Cowgirl Melinda and the Running of the Bulls

Cowgirl Melinda, normally a lass of even temperament and slow to criticize, could make some exceptions at times. She did have a minimal fashion sense, as she commented on why she would not wear jodhpurs while in Captain Randy's Tame Eastern Show. She was neutral during the 2016 election; considering it a serious mess no matter how se looked at it. 

But there is one thing that totally and reliably stuck in her craw. That is that ostensibly sane individuals would go to torrid northwestern Spain in mid-summer, for gosh sake!  And let themselves be chased by bulls! For God's sake: those damned things have horns and they don't blow 'em!

She was, of course, referring to the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona!

Now let's get the flavor of Melinda's thoughts on this:

"Hopping Horehound Cough Drops, buckaroos! You mean there are people so screwed up that they would willingly go to a place where pissed-off bulls get to run down the street and be chased by them? No, these dudes were not sentenced by some barbaric court to be chased and possibly maimed by these raging cattle; they did it on purpose! One even got gored in his gut and another in his scrotum for being on the unlucky end of one of these terrible testy toros!"

"I blame it all on a 1920's hack writer, Hemingway, a Midwesterner who wrote some other Required Reading that we subject high school kids to and tell them it could be worse: It could be Jude the Really Obscure or Great Expectorations!*

And listening to Cowgirl Melinda, this makes a lot of sense. Who in his or her right mind would get in the way of angry bulls? 

*The real deal books were bo-ring! - A.M.B.

The Cowhands Have a Lingerie Shower

It was a happy occasion for the small group in Wyoming; one of their number was feeling a little low and getting cabin fever, and they decided to have a lingerie shower to cheer her up.

A lingerie shower is usually where a bride-to-be is feted at a party where female friends bestow lingerie gifts, drink wine or champagne, and have a good old time exchanging ribald repartee, laughing, whooping, and hollering.

To be sure, the lingerie is often politely risqué, including panties and thongs, sexy bras, guêpières, nightgowns, and the like.  

Well, things happened differently on the range in Wyoming, where cowboys in the bunkhouse dealing with cold weather, wind, snow, mooing cows, and boredom on the range. Some of the cowhands noted that Cowgirl Melinda was feeling really down and that she liked being, well, a little feminine in some ways, so they decided to cheer her up and cheer themselves up. How? By having a lingerie shower, as one of them read about this notion in one of those magazines they turn to out of boredom and to check up on feminine bodies lest they forget.

So they planned, and shopped, and set the date! Truth to tell, they were all a little punchy from the cold, wind, and snow. But, by gum, cowboys are resourceful, especially the Dallas kind. Ask the Redskins.

They got neat invitations printed; and each did some special shopping on line or their day off in town. Talk about bulls in china shops: What about cowboys going in Victoria's Secret or even Trashy Lingerie? Well, the shoppers from the ranch could do without confused looks from salesgirls, so some shopped online.

The day of glory arrived. After Melinda unsaddled, fed, and watered her pony, she saw this sign on the door:

And the full ranch of cowpokes were inside, grinning like mules  eatin' briars. (Kind of like what Easterners call a shit-eating grin.) They whooped it up when Melinda entered, and the party began. First, a round of champagne to start things on, and this was chased by a dose of plonk from the master vinters of Denver! Them the party began, beginning with the cowboy's lament:

"With a ki-yi-yo, get along, little dogie, 

It's your misfortune, and none of my own....."

And brief testimonials from the buckeroos in honor of Cowgirl Melinda, who carried her own load as a ranch hand and didn't bitch about the constant wind. Melinda felt the love from her trail mates.

Then time for the gifts!

Pedro gave her a pink nightie with optional black bikini panties. This was pronounced "Darling!" by Melinda.

Jake came up with the lacy white gupiêrère that would make any woman look damned hot! The other hands wondered about where Jake's taste in women's clothing came from. A cat house in Rawlings? Anyway, everyone took a deep breath as they absorbed that vision.

Several thongs were bestowed on Melinda, guaranteeing her days of cooling tailwinds and silk wedgies.

And nightgowns. Demure ones, daring ones, Transparent ones. And transparent bras! And just barely there panties!

Pecos Al showed exquisite taste by gifting Melinda with a kimono.

