MatchMaker, MatchMaker... at Austin Chick's Apartment.
I was talking with my mom the other day about going to North Carolina for the holidays. Just general holiday planning and then...
"Oh... Dad really wants to talk to you about something"
The tone of her voice was 100% conniving. And I had warning lights and sounds going off in my head. My dad doesn't like talking on the phone. So, I immediately knew something was up.
But what?
Did I really want to know?
And what choice did I have?
"Oh, ok... sure put him on"
"Yo, Daughter!"
"Hey Dad, how's it going?"
"I'm having a nice mellow Sunday"
"Mellow is good"
*awkward beat*
"Listen, there's something I was thinking about... that I wanted to run by you, if that's ok?"
My mind is racing...
"Yeah, of course, what's up?"
I can totally hear the nervousness in his voice, and it's literally heartbreaking.
"Well, remember how I told you about that really nice coworker of mine?"
Oh. God.
"Yes..."
"Well, I was thinking that when you are here in town that ... well... maybe we could go to lunch. And maybe, if you are comfortable with it, I can see if he wants to go to lunch, too. And then during lunch we can see if you two hit it off."
Wow. A blind date. In North Carolina. With my father. Well not, withwith my father... but dear God.
"Oh..."
"I mean, you might not hit it off... and who knows... maybe you tell me that you want to go, but maybe he doesn't feel comfortable with it. But, you never know. He's a nice guy. Very geeky. Loves math. He's a little socially awkward, but he's really nice. He's 38... but he does want to get married."
Apparently, loving math, being geeky and socially awkard... these are all very desirable traits. Oh, and he's 38, but he wants to get married. Does that mean that he's not gay? What a relief! My head is screaming, Fuck no... but I realize I should probably give a reasonably adult, considerate response.
"Oh... ok"
"No pressure, no pressure. Like I said, if you aren't comfortable, I don't want you to go. I just thought that you guys might hit it off. That it's worth a shot."
Heart. Melting. Damn heart! Ok. Breathe.
"Well, I really appreciate that you are thinking of me. I do like to meet people... but this is something that I'm going to have to think about."
"Sure, doll. Take your time. You know, it might not work, I just thought..."
"No, it's really sweet. I just need to think about it..."
le sigh.
Next Christmas, I think I'll rent someone for the holidays.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
AustinChick is Back ... at the Grocery Store
Randalls
6600 Mopac Expwy S.
It has over a year since I have adopted Austin as my new home. In that time, I have now grown much more accustomed to actually interacting with others in the grocery store. I have found myself getting used to the slower pace of the store. I say hi when I'm in the same aisle as someone... and if they want to tell me about their recipe for dumplings, I listen. I'm no longer shocked when the woman in front of me in line, with her huge cart bursting with items, offers to let me and my two items go ahead of her. I've gotten used to cashiers that lecture me on temperance or ask me about the difference between white and yellow peaches.
But it seems that when the holidays arrive, pandemonium and panic hit the grocery store and all southern hospitality goes out the window.
It starts in the parking lot. Vultures fighting over the closest, most coveted spots.
Usually, in Austin, it's pretty rare that you hear someone honk their horn.
The day before Thanksgiving, it was as if everyone had just discovered that their car had an instrument for sounding a warning signal. The parking lot was like a chorus of horns honking in staccato at pedestrians, other cars, and just at life itself.
Once inside, carts became cattle prods. Shoppers were using the carts to push others out of their desperate path to that last available can of pumpkin. It was like dodgeball, but with metal carts coming at you from every angle.
The wide, spacious aisles that are such a trademark of stores in Texas were stuffed full of people who were confused, stressed, angry, and rushed.
Luckily, I had already done the bulk of my shopping for the Orphan Thanksgiving I was hosting for friends. There were just a few items that I needed at the last minute... Apple Butter, Pralined Pecans, and Sour Cream.
So, I went through the guantlet of miserable last minute shoppers and picked out the items that I needed and headed for the checkout.
Oh. Dear. God.
The checkout lines were a disaster. Several lines were open at once, but each one had a long line full of tired, grumpy shoppers with carts that could barely contain the inane amount of goods that were shoved into them.
