YOU CAN DO MAGIC

David Copperfield, you’ve met your match! It just cracks me up when these dating shows act like they’ve done a David Copperfield magic act by finding matches for a hot, young, sexy, successful guy or girl. Yeah, cause that’s a real tough sale! Now let them find a match for a single mom (or dad) who just got laid off, has a big heart, strong hands and is carrying a mortgage and kids, THEN I’ll be impressed. I assure you, there are 100 times as many single, hard-working parents just as deserving of love. Excuse me just a moment while I re-adjust my soapbox (I hate having to break in a new one in but my other one just left to be on a reality TV show.)

The reality of reality TV is – IT’S NOT REAL LIFE! Whoa there Nellie!!! I get that everyone should have love so hold off on saddling the hate horse here. What I’d like Eva Longoria, Mark Burnett and the other producers of these shows to see is that while beautiful people may look good in Fairy Tales and HD, the real stories take place after the carriage turns back into a pumpkin and jeans and boots replace ball gowns and crystal slippers.

If I were someone thinking about going on one of those shows, I think I’d look at their track record: the odds of success are about as good as a Shetland pony winning a race against a Thoroughbred. And that’s with them using these so-called ‘experts’ to help. Something tells me you might have better luck hanging out in the produce section at Wal-Mart.

I bet the casting call for those shows reads something like this: “If you’re 30-something, have a thriving career, nice car and fancy home, there’s hope for love for you too.” WELL, DUHHH! And why is the guy always shocked to learn that the girls were fighting over him like a room of three year olds over the last carton of chocolate milk? What’s really funny, though, are those who claim they’re only there for ‘romance’ and ‘true love’ – the fact that he’s rich, handsome and they’re on TV is just ‘icing’. Yeah, right… somebody hide their make-up bag and see how long THAT lasts! And, don’t you think balling like a baby and brawling like a bar fighter have romance and love written all over them?

Now, I understand about the ratings game of the dating game but, how about a show with life value AND entertainment value? What was that? Oh, yes, besides Oprah and Two Broke Girls. Seriously, you want to see a challenge – try finding a date when you’re in your 50s, live in the country and handle livestock for a living! I have yet to see a challenge on Survivor that tops that!

Now, if you’ll pardon me, my soapbox just disappeared quicker than my last paycheck.

THE JEAN POOL

Recently, I went shopping with my daughter – it’s a little different here as the nearest real mall is 30+ miles down the road. As we wandered through a clothing store sporting a sea of jean styles, I had a thought: wow, this sure beats the “jean” pool back home. Hmmm, jean pool. What? Oh, ha, ha, ha, yes, very funny… lost in thought… unfamiliar territory. I’ll put it and your humor into my GPS. So, as I was saying, jean pool. Now, that’s not to be confused with that ‘other’ gene pool. This jean pool is the one you’re likely to find at a local bar not your community college science lab.

In a rural area you’re likely to see jean labels like Wrangler, Cruel Girl (no, not a reference to your ex), or Cinch. And, be honest, we’re all a bit prone to ‘label shopping’ (me, I’m mostly a Wrangler gal myself). Problem is, in the country, sometimes the available jean pool can be a little shallow. So, just like taking my daughter to the nearest mall sometimes we have to find a way to a deeper pool.

Yep, here we go again with the internet thing. As with wading out into any pool ya gotta be careful where you step; otherwise, you could end up stepping on something that bites and/or smells (and not in a good way either). Believe me, the internet jean pool can be full of more critters than Ellie Mae Clampitt had in her cement pond.

My suggestion to the people who come up with those ‘cowboy’, ‘farmer’, and ‘country’ dating websites: If you’d focus more on getting people into the right JEAN pool as opposed to the right GENE pool, you might find you’d have more success than Kim Kardashian has. You may say – “it’s all in the genes”, but I hear – “it’s all in the jeans”. (Of course, there’s always the possibility of pulling the drain plug on that jean pool only to discover that the guy with the right ‘jeans’ was never even in there – he had been onshore waiting patiently holding your towel for you.)

Today’s point: In love, as in style, the right jeans are all about the right fit.

THE REST OF THE WAGON

Where was I? Oh, yes, a continuation of an outing with my little pasture pals. (You know it’s a crazy night when you can get more than one blog post out of it!) Anyway, like I was saying the other day, that wasn’t even the end of the night. If there’s one thing I learned that night it’s this: There are 2 instances where you should never use the phrase “I think” – 1) in business and, 2) girls night out. Believe me, they’re equally bad.

