Jacksonville Tour Tomfoolery

A 12 hour tour bus trip for work to the Florida Country Superfest meant only one thing this past weekend….endless shenanigans for this Nashville chick.

Me and my one adoring fan.

Me and my one adoring fan.

After prepping my ride for the weekend with an overabundance of booze, low-class snacks and booze, we were ready to roll.

Weekend ride

My chariot.

Being that this bus was full of party animals, surprisingly there was only one rule to follow the entire trip…

The lone bus rule.

The lone bus rule located in the bathroom.

As we pulled out of Nashville, I assumed my assigned position of tending bar.

Happy Times

One Skinny Pirate and glass of vodka coming right up!

After an hour (or three) of cocktailing, hoisting my ample ass up to the top bunk was no easy feat.


This is the face after a self-inflicted concussion.

No worries about the wound, as I did what you’re supposed to do after all head injuries. I slept it off.

After what felt like 32 minutes of sleep, we’d arrived in Jacksonville and I couldn’t get out of my own personal coffin fast enough.

Whoa Baby

Trying to bust a move off the bus gracefully.

I high-tailed it off of the bus and followed the signs to my fave place in any venue.

The stage.


Sprinting to the stage almost cost me two sprained ankles.

I've arrived.

Florida was underwhelmed with all of my non-showered, greasy glory.

Naturally it’s not easy taking selfies while staying out of the crew’s way, busting their asses in preparation for the evening show, so I didn’t stay around long enough for them to ask me to help with sound check.

Check 1. Check 2. Check yourself off of the stage.

Check 1. Check 2. Check yourself off of the stage.

Escorting myself out of the high traffic staging area, I decided to take my talents back stage and offer assistance near the tour trucks.


Please. We all know I sat on my ass and watched others work as my nails are “jewels, not tools.”

In dire need of a shower, I settled for a semi-clean bathroom vanity to gussy my raggedy ass up.

Concert prep after being escorted off stage.

Touring at its finest.

It was then time to head for concert where I was treated to a warm up show by a lady who gave me a run for my trashtacular money.

Front row for this...

Who needs a pole when you have a chair?

Not wanting to be out classed by the chair dancer, I managed to spill an entire Skinny Pirate on my pal Rocky as I was prepping for a pic of us.

Hey oh! Managed to spill an entirely full Skinny Pirate on this guy and he still smiles.

Swimming in a Skinny Pirate and he still smiles. Sign of a good friend!

Speaking of friends, what about me getting to hang with my Florida bestie, who I had no clue would be in attendance at the festival?

My fab friend!

Surprise reunion!

Think she looks familiar?

Well, she does. Not only has she joined me in being a Holly Jolly Drunk girl this past Christmas, she also took part in one of my very best photo-bombing events.

Yep,  you've seen her before in my photo-boming mad skills

Which one of these is not like the other?

But I digress.

Of course Holly Jolly Drunk Girl and I consumed cocktails while catching up.

This is all we did...

She talked. I guzzled.

While us gals were gabbing, nature started to call upon my over flowing bladder, so I went to wait in a line that was roughly 5,312 ladies long. After 20 hellish minutes I realized that an emergency was about to take place, so I sought other means of relief.

Yep. I did.

Yep. I did.

I sprinted into the men’s room with my hands cupping my eyes while yelling, “I’m not looking! I can’t see you! I’m about to piss my pants!”

A very kind, extremely inebriated cowboy with his pants unbuttoned turned around from his urinal and tried to escort me toward the first open stall. While trying to avoid his germ filled grip, I slammed the door behind me and was greeted to this lovely sight.

Most disgusting

Only the classiest will do for this fancy chick.

While I’d never shared a toiled with a Gatorade bottle, a beer can and someone’s regurgitated lunch it was well worth the sacrifice because I would have missed Florida Georgia Line waiting to use the ladies room.

NOt Gonna miss htis.

I mean seriously. The sacrifices I make.

Singing along with the likes of Little Big Town, Eric Church and Jason Aldean for the rest of the evening didn’t suck either.

While bleary eyed and not at all bushy-tailed the next morning, I was greeted to a scantily clad Luke Bryan outside the bus window.


Our fingers were crossed his ball would break a bus window.