With my three items in hand, I shot towards the nearest express lane for 15 items or less. I stood in line and was about 10 feet from the "Lose 30 lbs this week" and "Angelina Miscarries Twins" headlines. I looked at the shoppers in front of me. Each cart easily had 30-50 items.
I looked above them at the 15 items or less sign.
Boo.
I looked over the rest of the lanes and spotted a 10 items or less lane. There was one guy at the end of the line with a carton of milk and a loaf of bread in hand.
Score!
I ran over to his line.
He looked at me with eyes full of sympathy, "I'm so sorry, they said I was the last one."
"Oh, no worries..."
So I jumped at the end of the 15 items or less line next to him.
Behind 3 carts that were bursting with items.
I realized that I had no reason to be in a hurry. I told myself to relax and stop wishing evil on the woman in front of me.
While waiting, I heard the guy next to me tell no fewer than 7 people, "I'm so sorry, they said I was the last one."
Poor guy had to be the messenger to 7 bloodthirsty holiday shoppers.
Eventually, the woman in front of me started loading up her items onto the belt. She falls into the category of everyone's favorite shopper- the one that has to question the price on EVERY ITEM and ask the cashier loads of questions.
By this time, the woman behind me, a southern belle with her son and daughter, was getting really restless and frustrated with the woman in front of me.
It was if she was saying aloud all of the things I was thinking in my head.
Son: Momma, why is it taking so long?
Mom: Well, I guess that some people can't read. This is why you go to school.... so you can learn to read.
I had to fight so very, very hard not to burst out laughing.
Son: She can't read?
Mom: You see that sign there? What does it say?
Son (Proudly): It says, "Express Lane 15 Items or Less" She can't read it?
Mom: Or maybe she just can't count. How many Items do YOU think she has?
Her Son started to count out loud. He got very excited once he passed 15.
Daughter: But Momma, why would she ignore the sign? That isn't very nice?
Mom: Remember how I taught you about Karma?
Randalls
6600 Mopac Expwy S.
It has over a year since I have adopted Austin as my new home. In that time, I have now grown much more accustomed to actually interacting with others in the grocery store. I have found myself getting used to the slower pace of the store. I say hi when I'm in the same aisle as someone... and if they want to tell me about their recipe for dumplings, I listen. I'm no longer shocked when the woman in front of me in line, with her huge cart bursting with items, offers to let me and my two items go ahead of her. I've gotten used to cashiers that lecture me on temperance or ask me about the difference between white and yellow peaches.
But it seems that when the holidays arrive, pandemonium and panic hit the grocery store and all southern hospitality goes out the window.
It starts in the parking lot. Vultures fighting over the closest, most coveted spots.
Usually, in Austin, it's pretty rare that you hear someone honk their horn.
The day before Thanksgiving, it was as if everyone had just discovered that their car had an instrument for sounding a warning signal. The parking lot was like a chorus of horns honking in staccato at pedestrians, other cars, and just at life itself.
Once inside, carts became cattle prods. Shoppers were using the carts to push others out of their desperate path to that last available can of pumpkin. It was like dodgeball, but with metal carts coming at you from every angle.
The wide, spacious aisles that are such a trademark of stores in Texas were stuffed full of people who were confused, stressed, angry, and rushed.
Luckily, I had already done the bulk of my shopping for the Orphan Thanksgiving I was hosting for friends. There were just a few items that I needed at the last minute... Apple Butter, Pralined Pecans, and Sour Cream.
So, I went through the guantlet of miserable last minute shoppers and picked out the items that I needed and headed for the checkout.
Oh. Dear. God.
The checkout lines were a disaster. Several lines were open at once, but each one had a long line full of tired, grumpy shoppers with carts that could barely contain the inane amount of goods that were shoved into them.
With my three items in hand, I shot towards the nearest express lane for 15 items or less. I stood in line and was about 10 feet from the "Lose 30 lbs this week" and "Angelina Miscarries Twins" headlines. I looked at the shoppers in front of me. Each cart easily had 30-50 items.
I looked above them at the 15 items or less sign.
Boo.
I looked over the rest of the lanes and spotted a 10 items or less lane. There was one guy at the end of the line with a carton of milk and a loaf of bread in hand.
Score!
I ran over to his line.
He looked at me with eyes full of sympathy, "I'm so sorry, they said I was the last one."
"Oh, no worries..."
