Blushing On Reba McEntire

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It was the spring of 1990 and I was proudly wearing a mullet while sitting my skin-tight, Levi 501 clad ass on a hard, concrete step. I was just about to wrap up my freshman year of college and was working as a stagehand for a Reba McEntire concert. 30 minutes before I had ended 3 hours of hard, manual labor helping unload seven trucks worth of Reba concert gear. I was happy to be sitting, not so happy to be sitting on a hard, concrete step, and flat pissed that I had drawn this job during the concert. I had dreamed of running stage lights or waiting like a panther ready to strike at the sides of the stage for anything the band or Reba may need to produce their twanging, country tunes. Instead I was guarding a door at the back of the building that lead down several hundred feet of concrete before making a turn to the dressing rooms.

Now keep in mind this was before smart phones or mobile gaming devices. I basically had nothing to do for 3 hours during the concert except gaze down the concrete hall or stare at the door. To make matters worse there was no chair to sit on to provide some level of comfort. I had a hard, concrete step to lounge on.

Despite growing up on a large ranch in Northern Montana I had never liked country music. I could ride a horse and buck a bale of hay, but I had only owned one pair of cowboy boots, never a plate size belt buckle, and certainly never a cowboy hat. I was not a fan of Reba’s music. I was more of an AC/DC or Motley Crue type of guy.

I was damn sure that no one was going to walk down the hallway. This was going to be an excruciating 3 hours of guard duty. To top it off, I had to help load the seven trucks of Reba’s concert gear. It wasn’t going to lay my head on my dorm room pillow until well after 2 a.m. The icing on cake was that I was making just a nickel over minimum wage. The situation was shitty.

And then I heard a click, click of a woman’s heels walking on concrete. I could not see the woman, because she was behind the corner of the tunnel. However, I had something to grab my attention away from my glum predicament. Around the tunnel corner walked a lady. She was too far down the tunnel to really make out any features, but I could tell it was a woman.

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Click, click and the woman started to get closer and I could start to make out a mane of red hair and a short, very fancy dress. As the woman walked closer I began to think there is no way that this could be Reba. Up to this point I had only seen her on television or magazines. Internet surfing was not going to be common for at least another decade.

Click, click and the woman was close enough to see it was Reba. Just like on the television and magazines. I must have looked like a deer staring into a car’s lights. It wasn’t that I was star struck. I really didn’t give two hoots about Reba. It was the fact that she was beautiful that had me looking like an idiot. Her flaming red hair was massive and must have consumed a half-gallon of Aqua Net. With the aid of sparkly heels she was tall. Her dress was very ornate in a country type design, cut short to showcase her flawless legs, and had a plunging neck line leading to a valley of cleavage.

Her eyes were a piercing, sky blue. I could not take mine off hers. She looked directly into my eyes and I was mesmerized, I was stunned, and I could not even think. I could feel my cheeks blushing and hear myself making sounds responding to her questions, but in all honesty I have no idea what she said to me or how long we talked. I can only remember she patted my hand before turning to walk away.

As she walked away I was too star struck to keep my mouth from gaping wide open. Just before she turned the corner of the tunnel and walked out of my life forever she looked back at me, smiled, and waved.

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TTS Music Winner Myke Grymz

Buck Cherried

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Roughly three years ago I was sitting in the Delta Sky Lounge in the Narita International Airport just outside of Tokyo, Japan sipping on a free, ice-cold beer. It only 10 a.m., but after flying all night from Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea and staring a 9 ½ hour flight to Seattle in the eye, a few free, cold beers were really hitting the spot.

The lounge was filled mainly with business travelers and a few families. I was well into my third, free beer and listening to Crazy Bitch by Buck Cherry with my headphones on to protect the innocents from the vulgar lyrics.

Around the corner across the room walked five guys all tatted up wearing rocker type clothing. Their clothing was designed to look worn and old, but in reality it looked expensive and tailored.

Leading the group was Buck Cherry lead singer Josh Todd. Now Josh is the kind of guy that has a very unique look. If a person has every seen Josh they will probably remember what he looks like. He is very skinny, heavily tatted up and has the look of a rock star. At the time I did not know his name but I knew for sure that the guy walking closer to me was the lead singer of Buck Cherry.

Image credit: www.loudwire.com

I am a huge fan of Buck Cherry. I loved their early stuff like Lit Up and was elated to hear they had reformed to make amazing new music like Too Drunk and Crazy Bitch. I love the band’s energy and naughty lyrics. Buck Cherry has a knack for singing about topics guys only think about, but never discuss to others.

I had a bunch of empty seats around me and Josh just happened to sit right next to me. As he sat down I took off my head phones and said, “Buck Cherry, love your music!” Todd gave me a smile and shook my hand.

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We chatted over the next half hour and I found Todd and the rest of his band to a good group of guys. They all had bloodshot eyes from playing a late concert the night before in Tokyo and all joked about sleeping all the way back to the states.

In the half hour the band was in the Delta Sky Lounge no one seemed to notice them or bother them for an autograph.

Buck Cherry had an earlier flight than me and they were headed to L.A. Todd shook my hand before he left and off they went into the wild blue wonder.

I raided the beer cooler for another free beer and was elated to see the hot dog buffet was ready to pillage. After getting all setup with beer and hotdogs I put the headphones on, found Sorry in my i tunes playlist list, sat back and enjoyed the experience of meeting the nice fellas from Buck Cherry.

