Warning: This diary has nothing to do with progressive politics. But since the news has been so grim for so long, I thought we all could use a little humor break. So pull up a chair and I will tell you about one of my biggest Goober Moments ever!
Note: It's rodeo time here in Houston, which is what inspired me to dredge up this old story.
Several years ago, I was honored to be named Grand Marshall at the Space City Stampede, which is the Texas Gay Rodeo Association's annual event. My duties were minimal - all I had to do was participate in the Grand Entry Parade on Saturday and Sunday. Simple enough, eh?
Sooooo, I had a special cowboy shirt made (white with LOTS of fringe - the better for waving, doncha know!), and began practicing my float wave in anticipation of the big weekend. I had two wave choices prepared, which can best be described as:
* wave, wave, wave, glide or
* Tits, teeth tiara
Be sure to ask me to demonstrate them the next time we run into one another!
But I digress...I was told that the Grand Marshall traditionally rides in the back of a pick up truck, but I asked to ride a horse instead. In retrospect, things began to go downhill from this point.
I had envisioned that the Grand Entry would entail me riding in a parade with many other riders, all circling the arena in a continuous procession. But when I arrived at the Rodeo on Saturday, I learned that the Grand Marshall gets to make a solo ride around the arena, and then grabs the microphone to say a few words to the crowd. Solo performance, eh? GULP! I had flashing thoughts of how safe and comfortable that ride in the back of a pick-up would have been, but once informed that there were no more pick-up trucks available, I decided to Cowboy Up and go with the flow.
They assigned me to a horse (let's just call him Bone Breaker) who behaved quite nicely as we were warming up in the pasture outside the building. However, once we approached the entry gate, he became possessed. Turns out that ol' Bone Breaker is a roping horse, and when he gets in the arena, he wants to run! Walking was DEFINITELY out of the question, so we negotiated a butt-bouncing sort of trot around the arena.
I immediately abandoned any thoughts of fancy float waves, since my sole focus in life became STAYING ON THAT HORSE! I think I managed to get my hand up to wave once or twice, but I certainly didn't win any style points. And it is frankly a medical miracle that I didn't end up with two black eyes - the way my boobs were bouncing around!
It wasn't pretty, but I survived. Saturday passed without further incident, so now we go to Sunday. I arrived at the rodeo, full of confidence, since I had the drill down. The cowboys informed me that they had found a calmer, and much more handsome horse named Tex for me to ride that day. Oh goodie!
One small problem - Tex's saddle seemed a bit loose, a fact that I noted to 3 different cowpokes before I entered the arena. They all assured me that things were fine, so Tex and began our fateful trip. (Note: If this were a movie, the background music would definitely be turning ominous at this point!) Tex and I walked calmly down one side of the grandstands, and I am happy to report that my waving (both wave/wave/wave/glide AND tits/teeth/tiara) was much improved from the previous day.
As we got to the far end of the arena, I decided that a short trot would be in order, just to speed things up. Events went dramatically south at this point, in a very literal way.
The saddle (which was in fact loose despite the assurances of those 3 cowboys) began its inexorable slide to the starboard side of Tex. I tried using my fat but powerful thighs in an effort to "right the ship", as it were, but no such luck. I believe the saddle had reached the 2 o'clock position when it became stunningly clear that gravity was going to win this battle. I was definitely going down - but could I avoid getting caught in the stirrup and dragged around the arena? Calling on my old soccer goalie training, I executed a perfect sideways leap off of Tex, landing on my side in the dirt.
The entire crowd went deathly silent - partly out of concern for my well being, and partly out of sheer mortification for me, I'm sure. I laid there in the dirt for a moment, wishing desperately to roll back the last 20 seconds of my life, and taking inventory to make sure that all my parts were still in working order.
Realizing that I needed to do SOMETHING to cut the awful tension in the building, I got up, dusted myself off, and yelled to the announcer: "So, what was my time on that ride?" Luckily, everyone laughed and relaxed. One of the cowboys had caught Tex and returned him to me, apparently with the horribly misguided notion that I might want to remount - NOT! So, with Tex's reins in hand, I limped off into the sunset with what few shreds of dignity I could muster.
Other than bruising both my hip and my pride, I came out ok. However, I'm not sure that my fancy white shirt (with LOTS of fringe) will ever be the same!
I don't know if this was the worst Goober Moment of my life (although nothing worse is coming to mind right now), but it certainly was the most public! So, the next time you do something mildly embarrassing, I hope you will take comfort at the thought of me, diving to the dirt in my "moment of glory" in front of the whole rodeo crowd. Remember, things could ALWAYS be worse!