I Used To Be Weird

My name is County Girl and I used to be weird. I am sure I caused my parents many sleepless nights. Now I am a well-adjusted, normal, mature woman and my parents sleep like babies, usually. But there was a time I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer. Not the brightest crayon in the box. I think you get the picture.

It all started the summer before college. I began working underground. I was at one with the earth and all its beauty. I was a cave tour guide. (Insert super hereo music here.) As if this was not enough of a walk on the wild side, I had to liven things up a little and I started exploring caves on farms in the area. My poor parents. I had turned over my mud masks and eyelash curlers for mud clad pants and mag lights.

I started my freshman year of college, and became a vegetarian. Have I mentioned my dad was a cattle farmer? Have I spoke about my pet calf Ferdinand? Did I tell you about how we butchered him? Yes, I hide my face in shame.

I truly had no ill feeling toward farmers, I just wanted attention. I felt like there was a lot of it out there no being used. I mean there are kids in Africa starving for it, so I ate it up. It was a great conversation starter.

"Can I get you a burger?"

"Oh yes, please. Hold the meat. I'm a vegetarian" (As I wore my tall black leather boots and Gap leather belt.)

See, a great conversation starter.

Then I moved on to the tattoo stage. I joined a sorority and everyone was getting one. All my sorority sisters were getting a dolphin on their hip bone. It was adorable and cute and I immediately fell in love with it. It was our sorority symbol and by joining forces and tattooing our bodies we would be bound as one forever, kinda. Yeah, seriously that is what we thought.

There were only two of us who had yet to consummate the event. Amy and I never got around to it. Well, we took a two week spring break trip to the Grand Canyon and on our way back stopped in Amarillo, Texas at 1 am. We were eating at this little cafe and looked across the street and there was a tattoo parlor...opened. Surely this was a sign from God. We held hands and squealed in glee, then marched our way across the street and decided this would be the culminating event of our trip. We decided to do it together.

Amy went first. There was a lot of blood. And she cried. And I hate pain. And in the end it looked kind of like a otter. So I chickened out. She was furious with me. What was I to do? I kept thinking about how when I got pregnant that dolphin would become a whale! I had to do some ceremonial body garnish. So, I got my belly button pierced to appease her. We drove back 15 hours in pain. We were totally stupid. But bonded by blood, kinda.

I now am a well adjusted, normal woman who loves my mud masks, eats meat, and has no tattoos....but I do let my kids play with knives and I pick my cuticles and paint my toenails incessantly and have never made Rice Krispie Treats (but I will, Heidi). But I still love attention and veggie big macs. See, well-adjusted, right?