Sometimes it's still like I'm 15 years old living at home. I wake up to text messages from dad that is either him scolding me about something random I had written, or dad trying to send text pics of him and some guy named Gram who he went ice fishing with. Who's Gram? Only the pic of dad and Gram doesn't attach, but that doesn't stop dad from resending the text pic 126 more times and still no picture! The picture doesn't go through because of my ninja skills. People do what they do, but they don't have to send me photos of them doing it, like hunting and fishing. I don't need to see an animal suffer and slowly die in excruciating pain, first thing in the morning, or ever.
This is also why I'm not on Facebook or Twitter. Dad does both, and every time I wrote something he thought was overly inappropriate (even for me) dad would quote scripture from the Bible just to be a smarty-pants. I would then counter quote with a line from (say) the Sex Pistols and the battle would rage on like a game of dysfunctional Chicken. And can I just say for a Catholic, dad says, "God Damnit!" more than anyone. Are you guys even allowed to say that?
So now I'm writing a country song or trying to anyway. It's not easy writing songs. I've been pondering events that have since occurred in the last 6 days once I decided to write a song, and from those events piece together lyrics:
Bulletproof Vest
Dolly has dynamite
Merle is a bad motherfu@#*!
My dad's batshit crazy
Can of peas
"Johnny" got his girl pregnant and can't afford either
Don't need alligators
Fat Cat (smoking hot) sex dreams
Mark has no memory
Hard labor country
Have you been to Outpost in Hollywood? They're open noon daily. I'm going some time over the weekend. Thrilllist.com called it a "cum-saloon". Not sure what they mean by that but it's enough to get me in the door!
This is my mission for 2014, write a country song. Maybe perform it some place?
It's a slow work of progress but it's taking me places I've never been before.
Cum-Saloon?
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