Yes, the rumors are true. I have moved back to Montana . However, I am sure that there are many theories floating between mouths out there (as there always seem to be�I am convinced you people know more about my life than I do). I feel it is only fair to come clean and dispel the inevitable gossip. So here they are: The 10 Reasons I Really Moved Back
1. My hair looks so much better without the humidity�like it knows where it belongs
2. Every other car is not a Mustang
3. I decided not to keep the baby
4. I have two-year-old ski equipment that has yet to be broken in
5. My skin stays clearer in the dry climate, and no one likes a zit face
6. I miss being unemployed
7. I need girls to be girls, boys to be boys, and the distinction not to be difficult
8. I am determined to successfully tip a cow
9. �maybe I will keep the baby
10. There are too many double letters in � Tennessee ,� and I feel like that reflects badly on the whole state*
THE DATING GAME:
So, now I�ve heard it all. My friend (who shall remain nameless even though I�ve told this story to practically everyone on the mailing list using his name, and let�s be honest, if you ask me later, I�m sure to divulge the info) called to tell me the most excellent pick-up line in history. Actually, it can�t really be deemed a pick-up line since the girl was already on the date, but a soon-to-be classic line nonetheless. One evening the two of them were playing video games at his house, and as the hours passed both were becoming less and less interested in the game. It came to that all-too-crucial moment where someone goes home or both people commit to intense talking and further beating around the bush before the real moment of truth. Well, this friend decided to skip all of that and get right to the point. His subtle way of doing this was to shut off the game and say, �I feel like we�re just prolonging making out.� Now, you are probably snickering right now, but maybe you�re strangely awed. I know that I was, and although I would never advertise it or write it in a newsletter, it was a little refreshing. Why is it taboo to just say what we�re thinking, especially when it�s true (as it was in this case)? I�ve always said I�d like to live in a world where people can be honest and a little less concerned with offending people. Funny story and a step in the right direction�too.
JUST A THOUGHT:
Where have all the cowboys gone? A question I never thought I�d ask. I blame it on the Nashville culture taking its toll. In the land of America it is generally accepted to assume straight until proven gay. Not so in Nashville . I had many a guy friend ask me, �Why do people always ask if I�m gay?� To which I answered, �Uh, because you live here!� In the course of casual small talk I found myself asking guys, without a second thought, �Do you have a boyfriend?� Occasionally I would receive a shocked _expression followed by disgusted words: �I�m not gay!� One day I realized that finding myself at a loss during one of these conversations was not normal. Then when I started having dreams about wranglers and obscenely large belt buckles, I knew something had gone severely wrong along the way. Suddenly those hick guys we used to make fun of in high school�you know the ones whose keys you could count through their pockets�seemed an improvement. Even the straight guys in Nashville seemed less than manly. Is it too much to ask to be the girl in the relationship?! For me, the most telling sign that the world as I knew it had turned upside down was the day I helped my friend and 3 of his guy friends move. I have never felt like more of a man in my life, and what�s worse, I have never felt the need to prove myself as a man more so than that day. I drove home that day with visions of rough necks and farm hands dancing in my head. So this is my message to all my Montana girls who used to laugh at the wrangler-sporting ranchers� sons�trust me, things could be worse.
MY SISTER THE RETARD:
Ah the annual ski excursion. I know you wait for it all year long because you know it will spark great award-winning stories. Well, maybe not award-winning but definitely injury-filled. You�ll be thrilled to know this year has been no exception. I am, however, proud to write about it under the My Sister the Retard heading because that means that the bulk of stupidity was hers this year. That�s got to be a first. I guess all it took was an icy day to even out our egos and make me look half way decent. Although, truth be told, Blake�s unjustified confidence level was probably my saving grace more so than the snow conditions because my skiing abilities are still quite beneath hers�ice or no ice. It started with a poor decision on my part to attempt the most mogul-covered ice hill on the mountain. Blake and I fell almost immediately, although Blake�s fall didn�t stop her, and she skied over me and continued down the hill. Her impatience was exposed as she fell, fell again, and fell some more in an effort to ignore the moguls and ski straight down (per usual). We also discovered another of her genetic Elenburg traits�she�s not much of a multi-tasker. She had trouble skiing moguls while laughing, losing blades, and constantly yelling to remind me who�s bright idea this was. See, I was just trying to open our eyes to new limits, which she ignorantly mistook for trying to kill us. We made it down in one piece anyway�and more importantly the fall count was: Brit, 4; Blake, 27 (okay that may be a slight exaggeration�I think I only fell 3 times). The second notable Blake moment was when she was about 2 feet from the lift, and she decided to do her famous cannonball/flying-dreded-Kokopelli-on-ski blades roll. I skied up behind her picking up strewn poles, as she tried to stand. In the process she skied over me for the second time that day. I laughed all the way up the chair lift and all the way down the next run and the next run�and all the way home�and a little the next day. Oh, and just now thinking about it. My only response to her objections was, �This is a first; I deserve to relish it.�
SAY WHAT?!:
People have said they wish they could awake with a song in their hearts, and doesn�t that sound like a grand idea? Ah, but then the dream becomes reality, and as is frequently true of such scenarios, the idea loses a bit of its luster in practicality. This knowledge, of course, comes from experience. Mornings at our house are filled with music�songs about anything and everything. Before you sigh or roll your eyes, let me explain the nature of these songs. Each masterpiece basically consists of repeated one-liners or melodic sentences. Free thinking is strongly encouraged, and the more random the better. So you might think that I, being the songwriter, would dominate the morning songfest, but I have discovered yet another of my roommate�s hidden talents. Although there have been many memorable tunes (which I have started writing down for a future business endeavor), I think Brandon �s best was, �The couch, the floor, aaannnd�carpet carpet carpet carpet.� My one-hit wonder had to do with trying to clean the bathroom. I think the chorus was, �You never get clean, little tub little tub; you never get clean no matter how hard I scrub.� Remind me someday and I�ll sing them for you. It�s a little known fact that anticipation really can kill you.
OTHER NEWS:
I�ll be playing at Parlor News coffee shop in Powell on January 20 at 7pm. It�s a Friday night, so if you�re in the vicinity you should come on down.
*Sesame Street Game of the Day: Can you name two other words with 3 sets of double letters (as in Tennessee )?
