freelance Association), so it is only right to return my good fortune by sharing whatever insight I can - not that I'm so insightful, but I like to give back. I thought the blog was pretty dang funny, but I haven't gotten a huge response from it. No biggie, I had myself in stitches, and that's the important thing. Love yourself, right, early 90's motivational posters? Anyway, I am so very excited with what this year has to offer so far!

I am not the girl in a country song...and neither are you, most likely.

I love country music, and I have ever since I was a little girl. Recently, I realized that I have so much country music downloaded, that if I combined it all, it would make a six hour long playlist that spans three decades. I also love the new music, even the music that was portrayed in blogger Grady Smith's 2013 viral video, "Why Country Music Was Awful in 2013". In April of that year I listened to Florida Georgia Line's "Cruise" on repeat for three weeks straight, no joke. I think Jake Owen probably wrote the best descriptor of sexual tension ever made in his song "Beachin'"("It's a hundred and three between her and me and only ninety-two in Daytona"), and seriously, it doesn't really even need to be stated, but I love me some Luke Bryan.

Until today, I never thought about the fact that it might be an unrequited love, but now I'm certain: country music does not love me back. I usually turn on my itunes radio while I'm getting ready in the morning, and while I was putting on my makeup today I noticed that the last three songs I'd been listening to referenced "tan legs". Right in a row, three unrelated songs by three different artists talking about some chick's hot tan legs. And that's when I realized, I am not the person being sung to in these ballads. Imagine my shock! I had been singing along with these tunes and not one of them was singing back at me or women like me. Although there are numerous references to blue eyes, not one song mentions pale legs or freckles, and most are not aimed at brunettes (unless they are "señoritas" and therefore have the prerequisite tan legs). They don't sing about how their woman's intelligence turns them on, and they don't sing about tall girls. This is not the only way I don't fit into the country music stereotype. I can't bait a hook. I am a terrible (and I mean seriously terrible) shot. I have worn heels to a pasture party. More than once. I cannot tan at all, I only burn. And I can't shoot whiskey (thanks, Carrie Underwood, I'll have another mojito now). However, that was the first time I have felt disconnected from the music that formed so much of my youth and heritage.

Photo Credit: Tammy McGary

I remember I laughed so hard when I first heard Maddie & Tae's "Girl in a Country Song" a couple months ago. I got the giggles because it points out how similar all the new music is in a way I hadn't ever noticed. That song is ballsy (and no, the irony of that descriptor is not lost on me). Both those girls are tan and blonde, so it would seem that even the girls who do embody the typical country song muse are getting a bit tired of the stereotypes. I understand why they exist, I can't imagine that a song about a pale, freckly, smart brunette who sucks at hunting is going to be a number one hit in this genre (unless it's written by funnymen Brad Paisley or Blake Shelton). What I can say for the bro country music is that these guys know their target market, that's for certain. I don't mind not being the girl in the country song. I resigned myself long ago to the fact that I'm never going to look like Barbie, and that's okay, but I do have a problem when musicians start leaving all the artistry out of being country music artists, and sticking mostly to the business side of the music industry by writing formulaic songs.

Part of the problem is that these songs don't ring true, because most of these guys are actually married, and so they are no longer on the prowl for these elusive tan-legged beauties. I love the pictures painted by the bro country music because I've lived them. I've been on those tailgates and down those back roads. That part is widely identifiable for anyone who spent their youth in the South, but there are more things in life to sing about than just hooking up with the farmer's daughter and dancing in the headlights. Fewer songs like Brad Paisley's "I Thought I Loved You Then" are being written than about the more exciting (but much more short-lived and shallow) beginnings of a relationship. One artist who usually defies these norms is Tim McGraw, and yes, I know he's been around for a while, but there's a reason for his longevity. He may have made his fame with songs like "Don't Take the Girl" and "Something Like That" but he also sings about more taboo topics like abortion ("Red Rag Top") and he sometimes sings about <GASP!> getting older, ("My Next Thirty Years", "Live Like You Were Dying"). This is a versatile artist whose music spans the wide range of emotions in the human experience. I'd like to hear more musicians branch out beyond the temporal pleasures of youth. No matter how many records those songs sell, life goes on after high school and college, and there is so much more to sing about.

You had me at Merlot...

So it's no secret that I have a wine fixation. I refuse to use the term "addiction", I CAN QUIT ANY TIME. So imagine my excitement when I encountered the "Un-spillable wine glass". Y'all. It's an adult sippy-cup. Why can't I ever come up with something so simple, yet so essential, and finally make my millions? Oh...probably because of all the wine I drink. Welp. Better stick to writing.