Livin it One Day at A Time

I am about ready to snap.

I’m not talking about the finger snapping, good time kind of snap either.

It’s the bad type of snap.

In Wyoming we have three seasons. Winter, Road Construction and Cheyenne Frontier Days otherwise known as the Daddy of Them All.

Somewhere in Cowboy legend, this Rodeo is supposed to be the one that started it all. Kind of like, some weird type of evolution.

What does this mean to me? It means I have to put up with loud Cowboy Music at Night, drunk Cowboys, and slow Cowboy drivers. That is what is going to send me over the edge. I was driving to Work, and all the sudden, I had two people in front of me, going 10 miles below the speed limit. I look, sure enough they had 1) out of state license plates, 2) Cowboy Hats on, 3) had grey hair, and 4) were driving trucks.

They are arriving, and I am dreading every one of them.

The only think that makes this even remotely OK is the Free Pancake Breakfast

Free You Say?

Pancakes You Say?

Breakfast You say?

Oh, there’s nothing like mass produced pancakes, tough, grizzly ham, and the same Chugwater H2O band that’s been doing entertainment since I moved here.

Good Times.

Oh, and due to the fact that I have some killer chops (that are trying to join forces to become “Amish Beard!(tm)” (credit to Kelly for the name)) I was volunteered by many of the girls in my branch to be in the parade. See, my branch has to man the handcart during the last parade of “Frontier Days”. In the fine tradition of a singles branch, I’m one of three men who volunteered (or were forced to volunteer), there are like, 12 girls.

We are letting people here know that Polygamy is apparently still popular.

Oh, and I need to know, since I’m going to be in the parade, that means I can now go get myself some overalls, right?

I mean, what man doesn’t look dead sexy in some overalls? I’ve only been able to find them at WalMart (not a good sign), but I figured I’d ask ya’ll what you think.

Should I get the overalls?

Dead Sexy?

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Here’s a little known bit of trivia. I originally named the blog “My Crossroads on the Internet”. I soon dropped the name, because, well, I thought it was retarded.

Now I am sitting, still in much pain, going through my quarterly freakout.

Let me give some background.

Monday night, at FHE, I was talking with two old friends. One male, one female. All three of us are either Thirty (me) or close unto that age. The girl asked both of us, why we were still single. The guy said that he only dates once in a while, I on the other hand, date casually almost once a week (this week may not happen though).

She then proceeded to say that guys who reach our age are weird in some way. Amongst the qualities she said

• Socially Retarded
• No Drive
• Commitment Problems
• Not over a girl
• For lack of a better word, skeeviness

Now, I did my best to push that to the back of the mind. I figured, heck I’m fine. I may be a bit of a weirdo, but that’s just personality.

The only problem is, I was sitting around yesterday, and this kept on playing around in my mind.

Every year I grow older, the range of girls who want to *seriously* date me will get smaller, I believe that when I hit Thirty-One, it will be dramatically smaller.

This is at the same time I’ve been trying to get employment in Utah. Where I fear my dating pool will shrink even more.

Part of me is mad at myself for taking so long to get into the dating game. Now that I look back, I see that a lot of it was me. I was the one who said girls wouldn’t be interested in me until I lost all the weight.

What’s the awnser? I don’t know. How’s my life going to proceed? I have no idea. Why am I posting this? Therapy

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