I came to visit my friend, Kerry White in Memphis for the weekend before the Sinner’s Ball. I’ll get to the rest of the details about that as well as the mechanical bull ride at the Mississippi fair later… right now I have an issue which I need ALL the people to collaborate upon.

Kerry had been invited to join a podcast called Unholy Matrimony Show to do an interview. Kerry thought it would be a fun idea for ME to go ahead and act as him during the interview. “Here, put on this cowboy hat and just don’t break character….”

We were supposed to be live on a web-cam but for the most of the interview we were having technical difficulties which prohibited our viewing. Kerry told the people before the connecting call that he was trying out a new voice manipulating feature on his phone… knowing that *I* would be the one on the call.

I wasn’t fixed up because we’d just been lounging all day. There wasn’t time to do hair and make-up and junk so I was au-natural. There was like a 30 second delay between the phone and the web-cast, so I stayed on the phone outside while the guys listened inside. I carried it off well enough for about 10 minutes before we got the web-cam going. My favorite part was when they asked “Kerry”, “Did you say Ron White’s sister is there hanging out with you?” I replied, “Yeah, she’s GREAT! We love the shit outta her… she does a radio show in Texas and she’s got a book coming out called ‘The History of My Vagina and Other Sordid Tales’; you should pick up a copy when it comes out.”

About that time, the guys told me to come in and say hello to the camera. I knew my cleavage was going to end the charade so I gave up and said, “Hi, y’all! I’m Shea, Ron White’s little sister…” They immediately retorted, “Great, thanks for ruining the first 12 minutes of our show.” If I ruined it, why the fuck were they laughing?

As I handed the phone to Kerry for him to take over the interview I heard them say, “Ron White’s sister looks like a tranny.” A tranny? Really? I would have taken it in much more of a graceful stride if they had said I look like a dyke. Because I do – especially with no makeup in a cowboy hat but NO man has tits like these. At that point I could no longer hear any other conversations… all I could hear was, “Ron White’s sister looks like a tranny.”

My friend Julian Kross also did not find their insults amusing. He decided it was time to shine his ass hole right into the camera. It was a tricky angle to pull, but we managed it. Keep in mind, not just an ass shot, an ass HOLE shot. It was brilliant. They continued the show with intermittent shots of me coming in behind Kerry to flip off the camera.

Kerry finished the interview and their next guest was Chad Channing who was the original drummer for Nirvana before they picked up Dave Grohl. It probably would have been a cool interview to listen to had they not already pissed me off.

They kept our camera fed into the screen while they were conducting the second interview. Tracy (Kerry’s baby mama) stayed in the kitchen watching while the rest of us went back outside – even after they said about her “she must have been the prettiest girl in the trailer park.” Piss off a room full of comics and their ilk and see what happens.

Tracy brought the laptop outside and scanned the crowd again. I smiled as I flipped them off one more time. By the time Tracy got the camera back around to Julian, he was proudly displaying his testicles for the audience. They finally decided it was about time to go ahead and shut us down while they apologized to their “fans.”   

This “show” consists of a ½ assed hack comedian named Rory Karpf - who will never get more than middle billing - and his pregnant wife.

I just now found out that they decided to air the podcast anyway, but they cut out everything funny and decided to keep the part where they insulted me. They have 150 subscribers and decided to hack at someone who has 150,000 listeners every morning.

It’s time to take these fuckers out.

Go to this link on iTunes and give the show 1 star reviews and flag the show as offensive: itunes by clicking here – The “stars” of the show can also be reached at the following addresses: Rory@unholymatrimonyshow.com
Lauren@unholymatrimonyshow.com

As Tracy delightfully noted, “My grandfather died 6 hours ago and your podcast was still the worst thing that happened to me today.”

Please pass this video along to your friends before Sunday. Thanks! :)

http://voteronwhite.com/

          I lost my father when I was 7 years old. Shortly thereafter, Don Holcomb came into my life and has been my Dad ever since. I'm 31 now and looking back, he's the best Dad I ever could have asked for – even if I'd special ordered him.

