Our country is...I can't continue without being deported...

Other countries, take note. If you make these, I will come.

I have a game I like to play, I refer to it as 'Attempting To Find Hope In Humanity.' I peruse Facebook until I find an over-shared post that is completely irrelevant or blatantly false and I scroll through the comments until I find someone that fell off into a Brittani approved rant about how wrong everyone is. Then I slow clap for the seemingly last shred of intelligence left on planet earth and I often click on the person's name and find out some basic information about said genius.

I've arrived at a fairly accurate estimate that 99% of these scholars are of foreign origin.

*gasp* Foreigners? If you're half as narrow minded as I am
(someone else's words, not mine) then you would also believe that all foreigners wear butt flaps and live in thatched roof huts on stilts. I'm under the impression that most of them die from childhood malaria and raids amongst feuding tribes.

Yet, some how, there are some greats minds that rise from the depths of disparity and horrors of oppression to become intellectual, well spoken individuals with an alarmingly natural bit of common sense and more understanding of the English language than a country that has been solely English speaking since, ever. (I'm talking Christopher Columbus, not Indians, just to be clear and not racist, God forbid.)

Why did I even notice that the people I was impressed by were Australians, Zimbabweans, South Africans and New Zealanders? Because American's are too far immersed in a deep, dark, bottomless hole of ignorance. Some people are still interested in world leadership, the current state of affairs and whether or not we are all going to die like turkeys in the rain because we are too damn stupid.

Twerking, text message lingo, race wars, Obama, twelve year olds dressing like prostitutes, pop music, people bashing hunters and ranchers, PETA, and for the love of all things holy, POLITICAL CORRECTNESS. I want to continue but I'm just irritating myself.     

I'll wrap this up before I have to climb into my straight jacket for the evening. Can't we just start caring about the things that matter? We're not number one anymore. We're not even number two. If we aren't already a joke to the world then we're on our way.

If some other country could start breeding cowpunchers that would be great because it's the only thing holding me down.

Australia, get that done please.

Today it won't stop raining...

She couldn't find a cup that was clean, the dishes have piled up for days.
So instead she took the whole bottle, there's errors in her ways.
The rain has finally done it, when it comes it really pours.
So she'll tip back that dark bottle and she'll dream of something more.

It's a warm rain this time of year, there's plenty she's lived through.
She knows because its fallen on her and she keeps coming back to you.
Throughout the years and the promises made she's never found something worth keeping.
It might be her mindset or the way that she lives that keeps her drowning in the deep end.

She'll open her eyes today or a day soon and she'll see all that she's been missing.
It's you that she's had every step of the way through all the tears and all the wishing,
and the rain will wash her memory clean like it has a habit of doing,
and all of those others that have knocked at her door won't be worth pursuing.

One day she'll look back on the path that she's chosen and she won't have any regrets.
She traveled too far and she was gone for too long but she paid off all of her debts.
That woman will reflect and she'll remember her days spent in the pouring rain,
she'll never forget your hand and how one kiss could erase decades of pain.

Her bottle is empty, the rain hasn't stopped coming, today she made up her mind.
It's you that she's wanted, your skin and your words and she knows it's not just the wine.
For too long she's faltered, but not anymore, she's only shared a dance and a goodbye,
Everyone wishes, but few get to know, she's learning how it feels to fly.

Rodeo man...

Photo Credit; Scott Slusher Photography

Hey handsome man, don't you ever get tired of the road? I'll bet it's easy to forget when you pick up a check. I'll bet it's easy to forget when you spur a good one. I'll bet it's easy to forget when you're tipping back that little can you like so well. There'll be times you're not drinking, but you wish you were. You'll see the morning sun burning the fog off the next town on your journey and you'll feel the fog you've put yourself in being replaced with aches; your body, your mind, your heart. How does it feel now?

Hey handsome man, do you think you'll stay young forever? Those dance hall girls and rodeo fans won't be at the next town. Those same distractions won't be there next year, but you'll be. They'll forget you like you forgot them, but there will always be more. Always young, still as pretty as the one you left at the last arena, and when you're dancing and laughing she'll be smiling like she'll stay forever. Forever is just closing time and it's already last call. How does it feel now?

Hey handsome man, do you like being lonely? Those that watch you think you handle it well. Your smile is beautiful and your name is written on so many big checks; it's always felt good when they cheer for you. They call you 'champion' everywhere you go. Lonely are those that blaze their own trail and you're setting the world on fire. You surround yourself with fellas that share the same thoughts, but, surprisingly, you never talk about how tight your chest feels and how often your mind wanders to someone you walked away from one night. How does it feel now?

Hey handsome man, isn't it time you find someone that can keep up with you? You found her once and you let her go. How does it feel now?

Lost earrings, lost hearts...

She lost her favorite earring,
The drinks made her memory dim,
That night she also lost herself,
She lost herself with him.

He has his reservations,
But he's a little past his prime,
He's done more wrong than he's done right,
But I guess that's just his kind.

