Big Apple, Little Bites Blog

I would feel much better about being a cowgirl if Bush wasn't such a cowboy. I want to enjoy the chaps, spurs and the clearing of the brush but I don't want to own a tank or anything with the word ballistic attached to it.

I want to ride to my home on the range and rustle up my lost steer along the way. I don't want to ride on somebody else's range and colonize it.

I want to ride my tall horse on a soft saddle not put my soft saddle on my high horse.

I want my cousins and my sisters to saddle up and enjoy a long ride into the sunset with me. I don't want them to saddle up and go fight for my freedom or my country's pursuit of happiness and in the process not return from the long ride into the sunset.

I know one thing my cowgirl side has in common with Bush, when we go searching for a cute, animated cowgirl photo for our blog(s) we both bring a paperbag to use for hyperventilation and a dictionary. Uh, is that what cowgirls do now?

I don't think that I need everyone to love me, for me to be happy. I do think that being squirted with mustard, ketchup, smeared with pickle relish, sprinkled with diced onions and then layed gently into a warm, soft, inviting hot dog bun would be nice. What if mustard was happiness? Ketchup was wisdom? Pickle relish was wealth? Diced onions was playfullness and fun?

I wonder, if you crossed paths with someone extra nice and helpful and they offered to squirt,smear or sprinkle you with a condiment and its special meaning, which condiment would you choose and what would it mean?