Colorado Sam came up with a Colorado bikini top, giving a bit of humor in the process. Sorry, no Wyoming version.

And perfume, for when she tired of smelling like a horse.

Now how did Melinda take this unusual surprise party? Well, she asked for another round of bubbly while she modeled some of the outfits for the celebrating buckaroos!

As Melinda put it while modeling one of the thongs, "Now you can all be the judge as to whether my ass is too big." 

But the real show-stopper was when she came out in the lacy white gupiêrère! Mamma mia!

Sometimes the boys can be fun! But on the prairie, you have to make your own fun. But it helps if all are desperate, nonjudgmental, and have a sense of humor. Especially Melinda.

It's little perks like this that help with group cohesion.

Cowgirl Melinda Muses on Politics, 2016 Style

Sometimes on the prairie a gal gets time to think away from the blare of media coverage of election politics up to one's wazoo. Holy cow; don't they make whiskey or at least chill pills do deal with such excesses! Anyway, some lonesome cowboys came to the chuckwagon with notions, both about good chuck and making a play for Melinda. But . . . . they are no showers on the prairie and everyone smells like cows.

So they told lies and talked about politics. Or lied about politics, which is par for 2016.

This got Melinda into some talking.

"Ya know, Shorty, those tame Eastern politicians have some crazy notions."

"How so, Sweet Buns?"

After throwing a biscuit at Shorty, Melinda discoursed. 

"Well, first of all, what's this about building an 1800-mile wall across the desert to keep people out? Why not build a barbed wire fence between South Dakota and Wyoming to keep the eastern varmints out?"

Pecos Larry said, "Now that's a good notion to chew on. And how about those people confused as to where they want to pee?"

"Now that's a strange question. Pee where you want; just don't go behind a bush occupied by someone else."

"Now this Bernie Sanders fella wants to send everyone to college. What you think of that?"

"We gotta think more about that wild notion. After all, these people running for office went to such places as Princeton, Yale, Chicago, and Wharton, wherever the hell that is. How come they keep such strange notions? Next thing, they're thinking like crazy Coloradans after smoking that legal locoweed. Where's all the money coming from?" They're going to tax us more till we squeal! And then tax the squeal!"

Shorty said he couldn't make out those superdelegates, What super powers did they have?

"Shoot . . . . ponder! Their superpower is not having to listen to the common lot like us, never mind what the voters say. Think of them as big mules 'cause they're plumb stubborn."

One of the cowpokes said he could never keep straight why some people get fewer convention votes despite getting more votes at the polls. 

Melinda interpreted it thusly, "Politics is like playing poker with a rigged deck. And I don't play no strip poker; just penny ante hands. People who play politics should always remember it's like playing poker in a crooked house."

Shorty just had an idea he couldn't get out of his craw. "What about all the newspaper and television reporters reporting so much on the candidates, Melinda?"

"Listen up, Bucko. No one can resist being paid to watch a train wreck or a strip show."

The Cowgirl and the Geek

Since too many mamas took Willie Nelson's advice not to let their babies grow up to be cowboys, lonely Wyoming cowgirls found the odds of finding a suitable mate to suddenly be stacked against them.  Cowgirl Melinda experienced that dilemma.

However, she was resourceful.  

She went into a suitable bar in Rawlins and checked over the scene.  Damn!  It was a hipster bar!  She never saw so many beards and non-haircuts since she stumbled on a mountain man wannabee gathering (less threatening than a Grateful Dead concert).  She could tell the straight 'uns; they looked her over.  Then she moseyed up to the bar.  A nice-looking guy wearing a string tie sidled up to her and offered her a PBR.

Madeline, finding him promising, accepted his offer (whatever a PBR was) and was surprised that it was an unfamiliar beer.

He introduced himself as Jack.  Nice name, she thought; as long as his last name didn't begin with an S.

He goes, "You come here often?"

Melinda, "Nope.  I'm a stranger in these parts; mostly on the range."

Jack: "A chef?  Oh, how cool!"

Melinda: "No, I'm a wrangler.  I care for cows and sometimes geese.  But sometimes I'm left in charge of the chuck."

Jack:  "That's an unusual specialty: being in charge of an accessory for a drill.  Do you also handle the bits as well?"

