Apparently, my city's the shit. Who knew?

This morning, David tells me he has a present for me.

Now, I know most women would jump up and down with glee at the thought of a present from their man, but after 2 1/2 years I have learned to simply raise my eyebrow and reserve judgement until I see what it is.

Last night he went out for dinner with his new training class, and ended up going downtown to hit some bars. A gentleman was selling his CD's on the street, so David decided to buy me one.

He knows I'm a sucker for anyone selling their CD. There's tons of live music here in Nashville, and most musicians will also have copies of their CD for about $10. Not a bad deal - the CD is usually decent, and I figure a greater part of that $10 is going into a struggling musicians pocket than if I bought a CD at Best Buy. I get to listen to some new music while supporting the local music scene, so everybody wins.

Fast forward to this morning. I pop the CD in while driving to work. In hindsight, the "Parental Advisory" sticker should have given me a clue as to what I was in for. The first tracks had lyrics along the lines of:

I been to lots of places
I've seen lots of faces
I've smoked weed in my basement

and

Cashville is where I lay my head
I don't know about your city
But my city's the shit

I couldn't listen to anymore and switched to the radio. Fortunately JackFM was playing "Sweet Home Alabama" and I followed that up with some NPR until my ears stopped bleeding.

But thanks for the present, honey. You're the shit.