So I jumped at the end of the 15 items or less line next to him.
Behind 3 carts that were bursting with items.
I realized that I had no reason to be in a hurry. I told myself to relax and stop wishing evil on the woman in front of me.
While waiting, I heard the guy next to me tell no fewer than 7 people, "I'm so sorry, they said I was the last one."
Poor guy had to be the messenger to 7 bloodthirsty holiday shoppers.
Eventually, the woman in front of me started loading up her items onto the belt. She falls into the category of everyone's favorite shopper- the one that has to question the price on EVERY ITEM and ask the cashier loads of questions.
By this time, the woman behind me, a southern belle with her son and daughter, was getting really restless and frustrated with the woman in front of me.
It was if she was saying aloud all of the things I was thinking in my head.
Son: Momma, why is it taking so long?
Mom: Well, I guess that some people can't read. This is why you go to school.... so you can learn to read.
I had to fight so very, very hard not to burst out laughing.
Son: She can't read?
Mom: You see that sign there? What does it say?
Son (Proudly): It says, "Express Lane 15 Items or Less" She can't read it?
Mom: Or maybe she just can't count. How many Items do YOU think she has?
Her Son started to count out loud. He got very excited once he passed 15.
Daughter: But Momma, why would she ignore the sign? That isn't very nice?
Mom: Remember how I taught you about Karma?
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Conversations at the Check Out
Randalls
6600 Mopac Expwy S.
Shopping at the grocery store in Los Angeles never really provided any stories. I don't remember interacting with anyone ever ... unless it was one of those rare times when I bumped into someone that I knew.
I remembered my shock when I started shopping at the Pavilions in Brentwood. After the cashier finished ringing up my items, she/he would smile, make eye contact, and say, "Do you need any help out getting your things in the car?"
The first time I was asked this, I didn't even hear, let alone process, what the cashier had said. I was just confused that they said anything at all to me.
The second time it happened, I thought to myself, Do I look disabled? Weak? Is he asking me that because I'm a girl?
Eventually, I got used to the question. I saw that they asked everyone this... that it was all part of the Pavilions experience.
And it was kind of nice.
Forced and from a script, but nice.
When I moved out here, I started to get used to people making small talk... and cashiers that say "hello, how are you?"
One thing that I haven't gotten used to is the full on conversations at the check out. When I'm not squandering my paycheck at Central Market, I shop at Randalls, which is the Texas equivalent of Pavilions. Most people here prefer H-E-B. The prices are lower there and it's more of a local thing. But H-E-B intimidates me. The store is huge. And the commercials are annoying. And it's named after some guy whose last name is Butt.
Based on all of this strong, compelling reasoning, I shop at Randalls for those last minute necessities.
But, wait, there's more.
I seem to have a knack for getting into the most interesting conversations at the checkout at my local Randalls. They are never with the same cashier or bag boy... and they range from being chastised for bringing drunken driving to Austin to complaints about anal cavity searches at the airport. With the potential for intense conversation on those diverse topics, why wouldn't I shop there?
Here are a few gems from shopping trips:
#1. Hot Temper on Temperance
Items in cart: flour, cocoa, butter, eggs, vanilla.
Cashier: Hello, Ma'am. Did you find everything ok?
Austin Chick: Yeah, well... actually... is there a liquor store nearby?
Cashier: Do I look like the kind of person that would know where there was a liquor store?
Austin Chick: Oh, uh... no... I mean, I'm sorry. It's just that I need Irish Cream for the brownies that I'm making and I forgot that you can't get that in a grocery store...
Cashier: Where are you from?
Austin Chick: What?
Cashier: Where are you from that you think you should be able to buy hard liquor in a grocery store where families shop?
Austin Chick: Los Angeles.
Cashier: Oh, you are one of those.
Austin Chick: Yes, I suppose I am.
Cashier: You know, my daughter is visiting there right now. Getting exposed to that culture out there. (shakes head emphatically)
You know, here, we don't like crazy drunk people out on the roads. Here we don't like people drinking hard liquor like it's water. That's why we don't sell liquor at the same place you do your Sunday shopping. We care about our roads and our families and we don't want our town to start looking like yours. Y'understand?
Austin Chick: I'm sorry, I really just need this for a recipe... and I'm sorry that I bothered you.