Melinda: "Only when it comes to making them steers."

Clearly, there was a bit of culture shock even on the lone prairie.

It increased when Madeline asked him what he did, and he said that he was a technician with the Geek Squad.  "Is that like being a cable guy?"  Clearly, Melinda had a way of starting off on the wrong foot.  

But then it got worse.  It turned out later that he was a vegan; and a glutenophobe to boot.  He also hung around health food stores.  Somehow, Melinda came to thinking, this ain't going to work out.  Still . . . . he knew how to kiss . . . . 

Cowgirl Melinda Goes to Rodeo Drive

What's as unlike Wyoming as can be? Well, New York City and Paris come to mind, and we can throw in Marrakesh. But Cowgirl Melinda went to that Baghdad-by-the-Sea, Los Angeles, Yes, the City of Angels! Things were different here: people drove Mercedes and Beamers rather than pickup trucks. Yes, there was even an absence of those tarted-up ones that urban cowboys drove, with the big ole engines that make a lot of noise, have jacked-up suspensions, and even cow's horns on the hood! She stiffly concluded that she was a stranger in a strange land: not even the acceptably weird of Colorado. For one, everyone drives to great length to go from place to place. She nary saw anyone mosey there. But what if it's a fine day, and you want to galumph to the store for a burger and Coke?

Well, you find out that they call it soda there, and get their burgers from the In-and-Out. Now Melinda thought at first that someone was talking dirty to her, but found out that it was a popular hamburger chain. And most of the hands on the job had to commute in to the city where the rich folks live: like in Beverly Hills or Hollywood or even Santa Monica.

Well, Melinda was totally confused by this hectic place, and found out that the major vittles came from Mexican restaurants, taco and other kinds of food trucks, and for people on an expense account that knew someone important, those posh restaurants. These are the kind of places there is valet parking; and if you bribe the valet, he will bring back your ride! Apparently, holding cars hostage in big in Tinseltown.

Well, our poor cowgirl was totally disoriented; but she came on a street with a promising name: Rodeo Drive. Maybe it was just time to chill and watch a rodeo. But where was it? There was mostly pricey stores, bearing names that were unfamiliar in Buffalo or Ten Sleep or even in Casper! Maybe the last town being named for the friendly ghost kept the high rent places away....Anyway, she looked in a jewelry store, and wondered if she read the prices right but thought that, naw! The store guy left out the periods. Or maybe the prices were in pesos.  And in another store, she saw a microskirt, and asked where the bottom was? No, she didn't see any hookers, like in the movie, and the local law was polite, unlike in movies set in the L.A. area.

What was disappointing, moreover, was the absence of rodeo hands. Maybe she happened to go on an off day for rodeos.....  What she did see was a lot of tall, artificially endowed women and older men wearing bad toupees! For some reason, the place attracted boobs and tall women. 

Cowgirl Melinda then resolved to go over to Venice to take a gondola ride, or maybe to Hollywood to see the Walk of Shame, or Walk of Fame. Anyway, the one with the stars with names on them. Surely John Wayne got one. He rated one, she thought; except for The Quiet Man. Too many ridiculous and hurtful stereotypes.

Cowgirl Melinda Checks Out Congress

Some situations are just not safe for a sheltered, middle-of-the-road Western woman. Now Cowgirl Melinda was used to camping out on the lone prairie, going into tame places such as Buffalo, Ten Sleep, or even Cheyenne, but she went into dangerous territory when she went to Washington to see what all the fuss was about, and charm those good ole boys and gals running the place to see some reason, for a change.

So she goes into this big damned building with a pretty dome, and she is told she had to check her gun. So Melinda goes, "Cool. They sell drinks while you watch the show." But what she sees is mostly long-winded guys and a few women who talk on and on, stand around, scratch their crotches, and pass all kinds of motions. She decided that it's some kind of game for uncoordinated people to get some exercise.

She asked a man next to her, "How do you tell the Democrats from the Republicans?" The dude did not know; only saying that Republicans wear shorter hair than Democrats. Otherwise, they wear dark gray suits, with a bright-colored tie. One or two of them wore ties with nekkid ladies on 'em, so Melinda asked if either represented Wyoming. She was relieved at a negative answer, I guess.

