At the Car Wash

It seems I simply can't get away from annoying neighbors. First there was a ChickyB. Then I enjoyed a period of excellence with my awesome neighbors who soon after built a house and moved away before being invaded by the Poop Squad of Noisy, Aggressive neighbors. And now my neighbor is the car wash. Though I must say I enjoy the two excepetionally large young women who live next door to us and often sit on their porch, perhaps literally chewing the fat. I often imagine that they are whittling and commenting "Our neighbors is crazy city folk!"

Uh, but anyway...

So thanks to living next to a Shell station, there is a car wash that is pretty much in my backyard. No kidding. One wall of it is less than one foot from our fence. Molly freaks out when she's out there, thinking the sky is falling and such as that. She has taken to howling, which I admit I find adorable. I often join in "arroooo"ing with her out of solidarity. It's one of those no-touch car washes which I think would be better named no-wash car washes, but that's another story.

The thing is, people around here love these no-wash washes. They get them constantly. Hello! There is a laser wash across the street. LASERS! What part of laser sounds less awesome than no-touch? Fools!

What I have to ask is:
who needs a car wash at 4 a.m.?

For that matter, the boom-chicka music and the "I am so rad--my stereo has bass! Wanna hear when you're supposed to be sleeping?" "music" at all random hours easily falls into my not-really-at-all-awesome category.

Katrina and the Waves: A Drinking Game!

Since most people listen to NPR at least some of the time in the car, I don't mean to advocate drinking and driving in any way, shape or form. However, should you find yourself safely at home during All Things Considered or Morning Edition, try this, based on coverage of the last two days.

Fellow listeners, feel free to chime in your own.

Take a shot every time you hear "just one year ago today/this week."

Roll your eyes and sip your drink every time this anecdote is relayed. After a short stack pancake breakfast in New Orleans, Pres. Bush's waittress asked him "Mr. President, are you going to turn your back on me?"
In true cavalier fashion, the president was at the ready with a true gem of a sound byte. "No ma'am," he replied somberly, then laughed. "Not again."
Oh that Bushie! What a kidder.

Hit your head against the wall and take two asprin every time you're reminded that the FEMA trailers are actually poisoning their residents, but the law doesn't allow for any non-damaging permanent housing, even if it's less costly than trailers-of-doom.

Cry and drink a double every time you hear another story about how the insurance companies have taken the little guy for a ride. (Hey, I'm not in favor of the man oppressing policy holders. But seriously, I don't know if I can hear one more report about the difference between wind and water damage to a roof. Or hear one more teary-eyed, drawling person sniff "Jes' nothin' lef'. Nothin'. Nothin'. Nothin'.")

Drink a fifth of whiskey every time you recall that our country actually elected the Dunderhead a second time and that we were kind of asking for disaster. Ironically of course, hardly anyone in Orleans parish actually voted for him. So I guess the whole debacle could actually be viewed as a bitchslap by Republican gods for not representin'.

Do a keg stand every time a Mississippi resident laments that New Orleans got all the attention. (You think you're bitter Mississippi person? Talk to the victims of Hurricane Rita! As if anyone gave a crap about them.)

Watch an episode of 24 every time you wish that Dennis Haysbert/Pres. David Palmer was actually our real president. Feel free to substitute The West Wing's Martin Sheen or even Love Actually's Billy Bob Thornton in for Dennis Haysbert. As for me and mine, we will stand with Jack Bauer.

That's all I can think of for now. Any others I blatantly missed?

Amendment to Earlier Lufkin Restaurant Commentary

So I spoke too soon. Lufkin is actually quite a delightful little town and MRT and I walked all around the downtown area this golden afternoon--basking as we were after finally handing over our woes to professional woe-be-goners. So it turns out there is a city ordinance in Lufkin against smoking in restaurants, also. So good job there.

Still though, driving in to Lufkin on 59, one might see these troublesome billboards which indicate that fine dining (or dinning, as they say in the personal ads) may still have far to go.

Golden Corral: Free Refills on EVERYTHING! (Gross, dude.)

Red Lobster: Experience the thrill of the seaside. (Aye, aye cap'n.)

I'll just leave you to your own thoughts on this.

