There it is again. There’s that phrase I am so unimaginably tired of hearing! “She’s a horse girl…” Yeah, yeah, yeah. What exactly is a horse girl anyway? They say it with such a negative connotation.
Okay, fine. I know. A horse girl is every boy’s worst nightmare. She walks with unmistakable confidence, talks in an educated (yet still practical) manner, and she draws in the opposite sex with her barn glamour. What she forgets to say is that she is neurotic, emotional, and should go to therapy for an expensive and unhealthy obsession with the equine species.
Sure, I know I’m technically a horse girl, but I certainly wouldn’t categorize myself with the rest of them.
Yep. I said it. I did what no horse girl should do, but every single one does. I drew a line. I separated myself from the rest. It’s hard not to do when you see the insanity in everyone else, but the truth is, we’re all nuts.
Horse girl hate goes much deeper than just mental instability. Of course, we’re all in denial about our craziness, but that’s not what is really doing the damage.
I ride western. She rides hunter. It’s a simple equation really… me plus she does not equal peace. She hates me; therefore, I must hate her. But don’t think I’m pushing blame. I don’t much like her attitude, so why would she like mine?
The horse industry today is fraught with boundaries and dividing lines. These thick barriers are not only separating the different styles of riding, they are tearing away chunks and weakening the entire industry.
Western blames hunter. Hunter blames western. One thing horse girls are masters at is pointing fingers. I would like to brush off the guilt and put it on someone else’s shoulders, but I know the truth: We’re doing it to ourselves.
This whole concept of division slowing progress really isn’t that big of an epiphany, nor is it unique to horse girls. It’s everywhere today. America is so pressed for time it is relying on public sites to keep in touch with old friends and watching reality TV to feel like crazy life is acceptable and normal.
Enter world dominator: FACEBOOK.
Hi. My name is Kelsey Pecsek, and I’m a Facebook-aholic.
Facebook is like a horse girl’s personal brand of cocaine. There is nothing more adrenaline rushing than a place where I can: post pictures of my ponies, stalk famous trainers like they’re my personal friends and leave obnoxious, hurtful comments on another horse girl’s profile because she didn’t “like button” my pictures.
People may think this sounds absurd and unbelievably immature. It is. But the ironic thing is that those are the people who do it themselves. The news is full of cyber-bullying suicide stories. Just because horse girls take it a step farther with horse topics doesn’t make the actions of the general public moot.
There are folks everywhere ripping society to shreds one Facebook post, one Tweet, and one blog post at a time. More now than ever, people know exactly what their acquaintances are doing, yet they know next to nothing about the actual person. Citizens are more concerned about Lindsey’s Tweets and the Kardashian’s reality show than they are with the economy or planet or voting (the political kind, not People’s Choice Awards). And the worst part is they don’t care and refuse to pull themselves away.
Communication nationwide is becoming passive and that is deconstructing the values for which America was founded. It is far too easy to ignore someone, without feeling guilty, online and being hurtful over the Internet doesn’t force one into responsibility until there are legal repercussions for irreversible harm.
So here’s the deal. I’m a horse girl. I’m not necessarily proud of it, but I am what I am. I try to stay conscious of what I am to avoid the denial so many of my friends are stuck in. I can’t change how I act if I ignore my faults.
The good news is I deactivated my Facebook for almost a month to disconnect myself, ironically in an attempt to reconnect with people.
The bad news is… I hated it. Oh well.
Kelsey Pecsek – just finished an essay 4 class, taking the pups to Pandapas, then off to the barn. Txt if u need me.
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