An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

Walking in Memphis

Jon and I leave for Memphis very early tomorrow morning and won’t return until next Wednesday afternoon. Jon’s never been to Memphis, so I’m thinking that after six whole days in Elvis’ hometown he’ll really come to understand what I mean when I say that I come from a place where people learn how to speak by watching reruns of “Hee Haw.”

We’re going to my 10 year high school reunion on Saturday night at a hotel ballroom in downtown Memphis. It’s not just any hotel ballroom, however. It’s a ballroom in what is basically the equivalent of a Best Western Deluxe, if such a thing exists. Not just the basic Best Western, but the Deluxe Best Western, which makes a huge difference. I heard the class of 1992 could only afford the Best Western Express out by the freeway, so the class of 1993 has definitely STEPPED IT UP!

I’m hoping that after Saturday night the nightmares will stop, the nightmares involving a naive, gawky Republican Heather with bad hair being hunted by a gang of popular cheerleaders and homecoming queens wielding torches. Most of the dreams end up with me being chased around the football field by a group of thirty or forty popular kids, all of whom are armed with heavy artillery and just want kick my skinny Valedictorian ass. The sad thing about these dreams is that I’ve come to a place in my life, after years of learning to chill the fuck out, that I would totally want to kick my ass, too. So while I’m running away from the blood-thirsty pom-pon mob, I’m simultaneously chanting, GET HER, GET HER.

While we’re in town we’ll probably visit Graceland, even though that’s not something you do when you’re from Memphis. I was born and raised there, and the first time I ever saw the outside of Graceland was the summer before my freshman year in college. We just figured that this is probably going to be the last big trip we take before the baby is born, so we’re totally going to live it up, Fat Elvis style. A few trips to Waffle House are planned, as well as a few stops at Shoney’s. I mostly just want to show Jon where I grew up, the house and the street I called home for over 18 years, and to prove to him that there is a place on earth where people refer to all soft drinks as Coke. Most importantly, however, this trip should give Jon a deeper understanding of the broad cultural movement that is Big Hair, and maybe he will forgive me.

We’ll see you next Wednesday when we promise to have LOADS of pictures and stories bout over yonder.

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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