In other news, it is just the most beautiful day in the whole world and I spent a good chunk of it with my sunroof open and then swinging on my giant front porch with my true love. Makes my recent panic attacks seem like such a poor use of my time.

You know what I am going to do now though, that is absolutely not a waste of my time by anyone's standards, except that of MRT? Watch another episode of 24. That's right Meg and Danny. I am about to embark on a JACK BAUER PAUER HAUER!

Man, I'm psyched. May I enthusiastically recommend quitting your job and moving to the sticks? Check in for another episode of manic-depressive theater tomorrow when I may once again be dwelling on "Free Refills on EVERYTHING!" Seriously, that is just not right.

We Don't Want Any Magazines x 1e6

May I make a little suggestion? For those of you who still have land lines (do any of you still have land lines? I do.) and might be transferring them at some point ever, do yourself a favor. As soon as you know what your new phone number is, go ahead and smack that puppy right on the "Do Not Call" Registry. Apparently, the registry doesn't transfer even if the same account of your former number is active for your new number.

How do I know? I have gotten 90,000 calls today (and today is really the first week day I have been home and with a phone for any decent length of time). I thought my caller ID wasn't working because it just kept saying "incoming call" instead of a number. So I answered thinking that one of my friends that I just emailed my new phone number to might be testing it out. Wrong-O! Peops have attempted to sell me satellite dishes, magazines (relentless bastards!) and I know not what else because as soon as they call me Ms. MyLastName, I usually say that I'm not interested and hang up. I used to give them a minute, not wanting to be rude by hanging up, but you can't ever get a word in edgewise and frankly, my elusive and beautiful free time is valuable.

Also, I like how they always ask how I'm doing. Not too freaking great as soon as I realized I was on the phone with a blood-suckinbg telemarketer! AAAHH.

See, you asked for more blogs and this is what you get. Imagine that my mind has been blogging at this rate (and maybe faster) the whole time I've been away from you fiends. Scary thought--much like that of me being eaten by bears in the wilds of random Texas.

Are there bears in the wilds of random Texas?

A New Response

What is the deal with those people who get mad at you for their mistake? Like this weekend, the traffic was very bad in Austin and Jo and Justin and I calmly waited behind pedestrians and all for our turn at the four-way stop. When we finally go, another man who is impatient just guns out in front of us and as we are braking, he gives us this mean old man look of "stupid kids trying to kill someone!"

Then last night after my journey through treacherous lands, a rednecky woman calls my house at 3 a.m. and very rudely asks for some unintelligible name. I said "I'm sorry you have a wrong number" and was in the process of hanging up when she loudly demanded into the phone what the correct number for unintelligible name was. I was really not having that in the middle of the night, so I hung up anyway--but seriously. 1) Why would I know? 2) Why would I be inclined to help someone who is both rudely inquiring and interrupting my night's sleep?

I am now declaring war on grumpuses. From now on, if they get irritated at me for their mistakes, I am going to be ready with a grumpy and field equalizing response. Just as soon as I think of one!

B to the F to the E

To put it mildly, I've had a bit of a hectic summer, so in order that I might not die, several family members, friends and MRT mandated a weekend of leisure rehabilitation. The Team Jo(e) was kind enough to be my host for this tour de pleasures including such wonders as unending deliciousness, cold water therapy, prolonged exposure to hilarity, discussions of grass traps and other plots to foil enemies, extended sleep hours and more. I can't tell you how entirely awesome it was and how, like Muriel/Mariel once said "I'm a sic-siss." Of course, being myself, I would find a way to cap off ultimate relaxation rehabilitation with some type of masochistic peril. I am going to go ahead and NOT suggest driving across the entirety of the middle of Texas via backroads and at night.

While I'm sure the Davy Crockett National Forest is a D-Lite during the daylight at a leisurely pace, it is --by even the most conservative estimates-- treacherous in the gloaming and beyond. The rolling hills plunging through the abyss of the East Texas darkness aside (which slowed me to 60 at my fastest, typically), I swerved at least five or six times to avoid deer and raccoons who most imprudently decided to cross the road at the time I, the lone car in the universe it would seem, was upon that path.