Collecting myself for yet another jammed packed day, I met my buddy Aha! who is on tour with Easton Corbin.

Or my buddy!

Buddies so old we used to be in a band together.

While perusing the other buses backstage, my eye caught a very sore sight. It was a plane with an advertisement that was obviously never double checked, as it read:

“$250 for AIDS and hearing test”

Only at a country festival

Only at a country music festival…

Popping back up on stage, I earned a new side gig acting as a guitar tech for Easton Corbin. My big moment came when I ushered a guitar out on stage and whispered in a semi-shout, “Turn this thing on!”

Just helping guitar tech for Easton Corbin. My new side gig.

Aha! aiding me in my new career.

Being that I was embarking on a new profession called for a celebration with the crew.

Three cheers for the guitar

Four cheers for my abilities to guitar tech volunteer!

Many celebratory cocktails later, we were crooning along to our fave country tunes with our closest 75,000 friends.

Eric Church

Luke Bryan looking good in the fabulously lit hood.

When it was all said and done, we headed back to our home on wheels that looked like it’d been through a 21 day excursion, instead of our 48 hour trip.


Anyone see the Captain?

Of course I was still enamoured with the mirrored ceiling that provided yours truly with endless entertainment.


Mirror mirror on the ceiling, I still find this overly appealing.

Returning home, the only thing I could do Monday night was sift through the weekend aftermath in my purse.

Remnants...feels like my liver. Direct reflection of how my liver feels.

Remnants of a fun-filled two days.

In case you were wondering, this photo is a direct reflection of how my liver is still feeling.

Until the next tour…







Redneck Roadtrip

With many Americans gearing up to travel over the river and through the woods for Thanksgiving, is it possible to make a 1,000 journey seem bearable?

Well, of course it is.  It’s all in how you approach your trip.

First, you need something to eat.

A chocolate dipped cone always starts my road trip off on the right wheel.

Filling up on cheap spirits (they have to last nine hours, so don’t get anything top shelf) will help you pass some time. If you drink just enough, you will get out of your leg of driving, (clever, yes. Well received by other passengers? Not so much. But who cares, you’re ready for karaoke in the car).

Road rot gut. Taaka vodka and a Diet Coke from Quik Trip. Keepin’ it classy while killing brains cells and miles.

Car karaoke is performed by travelers who are just drunk enough to play one CD ad nauseam and sing every word (that they don’t know –  it is a constant mumble until the chorus) so the most annoying passenger (usually me), wants to throw themselves out of the moving vehicle to prevent their brains turning to mush.  It is imperative to pack good tunes or you might turn yourself into roadkill.

My ears were bleeding at the sound of any lyric off of this Luke Bryan album that was played on repeat no less than 13 times.

Take pictures of machinery indigenous to the region of the country in which you are traveling. It will provide endless confusion as to what the object you just photographed could be…

Is it a combine? A tractor? Who knows?  It’s definitely not an International Harvester.

Make sure you bring a coat to put over your head to ensure privacy during phone conversations.

My mom in her sound proof phone booth, talking to my Gma.

Presents are a good way to distract the impatient folks who incessantly ask that dreaded question, to which you can reply, “No we’re not there yet but how ’bout a gift?”

Who cares if we have 658 more miles to go? You just scored a mini bottle of rot gut vodka AND a framed photo of you from your cheerleading days in college. Lucky!

Every time you stop to get gas, be sure to get a snack. And also NEVER wear non-elastic pants in the car (they won’t expand with all of your mindless eating out of boredom).

My fourth carton of the most delicious dip in all the land – Anderson Erickson’s French Onion. See the big sweatshirt? Expands with each dipped chip I inserted into my yapper (people who travel with me like it when I eat. I’m quiet for the 30 seconds it takes to inhale my snacks).

And hopefully, when you arrive to your final destination, Grandma is waiting just as anxiously as Teddy impatiently waits for my return home.

WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? My fur ball welcoming committee of one usually cops an attitude the second my key hits the lock.

Now you have all of the tools needed to quickly pass the nine hours it takes to get to your crazy relative’s house for the massive amounts of turkey, stuffing, yams, turkey, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, turkey, green beans, pumpkin pie and turkey.

Just don’t forget your drawstring pants for the ride home.