It's something all cowboys have,
He'll never lose his outlaw heart,
It's not the best thing about him,
But it's the biggest part.

Despite his ways, he shows her love,
And when he drinks he wants to fight,
He never knew how to say it though,
So he often wastes the night.

He'll never know what happy means,
He married off before it was too late,
He might've had the chance one day,
But time just wouldn't wait.

She'll speak her mind to him,
Over a bottle of something strong,
He really had it coming,
But regardless, it was wrong.

She stays awake all night sometimes,
She remembers how he smelled,
Among all the others she's held before,
He was the best she had felt.

They had let each other go,
For reasons that were lost over tears,
The feelings were real, the time wasn't right,
The healing has taken years.

One day he'll find that earring,
Dropped beneath his bed,
It's not from the one he married,
But from the one he loved instead.

I can't let it go...

I'm kind of stressed. Kind of. A lot. I'm majorly stressed. Besides hormones (I'm still a woman) here are some reasons. I'll start off lighting the kindling on fire.

• I washed my truck this morning then remembered I had to drive down thousands of miles of dirt roads to shoe horses. I drove so slow everywhere I went that I didn't get all of my work done. Truck is still trashed. Schedule is still booked.

• They raised the limit on my credit card without asking me first. That was pretty sly Capital One and I'll have you know I took huge advantage of it. Slap on the wrist, do better next month. Just kidding. 27% APR ho.

• Don't have your horse shod for two years, alert me to how much of an emergency it is and then question why my work looks like the contents of a portable John. Do it yourself next time champ, and get your own tools. PS: your horse is a dick.

• My bronc riding idol is at a rodeo I was suppose to attend tonight. He's also engaged, or serious, or something. Failure on so many levels I'm going to induce a wine coma.

• 90% (I'm being lenient) of the folks I associate with are pathetically under educated, overly liberal and less than critical of the things that actually matter. Is common sense still a word? Didn't think so.

• Baltimore. No explanation needed. I'm going to do it anyway though. If you're throwing rocks, chanting, intimidating anyone in any fashion or threatening police officers you are welcome to come to my home. We can sit down and have a little chat about your misconduct. When we conclude our meeting I'll make sure to have a hole dug to drop you into and plenty of dirt to cover you up with. Normal folks are done wasting their time with your trashy ass.  

• Anyone who supports the Baltimore riots or calls cops 'Pigs'; go to Hell. You're worthless too. Take your parents with you, they did a horrible job.

• The Facebook challenge where mindless bodies lacking even peanut sized brains stomp on the American flag. Just leave. Go somewhere fun like Iraq or Nepal. I don't think there's many American flags there for you to defile. Read a book, have a little pride, learn some respect before real citizens choke you in the streets.

Now we have a full blown forest fire. I'm thankful for the very remote location that I live and the numbing effects of booze or else I may be writing this from death row.

Police brutality...

I am so absolutely sick and tired of the police brutality videos and stories circulating around the internet. I am a large supporter of due process of the law and I firmly believe that a suspect is innocent until proven guilty and sentenced by a group of peers, but y'all are overlooking some serious common sense.

If you are caught red handed stealing, raping or abusing then you should have the shit beat out of you. I'm not backing down on this. It doesn't matter how polite you were being when caught or how quickly you laid down and put your hands behind your back. Not running may have prevented you from getting shot but being still isn't helping your case any now, you're a waste of air.

Do we really want criminals to be slapped on the hand and told they've been a bad boy/girl? Not me, no sir, I want you to whip their ass until they cry and find Jesus. A little bloodshed and public humiliation tends to yield immediate results.

Since I'm on the train now and it's steaming full speed ahead I'll dive into this as well; this is the parents fault (or lack of parents.) I was a good kid and I still knew that if I stepped out of the line I may be ripped limb from limb by my mother and I held that fear very close to me at all times. The police wouldn't have to kick your dumb ass if your daddy would've made you pick your switch you incompetent menace to society.  

I have yet to watch a police brutality video where I did not sit back and slow claps for the men in uniform while they punched the stupidity out of a second class citizen. I have not witnessed one personal account thus far where the ass clown on the ground did not deserve what he asked for. You're wrecking it for the rest of us who want to leave our kids with a babysitter, take a jog in the middle of the night or buy fuel without having to prepay. You morons deserve a beating every morning before you brush your teeth.

Respect has dwindled to such a pathetic low that people don't even know how to behave with an authority figure. The laws are easy to understand, there's no fine print. Most laws are common sense we've been aware of our entire lives. When the officer comes to your window you know what is expected of you; what's up with not rolling the window all the way down, refusing to give them information and generally trying to make their jobs difficult? They are there for YOU, you selfish son of a bitch!

If you did something wrong and it was minor you have two options; fess up to it and allow them to proceed with the process of the law or act like a fool, waste everyone's time, look like an idiot and then get into trouble anyway. If you did something majorly wrong then lay down and let them kick you in the balls a few dozen times because I know for a fact that you KNEW you were wrong when you were stealing, raping or abusing. You KNEW there were consequences and you KNEW the law may catch up with you. Quit being a sorry loser, loser.

