Cowboy Graffiti
That’s what I got runnin’ around my head tonight…er…this morning. Met a cute cowboy last night.
Shut up.
It’s not like that. But somehow that doesn’t stop me from remembering a time when it might have been. Sigh.
And he sang a song I liked. Even better, I asked him if he was a fan of a once-red-hot-team and he not only knew who I was talking about, he was, indeed, a fan. Swoooooooooooon worthy at every level.
I have to admit that this whole cowboy thing goes way back for me. Back to when I was a kid. I admired those who worked with cattle and horses and sheep and chickens and hay. But by 8th grade, I was drawn even deeper into that world by a boy named Ray. He was in my class. He wore a cowboy hat every single day. And dirty boots that he’d tried so valiantly to clean before school (after mucking stalls and feeding an array of animals all before the crack of dawn) but were just too well-covered with muck and such to ever be pristine again. Ray loved to write me poems. He’d write down all the lyrics to all the country songs he knew and then sing them to me. He didn’t care who heard. Mostly, I didn’t care either. His remarkable lack of self-consciousness made his presentation that much more endearing and welcome. Sadly, I don’t know what happened to him. Yep, I’ve even expanded my comfy little FB world just to see if I can track down the boy in the hat who made me smile. No such luck yet. I’ll keep trying though.
So, yes, the seeds of cowboy lust were planted long ago and have grown tall and golden. I peek through every now and again and watch quietly. Until last night. When I stomped my ass through, cheered, and then boldly conversed. Neener, neener! I grew some balls. Or I just borrowed the ones from the freshly castrated bull in the corner or something.
A photo? You want a photo? Perhaps I’ll grant you just one. Maybe.
Let me know if you think the colors have been off lately. I’m working between two computers and the color profiles aren’t quite level yet.
He looks cute… though a lovely shade a violet and subsequently rose… but I thought that’s what you were going for…
‘the freshly castrated bull in the corner…’
You’re flinging the double entendres around like grits in a diner!
:rofl:
Comment by Pam — 2010/01/12 @ 08:08
ditto pam on the color thing.
that ain’t no cowboy, cowboy hands ain’t that purty
Comment by patti — 2010/01/12 @ 09:22
Nice work. Was it at Texas Station?
Comment by Tara — 2010/01/12 @ 18:47
Tara: Nope, that’s at the Las Vegas Country Saloon on Fremont Street (upstairs from Hennessey’s). When you come visit, we’ll go. They host a jam on Monday nights. Blues, country, rock, and yes, there was even some disco last night. Go figure. LVCS will have the Voodoo Cowboys playing next Friday…rockin’ country stuff.
Texas Station…blech. After what they did to Tab with the lighting and start last time, I’m not at all impressed with their set up. Santa Fe Station is fine. Green Valley is fine. Boulder Station is fine. But Texas…nope. I’d have to really love an act to go back there.
Patti, I’ll take a singing cowboy any day of the week. If there’s no chance of an actual horse shit shovelin’, hay luggin’ man, singing will do.
Pam, what can I say?
Comment by DaGoddess — 2010/01/12 @ 21:30