Mark already did the big announcement about the deed. And I’ve been so unfortunately busy in the last month and a half that I’ve barely had time to think. Anyhoo. Here would be some of the photographic evidence that girls do go wild indeed. Just don’t go telling anybody. For the record, I was extremely well behaved and used the sexy little bouncer for all of my stunts.

Ahh, ya gotta love a bunch of Pirate Chicks along with those who come along for the Pirate Chick ride. Ya just do. They never let a special event go by without celebrating with cake and alcohol.

Becky and Natalie decided that come hell or high water there should be a bachelorette party the week before the wedding.

It was a beautiful evening, not too hot, not too cold. We all met up at Hooters for dinner and a drink. It was nice. Our little waitresses were super sweet, although I must say, I honestly thought I’d see more tits and ass. Not that they weren’t precious in their little Hooters gear, they were. But my 14 year old neice has more boobie and butt than these poor girls had.

Meet Ashley and Felicia:

The Hot boneless chicken tenders were tasty as all hell, my lips were nice and tingly for a while though. The girls decided to get me a cute little shirt to commemorate the joyous occassion.

In general, Hooters doesn’t see many bachelorette parties, but they do get hoards of bachelor parties… So, they improvised and got the Bachelor Party Shirt and turned into a Bachelorette Party shirt that all the little girls in tight Hooter’s shirts signed with loves n kisses.

We decided that it was time to continue on and move the festivities to Coyote Joe where Natalie and Holly had decorated and made it look like a scene from a slasher flick with the “Wild Girls- Caution” tape.

They adorned Diva with a princess tiara which boldly stated that I am indeed the Bride to Be… and if there was any question left due to the tiara being hiddeny by my hair which was erect like a hard penis, then the big Bride to Be button aptly placed between my breasts certainly gave it away.

So, we go in and invade the corner lot of CJ, nothing different there.

Olga made a real honest to God rum cake. It was a Jolly Roger, cuz she knows how we pirates roll.

We love the booty, especially rum laced booty.

Precious came and gave me congratulations lovins when she brought the multitude of drinks over.

It was time to have a little fun. We had games on tap, and honestly, watching them set up the Pin the Bow-Tie on the Bachelor was more fun than playing it.

Amanda gave the poster a hard on when she licked it from thigh to belly-button.

And Steph gave our bachelor a nice sized penis to look at…

Onward and upward we go. We had Do the Dare Cards. I mean the name alone implies that there will be some mischief going on. Let the photographic evidence be known!!

I need to state that, I, as the bride to be, didn’t do anything extreme. On the contrary, I was very well behaved. Four of the six cards I drew from the deck were completed by our sweetheart of a bouncer. God bless you, sugar!

Diva’s cards dared her to:

• get the bouncer to laugh for 100 points. Done!
• get a hunk to give her a neck massage. Done!
• get the phone number of a hot guy. Done!
• get a man to show you a hidden tattoo. Done! (It was on his upper thigh)
• get the bartender to give you a free drink. Done!
• find a guy, grab his ass, and tell him he has a nice ass. Done! (Twice!)

(Steph was witness. Two guys, two butts, double points!)

Here are some photos of the festivities! Enjoy!

Shawna found a baldguy & kissed him on top of his head:

Natalie and Amanda took the cake when they talked one of the big biker boys out of his drawers.

     In case anyone was wondering, yes, it really happened.

     At precisely 2PM on Saturday, September 29th, 2007, our Virulent Virtuoso of Vagary (and Prominent Proponent of Piratry!), Ms. Diva Howe, finally tied the knot with the love of her life.

     The Great Underwear Crisis was solved.  And no, there was no Spiderman cake.

     And from the looks of it, Tony is actually able to handle her.

     And so, Diva, Tony, I give you two bits of wisdom as you proceed down your road together:

1. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
2. It’s all small stuff.

     *cheers!*

     Well, sometimes, all it takes is a Post-It note stuck to your monitor when you come back to your desk…

     And when you combine that with everything else, well, that’s when it’s obvious that you’ve really got something really special. 

     Back at the end of 80’s, when my hair was halfway down my back and I was playing in a Thrash Metal band (we said it was Power Metal — but let’s be honest), I was having a great time.  All 5′9, around 170 pounds of me could walk up on stage and play any instrument that needed to be played — of course, that was limited to guitar, bass and drums at the time.  My voice was a solid octave and a half deeper than what it is now.  I could sing bass and baritone like nobody’s business, with booming volume that would rattle our drummers cymbals even before the mic was turned on.

