November 19, 2013

When A Dignified Cowgirl Goes Camping...And Meets A Racist

A few weekends ago, I did something I haven't done in years. I went away for the weekend with my cowgirls and our horses. We spent the weekend in a cornfield...totally roughing it. Well, roughing it with a horse-trailer that had a shower, toilet and heat. (Things have changed a lot since my last camping trip.)

The first night, we were all excited to cook our steaks on the grill...and sip our lemonade and vodka cocktails while watching our horses nibble on hay. Except...none of us knew how to use the grill. (When Blonde Cowgirls Go Camping...reality show coming soon.) Thankfully, our (brunette) friend, Laina, cooked our steaks for us...but we forgot the steak knives- so we had to tear into the steak like we were on The Walking Dead. (But I think even they have steak knives.)

Later that evening, we joined lots of other cowgals at the barn & drank...and danced...and drank. It was a great group of folks- everyone laughing and genuinely having a great time. (It could've been the fact that it was 35 degrees outside...and the barn had heat.)

We walked back to the trailer about midnight, totally exhausted. The heat felt amazing...right up until the electricity in the trailer...cut off. (When Drunk Blonde Cowgirls Go Camping?) The generator was on...but nothing was working inside the trailer. It was way too much to comprehend. Thankfully we figured out we'd blown a fuse or a circuit or something- and as quick as the power shut off, we got it back on.

The following day was the big ride. I had been concerned that Tristan may revisit his prancing actions from the parade the previous year. He did...but this time there was no elderly couple for him to bolt towards. We pranced and spun circles for roughly 6 hours. It had the potential to be a stressful day- but I totally enjoyed every minute of it. It was so much fun to be around all my girlfriends, all decked out in Dignified Cowgirls gear.

Later that evening, we all met back up at the barn for more dancing...and apple pie. (Did you guys know that isn't just dessert!? I've never been so happy and proud to be southern in my life!) We were all attempting to learn the wobble...since the DJ played it about 27 times...when a fella approached me. 

"I wanna ask you something," says the fella dressed in head-to-toe orange.

Now, if you know me, you know that Drunk Eden can be one of two things- your lovable best friend, or the bitch who will claw your eyes out b/c you pissed her off. And the line between the two? Very, very thin.

"Me? What do you wanna ask me?!" I said.

"I just wanna know why...why all you dance to is that n*gger music!" he says, stone faced, dead serious.

My heart was beating so loud, I could no longer hear any other noises that surrounded me. I floated outside my body and watched myself strangle the orange stranger- and slam his lifeless head into the concrete floor. (It was a dark moment.) 

"What did you just say to me!?" I asked...snapping out of my dark moment, thinking maybe I had missed something. People like this don't really still exist today, do they? 

But I hadn't missed anything. I'd heard him correctly the first time. I wondered why, of all the people dancing in the barn...he chose me to ask this question. I think God sent him to me...because homeboy was about to get an earful from a blonde-cowgirl-rapper-wife. (And a drunk one, at that.)

"Because it keeps racist assholes like YOU away from us...that's why!" I said.

He tried to butt-in...but I pressed on.

"So that's how you classify all hiphop music, huh? That's what you call it? Let me just tell you something..." I this point, I believe my finger was in his face about a quarter of an inch away from his eyeballs. (His friends scattered.)

"Hip hop is all colors, shapes and dumb, redneck *^*$)#@)*%&" (Keep in mind, my shirt read "Dignified Cowgirls" on it. The words coming out of my mouth might not have been dignified, but the topic I was preaching? Totally effing dignified.)

About that time, my sistah, walked over to the DJ and requested Jump Around. 

"I, I...I'm not racist! I listen to 50 Cent!" he proudly proclaims.

"Well...good for you. You do realize he's a black man, right? Like our President?" I said. (Not sure why I felt like I needed to toss Barack into my argument...but whatever. I'll blame the apple pie.)

Then I heard the intro to Jump Around...and something took over my entire body, mind, soul and mouth...and I began jumping like I was in the NBA and screaming every word to Jump Around into the orange-redneck-racists face. (There is video of this...that I will take to my grave. House of Pain would probably totally sue me for the horrendous rendition. I could hardly walk the next day.)

I'm not sure if my words really changed the orange-redneck-racists life...but I can pretty much guarantee one thing- he will think twice before he asks a question like that again. I'm pretty sure if my words didn't terrify dancing/jumping did the trick.


  1. Dang I missed all this????? LMAO I musta been refilling

  2. OMG. I have to admit I laughed out loud at the vision of you drunk, angry, and dancing to Jump Around. LOL