Nobody in the land of the internet knows what they want, man up and take a stand and be consistent with your opinions. I watch videos of an abused animal and every single comment eludes to the fact that they want the humans responsible dead, beaten up, tortured horribly or some form of physical justice to be dealt. I watch a video of a thug car thief high on heroin speeding away from swarms of cops, crashing the vehicle and the cops dealing out a very appropriate form of physical justice and everyone is crying for the bastard! An animal deserves to have his abusers mutilated but a thrown away life that is causing harm and destruction to many people deserves to be treated with respect? Sorry buddy, you lost that right when you decided that breaking the law was an enjoyable free time activity.

I'm going to end this before I break out the hard core cuss words because I'm headed there. I'll just leave y'all with this and please feel free to come to my Facebook page and comment on this link if you disagree with me, you're wrong and I will spend the rest of the day defending that; if you can't spend your time productively, being a decent individual and not harming good people then you needed a whipping long before that police officer gave it to you and when he's done trying to break your face I'd be happy to shake his hand.

Bronc riders as heros...

My heros will always be bronc peelers

 

I started thinking pretty highly of bronc riders the first time I nodded for the chute gate to open. I didn't think anyone else in the world could possibly understand what I felt or feel it the same way I did. I've spent three years trying to simplify that emotion and it's something I just can't do, it's almost impossible to analyze a feeling. I want everyone to feel what it is that keeps me awake at night; every jump, every rowel stroke, every crash.

It could be fear. It's a little bit like gazing over the wheat as a norther blows in. It's a little bit helpless and a little bit empowered all at the same time. You won't know how big of a storm is going to hit until it gets there and you don't know how well you're prepared for it until the hail starts hitting your roof. Sometimes I can match my breathing with the horse I've got my saddle laid across and sometimes they're breathing too slow and deep. Sometimes the crowd is big and the only breathing I can hear is my own, often shallow and usually masked by the heartbeat that is thumping in my head. My ears get plugged by my heartbeat.

It could be acceptance. It's knowing that you might not walk out of the arena and it's knowing that you'd be honored for something so strong to take you down. It's not hard to think about what's going to happen before you step onto the chutes but it changes when the anticipation gets thick in the air. Knowing what needs to be done and trying to talk your muscles into doing it can be a challenge. Accepting fault for your buck offs and broken bones can be taxing and it can be enlightening.

It could be pride. Most broncs look like they could be re-made into a child's toy; their feathers twist and curl above their hooves, they trot with their heads carried high and their knees pulled up to their chests, their manes hang down their necks and flow towards their shoulders and they bounce like they're light as air. Their appearance evokes pride, they know they're special to us and they know they've got the upper hand. Their pride overflows and those of us who ride them get to share some of what's leftover. Every once in a while I'll make a ride and my heart will grow until I feel like it may burst from excitement.

It could be addiction. I've never felt like something belonged in my hand more than a bronc rein. When your heart is beating faster than normal all of your senses are heightened, that's a fact. I can feel each strand of that rein slide across the calluses on my fingers and the little piece of mane I tied in there blows and tickles my skin like it typically wouldn't do. I wouldn't trade this for a white sand beach or Christmas day.  

It could be camaraderie. I feel like I know a bronc buster when I see him. I want to shake his hand and I want to share stories. I want to watch every video he has and I want to see all of his pictures. I want him to know that I'm as excited for him as he was the day he rode that bad one. I feel so full of happiness every time I get a handshake offered to me, or a pat on the back, or a compliment. We're all friends even if we don't know each others names because we've all bathed in an emotion deeper than most care to know.

It could be anticipation. Time slows down. Every thought I think takes hours to play out in my head. I could write a novel in only a few real life seconds. I've written dozens of novels sitting beside a saddled bronc, one boot rested in my saddle and the other keeping me balanced above him. I've written dozens of novels I've only ever shared with a horse. I've erased dozens of novels too, I forget them when I slide into the chute. Twenty some years of blackness, nothing, blank pages waiting for ink as I catch my stirrups and tilt my hips.

It could be strength. My dance partner's head creates a whirlwind of humid air and arena dust as he twists his neck, he knows the way out. His front hooves slap the ground at the same time, his legs close together, he's strong and fast and my teeth click together although my jaw was tightly clenched. There's no other power comparable to the first jump into the arena. I didn't know I had that kind of strength; my spurs glide along his smooth hair, I can feel his twitching muscles beneath my rowels and under my calves. My thighs lock tight against the rough out of my swells, I grip so hard the inside of my legs are often bruised. Every muscle in my left arm contracts and strains, it's connected to his nose through my rein and he wants his head free from my grasp. I know he's stronger than me but maybe I can fight back for eight seconds.

For the rest of my life I'll be able to sit in the stands; maybe crippled, maybe old, but never regretful. For the rest of my life I'll have a hero in a bronc rider; always bold, always proud and never underestimating of the feeling we share.