She stayed around a bit; but nothing seemed to happen. So she asks a guard, "How much them fellows get for being here?"

The guard says, "$174,000 a year."

Melinda goes, "Are they also part-time football coaches? They sure don't work very hard for their money. Maybe they oughta get paid by the bill passed and maybe we would get some work out of that shiftless lot." But then she thought that the bills they do pass do some mischief. 

Then she noticed some fat cats talking animatedly to the elected officials, so Melinda asked the guard politely: "Who are those hombres?" "Miss, those are lobbyists." 

"They sure don't look like bell boys, do they?" 

By now she got  the lay of the land, so she didn't ask about the big gals following the lawmakers around. "I see they got a stable of whores, don't they?"

 "Dear lady, those are Congressional Assistants." The man winked while saying that, and Melinda wasn't going to let any East Coast dude make a pass at her, no Ma'am, even if he was a Capitol guard!

Still, she was curious. They all seemed to have spiffy haircuts. The guard told her that the Senators have their own barber shop so that they would look good on C-SPAN if their constituents happen to flip by while looking for some afternoon talk show or ESPN. 

Melinda asked, "Can you get a pedicure there?" 

"No, but they could get manicures until budget constraints caused them to drop that service." The things you learn if you ask the right questions.  Melinda thought that they probably don''t do bikini waxes, either.

But there's more. Congresspersons have their own gym, and they get free parking at Dulles and Reagan airports. They get to lease cars as an expense and help increase traffic on the beltway. And they get to go on fact-finding junkets to swell places as Paris or Stockholm; rarely to places such as Ubzekistan or Sudan. Finally, they have a retirement benefits that are so much better than the real working stiffs. It's like a bribe to make them go away.

Cowgirl Melinda said, "Not bad for a bunch of steers eating at the public trough. At least they're not in Wyoming."

Observations by Cowgirl Melinda

Cowgirl Melinda is prone to make some pithy observations from time to time.  It's a hazard of being alone in the saddle a lot.  Plus her butt gets a heap tired as well.

Genius has its limits. Stupidity knows no bounds. 

There is a fine line between fishing and standing on the shore like an idiot. 

Buckos, riding a bronco is like dancing with a girl.  The trick is matching your partner's rhythm.

Reciting poetry is like a haircut.  If it's good, you feel like a million bucks.  If it's bad, you hide your head under your hat.

A bronco rider should be light in the head and heavy in the seat. 

Don't interfere with something that ain't bothering you none.

Some people because they got something to say.  Others talk because they got to say something.

Never wrestle with a pig, You both get all dirty, and the pig likes it.

If you can't sing -- dance.

Broke is what happens when a cowgirl lets her yearnings get ahead of her earnings.

It takes fewer muscles to smile than to frown... and fewer still to ignore someone completely. 

Timing has a lot to do with the outcome of a rain dance.

Never trust a man who agrees with you. He's probably wrong.

If you find yourself in a hole, the first thing to do is to stop digging.

Ride the horse in the direction it's going.

If it don't seem like it's worth the effort, then it probably isn't.

An old timer's a man who's had a lot of interesting experiences -- some of 'em true.

It doesn't take a genius to spot a goat in a flock of sheep.

The biggest troublemaker you'll probably ever have to deal with watches you put on your makeup in the mirror every morning.

Never ask a beautician if you need a haircut.

Never kick a cow chip on a hot day.

If you get to thinking you're a person of some influence, try ordering somebody else's dog around.

Telling a man to get lost and making him do it are two entirely different propositions.

Don't worry about biting off more than you kin chew; your mouth is probably bigger than you think.

Always drink upstream from the herd.

If you're riding ahead of the herd, take a look back every now and then to make sure it's still there with you.

When you give a personal lesson in meanness to a critter or to a person, don't be surprised if they learn their lesson.

Generally, you ain't learning nothing when your mouth's a-jawin'.

Letting the cat out of the bag is a hell of a lot easier than putting' it back in.

Always take a good look at what you are about to eat.  It's not so important to know what it is, but it's sure crucial to know what it was.

The quickest way to double your money is to fold it over and put it back in your pocket.

There are three kinds of men, The one that learns by reading, The few who learn by observation, and the rest of them have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.

Never drop your gun to hug a grizzly.

