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A Cowboy Needs a Horse

Have you ever heard of Big Week?

No, it is not the aerial bombing of the 1940s.

And no, it is not the Biggest Losers counterpart – Smallest Winner.

Where I am from, Big Week is Rodeo week. It is held every year toward the end of July and is supposedly the largest on the west coast.

Cowboy Needs a Horse

Now, I may have redneck tendencies, but I am no cowboy. Disney Sing-A-Long has contrived a list of requirements one has to ascertain to be designated a cowboy. A cowboy needs a horse, a hat, a pair of fancy boots, a set of shiny spurs, and a rope-o-o-o if he wants to be a cowboy. Let me calculate my haul of currently owned items…Carry the two, subtract the W, add pie, pumpkin preferably…Zero. That suggests my attire for such an event is exiguous in comparison to fellow attendees. I end up looking like a Hipster-Wannabe-Cowboy with a plaid shirt, skinny-FIT jeans (there is a difference), and some shoes. Meanwhile, I see men and women dressing to the nines in their western wardrobe. I’ve always wondered, wow, for a country guy (or girl) they sure look spiffy. I’ve wondered how they have kept their clothes so crisp and immaculate. I’ve come to the conclusion it is because they only wear the shit once a year. Now, my town has its fair share of rednecks, but we are more infamously known for our gang affairs. Local law enforcement is just not well versed in managing snapping Broadway gangsters. One would reckon that Jazz Hands 101 be a prerequisite to graduate the Police Academy. Regardless, fact of the matter is this town does not have that many country people. We do have a lot of pretenders. And none are The Great.

I know this to be a fact. I have friends who participate in these rodeo festivities. Friends who are only cowboys for 168 hours. While not the same amount of hours, I liken it to how long it felt when watching James Franco’s movie. It appears to be a lengthy carving of time, but put in perspective with the 8766 hours in a year, it’s rather brief. It does not prevent them from embodying their western clothes and jumping up on that “high horse.” Pun(s) intended. For one week they think they are some badass cowboy. Until I remind them, “You work at Carls Jr., you don’t listen to country music, and you’ve never even ridden a horse. The closest you’ve come to western is selling me a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. Now, which window do I pull up to? The second? Why do you have two windows, but only occupy one? I want to know what’s behind window number one.” Okay, I got carried away with that fabricated conversation, but the drift has been got.


There are exceptions to this rule. Women. I do not care if you have never seen the stars above the city glow. If you want to slap on some daisy dukes, roll up your t-shirt, and rock some boots you go right ahead and do so. There are so many cheap jokes here, I’m talking five cent spittoon cigars worth, but I will take the high road, the one that leads off into the sunset. In a car.


Rumbling in my Tumbling

Every morning I wake up…That’s a lie. Let’s try again. The times I wake up and it is still morning, I can guarantee that my stomach will want to have a long conversation. I can never quite understand its mumbling idioms and its volume fluctuations. All I know is that when I eat, I silence the beast. Maybe the language of the stomach has a motley spectrum of phrases that all stem from, “FEED ME!”

People usually hate their stomachs because they have difficulty controlling their eating habits, they hate its appearance, or it gives them stomach aches; I hate mine for growling, nay, roaring. It can make any canine cower and whimper. It can make a thunderstorm appear mild in comparison. It can make a G6 sound like a G4 (Which means it is quiet. Almost like a TV channel nobody watches). I may not be as fly as a G6, but my stomach can be as loud as one.

It is an attentive alarm that keeps my food schedule on course. I have learned to pack snacks just to appease it throughout the day. There is nothing worse than being in a peaceful environment and having your stomach start acting a fool. This has happened on more than twenty-seven occasions. I have learned to battle the growls with stomach tightening techniques. I am not sure how effective this is, but I still make the attempt. I’m like a Jedi trying to work my mind tricks on the dark side of the force. Like a Qui-Gon Ginn taking on Darth Maul…It never ends well.

One time I was standing in line at a clothing store. My stomach began to act up. Everyone within its radius turned and gave me appalling stares. I wanted to growl in unison with my stomach. You know, get animalistic, but I did not. I really just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. When it was my turn, I placed my item on the counter. I was buying a cardigan. He totaled out my purchase and I swiped my card. I proceeded to believe my card transaction cleared when the cashier said, “Would you please just swipe your card again?” I responded, “Really?” He nodded. I thought, hm, if you insist. I picked up my cardigan and walked out. As I walked out I was tackled to the floor by the security (Mall Cops). But…the cashier said I could swipe my cardigan. My stomach made another growl. I received that same disgusted look. I said aloud, “You are making my stomach angry…And you won’t like it when its angry.”

End Note: Okay, so that last story is completely fabricated. I don’t own a cardigan. I just wanted to make the joke, but I needed to make it fit in the blog. It fell flat, I know. I will admit it, but I will not omit it.

It’s Business Time!

Here I am, sitting in a small study cubicle on the campus of a school I no longer attend. This is what happens when I have no internet.

I still have research to do, so I inhabit the campus. I am a busy man. I have a lot of big deals cookin’. Actually, I do not have many big deals. I have been graduated for four months now. I have only been actively searching for better career prospects for the past two. The search has supplied me with some nibbles, but no solid bites. The job market is a treacherous one. There are just too many fish in the sea. If I am not the quickest and the largest fish to the hook, I am not getting the bait. I figure as long as I keep swimming and growing I will preserver.

In order to nab a career job one has to dress for success. As Barney Stinson would exclaim, “Suit up!” If one does not have a suit (I don’t), then dress in nice business apparel. This I can do. I have my dress shoes, black socks, black slacks, blue buttoned shirt, and a tie.

First off. About that tie…It just needs to be around my neck, right? It doesn’t need to look good? Cause let me tell you, for something called a tie, it does not do so easily. I was in the Boy Scouts for awhile when I was young. I learned how to tie a variety of knots, but they did not teach me how to tie a tie. I can tie 99 knots, but a half Windsor aint one. I equate tying a tie with doing a five-star magic trick. Only magicians are able to perform such feats. I found an app that would teach me how to tie a tie. It only taught me that I was capable of being further confused. I might go tie-less for my interview tomorrow. Judging by how my first attempt went (on your left, my left too) it might be beneficial to my cause. Of course, there are clip-ons, but I am a MAN. I should be able to tie a tie.

Secondly, I believe that we should be able to wear any type of shoe. Shoes add personality to the get-up. If I want to wear some clean Nikes to an interview and drop some swag on the meeting, I should be able to. At my current place of employment, we are restricted in our shoe choices. They have to be black. Personally, I think colored shoes make people appear more jubilant. Not that it matters now. I no longer have white shoes, so I no longer need an excuse. Still, let people choose their shoes without judgment. If someone is dressed in a suit with a pair of running shoes on, I say hire him. Not only is he business style-savvy, but he is all about multi-tasking and getting the job done in a speedy fashion.

What I am trying to say is that I am going to do things my way. When tomorrow comes, you better know that I will do what I want…::cough:: Which means I will be wearing a tie and black dress shoes.

(Ha. I bet you thought I caved to the societal business structure didn’t you? Wrong. What I forgot to mention is that is all I will be wearing. Birthday Suit Up!)