Double pimping

And so another St. Patrick’s day has come and gone, with this year’s edition being notable for three things: I attended the first rodeo of my life, there was a minor scandal concerning the greenness of my shirt, and I was (for the second time in my life) officially dubbed a pimp by total strangers.

I’ll address the rodeo in a different post, so let me speak to the wild accusations made last night that I was not actually wearing green for St. Patrick’s Day. To this I can only say, “balderdash”. Some rubes claimed olive and mint don’t pass muster for this booze-soaked holiday, but I say my shirt was clearly green enough to ward off any pinching. I’ll let you be the judge, but I maintain that their preposterous claims are entirely spurious.

Of note, though, was the person who came up to me and told me, “shaved heads are pimp.” Oh? Well, I’ll have to accept this person’s judgment, since they clearly are more in tune with extremeness than I am, since this girl sky dives and rides a bullet bike. I, in contrast, have been considering taking up unicycle riding. Clearly one of us is more a product of the Mountain Dew Generation than the other.

This is the second time I have been dubbed “pimp” by the general populace, the first time being at Idaho State University’s campus, when I was walking by a group of ISU athletes and they took time out of their busy schedule of loafing to tell me my clothes were “pimping”. I believe their exact words were, to the best of my recollection, “yo man, that shirt be pimping right there, man.” All this was punctuated with this chap popping the collar on his shirt to emphasize his favorable impression of my attire.

All this has made me wonder how I can best capitalize on my apparent pimpness, since I must admit it hasn’t done much for me recently. I’m still hopeful that I can find an aging “sugar mama” who can fund my vagrant’s lifestyle, though I’m not sure a “pimp” is what most elderly gals are looking for. Any suggestions?