When I did pass a "car," it always seemed to be an 18-wheeler carting an alarming amount of timber for being after dark on lanes that were exceptionally narrow. I say lanes, but let's be clear: there was one each way at the widest points. And at the narrowest? Side-by-side, thin, landing-type strips where it would behoove one to be a defensive and courteous operator. Even when those dudes dim their brights? Yeah, still pretty much blinding. And meeting them at the top of the hill of narrow lanes when you both have your brights on? Well, "death is imminent" doesn't put too fine a point on it.

At one point, I cried because it's me, but also because after having driven for three hours to find myself seriously surrounded by tall trees, zero peops, and very few signs, plus MRT's dying GPS which beeped incessantly but gave little helpful direction, MRT informed me that I had about 130 miles left. And that was in a rare moment of cell phone reception. Can you imagine?

But the random middle of Texas does have its charms. I must highly recommend the big band station out of Killeen/Belton with a wayward weather man. Most of the time, I had no idea what in the sam hell he was talking about, but there was somewhat of a treatise to the national weather service to pay heed to this man's apparently highly-astute hurricane observations. He was baffled how they, with all their instrumentation and fine minds, had missed some obviousness he was easily able to detect months ago. Eh...whatever. I can also confidently say that I still don't understand what purpose Hearne serves, except for being home to the nicely priced gasoline I purchased. Although, actually, had I not purchased gas in Hearne, I might possibly have been stranded in this untamed wilderness until right now, at which times I would already have been eaten by bears and have had some urban legend written about me.

Would you want that? I thought not. God Bless Texas.

Woot! I'm 26!

I made it, despite hitting my head very hard last night on a truck in the pouring rain. O! Heady 25-year-old of yesterday! It was an accident (obviously, as what fool would perform such an idiotic ritual voluntarily) and now I have the most enormous bump on my head. Ow. I followed this up by attempting to share a twin aero bed with MRT. This did not work out to anyone's satisfaction, if you were wondering.

I received so many wonderful greetings and gifts from friends and family this birthday that I am all aglow with good wishes for starting the victory lap to a banner year of 25. I must say though, the best gift was walking in the front door to my new and awesome house with a generously sized bed. And availability of advil. But seriously, the outpouring of emails and such as that rocked also. Thanks everyone!

Good night and good luck!

Woods to the City and Back Again

I may hail from the wilds of East Texas originally, but I have become freakishly, absurdly urban.

Because of the sensitive nature of the conversation MRT and I overheard yesterday while out getting a hamburger, I shall only repeat it in person, when I can get the accents just so (MRT is frightened by how dead-on my imitations are). But so much more than that transpired at this home of delicious burgers. For one thing, both MRT and I smelled cigarette smoke and began postulating how it could have come in through the a/c vent and what not when it hit us: you can still smoke in restaurants here. And no one will even give you a dirty look. (Well, I will give a dirty look.) Admittedly, it hasn't been a city ordinance in H-town for long, but it was a long time coming. Hardly any of the restaurants I attended had much smoking going on there anyway before that (except for the patios, on which smokers DID get multiple dirty looks).

I mean seriously: smoking in restaurants? Gross.

We have met a lot of Houston ex-pats here, or people who claim to be Houston ex-pats, but are typically from Humble and Atoscosita and such as that. They say they do not miss it. No offense, but I can't imagine pining away for Atoscosita either, when there are more than enough mullets to keep me entertained here. In fact, that Roula and Ryan billboard would not even be funny, I fear. But to be fair, this is a college town and inside the city, almost everyone has teeth.

BUT! yesterday MRT and I drove out to Lake Nacogdoches to check out the scene and we were startled when we happened upon a place that called itself a campground. The thing is, the people there weren't so much camping as they were permanently squatting. MRT started humming Dueling Banjos from Deliverance when a woman, who I swear was wearing an actual miumiu came out and started yelling (locals might say "hollerin'") at an adult man who could only be her son. Was he wearing a self-made black tank top? And a Confederate battle flag baseball cap? And a surly-looking beard? Why, he most definitely was. It was clearer than ever that my little red station wagon, with the "Democratic Women are the Life of the Party" sticker was out of place and we turned around as fast as we could.