After the puppy parade was over, I spied a tall drink of water at the bar (and I’m not talking the Deja Blue brand). One of my pals happened to notice me glancing that way and was curious as to what had my attention so I covertly nodded my head and mouthed the words “he’s at my 3 o’clock”. She asked me if I knew him to which I replied “I don’t think so”. So, we watched him; we watched him stand at the bar then watched a big brunette swoop down on him like a hawk after a rabbit and drag (ok, lead) him to the dance floor. Wow, he can actually dance – checkmark number 2. Now, friends, if wheels one and two fell off the wagon with the puppy parade incident here’s where wheels 3, 4 and the spare all came off…

So, as we were both straining to get a better look, that got the attention of one of our other herd mares (one who had been to the beer trough more times than we 2 had). Turned out she knew him. At that point, that mare took the bit in her teeth and was off like a runaway colt – with me in tow like the wheeless wagon I was.

She tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned around she delivered me up like a kid handing his first grade teacher a Christmas present. And believe me, that’s about how little I felt. I HAD met him, some months ago in another club just north of Dallas. I don’t know what grew faster the mule ears on my head or the red in my face. All I could say was “Uh-Oh. I think I know you”. What was worse was he remembered my name but I didn’t remember his. Don’t you hate it when that happens?! But, I have to say, he was a good sport about it.

Moral of the story: Take a sneak peak at someone with your glasses ON before you let yourself get trotted out like a prize filly at the county fair.

WHAT A SHOCK

I don’t date jerks… Ok, quit spitting coffee out your nose – that was only cute when you were 5. You didn’t let me finish… I don’t date jerks BY CHOICE. My relationship luck is more like buying a lottery ticket with all 6 winning numbers – from the previous week’s drawing.

One thing I’ll say about it though, it sure seems to bring out the best in my friends when it happens and for that I’m grateful. As I was having lunch with the lead mares the other day, I realized just how lucky I am in that respect. You see, while there are probably times they’d like to GPS the men with the butterfly nets for me, instead they listen then, we all laugh. This was the case with what happened to me recently.

My last relationship end was absolutely a real shocker for everyone around me. In fact, it was kinda like taking your cousin’s dare and touching the electric fence wire to see if it’s hot only to find out that it was! And, I must admit for a bit I felt about as good as if it zapped me. But, like the pain of child birth, that stinging is subsiding with time. That’s due in great part to my great friends who usually know just what to say at just the right time to say it.

Here’s one example: I was talking to the boyfriend of a good friend of mine recently who knows how to put things into perspective. He’s by nature a very kind and funny person anyway but this has to be his best line to date. He asked me how I was doing and said how sorry he was to hear about what happened. I thanked him and told him it’s just the way things seem to go with me and love. His reply is one I’ll never forget: “You know… we’re all alike… WE ALL FART IN BED!”

Somewhere in there, there’s a grain of truth to that if you think about it (once you quit laughing). We all have our sweet side and our smelly. If it starts smelling like a barn stall full of manure, though, it may be time to ‘clean out the stall’.

Today’s Moral: If you’re smart you’ll realize only have to hit that hot wire fence once to realize you don’t want to do it again.

IS IT JUST ME?……

Or has anyone ever had this happen to them? You’re out on the town with your pasture pals, kickin’ up your hooves and havin’ a head slingin’ good time and you think “Wow, can this night get any better?”… I’ve discovered that having that thought is like the proverbial “What else can go wrong” thought – careful what you ask for. But, how you handle the situation is what separates the stallions from the geldings and the mares from the fillies.

Just so happens a while back I had one of those nights. There I was having a nice evening out with the girls, having a cold beverage of the alcohol persuasion, dancing a few dances, all in all a good time in progress. Then, suddenly, like something from a bad spaghetti western, the wheels fell off the wagon.

The first thing that happened was something that happens to me 9 times out of 10 when I go out. I call it the puppy parade. We’re sitting at a table when a young pup walks up and there can be 3 empty seats at the table but he’s gonna take the one by me. That night that’s exactly what happened. A young man who was obviously intoxicated headed our direction like he was on a mission from God as they say (I say ‘obviously’ because as he made his way down the aisle he had more sway than a downhill skier). He plopped right down next to me and as he plopped down, I popped up. Good news is when I returned from the ladies’ room he was no longer in that seat next to me, bad news is he had only moved over one.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I like flattery just as much as the next lady but it’s much better when it’s not drooled on you. Of course it didn’t end well – for him anyway. He continued to try to get my attention, asking questions, showering compliments, asking one of my girlfriends if she would share her beer with him. Gotta say, that last one certainly got my attention and not in a good way.

He finally resorted to taking his foot and running it up my leg under the table. Guys, here’s a word to the wise – unless you’re with someone you’ve been with for 5 years then DON’T DO THAT!!!! What in your right mind makes you think we like that? Seriously, do that to a horse and it’ll either pick up its leg or kick you with it… Any bets on what happened next?

I’m betting that provided he actually remembers that night he won’t do that again. I jumped up, telling him to keep his *.*. foot to himself or he’d find himself on the floor and out the door! He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t understand his directions, I can tell you that. He disappeared quicker than a politician’s campaign fund.

