How to not be a feminist...

I couldn't find gender inequality if it hit me in the face.

I looked up the definition for feminism. It makes a lot of sense to me, I like equality, I even contemplated calling myself a feminist. Then I remembered that women often perceive things much too literally and taint the innocence of common interpretation.

Feminism-the advocacy of women's rights on the grounds of political, social, and economic equality to men.

There is a gentle, easy to swallow definition of something we should all, male or female, appreciate and hold in high esteem. All of that really makes me want to become a feminist! That's very empowering and makes me feel very connected to my fellow females!

Then some clown decided to gather a bunch of other barbies without brains in the streets and burn their bras. You just went too far feminists. You had something that men could appreciate and stand behind you with, then you had to do as women classically do; you blew the civil agreement out of the water and pissed everyone off.

I like being an equal and I have never had a problem being one. I hear women whine all the time about how men talk down to them for their interest in stereotypical 'manly' activities. I've only ever participated in manly activities and I don't recall one bad thing ever being said to me, they may have jeered behind my back but I never heard it which means no harm was done. Woman are professional jeerers anyway; does your own medicine taste bad ladies?

But all of that may come down to interpretation. Maybe Susan piqued an interest in automobile mechanics and when the boys suggested she go to school for it rather than trying to get a job with no prior knowledge she let her confidence fail her. Instead of considering that school would be an excellent idea she instead saw a challenge to her gender. Brittani wanted to be a horseshoer and the boys told her she wasn't strong enough but Brittani knew there was no reason why she couldn't be as strong as the boys so her confidence exploded and she was inspired to succeed. Susan is a sad nurse, Brittani is a happy horseshoer.

In my oh so humble opinion, feminism is none other than an excuse for woman to remain seated on the bottom step. Why climb over everyone else when you can just comfortably evade responsibly for your failure? It's harsh but I don't see woman trying. Women get paid less because they're not aggressive enough with the higher chain of command. Ask any woman and she'll even tell you that woman are less aggressive than men. If you want to be treated like a man then start developing the enthusiasm of men rather than dwelling on the injustices dealt to your gender.

Women are not equal to men though. In a broad sense of the word, woman cannot be men. There are some things woman cannot do; these are physical limitations and that is okay, we were all wired the same upstairs so don't get up in arms but be considerate of the endeavors you chose for yourself. If you're five foot tall and 90 pounds on your best day I wouldn't advise you to seek out employment as a firefighter the same as I wouldn't advise you to make your bid for Miss America if you're fluffy. (I want a hefty girl to be accepted on that level but I'm not the one who makes the rules.)

Men know their limitations because they weren't drilled from infancy on their gender disability and it's because there is none. There is an intelligence barrier, there is a strength barrier, there is a 'right place and time' aspect to success and there is a desire to achieve that not many have developed a taste for. 

Quit hiding behind your feministic hopes and aspirations because you're fighting a loosing battle, with yourself mostly. In my experience, guys will appreciate you, even look up to you when you excel at something that was deemed to be gender specific. Men aren't the ones holding us back ladies, adjust your own binds because your limitations are only those you put on yourselves.      

October in Texas...

You'll drink what they give you.

While procrastinating about shoeing horses in the new spring heat, I began to reminisce on all of the other things I'd like to be doing instead. I found this picture on my phone and that day came flooding back to me immediately.

It was October and it was cold and dark at 6am so I grabbed my felt hat and I loaded up Tulsa for her second day of work. Tulsa is race bred and she is tall and no bovine can outrun her. The day before we had gathered a big brushy pasture. She has lots of try and enough grit to make me proud but the miles had made her sore, I could tell because she quivered when the girth touched her belly. I barely got my foot in the stirrup before she humped up and spun a few circles with her head between her knees. I caught my other pedal as she spun into me and I gathered enough rein to be able to feel her head. The guys were watching from the door of the medicine room so I asked her for more, they laughed when she didn't have anymore to give. I was secretly glad she didn't have more to give.

