Ruminations of a Red Dirt Hussy

September 26, 2014

Filed under: General — Vadasmaker @ 11:04 am
Tags: , , , ,

Once, a really mean person said I have a runaway imagination. In other words, that guy thinks I make shit up. I don’t know where anyone would get such a notion. There is a precedent for such things, after all. You know how in Alice in Wonderland one of the characters says, “Why, sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast”? Well, sometimes as many as six unbelievable things happen to me, if not before breakfast, at least between blogs. Seriously.
If you deny ever having done a single stupid thing, then you’re the one making stuff up. Stupid happens to everybody. The fact is it happens more often to some of us—and by some, I mean me—than others. And because you know that some of us—me, again—don’t mind looking stupid, why can’t you see that such a person—yeah, me again—is less likely to make shit up? And besides that, I’m unnaturally consistent. Think about it. Have I ever told you anything that didn’t make me look stupid? All right, then. So, first, two things that might make me look stupid.

Thing 1: A month ago, against my better judgment, I bought a jumpsuit. Not a jumpsuit like 80-year-old men wear with their Velcro-closure tennis shoes—not-that-there’s-anything-wrong-with-that—but a very elegant one. Before I’d regained my senses and my innate—although quirky—sense of fashion, I wore it to church, which is where I try out all my perhaps questionable outfits, because, you know, church people are nice, usually. Or at least will definitely not ridicule you to your face.

As luck and a fickle bladder would have it, I had to go to the bathroom. This required me to get half undressed, because that’s the nature of the jumpsuit, and then I couldn’t figure out how to get it back on. It’s not my fault. A jumpsuit just has too many holes—two for the arms, one for the neck, two for the legs, and one where the zipper is—and I couldn’t find the one where my head went. I won’t go so far as to tell you where I put my head on the first try, but I will say that when I finally got it on again I looked very much like I do when I roll out of bed in the morning.

Thing 2: I went to the river a couple of weeks ago and fell in and a couple of drunk guys had to get me out. It wasn’t even that I fell out of the raft into the water. I was already out of the raft, standing in the river, and I unexpectedly sat down. And of course, if you’re standing in waist-high water and unexpectedly sit down, waist-high water becomes over-the-head water, and what can one do? I can tell you this: flapping your arms like a chicken doesn’t work. And even if I could swim, which I can’t, because I’m not a freaking fish, thank you very much, I can’t imagine how I could swim up from an ass-down position.

And finally, the thing you won’t believe but that totally happened, and which you should believe, because have I ever lied to you before? I think not.

I was on the elliptical, watching TV. Oh, joy! Hell on Wheels. I got to watch Hell on Wheels! More to the point, I got to watch Anson Mount, AKA Cullen Bohannon.
Now, I will admit Anson Mount is no Jon Stewart, but Jon Stewart’s no Anson Mount, either. I’ll also admit that the most exciting thing Cullen Bohannon ever says is, “Damn it, Elam,” every time Elam shoots somebody off a horse, but his charm really isn’t dependent on anything he says. He doesn’t have to say anything. He only has to be.

So I was watching him be, and yes, totally objectifying him. I watched him humiliate the dastardly Swede, challenge a vicious, war-painted, generic Native American for the right to share the road, make goo-goo eyes at that whey-faced Mormon girl he up and married without any consideration for how that might make me feel, make a triumphant entry into Cheyenne, and hear about Elam’s probable death. And then it happened.

He. Looked. Right. At. Me. He did. I was this far (picture my hand four inches from face) from the TV and he looked right at me. Were you there? No? All right then. If I say he looked at me, you can’t say he didn’t. What was between him and me but a TV screen? Nothing. Ergo, he was looking at me.

And I was so overcome I had to stop elliptical-ling and sit down. That wasn’t the first time Cullen Bohannon has had that effect on me. In season 1, after he had humiliated the dastardly Swede, challenged a vicious, war-painted generic Native American for . . . I forget for what . . . said, “Damn it, Elam, “ six times, he found the woman he had fallen in love with dead (and she actually looked a lot like me. Seriously. Well, except for the blonde hair and the 5’9″-118-pounds thing). He picked her up and carried her through the mud and blood and the guts of Hell on Wheels, and it was so tragic it made me cry.

I had to get off the elliptical that time, too, because one cannot sob hysterically while performing 74 revolutions per minute.

Advertisements

1 Comment »

  1. YOU SO FUNNY! I need your help -oh funny one.I heard a vulgar rumor that you were leaving the TNW and barging out into the world untethered.We former presidents have to stick together to prevent rampant power-grabbing by the unwashed. How shall I miss you-if we both go away?
    I am ready to be a former president – no blue dress necessary.
    Love and hugs, pony-tail

    Like

    Comment by pony-tale — September 29, 2014 @ 12:31 pm | Reply


RSS feed for comments on this post. TrackBack URI

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Female Serial Killers

A psychologist explores the minds of women who murder

%d bloggers like this: