The Wonderful Biggest BBQ Cook-off and Drunkfest

Still not being able to quite kill the pneumonia that is roosting in my right lung, I decided that maybe walking thousands of miles around the Reliant Stadium grounds might be exactly what the doctor forgot to order for me. I set off on my bus ride, where we were packed in like sardines, listening to an elderly gentleman scream for 5 miles about everything that was wrong with America today. He wouldn't shut up because I kept interjecting loudly AMEN! every quarter mile. That was fun. Now, off to the rail where I showed a nice lady next to me my cool taser. She was impressed and wanted to know where she could get one. I told her that I was going to buy a bunch of them and sell them on the rail platforms during morning rush hour. She promised she would be my first customer.
Once I got to Reliant, I had to walk FOREVER to get to the drunkfest. Lordy; next time I'll wear Depends and bring an inhaler. Finally I found it, and I knew it was big, but not this stinkin' big. Have we had an influx of asian cowboys recently? Even when I was sober, I saw tons of asians in boots and little shorts.But, I was happy to see that all nationalities enjoy partaking of the Cook-off. It took a few hours, but I eventually found Dirt Road, which is the BEST DAMN BBQ COOK-OFF TEAM EVER. I am biased since this spot belongs to my good friend, Kathy Oxspring and her husband,Bart. It felt good to sit down and drink, and drink,and drink. I talked to the Oxsprings friends, Jay &Kelly Jones. Kelly is a realtor(I think) and Jay kept telling me to buy Jones Oil so I assume he is Jones Oil. Jay's family is from the great state of Arkansas. WooooPigSoooiiieee!!! We swapped Clinton stories ( his mom dated him and I almost slept with him). I had a great time at Dirt Road. More beers later, Kathy's friends, Derrick,Delane and Ryan came by. They were all cute, young and perky, so I guessed we bored them so they left. By the time the sun set, Kathy and friends departed and I stayed to make sure that all the beer didn't go to waste. The band was playing and I talked to many drunken interesting people that I can barely remember. I stumbled around the cook-off looking for my partying friend Lizette, but to no avail. I thought I spotted her half-clad on the mechanical bull...could it have been? Too much fun for one night, but I will definitely put Rodeo Cook-off on my things to do next year. Now I see why they call it the World's Biggest BBQ Cook-off. They should really add Drunkfest to the title ...

Don't Tase Me Bro'!

Super Bowl Sunday. I can either grade papers or go downtown to the Houston Gun & Knife Show. So, I threw my camera in my bus bag and headed to the killing fields. Of course, my bag was searched at the door and the friendly Houston po-po threatened me with bodily harm if I took any pictures inside the show. What??? How can I blog about such a great event without documenting it on film?
The place was HUGE and it  was definitely a man event, but I did my best to look tough and blend in. The first booth I stopped at was Sparky's Tactical Weaponry. A nice gentleman asked me if I needed a taser. I said fo' sho'; whatcha got? He then pulled out the top of the line Cheetah and gave me a lesson in tasing. When Sparky told me I could carry my Cheetah inside schools I was sold. Writing out detention/office referrals is such a waste of my valuable teaching time. I can't wait to try it out tomorrow morning. Oh, you don't want to say the Pledge of Allegiance? ZAP! Oh, you don't feel like bringing a pencil to class? ZAP! Oh, Mrs.Menotti, you talkng to me?ZAP! Next gun show, my friend, Ashley, will have to go with me to speak gun talk to these people because I could only smile and shake my head so much. Everyone was so nice, so I asked a couple at one booth why they wouldn't allow pictures to be taken. In a low voice they told me it was because if anything "went wrong" they didn't want it publicized. With that little tidbit it was time to go.
Once I got home, I thought I'd better check out my Cheetah, so I tased my cat, Mishka, then I tased myself to be fair.What a rush! This was like Valentine's Day come early. I think I'm going to have a good week at school...

That's What She Said!

