I’ve been in the Republic of Texas for only a few months now and I love it. For roughly ten years in the mid-1800’s, Texas was it’s own country known as the Republic of Texas with four presidential terms and three presidents. That’s your history lesson for the day. You’re welcome.

This is the land of the truck-driving, gun-totting, modern day cowboy. Land of y’alls and yes, ma’ams, said with a sexy southern drawl. Pair that with cowboy boots and a hat and it’s enough to make a gal swoon – even if he is divorced from a nutty ex (more on that below).

According to my friend, a born-and-bred Texan and self-proclaimed history buff, Texas is the only state in the nation allowed to fly their state flag at the same height as the US flag – part of the concession to Texas joining the U.S. (I could not find a viable source to back this up. If you know of one, please cite it in the comments.)

In Texas we don't call 911.

Texas is still the old Wild West when it comes to the law… people don’t call 911.

I saw bullets laying on the ground at the local car wash, as if while vacuuming out a newly washed truck the bullets failed to be sucked up by the vacuum. No need to pick them up to hide the fact you carry a gun – like everyone else – so just kick ’em out onto the ground.

I’ve already had a run-in with a neighbor’s very angry ex-wife who warned me to stay away from her “husband”. Right behind her was his 17-year-old, potty-mouthed daughter who actually called me out for a fight because I befriended her divorced father. But if they try that again, this once-Californian will call 911. You can take the gal out of California…

Don’t Mess With Texas

One thing I find fascinating is how devoted Texans are to their state – not that they shouldn’t be. But having spent most of my life in California, a state where we are constantly bashing the state government, etc., pride in your home state was something I’d never experienced before to the degree it exists here. Texas is a great state and it’s easy to see why true Texans, and Damned Yankees (more on that below) alike, love it.

I’d like to think I fit in, but I suspect I stick out like a sore thumb. I suspect this because everyone refers to me as “the California gal”. Or just calls me “California”.

Is it the hair?

*sigh*

I concede to fitting the stereo-type of a California Gal. Because once you adopt the California lifestyle, speech, and manner of dress, you are a “Californian” and always will be.

This is NOT so of Texas. Texans are very proud of their state, ne country (as they have a right to be), and you are not considered a “Texan” unless you were born and raised here. You can start driving a pickup truck, carrying pistols, wearing cowboy boots and a hat, and slinging around “y’all’s”, but you will still be a “Damn Yankee”. “Yank” for short.

If they like you, they’ll say it with a smile.  If they’re not smiling? It’s a derogatory statement and you might be in for a duel.

So, what if I, a “California gal”, want to date a real Texas cowboy? I’ll have to ask a true Texan if it’s considered “marrying below your station” for a Texan to date or marry a “Damn Yankee”.

*time passes* I have asked my generations-born-and-bred, dyed-in-the-wool Texas friend about the above. He shyly, as if confessing some little known fact, said it is considered “dating below your station” (not how he put it, but that sums it up) by some of the more conservative Texans. Almost like how some folks view the antiquated notion of dating outside your race.

Checkers, I don’t think we’re in California anymore.

Does this mean I can’t have me a real cowboy? Crap.