Big trucks, mud and beads, oh my

Ever heard of Muddi Gras? Not to be confused with Fat Tuesday, this celebration of all things redneck is basically a huge group of people driving their biggest and baddest trucks through a field of watered down cow crap for fun. Talk about some good times!

We went this weekend to join in the festivities. Located in the middle of no man's land, a small paper sign off the side of a very long road directed us into 200 acres of dusty fields with a designated mud area. On the way through the field toward the lineup where we were to sign our lives away in on mud-splattered release forms, I was watching the little pickup in front of us. I noticed that the guy driving was holding a long squeegee, which I knew from past experience was a good idea. We forgot to bring ours, and I reminded my husband of that. He moaned and groaned about it for a minute, then stopped short mid sentence.

"Ummm, Robin, I don't think he brought that for the mud."

"Whaddya mean?" Really, why else would he bring a squeegee with him, and how could my husband tell? He pointed ahead of us.

"I think he's using it as windshield wipers."

It was sprinkling rain, and he was indeed reaching out his driver's side window and swiping the rain from his windshield with a squeegee. Let the redneckiness begin.

We drove through hundreds of big trucks to find a place to park. We got a good spot, one row back from the muddy field where the fun would take place. We got the kiddos out of the car and stomped across to check out the roped-off area. This is what we saw:

Hell. Yeah. Now if you're one of those urbanite types who can't even imagine what anyone would do in a field of mud this size, let me show you.

That's right. We drive through it. Woooohoooooo! People get muddy. People get stuck. People fling mud on other people. Talk about some good times. It brings back memories of being a teenager in a small town, where drinking MD20/20 down by the canal and going muddin' were the only things to do on the weekend. Sometimes, if we really wanted to live it up, we'd drink while we were muddin'. That's what we did this weekend. We drank cheap beer from cans and slung mud all over the place. Our Bronco took a mud beating, but it sure was fun.

If you're wondering, "Why are the windows down?" then you wouldn't be the first person to wonder that. The thing is... so much mud gets flung on every suface of your vehicle that you literally can't see without the windows down. You're probably also wondering how you participate in this dirty little dance without coming out looking like you got spatter painted in poop. The answer is, you don't. You get muddy and dirty, and you drink enough beer that you don't really care.

We saw a lot of interesting things while we were there. The following picture is a golf cart frame on some really big tires. Look closely at the sign on the front. It reminded me of those old "bikini inspector" t-shirts that used to be popular with the beer-belly crowd. The guy driving the Tittie Patrol had a bucket full of Mardi Gras beads, and he was tossing them to all the girls in bikini tops who showed him a good bit of cleavage. It was shocking and fascinating all in one jacked-up package.
Speaking of jacked up, check these out.

Everyone loves a classic car on track tires.

This is about as redneck as it gets... camo paint and confederate flags. This was not the only truck like this we saw. Hard to believe, I know, but true.

Yep - that's a Camaro on tires taller than the girl sitting on top of it. That girl was flashing everyone that looked at her. It was loads of excitement not only for my husband, but for my teenage son. That's redneck porn for ya right thar.

We grilled. We got muddy. We took pictures of big trucks. We laughed at other people muddier than us. We tried to go to a concert in an adjoining field, but someone unzipped the sky and we got rained out, so we went home.

I can't wait to go next year. :)

Guns, mud tires and a good ass kicking - ah, the news.

My husband loves to watch the news. He'll turn on the 24 hour news channel and watch it all day long. I hate the news. It's sad and scary, and I know if anything really important is going on that he'll tell me the story, then I'll Google it and get the accurate story.

That might sound witchy, but hey... I never claimed to be nice. The thing is, as much as he loves watching it, he doesn't really pay attention. His mind goes off on tangents when he hears key words. For example, last night there was a story about who knows what, but they said the word "gun." This set off a chain reaction in his head.

"I want to get a right to carry permit."

Uh-huh. Right. We don't do guns in this house.

"We don't do guns in this house, remember?"

"I won't get a gun, just a permit."

And how does this make sense? I asked him what he was going to do with just a permit.

"Keep it for one day when I can get a gun."

Well now, that just doesn't make sense, does it? That would be like getting a giant set of mud tires and having no truck to put them on. He'd want a new truck. He'd look for every opportunity to get a new truck. He'd wish for a new truck every single day so he could use his new set of tires. I told him this, and he looked thoughtful for a minute.

"You are so smart, Robin. That's why I love you."

Any average person hearing those words would assume they got their point across. I, however, know my husband, and I know that's not what happened. There was no point made, just a new idea planted in his head. "You are not getting a new truck with giant mud tires, because you already have one of those."

"Awww, man. But it was a good idea!"

Men. Ugh.

Luckily, his attention is easily diverted. He went back to the news, and I went back to folding laundry. I got a full 2 minute reprieve before his next bright news-inspired idea struck.

"Look, honey, there's a women's self-defense class in Orlando next week. Maybe you should check it out."

"So I can kick your ass more efficiently next time you come up with some hairbrained idea?"

Hey. That's not such a bad idea. :)