Oh, the miracle of Facebook. It's been fun this past year finding old friends along the digital highway, but even more fun when all can come together in person to celebrate the past. So, it was great when Paula said she would organize a little get-together with a few of the old Cabot crew from 35 years ago. Bama Belles ain't got shit on the Cabot Belles From Hell! Our raucous group consisted of Paula, Shelly, Renee, Pam, Kim, Jodie and whitegirlridingthebus. It was nice to see that we were still 12 year olds at heart, but thank goodness we could now add alcohol to our already sick minds. Being well-bred Arkansans, it's against southern rules to spread gossip first, so Paula had the grand idea to play charades so someone else at the table would speak the unspeakable first. I'm pretty sure the hottest piece of Cabot gossip EVER had something to do with a gay shoe salesman and thumping headboards. I was still discussing with Renee why everyone was talking about Ms. Puss...like who the heck was she? I think I missed something in translation. Booze usually makes my hearing more acute, so I ordered more wine. The more I drank the funnier Paula and Shelly got. Paula continued to hold her shoe in one hand, and a wineglass in the other. Shelly was fully loaded while waving a knife and a wineglass. Pam and Kim were drinking beer, so they weren't as fermented as the winos. Thank goodness for Jodie who didn't drink. Every group needs a mature adult...

I don't know who mentioned slashing tires first ( I'm sure it wasn't me), but hell has no fury like a Cabot mommy scorned. Shelly began to grow horns and a tail as she talked about wanting to get the lil bitch ex-girlfriend of her son's because that tart had broken his heart. This is a prime example of why I love my Arkansas friends. Texas women choose guns for due process, and Arkansas women grab the closest knife. These girls are up close and personal. We were all in agreeance that Shelly had every right to inflict harm on that girl and/or her car, but Shelly was out of control with her wine and knife, so Renee suggested that I call my spiritual advisor, Dr. Thumper, to help Shelly find enlightenment. Shelly would have no part of it. I tried to get Dr. Thumper on the prayer line many times during the evening but to no avail. Paula suggested I fed-ex an autographed book to Shelly when she was calm. Hopefully Santa delivered the good news to her Christmas morning. Thank G-d for the fruit of the vine which our wonderful waitress, Audrey, poured liberally. We had a blast playing charades and sharing prison stories. YaYa's probably won't remember us, so we are all looking forward to round two next year. Pam, you're in charge of bringing Ms. Fureigh because I'm dying to see that old bat. Revenge is definitely a dish best served cold. Ladies, arm yourselves, because that's what she said!!!

Insane Clown Posse

I love it when people my age jump around and act like fools, so I was thrilled when my BFF, Charlotte,told me that her boytoy could hook us up with free tickets to the Insane Clown Posse concert at the Warehouse on 12/6. Although it was a school night, I thought it was well worth losing a few hours of sleep for.
I got on the internet Sunday night to listen to the ICP Christmas cd. OMG!!! It was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard. I couldn't wait for the concert. This was going to be epic.
As I walked up to the Warehouse to find Juggalette Charlotte, I came close to getting puked on by a rabid, wheelchair-bound ICP fan. Fast thinking saved me from sporting vomit soaked jeans, but my luck wouldn't last. I saw a line full of insane clowns and decided to talk to a few. The first dedicated fans I interviewed were Candace and Gary from Louisiana. They had even driven to Florida last year for an ICP throwdown. They were a lovely couple, and I hope they survived the melee. As I spied a rowdy, drunken group to talk to, a gang of juggalos ran past us, spraying coke/bourbon/? all over us. Better than puke...I guess. Everyone was having a high 'ol time when Boytoy Jay took me inside for the bloodbath. By the time Juggalette Charlotte arrived, the party was in overdrive. I've never seen so many saggy pants in my life. We downed some drinks and tried to blend in.
The opening act looked and sounded like they would probably eat a litter of kittens for Sunday dinner, but Charlotte and I had a good laugh over them and the audience in general.The later it got, the more scared I got. What's a middle-aged school teacher doing in a place like this? I was obviously not in the spirit of the evening, so I got another drink. I attempted to look as high as the rest of the fans, but since I was able to stand upright I knew that wouldn't work. My BFF and I threw our hands in the air and acted as stupid as we could. No one bothered us and all was well.

