California Adventures: West Coast Whistle Stop!

There are few things more sacred to me than my time at West Virginia Wesleyan College. It is, for me, the happiest place on earth. It is really like a family (one that you really enjoy!). There's creepy uncles, the drunken cousins, the dramatic aunts, the loving grandparents, and everything in between. The entire community is a wide range of crazy characters that would not exactly fit in on an MTV reality show, but stand a chance for an NBC sitcom. I spent four years there learning and appreciating the little quirks! As with any family, there are sometimes that I have to remember that others on the outside might not exactly see the normalcy that I do when I return. However, I own it. It is what it is-- and there is NO part of my college or community that embarrasses me. I like that some of the letters are missing from the K-Lounge sign. I like that I feel confident that I'll see everyone there at the end of the night. It makes me happy to know that there will likely be a Sheetz run at some point before I pass my ass out. (Even if it means a pit stop at the car dealership on the way back). I like that the only all night restaurants are Sheetz and the Donut Shot. I love WVWC and Buckhannon, WV.

And like I always do, I assume that if I love something, so will everyone around me. (Fatal personality flaw, I know. As a student of PR and Counseling, I recognize I should know better-but don't). So-- I invited two of my dearest friends from grad school to join me in the journey from Delaware to WV. And, boy, what a journey it was.

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I believe an awesome time was had by all. We hit all the hot spots! Allburgers, CJ's, K-Lounge, 88, Sheetz, Theta Chi, Aggie front porch-- and one of my favorites, the Whistle Stop. While I was a student at WVWC, I spent time at each of these wonderful establishments. I'd say K-Lounge was a favorite, as my friend Tom and I had our own barstools. However, the 88 was a great place for strong drinks with some of my strongest role models. Allburgers was music and the greatest variety in crowd. (I really miss Beer & Bards...)

Famous or infamous flaming Dr. Pepper shots. Remember
to put out the flame completely before drinking. Photo
courtesy of Emmy Wingard. 

But the Whistle Stop was reserved for especially rowdy nights. The night that I broke my blackberry into many pieces-- and later stashed in a bag full of garlic fries. (I'm sorry N-Telos & Blackberry). Whistle Stop was the stop on the way back from campus because my friend Meaghan insisted that I try a Rattlesnake Shake. It was off the beaten path, and for some reason I remember seeing people drinking out of Mason Jars.

My kind of place.

And as it turned out, Beth and Nicole, my friends from Delaware, liked it, too. Or at least, played along.

Merced, 7:30 PM in mid-June.

Now, fast forward two months. June 2011. Poor Beth-Berry is stuck in crappy Massachusetts, while Nicole and I are basking in Sunny California! Well, I don't know if basking is the right word: I'm baking (Merced, CA), and Nicole is trying to stay warm (SLO, CA). And I think it's fair to say that we're having an awesome time! While our internship sites are like 3 hours apart, and neither of us have cars, we've made this the summer of travel! We have been doing our best to explore the best of the Golden State-- and trip one included me heading south on Amtrak to Cal-Poly! (I should say that Amtrak is now my preferred method of travel. Seriously, the best.)

I arrived nearly an hour early! I made friends with a truck driver on my way there who was going to pick up a truck. He had like 7 kids, and did huge hauls across the country. I wish I could remember his name. I do remember that he was originally from Phoenix, and I shared that I was planning on going there for a conference next March. (NASPA, here we come!) His mom runs a Mexican restaurant. Again, I probably should have written it down-- but I figure if I go to one, I'll just ask if the lady working if she has a son with 7 kids that lives in Sacramento.

Check out my album for
more pics. 