The cashier just shook her head sadly. The bag boy who looked like a college kid smiled at me. As I walked away, he whispered under his breath, "There's a Twin Liquor next to the Long John Silvers."
#2 White Peaches vs. Yellow Peaches
Items in cart: Milk, Cereal, a few assorted Smart Ones dinners, Bag o'Salad, Tomatoes, and White Peaches.
Cashier (to bag boy, holding bag of White Peaches): Whoa! Look at these! They are like the other peaches, but white inside.
(to me) Hey, you sure you want these?
Austin Chick: yeah, I like those, thanks.
Cashier: Really? They aren't weird?
Austin Chick: Nah, they are good.
Cashier: But, they are white- that isn't normal, right?
Austin Chick: Uh... well... they are a little less acidic, so they're sweeter.
Cashier: Wow. That's cool.
(to the bag boy)
Have you ever had these?
Bag Boy: Uh, I'm not sure. I don't really eat fruit.
Cashier: We so need to try these.
(looks at my ring) Hey, neat ring.
Austin Chick: Oh, uh... thanks.
Bag Boy (also looking at ring): Are you Irish?
Austin Chick: Yep.
Cashier: How did you know that?
Bag Boy: That's an Irish ring. It's an engagement ring.
Cashier: Oh, are you engaged?
Austin Chick: Uh, no... it's more of a family ring.
Bag Boy: But you aren't dating anyone... cuz of the way it's facing.
Austin Chick: Yeah... guess not. (grabbing bags and heading out)Thanks guys...
Cashier: Enjoy those white peaches!
#3 Silence is Golden
Items in cart: Assorted teas, chocolate chips, marshmallows, peanuts, and apricots.
Cashier: Uh, what are these?
Bag Boy: Dude, those are apricots. How do you not know what an apricot is?
Cashier: I dunno, they are so small. Are they always this small?
Bag Boy: Well, I'm from the west coast and out there they are bigger.
Cashier: I'm from the west coast, too.
Bag Boy: Well, I'm from Washington State. We have bigger ones there. Washington State has the best produce. It's so much better, man.
Cashier (to me): Where are you from?
Austin Chick: Los Angeles
Bag Boy rolls his eyes.
Cashier: Oh, I'm from LA, too. But I lived in the bay area for a long time.
Bag Boy: I lived in Compton.
Cashier: No, you didn't.
Bag Boy: Yeah- huh! (The cashier looks at me and rolls his eyes.)
Ok. I didn't. Someone of my color would get a cap in my ass there. I'm not ghetto enough to roll down there.
Cashier: Where in LA did you live?
Austin Chick: mostly the west side.
Cashier: Cool, I was born and raised in Downey and then moved up to San Jose for high school. I miss it, though, I don't miss LAX.
Austin Chick: Yeah, I love going to the airport here, it's so quick.
Bag Boy: Quick? They have so much security. And you know those gloves come out way too often. It's like every other person has to bend over and take it up the ass with a gloved hand. I mean, can't you buy me dinner first? It's my ass!
Austin Chick: Well, maybe they just know that you like it.
The thing I have realized is that until they hand me my receipt, I'm a captive audience. And really, what do I care... it certainly makes my trips to the store a little bit more interesting...
Randalls
6600 Mopac Expwy S.
Shopping at the grocery store in Los Angeles never really provided any stories. I don't remember interacting with anyone ever ... unless it was one of those rare times when I bumped into someone that I knew.
I remembered my shock when I started shopping at the Pavilions in Brentwood. After the cashier finished ringing up my items, she/he would smile, make eye contact, and say, "Do you need any help out getting your things in the car?"
The first time I was asked this, I didn't even hear, let alone process, what the cashier had said. I was just confused that they said anything at all to me.
The second time it happened, I thought to myself, Do I look disabled? Weak? Is he asking me that because I'm a girl?
Eventually, I got used to the question. I saw that they asked everyone this... that it was all part of the Pavilions experience.
And it was kind of nice.
Forced and from a script, but nice.
When I moved out here, I started to get used to people making small talk... and cashiers that say "hello, how are you?"