Jay and Charlotte left to get something to eat, and I had to fend for myself. ICP finally came on stage and the crowd went ape-shit. I kept waiting on the sound of gun fire, but the fans were too drugged-out to bust a cap in anything. I longed for a shower and had seen enough for one night, so I bolted for the exit and prayed I'd make it out alive. On my drive home, I sent Charlotte a text that I had left. About 30 minutes later, that juggalo sent me a text saying that ICP had just gotten on stage and it truly was INSANE! Hahaha-I have no idea who I was watching but it was enough craziness for me. From now on I'll stick to riding the bus. It's safer!

Born To Be Wild

I haven't had a good blog since Buffalo, so I thought the Lone Star Motorcycle Rally in Galveston would make for interesting fodder. Since I don't own a motorcycle, my Jeep sufficed for the journey to biker land. I'm thankful I went while the sun was still high in the sky, because a billion drunken bikers would be too much for me to experience after dark.
My first stop was the NRA tent, where they were running special rally discounts on memberships. Sign me up! Not only did I get a year's membership for a mere $25, I got to pick from a hat, t-shirt or knife for my membership gift. It took me about one second to decide on the kick-ass NRA knife. This will come in handy on my future bus rides. Armed and happy, I continued my walk through the vendors. I stopped to talk to Bill from West Virginia. He was selling custom made hammocks. Every biker deserves a siesta after a long day of beer brawls and blood-lettings. Go to www.wiskybilt.com to get yours today. After many sightings of beautiful bikes and biker outfits, I stopped to talk to Bob of  Howling Helmets in California. He and his dad make custom helmets topped with various dead animals/roadkill. For a mere $2, I had my picture taken wearing a dead fox helmet. There were plenty of varmints to choose from, so email Bob at ajnbob13@aol.com today to order yours. April of Cheeky Chaps was kind enough to model some handmade, styling chaps for me. People are so friendly here. Nothing says happiness like cold beer at noon on a Sunday.  The later it got, the more toothless grins I received from biker prison dudes. I thought Gatorfest had some toothless people, but Lone Star Rally was running a tight second place in the missing teeth race. Still, bikers are so nice that a person could overlook the lack of enamel with these road hogs. While shopping in the Sons of Anarchy tent, I overheard some ex-cons reminiscing about their days as hired killers in Cali. Holy shit! What is a little school marm like myself doing in a place like this? In order to blend in, I bought some skull license plate holders, and nodded my head like I could relate to their Life in the Big House memories, then ran as fast as I could, with NRA knife in hand ,back to the family friendly booths off of The Strand. I think it's time to head back to Houston.

I talked to some more easy riders, and was surprised that these bikers came from all over the USA to party in Galveston. It was truly a sight to behold. I'll go back next year...with reinforcements.

Buffalo: Go Big, or Go Home!

I love an underdog, so it makes sense that I would love Buffalo, New York. I traveled north to a convention on 9/29, and ended up getting a first-class education. When I arrived in the big Buff, it was overcast and about 60 degrees. I checked into the Hyatt, and proceeded to walk down Pearl street to the Pearl St. Brewery. Whenever I travel, of course, I map out the bus/rail/walking routes to all the cool beer joints. Google Earth never quite prepares me for the scary sites I'm about to see. Everything looks pristine from the heavens. Flashback! 1970, downtown Memphis, TN. My walk was through a bombed-out war zone. So sad that I needed some drinks. At the Brewery, my delightful barmaid, Carmen, told me that whatever you do in Buffalo, go big, or go home. At that moment, I fell in love with this tough city.  After I was thoroughly hydrated, I walked back to my hotel along scary-ass Main Street. A couple of blocks into my walk, I spotted a vandal carving something into a tree. A strange man wielding a knife in the second poorest city in the USA...looks like a party, so I stopped to question this criminal. He was Dave the Painter, and he was carving the name of his youngest daughter, Jena, into a sycamore tree. I asked him a stupid question like WHY??? and he said it was like she was there, but wasn't there. These Buffalo natives speak in strange, little snippets, but I told Dave he rocked so he asked me if I wanted my name carved in the tree. HELL YES! Who needs children to achieve immortality when Buffalo Dave can etch your name into a living, breathing part of a city? As I continued my drunken stroll down Main St., I was blessed to meet Buffalo hobo natives, One-Legged, Retarded Jimmy and Mentally Ill Mike. They begged me for $$$ and told me that they loved Buffalo, so I gave this dynamic duo a fiver and took their pictures for my blog. This city just gets better and better.