ANYWAYS! This was only the beginning to an amazing trip! Nicole and I were pumped to get out and experience this tourist town-- we were going to close the bars down! See what this town had to offer! I, unfortunately was not prepared for how cool the evening was--but I had my awesome UC Merced sweatshirt-- so I thought I would be fine! And we were off-- camera in tote! We walked down and over the woods, heading for Pappy McGregors. Only half of us was assaulted--while the other half felt threatened (A deer came from the woods-- Nicole felt sure that it was a cannibal, and proceeded to try to knock the living hell of out me. (Okay, that may be a tiny bit exaggerated, but if a comedy director stumbles upon this blog before a drama, I want him/her to see the potential- and also recognize just how funny I am. Kristin Wiig, please love this.))

From Pappy McGregor Fail Photo Shoot.
A knight in shining armor! 

So, spoiler alert for those of you who haven't seen National Lampoon's Vacation, it was closed. And no night life to be seen for miles. We could walk for another mile, maybe more, to get to the next bar, but since it was after 12, we were worried it might not be worth it. Especially if we got lost-- and it took us even longer to find the places we were trying to find. We decided to call it a night after a quick photo shoot-- and really hit the road the next morning. So, that's what we did!

We woke up, and boom-- there was Enterprise to pick us up! When they asked where we were going, we answered honestly, "We dunno yet."

We started at the Breakfast Buzz, which Nicole tells me, is rated highest for Breakfast in San Luis! And it was very tasty-- and packed! Luckily, we got seats right away at the breakfast bar. We didn't make friends there, but it was only because the guy next to us sent a weird vibe. Usually, I'm all over that, but for some reason, today it didn't feel right.

After our delicious breakfast, we headed down to Pismo Beach! Where, of course, I forgot my camera in the car. It was freezing there. So, I felt no need to wear sunblock. I later regretted that decision, as I was red, gross, and later peeling. I tried to be a beach person, just hanging out and catching some rays, but I quickly became bored and told Nicole I was going for a walk. AND GUESS WHAT! I SAW A SEA LION! Yes, there was a sick sea lion in the ocean coming from towards the beach. I imagined him to be just like the ones I love at the Pittsburgh Zoo. Playful and sweet! So,  you can imagine my surprise when a lifeguard asked me to back up. It was sick. Apparently they're not supposed to be that close to humans. My heart broke a little. It looked like it was just hanging out there riding the waves.

I kept walking-- seeing families, couples and little kids chasing seagulls. The kid was probably the cutest thing I've ever seen. The water was really cold, so anytime he got close, he'd run from it. I'm not sure where his parents were, but I thought to myself, "Wow, if I were to ever accidentally have kids, I would definitely want to live here." The water is too cold for the kid to jump in and drown. The sand is soft-- so  if it falls it can't get hurt that badly, and I could just read books-- while the kid chases uncatchable creatures. Perfect. Don't get me wrong-- it didn't give me baby-fever--but it made me think that there likely are some tolerable moments with children.

Moving forward, Nicole and I walked out on the pier, and admired how beautiful it was! We stopped in at a bar on the deck called Harry's. It was dark-- and there was no outdoor seating, which Nicole noticed since we were at a beach, after all. I agreed, but liked the feel of the place. She commented that of course I would. After all, I do love places like the K-Lounge and Whistle Stop. This stop was important in the scheme of the trip, because after only minutes, an older gentleman walked over to tell us that he'd been watching us (for hours there, apparently), and thought Nicole was the most beautiful woman ever. It was awkward; of course I loved it-- and got a good laugh along with the bouncer at the door nearest to us. With that, we closed our tab, stopped in at a tattoo parlor to check on kangaroo tats, and then decided to hit the Pacific Coast Highway.

North or south was the question--and south was the answer. What we didn't know then was that the Pacific Coast Highway goes rogue for a while, and instead of picturesque views of the ocean, we go through miles and miles and miles and miles of California farmland. We loved it, don't get us wrong--but we decided it was time to have a chat with our GPS. So, knowing Nicole and I, and recognizing that we had crossed the line into Santa Barbara County, the only logical search was for wineries.

And so we started making our way toward Babcock Winery. Which is precisely where we met David. Or as I like to call him, the one who got away.