     Off-stage was a different story.  Nobody could understand a damn thing I said back then, as my voice was so deep that it simply faded off into the background, only to be heard by animals, those odd people who get sick before an impending earthquake, and people who were so blitzed on alcohol and downers that I sounded normal.

     We traveled around quite a bit, and just had a good time with it.  We made enough money to keep ourselves in cigarettes, food, alcohol, hotel rooms and gas for the truck and van, and pretty much the only thing we had to worry about was how we were going to be treated when we got to our next stop.  In most places, people were pretty cool, but there were certainly a few towns where there might’ve been six whole teeth in the lynch mob walking towards us at the gas station or restaurant we’d stopped at.
     One night in particular, we’d driven out of Jacksonville, North Carolina driving towards Virginia Beach.  Instead of taking the interstate like a normal human being, Michael led us through every curve of US17, through rural North Carolina at 2AM.  “It’ll be easier!” he assured us on the walkie-talkie.
     Of course, if you’ve ever seen the movie This is Spinal Tap, you know it never is.

     Around 3AM, in heavy fog in the middle of nowhere, the van had flat tire.  We all pulled to the side of the road, and all five of our long-haired, dumb-punk asses got out to watch, assist, smoke cigarettes and generally complain.  Dave and Jeremy, instead of holding the flashlights where Michael could see what he was doing, began having a lightsaber duel with the flashlights in the fog.  I had one of my typical “bad feelings” that I used to get, and started urging everyone to get serious so we could get back on the road.
     “Man, chill out!” Dave urged.  “It’ll be fine!”
     Shortly after he said it, we heard a noise that sounded like a pack of wild indians.
     “What the Hell was that?” Michael asked, just before banging his knuckles on the concrete due to a slightly stripped lug nut.
     “Probably some birds or something,” Chris said, completely uninterested as he held the third flashlight where Michael could see.
     Then we heard it again, along with a mechanical noise that sounded exactly like a clutch-slipping on a big, red truck with a gun rack in the back window.  From behind us, down the road, the lights kept getting closer, and the whooping and hollering got louder and louder.
     “Oh, shit, Michael!” I exclaimed.  “Hurry the f$&* up, man!”
     Without a word, Michael furiously pulled off the damaged tire and handed it to Chris, who quickly replaced it with another from the back of the van.
     The whooping got louder and louder, the lights closer.
     We all stood silent, watching, waiting.  We were all nervous.

     As Michael was tightening the first lug nut, they were on us.  It was, in fact, a big, old, beat up, red-and-primer truck, three people in the front and three standing in the bed holding on to the top of the cab screaming like a bunch of wild indians.  They passed us silently, all of them peering at us like they’d never seen human beings before.
     We all breathed a sigh of relief until we looked ahead, and saw the truck put on its break lights — and started backing up.
     “Michael, hurry up, dude!” Dave exclaimed.
     In a fever, he quickly finger-tightened the remaining nuts and began spinning the speed wrench as fast as he could.
     We all stood around Michael as they pulled up, still silent, still looking straight at us with looks of disbelief on their faces.  The three in the back of the truck jumped out, shirtless with overalls, and the passenger door of their truck swung wide with a loud creak.
     “Ya’ll ain’ frum ‘roun’ heeyah, ah ya?” said the biggest one, who looked like he could’ve picked the van up without the jack.
     “Uhhh, no sir,” I stammered.  “We’re driving through on the way to Virginia Beach.”
     He looked back at his five friends, quietly at first, then turned back around shaking his head as they all began to snicker.  “Ya’ll shu’ got lawng hayur!” he said.  They all began to laugh.
     We blinked back at them, holding our implements of destruction close.  My knife was ready to flip from my pocket and Michael held the speed wrench as Dave, Chris and Jeremy clutched their Maglights.
     “Ya’ll in a bayund?” he asked.
     “Yes, sir, we are,” I told him.
     “Wail,” he started, turning around to look at his friends, grinning and snickering a bit.  “Why dincha jus’ say so?  Sheeyit!”
     They all laughed.
     “Yawnt any help with’at tar?” another asked.
     Relief!

     We stood around and talked for a few minutes with them.  They were cool people, out drinking a bit and “raisin’ some hail!”  They offered some assistance getting everything back in the van, asked if we liked Metallica or Megadeth better, and even tossed us all a beer right there on the side of the road.
     Eventually, after having a beer with ‘em and acting like idiots for a while, we offered our thanks, said our goodbyes, got our mini-caravan back togther and continued on to Virginia Beach.

     It was funny… There we were, with our long hair, worrying about people judging us for it all the time.  When six people in a beat-up truck drove by in the middle of rural North Carolina, we were doing the same damn thing.

     Good people are getting harder and harder to come by these days. 

