a good word revolution

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Wednesday, January 9, 2013

w i l d w i l d w e s t

Blerdesses love W e s t e r n s! I can't point my finger, yet, as to why. Oh, a [b l e r d e s s] is a female version of a b l e r d.

Westerns are not the most politically correct genre, nor, arguably, the most heady. Why DO we like?

Blerd girls play in alternate realities which makes tons of sense.

Star Wars ultimately models as a Western - which makes even more sense. Ask f a b u l o u s blerdess, Mellody Hobson?

Hot guy, Common, had a recent role in the TV Western, Hell on Wheels- which makes THE most sense.

Da haahh, da haahh
da ha-hahh- ha-hahh haahh!

I can't blerd chic my way to a logical conclusion of why blerd girls f a n c y Westerns. 

Aside from the o b v i o u s genetic component... our daddys' loved Westerns. Now we do. Background music to our lazy Saturday afternoon memories stream intro TV s p a g h e t t i Western theme songs.

Sasha and I texted on this topic during my recent holiday travels. There were too many components of Western life that we agreed that blerds adored. We realized that an entire month could be dedicated to blogging this intriguing pairing.
That was when I confessed that my favorite holiday d e s t i n a t i o n was not:
the Stratton Salon s p a trip,
or the m a g n i f i c e n t Tea Room,
or the s t e a m y hot springs at Trimble,
or even the m a g i c a l Silverton Cascade Canyon trip.
En route to Colorado...
I was extra excited to meet-up with the amazing a n g e l Adrea during the second leg of the Westward Ho annual Texas / Colorado road trip and a teeny bit excited about devouring precious p a r a n o r m a l pancakes- blue corn pinion bubbling with pine nuts at Santa Fe Baking Company and Cafe

Then a magnificent diversion occurred in New Mexico. 

The sign read: 

Billy the Kid's REAL resting place. 

d i v e r s i o n!!! 

Regulators, Let's Ride! 

I t r e a s u r e my own favorite Western, Young Guns featuring my own favorite cowboy, William H. Bonney.  

Back and forth through the town we searched for the REAL resting place of The Kid taking clues from confusing colorfully numbered town maps and official highway markers. 

Torn, I lamented aloud, "We don't have to go. If we can't find it this time, we should at least make it to the Baking Company," followed by tumbling exasperated sighs. 

Farmer Guy kept looking. Highly unusual for the 'let's get to where we are going- minimal meandering Farmer Guy. 

Ultimately he admitted, that in no way would he want to hear that dramatic monologue for the rest of his life, ”We were so close to Billy the Kid..." Followed by years of tumbling exasperated s i g h s.

Lo and behold! He found it! 

I was tickled to giddy. I read William's letters. I photographed everything. 

I saw the PALS tombstone. Shut - up! 

Farmer Guy thought there may have been some past life r o m a n t i c horseplay between me and the Kid. Impossible, because he's still, what, alive. 

Blerds also love people who are not really dead, but naysayers believe otherwise, but that's a whole ‘nother month of posts.

Tonto, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...
Kemosabi, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it... Custer, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...Apache, jump on it, jump on it, jump on it...wowowowowowowowowowowowowoA- hunga-hunga-hunga-hunga!!!


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