Just for Fun: Cowboys Give me the Hiccups

Just like good shoes, a good black dress and a lipstick that lasts all day, I believe every woman should have at least one cowboy in their lives, if for no other reason than to bring color to their cheeks during a cold winter.

I once saw a cowboy ride through a field where we were having a bon fire, swoop down and grab my girlfriend by the waist, put her on his horse and ride off with her. Talk about being swept off your feet.

Hic.

She married him.

Cowboys open doors, tip hats, kill snakes with their bare hands (I’ve seen them do it) and look really great leaned up against a fence post.

Walk past a cowboy and he will look you in the eyes, tip his hat and offer a greeting so sweet it’ll make you blush.

“Hello Darlin.”

“Hic”

“Ma’am”

“Hic”

You will never EVER hear a cowboy say “sup?”

I can handle hello, or hi, or even hey. Tip your hat and say ma’am or call me darlin and I’ll blush and start hiccuping, which is really just a cover for giggling if you want to know the truth. It’s embarrassing really. I try not to react and yet I can’t help myself. Cowboys are just too stinkin charming. Fortunately for me, I married a city boy from Chicago before I met my first cowboy. Good thing too otherwise I’d be living on a ranch in the middle of nowhere feeding chickens.

Have you ever met a real cowboy?

Now, I’m not talking about Clint Eastwood or John Wayne. Great men that they are.

No, Hollywood’s version of cowboy doesn’t even come close.

I’m talking

boots,

spurs,

flannel shirt,

hat,

charm,

horse riding,

cattle driving,

confidence and a swagger all their own

drive a woman to distraction

C-O-W-B-O-Y.

They work hard, play hard and love God and country like none other. They are loyal to a fault and will protect their family with their lives if they need to and work themselves to death in order to provide a home. I’m talking about the Marlboro Man live version.

Real cowboys make a woman lose all common sense. If you don’t believe me ask Ree Drummond. She married a cowboy and I don’t blame her one iota.

If you are from the north and have never run into such charm before I offer one piece of advice. When a cowboy tips his hat and says “Hello Darlin'” it is perfectly acceptable to look him in the eye, smile, and say “Hi Cowboy.” Just make sure you keep walking unless you want to live on ranch cooking beans and cornbread for the rest of your life.

Granted, if you are at a bon fire with your girlfriends and some cowboy (literally) sweeps you off your feet, by all means ride into the sunset with him. You won’t regret it.

By Popular Request: I’d Rather Have a Root Canal

I have given up all hope of convincing people I really am sane.

I have two stories requested the most, Fisher’s Of Men, and this one.

And I wonder why people think I’m neurotic.

I would rather have a root canal than go to the gynecologist:

  1. I get to keep my clothes on.
  2. I can watch TV
  3. The dentist has better drugs.

Not that I don’t like my doctors I do. I just don’t like being there. I am a social bug, yes. A social bug who likes to stay fully dressed. I’d rather host one huge barbecue in my back yard, have them all come over, serve beer and brats and call it good until next year.

I realize I should put on my big girl panties and deal with it, and I would if they let me keep them on, but they don’t. Let’s face it, we will burn our bras in public, let our bra straps show in the summer, even throw our panties on stage at a rock concert, but the minute we undress in the doctor’s office we hide our underwear. Why? Because we want to keep that Victoria a secret, that’s why.

I do not know a living soul who wakes up and says “oh boy I get to go for my Pap Smear (or colonoscopy or mammogram) today. Hurray!” No one in their right mind thinks that. To make matters worse, I am a redhead and I blush when people say hello, add naked to the equation and I look like I fell asleep in a tanning bed. Even if the doctor are brilliant, the office is clean and efficient and the staff is super nice, we’d still rather be elsewhere.  This is the one place where wham-bam-thank you ma’am could be deemed acceptable. Unless of course something is wrong and we wish to dialog. Then we want them to listen and take their time.

Some doctors like  to converse during exams.  It’s their way of gauging our emotional state as well as trying to put us at ease; only it doesn’t work does it? Whilst I am normally fond of warm, intelligent conversation, their conversational style can seriously mess with my dis-associative groove. I’d rather close my eyes and run my to do list through my brain than make eye contact while pretending I can follow our conversation.

And yet, we talk. Or rather they talk. I ramble incessantly about God knows what. My neurosis factor increases exponentially with the realization that well… I am at my gynecologists office. My brain is so deep in denial that when they ask which doctor I am seeing, I can never remember his name.

To call me an introvert would be a kindness.

To be expected to carry on a full conversation with a doctor, complete with eye contact, while sitting naked on a table, holding my gown closed with my hands, needs more Valium than their office is willing to provide. Personally, I am all for sedation gynecology.  Knock me out and wake me when it’s over.  It’s not like it’s a new thing my dentist offers sedation dentistry, it could happen.

Left without the comfort of clothing, or drugs, I grab the only shield I can reach – my gift of sarcasm.

  • You want to screen me for colon cancer? – That’s gonna cost you a roofie.
  • When was my last breast exam? Last year. I always fail those even though I cram all year for them.
  • Every day I gather up the twins and cram them into a wonder bra.
  • Raising teenagers feels like I’m walking a high wire, I need all the support I can get.
  • Do you know why they call them wonder bras? Because without it we spend our day wondering where our breasts went.
  • I know where mine went, they are hiding in my arm pits, they don’t want to be here either.