     I mean, hey, they didn’t even have a problem hearing my deep voice.

     Just goes to show, you really can’t judge a book by its cover… 

     Even the ones who are so blitzed on alcohol and downers that I sounded normal. 

     What the Wildcat and I had going as, “Hey, come down for the weekend!” has turned into “Hey, come down for a week, and get the second weekend for free!”  Driving alone back to Knoxville is getting more and more difficult.

     I didn’t pull out the camera much this past week or so, although, we still did plenty. Friday before last, we hung out at Buffalo Wild Wings and had a blast, thanks in no small part to good company … and lots of beer.

     Eventually, Zacque showed up, although it was fifteen short minutes after Mushy left. We headed over to Baileys where we attempted to hook him up with several interested waitresses.
     “I have a date at 9PM, ya assholes!”
     “Go, Zacque! Have another beer…”
     No arm-twisting required. *snicker*

     Saturday, we took a trip through my favorite place in the world (I’m not telling where!  Nyah nyah nyah!) checking out the scenery and history.
     Since we’d both enjoyed travelling around where her family had grown up the week before, it was natural to return the favor.  We even walked through a few graveyards while trading crazy-family stories.
     Sometimes, even if you’re not close with your family, there are places you can go and still feel close to your roots.

     Later that night, we ended up hanging out with a friend listening to a musician, and had an amusing conversation.
     “How old is she?” she asked.
     “Ahhh, 28,” I replied.  “Why?”
     “She’s so sweet,” she smilled.  “I thought maybe I should introduce her to one of my sons.  She’s so sweet, so I thought she was younger.”
     “Yeah, she’s good like that,” I smiled back, thinking how great it was that she approved of my friends as much as they approved of her.
     “Hmm,” she mumbled.  “And how old is Zacque?”
     “Why, you want to introduce him to one of your sons?”
     Uproariously laughter ensued.

     So nice to be with someone who shares my sick, twisted sense of humor.

     The rest of the week was much the same.  Sunday we were out again.
     ”You know,” she says.  “You really do flirt a lot…”
     My head went, ‘Was I…? Did I…? Errr… Oh, shit, here it comes… ‘
     “…and it’s fine to window shop, as long as you don’t pull your credit card out,” she continued.  She smiled, and gave me a big hug and a kiss.
     That was one of the most incredible things I’ve ever heard. 

     She’s meeting the people I consider family and loving ‘em, customers, friends I’ve known for years, and proving to be every bit as adaptable as I am.
     She’s just as comfortable walking through ticks and briars to find someplace neither of us have ever been, sitting in a Five Star restaurant with wine and too much silverware, going for a swim in a secluded mountain stream, having a conversation with an important client, or knocking back beer and fried food at a football party.

     I was joking around with a friend last year, and said, “Ya know, the kind of woman I need is the one who’ll check me for ticks, and say, ‘Ooh, there’s one! Lemme get him!’ and will actually do it…”
     And hearing, “Die, you damn thing!” after that is just icing on the cake.

     But it’s definitely more fun to check each other for ticks when you don’t actually have any…

     So for a little over a month, my Kentucky Wildcat and I have been hanging out every weekend — and sporadic weekdays — spending a lot of time together and having a blast.  Last weekend, however, we had to skip our normal routine due to the craziness of every day life; I was hard at work until Sunday afternoon with a large-scale server consolidation, and couldn’t quit babysitting it all long enough to have any semblance of “normal.”
     When I finished late Sunday afternoon, I couldn’t take it anymore.  “Since next weekend is Labor Day weekend, whatcha feel like doing for a week?  I mean, I have to work, still, but we’ll have plenty of time to spend together if ya wanna…”
     Fortunately, she’s as spontaneous as I am…

     Without complaint, she sat idly by with me the entire week as I answered phones, fixed remote servers and did some on-sites.  The on-sites were the best: she chatted with customers while I fixed their problems, which took a lot of pressure off of me as I tried to get things done quickly yet precisely.

     Tuesday, for instance, a customer asked her if she liked baseball and handed her two tickets the next-to-the-last Smokie’s game.  We had a blast, neither of us having been to see a baseball game in years.
     Of course, the opposition team, the Chattanooga Lookouts, totally sucked.  Their fast pitcher had his speed down pat, but just couldn’t hit a strike-zone.  The most amusing part of the game came when said Lookouts pitcher messed up during Colvin’s bat in the second inning… He hit the catcher square in the nuts at full speed:

     The next pitch, Colvin had to jump out of the way to keep from being hit, himself.  The catcher was a little more reluctant to rely on his cup against his teammate’s 90mph onslaught:

     After three Balls, two fouls and no strikes, Colvin finally knocked a good midfield, but was taken out at first base.

