Intro to Marta’s blogging
Okay, okay, so it has taken me a while since the initial burst of enthusiasm to get blogging. I thought as I love writing, I better get the show on the Internet rather than spamming you all with my memoirs and rants and raves, which may be a bit much and unwanted. Many have said they get exhausted keeping up with me and that’s just reading the emails. It was really heartening that some people thanked me for my emails throughout the year because they cheered them up. It really means a lot to me that as much as I enjoy writing this waffle, that there’s people that enjoy reading it. So now if you want to read the full story you can check my blogs here. So kicking off the New Year with journal from a Redneck town (this’ll be a long one and I’ve spattered in some humour from the comedian Jeff Foxworthy too who has devised a useful test to help you assess if you are yourself a Redneck – his CDs are great and I recommend them highly)…
p.s. do let me know if any translation is needed for non-native English speakers or Americans
p.p.s. Moab - I love you guys and had a fantastic time. Don’t be offended by my prose. You kick ass! I truly met some of the nicest people ever there. I’m now going to take the piss relentlessly. Apologies to all reputations hurt in the making of this blog, especially mine. Ouch!
p.p.p.s. this will be a very long blog so print it off and take it on a train ride or to the toilet ;-)
p.p.p.p.s. it’s a trip down memory lane too of various night out experiences. Hope it gives you a laugh or two.
Moab
We arrived in Moab cheerful to see sunshine after being snowed in at Bryce Canyon where even the two snow ploughs got stuck and the sheriff had a list by 11am of cars to pull out of the ditches. Our spirits were also soaring because the day before we got an hour of sun and respite from the blizzard to photograph gorgeous Bryce Canyon in the snow. Not only that, we’d just completed what the guide book states is the most scenic route in the US and we would not dare disagree with that. Trouble is so much spectacular and diverse scenery makes your head spin, with your brain trying to process it all. I now know why they call it ‘big country’ and the skies are pretty damn big too. The road in many places was snow packed and we did a fair bit of sliding around but Jim was a very careful driver and we came to no harm.
On the fantastic routes 12 and 24 from Bryce to Moab we had: snow topped red hoodoo rocks; clearings where you could see for miles over canyonlands and to mountains and beyond mountains; so much snow it was a near white out in the Dixie Land forest; volcanic black hills; wild turkeys crossing in their own time; road runners nearly getting run over; cosy log cabins in the mountains; cattle with miles of prairie views; long winding roads; long straight roads; bright sun; intermittent blizzards; every shape of rock imaginable; every shape of rock unimaginable; stripey rock, monument valley style hunks of rock, and a deer (except Oksana and Timi think it’s a kangaroo – now they got me thinking) sat under a tree in Capitol Reef calmly watching us from 10 feet away.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you cut the grass and find the car
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been married 3 times and still have the same in-laws
You know you’re a Redneck if … your retirement plan is either playing the lottery or investing in commemorative plates
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a mobile home and 14 cars that aren’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … you finance a tattoo
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve been accused of lying through your tooth
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife’s hairdo has been destroyed by a ceiling fan
On the fourth day Marta created light
Wow! Did you know that in the dark with a synthetic blanket you can create flashes of light with the static? This is just about as much fun as popping bubble wrap. First of all it was so flashy I thought it was a passing car’s headlights. When I realised it was me I got quite carried away and felt quite powerful – a bit like when I feel well endowed with my 300mm Canon lens ;-). When I got up to use the bathroom I was so charged up I was flung against the fridge like a magnet.
No, not really. Just being silly now.
Jim was concerned what the standard of accommodation would be in Moab as the room only cost £25 for the two of us per night. When I saw the motel I immediately shared my thoughts with Jim that I expected we’d hear the neighbours through the walls. Sure enough after 10pm from above the squeaking bed springs began, then got faster and faster in rhythm. A bit like when you are flat out pumping a bicycle tyre – anyone seen the scene in ‘Delicatessen’ because it was exactly like that only it didn’t even last 2 minutes. Must have been the old fashioned way of “Brace yourself Doreen and think of the prairies”. Can’t have been good because the only screaming was from the kids next door. Shame for her but good for us as we didn’t have to endure it for long.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever taken a beer to a job interview
You know you’re a Redneck if … you can burp and say your name at the same time
You know you’re a Redneck if … your family tree does not fork
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever been too drunk to fish
You know you’re a Redneck if … someone asks you to show your ID and you show them your belt buckle
New Year’s Eve in Moab, Utah
My friend Jim booked the flights, hotels and hire car for our tour of National Parks in Utah, US of A. My responsibilities were entertainment, food and clothing - which included making sure Jim was wearing some. So I sought out the liveliest place going in Moab and ended up with the Rio Bar and No Frills Grill at the end of the rainbow.
