think tank.

This past weekend was fantastic in every sense of the word because my gentleman-friend returned to the states. This meant a couple of things for me: 1. An overwhelming amount of happiness that could only be exuded through shaky hands and loss of appetite (the exceptions being Vanilla Wafers and steak . . . go figure), and 2. Lots of one-on-one time with Jennifer the Jeep and the open roooaaaaaad. 16+ hours to be exact. So amidst infrequent bursts of energy (thank you, Red Bull) including brilliant vocal rifts probably only appreciated by the deaf and seat-dancing, only for the blind, I had looaaaaddddssss of time to think. It's really amazing to me the scenarios one's mind can formulate, particularly when rolling through the plains of Northwestern Texas. For awhile all I could think of is the land rush and what a bummer it must have been for families to have rushed to a plot of land only to find that what they had chosen was a wicked slice of rocky, patchy land with nothing growing but a few prickly pears. What I didn't realize at the time (it was pointed out to me in a later conversation) was that some of those unfortunate souls realized, after several bouts of really pissed-off pick-axing of their property, that they were plotted on a huuuuuge oil reservoire that spawned life in the lap of luxury. Oil trumps corn any day.

But then again, driving through the dregs of West Texas I also noticed that not a whole lot of these "Oilers" still live in the area. Instead, they're hanging out elsewhere on their yachts, sipping dirties and listening to Margaritaville on repeat. Can't say I blame them. 

The other people left to run the rigs, blow away in the dust and run the tiny shops that line the highway are the fun ones though. Truly I never know what to expect. Some people were giving me the standard small-town what-the-eff-are-you-doing-here look as I hopped out of my Colorado-plated Jeep and ran inside to buy a bag of ice, but the other people were either much less than impressed or wayyyy super nice. That's what I love about small-town anywhere. What is there to care about? Worry about? Coyotes snatching a chicken out of your yard every now and then? Those damned Walmartians building next to your house which jacks up your property taxes? He-said-she-said gossip mongrels? Oh yeah, there are worries everywhere, but the simplicity I see while driving through a dusty little cow town continues to be baffling. I saw a group of police officers, cops, enforcers of the law, holders of the guns (not like every other Texan doesn't carry a gun), standing around in the street juuuust shootin' the shit, no concern in sight or mind. Granted, I can't imagine that job has a whole lot of excitement beyond the occasional underage party bust and bar fight breakup, so again, can't blame the guys. But it's nice. I never get bored on these kinds of road trips, not even when I don't have any music playing and am just watching the tumbleweeds blow by. And considering where I was, the amount of tumbleweeds was pretty ridiculous. It helps me to appreciate more of what and who I see in the city. If not for the random oddities of this life, we'd all be a bunch of bored suckers waiting for the next soap opera to pollute our brains: 'Ohhhh Vivian, I love you so.' 'Roger! But you must know . . . I'm really your father's sister's lover's lovechild with your mother!'

Or something like that.