I found a pretty good sticker yesterday that said "Keep your butts in the car. Don't mess with Texas." I might switch to that one, as it conveys my overall message of "smoking is vile" fairly well.

I apologize if this blog turns into Dear Diary for awhile instead of sharp jabs in the eye at those most deserving. I have much to record for the time being.

Today is my fake birthday that I am celebrating with friends. One last day of being 25. Woot!

Holy cow, life is one big blog post!

Hello internets,

As I mentioned before, I have an unbelievable amount to tell you, but multiply what I had to say before by 1e6. Yes!

To bring you up to date, MRT and I moved 99.5% of my apartment on Friday to Nacogdoches--where we now live. Actually, to be completely correct, MRT and my dear, dear, dear friends Pens, Jen, Brad and M! moved my stuff while I packed random things and generally panicked. In general, I am a competent person. I can pile the stress on and not bat an eye when it comes to performing. But ask me to move, and I will likely break down, sob and have some kind of very embarrassing episode. Oddly, I am a wiz at helping others move. But moving myself? It's traumatic. In part, the sudden move was predicated by my awful, horrible, no good, very bad neighbors who have created a hostile environment with the laundry room of doom, the aggressive dogs and the poopscape--among other things. But also because MRT and I wanted to go for the gold. Well, mostly MRT. So anywho, after we finished up about 10:30 and my friends, who have a premium spot in heaven, departed, MRT and I hit the road for what became a four hour drive. How did 144 miles turn into four hours?

1) I was exhausted. We had to stop three times because I was practically driving off the road. The wilderness is dark and that junk is hard to drive in.

2) MRT's speedometer on Ol' Enormo, our 24' U-haul, said he was going65, when actually he was going about 45. Finally, during one of our sleep breaks, I was like : dude, if you want to make it to Nac alive, give that mofo some gas. Up to that point, MRT was completely unaware we had been driving so slow as one expects an overpriced truck to at least function.

So here we are in a place that, while beautiful and refreshing, is pretty much BFE. We've been here three nights so far and each of the three, I have crashed completely before 10 p.m.As my expert packers can attest, I have plenty of stuff to unpack, but aside from that, we're hammering, drilling and ficxing up our house in possibly the seventh circle of hell--heat-wise anyway. But now our internet is up (yay!) and I can at least cyber-connect with what I miss the most so far about Houston--my dearest peops (who admittedly live many places). I'll try to stay up-to-date this week, but starting next week for sure, I'll be working part-time at least, MRT will be in school and some semblance of a normal life may be in order. Until then, stay tuned.

P.S. I'll be in Houston tomorrow night for my favorite holiday celebration with friends! See you soon.

Oh internets!

I have so much to tell you. For the last few days, I have had about ten blogs to write every few hours! Unfortunately, I have been nowhere near a computer except late at night when I am cranky and exhausted. And this trend may continue for awhile, though I will hopefully have time to share at least a few things today. So much has been going on that will raise our collective ire and cause us to laugh at the hilarity of life. Stay tuned.

In the meantime, I want to mention a billboard I saw for the Roula and Ryan morning show on...yeah, whatever station. First of all, I thought that show was cancelled? Second of all, if it's not--thank God it's a radio show. Ryan was sporting weird acid-wash A.C. Slater pants and a tucked in Hawaiian shirt with his permed mullet!! WTF? I always thought he was the sensible one. I can't tell you what Roula was wearing because I was so ditracted by her circa 1987 giant Debbie Gibson bangs. I swear, I almost crashed my car.

The Kicker

I just accidentally got bleach on my favorite shorts.

Bleach is evil. I have said it all along.

Evil Week of Hell, Doom and Blorg Draws to a Close

Seriously, this week has been one giant WTF?! after the next. Let's re-cap shall we?

-Saturday, Matt and I about killed ourselves moving a new washer and dryer in at the house and what not in the blistering heat. My neighbors conveniently have a garage sale on the day they know we're moving. That night, exhausted and dirty, I try to take a shower, only to dicover no hot water because we had no idea that our water heater was a gas one. And that's right: no gas. Sweet.