By the time we were done riding pens I had already shed my wild rag and gloves and was wiping sweat that ran down a wrinkled trail between my eyes. My boss was the only one smart enough to not give up on his straw hat yet, this is west Texas after all.

My first loop from a new rope drug a sick heifer out of a tank she had run down into while trying to evade our horses. I spent the rest of the day peeling mud off of my leggings. The yearlings were straightening out so we didn't have too many to tend to. That's too bad because Tulsa was just starting to get good at working a rope.

Late in the afternoon we wasted cotton pads and casting material to attempt a vet's job on a calf that broke his leg. He shouldn't have tried to jump that pipe fence. Or he should've made it. The break was in a bad spot, that steer was on the hook and our work didn't hold. I don't know for sure but he probably didn't make it. 

We helped ourselves to a Miller Light as the sun began to set. I don't even like Miller Light but I did right then; it really doesn't matter what you prefer when you're hot and tired and frustrated. I wanted another when I finished the first.

I got lucky, that wasn't the last beer I was offered. We processed three loads of bulls that night; cutting and doctoring and tagging. I do believe it was past my bedtime when we made a beer run. That's when I was educated; never work for a man who has lights in his barn. Lesson learned.

Tulsa got the next day off. I did not.     

Being real...

I'm real because I'm not the same person I was before.

And I'm wildly inventive with jump construction.

 

 

I had things to do this afternoon. I had lots of things to do. I'm behind on my work, my house looks like it should be condemned and my pickup smells like a foot. A dead foot. So I came home from working and I jumped right on the 'responsible adult' bandwagon and began to check chores off my list.

Just kidding.

I laid on my stomach in the grass in my front yard for 45 minutes and I picked through every patch of weeds I could find looking for four leaf clovers. I'm ate up with bug bites, my jeans have grass stains on them and nothing got accomplished in the life of me. I didn't even find a four leaf clover. But my sanity was restored. I laughed at my dogs while they rolled in the clover patches I was tying to sift through and I took 100 pictures of my horse doing this...

 

All of this took me back to a conversation I had with a friend. He suggested that I may be portraying myself as being 'larger than life.' That concerned me. I want to be real. I don't want to be above anyone else and I most definitely do not want anyone to think I'm cool because if you meet me you will be terribly disappointed. I'm negative cool. I have afternoons like the aforementioned frequently, it doesn't get any more real than a grown woman picking grass.   

So I began to study myself, I wanted to realize all the bad or weird or unkind things about myself. I didn't feel like this was a negative endeavor because I saw it as a way of connecting with myself on a deeper level and being able to link my social maladies with those of the world. I advise everyone to explore their weaknesses, fears, complications and concerns. Start making yourself real right now.

Being real to me is being the person who makes you happy. It's doing the things that make you feel whole even if those things are not in line with your peers. Being real is being truthful with others about your knowledge and abilities but it's even more important to be true to yourself. Don't be who others want you to be. I'm real because I missed a turn into normalcy somewhere along the road to here and I'm real because I chose not to stop and ask for directions. Here's some other things that make me real.

• Most people close to me know I have an unhealthy infatuation with dinosaurs and dairy farming. They both get brought up a lot. I just want a stegosaurus to tear down some brush one day and walk across a wheat field in front of me, I imagine they would be pretty gentle if you left them alone. Every time I see a dairy farm, whether or not its been in production within the last 100 years, I make sure everyone knows about it and I delve into a classic textbook definition of what kind of parlor and milking system they are probably using. I've never seen this as being debilitating amongst peers but evidently it's weird.

• Some of you might think I posses a certain level of intelligence because I'm articulate when in fact I have the spoken word processing ability of a fetus. I transfer my thoughts via writing because I can not speak. I mumble, I stutter, I use the most basic form of communication not limited to waving my arms around, cussing like a sailor and yelling. I'm a yeller; I imagine that this comes from my upbringing because whenever I get into a fit I resemble a drunk Yankee Doodle which is reasonable. Very often I am, in fact, a drunk Yankee Doodle.

