Sunday, October 24, 2010

National Public Rodeo Queen

I'm not really sure how it happened. It would be like if I had a child and she grew up idolizing Paris Hilton or dreaming of joining the Dallas Cowboy Chearleaders. How does one differ so much from those who nurtured and grew them from infancy?
I have just finished my cowgirl workout, which I partake in every six months or so, involving dirty boots, a stained ball cap, and anything from a pitchfork to a 4-wheeler. I came home for the weekend, because, well, I have it off and not much else going on and sometimes I enjoy playing farmgirl and hanging with the fam. It becomes evident, however, that "farmgirl" is not my destiny as I'm lecturing about socialism while pitching hay. It's no eqalitarian system round these parts, since the "dumb" steer in the hospital pen didn't need to get any more to eat, while the pretty new "weaners" were getting a smorgasbord.
There we were, my mother and I, out among the dust, rust, dogs, and cattle. She pointed out "that there brockel face," was a big ol' meany and would "ram jam" that poor sick calf. It's a whole other culture out here, complete with its own vocabulary.
In this post-chore, pizza, beer, football, and bullriding evening, I can't help but did I go from Rodeo Queen and Teen Age Republican Camp to Punk Rock Shows and NPR?
This post changed directions...and now I'm distracted. So I'm just going to post it and be done. :)

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