I’ve never been one to deny my roots. No matter how far I’m moving away, I’ll never forget where I come from and the people that helped mold me into who I am today.
And we are indeed something else. Hicks, Rednecks, White Trash… none of them can really accurately capture it as well as “Montanans” does.
I used to wonder what it was about me that made people at work roll their eyes and walk away shaking their heads, or make the guys on the hockey team laugh shortly and stare at me incredulously, or what it was that made people at parties wave their hands in front of my face and scream, “TMI! TMI!”
“It’s important to the story,” I would think, “how could it be Too Much Information? Everybody does it.“
After spending an entire weekend with people that never judge me for my outrageous comments and more often than not make their own before I can, I now realize that it’s not my fault that I’m like this, it’s just how we are, and I love them for it.
We also drink a fuckload of beer, chew tobacky, and shoot stuff.
I ditched work early Friday and picked up The (ex)Girl’s brother, Shithead, up in Loveland, and we headed North 8 hours to our Home for our buddy’s wedding. We got in late, put away a few beers and crashed on AdoptedBrother’s couch and floor, only to be awakened the next morning by AB bellowing at his 4-year old that he was indeed allowed to go wake us up.
Fed and Coffeed, we loaded up the menfolk of the wedding party in the truck and went to local Wal-Mart. Try as you might, there is absolutely NO denying that you are rednecks when you’ve got a shopping cart full to the top with nothing but Bud Light, Clay Pigeons, and 12 gauge shotgun shells… with a 4-year old in his boots and spurs sitting on top of all of it.
CheckoutGirl was impressed, “you guys got a fun day planned…”
“Yep,” we beamed proudly, “we got us a Weddin later!”
When we were about halfway through the 600 rounds of ammo we’d had and, coincidentally enough, half the beer as well, I told the boys that WifeToBe had barely believed me when I’d told her that morning that we were heading up into the hills to shoot us some clays. I’d described to her the throwing contraptions that we used and the shotguns that we’d be bringing while bragging about the copious amounts of beer we’d be drinking before she’d quietly said, “people really DO that kind of thing? Honey… when we go to Montana together… can I go shooting too?”
Goddam, I love that woman.
This Saturday, I head back to my future home in Perth. Excited doesn’t even begin to touch it. Parting from her last time felt like my Heart was a piece of meat, literally being ripped like a midget in a Lion’s mouth. Being with her is Right, and nothing’s been even close since I had to leave her.
I’m ready to be whole again.
On that SappyAssSuckahFoo note, “being whole once again” is going to be helped along greatly by That Which Makes the World Go Round.
Naw, I already gots me plenny o’ Love. I’m talkin’ CASH baby, cash.
So, do me a favor, ignore that the site isn’t spruced up and is still out-of-the-box, and buy some of my shit at CafePress.
Or, if you live in the Denver Metro Area, buy my fishtanks.
Hell, if you live close, make me a goddam offer on this fuckin’ house. Please. I’m getting a bit discouraged, and my Realtor had to promise me an Open House while I’m in Oz because I kept whimpering and sobbing on the phone.
Asshead is still up for FREE too, and she’s hardly bitten anyone in the last… what time is it?
I’m not done whoring myself out either. As part of the whole “Help JuddHole Get Down Under” campaign, be on the lookout for such exciting auctions like “Kilt Peek for a Dollah” and “Bet I can pee for longer than you (whether it’s on my own shoes or not isn’t important).” I even do Bar Mitzvahs folks.