• Here's a good one for all my die hard puncher friends that don't already know and constantly remind me. None of my family is involved in any sort of agriculture. Not now or ever. No cattle, no crops. They're not ranchy by any stretch of the word. I was not raised with longstanding family values passed down through generations of corn pickers and tit pullers. I've even encountered some opposition from folks who seem to think that a certain passion or the ability to preserve this way of life is limited to a royal gene pool or where you were birthed. They're wrong.

I just want to be real. I want you to be real too. I want to be who I aspire to be and I'm blessed that nothing physical or mental is standing in my way. I've chipped away at those walls of oppression for too many years to back down now and if you haven't started chipping yet I hope I can give you tools to get to work. Nothing is out of reach if you know who you are and where you came from. I don't know any paleontologists to be responsible for my obsessions, I've passed the point of no return with my capacity for speech and my daddy didn't have to be a cowboy for me to be one. Just be real; acknowledge your capabilities, work past your disabilities and never stop striving to make life your own. I've been accused of running away from things when they didn't turn out in my favor but the way I see it is that I couldn't run toward my next goal fast enough, that's why I'm real.

Girls like me...

Girls like me are a little different.

Girls like me fall for bronc stickers and guitar pickers. It's as raw of an emotion as you will ever witness when a man climbs down onto a bucking horse and you'll be able to see the lust in this pretty little lady's eyes when my bronc sticker strums my favorite tune.

Girls like me are smitten by curly blonde hair that pokes out from beneath a wide brimmed silver belly. I like that he told me it was punchy and I believed him, girls like me can be jaded at times.  

Girls like me want bits and spurs because that used patina will always be more precious than dying roses and chocolate that really isn't even that tasty. You speak to my heart with gear I can cherish.

Girls like me would rather be in the pasture than at the beach and I'd rather crack a beer than sip a mojito, girls like me can be as uncomplicated as you can imagine but I can make your head spin like you never dreamed.

Girls like me value rough hands over soft hearts. I'd rather tend to your sores than try to mend your scars. Girls like me have a past but most importantly I can look forward to a future.

Girls like me don't want to drive your pickup, we have our own. I don't want your money and I don't want your land, I'm proud of the life I've made for myself and I don't need charity.

Girls like me don't need a man, we want one. I can hang off of your arm but I'm still my own person. You're still here because you make me better and I hope I can do the same for you.

Girls like me are a little wild. I'm a little mean but I'm a little sweet. I'm a little rude but I'm a little kind. I'll pick you up but I'll likely throw you around. If you keep your guard up I might let mine down.

Girls like me fall for bronc stickers and guitar pickers because their minds are right and their hearts are whole.

Build a relationship with your farrier...

Dirt is okay! Mud is not!

 

I have recognized that I was a complete moron as a horse owner when I had to maintain a relationship (or lack thereof) with a farrier. I was oblivious to the reasons why I couldn't get ahold of anyone to take care of my horses hooves and why they typically wouldn't come back for a return appointment. I blamed it on horseshoers; they are, after all, irresponsible drunks that can't hold a real job anyway. Right? Them are fighting words. Professional farriers, myself included, take their careers incredibly seriously. I can't imagine another set of professionals that spend their personal time and money as wildly as farriers do to advance their knowledge with continuing education clinics, meetings, books, certifications and competitions.

In my first year as a hoof care specialist I could've wrote a book on the aggravations of working with the public. If that book were to have been published I would've lost all of my clients because of my increasingly hostile attitude. Several years later I've learned to see the humor in life and I've been able to brush off the inconsideracy of many good intentioned, but unaware, horse owners. That experience has led me to the realization that the frustrations farriers encounter could be smoothed out if clients were willing to recognize their wrongdoings and work to correct a few inconsistencies in their procedures.

I've compiled a little list; I've left out the snarky attitude I often expose as much as I could because I appreciate each and every one of my clients and I hope that our relationships continue to grow. I strive to make your horses become better partners for you as much as I am capable of achieving, so my fellow farrier brethren and I could use your help.   

• Catch your horses for me. Please do not make my job harder by making me catch your horse in a twenty acre trap in the 110 degree west Texas sun. I am not his human and he doesn't want me to touch him. It's not fair for me to waste my time playing horse whisperer when I have other horses to attend to. Catch your horses and leave them tied for us or at least gather them into a small pen that makes it easier for us to catch them.
• Eliminate mud for me. You cannot control the weather and neither can I. Please dry off your horses muddy legs, I can handle dirt and mud in their hooves but when he has been standing in mud up to his belly I can't do as good of a job as he deserves.
• Make shade for me. Allow some sort of cover for me in the brutal summer heat; a tree, an overhang, your garage. I understand that your budget determines whether or not you can have a climate controlled barn but there are some ways you can prevent my slow decay in the elements. The sun is not only bothersome but it is dangerous when I work as hard as I do.
• Have some compassion for me. Sometimes I have to reschedule on rainy/snowy/icy days. I don't want to get behind with my work but if you don't have an adequate place for me to work out of the elements then I will find someone who does and I will have to switch you to more horseshoer friendly day or time. 
• Let me work. You may have a spoiled horse. That is okay if you want to operate like that but I cannot. You may need to leave the barn while I'm shoeing your horse because we have developed respect for each other but he does not respect you, therefore he misbehaves when you are present. Don't get defensive in this situation, recognize the difficult behavior I am having to deal with and then let me tend to it in a way I see fit. Don't get in the way.
• Work with your horse. I don't want to be a horse trainer. If your horse will not tolerate me working on him then you have work to do. I do not have time to turn an hour shoeing job into a three hour shoeing job. I will likely be inclined to quit working for you if your horses are inconsiderate of me or dangerous. I don't have a way to pay my bills if your horse injures me, my way of life is at stake.
• Keep your horse on a schedule. I'm not trying to take your money or do a quick job for beer money. Your horse's hooves will never stay in good shape and look like how you think they should look if you only get shoes replaced twice a year. It takes almost an entire year for a horses hoof to grow out which means that all of the flares and cracks you have let develop from negligence will never resolve if you're just trying to save money. I want to be able to stand behind my work and be proud of the condition of your horse's hooves and I cannot do that if you don't allow it. You should want to keep him in the best condition possible as well.
• Pay me. I understand that life happens. It happens to me as well. I'd be happy to let a good client hold off for a couple of weeks but when you go all the way until the next cycle without paying me and I see you posting pictures of your vacation on Facebook I may get agitated. I need the money too, after all, I already completed the work.
• Communicate with me. Tell me about yours and your horse's needs. If something is not working please share that with me. I want to do the best for your horse and I don't typically get to see him worked so I have no idea if something needs to change.
• Trust me. I'm not a vet, I don't claim to be and I don't want to be. If your horse needs vet attention I will recommend it. I'm not overly anxious about medical conditions and I will not suggest that you spend money unless I see it is entirely necessary.
• Be loyal to me. I hold you and your horses in high esteem. Not only are you responsible for my livelihood but I spend every waking minute thinking of ways to further my education to be a better asset to you. If a vet or fellow farrier talks badly of me or my work please evaluate it thoroughly before you jump on the band wagon. Come to me with your concerns and we can talk about it civilly, there is probably a pretty good explanation for something they are seeing and do not fully understand. I value you, please value me and my knowledge.
• Be courteous of my business. If you decide that we are not a good match for whatever reason it may be, please continue to be respectful towards me. If I made a mistake while working on your horses I would be happy to make it right if you allowed it and I would most definitely offer an apology for anything I unintentionally did. Horseshoeing is an art, not a science, it is fairly easy to make the wrong decisions and often necessary to make corrections. If you decide to let me go please let me know so I don't repeatedly try to contact you to set up future appointments and please do not talk negatively about me to other horse owners when I had been willing to fix, or discuss, our differences.

Build a working relationship and an open line of communication with your farrier, it will benefit both of you and you may be able to avoid the mistakes I made!

I never want to forget...