          When he married my mother I was a confused and angry child, and he was big and fuzzy and I just didn't know what to think of him. I wasn't ready for a new dad, and unfortunately I held that against him for far too many years. He'd never been married before nor had any children of his own until I came along … because he loved my mother, he inherited a rebellious and unruly child he could have just as easily chosen not to deal with. I thank the powers of the universe that he was a kind and patient man because God knows I tested him. He rarely even raised his voice to me when - for the majority of my teenage years - I deserved tenfold. Whenever he did get around to the lecturing part, I always knew he meant business. The parts of me that wanted to dismiss his disappointment and discipline were later equally represented by my understanding and respect.

          He was always a "by the books" kinda guy, and I never really believed in books when they were about rules and such. But because I saw in his eyes the belief and trust that there have to be rules in place in order to protect people and attempt making the world in which we live in a better place to exist, I understood why he stood so firmly by those rules – even if I didn't agree with all of them.  

          He was a probation officer, and I'm willing to bet I put just as many gray hairs on his head as anything else related to his job. When I got into trouble, I could deal with anything mom had to say, but I never wanted dad to find out – as he inevitably always would – because I couldn't stand to see the sadness in his face and thinking I'd failed him. They always told me if I ended up in jail, I was going to have to sit it out and learn my lesson. I fully expected it from both of them since they both worked in "corrections." Well, I did go (and not because I'm a felon, but because I didn't understand the seriousness of paying speeding tickets) and when I did, dad was the one who showed up to bail me out. I've rarely felt such shame as I did that day, but I'll always remember the caring and understanding he showed me through those moments. My perception of him slowly began to change.

          I was 18 when I went to the hospital to have my daughter, Abbegale. She went into trauma and I had to have an emergency c-section. Dad's cousin adopted her and was there to take her home, while I was sent back to mom and dad's house for my body and heart to heal. Mom and I pulled up into the driveway but I was still in so much pain, I couldn't walk. Dad came down the steps and out to my car where he picked me up and carried me all the way to my room. The love I felt in those big, strong arms of his that night changed my soul forever. I knew then that this man would do anything in his power to help, protect and love me. And he did.

          He put his life in danger more than once to protect me from my bad decisions, and he made sure I never went without anything I truly needed. When my water heater blew out and I couldn't afford a new one, he was here the next day to install one for me that he'd bought – even though he didn't have the extra money laying around either. When my fridge went out, he and mom rearranged their finances to make sure I wasn't eating ham out of a beer cooler. My Christmas present that year was a small fridge, but it did the job I needed it to do and it lasted me quite some time. Luckily, by the time I blew that one up (literally – don't ever use a chisel to defrost the freezer) I had grown responsible enough that I had enough money in my savings account to buy myself a new one. I'm sure he was relieved that by the age of 30, I'd finally pulled myself relatively together.   

          Because of him, I learned that sometimes you can have a conversation in silence… I learned that rules aren't always there just to be a bummer… I learned to always wear my seat-belt and promptly pay my speeding tickets… I learned it's wiser to put money back instead of spending it all on beer and shoes… I learned that sometimes people make fun of you if you blow your nose one nostril at a time, but that it's usually more efficient… I learned how to tie a double Windsor knot and shoot a gun safely – not at the same time, but still both handy lessons, nonetheless.  

Now he's gone on to the next plane and there will be no more bail outs… I have to be a grown-up now and take what I've learned from him and do the best I can to be the person I hope he's proud of. I'll miss his Grizzly Adams looking face and those big bear arms, but I'll never forget the love and comfort they exuded.

Happy trails, Dad. I love you.   

I've often been considered cold and calloused in certain circles, and been assured many times that negative karma awaits me. Statements like these are mostly made by men with whom I've shared some sort of relationship – physical or not. Their woes all have one common denominator...

[The names in this story have not been changed to protect anyone.]