As if that weren’t enough, that wasn’t even the end of the night! But I’ll tell you more about that another time. For now, remember this: If you want to impress someone, you’ll have a better shot if you don’t stumble, mumble, and drool like a fool.

IGNORANCE ISN’T THE ONLY THING THAT’S BLISS…

Apparently so is its first cousin oblivion! That’s right – OBLIVION. Now there’s a pair of kissing cousins you REALLY don’t want to watch. Just when I think I’ve seen, heard and read it all, I get another doozy. As I was reviewing my emails on a dating site this morning I had one in my inbox that was so out there I was the one spitting coffee through my nose.

Guys, leave the camouflage in your hunting closet please. Now, I don’t know a girl (city or country) on this planet who doesn’t appreciate a compliment. What we don’t appreciate so much is a compliment tucked away in a backhanded comment like you in a deer stand. You’d have better success standing in the middle of the field in a bright orange jumpsuit yelling “Here, deer, deer, deer… here little deer!”

I recently had an email from a guy who after reading my profile sent me a message that read something like this: “…I have a feeling you look much better than that?” And, yes, it had a question mark like that. Ok, now I’ll wait for YOU to stop spitting coffee through YOUR nose. Yes, someone who claims to be looking for a relationship actually wrote that. (Hmm, you reckon he’s figured out yet why he’s still single?)

What? Oh you bet I looked at his profile. I couldn’t resist after getting something like that. I can’t really say I was surprised much by what was on his profile. Like countless others, he said he’s looking for someone who is ‘thin’ and ‘active’. It was clear that his attention is on the packaging not the package.

This person is obviously ignorant to the rules of the road:

Rule 1: If Common Courtesy Freeway were a toll road this guy’d be the one to try to use it without paying;
Rule 2: Respect Ave. was the exit he missed.

Common sense should tell you that while ignorance may be bliss it’s still no excuse – even in dating.

IN LOVING COLOR

Good Friday, the start of a beautiful holiday weekend full of family, fun, candy and eggs! It’s a time to enjoy life and celebrate our families – not to mention overeat and overheat.  It’s one of the few times a year that you and your ex should be able to put your differences aside and appreciate your kids – even if in the past you and your ex have tried to hire the same hit man.  Yes, that’s right, today’s lesson (ok, ok, ‘sermon’) is on peace and sharing.  Even the Middle East has had successful peace treaties from time to time so why not you? Fine… it goes for me too!

Have you ever really watched kids at an easter egg hunt? Ever notice that sometimes even when a somewhat older child finds an egg first, if they notice a younger child also eyeing it, they’ll make a non-display about putting it in that little one’s basket? Why can’t we do that? Why do we always have to adhere to the “All eggs in one basket – MINE” philosophy? 

Think about it.  Let’s say you’re at Wal-Mart (I’ll be there shortly) and it’s the usual pre-Easter egg madness.  You’re just reaching for that last box of discount Easter egg dye when you notice a young mother with a couple of youngsters in tow and one ‘en route’, about to reach for it. Your pennies are tight but obviously hers are bolted down.  What would you do? Would you extend that box or keep it? I’d like to think we’d all tap that young mother on the shoulder, hand it over and say “I’m sorry, I thought it was something else”.  I don’t know about you but the feeling of happiness I’d feel passing that box of dye off knowing the color it would bring to more than just a carton of eggs would far outweigh the pinch of paying a little more for the more expensive box.

Look at it like this: Doesn’t everyone deserve a little bright color in their life? That’s what I thought.  

 

DID YOU SEE THAT?

You remember the experiment where several people in a crowd were witness to an event and then later asked to recount what happened and the perpetrator’s description? Each person seemed to have a different version of the same thing. How about we pull that same experiment at, say, a rodeo? It’s funny what men notice and remember as opposed to women… well, kinda.

Here’s the scenario: you and your sweetie are watching the rodeo when a beautiful barrel racer with more curves than a grand prix racer comes flying into the arena on a speeding horse. You’re both taken aback by the sight; transfixed as the pair seems to perform as one, turn after perfect turn. As they go whizzing by, barreling into the exit alley you exclaim to your partner “Wow, what a pair!” To which he responds “You saw ‘em too?” You barely notice he’s zoned in on the back alley waiting on the next pair, his eyes glazed over like when you’re giving him laundry instructions.

Now, fast forward to the dance later that night when you’re with friends giving your personal professional review (yes, we all have those) of the rodeo. As you’re telling your girlfriends about how the pair came bounding into the arena, your other half is telling HIS friends about the big, beautiful pair bouncing into the arena! “OMG! I didn’t mean THAT pair you idiot!!!” You wanna slap him so hard he won’t be able to shave for a week.