The RIO believed to stand for ‘Rural Insemination Opportunity’ is a sports bar with pool tables, karaoke nights, men glued to their bar stools and beer sold in gallon tankards rather than pints. Kind of what I imagine a Labour party social club in Hounslow to be like but with more “yee haa”.
Tiffany, our waitress, knows that even with her tongue stud she is the prettiest waitress in town and therefore doesn’t need to provide any service at all – especially to non-members of this elite establishment. Jim is still waiting for bloody his orange juice. It got to the point he’d put in his order and I’d still go to the bar to get drinks. I decided to have a vodka to help me survive the night but handled it well – there will be friends who are glad to know that. Particularly those who once witnessed me after one vodka shot (I hadn’t had any drop of alcohol for 2 years) be drunk in 40 seconds. I got very hot and after leaning on Katya’s shoulder decided to take off my shirt which was okay because I had a suitable evening wear bustier underneath, but now didn’t have anywhere for the tissue to nurse my cold. I resorted to stuffing the tissue down the front of my bustier and then stuffed serviettes down there too. Then two handed reached in and threw them into the air declaring “I’m a circus!”.
Anyways this is the same Tiffany who accidentally washed her white bra in with her green t-shirt but the red flashing light fixed to her chest was not enough to distract us from this. Well actually just Jim. I didn’t notice at all. Jim noticed all the waitresses and if they were under 20, normally did his best to chat them up much to my amusement. This was better than him loudly declaring that he was exceptionally good with his lips and tongue – at which point I hid under a menu.
Oh boy, will he kill me when he reads this? I have no remorse after he nearly killed me with fear by leaving me on a 4ft wide stone arch with a thousand foot drop behind me – more on that in the next blog.
After getting menus ourselves and all but tripping Tiff up to get her attention, we ordered food. With burgers at a measly $3 we ordered lots of stuff figuring something would be edible. No frills grill also meant no cutlery and no napkins. Everything was in a basket laid in red check paper. It was only after placing the order and Jim’s wondering over the standard of hygiene that I peered back into the kitchen and witnessed 2 ex-members of the band ZZ Top cooking our dinner.
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog and your wallet are both on a chain
You know you’re a Redneck if … you go to the family reunion to meet women
You know you’re a Redneck if … everyday someone comes to your doorstep to ask if you’re having a yard sale
You know you’re a Redneck if … you see a sign saying “say no to crack” and it reminds you to pull your jeans up
The locals
The crowd at the Rio were real interesting and we may have been the only out-of-towners. It was an anthropologist’s dream. Every stereotype and a few new species thrown in. There was key chain guy in his woolly hat who stared mesmerised at the band nodding with gaping mouth. He could sure groove – one sway to the left by 2cm and one to the right by 3cm. Pretty sure he could grunt too.
It quickly turned from a night of watching the hands on the clock to a night of extreme fun ‘n’ frolics. There were sudden explosions onto the dance floor. First was a small rotund woman with the evil eye. She had long trailer park hair, jeans and a sweatshirt with teeny daisies printed all over it. She began to whirl around the dance floor like a Go Go Dancer misplaced from the Russ Meyer film ‘Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill, Kill”.
Then there was the Amazon woman, a stocky wide lass nearing 2m in height. She gorilla wrangled men to the dance floor, bull dozing others out of her way. Jim’s face was a picture when she showed interest in him. Better still were the local guys looks of sympathy.
The Americans sure are friendly. I made a new friend every time I went to the bar or toilet. Male and female. Only females in the toilet I might add. Men just lean out from their bar stool putting out their hand saying “Hi, I’m Wayne! Who ARE you?”
I met a nice young pair from Anchorage Alaska also amused by the total lack of table service to non-members. So no we weren’t the only tourists thinking back or grockels as we like to call them in Bournemouth. I am real excited about doing an inner passage cruise from Vancouver to Alaska now after a lovely lady called Bobbie told me about her trip while we waited on Scout’s View in stunning Zion Park (there are not enough adjectives to describe the beauty of Zion) for our friends to complete the scary near vertical climb with just a few chains to hang on to going up to Angels Landing. Not for the faint hearted – that’s me then!
Fashion police. “Stop. That hat don’t go with the catsuit!”
