I can't live without you.

I heard Ashley McBryde on the radio last night for the first time, and I FREAKED OUT MAN.

I love her.

Songs We Love: Ashley McBryde, 'Andy (I Can't Live Without You)'

I will always remember where I was when I heard her song 'A little dive bar in Dahlonega' for the first time. 

This song is life changing. 

A little dive bar in Dahlonega

To the bag packed, first love leaver
The heart cracked, double down dreamer
The homesick for grass that's greener
And a slice of Mama's peach pie

To the flat broke, couch cushion gas money
The worker bee that ain't gettin' no honey
Missin' someone all the while runnin'
Gunnin' for the brighter lights

Here's to the break ups that didn't break us
The break down, wrong turn that takes ya
To a little dive bar in Dahlonega
Hear a song from a band that saves ya, man
It's hittin' rock bottom smoke 'em if you got 'em
Nothing's going right
Makin' the best of the worst day kinda night

We've all got a number we don't wanna drunk dial
And a good friend we ain't seen in a while
And a slow dance left in these boots
And a chance at puttin' down new roots

Here's to the break ups that didn't break us
The break down, wrong turn that takes ya
To a little dive bar in Dahlonega
Hear a song from a band that saves ya, man
It's hittin' rock bottom smoke 'em if you got 'em
Nothing's going right
Makin' the best of the worst day kinda night

Here's to the break ups that didn't break us
The break down, wrong turn that takes ya
To a little dive bar in Dahlonega
Meet a girl outside Atlanta
Then when it's hittin' rock bottom smoke 'em if you got 'em
Nothing's going right
Just singin' along with your drink raised
A pretty little blonde thing's looking your way
Makin' the best of the worst day kinda night

And, it's makin' the best of the worst day kinda night
Oooooh, here's to the break ups
It's that kinda night

Conversations.

K, why don't you have any clothes on?

Little K, in all of her 4-year-old glory: "Cos I be naked."

All right.

Maren type of mood

La-a-a-a-a-di-da
La-a-a-a-a-di-da

If I had a dollar every time that I swore you off
And a twenty every time that I picked up when you called
And a crisp new Benjamin for when you're here then gone again
And a dollar every time I was right about you after all

Boy I'd be rich, head to toe Prada
Benz in the driveway, yacht in the water
Vegas at the Mandarin, high roller gambling
Me and Diddy drippin' diamonds like Marilyn
No I wouldn't be covered in all your IOU's
Every promise you made me would have some real value
'Cause all the little lies rolling on your lips
Is money falling from the sky (ka-ching, ka-ching) shit I'd be rich

La la la di da
I'd be rich
La la la di da

If I had a dime every time that you crossed my mind
Well I'd basically be sitting on a big ass pile of dimes
And all the times that you make my heart feel cheap I might as well have won the lottery
All of this pain and me cursing your name would just turn into dollar signs

'Cause I'd be rich, head to toe Prada
Benz in the driveway, yacht in the water
Vegas at the Mandarin, high roller gambling
Me and Diddy drippin' diamonds like Marilyn
No I wouldn't be covered in all your IOU's
Every promise you made me would have some real value
'Cause all the little lies rolling on your lips
Is money falling from the sky (ka-ching, ka-ching) shit I'd be rich

La-a-a-a-a-di-da
I'd be rich
La-a-a-a-a-di-da

Told myself I wouldn't do this again
But how much you wanna bet I'mma do this again?

Rich, head to toe Prada
Benz in the driveway, yacht in the water
Vegas at the Mandarin, high roller gambling
Me and Diddy drippin' diamonds like Marilyn
No I wouldn't be covered in all your IOU's
Every promise you made me would have some real value
'Cause all the little lies rolling on your lips
Is money falling from the sky (ka-ching, ka-ching) shit I'd be rich

La-a-a-a-a-di-da
I'd be rich
La-a-a-a-a-di-da
I'd be rich
La-a-a-a-a-di-da
I'd be rich
La-a-a-a-a-di-da

Favorite piece of journalism

To date, this story from The Denver Post is my favorite piece of journalism.

I read it again today, as a reminder that writing is an art that I will probably never master.

I read it again today, as a reminder that you can remember strong writing years after you've read it.

The red team.

My Dad has been taking the twins to high school basketball games here in town.

Specifically, he takes little L.

She likes the cheerleaders and the drill team. She calls them the "pretty red girls."

When she was at my house last weekend, I asked her right before bedtime if she wanted to say prayers. Who are we going to think about and pray about tonight?

She thought for a minute.

"The red team."

The what?

She repeated herself a few times, then I finally figured out what she was talking about.

The high school mascot here is the Demon, and we wear red.

The cutest little red-head in the world was praying for high school sports teams, aka "the red team."

So we prayed for them, and I threw in some stuff in that prayer about health and happiness for the red team as well.

Well played, little red-haired girl. Well played.

A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.

BAR JOKES FOR ENGLISH MAJORS…

A dangling participle walks into a bar. Enjoying a cocktail and chatting with the bartender, the evening passes pleasantly.

A bar was walked into by the passive voice.

An oxymoron walked into a bar, and the silence was deafening.

Two quotation marks walk into a “bar.”

A malapropism walks into a bar, looking for all intensive purposes like a wolf in cheap clothing, muttering epitaphs and casting dispersions on his magnificent other, who takes him for granite.

Hyperbole totally rips into this insane bar and absolutely destroys everything.

A question mark walks into a bar?

A non sequitur walks into a bar. In a strong wind, even turkeys can fly.

Papyrus and Comic Sans walk into a war. The bartender says, "Get out -- we don't serve your type."

A mixed metaphor walks into a bar, seeing the handwriting on the wall but hoping to nip it in the bud.

A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They converse. They depart.

A synonym strolls into a tavern.

At the end of the day, a cliché walks into a bar -- fresh as a daisy, cute as a button, and sharp as a tack.

A run-on sentence walks into a bar it starts flirting. With a cute little sentence fragment.

Falling slowly, softly falling, the chiasmus collapses to the bar floor.

A figure of speech literally walks into a bar and ends up getting figuratively hammered.

An allusion walks into a bar, despite the fact that alcohol is its Achilles heel.

The subjunctive would have walked into a bar, had it only known.

A misplaced modifier walks into a bar owned a man with a glass eye named Ralph.

The past, present, and future walked into a bar. It was tense.

A dyslexic walks into a bra.

A verb walks into a bar, sees a beautiful noun, and suggests they conjugate. The noun declines.

An Oxford comma walks into a bar, where it spends the evening watching the television getting drunk and smoking cigars.

A simile walks into a bar, as parched as a desert.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to forget.

A hyphenated word and a non-hyphenated word walk into a bar and the bartender nearly chokes on the irony.