Alter Ego: The Gay Robotic Cowboy

To Those Confused by the Absurdit of this Blog's Title,

Then there were the times of utter panic, disillusionment, and embarrassment. Today was no exception. As it turns out, I turn into an uncontrollable nutcase when driving long distances and am highly susceptible to schizophrenic behaviors, such as… dancing. Well, to be more precise, cowboy dancing. To be even more articulate, robotic cowboy dancing. Alright, fine. Gay robotic cowboy dancing. There. That felt good.

For those of you who have not had the dubious pleasure of witnessing my dance skills, let me say one thing: God has smiled upon you my friend. Although video does exist in some small dark corners of this horrendous, atrocious act that only few would even recognize as “dancing”, many of you have been spared. However, when alone, I do not hold back and my clumsy moves come out in all there rigid glory.

So, as I cruised down I-10 East, headed for Space City (Houston), I was immersed in my best gay robotic cowboy routine. (I say “gay” because I naturally consider all cowboys to be gay… I mean come on-the phrases like “saddle up partner”, all of their little cowboy toys like six-shooters, chaps, holsters, spurs, the lasso for crying out loud…I’ve never seen so much latent homo-erotic behavior in any subculture. I digress) So there I was, cruising at 82 mph, arms akimbo, legs bopping up and down, as I fired off my six shooter at imaginary highway bandits dressed in Zorro masks-let me just say, it wasn’t a pretty picture.

For some reason I came out of my absurd trance and glanced out the passenger window, only to see a car full of African Americans staring at me as though I had just crawled from the alien craft wreckage at Roswell Airfield. Actually, forget the alien simile, they stared at me as though there was a Jeep, covered in mud, being driven by a gay robotic cowboy. Once again, it wasn’t pretty. And that’s saying the least.

Last night we played yet another game of ultimate Frisbee that took us into the early hours of the morning. It’s only a matter of time until one of these games sees us into dawn, and we quit only to attend Friday morning lectures. As memorable as that would be, last night something happened that sent tremors through the world of Frisbee as we know it. Marissa Pantelonia, my “best awkward hello friend”, made a catch that was something to behold. The experience of seeing her fall to the ground, gloriously clutching that Frisbee as though the fate of the heavens and earth depended on it was ineffable and I will spend no more capricious words attempting to describe it.

But let me say this: I threw the pass, and the second it left my outstretched fingers I knew that the Frisbee had a date with destiny. Indeed, the Gods were watching us last night and Marissa stared right back. And to think, only weeks ago I was chastised for not throwing it to the girls more often. How time distorts things.
All kidding aside, Marissa made an amazing catch and I redeemed myself to the girls, which is really the point of any of my actions.

Well, it’s shower time and then a date with Herself, which should be interesting if nothing else. I never know how I will feel seeing her, but I do know I feel something. Herself is a bit under the weather so I’ll have to be on good behavior if I’m going to weather the evening. That made no sense really. Sorry again. I’m such an apologist.

*Point of Information: I’m not really sorry for the things I type in this blog at all. I’m just being nice.

Until next time, I remain, the quickest draw in the South (beware Zorro masked bandits… I see thee!),
MW Rice

Quote of the Day: (and this one is GOOD-so read it carefully)

"Yes, there were times when I forgot
not only who I was but that I was,
I forgot to be."

Samuel Beckett