            I didn't really understand how music was made until I was around 13 years of age. It was at this time I entered high school and started mingling with members of local bands. By 14, I was the first devoted follower of a band called Plunger Accident. It included Jere Tooley, Bryan Phillips, and that guy John (Alexander?) who burned me with a lighter when I was 15. The scar from the lighter incident remains to this day on the inside of my right arm. Occasionally they'd play shows at a warehouse down on 7^th and Bryan Street, which later became known as The Egg. Any member of the "punk rock scene" back in the day in Amarillo remembers going to a show there. It was here that I learned of a band with even more stage presence called Big Mama Crumb. The members I recall were Spinner Lopez, D.J. and Cube. Mainly, I remember Spinner.

            Spinner had an energy that dominated any room in which he appeared. His voice was loud and deep; his hair was long, curly and luscious. He had his pick of any girl in the room and much to my dismay, it was never me. I had a blistering crush on him for many years from afar, but never knew how to get his attention.

            The day I turned 17, I was living in a duplex in the ghetto and Bryan Phillips announced to a crowd somewhere that the after-party would be held at my house. Few of the attendants knew who I was but I was happy to have them… until Josh Rogers stole my bong, but that's another story. I was sitting on the floor of my kitchen on a fist full of acid watching the wallpaper dance when Spinner came in and sat down next to me. For a moment, I wondered if this was an additional hallucination. Then he said to me with a look of concern, "Hey, pretty girl… why are you in here all alone?" As I watched the linoleum twirl, I told him I didn't really know anyone there, that it was my birthday, and that my boyfriend had deserted me to go look for more drugs on the north side of town. It was then that Spinner Lopez sang Happy Birthday to me in Spanish. It was soft, deep, sexy, and truly surreal. Shortly afterwards, he disappeared not to be seen for many years to come.    

I joined MySpace in 2005. By March of 2006, I'd found Spinner once again living in California. I'm sure we had several mutual friends on whose pages we could have found each other. I drink sometimes and therefore cannot remember specifics on that particular encounter. I can still remember flying the Batman kite when I was 3 across the street from my house in Deer Park and it flying away, but other things are lost. There is apparently no rhyme or reason to my memories, nor their loss. Anyway, this round with Spinner, I finally caught his attention. I don't know whether it's because I had more confidence or better hair, but he was all about me. I asked if he remembered me from several different occasions, and the answer was always "No." What about the time you gave me a ride in Tooley's red truck over to that chick's house? Nope. *Sigh* I finally decided it didn't matter what he did or didn't remember, but that we could start new memories as of now. We talked every day, and by April he was announcing his undying love for me from every rooftop. I heard him do literally just that over the phone more than once.

I was baffled by the fact that I had now wrangled that which was previously unattainable. He was VERY drunk the first time he told me that he loved me, but he never took it back, so who was I to deny its return? Even in the mornings before he started drinking he'd send me emails professing his adoration. April 13, 2006: "mucho amor mi Corazon." Who wouldn't eat that shit up? It was exactly the emotional fodder I'd been hoping for and dreaming of to fill the hole of despair in my soul that was created by the delusion of thinking no one could ever love me.       

Only having each other by phone was driving us both crazier than we already were by normal psychiatric standards. Because he had a roommate in California and family here in Texas, we decided it would be better if he flew here. I bought him the ticket and he was on his way. Somewhere between the booking of the flight and his actual arrival, something fell apart.

I started to realize that when he drinks, he drinks A LOT. I have an apology email from May 10, 2006. Apparently he got drunk, then paranoid, and proceeded to blow up at me; about what, I don't recall. He took a couple days to "dry out", and by then I guess I'd had some time to think about some things. The first one on the list should have been the fact that he lives in California and I live in Texas. That's quite a fuckin' commute. Second, I don't need to associate with anyone who drinks more than I do. I do my best to keep a level frame of mind and not let it rule my life. I think it's safe to say I keep my shit fairly well together… when I notice myself slipping, I'm strong enough to tell myself to shake it off, pull myself back up, and get back on track. I can't do that while trying to hold somebody else up. My next message was from May 22. Spinner: "Where'd you go Newfoundland?" Me: "Yeah, that's where I went." (later) Him: "Ah the cold treatment, huh?" I was already blowing him off and he hadn't even made it to Texas.

