Happiness is a Full Tank--notes from the evacuation of doom

When last I posted to this blog, I knew the traffic was backed-up, but I didn't have an inkling that a trip that normally takes me 4 hours (235 miles) would take me NINETEEN and end up being 300+ miles. I also didn't know that my tears of frustration and exhaustion would be necessary for a policeman to let me pass through a barricade to make my exit. (Thank you, sir. I do appreciate it. Honestly.)

In retrospect, I should have just stayed in Houston. I don't even think the power went out at my house. Bah. But at the time I left, 2:45am on Thursday, the eye wall, which was still at Category 5, was predicted to pass right through downtown--approximately 2 miles from my house. So yeah, I was a little shaken. As I initially suspected though, the hysteria and pandemonium of evacuation was much worse than the impact of the hurricane.

And thank you, bitchass Gov. Perry for the "I told you so" message on tv and radio about getting gas. Thanks, but most people DID get gas when he suggested it, but being on the road for an entire day in--literally 114 degree heat-- tends to, you know, use up gas. Turn off the air conditioning? Yeah, you try that and tell us how it is, jerkface. Then get into your private helicoptor and go to your private, clean restroom while the rest of us pee by the side off the road and walk our wilting pets.

I once read a book called The Way of the Peaceful Warrior and this spritely little character used to wear a t-shirt that said "Happiness is a Full Tank." Indeed.

Hurricane Off the Port Bow!

In a few minutes, or hours, depending on how traffic goes, I will be joining the fray and jumping ship--heading for the hills of Mineola. I'm not really scared, per se, but there's a feeling of nervousness permeating the air and I think the potential for hysteria-induced pandemonium here is perhaps as great as that of the powerful old girl, Hurricane Rita, herself. As it is, I have already convinced myself, and I know for a fact I'm not alone among sane people, that it would be more sensible to leave Houston in the middle of the night so I won't be as long getting out. Hmm. Frankly though, I'm quite tired and I can't imagine I am going to be some kind of ace driver at 4 am, even if I have had a lengthy nap.

The fact of the matter is: evacuation is going to be a real bitch, especially since two of the compass points are all but totally off-limits to evacuees. For what fool would go south to the coast or east to--eek--last month's massacre?

There's no telling how Houston might have reacted, had our city not only witnessed Katrina from an uneasy distance, but bore the brunt of the evacuees from it, with their terrifying stories and near-misses, violence, and what not.

I was just reading that the last major hurricane to hit Houston was Category 3 Alicia in 1983, which certainly did its part in and of itself--flooding downtown and killing 21, but which also spun off 22 tornadoes. 22. Damn.

For those of you who read this in the immediate future, check out this Houston Traffic Map and see what a bizard it is to get out of here right now. For those of you not from here, I live in the little compartment wast of the east side of the 610 loop, and just below I-10, where one of the zoomy magnifying glasses is. The big loop, beltway 8, is about 20-25 miles from my house, and it looks like I am looking at maybe reaching that far point in about 2 hours. Ho-leeeee geez.

Oh the humanity!

I just got an instant message from a guy I dated for like, I dunno--three weeks?--about five years ago. In this instant message session, he told me how sorry he was for causing me any untoward trauma and how he hoped he hadn't ruined my life/sent me spiraling into a crazy, abyssmal underworld/made me gay/caused me to kill my whole family, etc. with his "impulsive attitudes" and "contrary behaviors."

I cannot, sitting here now, remember this fella's last name. Clearly, it is because I am devastated and have blocked it out. Hmmm.

He also informed me that he was hardly ever on instant messenger anymore because he has "no time for silly, childish amusements," when he "has many better, more important things to do." However, he sought my forgiveness* for his proud and impudent youth, if, you know, he had one.

Whatevs, man.

*Do you think he's in a 12 step program?

Real Ridiculous.

I was just reading my latest issue of Real Simple. Usually, they have some pretty good ideas about practical re-uses of household items, good recipes, and what not, which explains my subscription. I do enjoy the magazine, but sometimes I think they take for granted that not EVERY reader is wealthy, white woman with an exceptional amount of time for total bullshit activities on her hands. Actually, I happen to know a fair few wealthy white women with an exceptional amount of time on their hands and I am quite sure that they would pretty much agree with me, also.

The article I just read had to do with emergency stand-ins for products you rely on. The first product you're apparently out of/can't do without is conditioner. I do realize people use conditioner, though I personally do not, but I hardly consider it a "must-have" item. But even so, the items that will supposedly substitute in a pinch are a combined mixture of avocados, mayonnaise, and whole milk.

I do enjoy avocados *and* mayonnaise and in the summer, often have both. But seriously, what is the likelihood that YEAR-ROUND, I am going to have a ready supply of avocados when I don't even fricking have conditioner if I "rely" on it so heavily? AND, avocados are expensive. I am not going to mash them into my head. I am going to mash them into a bowl and eat them. Further, it's 2005. The only person I know who buys whole milk is my sister, but she's, you know, exceptional. And she has a baby.

