Hillybilly Handfishin’, Y’all!

  • August 15, 2011

Last night I was channel-surfing in bed and I stumbled upon Animal Planet’s Hillybilly Handfishin’. I had watched it the week before, but I was drinking sauvignon blanc distracted by my laptop and didn’t pay close attention. I paid more attention last night and I’m glad I did. I think I’ve already proven I like these kinds of shows. And by these kinds of shows I mean the ones that are over the top and show people experiencing things that most of us can’t imagine ever happening in real life. Like those clueless baby mamas on TLC’s I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant. Remember in THIS POST when I shared my thoughts about that?

This is a picture of Skipper Bivens, the host of Hillybilly Handfishin’. That’s him on the right. My observation? Skipper is one hairy dude. That’s his best friend Scooter on the left. I have one burning question: Who the hell named these men? I’m guessing you have to be kind of badass to walk around with these monikers even though I’m pretty sure they’re just nicknames. Probably. If someone named Bubba shows up next week I will not be surprised.

The show started off with a tagline: Stick your hand or foot in a hole and you never know what you’re gonna find. This is wrong on so many levels. I’m not sticking anything in anywhere unless I know what’s waiting for me and that is just good common sense people. And if Hillybilly Handfishin’ wasn’t a total laugh riot all on its own, in addition to catfish there might be cottonmouth snakes and BULL SHARKS living in those holes. Okay maybe not bull sharks. MAYBE. Plus the water in the stream? river? lake? creek? (or crick if you’re a total redneck) looks all brown and poopy, like the catfish live in a giant, dirty toilet bowl.

As most? some? all? of you know, my husband Cowboy Dave hails from Oklahoma. Sort of. He lived there for 8 years and I watched an old videotape of him once and he had an accent which I razzed him about even though it was kinda hot. And being (sort of) from Oklahoma, he knew all about catfish noodling (but swore he’d never done it). I think it’s safe to say that all the Oklahoma’s been taken out of the boy though because the other night Dave had some wine and watched a pretentious foreign film with sub-titles. Skipper probably drinks Pabst Blue Ribbon and watches rodeo.

The other day a beetle fell out of my ponytail when I was at the pool and I think my lounge chair must have been positioned on top of a nest of spiders because after I spotted the 7th one crawling on me (and drew a bunch of attention to myself by jumping off said chair and doing the spider dance while screaming) I decided I was done with all the suburban wildlife and spent the next day indoors with the air-conditioning and my Kindle. So I am not an ideal candidate for this show (don’t let the cowboy hat I’m wearing in my profile photo fool you. I’m wearing it ironically because I am totally not a cowgirl and only listen to 70’s music).

But Stacy and Shelli, who were on last night’s show, were ideal candidates. They hail from Boston – Stacy’s a bartender (with enormous boobs) and Shelli’s a personal trainer (with enormous biceps). I tip my cowboy hat to these girls because they exhibited some total badassery and I salute them with a can of Budweiser. But they weren’t brave at first. At first they were all freaked out because they found a bug in Shelli’s suitcase and then they each found a couple bugs crawling on them and they did the screaming spider dance and I felt a kinship.

There was also a brother-sister duo (Devyn and Tyler) and two cops from Chicago (Dan and Tony).

Shelli (the personal trainer) caught the first catfish. It was either that or arm-wrestle the Chicago cops so everyone could see how tough and fearless she was. She did awesome.

Stacy (the bartender with big boobs) caught the second. You go girl.

Now it’s Devyn and Tyler’s turn. Tyler thought it would be fun and bonding and meaningful to take his sister noodling. Devyn probably wanted to sit on the couch in her comfy yoga pants sipping a glass of wine and watching season three of Sex and the City. Yet there they were. Maybe Devyn can give Tyler a gift certificate for a Brazilian wax for Christmas and then ask him how his man-parts feel. It only seems fair.

THIS is what happened the last time I went fishing with my brother, back in like ’87 or ’88. I can’t remember exactly when it was because I tend to block out traumatic things.