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What’s UR Thrill Winner Crog Tierney MTB 

Blushing on Reba

http://thethrillsociety.com is your link to Thrilling Stuff! This article is just a taste!

It was the spring of 1990 and I was proudly wearing a mullet while sitting my skin-tight, Levi 501 clad ass on a hard, concrete step. I was just about to wrap up my freshman year of college and was working as a stagehand for a Reba McIntire concert. 30 minutes before I had ended 3 hours of hard, manual labor helping unload seven trucks worth of Reba concert gear. I was happy to be sitting, not so happy to be sitting on a hard, concrete step, and flat pissed that I had drawn this job during the concert. I had dreamed of running stage lights or waiting like a panther ready to strike at the sides of the stage for anything the band or Reba may need to produce their twanging, country tunes. Instead I was guarding a door at the back of the building that lead down several hundred feet of concrete before making a turn to the dressing rooms.

Now keep in mind this was before smart phones or mobile gaming devices. I basically had nothing to do for 3 hours during the concert except gaze down the concrete hall or stare at the door. To make matters worse there was no chair to sit on to provide some level of comfort. I had a hard, concrete step to lounge on.

Despite growing up on a large ranch in Northern Montana I had never liked country music. I could ride a horse and buck a bale of hay, but I had only owned one pair of cowboy boots, never a plate size belt buckle, and certainly never a cowboy hat. I was not a fan of Reba’s music. I was more of an AC/DC or Motley Crue type of guy.

I was damn sure that no one was going to walk down the hallway. This was going to be an excruciating 3 hours of guard duty. To top it off, I had to help load the seven trucks of Reba’s concert gear. It wasn’t going to lay my head on my dorm room pillow until well after 2 a.m. The icing on cake was that I was making just a nickel over minimum wage. The situation was shitty.

And then I heard a click, click of a woman’s heels walking on concrete. I could not see the woman, because she was behind the corner of the tunnel. However, I had something to grab my attention away from my glum predicament. Around the tunnel corner walked a lady. She was too far down the tunnel to really make out any features, but I could tell it was a woman.

Click, click and the woman started to get closer and I could start to make out a mane of red hair and a short, very fancy dress. As the woman walked closer I began to think there is no way that this could be Reba. Up to this point I had only seen her on television or magazines. Internet surfing was not going to be common for at least another decade.

Click, click and the woman was close enough to see it was Reba. Just like on the television and magazines. I must have looked like a deer staring into a car’s lights. It wasn’t that I was star struck. I really didn’t give two hoots about Reba. It was the fact that she was beautiful that had me looking like an idiot. Her flaming red hair was massive and must have consumed a half-gallon of Aqua Net. With the aid of sparkly heels she was tall. Her dress was very ornate in a country type design, cut short to showcase her flawless legs, and had a plunging neckline leading to a valley of cleavage.

Her eyes were a piercing, sky blue. I could not take mine off hers. She looked directly into my eyes and I was mesmerized, I was stunned, and I could not even think. I could feel my cheeks blushing and hear myself making sounds responding to her questions, but in all honesty I have no idea what she said to me or how long we talked. I can only remember she patted my hand before turning to walk away.

Read more at: http://thethrillsociety.com/blushing-on-reba/

Hacking on David Letterman

http://thethrillsociety.com is your link to Thrilling Stuff! This article is just a taste!

Congratulations to MontuckyDude for sharing his celebrity encounter

As the toothy, spectacle wearing, late night show titan ends his three decade long reign on the boob tube I thought it may be appropriate to share my one and only David Letterman story.

It was the late 90’s and I was driving down two-lane blacktop in central Montana bored out of my mind after an hour of watching nothing but rolling prairie farmland. I’ve had to pee for the last half hour and figure a pit stop would be a great way to break the monotony of my drive. I see a crusty gas station up ahead, glance down at my gas gauge and see a top up of petro would not be a bad idea. I pull into the gas station, hook the hose to my pickup, and start the pumping process. After I have determined the gas is going where it needs to I began to survey my dismal, dusty surroundings.

Standing at the pump next to me, doing exactly the same thing is David Letterman. Now Dave is one of those famous folks that is easily recognizable. I am not sure he could blend in with the common folk if he tried. He is tall and with his trademark glasses it was obvious that it was the late night, funny guy.

Now I have to admit I am not easily star struck. Montana is full of stars. One thing I believe stars like about Montana other than the scenery is the lack of paparazzi. Plus most Montanans really could not care less about famous people. In fact in the pretty parts of Montana it is actually quite common to see famous people. But out here on the barren, wind swept prairie I was quite shocked!

I also have to admit I have probably never watched an entire episode of the David Letterman show. Sure Dave is funny, but late night shows are not really my thing.

So Dave finishes gassing and heads into the dungy station. I finish my pumping a couple minutes later and follow him into the small store seeking a desperately needed bathroom. Hearing the gas flow into my pickup’s tank had not helped things with my bladder at all.

Perhaps five minutes elapses and I honestly did not try to make the logistics work out, but I end up in line behind Dave. Dave is paying for his large, takeaway coffee and without even thinking about it, I look the cashier right in the eye and state, “You better check this guy’s back pocket, I think he is trying to steal a Hershey Bar!”

The cashier gives me a dead stare and if I could have read his mind I am sure it would have went something like shut the hell up dude!

Read more: http://thethrillsociety.com/hacking-on-david-letterman/