-Sunday, on the drive from East Texas, Matt's car breaks down, but I miss him as he's on access roads. His phone is broken and he has not received his new one. I arrive tired and dirty to my excessively messy house to find that my landlord, who has decided to sell the place, has scheduled two showings, right at the time I'm parking my car. He is already inside, using my air conditioning, which as you may know--cost me $240 last month. My dog, who has been on the road, has to be crated immediately so rude strangers can make comments about my house being in disarray. Sorry--if I'd known you were coming, I'd have baked a cake, jerkfaces. Not to mention, the realtor shows up almost every day unannounced, crates my dog, and I find her in the crate when I get home, with the a/c turned down to 70. Also, a bitchy woman who had a contract on the place went through two inspections before deciding she didn't want it, which translates to two days of total inconvenience for me. BIZARD!

-Because my car was not ready as promised (see below) on Wednesday, Matt and I did quite a lot of shuffling around to share one car and still allow him to attend his last day of his class, which was listed as the central campus one mile away, but was actually located in BFE. So then he gets home from class (yay) and my neighbor's dog bites the hell out of him! She doesn't apologize and just shuffles back into her house. Matt is bleeding and the wound is puffy and purple and the neighbors have totally ignored us, so Matt calls animal control, who comes out to the house to talk to Matt, then the neighbors. Apparently, the dog didn't have shot records, because it is now being quarantined by the city. I don't know how the neighbors reacted exactly, but I haven't heard any of the dogs or seen extra poop after the explosion of screaming and expletives when the police officer left. May I just mention that when my dog bit the neighbor's dog (which is not illegal, nor unusual), I footed a $500 vet bill for a wound that didn't draw blood and apologized profusely for the inconvenience and what not.

-I dropped my car off last Thursday and it was promised by Tuesday afternoon when we called Tuesday morning. (This was before Matt's car broke down--crap.) On Wednesday morning, Matt and I went to pick it up. I paid, I signed for it and a man said "I'll go get your car," and disappears. Half an hour later, another man appears and asks if we're waiting for something. Yes, the car, thank you. He says "Oh, I'm sorry your car's not ready. We haven't even painted it yet. I estimate Thursday." Um--well then WHY did you say yesterday afternoon when we called yesterday morning if it had not YET been painted? Painting takes over a day for baking and all. Further--wtf? It had one dent. What have you done with my car that you need it for a week? Thursday afternoon Matt finally picks it up. All is hunky dory until I need to leave to go to the airport to get Noonan. My phone had been out of batteries all week because i left my charger in my car. Well, when they detailed it, they took my phone charger out--never to return it. So I am now late to the airport and most go home to trade phones with Matt so I can contact my sister on the day her flight has been so delayed because--hey, terrorists felt like this was a good time to plan "a mass murder on an unimaginable scale" on airplanes.

W. T. F!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-My Amazon.com order that I placed almost 3 weeks ago still has not arrived, though it was last scanned in Dallas on August 2 according to the tracking. Amazon said to give it a couple more days. Oh really? Thanks--I can drive to Dallas and get it several times over in two more days.

-I cannot find my favorite issue of Bon Appetit.

-My house is a mess except for the exceptional amount of cleaning Matt did last night while I was at the airport--bless him.

Also, in addition today is my last day at my job and I have a lot of work still left to do before I head home forever.

Buuuuuut, Noonan and family are in town and things are looking up for the weekend. Because if they got worse, I'd have to freak out.

"Oh, Bunk Mate...do you LOVE me?"

I have already emailed this to most peops, but in the event I haven't, may I present the latest and most certainly greatest:

TEEN GIRL SQUAD!!!.

I love this. It is so hilarious, I have been near tears on the three occasions I have watched it so far. TGS is my favoritest.

Favorite Holiday

It's two weeks and one day until my favorite holiday: my birthday. People always seem weirded out when I say my favorite holiday is my birthday and not Christmas or some other savory-friendly holiday.

The thing is, every year, I always think my birthday is going to be some kind of crazy celebration and wild transformation, when often it turns out to be going out for a burrito with friends and perhaps receiving some gel pens from my mom. But it doesn't matter!

There is just something so magical to me about my approaching birthday that when I see August 23 written anywhere, I get little twinklies all in my soul. Is that silly?

