Misplaced Country Girl: The Rivah

Went to the river this weekend. Duh. Today, I'm still sore and exhausted and promising myself that I am getting too old for this shit, but I continue to head South once a week for the adventure that is the river.

Or more affectionately, the rivah. This particular weekend I chose to behave like one of those rookies who have never been on the river a day in their lives. And I have been to the river. A time or two. And I know a thing or two; like don't behave like you've never been on the river before. Your friends will not point and laugh, they will only hang their heads in disgust and embarrassment. So don't be "that girl." And this is coming from "that girl this weekend."

Reagan: "You're acting like an amateur."

Sorry, people-o-the-river.

Sorry for calling you all at 8:30 AM, Jimmy, for chewing you out and saying that you didn't know anything about anything, and that I didn't care if your ass was at the river or not. I do care.

And sorry, innocent bystander, when I asked you for a beer and you said you didn't have one, but I stuck my hand in your cooler anyway, only to bring out a nice, refreshing, full can of Miller Lite, and then called you a liar in front of your friends.

And finally, sorry to the waitress at Los Cucos? who brought me a margarita even though it was against both of our better judgement.

So as river season has fully kicked off after this Memorial Day Weekend, the jokes from my family come in at a steady stream.

Alyssa: "Oh, did you detach your ass from a tube long enough to come see us?"

Dad: "If you put as much effort into your future as you did that river..."

And so forth.

And here's some more material for the fam: I'm getting a season pass to the river. That's right. They make those.

Here's tribute to some of my favorite and best river rats.