 

Can't forget 2005! We were babies.

 

I never want to forget my first truck; it was purple and ran on gasoline and it gained me entrance into the elusive high school "truck club." Or the first blue ribbon I ever won on the first horse I trained myself, I swear he would've jumped the moon for me.

I never want to forget watching them ship my boyfriend overseas and feeling like every muscle in my body quit working except the ones that made tears. Or the day my first horse took his last breath and knowing that God needed a good pony.

I never want to forget my childhood best friend; the trouble we got in, the fights we had, we laughed until our stomachs hurt and then it was over like it had never begun. Or the day I left home and promised I wasn't going back, and never did, but always wanted to.

I never want to forget the first racehorse I ever rode; my hands raw from gripping the rubber and nylon reins bridged across her neck, her body flattening out and the wind blurring my vision. Or the first bronc I ever climbed on; her eyes trained on the chute gate but her ears pointed at me, 1200 pounds of rock hard muscle quivering beneath me.

I never want to forget the first time I crossed the Red River and I knew I was somewhere I belonged. Or the summer we tied bronc saddles onto the headache rack of my flatbed Ford and toured Texas. We lived like kings in bedrolls, rode like fools and never made enough to cover fuel.

I never want to forget the first dance partner who pulled me close and meant what he said; nothing else in the world mattered. Or the sun rising on the back of my first home bred colt; she was perfect, she still is perfect.

I never want to forget anything that hasn't happened yet that fills me so full I could laugh or cry or scream. There's something special about the kind of emotion that lifts you up and marks your soul and truly makes you feel alive. Find what it is that makes you feel alive. 

 

You're so lucky, I wish I had your life...

A little boy at the Indian rodeo thought I was cool!

Let me tell you how flattering it is that people aspire to be me. It thrills me that I have done something that others want to do. I'm excited to share my experiences with people and I want to help others to succeed. I blush whenever cowboys tell me I did a good job and I smile big enough to hurt my cheeks when little kids want to take a picture with me.   

Let me tell you what agitates me more than most will be able to comprehend. Two words; luck and wish. These two words bother me so badly that I am going to dedicate an entire bullet point to each of them. I'll start with the definition of each word in case any of my readers practice English as a second language and need clarification. I'm only at the level of 'moderately sassy' tonight also, I'm breaking you in slowly to 'massively sassy.'

• Luck; success or failure apparently brought by chance rather than through one's own actions. That is the official definition. Wow, nobody has ever used a dictionary before, myself included evidently, because I was pleasantly surprised when I transferred those words. Luck is chance! Luck is winning the lottery. Lucky is the name of a kitten saved from a burlap sack headed for the stock tank. Luck is not having a brilliantly satisfying career and a life worth writing about. Luck is not what I have because I have careened into every pothole the road has to offer and plans I have relied on have went up in smoke time and time again. Mind numbing heartache and back breaking work is what I have invested.
• Wish; to feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that is not easily attainable; to want something that cannot or probably will not happen. Once again I bring you the official definition and once again I am thrilled. Every single one of you whiners needs to bust out a dictionary. How inspiring! How True! Wishing is to do none other than waste time deeming something unobtainable. I shall spend the rest of this entry describing to you how obtainable every single thing you ever wanted truly is. You want my life? Then come get it.

I can't seem to recall when I was at my lowest point, broken and alone, and someone approached me and presented me with everything I wanted that would cure my impossible state. I do recall being scared and depressed and having the feeling that I was the last human being on this planet. I remember when I thought nobody cared about me and I remember when I had no one to turn to. It was at that moment I decided that the only one who could change my situation was myself. I was the only one who could pick me up, I was the only one who could fix me. So I did. Its puzzling to me the massive amounts of people, especially people my age, who live in a mystical land of rainbows and entitlement. Where is this place? Because I don't know what it feels like to have everything handed to me. Nobody can make you into the person you want to be, you can be given everything the world has to offer and you will still just be a hollow shell. Fill yourself up from the inside out because how you feel will always be more important than how you look; happiness shines more brilliantly than beauty and wealth ever will.

