So I feel an itch to write about rednecks. Real rednecks. The kind that I am related to, am friends with, and the kind that I am; perhaps I should say unfortunately but I am actually proud of where I came from.

I saw a lot of every different kind of person this long weekend, at Big Valley Jamboree. I saw druggies and cowboys, people pretending to be cowboys, skids and skaters, a whole wack load of drunk people, and some normal down to earth human type folk. I could sit at the computer and write stories about these people till the cows come home, but I'd like to get a decent night's sleep for the first time in a while. We saw a few couples emerging together out of an outhouse ( yeah, the really super small portable kind), the boys saw one nasty old lady change her underwear right in front of them. I have a picture floating around somewhere of a guy trying to kiss me and me pulling back, if anyone sees it anywhere return it to me, haha.

The music was awesome, the comedians were great, and it was probably one of the best times I ever had! All that country music, though, and particularily Gretchen's concert, got me thinking about the redneck, cowboy, farmkid way of life.

So I went golfing today with My brother, Levi, and my cousin Dustin. I didn't actually golf, I just gave unwelcome advice and kept score. WE WERE REDNECKS! I have golfed with people before, but never like this. First of all, there are four of us crammed in with a roping bag in the crowded cab of a '92 dodge half ton that has spurs hanging from the rear view mirror. The guys are all wearing their cowboy hats, their wranglers, and their cowboy belts and buckles. When we get our carts, they all take their shirts off to stay cool. ( this is, by the way, a rather large golfing no no.) I would have worn my hat but I didn't think it would go with the camo mini skirt. ( another no-no on a golf course).

So, we are minding our own business, playing happy gilmore on hole 4, and the beverage cart lady comes up to us, looking at us all a little funny in our less than average golfing gear. Levi and Cody let out a great copenhagen spit without even thinking right in front of her. Her face screwed up in this awful grimace and she says " Ooh, can you just not spit on the green? It's going to kill the grass, that's nasty, can you just not spit? Like just don't spit." Huh. So she had never met a copenhagen chewing, cowboy hat wearing, belt buckle shining, yes maam yes sir kinda man before. Lucky me I know a crap load of them. Then we are driving along, not causing much trouble, spitting on the green like fools ( yes, even I joined into the spitting, you don't have to chew to spit), and these old ladies clad in traditional golf gear came up to us. One of them whispered ( in a lovely stage voice) " Oh will you look at those hillbillies!" The other lady just stared at us with her eyes wide open. Really, are we that strange? I suppose we don't really stay quiet when we are hitting balls, and we drive the golf carts like guttless cow-checking quads, and we do look a little funny...

So, I have had approximately five hours of sleep in the last twenty four hours so I probably didn't make a lick of sense. I am gonna call 'er a night now.