They’ve added a new trick to their trade by the way — a two for one deal really, you can now get checked for cervical cancer and colon cancer all in one visit. REALLY? Now I know why my dogs hate going to the vet.

Not only are the new tests rude, some doctors talk  more during our exams than our husbands do during sex. Why can’t they all be Woody Allen?

Some days going to the doctor is more than a girl can handle. Granted after dealing with me, I’m pretty sure it’s my doctors who need Valium.

Have a great week everyone and remember you are amazing! Nobody can take that away from you.

Right Brain vs Left Brain, this explains it.

I’m always fascinated by my oldest son who is able to traverse the hemispheres of his brain with little hindrance. He is both a brilliant mathematician and a poet. He is as comfortable in the safety of a world of order and structure as he is the free flow kaleidoscopic nuances of art and words. I’m envious.

It is possible to do what my son does, after all he does it. My husband does it. Me, not so much, but I can. I used to engineer circuit routes for long distance companies and build switch rooms and PBX systems. The whole reason I enjoyed it and was so good at it is because I got to create something from nothing. While technical in trade, requiring systematic order and logic,  it is also an artistic and creative endeavor.

A friend posted this on Facebook today. I believe it does a bang up job explaining the nuances between left and right brain. While I’m definitely more in the right hemisphere I’m learning that like my son, I too can traverse back and forth rather well.

The text reads as follows:

Left Brain: “I am the left brain. I am a scientist. A mathematician. I love the familiar. I categorize. I am accurate. Linear. Analytical. Strategic. I am practical. Always in control. A master of words and language. Realistic. I calculate equations and play with numbers. I am order. I am logic. I know exactly who I am.”

And for the right brain:

“I am the right brain. I am creativity. A free spirit. I am passion. Yearning. Sensuality. I am the sound of roaring laughter. I am taste. The feeling of sand beneath bare feet. I am movement. Vivid colors. I am the urge to paint on an empty canvas. I am boundless imagination. Art. Poetry. I sense. I feel. I am everything I wanted to be.”

Given these definitions I am definitely more comfortable in my right brain. What about you? 

Waiting for Boaz.

(Not mine) Seen floating around Facebook –if you are the owner of this and you see it, would you please tell me? I’d love to give you credit. Thanks.

To all the girls who are in a hurry to have a boyfriend or get married, a piece of Biblical advice: “Ruth patiently waited for her mate Boaz.” While you are waiting on YOUR Boaz, don’t settle for any of his relatives; Broke-az, Po-az, Lyin-az, Cheating-az, Dumb-az, Drunk-az, Cheap-az, Lockedup-az, , Goodfornothing-az, Lazy-az, and especially his third cousin Beatinyo-az. Wait on your Boaz and make sure he respects Yoaz..

Crazy Horses, The Osmonds, and the Tulsa State Fair

The fair is coming! The fair is coming! — The Tulsa State Fair is opening one week from today on September 30,2010. I absolutely love going to the fair; the concerts, the games, the rides, the food, the wild life, the animal shows, and everything else. Third Day is coming this year and of course my husband wants to go. 

DH thinks I’m a little sheltered on the whole concert tour thing. I don’t understand how he can say that, I mean I’ve seen wonderful performers like Rick Springfield, The Starlight vocal band(Afternoon Delight),The Silver Fox (Behind Closed Doors), Tony Orlando and Dawn, Rex Smith, and who can forget — the Osmonds.

I was ten when they came to the Detroit State Fair. My mom took the day off work — without pay — to take me. I’d show you pictures to prove how close I was to the stage — Donny’s sweat dripped on me — sigh. But a caterwauling ten-year-old and a camera do not mix. I have images of a blurred purple tie over laying a whitish leisure suit on this really skinny – albeit also blurry brunette boy. I can see purple socks as well, so I am going to assume it’s Donny and you are just going to have to take my word for it here. — I did include a Crazy Horses Video from that era for good measure though.  

So, what bands do you remember seeing at the state fair? Who was your favorite?

It’s Like Dr Seuss for your house

It's made to do that!

“The act of creation is a profoundly satisfying experience.  Taking an abstract idea, giving it form, refining proportions, placing lines, integrating functionality, and giving this spark of imagination a real, physical presence is a process that gives me great joy.” – Vincent Leman of Dust Furniture   

 I’m taking a much need break over my whiney health issues to bring you something really really cool. I was searching last night for a new cabinet for our bathroom when I found this page. I had to do a double take, because surely this is a set designer for Whooville, right? Nope.  Vincent Leman is a carpentry artist out of Indiana and I think his page rocks!   

Even though he does create more compact pieces, most of his design work requires larger rooms in order to fully appreciate their function and form. Check out the blue book-case to the right. Don’t you just love the lines, and angles? I do.  

Honey, I know what I want for my birthday!  

I’m guessing his work is really more appropriate for libraries and story telling corners, or classrooms even. But still — wouldn’t you just love having one of these pieces in say a home nursery or child’s playroom?   

I’m in love, no doubt about it. And I wish beyond wishes that I had a child’s room to decorate or some other fun type place in my home to put one of these wonderful pieces.   

So, that’s my fun and frivolous for today.    

Hope you guys are having a wonderfully fun Thursday. Go outside, enjoy the sunshine and breathe deep the joys found in today.  

Disclosure of Material Connection: I have not received any compensation for the above mentioned books, authors, or blogs. I am only recommending people, writers, that I personally enjoy and think might be of interest to my readers. I have no material connection to the brands, products, or services that I have mentioned. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart, April 8, 2010. All rights reserved.