If you know me or Nicole, or especially if you know us collectively, you know that we enjoy meeting new people. However, we usually need to have sidebars about which people to pursue to cultivate stronger friendships. Unfortunately, this small tasting room left no space for us to discuss the potential friendship we both saw for our new friend. We don't really know his name, but we imagine it to be David. There were other noisy drunk guests that were also tasting wine, and I think it's fair to say that we bonded with David through our observations of that party. BTW, we LOVED their Identity Crisis . We even dedicated a toast to Erik Erikson! (Who said theory was good for nothing??)

Afterward, we waited creepily in our car, trying to decide if we should invite our potential new friend, David, to join us in the rest of our adventure. Oh right, who's David? The guy that poured our wine. He seemed awesome. After entirely too much time discussing this, and trying to decide what to say when we did see him, we decided against it. This may be our only regret from the entire summer. We have a rule-- and it's same as the one rule in Improv, which is never say no. I should add that both Nicole and I have been reading Chelsea Handler's books and I've recently started (and nearly finished) Hilary Winston's My Boyfriend Wrote a Book About Me and Other Stories That I Shouldn't Share with Acquaintances, Coworkers, Taxi Drivers, Assistants, Job Interviewers, Bikini Waxers, and Ex Current Future Boyfriends But Have.  I want to be more like them-- (and I'm not sure if she knows it or not but) so does Nicole.

So, back to the Garmin. Let's enter Places of Interest. Near Here. Entertainment. SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.

I look at Nicole and tell her we MUST! MUST! MUST go to the Whistle Stop! And her response is, of course we must! We agree it would be a crime NOT to go. And so we do. And oh wow.

On the way, we pass by what has to be the most celebrated Flower Show ever. I mean, there's a ferris wheel. We're talking a full-out carnival, people! We make a mental note that we should go there on our way back-- but for the time being, we're on a mission for a whistle. And this place doesn't disappoint. After several photos in front of the beloved place, we make our way inside.

We're the youngest people there by 20 years. While the place is about 4x the size of my Buckhannon Whistle Stop, it keeps the same feel. My friend Evan commented that there was too much natural light, which I can't really argue. There was. But they also had their own gem that I don't know that we could ever really get-- or even aspire to get. Unless, of course, I find myself alone in 40 years in Buckhannon. And that gem's name was Gene.

Gene knew a lot about nearly everything. I didn't realize it, but in the few minutes it took me to go to the ATM and back, she had quickly created a friendship with Nicole. When I returned, Nicole didn't share the details of the encounter-- we ordered our drinks, and then Gene turned back around to chat with both of us.

"You know, the education here in California is no good. If you want your kids to go to a good school, you gotta send them east."

"This jewelry? It's from Afghanistan. And you know what's happening over there" LONG PAUSE. Then, as if we didn't know, "WAR!"

The bartender actually looked at us and mouthed, "I'm so sorry," and we just smiled. It was fine, we said. The older gentlemen at the end of bar said, "She never shuts up." We finished our drinks, played the lottery, snuck some pictures, and then headed to the flower show. We ate lots of carnival food, and then, as if I could foresee the future, I bought some kettle corn. Which was PERFECT, as we made a pitstop at the Sunset Drive-In just in time to see Cars 2 and The Green Lantern.


Did you catch that this all happened within 24 hours? Trip 1 set the bar high. And so far the trips that followed have done a pretty good job at keeping that bar high. Click here for more pics.

What song would be playing for this part of my movie? I think this song would be ideal. Although, I feel like this could really describe almost any Pepin-Short adventure!

Pop Evil: 100 in a 55

Amy Fusselman wrote that after her dad died, she just wanted to say it.  She wanted to hear it.  She wanted to see it in writing.  I was intrigued.  I thought, why?  But she’s right.  I want to say it.  Over and over and over again. I want to say, my mom is dead.

What would you like on your sandwich? Turkey, cheese and my mom is dead.  I want to see that expression on their face.  My mom is dead.