      Thursday, after a Blount County onsite, we ended up heading to Cades Cove.  “I’ve never seen a wild bear!” she told me.
     “Oh, don’t worry — I’ll find ya one!” I assured her.  I wondered whether or not I’d overpromised, because quite honestly, seeing a bear around here is a special treat.  Still, I kept in mind that I’ve been lucky as far as bear sightings go, even managing to catch photos of them during the snowy mid-winter when everyone tells me, “They’re hibernating now!”
     The heavy afternoon rain didn’t let up until we were halfway through the park, but we still managed to see plenty of foraging wildlife.
     She was amazed at the size of the wild turkeys here:

     But the best was yet to come.
     Just before the turn-off to go to the old Abram’s Falls trail, there were two bucks hidden in the high grass to our left, unafraid even as close as fifteen feet away:

     This 10-pointer probably would’ve field-dressed at around 150 pounds —a prize deer for Cades Cove.  More amazing is that even at the end of August, he hadn’t bothered to rub the velvet from his antlers — nor had his much smaller friend, an 80-pound spike.
     We turned into the road to the Abram’s Falls trail, and noticed tons of butterfles stealing nectar from the local foliage:

     We continued around the loop, walked through the old town (the mill was open!), and spotted a young doe just behind the General Store.  She seemed relatively uninterested in the people milling about, even as she stretched to eat the tender leaves of the rain-soaked maple above her.
     As we left, we noticed another large group of deer in the field behind the restrooms.  They were impossible to count, as some would lie down as others stood up to graze.

     Continuing towards the park exit, past the homesteads, I pulled to the right and asked her to take a look to her right.  Amazed, she turned to see a teenaged bear walking directly towards the car:

     The photo was taken as he rounded a log, less then six feet from our open window.  He continued towards the car, turning around the front and walking to the other side of the road.  We watched him for nearly fifteen minutes as he foraged.  Really cool.  :-)

     Finally, only a few hundred feet from the park exit, we had to stop for the wild turkeys in the road… Six of the largest wild turkeys I’ve ever seen, and I’ve definitely seen some whoppers over the years.  But these — my God! — were taller than the front of the car, and flapped their wings in disgust as we pulled close.
     Finally, they walked to the right, out of our way.  Just before I was able to pull past them, they darted quickly back across the road into the forest to our left.  From only a few feet away, we watched and photographed them.  Note their size compared to the fifty-foot trees next to them — we’re talking monster turkeys:

     Sunday night, we just had to go to Boomsday, especially given that I found us an unobstructed vantage point on the Calhoun’s balcony.  Nothing better than up-close-and-personal, ya know?

     Just before they started, I told her these were for her:

     [ Awww, isn't that sweet?  Thpft!  ] 

     Later Sunday night, we went to watch a band and met up with a few more friends.  (We hung out with several through the week, and had a great time.)

     On Monday, we reluctantly took the trip to take her back home.
     We stopped at the old Frostee Freeze Drive-In in Tazewell for lunch.  Hadn’t been there in maybe twenty-five years, and place is just as good as ever!

     When we got to Cumberland Gap, I thought, “Hey, wanna go hike through Cudjo’s Cave?”  Unfortunately, after we hiked nearly a mile through the nasty, post-rain heat and humidity, we found that that cave had been closed to the public for some time and renamed “Gap Cave.”  Fortunately, we were able to stand at the lower entrance to cool off.  The strong wind rushing out of the cave mouth stayed around 55 degrees — nothing beats natural air-conditioning!
     Along the trail, we found several fossils in iron-laden limestone, several large pieces of chert, obsidian and flint, and a couple bits of micah & quartz encrusted pumice.  Discounting the limestone, it actually seemed a bit odd to find volcanic rocks up there, but they definitely made us smile. 

     As we left, we drove through the town of Cumberland Gap.  It’s funny how we’d both grown up so close to it all of our lives, and never been.  It’s an idyllic small town.
     Although the layout is a bit more “general store” than “pharmacy,” Fuson’s Drug Store, started in 1921, still exists in all its Ice-Cream-and-Soda-Shop glory.  Want a Chocolate Coke or a Strawberry Malt?  Head on up… Good stuff.

     We spent the rest of yesterday driving around through history, enjoying our last bit of time together before next weekend.  We visited the place where she grew up, and talked back and forth about different things we enjoyed when we were kids.

     It was a hard ride back to Knoxville without her.

     I woke this morning missing the Hell out of her, so after a while, I gave her a call.  ”Hey, how about this weekend, I pick ya up on Thursday, instead?” I asked.
     “How about Wednesday?” she laughed.
     “Hmmm… Tuesday?”
     “Why don’t ya just come up now?”

