Forget the Cowboy. Ride a bull

Bullriding was a must for this year’s resolutions. When I started putting the list together, I actually had a moment of awe. I couldn’t believe that I had never ridden a mechanical bull. All of these years, so many nights out, and not one bull ride? Nope. Not a one.

Images of the movie Urban Cowboy immediately flashed through my head: Debra Winger bringing the whole bar to a stand still with her—how do I put it—talents as she rides the bull. Flipping around in circles, moving like waves, standing up and then sitting back down. Gulp. Moment of anxiety. Clearly there would be no such expectations of me, right? I just had to stay on the bull for as long as I could. Although….(moment of wishful thinking), it would be kinda fun if I could do more than just stay on the bull.

But this was no movie, and I’m no Debra Winger. So….the primary objective would remain simple. Stay on the bull.

First, I had to strategize. Create a list of sorts.

Ingredients for success:

1. Find a bar with a mechanical bull
2. Gather a posse of friends
3. Drink enough to make myself believe I was invincible against the bull, but not so much that I would fall right off of it on the first spin
4. Meet a group of hot Australian men with sexy accents
5. Convince my posse of friends to ride the bull first
6. Ride the bull
7. Don’t get bucked off; dismount gracefully

FIND A BAR WITH A MECHANICAL BULL CHECK

This was surprising more difficult than initially anticipated. For some reason, I expected a surplus of such institutions. But only found a few within driving distance from where I lived. There was one down the road from my house (who would of thunk?)—but they only had the bull on Thursdays. I work nights, so that was a big no-can-do. Lucky for me, Hollywood had just what I was looking for (doesn’t it always?), and as such, became the chosen destination. And since anything can happen in Hollywood, this could turn out to be the best or worst decision of my life.

GATHER A POSSE OF FRIENDS CHECK

I knew I wouldn’t be able to go in the center of the bar in front of dozens of strangers and ride a mechanical bull without some friendly faces in the crowd. I needed my girlfriends there for support. You know, so I could hear them say “Girl, you sooo got this” and “That bull ain’t got nothin’ over you” and “Don’t think about Debra Winger or Urban Cowboy; I mean, really, who rides a bull like that anyway?” And so…time for a shout out to my girls: Lupe, Ariana and Amy!! Can I get a Woot Woot?!?!? You guys made the bull riding experience a million times better.

DRINK ENOUGH TO MAKE MYSELF BELIEVE I WAS INVINCIBLE AGAINST THE BULL, BUT NOT SO MUCH THAT I WOULD FALL OFF OF IT ON THE FIRST SPIN CHECK

I was nervous and out of my norm. I needed a little liquid courage to get me onto that bull. Not so much that I would turn into an irresponsible, out of control, intoxicated drunk. Just enough to loosen me up and help me shake away some inhibitions. Time for another shout-out to my beautiful friends. They definitely helped me get there. A designated driver, 2 shots and a giant margarita (that I initially thought was a pitcher we’d all be sharing) later, I was ready to ride. Not intoxicated, not wasted—a little unsteady maybe—but still clear headed. And ready.

MEET A GROUP OF HOT AUSTRALIAN MEN WITH SEXY ACCENTS CHECK

Okay, admittedly this is not an actual requirement to riding a bull. BUT, it was one of the perks of this particular resolution—and so it had to be thrown into the checklist. Nothing more to add other than it was done. Hot. Check. Australian. Check. Sexy accents. Check. Moving on…

CONVINCE MY POSSE OF FRIENDS TO RIDE THE BULL FIRST FAIL

That was the most unsuccessful point of the night. It wasn’t just fail--more like EPIC FAIL. Man, I couldn’t get them to ride that bull. Not first, middle or last. Stubborn bunch of ladies, I tell ya. And I tried every trick I could think of. But no budging. I would be alone on this for the night. But it wouldn’t stop me. COULDN’T stop me. Afterall, it was my resolution to complete not theirs. I had no way out really.

RIDE THE BULL BIG CHECK

Ahh. And so came the moment when the bull and I would finally meet. Such build up to our first encounter—in one corner, the mechanical bull that would try and try again to throw me off its back; and in the other corner, me who would be holding onto it with all of the strength one woman can muster. Except we weren’t really in different corners. I was waiting in line and it was busy evacuating seated passengers one after the other. I was getting more nervous. My turn was getting close. It was too late to change my mind. I was there. In Hollywood. In a bull-riding bar. In line. Darn it. I needed more liquid courage, but it was too late.

“You’re up,” the bull’s conductor said to me.

Oh boy. The door to the fence surrounding the bull opened. Off came the heels (it would be a really bad idea to punch a hole in the padding/air mattress that would cushion my fall). In I walked, the crowd growing around me as more people arrived at the bar. The lights were dimmed (had been for a while, but I only noticed it then), the masses cheered me on, my nemesis waited. The conductor helped me onto the bull. I slipped my right hand through the rope that lay across the bull’s neck and held tight; pressed my thighs firm around its torso;

lifted my left hand high; posed for a picture; and then nodded. I was ready to go. And even if I wasn’t, the bull had started to move. Gently at first. And then faster with interesting gyrating motions. I could hear my friends cheer. I held on tighter. I would not fall. Heck, maybe I would pull out some Debra Winger moves. Bring it, bull. Around and around we spun.

DON’T GET BUCKED OFF; DISMOUNT GRACEFULLY SORTA CHECK

I think I stayed on for a lot longer than I thought I would have. And then I finally let go. It wasn’t the spinning or the fear of being thrown across the room that made me do it. My wrist had seriously started to hurt holding onto that rope. All of the twisting and turning while my hand was stuck was making me sore. And so I let go and when I did, the bull enacted its revenge. I flew up and then down onto the ground. I certainly did not gracefully dismount. But still, I like to think that it was my choice and not the bull’s to end the ride.

Overall, a great experience. The actual bull riding played a small role that night. But it allowed me to have SUCH a fun night out with some beautiful friends and helped me make some new ones. I accomplished a resolution, which is always a great feeling. Who knows? Maybe I’ll go again. Maybe the more I do it, the more my wrist will adapt to the awkward positioning. Maybe if I keep practicing, I can learn all of Debra Winger’s bull-riding skills. And if not, then this one will go down as one of my most unique and most fun nights out. Ever.

Thanks for stopping by. And as always, please be sure to follow.