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Tomahawk in stump
Super Introvert

Call Me Tomahawk

  No purpose to this pic; just lookin like a badass.  🙂


On Monday, I went to a Memorial Day BBQ with my older sister, whom I’m visiting in Tucson, AZ for the week. I was fairly nervous to go to the party, fearing I would stuff my foot in my mouth and alienate my sister from her coworkers, her friends and her very job.

“Eh, you’ll be fine,” my sister said. Not believing, I fled to hide somewhere in her house until she had gone. She chased after me, hogtied me with shoelace, stuffed me in the back of her SUV, and headed across town.

All joking aside, I sat in the passenger seat as we rode to the party, determined not to talk myself out of what could potentially be a good time.

The barbecue was held by one of her coworkers who had apparently been up since 5:30 that morning, grilling every type of beef and pork he could find. There were people there, of course, as well as food, drink and…tomahawks.

I originally called them axes, but my sister’s coworker explained that tomahawks are in fact the weapon versions of axes and hatchets. I begged his pardon and gazed longingly across the yard while he and several men collected at the wooden block at which they were going to throw the bladed sticks of destruction.