72 Year-Old Woman Arrested During Wendy Davis Filibuster

This is a lil’ inneresting video! A police officer arresting a 72 year-old woman in the gallery at the Wendy Davis’s Filibuster Fun-Time Party of 2013 for… sitting? I guess? She was charged with a felony for resisting arrest (which was later dropped), and I can only hope that at 72 I start getting charged with felonies for being a regulation bad ass.

You know who else is an intelligent, regulation bad ass and an Earth Angel Queen with a majestic waterfall of hair that looks like it’s been kissed by the morning sun?

mag-17Britton-t_CA0-articleLarge Oh. Well, yes. But I actually meant:

Wendy DavisSenator Wendy Davis who is giving us some Hot Rollers and Human Rights realness.

Waaaaait, a second…..

Wendy-Davis-Connie-Britton-Movie-casting

If, hypothetically, they were to make a Wendy Davis biopic starring Connie Britton, would it be so unreasonable to request that she leads a chant of “clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose” with the gallery of protesters? What if she just whispers it under her breath really fast at the end of a scene? Add a scene for it in the Blue-ray director’s cut?!!

Oh, and one more thing!!!

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Road Trip to LA: Day 4

We left Nashville, and made our way through Oklahoma… I can’t tell you much about the place except I went to the bathroom at a Starbucks without buying anything and a male barista said a very passive aggressive “thank you” to me as I walked out. So, screw you, Oklahoma!

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This day of driving to our next stop in Amarillo was by far the worst, and I have no pictures for you. When we finally made it to the hotel in downtown at 10pm, a hooker jumped out of the car in front of us at a red light. To be fair, someone could have just been dropping her off in front of a bar, but I don’t like being unsure of whether or not human trafficking is taking place outside my Courtyard Marriott.

We parked in a garage and ran to the side door of the hotel as I braced myself for an untimely death at the hands of a rogue cowboy. The door was locked, and when the guard let us in he said they “just lock it at night because there’s a lot of homeless people who wander in.” Guys, that’s all! They’re only locking the door because of their trespassing vagrant problem! Oh, and I could trust that my car would be safe because of the fool proof security system consisting of a camera in the garage and my constant, obsessive prayers.

Just as I was getting comfortable in my new digs at Hotel Hobo, the front desk ladies told us that we didn’t have a reservation at their hotel, but at the OTHER downtown Amarillo Marriott. What do we know at this point? That, evidently, there are two gates to hell, and that my mother and I now have to run through the garage like the Beetlejuice sandworm was chasing us.

The other hotel wasn’t as bad, and the Japanese steakhouse next door only looked like a strip club!

True Life: I Was a Southern Debutante

I went through a weird phase my first couple years of college where on paper I was essentially some sort of Mississippi debutante. I had the same personality and same sense of humor as I do now, (at least I think so. Have I changed since I hit it big moderate with all my blogging success efforts?) except I did things that a young woman raised by Delta Burke might be interested in.

It first started when I was in high school and decided that I wanted to go to college in the South. I ended up going to James Madison University in Virginia for a hot, hot second, but got the hell out because I couldn’t bare to hear the words ‘sweet tea’ anymore. I know some Southerners who are quick to point out that their kind are not racist or homophobic, and I won’t counter that. I’ll just say that there was a Confederate flag memorabilia store next to the Victoria Secret at the mall. And at an orientation event about diversity, a kid got up and said into a microphone to a couple thousand freshmen that homosexuals were pedophiles (which was met with exactly half the crowd cheering and a quarter of the crowd booing). Bright side, there was a Chic-Fil-A on campus (which, turns out, they give a lot of their money to anti-gay groups. I’m not trying to make any kind of point here). Anyway, living in the South was not for me, so I transferred to Emerson College in Boston.

I definitely don't belong in the South, but I do have a soft spot for Texas. That's my friend Riley and me on a BOAT. In all my years in NH I have never, ever partied on a boat.

In the span between starting school at James Madison and ending with junior year at Emerson, I dyed my hair blonde, joined a sorority, and entered some pageants. And I did it all with a navel piercing.*

To preface this, I did meet some of my best friends in Emerson’s AEPhi, and embarrassingly enough, I met girls who will be in my Muppet themed wedding one day (embarrassing because it’s cliche to say that, not because I want a Muppet themed wedding), so I don’t regret anything.

I blurred out some faces to protect their identities. Plus I don't want to give their faces free advertising. The one on the far right is future bridesmaid, Michelle. Also, the editing in this photo is against everything I stand for, and I didn't do it. I just needed to say that for my own peace of mind.

That’s me and my pledge class on the night we first started pledging or as I remember it, the last time all the sisters didn’t hate me. Without getting too into the traditions and stuff, there were a lot of rules and dumb stuff to memorize, which I… did not. By the time I graduated, most of the sisters hated me less. (How can you hate someone who has so many funny voices up her sleeve?! Have you heard my Cher impression)?

I was just not cut out to be in a sorority. I’m a lone unicorn– independent. I like to back out of any and all social functions at the last minute. Those qualities are not conducive to being a good sorority sister since to be in a sorority you are expected to socialize. Bleccch.

Then I did pageants, which you can read all about in this post. Another thing I was not cut out for.

Who is that person???

Shortly after this pageant, I started to move out of my Mississippi debutante phase. Right now, I’m in whatever phase it’s called when you live at home with your parents, wear sweat pants all day, and your main hobby is maintaining a blog and drinking by yourself. So, like, a very sad phase.

*It’s important to note that the navel ring has since been removed.