Officer: Do  you know why I pulled you over?
Me: Yes, sir, I didn’t realize I was going so fast.
Officer: Have you been drinking?
Me: No, sir. (but I am speeding so that I can try to make it to Rite Aid before nine so that I can get drunk.  No point in trying now.)
Officer: Drugs?
Me: No thanks.
Officer: No thanks?  (Who the hell says no thanks?)
Me: Sorry, Officer, my mother just died… because of drugs.  That’s why I’m home.  I don’t touch the stuff.
Officer: I’m sorry to hear about your loss.  Drugs are bad around here.  Are you from around here?
Me: Yeah, I know.  You’ll recognize my last name.  You probably know most of them.
Officer: Who?
Me: Joey Short… Lorrie McCourt… Randy Short—but I’m nothing like them.  I swear.  (I want to tell you everything.  I want to say everything, but I’m shaking and I can’t find the stupid insurance card.  This isn’t even my car. shit.)
Officer:  Yeah, I know them.  Just keep looking for that insurance card, I’ll be right back.

Blue lights flash.  I’m pretty sure he’s not going to give me a ticket.  At least my mother’s death was good for something.  At least it got me out of a speeding ticket.  I do slow down.  The car just runs so smooth.  But it’s not my car.  My car has a ‘heads up’.  It tells me how fast I’m driving on my windshield.  Not that it would have made a difference.  I need Malibu rum, to mix with my Tropicana orange juice and my Donald Duck pineapple juice. Mmm.

The next day I drive my car.  I drive my car because it’s familiar.  I know I’m not supposed to; it’s not safe—but I’m not supposed to speed in my uncle’s car.  And if I have a cocktail, I want to drive my car.  I don’t plan on drinking and driving—at least not drinking more than one and driving, but I don’t feel comfortable drinking even one and driving their car.  I don’t think they would care—but, besides my car needs gas.

I feel like my car is where I can think.  I can think about my mom dying.  I can think about my reaction when my aunt called after class.  I can remember asking, “Is she going to die?”   I can remember the eerie silence, then the melancholy answer, “Liz, they just don’t know.”
When my aunt called she prefaced the fact that my mom might die with the question,  Liz, I don’t have to tell you, but do you want to be updated about your mom?

I wasted time—I packed some clothes for a few days.  I found my fish a babysitter.  MY FISH A BABYSITTER.  I went back and forth over what the implications of me going would be.  If I go, and she lives, then is she going to think that we’re okay?  If I don’t go, and she dies, what kind of daughter does that make me?  Would I be sad that I didn’t get to see her.  My cousin Becky asks, if you go, will it be because you care, or because of guilt?

My response: What, involving my parents in the last 11 years, have I done that hasn’t involved guilt?   So, I go.

When I get there, she’s laying in the bed; the doctor says she’s heavily sedated.  My aunt puts on gloves, as she holds her hands that have the pink nail polish on them.  She rubs her feet, and wonders why they don’t have socks on her.  She tells me that her feel are so cold.  She says things like, Lorrie, Liz is here.  Liz came to see you.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  We love you, Lorrie.  Be strong.  Lorrie, you have to be strong.  Liz, you can talk to her.  She can hear you. We love you, Lorrie.  

When the doctor comes in, she asks questions.  My aunt doesn’t live near her.  She gets cards in the mail from my mom every now and then.  My mom calls her every now and then.  I don’t talk to my mom.  I told her she couldn't come to my graduation. I haven't accepted her calls, or responded to her letters for a month.  I suspect she’s addicted to Valium.  I know she has heart problems.  I know she smokes cigarettes.  My aunt tells the doctor that she heard that Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, has been trying to wing herself off drugs.  I think to myself that it sounds to me like my aunt is living in the same fantasy world as my mom.  My mom has been doing heavy drugs since I was eight years old.  What, in the last two weeks, would have made her change?  I say, she’s a dope head.  I say, she’s a druggie.  I say that I doubt she’s changed.  I say that the last hospital she was at is an incompetent group of idiots, and that they’d better check for everything.   I say nothing to my mom.  I don’t touch her.  I leave and let another aunt come in, because there can only be two visitors at a time.

