you can call me Rebar Girl!

Rebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nikeRebar Girl in Nashville-- for the love of nike
So I just got back from spending the weekend in Nashville. It’s a lovely place, but I’m not so sure I belong there. It’s the land of country music and cowboy boots. It seems that I should fit right in, being from Texas and all, but I can’t say that I do.
Any place that has giant figures of Elvis up and down the street isn’t for me. As a child, I would burst into tears every time “The King” came on the radio. Another thing made me really uncomfortable is that people decorate with rebar there. REBAR! You know that stuff they put in concrete like steel mesh to make it stronger? I hate rebar. I’m terrified of it. It’s so ominous and creepy. It sits there, taunting you as if you could be impaled by it at any moment. (okay, maybe I’m being a bit dramatic) Needless to say, I unknowingly got a little too close to a stairway post made out the dreaded metal and scratched a big chunk out of my arm.
My worst fears realized, I decided I needed to face my demons like Batman, embrace the darkness, and use it for good. So now you can call me Rebar Girl! My colors will be blue and yellow and I’ll forever wear a pair of Roshe Runs. Makes total sense, I know.
On a more positive note, I did spot the little cutie that went viral on YouTube for singing that Teenage Dream song. He has the best facial expressions. I want to be his friend.