So, I go to Wal Mart. Big surprise, right? I had to get a make-up mirror, I wanted one which lights up so I don’t have to drag out my desk lamp when I want to torture myself plucking my eyebrows. At any rate, I’m going through the checkout, I ask for a pack of Marlboro Lights, the woman asks for my birth date and I say-as always- “2-3-73.” She punches numbers on the register and says “I need the numbers.” I say, again, “2-3-73.” She said and I swear this is a first, “No, I need the date.” Without missing a beat, and me being the smart ass I was born to be, said “August 5, 1982.” She said and I am quoting her exact words, “That 3 was confusing me.” She never questioned the fact that I gave her a completely different set of numbers. I’m not sure which section of the solar system she is from, but in my world 2-3-73 is a date. Yes, in some countries, the numbers are switched around, but considering she had no accent-other than the typical mountain/southern accent, I knew this wasn’t the issue. It was that pesky little 3. Damn those 3’s.

After leaving my favorite establishment, I decide to drive through Burger King because I love the Icee Cokes. I’m sitting at the light, waiting for the little green arrow, when, much to my amusement, walking across the 4 lane is a couple. Not just any couple. The boy-and I’m using this word because he couldn’t have been over 21 and his little woman are now on my list for worst dressed couple-ever. He was wearing a basketball jersey, no idea which team, a pair of baggy black jeans (what is it with black jeans in this state?), and a pair of un-laced sneakers. His little woman, bless her heart, was wearing a denim mini-skirt that was almost showing her ass, a black sleeveless tank top and black sandals that flopped as she walked. Her white legs glowing in the night sky. The little green arrow appears and I proceed to cross over. They, of course, are walking right smack in the middle of the lane I need in. So I pause, they look at me, move a little, and the boy says “Learn how to drive, bitch.” Oh yeah buddy, you just opened Pandora’s Box. So, I say, with no remorse, “Teach your girlfriend how to dress.” Not the best of comments but I was so amazed someone would actually walk out of the house wearing something like that, I could think of nothing else to come back with. However, it did satisfy my need to let my feelings be known on the lack of fashion sense some people have. Hey, I’m not the best dresser-but I’ll be damned if I walked out of the house wearing something like that-I wouldn’t even try it on, alone, in my own home. As I was pulling out of Burger King, I saw them walking toward the Holiday Inn Express. I don’t even want to know.

In other news-I now have local channels via satellite. Thank goodness. It took the DirecTv dude all of 15 minutes to install the new dish and voila, local NBC, ABC, Fox, CBS, PBS, WB and of course, PBS. I can now watch the Antiques Roadshow. Whew. Relief.

Just walk off with it. I’m going to try this the next time someone gives me a piece of jewelry to try on.

Now, this next addition to my “Redneck Antics” category is not meant to offend anyone. You have to imagine this in your head and the reaction you would probably have. Keep this in mind. So, yesterday evening while pulling onto my road, I see two what I think were dirt bikes, but I’m not an expert on motorcycles, pulled off on the side. I stop and look to make sure no cars were coming, and turn my head back to the right to pull out. Then I see it. Both men had t-shirts on-both shirts had seen better days-the sleeves on both had been ripped off… the men were probably in their late 30s… both with beer guts… beards, and, one man was missing an arm. I will admit, sometimes I have difficulty driving with both hands and I can’t understand how one could even balance himself properly on a motorcycle with one arm. Needless to say I pondered this on my way up my driveway. I still can’t figure it out. Leave it to a drunk, one-armed redneck to figure it out.

Only in West Virginia could a person have a title like the above mentioned and be completely serious. But first things first. I have officially, for the first time in my life and after 52 hours of college credit, declared a major. I am now a Business Major. I registered for classes online tonight once I got home from speaking with the adviser-which took all of 15 minutes. The only tasks left-waiting for the grant to go through so I can pay, get my parking permit and the books. We all know I have already purchased my school supplies-although I’m debating on whether or not I need a few more notebooks. I’m extremely anal about these things. If the notebook isn’t ‘feeling right’.. then it messes up the entire flow of things. See, told you I was odd.

After I finished with the adviser, I drove to my mom’s. We went back into the woods, like good little rednecks do, so her man-friend,(I’ve decided this is how I will refer to him since my mom is 60 and the term boyfriend seems silly), could install glass in one of the windows in his so-called coffee shack in the woods. Yadda Yadda Yadda-finished this, went back to the house and sat on the porch-again like all good little rednecks do. I’ve never mentioned his cat-whom I named Boo-he’s solid black with beautiful green eyes. He didn’t have a name other than “Cat” and I honored him with a cutesy name. He came in as a stray a couple of years ago-skinny thing barely hanging on. So my mom’s man-friend fed him, de-wormed him etc,. This cat was obviously weened too early and here’s why. He sucks the end of his tail. No, I don’t mean he licks it. He sucks it, like he’s nursing. And one does not touch Boo while he is enjoying this ritual, or said person’s hand will be attacked. If I can remember to take my camera-which I have neglected lately, I’ll try to get a pic of this.

As I was returning home, I saw yet another redneck moment. Four men, I’m guessing all in their late 30’s to early 40’s, riding bicycles. Now, you may say, so? What’s so strange about riding a bicycle? Nothing at all. Unless you happen to look like a man who should be riding a Harley instead of a Schwinn. The works. Beards, bandanna on the head, sunglasses and it was past sunset, and yes, the redneck version of biking shorts-which looked like a cross between underwear and swim trunks only I can’t be 100% positive. I didn’t see the third man until about 3/4 of a mile later, around the curve. He was the more, how can I say this politely, the more chunkier than the other two and I assume was having a difficult time keeping up. Here’s some advice. Stick to the Harley’s, boys.