A good horse never comes in a bad color.

You can't hide a piece of broccoli in a glass of milk.

Never hold a dustbuster and a cat at the same time.

You can't trust your dog to watch your food.

Never approach a bull from the front, a horse from the rear or a fool from any direction.

Cowgirl Melinda Blows Up Some B.S.

Cowgirl Melinda and her compadres went into this Colorado town named Baker Springs for refreshment and recreation; but the local police made it evident that their company was not welcome.  Actually, Slim Bill and Mountain Walter Wilson were arrested on a D.U.I. charge, Melinda punched a Greenie who made fun of her yoga pants, and the others were forbidden to buy more drinks as they were undesirables from Wyoming.  The cowboys, righteously enough, thought that this was outrageous!  After all, if you're on horseback and you let it do so, the horse pretty much takes you where you should go like you're on automatic pilot. And their buckarette Melinda had serious provocation from having her butt maligned!  Therefore they concluded that this was really an example of anti-cowboy or anti-Wyoming harassment by this town's police.

But what to do?  While the cowpokes were a collective rough lot, they were a few players short of a mob or a riot.  And cowpokes on horses did not push the terror buttons like a bunch of middle aged overweight bikers on outlaw motorcycles did!  No, they were regarded as a bunch of retro buffoons.  So sad!

And the possibility of riding down the street while shooting the place up did not have the impact that it did when Charles Russell was painting his western art!

Finally, one of the cowboys said, "Let's blow something up; we have some old dynamite!"  And different ideas were offered: blowing up the saloon or the water tank were originally raised but dismissed as being too antisocial because of the effect this would have on the community.  They wanted to make a point; but not hurt anyone or cause a drink shortage.  That's not the cowboy way!

However, the offending town, Baker Springs, had a mountainous decoration like many mountainous western towns: the town's initials on a mountain or hillside!  Apparently the residents of Baker Springs never thought of another possible something that B.S. could stand for; Colorado folks did lack a sense of humor, after all!  Hopefully, legalized pot would take some of their uptight edges away, eventually.

Melinda was annoyed at the B.S., proposed that they blow up the double entendre B. S. as a community service.  The cowboys allowed that it seemed like a good idea, and it would likely be seen as a civic improvement, anyway.  So they got a few sticks of dynamite and placed them around the B.S., lit the fuses, and skedaddled!

Well, one of the dynamite charges went off and blew the S up to eternity!  However, the B did not go; leaving the job only half done.

By this time they were hanging out at a drive-in, having the skating servers bringing them buffalo burgers and root beer.  They were a little disappointed, but at least one of the offending letters was gone.

Now the people in Baker Springs were puzzled by the explosion, but adapted to it very well due to the now legal locoweed.  They simply changed the name of the town to Baker.  The doggone spring was too alkaline, anyway. 

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Just a little true-life fact:  Colleges and high schools, as well as towns, may go in for doing hillside letters also.  Years ago, some students from one college, I think a College of Mines, blew up a rival college's letter as a prank. 



Cowgirl Melinda, wearing party attire



Cowgirl Melinda Tries to Become a Sidekick

Cowgirl Melinda found herself between jobs again; a condition in which a resourceful cowgirl could find a remedy.  In the past, she resorted to being a goose wrangler and helping in a Tame Eastern Show; but the local job prospects were kind of lame.

She did see a sign at a "Gentleman's Club" at an exit from I-80 advertising for cowgirl strippers!  Somehow, she wasn't open to the stage life, especially if it involved not wearing chaps and boots.  Or maybe it had something to do with refinishing the tables?  Oh well, not for her.

But in a coffee shop while she was having a cheap cup of joe, she saw a job advertisement for a sidekick in an indie movie set in Wyoming.  So she applied, and met with some odd-looking fellas from Portland, of all places!  They were real dudes who apparently got their garb from Cowboys R Us.

