15334023.jpgLike the old song says, I was raised on country sunshine, though we lived so far back in the hills, we had to have it piped in special.  I’ve since moved into the big city, which just means we’ve got modern things like running water and electricity and all, but I still like my boots and my jeans. I’m an eclectic mix of country when country wasn’t cool and just give me that rock-n-roll music, any old way you choose it.

Cliches and lyrics aside, yesterday I went into the big city and shopped at a large store which has stole the cute smiley face from the 60’s for use on its signs, despite the fact that there’s nothing for free–love or otherwise. 

While at this cavernous cave of capitalism, I tried to purchase a CD and was told. “It aint out yet.”    I knew they were wrong, this CD–Pam Tillis’ Rhinestoned has been available since April. 

It irks me that if the singer doesn’t have big breasts, blonde hair and some mega-box bankability then, they’re not on the shelf.   Victims are the likes of Pam Tillis, Terry Clark, Dwight Yokum, Jake Owens, Grant Lee Phillips, and this last one kills me.  No Fleetwood Mac?   

20478953.jpgHow dare they call it a music section without Fleetwood Mac? I think they’re aliens and this is a bid to take over the world one music channel at a time. First MTV doesn’t play music, and now no Fleetwood Mac in the music section.   Then again, my paranoia has been known to kick in when I’ve been deprived of what I want. At that point, I made a few angry hand gestures behind their backs, of course, and quit the Smiley Faced Store of Stupidity.

However, my journey for the music was not over. I girded my womanly loins (ick) and kept traveling onward, like those Wilbury guys, which if you must know, they didn’t have any CD’s of either. I know they don’t have breasts, though Tom Petty is blonde; he also has a rather large nose. You know I’ve heard things about the size of a man’s nose in correlation to the size of his– never mind. 

Filled with determination, I went to the mall, and entered what I call..The Loud Store. My husband loves this place, as he can find all his stupid movies that nobody in their right mind would ever purchase as they’re not even in the B-Movie class but F-listed (yes, I’m thinking of that word) well behind D-Lister, Kathy Griffin.  It works out though, as he usually goes there while I’m in the good stores, like Victoria’s Secret, Bath and Body, and er…. Victoria’s Secret.

But not today, because I go inside and walk to the section with the country music and eureka! There is Pam’s CD.  I pick it up and walk to the register since I’m through and as the name of the store indicates, it’s loud in there. So much so that despite the fact that one clerk, who is busy -ie: talking to his stupid clerkish friends- yells for the other clerk, he cannot be heard over the music that is blaring speakers taller than me which are mounted in each corner. 

However, it was so loud, I barely refrained from exposing my breasts, flicking a lighter and screaming ‘Whoho!’   Speaking big lungs (smiles) I almost lent mine to help draw the attention of the clueless clerk, who for some reason thought staying at the back of the store and watching me wait at the register was a very good idea.  Apparently, the  drug testing policy is lax at The Loud Store because it took him three tries to ring up my purchase, then again, it could have been the vibes from the music which seemed to be getting louder. Talk about an icky thump. And no, that wasn’t the song playing. I love The White Stripes.  

Fearing a drug bust would happen any second, once I had my CD, I fled to the safety coffee shop where the addictive substances are legal and it was also blessedly silent. We don’t need overhead musack, everyone knows coffee drinkers have a Java Monkey on their backs, beating his little drum in quick time.

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