Nobody has all the answers. A 'Ten Step Plan' does not exist to get you where you want to be. It won't be easy and it won't be fun unless you allow it to be. Life is about the journey, the destination is just a bonus. So many friends and acquaintances of mine question me regularly on how exactly it is that I do what I want with my life. That's simple; we have an undetermined amount of days left to live our lives, you can choose to lay down and accept whatever it is that falls into your lap or you can choose to chase butterflies because the butterflies are what makes you happy. I have done everything I have ever wanted to do up until this point in my life. When opportunities knock, I answer the door. I don't question how that opportunity could end up failing, I don't try to manipulate that opportunity to suit me. I just take the damn thing and I'm thankful for it and I do my best to mold myself into becoming the person I am continually growing into. When your old clothes don't fit anymore you trash them and buy new ones. You can keep buying grey t-shirts or you can take a chance on neon colors with sequins and fringe, if you decide your new shirt doesn't fit then take it back and try something new! You are the only one who is truly forcing yourself into a set of ideals, you can choose your own ideals. You can exchange your new shirt dozens of times, that is nobody's business except your own.

It's ok to change your mind, it's okay to be a quitter. Whoever preached to you that you should stay the course is a fool. Why on earth would you force yourself to continue doing something that makes you  unhappy or something you are physically terrible at?  During middle school I thought I was going to be a big tennis star so I bought all my gear and showed up to practice. As it turns out, Ray Charles could've annihilated me on the tennis court and it absolutely bored me to death. I didn't stick it out, I didn't embarrass myself. I sold all of that garbage and I slept in for the rest of the summer. That is what made me happy and I've never regretted it a day since. I would have regretted not taking that opportunity though, what if I would've missed my calling? I didn't make any excuses when I saw the flyer advertising the practice dates and I didn't think for one minute that I could've possibly been so horrible at it, I just did it with great intentions. It failed miserably but it takes every little stone to build a mountain, my mountain would crumble without those experiences.

Here's a plot twist for anyone that thinks my life is perfect; I'm not where I want to be in life and I'm not the person I want to be. That is okay. It's okay because I'm working on it, every day I'm working on it. Artists don't just dump a bunch of paint onto a canvas and it's a masterpiece. One layer of paint is applied at a time, little by little, until the image comes into focus and suddenly it's worth a million dollars. You are worth a million dollars. Right now you might just be a blank canvas, or maybe you have a few layers that you'd like to cover up, either way, it's obtainable. No sense in throwing out a masterpiece in the making.  

When I was little I told my family I wanted to be a cowboy and live in Texas. I sure didn't know where Texas was, I only knew the cowboys I saw on the television and most importantly I was girl. Bummer, I could never make my dreams come true now, impossible, only a wish. Right? But I wasn't raised to think that way, I was told I could go anywhere and be anyone I wanted to be and I believed that to my core. So I choreographed my entire life around moving to Texas and being a cowboy. I'll be damned if I'm not a cowboy living in west Texas. What if my plans had changed? What if I had decided that's not who I wanted to be? Then I just wasted all that time and effort? No, absolutely not. Every ounce of effort you put into yourself is magnified a trillion times to the people you associate with and that gets noticed. Doors open for you when you quit locking them with your poor attitude.

Please quit whining. Quit comparing yourself to everyone else. Quit waiting for your dreams to materialize. You can only be as happy as you allow yourself to be so you might as well start layering your paint now. Today, not tomorrow. You're a million dollar masterpiece, now prove it to yourself.

Can't hide anything...

The stars only show themselves in person.

I tried to take a picture of the stars tonight. The stars don't like to be captured. As hard as I tried and as far as I wandered trying to get something good, I just couldn't get evidence that the stars in west Texas are prettier than they are anywhere else in the world; you'll just have to take my word for it. So I accepted my failure, found a soft spot of grass and made myself comfortable. I let the earth work out the knots that had developed throughout the day and I took a mental note of every glimmering light so far away. The grass was cool and my shoulders began to lose their tenseness. There's nothing more peaceful than listening to horses munch hay only a couple of feet away.

