Archive for March, 2006

Lately, the good folks at the Austin-American Spaceman have been delivering a daily paper to our house even though we don’t have a subscription. I usually pick it up when I go out to walk Zoey, recycle the paper, and use the bag to pick up her poo.

I’ve let the last one sit in the driveway for a few days, since it lays perfectly in my path to and from my car’s space in the garage. I get such joy from running over it on my way to and from work that I can’t bring myself to dispose of it as usual. It’s like I’m doing my part to fight shitty media.

We went to a Box Magazine release party at Mugshots. We had never heard of this magazine, but liked the name and needed an excuse to go to Mugshots. The party was just alright–the bored hipster count was higher than usual.

Although Mugshots is more of a bar than a club, there was a “dj” “spinning” some “music” from the eighties. I’m using a lot of “quotes” because a “monkey” could have done a better job. He didn’t even allow himself to trainwreck, he just kept plopping records on the turntables and hoping some bitch with an ugly dress and retarded hair would start dancing to it. It amazes me what passes for djing these days.

Around midnight we went home and watched 12 Monkeys. I’ve never watched that movie sober. Should add it to my to-do list.

We met some friends at the Yuppie Chuy’s on 183 last night. Wednesday night, 8:00, it’s packed. It’s all those dipsticks from the Far West area and Cedar Park flooding in through 183. The Far West people have every right to because they’re Austin residents, but the fucks from Cedar Park? Fuck Cedar Park!

If you want to live all the way out there, get your own damn Chuy’s. If you’re too lame to do that, eat at one of the bazillion craptastic strip-mall mega-chain restaurants that you purposely chose to live by for their convenience and sprawlitude. Don’t “drive into town” and invade my Chuy’s because you’re too big of a wuss to live near cool stuff and pay higher property taxes. Thanks to a bunch of dickwiches who want to pay less for a bigger house, we have a giant toll road system being implemented so all these wasteful fucks can drive their fat asses to places all over town–places like Yuppie Chuy’s, on Wednesday nights, at 8:00.

Fuck Cedar Park! And everyone in it!

Except Malcolm and Julianna, who I think live there. And Fabiola and Luis, who definitely live there. If they want to become part of the solution instead of part of the problem, they should come take the two extra bedrooms at our house and be bohemian with us. That’s right, a whole bunch of bohemian tech-people, living in one house that is pretty close to everything.

That’s Austin, not Cedar Park. Fuck Cedar Park!

Last night I went to Adult Skate Night at Playland for the first time since my return from California. Cheesy music and even cheesier people, oh how I’ve missed you.

Going through the entrance of the bathroom, I tripped over a cone that said “Wet Floor.” Good thing that cone was there; I could have fallen and hurt myself.

This morning I almost got struck by lightning. Before I even left my neighborhood, a huge bolt hit the ground right in front of me. The flash was so bright and the thunder was so loud and the electricity so could have killed me that I was jarred all morning. I think that was an attempt to smite me.

I’ve been getting smote in little ways for the past week or so. A new wrinkle, complications at work, broken sunglasses… People say I’m crazy when I tell them I’m smitten, but it’s the truth! Now that I almost got struck by lightning, maybe they’ll take all this smiting a little more seriously.

I wonder how much longer it will be before God’s aim gets better.

I washed my car for the first time in months this weekend and today it’s raining. That’s pretty much how things are going right now.

Although I convinced the general public that I was working from home, it is true that I was indeed sailing with Long John Silver yesterday morning. With Daniel as my first mate, we navigated the uncharted (by me) seas of fried fish fillets, heavily battered shrimp, and crispy hushpuppies, all while avoiding a mean case of the dreaded scurvy. RRRRRR!

Good question. I’ve been traveling so much and then have been so busy when I had a few moments in town that it’s all kind of running together like one big long weird confusing day.

