BCKSTSOOOABDTTCITD

Can't sleep. So I'm going to tell you a story. (I KNOW this is my third post in one day, back off)

This story is about how NOT cut out for the country I am.

A few years ago, I came home for my birthday (best guesstimation). I have to assume it was my 20th because I was old enough the younger was in college and I wasn't with the guy. At what was some malformed birthday party (?), an uncle and aunt were sitting around with my parents in order to look shocked and appauled when two of my sister's ex-boyfriends (seems they formed a club) stopped by at my bidding, one of them sporting vivid blue hair. Much like the blue of a Slush Puppy iced beverage, and who was I, smart, sophisticated, learned college student to be hanging out with such riff raff? (I could just see the wheels churning in my relatives' respective heads - Some of my family don't quite understand my queer fascination with such people who would dye their hair UNNATURAL SHADES!! SPEECHLESS HORROR! I should be flogged immediately.)

Anyway, my point is that these fellows wanted to leave rather close to immediately and I decided to taunt my family by going with them - WITHOUT TELLING MY FOLKS WHEN I WOULD BE HOME. Yeah college twentie-something!

Off we went. The fellows. They decided to play a game I'd never experienced. It doesn't really have a name so I shall name it now: Bored City Kids Scaring The Shit Out Of One Another By Driving Through The Country In The Dark. BCKSTSOOOABDTTCITD for short. (now doesn't the title make sense?)

How the game is played is simple. Bored City Kids pile into a car of their choosing (preferably one one of them owns). BCK's (there is absolutely no reason for the 's but I refuse to edit it out) drive out to the country, or basically away from the lit up skylines. BCK's choose a random dark country road on which to turn. From here on out, all decisions about directions are made at each intersection by determining which route is the darkest.

I don't know if you were awar, but in Ohio, once you get away from the sprawling metropolis that is where I'm from (cough) (actually, it really is sprawling... but metropolis is a little strong) there are farms, and in my narrow and sheltered experience, farms have cows. And these cows are kept for the sole (before I edited this, cows got soul!) purpose of offending my delicate nature. And scaring the shit out of me when it's dark outside.

We BCK's drove along these twisting and turning roads in what amounted to be a small dusting of snow with nothing in sight but the shallow upward slope of a green hill skirted in wood planks to our left and a shallow downward sloping of black nothingness to our right when OUT OF NOWHERE appeared a cow in the headlights. (In the pasture, not the road, though my reaction would have been the same regardless) The blue haired freak, justifiably startled (what the hell was that cow doing IN A PASTURE?! IN THE COUNTRY?! WTF?), screamed.

Loud. Shrill. Girly.

This, in turn, startled me making me scream and surprisingly enough (not really), react. I hit him. Which made him yell again, and resulted in the following conversation:

Scream!

Rebuttal scream! Hit!

"Why did you hit me?! I'm scared and you're hitting me!" (said in a pleaing, almost hysterical voice)

"You startled me."

"But I was scared. And you hit me."


I told you this story to tell you another. This weekend, I'm going with Dan D. to his hometown in GOD KNOWS WHERE, Ohio to attend a couch roast. Let me say that again in case you didn't catch it the first time. C-O-U-C-H. R-O-A-S-T. And it is EXACTLY that.

With beer.

And cows.

With any luck, I'll get a ride on a tractor. That's something us BCK's shoor dun eva gets ta do.