My mom codes.  My mom is temporarily dead.  They bring her back.  They, the doctors, the doctors that are trying to save Lorrie, my mom, my mom that is dead, say they are going paralyze her.  They, the doctors, are going to let the machines run her for a few days, so she, my mom, my mom that is dead, can build her strength back up.  My dad comes, and my aunts say I can take him back.  He hugs me.  My Aunt Francine, the aunt that raised me, took care of me, bought me the things that I needed, went to court for me, loved me, loves me, and still maintained respect from my mother, told me to be careful.  You just don’t know, Liz.

She had IV medicine for the drug addiction; IV for the MRSA; IV for the Sepsis; IV for the pneumonia.  She had a tube down her throat to breath, a tube in her chest to reinflate her lung; a tube down her throat into her stomach to suction out the green and black vile that was in her stomach; a catheter for her urine.  She was helpless.  Her hair was in a high ponytail.  Her head looked bruised from when she passed out in the bathroom and busted her face.  Her face was peaceful, but her chest looked like she was still working so hard for every breath. My dad tells me that she doesn’t care if she lives or not.  She doesn’t care.  Her son is in jail; her daughter hates her.  She doesn’t care.  She doesn’t care. She’s shooting up again.

I leave.  If she’s going to be paralyzed for a couple days, what’s the point in staying?  My Aunt Francine and I go to Wal-Mart.  We get snacks for the hospital; Ritz crackers, cheese, and off-brand pop tarts because I like the crust.  We buy toothbrushes, Crest ProHealth, Dove powder and Secret deodorant.  We buy scrubs for my aunts to sleep in, and we look in the beer section for Bud Ice.  We decide we’re going to need to stop at Sheetz.

I stop by my best friend’s boyfriend’s to pick my best friend’s key to her apartment.  She’s letting us stay there.  I tell her what’s happened.  She tells me she’s there for me.  I leave her boyfriend’s house to go back to the hospital, and on the way, we get a call.

My mom is dead.

I’m in my car.  I feel the seat under me; my legs are attached to my ass that is attached to my seat.  My legs extend down and the ball of my foot connects to the floor of my car.  It never moves; it pivots.  It allows me to hit the gas, or move to the brake.  My arms are attached to my shoulders that is attached to my torso that is attached to my ass that is attached to my seat that extends to my legs to my feet to the accelerator and the brake.  My hands don’t shake when they’re on the steering wheel that is protected by a black fuzzy steering wheel cover.  My mind is thinking that my mom is dead; the roads are bad.  Not bad like icy.  No, it is a beautiful Spring night.  It’s the day after St. Patrick’s day.  Every year, from here on, I will have a hangover, and I can somberly remember, this is the day that my mom died.  But these roads are terrible.  It’s bad in that Morgantown doesn’t take care of their roads, and there are potholes the size of couches; couches that are burned in Morgantown; couches that my mom caught on fire with sparklers and cigarettes.

I go home to Webster the next day; a place I decided to avoid this semester because I wanted to enjoy my last semester.  A place I didn’t even stop at on my way South for spring break.  I knew the curves of the road.  I knew the speed in which I could safely slide through.  Though the 16 miles of Birch River, I cried, regained control of my emotions, sped, drove slow, listened to music, lost control again. I felt guilty, angry, sad, upset.  I kept saying, my mom is dead.