The Director fella commented to her that she looked like a real babe; and this would provide a new twist to the standard western buddy movie!  How about a female side kick, preferably one who dressed sexily?  They had a cowgirl outfit from Belle's Secret!....But, looks aside, they had some standards for a suitable sidekick; they had a checklist to assess Melinda's qualifications:

1.  Does she talk sparingly; but when she does, does she provide some homespun philosophy?  Check.

2.  Could she ride a horse or bull?  Check.

3.  Can she spit a fine stream?  Melinda worked at it, and got a passable one.

4.  Does she chew?  Well, Melinda was a bit weak on that; but she did so passably with bubble gum.  Check.

5.  Did she ever brand a cow?  Well, Melinda owned up to it, but told the tenderfeet that they always used a local.

6.  Can she sing and yodel?  Well, Melinda was a bit short in this department.  By now she thought that these movie guys were a tad behind the curve when it came to the concept of cowgirls.  It didn't help when they speculated on how she would look in a Dallas Cheerleader outfit!  Melinda was a Bronco fan, despite it being a Denver team.

The lead actor asked her if she would sleep two to a bed roll.  She properly replied that she was not that kind of cowgirl who would do so on the first date.  

Just then the actor kicked her in the thigh, and she fell down.  Melinda exclaimed, "S***!  What did you do that for, you cow [excrement] moron!  Melinda usually spoke politely, but this was real provocation!

The actor dude said, "That was the final test to see if you qualified as a sidekick."

Melinda then decided that an actress career was not for her!  These Portland dudes did not know which end of the horse was which; plus their movie was sounding pornish as it began to unfold.  Too bad, she would have been more authentic than the standard female part in a western movie.

Cowgirl Melinda Tries a Cosmopolitan

Cowgirl Melinda needed to get away from the job for a spell, so she took an unpaid vacation down to Denver.  It's a fact of life, but cowhands tend to get few fringe benefits other than the fresh air, cheap alcohol, and all the beef they can eat.

Anyway, she went down into the belly of the beast:  Greenie Country.  She shied away from the People's Republic of Boulder, and the City of Bland Beer, and went to the metropolis itself.  Actually, it was enlightening: she thoroughly enjoyed the Denver Art Museum and the Museum of Natural History.  And she had a quiche for lunch while at the Museum.  The waiter rolled is eyes when she asked for the "quichy"; but Melinda took that to be a nervous tic causes from too much urban dwelling.

And when she got back to her truck, she found it was ticketed.  Now the ticket-issuers take particular delight in writing citations for vehicles bearing bucking bronco tags.*  Melinda swore; but wasn't doing to let a little ole parking ticket rain on her parade; she's just skedaddle back to Wyoming with it unpaid.  Or maybe she would.  Who knows.  Does Denver hire bounty hunters to catch people who don't pay parking tickets?

Anyway, she went for a drink in the hotel, and asked for the bartender's recommendation.  Now Melinda was wearing a sophisticated dress for this urban visit, not jeans and a work shirt like back on the ranch.

The bartender said, "You really should like a Cosmopolitan."

And Melinda said, "Okay, I'm game!"

A few minutes later, Melinda is given this red drink, with what looks like a thin slice of orange peel in the glass.  Melinda said, "This is odd.  I wonder what's in it?"  She soon found out.

It was the sweetest and sourest damned drink she ever tasted.

""Is this Cosmopolitan based on a sweet and sour pork sauce?"

So the bartender told her what was in it: vodka, cranberry juice, lime juice, triple sec, and ice.  It's a popular drink on Sex and the City.

Well, Melinda first thought that it was a little rough; but it began to grow on her.  She thought, "Now this is something to take back for my bunkmates."  Unlike the rough image television fostered, they have over time come to appreciate some of the little pleasures, like coffee latte and cloth table napkins.

So one evening, a group of Wyoming ranch hands sat around drinking Cosmopolitans.  Another form of Eastern decadence came to Ten Sleep and Buffalo.

Cosmopolitan Recipe

2 ounces of vodka

1/2 ounce triple sec

1 ounce  cranberry juice

1/4 to 1/2 ounce fresh lime juice

1 2-inch orange peel/twist

ice

*A little esoterica: the bronco on Wyoming tags is that of Steamboat, the horse that no one could successfully ride in a rodeo.

Cowgirl Melinda Has a Hell of a Hamburger

Chuck wagon grub is usually rough; but Cowgirl Melinda was used to it.

There's the stews like sonofabitch stew, with is beef in origin but does not invite too close a scrutiny as to its contents.  Older ranch hands, in deference to Melinda's sex, politely referred to it as "son-of-a-gun stew."