And suddenly I realized that I've seen these stars before. The same stars. They were just as bright, they were just as special. I was ten years old and I was sporting my favorite overalls; they were too short for my long disproportionate legs and the knees were tattered and green from my adventures. I had a jar of fireflies beside my head and I was proud of them; I watched each one light up in turn from my perch on that low oak limb. The stars did the same thing. I might not have realized the depth of what I was seeing then but I was in awe of the fiery nightlights I had, in my jar and over my head. 

Those same stars visited me again when I was seventeen. I didn't think twice about their presence, they were always there anyway, until I had finished my first beer and suddenly they were breathtaking. Me and a Coors Lights and a handful of my closest friends piled onto dilapidated patio furniture at the first house I called my own. We had too much fun back then. We laughed too loud. We drank too much. We lived like we wouldn't get another chance in the morning. Those stars shared with me what it felt like to be in control. I had life figured out and nobody could stop me.

But it was at twenty-one when those stars reminded me that I could be wrong, I lacked control. I didn't know what my next move was. It was on the tailgate of a white Dodge pickup, off the beaten path, on an Oklahoma red dirt road that I knew I couldn't trust myself. Those stars silently watched the little girl turn into a woman; they didn't smirk, they didn't chide, they didn't hold a grudge.

Tonight the stars showed me that the most beautiful things in the world can hold the happiest of moments, the confused pride we often boast of and the skeletons we elude every waking moment. Tonight the stars shared with me that our most intimate of moments are never farther away than the next sunset. You can store your stars away tonight but tomorrow they will resume their rightful position over your head; too close to forget, just far enough away to keep a secret.    

  

Background info before y'all get on the defense...

 

That's a cat on my head drinking a beer.

 

 

I'm obligated to share some personal info in a half hearted attempt to advert any negativity, hatefulness, argumentative behavior or complete meltdown in the patrons of this new endeavor of mine. I'm under the impression that if you are familiar with my generally bad behavior (and strange sense of humor) then I become more able to tolerate. No? Yes.

 

I'm emotionless. I know this because I've been told. My mother claims its because she didn't show me enough affection in my critical years. I've researched this and apparently the critical years were the ones I was playing with my own excrement and eating anything that made its way into my fat fingers. Although we both may share a mutual distaste for each other stemming from the years preceding the critical ones, my mother is not to blame. I'm just unapologetically cold hearted.

 

I'm more of a man than most men. I prefer guys shirts; I have long arms and pearl snaps will never go out of style. I also prefer guy activities; beer, eating until I'm sick, cussing and irritating women. I have a man job, I'm a farrier. I sweat profusely, use expensive tools in a very physically demanding fashion and I'm proud of it albeit crippled at 25 short years of life. If you do not know what a farrier is, or you have not actively been attempting to self educate, then you do not belong here.

 

I'm dangerous...or fun. No. Definitely dangerous. They mean the same thing, right? I habitually taunt men, bucking horses give me goose bumps and the governors on pickups are for people who do not know what governors are. I'm not a trouble maker, except on a small scale; I thoroughly enjoy debating, the devil's advocate was my calling in life. I might be a little wild, born 100 years too late and assuredly the wrong gender. But, really, I guess I was born just in time; the boys just grin and bear it when I get in the way.

 

I'm a 'glass half full' type of person. I have a hard time enjoying less than a half of a glass of whiskey anyway. Its easy to be optimistic when there's so much I want to do and so much life left to discover.

 

I'm a 'glass half empty' type of person. That's when I'm ready for a refill. Its easy to be pessimistic when I'm surrounded by hoards of mindless robots. The lights are on but nobody is home.

 

What you really need to know though, and the reason why I've decided I need an outlet for my thankless ramblings, can be wrapped up into two tidy little categories;

• I do not tolerate blatant stupidity, and
• I am a hopelessly deep thinker when I've drank in excess of a bottle of wine.