One thing that I haven't gotten used to is the full on conversations at the check out. When I'm not squandering my paycheck at Central Market, I shop at Randalls, which is the Texas equivalent of Pavilions. Most people here prefer H-E-B. The prices are lower there and it's more of a local thing. But H-E-B intimidates me. The store is huge. And the commercials are annoying. And it's named after some guy whose last name is Butt.
Based on all of this strong, compelling reasoning, I shop at Randalls for those last minute necessities.
But, wait, there's more.
I seem to have a knack for getting into the most interesting conversations at the checkout at my local Randalls. They are never with the same cashier or bag boy... and they range from being chastised for bringing drunken driving to Austin to complaints about anal cavity searches at the airport. With the potential for intense conversation on those diverse topics, why wouldn't I shop there?
Here are a few gems from shopping trips:
#1. Hot Temper on Temperance
Items in cart: flour, cocoa, butter, eggs, vanilla.
Cashier: Hello, Ma'am. Did you find everything ok?
Austin Chick: Yeah, well... actually... is there a liquor store nearby?
Cashier: Do I look like the kind of person that would know where there was a liquor store?
Austin Chick: Oh, uh... no... I mean, I'm sorry. It's just that I need Irish Cream for the brownies that I'm making and I forgot that you can't get that in a grocery store...
Cashier: Where are you from?
Austin Chick: What?
Cashier: Where are you from that you think you should be able to buy hard liquor in a grocery store where families shop?
Austin Chick: Los Angeles.
Cashier: Oh, you are one of those.
Austin Chick: Yes, I suppose I am.
Cashier: You know, my daughter is visiting there right now. Getting exposed to that culture out there. (shakes head emphatically)
You know, here, we don't like crazy drunk people out on the roads. Here we don't like people drinking hard liquor like it's water. That's why we don't sell liquor at the same place you do your Sunday shopping. We care about our roads and our families and we don't want our town to start looking like yours. Y'understand?
Austin Chick: I'm sorry, I really just need this for a recipe... and I'm sorry that I bothered you.
The cashier just shook her head sadly. The bag boy who looked like a college kid smiled at me. As I walked away, he whispered under his breath, "There's a Twin Liquor next to the Long John Silvers."
#2 White Peaches vs. Yellow Peaches
Items in cart: Milk, Cereal, a few assorted Smart Ones dinners, Bag o'Salad, Tomatoes, and White Peaches.
Cashier (to bag boy, holding bag of White Peaches): Whoa! Look at these! They are like the other peaches, but white inside.
(to me) Hey, you sure you want these?
Austin Chick: yeah, I like those, thanks.
Cashier: Really? They aren't weird?
Austin Chick: Nah, they are good.
Cashier: But, they are white- that isn't normal, right?
Austin Chick: Uh... well... they are a little less acidic, so they're sweeter.
Cashier: Wow. That's cool.
(to the bag boy)
Have you ever had these?
Bag Boy: Uh, I'm not sure. I don't really eat fruit.
Cashier: We so need to try these.
(looks at my ring) Hey, neat ring.
Austin Chick: Oh, uh... thanks.
Bag Boy (also looking at ring): Are you Irish?
Austin Chick: Yep.
Cashier: How did you know that?
Bag Boy: That's an Irish ring. It's an engagement ring.
Cashier: Oh, are you engaged?
Austin Chick: Uh, no... it's more of a family ring.
Bag Boy: But you aren't dating anyone... cuz of the way it's facing.
Austin Chick: Yeah... guess not. (grabbing bags and heading out)Thanks guys...
Cashier: Enjoy those white peaches!
#3 Silence is Golden
Items in cart: Assorted teas, chocolate chips, marshmallows, peanuts, and apricots.
Cashier: Uh, what are these?
Bag Boy: Dude, those are apricots. How do you not know what an apricot is?
Cashier: I dunno, they are so small. Are they always this small?
Bag Boy: Well, I'm from the west coast and out there they are bigger.
Cashier: I'm from the west coast, too.
Bag Boy: Well, I'm from Washington State. We have bigger ones there. Washington State has the best produce. It's so much better, man.
Cashier (to me): Where are you from?
Austin Chick: Los Angeles
Bag Boy rolls his eyes.
Cashier: Oh, I'm from LA, too. But I lived in the bay area for a long time.
Bag Boy: I lived in Compton.
Cashier: No, you didn't.