And there's the chilis, which the New Mexican hands persist in spelling chiles, like the country.  Now, usually, these are protein fests, with various beans and tomatoes to spice up the seasoning further.

But it's a sad day when the chuck wagon pickup truck in in the shop, and there's no nearby café for the cowhands to go for their well-earned repasts.  On one occasion, they had to make do at a truck stop convenience store.

Now those types of dine-in places are primitive, to say the least: featuring the worst possible cases of fast foods.  Melinda mused that she wished they were too fast to catch, much less eat.

Now Melinda looked on the lunch board, and found that they had hot dogs, burritos, and hamburgers.  Since she was feeling a little peckish, she ordered a pair of hamburgers.  After all, nothing can really go too wrong with a hamburger, could it?  She had a vision of passable edibility: a crisp, blackened patty on a circular bun; perhaps with a swatch of lettuce oand a tomato slice.  The word 'catsup' appeared among the condiments, never a good sign.

Anyway, Melinda chose a pint of low-fat milk, and thought but rejected the jelly doughnut.  Word to the wise: convenience story doughnuts are not for the figure.  Lardy, lardy!

Anyway, the counterman served her two cylindrical objects on hog dog buns.

Melinda exclaimed, "Sir, I ordered a pair of righteous hamburgers!"

The counterman countered with, "These are hamburgers; they're just shaped this way."

So poor Melinda  encountered another one of those dilemmas of post-2000 life: things don't even look like they should.

The damned things just tasted off: kind of a mix of hamburger and hot dog.  Sometimes the appearance of the object does impact on how it tastes.  Melinda ate them both with her eyes closed.

And Cowgirl Melinda and her fellow cowboys resolved to stick to the golden arches or Wendy's in the future.  At least hamburgers there look like hamburgers.

And if this happened in 1914 instead of 2014, the response would be different.  Cowgirls, after all, do have a sense of what is righteous when it comes to serving beef!

What Do You Call a Male Buckle Bunny?

In the world of rodeo, the rodeo cowboys are the stars, and there is a set of fan girls that deliberately seek the cowboys for sex.  These specialized groupies are referred to as "buckle bunnies."

Now, as an occasional participant in rodeos, Cowgirl Melinda was aware of these lewd fillies, and it annoyed her something else that a buckaroo would mistake her for one.  No, she was the Real Deal: a honest working cowhand.  And she was adept at roping, herding, and even taming a bronc, if needed.  Melinda particularly liked the barrel races.  She was not too keen on bull-riding, though.  She was more adept at shooting the bull!

One day, she was nonplussed to find that a skinny young fella seemed to hang around where she was, and was making some nonsubtle hints as to what he wanted.  And Melinda blushed.  She was not that kind of cowgirl!
Melinda said, "Go away; you creep me out!  If you don't go away, I'll hogtie you!"  And there was something about the skinny fella's expression that told our cowgirl that she was on the wrong trail with that threat.

So she tried a different approach:  "Look, Dude......Who ever heard of a male buckle bunny?"

But the young fella set her right.  He said, "Now, consider this.  A male rabbit is called a buck, and a female rabbit a doe.  A bunny is a young rabbit of either gender.  Like a male cat is a tom, and a female cat a queen, and a young 'un's a kitten.  And a male dawg is a dog, and a female dog is a bitch, and a young one is a pup.  Okay?"

Cowgirl Melinda thought about it a bit, and said, "Well, I'm not into sharing my bedroll with you or no one.  But stop dressing like a sissy, and up your game some, and you might pass for a sex kitten of the male sorts.  Or you can wear a set of bunny ears.  But I won't make a rabbit of you!"

 

Melinda Learns to Tell the Real from the Fake

While Cowgirl Melinda was having coffee with some other girls (women, if you prefer), one of the group made a comment regarding someone at another table:  "Will you look at her; surely she has fake [breasts].*

Immediately, some others in the group joined in with their appraisals; pretty well in agreement with the first comment.  This confused our girl, who was totally clueless as to how they derived their conclusions.

So, in total naiveity, she asked.  And got several plausible reasons.

