Wednesday, August 16, 2006

No me gusta la musica COUNTRY!

My gut instinct has been the guiding force behind all my decisions for many a year, and has to this day served me very well. Sometimes (because I like to punish myself) I ignore these impulses of mine. For example, when my oldest sister says to me, "Want to go to the Cadillac Ranch with me?" My gut instinct screams, "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" This would be the appropriate response as I despise country music and have not the desire nor coordination necessary to line dance. The Cadillac Ranch is a hell hole which embodies all these things. It's basically a hoedown which one must drive 30 minutes to attend because such a gathering has been banned by the rest of the Chicagoland area. It's filled with a bunch of Chicago suburbanites with identity crisises who actually believe they were raised in Nashville. They show up in cowboy hats and boots purchased from who knows where and line dance until their pseudocountry hearts are content.
How do I know all this?
Well because after my gut instinct screamed NO, and I obediently replied NO, my sister did not give up. Text message after text message led me to believe she was in some sort of despair and needed me there with her. After about an hour's worth of text messages, I hushed the persistent "NO!" in my head, and said to myself, "How bad can it be?" Consequently, I hopped in my truck and headed over there. As I walked across the parking lot I could hear my sister laughing from their outdoor deck (she's very loud), and the first twinge of regret hit me as I realized she was obviously not in any kind of despair. We pushed through the first half of this establishment as I looked around horrified at all the people dressed up like cowboys and cowgirls. I poked my head out a window half expecting to spy some livestock, and as I looked down at my polo and sneakers I suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable and out of place. Yes that's correct...I felt abnormal amongst the freakshows...imagine that. I wanted to hop up on the bar and shout, "Do you know where you are? The city isn't even an hour away!" My sister and her friend dragged me excitedly to the backroom, which of course was just a large wooden dance floor packed full of "cowpeople" line dancing. Aimee and Merideth quickly joined in, informing me on their way to the dance floor that I could join in whenever I was ready. I watched mystified as I realized every song had it's own special line dance to it, and all these people just automatically knew what it was without any direction. I found myself unconsciously twitching, and decided I would take advantage of this place's only draw...$2 Margaritas. Let me just take this opportunity to say that there are not enough Margaritas in the world for the hell that would ensue, especially considering I would have to drive myself home. Perhaps the most alarming part of the whole evening was that every now and then they would switch from single's line dancing to couple's dancing and crazy cow driven people would suddenly go searching out partners. Aimee and Merideth immediately informed me this was the portion of the evening to make yourself scarce, unless you wanted to end up dancing with some sixty year old man in tight jeans (which surprisingly enough there was an overabundance of). Luckily it seems my "normal people" clothing was a warning flag for all experienced dancers indicating, "Warning! She's not one of us."
Needless to say I survived the evening, and learned an important lesson: No means no. Trust your initial assessment of every situation, well unless you're Tom Cruise.

In other news...
I spent the entire day today water skiing, tubing, and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Yes, I am an adult.

2 comments:

evilkeight said...

I hope you didn't drive your truck to the hoe-down. Esh.
P.S. I've been listening to Garth Brooks again. But not dancing.

Bridget said...

Just so long as you're not dancing.