     Life is good. 

     We both realize that there’s not a damn thing wrong with being impulsive, spontaneous, opening up and enjoying what life has to offer.  Seriously … what’s the point of growing up if you can’t enjoy it?

     Oh yeah … The best Labor Day ever. 

“When spies get fired, they don’t get a letter from human resources. They get BURNED… “

Now I’m not so sure about getting burned, but Jeffrey Donovan as Michael on BURN NOTICE give me hot sweats.   I’m honestly not sure what it is about dearest Jeffrey that does it for me.  Maybe its that smile.  Maybe it’s his insatiable wit.  Maybe it’s his handling of Fiona (romantic interest on the show). 

Maybe it’s the fact that he is shirtless a lot of the time…

Whatever it is, he DOES do it for me.

Here’s to you Jeffrey.  You make me weak in the knees, my friend.

Good God, I need another cold shower…

     Since Diva hasn’t done a Hottie of the Day/Week/Moment post in a while, I thought I’d take a stab at it…

     Admit it… You know The Bangles song, “Walk Like an Egyptian.”  And if you were male, you have to admit that when you saw the video, you went, “Oh, man, she is hot!”

     Now, I’m sort of a connoisseur of beautiful women.  I see beautiful women everywhere.  I have interesting conversations with beautiful women.  I have fun with beautiful women.  I date beautiful women.  I even marry some of them.
     I have a quirky sense of “beauty,” tho.  I tend to see women four dimensionally… I can look at how they look now, pick them out of the crowd in their elementary school photos, and know what they’ll look like as they get older…
     It’s a neat party trick, and it’s always surprising to see someone who’s gorgeous from day one to day zero… Most people go through the ugly duckling phase at least once in their lives.

     As for this particular 5′2″ hottie, here we are some twenty-one years later, and yep, she could still start a fire… at an incredibly young 48.  
     Yep… for real!  
     The sultry siren turned 48 in January… And if that’s not worthy of recognition, I dunno what is…

     But, I have to admit… That music still makes me throw up in my mouth a little…

Photo 1 courtesy of VH1.
Photo 2 23-Oct-2006 by Jessee Grant, Copyright © WireImage.com.

     Every time your web browser sends a request to a webserver (an HTTPD), the browser returns a code, along with some content.
     Does everyone remember all of the HTTPD Codes?  I’m a dork, so I do…

     So Amanda from Fashionista TV was visiting today, and in browsing her site, I ran across her blog post about HTTPanties for sale from ThinkGeek…

     Given the above list, I can find plenty of more clever variations.  These messages could be extremely helpful prior to coredumping your RAM…. Really, you never want to have an infected Hard Drive, do you?

     How about “412 Precondition Failed” and “503 Service Unavailable” for the frigid?

     Perhaps sex workers could put “402 Payment Required” to good use.

     “303 See Other” for swinging married women who get around.

     “407 Proxy Authentication Required” is a shoe-in for bisexuals, and “409 Conflicting Request” works great if they’re still a bit confused…

     Lesbian consumers also have a number of options, but the best has to be “415 Unsupported Media Type.”

     Of course, “502 Bad Gateway” across the ass is usually a given… But ”300 Multiple Choices” would work well for hermaphrodites, porn stars, and the exceptionally kinky…

     And I can certainly think of a few women who should be wearing “500 Internal Error” …

Tip: Amanda at FasionistaTV

Live at The Pilot Light in Knoxville’s Old City

Saturday, August 4th - 9PM - $5 Cover

Where redneck meets punk — and kitsch collides with bitch — you’ll always find the Rude Street Peters!  Once touted as “Knoxville’s drunkest band,” the Peters have enjoyed two decades of cult-like following. 

With hits like ”Snakesnatch” and “Stumbling Tumbleweeds,” the band continues to be a splinter in the eye of those who consider that all music should be for mass consumption.  Put simply:  They beligerantly don’t give a f$*& what you think.

From their site:

MOONSHINE SWILLIN’, DOPE SMOKIN’ PUNK ROCK FOR THE WHOLE FUCKIN’ FAMILY ! WITH THE I.Q. OF A RETARDED MULE AND THE LIVERS OF 49 GEORGE JONES’ , THE PETERS MAKE MUSIC THAT BELONGS IN A SNAKE HANDLIN’ CHURCH JUST AS MUCH AS IT’S AT HOME IN THE SMOKIEST OF DIVE BARS. BUY OUR SHIT HERE OR HERE.

     So … Hey … Be there … Or don’t.