Back to New Year in Moab. Jim complained the gents were so wet he nearly had to swim but luckily you could use the drunks as stepping stones. On the dance floor things were heating up fuelled by the live band called ‘StoneFed’ playing their own material which sometimes ever so annoyingly sounding recognisable but wasn’t. Ashley, who served us breakfast in the fab café next to Eddie McStiff’s and bless him remembered my food intolerances, had told us the band were his mates and played blues rock n dance stuff and so they did. Moabians know how to have a darn good time. I have rarely enjoyed New Year’s Eve. Often the expectation is that it should be amazing but ends up feeling like a disappointment. Not this one. I had so so so much fun. Even the next day I was in party mood and felt like somersaulting.
What bewildered Jim was what was considered suitable attire for New Year’s Eve or the number of days one could go without washing one’s hair. And this from a man in a Redneck check shirt ;-). You had to wonder what some would wear if dressing down. I had checked with the kind lady in the photo lab if my off the shoulder pink sequin top with beaded tassles and jeans was going to be okay and she said “with jeans, sure!”. I spent so long in that photo place and behind the counter trying to work the machine for digital prints that customers thought I worked there and were asking me questions. I could answer them too after an hour! Shame those photos got stolen later in the trip. Grrrrrrr!
p.s. this is the only place I have found to wear that particular top I might add.
Now it wasn’t the case that no-one had made an effort. On the contrary, many had hats. Even one bloke with a flat cap who had lost his whippet. It was later found stuffed and over the fire. Then there was a big crowd who had come in fancy dress complete with wigs. They were quite funky and populated half the dance floor. And then there were the ones who appeared to be in fancy dress but were not, like Tombstone Dude aka Jason.
He caught my eye as soon as he entered with his hat and hooded celtic traveller’s robes – he got them from eBay he told me. Jason was a real character and I really wish I’d spent more time with him to learn what it was like in his world. When he said goodbye at the end of the night he put his hands together and bowed to me. He was actually the smartest dressed there with a suit underneath. Bet it was Zegna too ;-)
Americans have many fascinating individuals living by their own rules. Makes me think back to the Costa Del Sol a long long time ago where Maria (a wonderful Sweedeesh girrl, who befriended me when I was a tramp in Benidorm (somewhere I had vowed never to step foot but funny things happen when you say ‘never’) having been sacked as a karaoke compere for refusing to get a suntan or to grow my hair, known by locals as Eric as in ‘Eric the Viking’) and I (known by locals as Arthur) met a couple of US marines. One who was ready to go AWOL and come back to England with me. “Look what I found in Spain mom!” He was called Jason Lipuma and I was amazed at how he danced – have never seen anyone find so many different body parts to move simultaneously but very fun to watch. And the other a mere sweet seventeen with the simple wish in life to become a vampire.
A 14 stone Annie was in a purple shiny catsuit complete with the popular accessory of a sewn in inflatable ring around the waist – ideal for rescuing your man from the overflow in the Gents.
Jim was disappointed that the only girl he fancied was a band member’s bit of fluff and I was shocked about the fluff under her armpits.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you have a complete set of salad bowls and they all say ‘Walls Cool Whip’ on the side
You know you’re a Redneck if … your wife says she’s game and you shoot her
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever used your ironing board as a buffet table
Moonlight n dancin’
I continue to be amazed at the styles of dance seen in the US. Wonderful though! However they choose to do it they are getting jiggy with it and having so much fun, it is great to see. There was a girl who danced up her man’s leg like a horny Jack Russell or another guy some of know also with a name beginning with J. It was key chain man and she probably needed all her pootchy powers to distract him from idolising the band. There was the couple who had watched the video of Come Dancing, once or twice, at the wrong speed. He had his trouser legs rolled up to below the knee and had trainers on! Then there was a guy who shook himself all over the dance floor and would bend over lifting a leg behind him like some kind of elephant dance. It was wonderful entertainment to be there, I tell you. The people were so so nice and friendly. They were so pleased we were there in their little town. I like their style a lot even if some of it bemused me.
The time for romancin’
I had tried to fortify myself against romantic advances by having onion rings earlier in the evening. Even this wasn’t enough to deter some. Why is it teenage boys always pose the biggest threat and they’re so young you feel bad about slapping them? This is not always true. I left a summer job at a pension company aged 16 with a card that read “Keep slapping Marta!” after one day I slapped a young male team member in the office for being way out of line. I was the talk of the office for weeks. Jim got slapped a bit on this holiday too.