But be careful. We could turn that around to be fair. This time it’s the bulldogging – which to you non-rodeo readers is where a big hunka cowboy bails off a perfectly good horse (kinda like skydivers leaving a perfectly good airplane in my opinion), to wrestle a steer to the ground. You both watch the cowboy and his mount shoot out of the box into the arena with such force it’s like they’re shot out of a cannon. You can’t help but notice those big broad shoulders, those long powerful legs… then when he gets up out of the dirt from the steer oh my goodness what a pair of Wranglers. NOW whose eyes are glazing over? Your sweetie announces “Wow, did you see that?” And very under your breath you whisper “Not yet but I can always dream!”

See what I mean?

A BUM STEER

When you exit the donkey corral, please remember to shut the gate behind you so none of them end up with the rest of the herd… Thank you.  As I’ve told you before, I’m here to try to impart some of my hard-learned lessons in the affairs of the heart and have I got a doozy for you today.

 For some time now I’ve been in a relationship that until recently I would have described as perfect for me… he and I share a love of horses, our kids and a country way of life. So far so good right? Yeah, well, that’s what I thought too – until I realized he suffered from what I call the ‘pouting and punishing phenomenon’… no, that’s not some S&M game but thanks for that image! No, this is where your partner gets upset with you and rather than voicing their dismay they take it out on you with things like pouting, withholding the sweet things they normally say, or forgetting to call or text when normally they’d be on the phone quicker than Secretariat hitting the race track. Well, I’ve never been fond of that game (for me it’s like running a barrel race without a timer – you’re in it to win it but no one really does.)

 Guys, let me give you a little advice here: if you want to remain a stallion in your filly’s barn remember this – if she’s making a 110 mile round trip multiple times a week just to see you then REMEMBER SHE’S MAKING A 110 MILE ROUND TRIP MULTIPLE TIMES A WEEK JUST TO SEE YOU. We understand your love for roping or whatever other hobby you have, believe me, we really do. But if you expect to keep playing saddle blanket bingo with that little filly you should occasionally take a night off from chasing steers and chase your filly around the barn instead! 

My fellow mares and fillies this one is for you: If you’re making a 110 mile round trip multiple times a week to see your stud muffin pay close attention to his actions and what is NOT being said. If instead of paying attention to you, your needs and your efforts he’s paying for saddles, ropes and things like that then you need to take the blinkers off to see if you’re as important to him as he is to you. If the answer to that isn’t an obvious YES then he may be the roper but, honey, you’re the one with the ‘bum steer’.

BOTTLE BABIES

So, how many of YOU have been in the sale barn and the maternity ward in the same morning? See, today is not JUST another Friday; today is my baby girl’s 17^th BIRTHDAY!! It seems like just yesterday I was dashing from the sale barn to the hospital! What was that? No, that’s not how I explained the birds and the bees to my kids… That’s what actually happened the day I had my youngest child.

You see, as I’ve continued to tell you, things are a bit different out here in the country. Whereas some of my friends have done things like gone and had their nails and hair done just prior to going to give birth, well, let’s just say I had a few chores to take care of first.

Here’s what happened: It was a wonderful almost spring Friday morning and I was about 8 1/2 months pregnant. My then husband and a friend had been in the throws of a little – and I do mean little – business venture involving calves known as ‘bottle babies’. It’s a common practice where you buy dairy calves that are newly born and raise them yourself on a bottle until they get to a point where you can sell them on the gain. (Bet you didn’t know you were gonna get an agri-economics lesson with this did you?)

Anyway, due to an illness that spread through the little herd we decided to sell the remaining calves. And of course once again ‘timing is everything’. The morning of March 15, my husband hooked up the stock trailer, loaded the calves (so considerate) and went to work (but not before asking me to please haul them to the local sale barn) – the brownie point he kept was for the ‘please’… But, all in a country girl’s day around here… So, I did.

Now, while I was there, I noticed that I was a bit uncomfortable, no contractions or anything but given that this was to be my 4^th child, I knew what ‘uncomfortable meant – that I needed to get from the barn door to the hospital door. So, I called the brand inspector over to my truck. You should’ve seen the look on HIS face when I told him I wasn’t ‘feeling well’. I tell you, other than when a new blond walks in the local bar I’ve never seen cowboys move that fast! He had me unloaded and outta there quicker than Martha Stewart at a McDonalds!

What did I do? Oh, you know, the usual – I went home, unhooked my trailer, called my husband and drove myself to the hospital. Pretty much what any other country expectant mother would do. I think my own mother said it best though. When she arrived at the hospital she exclaimed “Only you. Only you would deliver calves AND a baby in the same morning!” Ummm… Could someone please tell me what’s so different about that?

So, today’s story tells us this: Bottle babies come in every shape, specie, form, and size but love is always the same…