On June 6, I have a message from him in apparent observance that I had changed my MySpace status back to single. It reads, "So you are single again? Well, that's kind of a messed way of going about things. I figured you would have the common decency to at least just call a mutha fucka just to let me know what was going on. I just have a question.  Did you cancel the trip to Texas? I just want to tell my family before they prepare for something and it not happen." He was correct – it was indeed shitty of me not to let him in on anything. I assured him that his trip to Texas was not cancelled and although I can be cuntish at times when it comes to my passive-aggressive behavior, I would never keep him from spending the time with his family that he had planned.  

A couple weeks later, his plane landed in my town. By then I had stopped returning his calls and emails. I didn't even tell him where I lived. Anyone who has known me since I was 19 knows I still live in the same house. He found a friend who knew and had them bring him here. I was on the couch watching a movie when I heard the knock at the door. I honestly didn't know who it was until I saw the large, dark figure standing on the other side of my window in the rain. It was my unattainable dream. I opened the door and stood there awkwardly for a moment as he sulked. I told him, "I wasn't going to let you come to town without at least saying 'hi' to you." He invited me out for drinks but I declined as politely as I could, most likely with a lie. I didn't even let him come inside the house. I promised I would see him before he left, knowing that was another lie. I never called him again.

           Two years later, I found myself in nearly the same predicament. I went to one of my tattoo shops about a month ago, and out of seemingly nowhere my friend Kelly asked, "So, did you ever hear back from Spinner?" My head reeled remembering she had been in on the loop of things, as few people were. I told her, "Nope. I know it got sticky there for a while, but I don't even remember specifically what went down that tore it all up." (This was due to the fact that only since then have I gone back through all my saved emails.) She replied, "You guys were really heavy for a while, then he asked you to marry him and it totally flipped you out." Oh yeah, that. Thanks for being sober, Kelly.

The very next day my phone rang and showed a California area code. I have a lot of friends out there and a new phone missing most of their numbers, so I picked up the call. It was him. My head spun for several moments before I could compose myself enough to even speak. "Um, hi." He told me he'd be coming back into town in a couple weeks and asked if I'd like to go out with him. I figured after ripping the guy's heart out, the least I owed him was a conversation and a beer. This time, I stuck to my word.

He flew in on Memorial Day weekend and said he'd be spending time with his family the first few days. I told him I could most likely fit him into my schedule on Tuesday. I drove across town to pick him up and wondered momentarily if there was a bar on that side of town I could take him to with cheap beer, but then realized there would be no distraction from our conversation or lack thereof in a place where I knew no one. I decided the extra gas money was worth it to get us back downtown to the pub where they had $2 beer and everybody knows my name. *insert Cheers chorus*

We walked in and I ordered a Shiner. The bartendress and I both looked over my shoulder at him as she gave him the nod inquiring what he'd like to drink. He threw two fingers up and said, "Dos." Renee is a fiery little spit-ball and she immediately barked, "Well, does that mean you want a Dos Equis, or does it mean you want two Shiners? Speak words to me." Her question was completely valid, and I couldn't help but laugh at her snippiness. We all concluded it meant he would like a Shiner Bock as well, as Renee continued her rant regarding the idiocy of the majority of her patrons. She and the bar-back, Tyler, both asked me where Vinny (my sidekick) was, as they rarely see me in there without him. I told them he'd decided to take home some Fat Tire and cook tortellini. Renee asked, "Why the fuck's he cooking tortellini?" I dunno. Sounded like fun, I guess. I was at that point VERY happy I had made the decision to drive us to an establishment where I knew the focus at hand could be deterred.