I remember being on holiday with my would-be Marilyn Monroe friend Julia. We were 15 and it was crazy hazy days of summer in Bournemouth. Mum would let us out on the town while she amused herself with brandy and telly. Julia and I would come up with pseudo identities and get all mixed up, then laugh hysterically with optional rolling on the floor. There was one night we met a couple of guys who liked to describe themselves as “young agriculturists” and it was funny that we both noted they kissed using too many teeth so must have practised on each other. Actually they were twins but we were so busy trying to remember who we were, we didn’t notice until they told us and then there it was, staring us in the face. There was only one room key so mum taught us to stand in the Crescent (narrow crescent shaped street) and miaow (yes like cats) so she’d know it was us and she’d let us in. Anyway the reason for this trip down memory lane is the land lady’s son, all of thirteen, pinned Julia to the wall and tried to snog her on a regular basis. His favourite spot to pounce was on the landing. He was much shorter than her. I didn’t know whether I should stop pissing my pants with laughter and rescue her.
Then there was the eleven year boy in the family I lived with for 3 months while working as a volunteer in a Polish primary school. He was always running into the girls loos grabbing them and trying to see as much ass as he possibly could. At home this meant hiding in my room while I was in the shower so he could see me in the nod. Good job my door squeaked and feet under the curtain is a dead give away. I have to say I didn’t know how to react when I was giving an English lesson to him and the neighbour’s girl, I was wearing a mini skirt, and he placed his hand on my knee. So you see - terrible terrible terrible teens!
My teen admirer for the night hit on me as he probably hit that moment we delightfully call in Poland ‘kiedy film mi sie urwal’ (‘when my film broke’ and I remember no more of the night) but luckily before he ‘puschil pawia’ (‘let out the peacock’ – I’ll let you figure that one out). Everytime he saw me he threw himself at me but he was so drunk I could hold him off with one finger. I daren’t use any force because I’d already sent him flying into orbit with one little push. He’s either all of 30kg or I’m super woman when I’m defending myself from slime – one of the two.
There was a poet cook who declared I was the most amazing woman he’d ever seen, especially in my red leather jacket. I tell you girls if you want an ego boost, go to Moab. I never get hit on like other girls do – until I was exposed to Americans. As a distraught teenager thinking I had super powers which repelled all men, mum tried to reassure me by explaining it was because I scare men. Not sure that was particularly reassuring. The other cute thing she said to me on the lack of (ahem) cleavage was this was because I was busy creating the world while other girls just concentrated on creating themselves. Nice one Mamusiu! Actually before getting scary I did get hit on and that was what probably turned me into one scary muver. The first guy I very reluctantly kissed was a skin head who grabbed me as I came off a coach from a friend’s school party and held me aloft for a good 20 minutes, saying he wouldn’t put me down unless I kissed him. He had spent the prior part of the night kissing another girl in the foyer. This is obviously an Aylesbury thing and all bit of a shock to the poor girl who attended the all female grammar school. The next time I went along to a party with my neighbour who went to the comprehensive mixed school a similar thing happened. At the end of the night a guy picked me up and made me promise to go out with him before he put me down. Word must have spread. “Yeah – just let her legs dangle for 20 minutes and she’s yours!” That has been my shortest relationship. Met him outside McDonalds the next day and dumped him 40 mins later. He was part of the McDonald’s posse. Give me Moab over Aylesbury any time. Thank god I got out when I was 18!
You know I’m going to have to write a survival guide for women based on all my tussles with guys all over the world. M is not for Marta, it’s for Molested. And they laugh at me sleeping with a ciupaga under my bed! A ciupaga is a traditional wooden stick from the Polish mountains with an axe at one end and a spike on the other. It is carved beautifully and only one of 5 made – it was presented to me by the firemen of Zakopane after their ‘80 years of fire fighting volunteers’ ball (another good story there some time). Rule 412: do not sit on the steps to the stage as you video the revellers dancing because this puts you in a vulnerable position and you may end up with a video of said teenager/ball of testosterone giving you a lap dance.
Here I was in Moab approaching 1am and my magnet was on repel repel repel! Jim delighted in my pleas on the dance floor of “Please can we leave? Like NOW!”. The poet cook wailed “But I don’t want you to leave!”
Fortunately I have photos and video footage of this fun night for you to enjoy any time you care to pop round for a tea and biccy.
(Please note the tale of New Year’s Eve was co-authored by the one and only Jim Meddings)
If you liked my blog please let me know. If you didn’t, screw you! I mean better luck next time.
I am wondering if I can be like this or is my humour offensive? If my blog vanishes I didn't pass the PC test.
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever sat on the toilet so long your legs fell asleep
You know you’re a Redneck if … you wear a strapless dress with a bra that isn’t
You know you’re a Redneck if … your dog passes gas and you claim it
You know you’re a Redneck if … you’ve ever stared at a carton of orange juice because it said concentrate
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