I wanted to send a mass text message.  I wanted to get on facebook and write, Ding Dong, my mom is dead.  The mom that put me in pageants.  The mom that fought to get the last Dear Diary for me at Wal Mart.  The mom that, even when I loathed her, loved me.  The mom I made cry.  The mom that made me cry.  The mom who always threw me a birthday party, and made sure my friends and family were there.  The mom who chose drugs over me.  The mom who took me to my first Billy Ray Cyrus concert.  My mom who made me pancakes that were crunchy and my brother French toast on Saturday mornings.  My mom who took us camping, swimming, four-wheeler riding.  My mom that got high, and told me that my brother was an accident.  My mom who warned us about telling the teachers that they smoked, sold and grew pot.  The mom who took me to the doctor.  The mom who embarrassed me at my high school football game.  The mom who took us to the fair.  The mom who believed in Jesus, as the savior.  The mom that wrote in 2006 that she wasn’t afraid to die.  The one that thought she had a full life at the age of 45.  That mom was dead.  My mom is dead.

My brain in my head that thinks all of this, all the time, is connected to my neck, that is connected to my shoulders that is also connected my arms that are connected to my hands that are connected to the steering wheel that allows me to pick my destination, when accompanied by the accelerator that my right foot controls that is connected to my leg that extends to my ass that rests on the seat where my upper body including my torso, shoulders, arms and head.  I am one with the road, as I battle with this.  I thought I wanted her to be dead; I don’t think I was prepared for her to die.

My mom is dead.


*I wrote this shortly after my mom died. April 2009

Turn back on the broken heartache
Some things are just meant to be
I still believe that we got a chance
Still believe that we got a chance to be
Too much is never enough and
Too little is never enough
Full speed got me looking out my rear view
I can’t go back

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

It's messed up but I got this mission
Drunk again wont remember anyway
She said it’s just a game boy
Don’t be gone don’t be gone for long
Ten years I’ve been doing this forever
Its all I know baby please don’t turn away
I know you don’t believe in me
But I do believe in you

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

I’m still falling
Away from here
Away from here
I’m still falling
The wings are falling off
I can’t go back
I’m in too deep

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be

Goin’ 100 in a 55 and I don’t know why I’m still alive but I
Do what I can but I know I can’t take anymore
I still believe in this rock and roll
And I pray the music gonna save my soul
But till then I still believe some things are just meant to be
 
I still believe
Some things are just meant to be

http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/p/pop_evil/#share

One year today...

One year ago today, I woke up at 5 am, turned on my phone, checked my voicemail, and discovered I was officially an orphan. As I think about it today, I realize that it wasn't just the loss of my dad that devastated me, but the feeling that I suddenly lost both of my parents all over again. While the last several years of their life, I wasn't super close, and in fact, hadn't lived with them since I was 11, I still miss them--- and it's still really hard.

So, on the anniversary of their deaths (March 18 & October 5), I try to think about some of the more positive experiences that I had with my parents.

- When I was a small child, people would ask where I got my dark eyes, and I said that my dad bought them for me.

- My mom bought me and two friends matching outfits, and let us use her stereo and back porch to create a dance to "My Boyfriends Back." She encouraged us to practice our dance; we won 1st place in our age group in grade school; we won 3rd place in the older age group-- and then we practiced all summer and got 2nd place in the "big" talent show at the Cherry River Festival. We were in 2nd grade. And we were awesome.

- My dad always took my side. I remember my mom put food on my plate one day, and I refused to eat with because some food touched the other-- and my mom said, "it all goes to the same place," and I replied, "But I don't have taste buds there." My dad laughed, didn't make me eat it, and said, "She's got a point, Lorrie."

- My dad would let me read to him all the time. I loved opening mail, and reading to him. He would tell me how proud he was of me, and encouraged me to do well in school.

- My dad bought my brother a gun once, and then got another just like it that he planned to trade. When I saw it, I was ecstatic, because he bought it for me (even though I NEVER played with guns). I was like 5 years old. He didn't have the heart to trade it, and instead kept it until I was older and asked me if it was okay for him to give away.

- When my dad's parental rights were terminated, my mom let him come visit my brother and I; I was really upset about this-- and she ended up losing her rights over it, but looking back, while I still don't agree with what she did, I understand that she really loved my dad and brother-- and really wanted to go back to the happy family that once was.

