If you follow me because you think I’m pretty, smart, super funny and athletic, and a bad ass chef, let me just say thank you (you’re too kind!), but I’m sorry to say that I have no recipe for you today. In fact, I’m about to reveal another side of me – the cowgirl boots-wearing, Luke Bryan-loving side – in honor of FINALLY going to see my fave country artist Miranda Lambert in concert tonight. If you didn’t know that I love country music and now you loathe me from a spot deep within your redneck-hating soul, I get it, but I’m still going to try to change your mind. I’m going to slip you a little Miranda, the gateway drug to country music . Just relax. Swallow it down. And let me take you on a ride to 2008, my first year of grad school.
Like many of you, I once “hated” country music. Then something happened. I went to St. Bonaventure. I started drinking beer. And I started dating a self-proclaimed country boy. He had a truck, played baseball, chewed tobacco and technically lived on a farm…in Canada. Yeah, that’s ALL another story for another day. Stop judging me. I like to call those the Dark Years. Except they weren’t dark at all because I was in college, having the time of my freaking life. I was just fatter. And stupider. But happy in a weird, in-explainable kind of way that only other Bonnies can understand.
It was during the Dark Years that I discovered Miranda. During a period when my white-girl problems were at an all-time high of, “Why won’t you be in a relationship with me on Facebook?” to “If you loved me, you would be here for my birthday.” to “Why won’t you dance with me?” to “I can have another drink if I want; you’re not my ‘effing father!” to “Why the ‘eff is this stupid ass girl texting you?” I had a lot of questions. Suspicions. Tears. Anger. And a stellar vocabulary. I was 21. I was a crazy, freaking mess. That’s basically a requirement of being 21 years old.
At least I didn’t pull a Britney. Who’s the crazy one now? (I love you, Brit.)
It wasn’t long before I got the answers that I didn’t want to hear. Even when you already know those answers, hearing someone say them out loud really sucks. It’s a slap in the face, and it burns. Like when you burn your hand on your hair straightener. You know you’ll eventually be fine, but for a while, that burning feeling just won’t go away. Then it blisters and pisses you off. You just want to stop being reminded of your own stupidity. Your pride takes a serious dive. And you have to figure out how to deal with all of that. You can: Go ape shit and destroy some things; lock yourself in your room and cry until you throw up; or save a little face, pump some Miranda, sling back a few shots and get out on the dance floor with your girlfriends. Or, in my case, you can do all three. Miranda comforted and supported me, but also fueled the fire. I guess neither of us are very good at handling breakups. No, not breakups. Getting cheated on. Repeatedly.
Why am I telling you all of this? Because as you scroll through my list of songs below, you’ll probably start to notice a pattern. Let’s put it this way: Miranda is to country music what Alanis Morissette is to the 90s. But aside from the man-hating lyrics, there’s a lot more going on than her song titles suggest. She’s one hell of an artist, but better yet, she’s a real person. She’s not a polished, stick figure; she embraces her curves. She’s not Paleo, but she loves meat. Her and Blake Shelton personally killed all of the meat served at their wedding. I bet it tasted awesome. And she rescues dogs. Oh yeah, and she’s married to Blake Shelton.
“Currently I’m not a crazy ex-girlfriend, but I can’t promise I won’t be one again.”
My Top 10 Favorite Miranda Lambert Songs
- Gunpowder and Lead
- White Liar
- Heart Like Mine
- Over You
- More Like Her
- Mama’s Broken Heart
- Only Prettier
- The House That Built Me
- Hell on Hells (Pistol Annies)
Other Favorites That Didn’t Make the Cut (In No Particular Order):