At the beginning of this month, I went to Peoria for work. I had been to Peoria maybe once the entire time I was living in Illinois. If you live near a city like Chicago, Peoria isn’t exactly high on the agenda. It was a surprisingly cute little place, and we stayed in a surprisingly nice hotel… for an extra night even. By the time we could finally leave, we were ready to go. The city isn’t that big and the weather in March isn’t that nice. Also, we were working.

At the Peoria airport, I was chosen for a full search, likely because of my one-way, just-purchased ticket. I wasn’t excited about my coworkers getting an eyeful of my thong collection, but oh well. I would soon find that this was only the beginning.

This dragon was in a glass case at the airport in Peoria:

When I got to Chicago, I said good-bye to my coworkers and rented a car to drive to a suburb called Flossmoor. There, my grandparents greeted me and we talked about stuff. Stuff like them being deathly afraid of black people, preventing me from going to the riverboat casinos in Gary to play cards with a friend.

When I told them of my plans, they were shocked that I would even suggest such a thing. My trip to Gary would require traveling through the south side of Chicago. Black people live on the south side, and according to my grandparents, all they do is sit around waiting for white girls like me to roll up in a Chevy Malibu rental car so they can smash my window, hold me at gunpoint, and steal my valuables (a cell phone and maybe 20 bucks). Their logic was ridiculous, and any other self-respecting card player would have said, “I’ll take my chances.” They’re clearly basing their beliefs on the one death they hear about in the shit-shoveling daily paper, the Chicago Tribune*, and not thinking of the thousands of people who go through there all the time. Still, I was in town for two days and it wasn’t worth upsetting them over, even if they are totally wrong (and I could get my several white friends from the south side to call them and tell them as much).

Several glasses of bourbon later, it was a non-issue. I think my grandparents were a little disturbed by the amount of bourbon I could imbibe without throwing up, passing out, or being hungover. *shrug* I offered to buy them more; that’s all I can do.

I spent my second night in the Chicagoland area with my old pal Laura who lives in Brookfield. We walked home from the pub as a fresh blanket of snow fell on our heads. We didn’t care, it was pretty.

Until I had to drive home in it. Then, not so much. The flakes had just the right consistency to stick to all the road signs I had to read to get back to my grandparents’ house. My 40-minute drive ended up taking two and half hours. When I got back, I finished off the bourbon and watched the Academy Awards. Ho-hum.

I got back from my grandparents’ house on Monday, had dinner, had sex, and then had to drive all the way to Bandera, TX. (“Well at least you had sex,” noted one of my more astute friends.) Bandera was cool to drive through, not much going on there though. Highway 337 was the most beautiful drive through Texas I’ve ever experienced (and I got to experience it several times since I got lost), and one of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve seen, period.

During one of my lunch breaks, I flipped through a real estate guide and found my first within-reach dreamhouse. I must note that before that day, I thought houses were cheap in the middle of nowhere, but now I’ve discovered that when you buy a house in the middle of nowhere, you also buy all of the nowhere surrounding it, so they’re actually quite expensive. Oh well, if I stay in Texas for the rest of my life, I know where I’m living (Kendall County).

After chilling out post-Bandera, I was slated to go to a county an hour outside of Toledo. There I went, but not without a bit of struggle. My coworker and I had enormous trouble getting from Austin to Toledo in one day, so we made plans to stay in Chicago for a night and then fly to Toledo the next day. We almost didn’t make it to Chicago, as you can read in my angry letter to American Airlines (Word doc).

We eventually made it to The Drake in Chicago, where we put away our bags and had dinner and drinks. Another coworker and someone from the county he was working with joined us, so we had the perfect pack for clubbing, which I had informed my traveling companion we must do at all costs.

(To be continued… maybe)

I’ll at least tell you that it snowed in Ohio. This is me and a few flakes:

Also, we went here, but there were no munchkins: :-(

*Seriously, I would read this paper as I ate breakfast and it’s amazing that I was able to keep it all down. Most of the articles were poorly written and even the hard news stories left me thinking, “Who the hell cares?” The only way this paper knows how to get anyone’s attention is through provoking people’s fears–it was like reading Fox News.