Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Our Woman in Billings: The Skank Factor

I know I promised to talk about the bulls next, but I am driven instead to address a phenomenon that was continually rubbed in my face during the Nile at the Metra. I am sure that all of you who have attended a PBR event have seen it with your own eyes: the skank factor. No, I'm not talking about the Jack Daniels girls.

Now, unlike my (admittedly few) Republican friends, I do not feel compelled to tell other people how to run their personal lives--those issues are none of my business. And I totally get the “sistuhs are doing it themselves” point of view, but still, I was frankly amazed by the number of women and girls who showed up at the Nile looking, to put it kindly, like they’d been rode hard and put up wet.

It wasn’t just their clothing, though there were near-nekkid buckle bunnies aplenty. (Certainly I understand the point of that. Before somebody will buy it, you’ve got to sell it. That’s why God invented the push-up bra.) It was that many of them looked like they hadn’t slept or taken a shower or even washed their faces for about 48 hours. And it wasn’t just the young women--plenty of the females my age or older looked like they’d compensated for being up drinking all night by troweling on more makeup and putting on their tightest jeans.

I shouldn’t have been surprised, given that this was a Saturday night in Billings, Montana, and, let’s face it, the weekend starts at 5 on Friday evening, especially out here--assuming you can't manage to slither out of the boss' sight a little early. But I was still startled when, during the intermission, one of the little kids rode a miniature bull and two chicks of at least 30 years of age, in low-cut tank tops and hooker pumps (high wooden platform soles and heels, clear plastic insteps) in the row behind me jumped up screaming and drank a big beer toast to his success. I hope his mamma has raised him right, because he is going to have his hands full if he rides in the PBR.

6 comments:

shannon said...

I'm familiar with those types, SQ, and it really never ceases to amaze me. I would love to think that mothers are raising their boys to think twice about certain behaviors with certain people.

Admittedly, I don't see too many in Anaheim or Ontario, but since I was known to hang out on the strip in my late teens/early 20s and have also heard mind boggling stories about Olympic athletes, I've certainly know the type you are talking about.

Stockyard Queen said...

I have to say, the Jack Daniels girls looked even skankier than usual, and every single one of them would have benefited from eating a sandwich. Ladies: sometimes that haggard look comes from starving yourselves.

Black Boots said...

I've always enjoyed watching the buckle bunnies du jour teetering across the dirt in their sky-high boot heels just after the event ends. One time there were four across, arms linked, and when one went down the rest followed, like dominoes. Glorious.

shelia said...

I hate to say this, but in Winston-Salem Bud and I were right in the middle of the Mauney clan! Remember when JB said he'd bought some thousands of dollars worth of tickets for his family and friends? Well, he must've bought them on the same day I bought ours!

I've never seen such thick makeup and so many rinestones in one place in my life!

I love JB--you all KNOW that, but the rural NC PBR fans really aren't "cowboys" or cowgirls," they're well, you know....

Stockyard Queen said...

Shelia, your comment reminded me of something the ex-girlfriend of a good friend of mine said to him long after they had broken up: "I just couldn't be around you anymore because you were hanging out with the champagne and rhinestone crowd." So she ran off with a skateboarding pothead who was half her age. I guess you do whatever works.

Shawk said...

Somehow I always end up surrounded by the drunken "dude" guys. I'm not sure which is better. It is pretty funny that the PBR is all about family entertainment, until you get the sponsors like JD and Tecate involved. Whoo hoo.