Bag Boy: Yeah- huh! (The cashier looks at me and rolls his eyes.)
Ok. I didn't. Someone of my color would get a cap in my ass there. I'm not ghetto enough to roll down there.
Cashier: Where in LA did you live?
Austin Chick: mostly the west side.
Cashier: Cool, I was born and raised in Downey and then moved up to San Jose for high school. I miss it, though, I don't miss LAX.
Austin Chick: Yeah, I love going to the airport here, it's so quick.
Bag Boy: Quick? They have so much security. And you know those gloves come out way too often. It's like every other person has to bend over and take it up the ass with a gloved hand. I mean, can't you buy me dinner first? It's my ass!
Austin Chick: Well, maybe they just know that you like it.
The thing I have realized is that until they hand me my receipt, I'm a captive audience. And really, what do I care... it certainly makes my trips to the store a little bit more interesting...
Thursday, June 28, 2007
One Red Shoe at Epoch
221 W North Loop Blvd
Blind dates are a bad idea. Please remind me of this if I ever pause to consider one again.
Because I forget every now and again and agree to one.
Of course, they tend to make for decent stories. And everyone likes to laugh at my expense. So, alas, maybe AustinChick should do them more often.
A friend of mine in Los Angeles actually became fodder for an urban legend on serial blind dating. The girl was just out of a terrible relationship with a self-absorbed man-child. Like most girls, she went from relationship to relationship and never really ever actually "dated". So, she gave herself a challenge. She was going to try to go on as many dates as she could over the course of 30 days, or 1 month. The only rule was no second dates, only first dates. So dated she did... different dinner with a different guy every night. From eating sushi with a writer to steak with a border patrol agent to cutting a rug with a chef to doing karaoke with a salesman. She met them through eharmony.com, match.com, at the gym, through friends, etc.
Then, one night she went out with a guy that worked in the ER. He was kind, funny, smart, sweet, and damn... she was totally falling for him. But, she tried to focus on her goal because she wasn't quite at her 30 guys in 30 days mark.
She tried going on another date and spent the whole time thinking about the object of her affection.
So, she gave up her goal... not long after had a storybook wedding to the man who is perfect for her and is due any minute with her 1st baby.
See - urban legend.
But, I don't think I can do 30 blind dates. I can't even do 5.
Which brings us to Epoch.
Epoch is a great coffeehouse. It doesn't top Cafe Caffeine in my book, but it is a nice cozy spot. The inside is cool, dimly lit. Mismatched comfy furniture, interesting lamps, local art - you know, an Austin coffee shop.
We decided to meet there. Over the phone I gave a brief description. He said, "I'll wear one red shoe."
I laughed and thought about the classic movie with Tom Hanks.
At least he had a sense of humor.
The first thing that I noticed is that he was sitting outside at a table that was not shaded. It was 97 out.
Then, I noticed he was sweating and also noticed that he was at least 10 years older than I had been previously told.
Of course, as many of you know, I prefer older guys. Just one of those things. So, I wouldn't have minded if he had told me... just don't enjoy blatant lies right of the bat.
The next thing that I noticed was a really strong body odor. And no, I'm not sure if it was his. It could have belonged one of just a few others who had chosen to sit outside. Then again, they were sitting in the shade and thusly not visibly sweating.
"Do you want to move inside where it's cooler?" I asked after shaking his hand.
"Oh, no, it's a beautiful day."
Right.
He had a cup of water from inside. I waited a beat to see if he'd offer to get me one.
No offer was made.
To be very clear, I am not one who is terribly comfortable with chivalry. Actually, if you, my dear reader, have followed along, you might remember that chivalry is downright foreign to me. I don't have any expectations of someone to pay for me and I find that someone else pulling out my chair is a little awkward and completely unnecessary. Now that I have lived here for about 8 months, I've finally grown to accept doors being opened for me and have started walking out of elevators and through doorways first.
But it's been a struggle.
There have been plenty of awkward moments along the way while strangers waited patiently until I realized that they wanted me to go first.
That being said... if you have a cup of water that you got for free from the bar, you can offer one to the person joining you at said bar.
That's not chivalry. That's just polite.
I was torn. Maybe the thought just didn't cross his mind. Maybe he has an aversion to going back inside. Maybe they actually charged him for the plastic cup with tap water.