1.  The other girl had outsized breasts that seemed larger in proportion to her slim body;

2.  She was wearing form-fitting clothes;

3.  Her breasts were "too perfect:" they were cantaloupe-shaped rather than pear-shaped.

4.  They were positioned relatively high on her chest.

Melinda then queried, "Why don't you ask her if they're real or store-bought?"  And immediately became aware of the fallacy of that approach.

Later on, while back in the bunkhouse, Cowgirl Melinda decided to test that hypothesis.  Taking off her denim jacket and Western shirt, she donned a baby tee.  And checked herself over.

"Those bitches don't know what they're talking about," Melinda exclaimed!"

Smitty, who happened in at that moment, asked, "What bitches?"

"Oh, just the usual loudmouthed variety."

"You must have been in Ten Sleep today, Melinda."

*My substitution for the dysphemism that was actually used, which Cowgirl Melinda would never use.

Cowgirl Melinda Offers Fashion Advice

A local Cheyenne news reporter managed to obtain an interview with a real cowgirl on how to Dress for Success in the West.   This is what transpired.

"Good evening, folks.  Tonight's guest is Cowgirl Melinda, fresh off the prairie; and our topic is dressing for success on the prairie."

Melinda:  "Err.....err.....Yeah, thanks, Gwyenth.  I'm supposed to tell how to dress when you're away from the big cities.  Now people from metropolises like Cheyenne or Casper know how to outfit themselves; but outlanders from the likes of Denver or Omaha or Noo Yawk don't have a junebug's clue!  Remember, form follows function."

Gwyenth:  "I know what you mean, but can you give us some specifics, Melinda?"

Melinda:  "Shore nuff.  First off:  Don't put on boots when wearing a skirt.  You look plumb silly.  Boots go with jeans.  End of story. 

"When wearing a skirt, If you're gonna wear tall heels, get some practice in wearing them before you go in public.  Nothing spoils the effect of showing off your legs while wearing f***-me shoes* like falling on your butt or especially your face and getting a case of nosebleed!

"For most occasion, jeans are the way to go.  But let them be blue jeans.  No colored jeans or carpenter's jeans.  Don't get them pre-faded; let your ordinary doins' take care of the process.  And it's okay to wear guys' jeans.  They don't emphasize the butt so much and sometimes come in handy."

Gwyenth:  "Oh really, how?"  But then she thought and thought it best not to go there on television.

Melinda:  Don't wear jodhpurs.  Ever.  Not even if you lose an election bet.  And yoga pants are only for leisure wear and never around the campfire.

"You can be pretty free with your shirt selections: T-shirts when it's fairly hot; long-sleeved shirts of either a solid or plaid pattern.  But don't do orange.  That color might upset the critters.  And don't wear a Colorado Buffaloes or Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt or sweat shirt.  Those kind are regarded as worn only by untrustworthy heathens.

"You know, don't go in for those western styling shirts, either; unless you're trying to pass as a tenderfoot or a hillbilly singer.  It's okay to look like you're a shit-kicker in Nashville, not Rawlins.

Don't tie your shirt underneath in order to bare your midriff, 'less you're Shania Twain or a belly dancer left off at Little America.

"For much of the year, a nice, comfortable denim jacket will compliment your ensemble.  But don't have it tricked out with rhinestones or such useless stuff unless you're trying to look like an Easterner slumming in the West.

"And a word about Nudie suits or jackets:  Don't.  Unless you're a country and western singer on stage.  And, even then, don't wear one with rhinestone guitars or banjos on it!  Wearing one to breakfast in the Buffalo Café would cause some of the old-timers to lose their fodder.

"Your hat should be chosen with care.  It should fit, and it should reflect your own style.  Stetsons look best; sombreros or derbys are not advised.  Yes, it's semiokay to wear a baseball cap, but not a pith helmet.  Pith on those who do.  But whatever hat you wear, take it off when going indoors.  It's the polite thing to do."

Gwyenth:  "Very good ideas, Melinda.  But what about belts?"

Melinda:  "Dang me, I forgot.  A nice wide western belt with a buckle should do it.  It should have some western motif on it: longhorns, buffaloes, or marijuana leaves."

Gweneth:  "Marijuana leaves?

Melinda:  "Yeah.  A cowgirl must relax sometimes."

*I regret to say that Cowgirl Melinda was bleeped.

"