I don't care. My favorite holiday is coming!

MaryT's Most Gayest World

Do y'all remember the misadventures of most gayest realtor?

I was just reading an article in a back issue of the Houston Press, and I thought back to him. In the article, the author refers to House District 134 (in which I live) as "one of the gayest districts in Texas." The thing is, he's not being facetious. It truly is quite gay. I'm proud to be a member of such a gay, little community.

And yet we elected Martha Wong...twice? WTF?! Well, I never voted for her actually, but whatevs man--she's still in office. Ellen Cohen for 134!

This whole post was really an excuse to say "most gayest" a few times.

Haute Dawg

One of today's blogs on HouStoned is a story about the 300 pit bulls recently seized by the Humane Society here in Houston after their owner was shot to death in a gang-related fight. Clearly, he's one quality owner--especially since he had 300 dogs in his "care" at the time of his death. Harumph.

Be that as it may, the author of the blog was looking for a photo of an adorable pit bull. And as you may know, I have many, many, many photos of a particular adorable pit bull.

Without further ado, My Haute Dawg. Viva super pup!

It's Cookie-Bakin' Time!

Though the temperature soars (see exclamatory remarks about electric bill), Pens has alerted me to the fact that it's a great time to bake cookies...on the dashboard!

Okay, I am totally going to do this. It's supposed to rain today, but later this week, I am ALL over that!

Holy Electric Light Socket, Batman!

My electric bill was $240 this month. Heat of death and oppression: go away!

Fossil

Technology is now developing additional add-ons for tools I don't know how to use. And not to sound like an old crapster, but I'm not sure that I need to know how. For example, I pretty much figured out how to use text messaging on my "new" (two and a half year old) phone within the last few months. Now there are ways to like download shows I don't watch and do things I don't need to do at all, let alone on the go.

I am completely baffled by youtube. I don't know what it is. I don't know what it does, except that when people send me a link to something on it, it generally requires me to download some plug-in that I don't want to or move my headphones to another outlet, which is really just asking way too much. With rare exception, this is grounds for immediate deletion. Yeah, sorry. I hate sensory hostage situations. I mean MY LORD, you have my attention, do you need all my bandwidth, too? No thank you.

And just now I was looking in my gold box at Amazon.com and this item was recommended to me. I checked it out, read the description and compared what I could figure out to the price. I still have NO idea what this does. Is it software? Is it the boss of me? I don't want it. Make it go away.

And on that note, I still find handwritten letters and nice fountain pens to be a delight.

Poop: The Last Taboo

For once, I am going to discuss poop and not even mention how there were six or more piles of dog poop on my patio when I returned from being out of town on Sunday. Okay, I will. But I must discuss poop in other terms as well. Specifically, why are women expected not to acknowledge that they poop? I submit that poop is the new masturbation of taboo activities for women. Sure, it's fine if dogs do it. Men are likely going to brag about it. But for a woman to even engage in such an uncouth (though, ahem, one of the characteristics of ALL living things) behavior is unthinkable.

I have seen very few episodes of Sex in the City, but I happen to remember one in which pooping at the home of a long-time boyfriend was made into a huge and mortifying issue. And that's not real life, of course, but consider the encounter I just now had in the bathroom at work. (Incidentally, I have never seen the same woman twice in the bathroom, so I believe they may be aliens morphing to cover their true identity and probable shame for excreting wastes.)

When I entered the bathroom, it smelled strongly like air freshener, but did not bely anything horrible or deadly. This woman drying her hands accosted me and said adamantly "I did NOT do that. Someone just came out of there (motioning towards the handicapped stall)! Must have had chili last night!"

Um, it's a bathroom. Did she think I was going to accuse her of something?

"Who dares use the toilets in this bathroom?! Was it YOU?!"

Carpe Diem and Such as That

To each there comes in their lifetime a special moment when they are figuratively tapped on the shoulder and offered the chance to do a very special thing, unique to them and fitted to their talents. What a tragedy if that moment finds them unprepared or unqualified for that which could have been their finest hour.
--Sir Winston Churchill

As an aside, I don't think I have met with that moment (though woe to me if I have and didn't recognize it!), but I thought this was inspiring and useful to some motivational end.