It was all fun and games and BUD LIGHT TALL BOYS until Georgie hooked me and we had to drive to the walk-in clinic and have a purple Mister Twister extricated from my face with a scalpel which is like the biggest buzzkill ever. And Georgie said he was sorry, and told me he felt terrible, but he does not look sorry at all in this photo. So fishing will probably not be my first choice for a recreational activity that my brother and I can enjoy together. To clarify, first choice would probably be wine-drinking.

Tyler’s sister Devyn is so scared to go catfish noodling that she looks like she might poop her pants (which would totally go unnoticed because of the murky, brown, toilet bowl water everyone is standing around up to their chests in). But I’m proud of Devyn. She redeemed herself. Check it out.

If you were paying attention, you might also have noticed Stacy’s boobs and Shelli’s biceps. Need to watch it again? Go ahead.

So now everyone’s caught a catfish except for Devyn’s brother Tyler, and Tony and Dan, the Chicago cops. Even though Dan’s chest is like 17 axe handles across, and he’s super manly, he can’t find a catfish to save his life. Neither can Tony. So they’re feeling around in all those holes, desperately, frantically, trying to find their balls some catfish and finally, finally they succeed. Tyler does too, and I am odly invested and proud of all of them by now.

I was manipulated into watching – and enjoying – a show I only wanted to make fun of. I cheered at the screen. I want to drink beer and do push-ups and play pool with Stacy and Shelli. I want to get a mani-pedi and see a chick flick with Devyn. And you can bet your Wranglers and your can of Skoal that I’ll be watching next Sunday.

So well played Animal Planet.

Well played.

Re-post Monday – My Totally Fictitious, Highly Dysfunctional, And Completely Inappropriate Advice Column

  • August 1, 2011

Happy Monday everyone! I stumbled upon this old post yesterday when I was doing some clean-up on the blog. I originally published it in February of 2009, but I don’t think anyone read it back then. I don’t have time to write a new post today, so I hope you don’t mind if I recycle this one. Maybe Mondays on the blog can be re-post Mondays from now on?

Here are my totally fictitious answers to totally fictitious problems for totally fictitious people I don’t know because they’re totally make believe.

Dear Tracey,

My husband and I recently moved into a new home. The next door neighbors brought us a pie and introduced themselves. They seemed nice enough and they have children the same age as ours.

I am concerned about a few things, however. We invited them over for cocktails last weekend and it got weird toward the end of the evening.The husband gave me googly eyes and then touched my boob when he reached for his drink. He also wanted to know if I‘d show him “where the master bedroom was.”

Meanwhile, his wife had my husband cornered in the kitchen and she was trying to rub her body up and down his leg. My husband said she was purring like a cat and told him she needed to take a shower because she was a “dirty, dirty girl.” I managed to cut the evening short by pretending to pass out on the couch while my husband hustled them out the door.

Before they left they invited us to their home next weekend to meet several of the families that live in the neighborhood. We don’t know what to expect and neither of us is remotely interested in becoming a swinger. My husband and I have a great relationship and he’s not interested in anyone else’s hoo-ha. I have no desire to get up close and personal with my neighbor’s wiener either. How should we handle this unfortunate situation?

Signed,

We didn’t realize we moved to Swingtown.

Dear ‘We didn’t realize we moved to Swingtown’,

Being disease free is very important to swingers, so I have no choice but to recommend that you start a rumor in the neighborhood that you and your husband both have uncontrollable, rampant, super-herpes. It’s the only way. If either of you ever have a really gross cold sore on your lip it would go a long way toward validating this rumor. Please also mention frequently that you are allergic to latex because a die-hard swinger may not be put off by one little STD.

You also need to identify the non-swingers in your neighborhood, invite them over for drinks, and do some serious damage control. They may not believe you don’t actually have super-herpes, but since you aren’t going to try to have sex with them, they probably won’t care.

