We three sibs kick our great American road trip off with a Wednesday evening dinner and an American Idol viewing at Bailey’s restaurant on the Broadway strip in Nashville. We ask our waitress to take our picture together and she asks where we’re from and what we’re doing on our vacation. After explaining that this is the only the second time we’ve ever spent time together and that our story is ‘complicated,’ our waitress shrugs and says, “Oh yeah, I understand that. My momma was basically a crack-whore and I was born in a Texas commune and I’ve officially got five daddies and thirty-two siblings. And I stay in touch with most of them, too.”

“Wow, that’s really got to cut in to your social time.” I reply.

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The hotel in Nashville leaves much to be desired, mostly cleanliness. The couch was covered with mystery stains. So, we make our brother sleep on it and we girls take the beds. I sleep fairly well and upon awaking, I stretch and yawn under the covers and when I pull my hands up from underneath the covers, there is a . . . . grimy sock . . . in my hand and I’m still kind of shaking the cobwebs out of my early morning mind and I’m confused because I don’t have any socks like this . . . and that’s when I realize that this isn’t my sock. Ahhhhhh! Yuck! Eeeeew!

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Yesterday morning we leave Nashville, after eating breakfast at Waffle House, of course. I love Lib’s Patty Melt. I scored some paper Waffle House hats, but have refrained from using them thus far. We head off for Kentucky – The Bluegrass State, where our Dad and stepmother live. None of us have ever been to their house, so we call Dad for directions. This may sound like a simple procedure, but oh no. It takes all three of us to navigate. Tammy keeps muttering, “I knew I should have brought the GPS.” Jimmy is on the phone with our Dad and it’s my job to write the directions down. I kid you not; here are the important parts of the route. I still don’t know how we found it. “Look for the DQ after the country school. There’ll be two lakes, an iron fence. At the T, take a right. Look for the camouflage golf cart and the dragon in the ivy. Park by the pimp van.” I’m here to tell you, there is no DQ in the country outside of Owensboro, but there is a tavern we’ll be checking out later.