I appreciate they're trying to help people out, but for whom is it easier to make a complicated mixture of foods that take forever to wash out than to walk, drive, or bike over to friggety CVS? That is just ridiculous. Poor show, RS. Try to at least pretend like you take reality into consideration.

"Oh, I kept the first for another day! "

So I just downloaded Limewire Pro and before I could put in my credit card info and all, I got the following choices:

• I might use LimeWire PRO for copyright infringement.
  
  
• I will not use LimeWire PRO for copyright infringement.

Because I'm, you know, a human being, I decided to select the first one to see how severe they would censure me, but all I got was this message. (Funny shirt I just made up: I tried to infringe upon the law and all I got was this t-shirt.)

"Lime Wire LLC does not sell LimeWire Pro to people who intend to use it for purposes of copyright infringement. Thank you for your interest; however, we cannot complete this transaction."

No, no. Thank YOU, Limewire, for keeping me from a lifetime of crime and despicability. Ouch. You don't sell to my kind. Snap! I think I felt a little thump on my wrist as I just pressed the back button and selected that I will not use Limewire PRO for copyright infringement and then proceeded. You showed me.

At what point will jokingly clicking that you intend to infringe upon copyright on the internet be taken as seriously as saying bomb* in an airport?

*Does anyone else totally get the overwhelming urge to say bomb while in the airport? I know I do. "Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. " Word. Robert Frost totally predicted tightening of airport security. He truly was ahead of his time.

Sticker Shock

Holy peas! It was $35 to fill up my crapster little Mazda tonight, my first fill-up since the hurricane.

$35!

Wow.

By the way, does anyone remember the olde times when the internet used to be free and netzero and juno and stuff were actually zero, instead of the supposed non-problematic amount of $9.95? I tell you what, if my gas had been $9.95 more tonight, well, I bet you I still would have bought it. That's a sad story, right?

The Frozen Foods Section

A quick note about my job.

My cube is located in the frozen foods section. "I didn't know MaryT worked at a grocery store," you might be saying to yourself. In fact, I don't. Nevertheless, I work in the frozen foods section. We could preserve my grandmother in there--and she died 16 years ago. Okay, well, at least Nancy Reagan, who is still (officially) alive.

As I adapt, climatically (some might say acclimate), my wardrobe gets stranger and stranger. Since I live in Houston, my casual winter wardrobe is not only minimal, but also, you know--for winter. It's weird to drive to work in 100 degree weather wearing a cashmere turtleneck, no matter how much it will be practical in the office. But yet my office dress is very casual, so whipping out my fine-gauge jodhpurs and what not would make me look like a complete hack, which I am not entirely convinced I'm not, so best to at least look the part of a non-hack. So basically I have a pair of jeans, a pair of green chinos, and a very small assortment of t-shirts that are not totally slob-like, but still are comfortable underneath the bulk of my hoodie/sweater/down comforter that I wear as my outermost layer.

So lately, I have been wearing jeans, some shirt--any shirt, basically, and one to three additional outer layers, and CRAZY combinations of very old, athleisure shoes. I have neon laces in my cracking Sambas, but they're 11 years old, so in my defense, I was 14 when those laces went in. And I could wear cute shoes, if my feet were able to brave the elements.

Summer/early fall colors. Winter weights. Casual. This is what I seek. Are you out there, vetements of yesteryear?

Is a chiminea over the top as cube decor?

Hey girl! Where the party at?

I went to Kroger Saturday night, utterly exhausted, after returning from a day of toobing (Please never spell toobing as tubing. That's just not right). In addition to the state of toobing (i.e. doing nothing), I was also tired due to the following:

• a hectic and long (despite being only 4 days) week of work--an extreme change of pace following three months of convenience-inspired days
  
  
• a lengthy/late Friday night involving Meg, Danny, and me veinly attempting to hook-up Meg's new hookah, which should rightly be called a crapster because it never did work, no matter how many times I fancifully reconfigured the holes in the foil, plus a laaaaate night trip to IHOP with Forrest
  
  
• an entire day in the sun drinking beers (only 2, though considering how slowly I drank them and how much putrid river water eked into them through various dams/chutes, I may as well own up to drinking several cans full of others' beer pee).

So naturally, I was looking like hot stuff when I headed into Kroger, which explains why a car full of guys rolled up to me while I was on the way in and inquired, nay, demanded, to know the location of "the party.*" I snorted in reply and said "Like I would know."

And then a funny thing occurred to me--I actually WOULD know. It's my job to know. I mean, it's literally my job to know, no matter how many times I frown while inputing the details of "Houson's hottest weekly urban party." The irony of knowing about all of these events though is that I am so busy reading press releases and commandeering local fun-times information that I think my actually attending any of these events will be rare, which is really fine with me because though I enjoy a cultural event or a free workshop, I think we all know that "where the party at" is typically antithetical to "where the MaryT at."

*However creepy this event may be, I am reminded of two reasons I should be grateful. One is that thought they called me "girl," at least they did not inform me that I needed to relax. The second, courtesy of my co-work SF, is that at least people still think I might know the location of the party. He feels he will never have this information asked of him, despite having my job before me.