The Ladies Can't Lasso: Things I've Learned in Wyoming

The Mennonites sat on one side, and the heathens sat on the other. I took a seat with the heathens, on what the announcer made me realize was the Northeast visitor section. The geographic segregation of seats was nobody’s fault per se, but more a matter of natural selection; like dogs we sniffed out each other’s attitudes and hunkered down with our like kind. Los Angelians on the left section of the bleachers, Midwest in the middle and Yankees on the right. Bring on the animals.


Mitchissmo spotted a Hamptons lady watching cowboys!


Regardless of geographic divide, once the Flag Girl made the rounds whilst the Star Spangled Banner played, goosebumps and sissy tears had a mind of their own and overcame cynicism (like the fact that the song is about bombing and eroticizes war imagery).

Embarrassing, but true: tears in eyes. I am an American, after all.

Katherine MacKinnon and her posse can say what they want about men and women being equal, but put them both inside the rodeo ring and things get divided fast. The ladies may be good barellers, but they can’t lasso a calf for all the tea in San Francisco. I mean, we watched the rhinestone belts march out and one, two, five in in a row blew it. Hey ladies-- are you with me? Can we, like, throw a rope and hold onto it, for once?

The boys, on the other hand, celebrated their animal subduing at the Cowboy Bar, "no doubt" (the rodeo MC's fave expression, fyi) next to Cheney's secret service posse. oh, and stay tuned for stories of Cheney's stranded SS men on the Snake River.

And another thing. I may be a modern city girl, but oh golly my, how those cowboys hit one primal thing home—there’s nothing sexier than a man who knows how to do something. Lassoing and tying a calf by the ankles in one try is pretty hot, no matter what your PETA affiliation.