I'm sure it was obvious to everyone in the room that any discussion between Spinner and I was odd and stuttery, filled with moments of awkward silence. It had also become clear to Renee that the more nervous and awkward I am, the faster I slam back the Shiner. She's seen me drink before, but she could tell I was out of my element. I didn't know what to say or do. We have working for the radio in common, so we discussed the pros and cons of corporate blah, blah, blah, but were soon back to staring at the wall. Since my awakening time is painfully early, I had only planned on hanging out for an hour or two. Renee is damn good at her job and by the time my Shiner glass is down to its last ¼, she's already got another cold one sitting in front of me. She'll do it until I tell her to cut me off, and this continued for about 2 ½ hours. I put up the stop sign and told Spinner it was time to go.

           I still had my wits enough about me to tell him there was no way in holy hell he was staying at my house. I knew that line had to be drawn when I picked him up from his dad's and he brought a back pack. No sirreebob. He asked why and my answer was that I had to leave earlier than time would allot for me to take him anywhere the next morning and it was not a smart idea to leave him alone in my house with my dogs. They will eat you. He replied, "But I'm really good with animals – they love me." NO, NO, NO. "You're gonna have to pick somewhere else to go." He told me to take him to a hotel on I-40 (probably for pity points but it didn't work) and I obliged. We pulled up to the main entrance and I gave him a hug. He somehow slipped a kiss in on me and I guess in my intoxicated state, I decided it didn't suck so I kissed him back. After we realized I'd been blocking traffic for quite some time, he had me drive around to the back and all the while I was thinking, "Goddammit, Shea Lynn White, what the HELL are you thinking?" He began pleading for me to come upstairs with him. He said, "You don't have to do anything, I just want to hold you." NO, NO, NO. I'm a big girl, mister and I've heard that one before. I have to be awake and on top of my game – not you- in four hours for the morning show. This is NOT going down. Thank you for playing; hope you enjoyed the beer. He said he had to see me before he left. I asked when that was and his reply was, "Saturday at noon." I was pretty sure I didn't have to work Saturday, so I told him I'd see him on Friday.

Friday rolled around and he called from his dad's number which I also did not have in my phone. I was working with Slayter and Vinny at our "Weekend Starter Party" gig, which happens to be at the bar where the plot of this story hinged. I picked up the phone to hear a, "Hey, baby..." and was back to looking like a deer in headlights. Then, "Can I still see you tonight?" to which I could only reply, "I'm still working – I'll call you if I get a minute," knowing that was my legal loophole to not calling him back.

Before my shift was over, I got another call from another number I hadn't logged, but by then I had learned to not pick up the phone. I figured out yesterday when I finally checked my voice mail that it was indeed Spinner. Sometimes my gut works. During that shift I learned that Vinny had never seen a routine by Doug Stanhope. I immediately cancelled everything else that could have been considered entertainment for the evening and told Vinny, "Duuude, I'll buy the beer and you're coming to my house for a Stanhope marathon. I have three DVDs and you're not leaving until we're through all of them or I start snoring, whichever comes first."

Well, my snoring came first and I had once again blown off Spinner Lopez. And not in the good way. I felt kinda bad but had no idea how to explain why I'd done what I'd done. Today I hold the same dilemma.

Since he's still my friend on MySpace, I've been torn apart as to whether or not to post it there, wondering if he'll read it. It's going in the book anyway, so with as many common friends as we have in our circle, he's bound to get wind of it sooner or later either way.

So, Spinner, the base of the answer to the aging riddle of why I'm cruel and neurotic is that I'm still in love with another man who lives two hours away, and who ignores my texts and doesn't return my phone calls. I have been for at least 5, if not closer to 7 years. That answer can also substitute as a bottom line for most of the rest of you in any other given chapter.

Welcome to my passive aggressive torture. When I don't have the balls to cop to people directly, I rarely mind letting the rest of the world know. That's how I work. It's part of what makes me tick. It may not be kind or fair, but if any of them had taken the time for enough research, they would have already known.

Next, please.