 Dave the Painter

 One-Legged Jimmy

 Hobo Mike

The next evening I hit a couple of touristy bars and was not impressed, so I asked my Buffalo native bartenders at the Hyatt where I should go for drinks and maybe a tattoo. Richard and Jen highly recommended Elmwood Avenue and Cowpok Tattoos.  So, the next afternoon, after a crack-dealing city bus ride to and fro Niagara Falls, I hopped the #20 bus to Elmwood. I grabbed a beer and some chips for my late lunch, and proceeded to window shop along the avenue as I hunted for Cowpok Tattoos. Once there, Buffalo Donny said he could certainly sear a really righteous buffalo into my lower leg. Sounds good. Once I got back to my hotel, I looked at Donny's masterpiece. It looked more like a chicken wing than a buffalo to me.That's ok since Buffalo is the birthplace of chicken wings. Since then I've been told it looks like a flower, furry squirrel and a pile of dirt. Whatever, because it's the journey, and not necessarily the outcome ,that makes life worth living. And, like they say in The Queen City, go big, or go home!

Texas Gatorfest

Thanks to my Aggie friend, Ashley, I decided to drive out to Anahuac today to partake in the festivities of Gatorfest. Ashley said she thought I should venture out to hell's half acre to see what all the hype was about. Never listen to a pregnant woman. I'm convinced that the fetus just sucks the ability to think rationally out of the mother's brain. I'm lucky to be alive.
It was about 150 degrees, with little shade in sight, when I arrived at the Texas Gatorfest. I was dying of thirst, and felling dizzy, so I decided that an airboat ride would cure me. What a blast! That's the only way to travel on water. On to find a cool drink. I decided to try some alligator nachos with a gallon of water. Now that's the rub. Feeling refreshed, I was drawn to a tent with lots of knives and a couple of sparsely-toothed men. Mike was from Brenham,  and Dan was from Bell County. Mike makes knives out of stone and deer antlers. They were very knowledgeable about primitive weaponry, so I asked Mike if I could put him on my blog. He said he didn't know what that was, but he was certain he didn't have one. After much explanation, and help from semi-computer literate Dan, Mike said, sure, put him on this blog thing. Wait a minute, Obama's not on my blog, is he? I assured Mike that the federales really weren't interested in my blog, yet, so he was safe. On to the Gulf Coast NRA tent. They were selling $5 raffle tickets to win one of three exciting gun packages. The one I bought a ticket for was the home invasion package. My eye was drawn to this bad-ass shotgun that looked like a machine gun. I can't even remember what other firearm was included in this package because I was so enamored with the assault shotgun. Hope I win!
Time for the Great Texas Gator Roundup. I couldn't decide if the old fossil doing the announcing was cajun, or if I was just losing my hearing, but I could barely understand a word he said. But who needs commentary for this stuff. There was a parade of trucks that would drive up to the scales, stop, then the gator killers would jump out and heave their bounty onto the ground from the truck beds. The announcer kept incoherently yapping as the swamp people would show off their kills. What family fun for a Sunday! These people rocked. I want to go on a gator murderfest soon. I think I'll be an Ice Road Trucker during the winter, and a Gator Cowgirl during the summer. Note to self: lose some teeth soon.

Everyone loves a dead gator

The Texas sun was taking a toll on me, so it was time to head back to H-town. I'm looking forward to my first gator hunt.  Still awaiting word of my home invasion package delivery. A big thumbs up the Anahuac, the Gator Capitol of Texas!