- I ask myself a lot of questions about things I could have done differently-- but none of it really matters now. I've learned just to always try to be as nice as you can to people; even those that drive you crazy... and cherish those who care for you, even if you think you don't care about them. Guilt is a terrible weight to carry-- and can be suffocating...

So, for today's song:

When I find myself in times of trouble, mother Mary comes to me, 

speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

And in my hour of darkness she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer. let it be.
Let it be, let it be, ...
And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music, mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, ..... 

~~The Beatles

Kid Rock's All Summer Long: I'm Gonna Give My Son Your Car

There are certainly differences between growing up in rural West Virginia, and currently living in Pittsburgh. One benefit to living in Camden-On-Gauley, West Virginia is plenty of parking. When I lived with my parents in Camden, we had a huge front yard.... And a lot of that area was graveled so that there was a ton of places to park. That was beneficial, seeing as how there were always a ton of people coming and going from our house, buying drugs.

When people did come to buy drugs, they often ran in to other buddies or friends.  It was like having every night being a high school party-- and my parents were the cool successful dealers whose house was always the center of the party. One day, one man, we'll call him "Gilbert" happened to run into a friend, left with the friend, and left his car in our driveway.

Typically, this wouldn't be a problem. However, this man had parked in front of our garage. We didn't really ever keep cars in there, but we'd keep our four-wheelers, and when my dad and his friends would illegally kill deer in the summer, that's where they would hang and gut them. Also, I don't think my dad was crazy about Gilbert... otherwise, the ending may have been a bit different.

After a night of Gilbert's car sitting in front of our garage, my dad called him and told him he needed to come get his car. Gilbert, according to my dad, was all, "yeah, yeah, sure Randy, I'll be over to get it later today."

He never came. The next day, my dad called and told him again-- adding this time that if he didn't come get his car, my dad would give the car to my brother.

My dad gave Gilbert another day.

The next day, the man called our house, and I answered the phone. All of dad's friends knew me.

"Hey, Lizabeth," he said,  "Where's your dad?"

"He's outside," I replied.

"Is he busy?" he asked.

"Hold on," I replied, as I set the phone down. I ran outside, yelled and asked my dad if he wanted to talk to him. My dad said no, and to tell him that he warned him.

I picked the phone back up. "Um, he's outside cutting the top off your car."

"What?" he asks with a nervous laugh. "Really Liz, where is he?"

"He's outside cutting the top off your car. He's going to give to Joey."

"Oh, shit."

Outside my dad had the blowtorch fired up--cutting around the windows. The old car had been transformed into a topless old car. My dad then pulled the wires out from under the dash, and pretty soon, the car was on. (Btw, how does one learn to hotwire a car?)

When Gilbert finally did show up, my brother was driving the car around the yard, and all the druggies were standing in the driveway laughing at the eight-year-old driving around the yard. My grandmother was standing at her back door, shouting at my dad, as my brother narrowly missed her home. His head was barely over the steering wheel, and all you could see was his giant smile.

Gilbert almost started to cry, and my dad just put his giant hand on the his shoulder, and said, "I told you I was going to give it to my son."



It was 1989 my thoughts were short my hair was long
Caught somewhere between a boy and man,
She was 17 and she was far from in-between
It was summer-time in Northern Michigan


Splashing through the sand-bar, talking by the camp fire,
It's the simple things in life like when and where
We didn't have no internet but man I never will forget
The way the moon light shined upon her hair


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Catching walleye from the dock watching the waves roll off the rocks
She'll forever hold a spot inside my soul
We blister in the sun we couldn't wait for night to come
To hit that saving place of rock and roll


While, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


Now nothing seems as strange as when the leaves begin to change
Or how we thought those days would never end
Sometimes I hear that song and I start to sing along
And think, Man I'd love to see that girl again


And, we were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long


We were trying different things we were smoking funny things
Making love out by the lake to our favorite song
Sipping whisky out the bottle not thinking bout tomorrow
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long
Singing Sweet Home Alabama all summer long