I believe swingers and non-swingers can peacefully co-exist. If you find that’s not the case, wait until the housing market improves, stick a for-sale sign in the yard, and move to a normal neighborhood. You might want to do a better job of vetting your future neighbors next time. Good luck!

Dear Tracey,

I’m a member of the PTO and I’m working on a fundraising committee with three other parents. There is one mom who is really starting to piss me off. She keeps sending elaborate e-mails with flow charts, Excel spread sheets, and summaries about everyone’s responsibilities and she has suggested “goals and benchmarks” for completing everything. I heard through the grapevine that she’s an out of work former business executive that got fired late last year, probably for being totally annoying.

The other moms and I are not her “minions” and I don’t appreciate her trying to turn this fundraiser into the social event of the year. We are supposed to be organizing a bingo game, bake sale, and a raffle so we can raise money for new library books. I’m about ready to tell her to shove her ideas about “swag” and “black tie only” up her butt. And seriously, if she asks me one more time about the dress I’m wearing to the fundraiser, I will throttle her. I’m wearing jeans and so is everyone else.

Signed,

Drama with another mama

Dear ‘Drama with another mama’,

Working on a committee is never easy, especially when someone has decided to use the fundraiser to fill the empty void created by losing their job. She is probably wishing she had an excuse to get dressed up again and hasn’t been able to get used to the fact that wearing sweats every day is perfectly acceptable.

Remind her of the common goal to raise money for books. And since it might help to make your suggestions in a language she understands, why not put everything into a nice PowerPoint presentation so she can feel like she’s at work again.

Then, ask her to come to your house and discuss the fundraiser over margaritas. Show her how awesome it is to drink on the job when you’re not getting paid and can’t get fired. Get completely hammered and make fun of anyone working on the fundraiser that you don’t like. Then drunk dial her old boss and hang up when he answers (remember to *67 first, natch).

My prediction is that you’ll be BFF’s in no time and the fundraiser will be a smashing success.

Dear Tracey,

My life sucks. I got fired from the insurance company where I’ve worked for ten years because the cute, blonde receptionist they hired didn’t like me. Since she gives my boss a hummer every day at lunchtime, she has become the most powerful and influential employee in our department and she got me canned.

Then my boyfriend Jason broke up with me because he’s in love with some whore named Terry. I ran into Jason and Terry the other day when I stopped at Kum and Go for a bottle of wine and a Slim Jim. Terry has an Adam’s apple, a five o’clock shadow, and was holding Jason’s hand. Terry is also way prettier than me and acted like he’d never seen someone at Kum and Go in pink flannel pajama pants, purple Crocs, and yesterday’s underwear.

I’ve also gained some weight so in an effort to lose a few pounds I started taking Alli, the over the counter weight loss drug that Wynona Judd recommended. I had one ill-timed cheeseburger from Sonic and crapped my pants in the car on my first date with a hot guy I met on Match.com. Now he’s got a big orange stain on the upholstery of his passenger seat and I’m (surprise!) still fucking single.

Lastly, I had to spend money I don’t have to sign up on eharmony.com because word’s gotten around at Match.com that I’m a “shitter”.

Signed,

Should I just give up?

Dear ‘Should I just give up’,

When life hands you lemons, grab a cocktail shaker, sugar, and vodka and make yourself a lemon drop martini as big as your head. Consume. Repeat. Consume. Repeat. Consume. Black out. Problems, poof!

And seriously, wouldn’t you rather know you and Jason both liked boys sooner, rather than later?

I know jobs are scarce in this economy but try to look at your recent firing as a good thing. Treat this as an opportunity to switch careers and only accept offers from companies with butt-ugly receptionists.

As for Alli, taking a drug that makes greasy, orange poop leak out of your butt is never a smart move. Please listen to me and not that washed up, fat country singer Wynona Judd, and stop taking it immediately.

Trust me, things can only get better. Good luck to you!

Do you have a problem you’d like my help with? If so, leave it in the comments section of this blog post and I’ll answer it for you. Remember, no question is too outrageous or inappropriate for me to handle. Just make something up.

I do it all the time.

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