Maybe he's an ass.
Maybe he's nervous.
Maybe this is him trying to make a good impression.
Maybe this is as polite as he gets.
Maybe I'll get my own damn glass of water.
The conversation was kind of dull. He was didactic which is one of my biggest turn offs. I like a smart guy... love it, really. But smart doesn't have to mean preachy. So there I was in the heat, sweating from the direct sunlight and hoping that I had enough sunscreen on (us Irish girls don't leave home without it). I was getting lectured on different mathematical concepts. There was no conversation or back and forth try as I might. Because I think that when I responded he was kind of shocked. He didn't process what I said or respond back... he kind of just fished for another pearl from his big ole bag of endless mathematical side notes.
I realized that part of his pedantics may have been rooted in nervousness - an inability for small talk under the circumstances.
I started to feel more sensitive. Listened patiently. Responded without expecting response.
Well actually, I think I attempted to act that way. In my head, though, my mind was going through my grocery list for the week.
Wow. I'm a bitch.
When I came back to the conversation, he was saying, "One of my former colleagues was actually a Chinese fellow"
I wanted to say, "Actually Chinese? Or actually a fellow? Or a Fellow working on a post-doc in Chinese? Was he a fobby fellow?"
But I realized that as much as I amused myself, it probably wouldn't amuse him.
So, for once in my life, I was mute.
"He had a proverb that he would share with me from time to time that went something like this: [ed note: cue strum of guitar]
It is better to be single.
When you eat, everyone is fed.
When you sleep, everyone sleeps."
After shared this gem with me he took a long pause and sat back, sipping his water.
Apparently, when he drinks water, everyone's thirst is quenched.
I played around with my wedge sandals and one of them slipped off my foot. I tried to find it by poking around under the table with my toe like Audrey's character in the opening of Roman Holiday.
But, like Audrey, I was unsuccessful. I took a glance under the table and caught sight of two brand new chucks (aka low top old school converse shoes). Almost a pair, you could say.
But not.
He wore One Red Shoe.
Which actually didn't make me smile. It's kind of odd, because I think I might be amused by the one red shoe thing on the right person. But in this case it seemed like a desperate attempt at personality.
I knew it was there to be noticed and discussed. But, I was out of attention span. So, I refused to notice.
We said our goodbyes. I got into my toaster oven on wheels and he got into his shiny lil' convertible. I noticed a missed call from CJ, who knew about my blind date.
"Sooo... tawk to me... I want to hear all about it" She said in her best New York Jewish accent.
"He wore One Red Shoe..."
"Ok... that's kind of quirky. We could work with that. So, ...and..."
"No, that's it. That's the recap. One Red Shoe."
221 W North Loop Blvd
Blind dates are a bad idea. Please remind me of this if I ever pause to consider one again.
Because I forget every now and again and agree to one.
Of course, they tend to make for decent stories. And everyone likes to laugh at my expense. So, alas, maybe AustinChick should do them more often.
A friend of mine in Los Angeles actually became fodder for an urban legend on serial blind dating. The girl was just out of a terrible relationship with a self-absorbed man-child. Like most girls, she went from relationship to relationship and never really ever actually "dated". So, she gave herself a challenge. She was going to try to go on as many dates as she could over the course of 30 days, or 1 month. The only rule was no second dates, only first dates. So dated she did... different dinner with a different guy every night. From eating sushi with a writer to steak with a border patrol agent to cutting a rug with a chef to doing karaoke with a salesman. She met them through eharmony.com, match.com, at the gym, through friends, etc.
Then, one night she went out with a guy that worked in the ER. He was kind, funny, smart, sweet, and damn... she was totally falling for him. But, she tried to focus on her goal because she wasn't quite at her 30 guys in 30 days mark.
She tried going on another date and spent the whole time thinking about the object of her affection.
So, she gave up her goal... not long after had a storybook wedding to the man who is perfect for her and is due any minute with her 1st baby.
See - urban legend.
But, I don't think I can do 30 blind dates. I can't even do 5.
Which brings us to Epoch.
Epoch is a great coffeehouse. It doesn't top Cafe Caffeine in my book, but it is a nice cozy spot. The inside is cool, dimly lit. Mismatched comfy furniture, interesting lamps, local art - you know, an Austin coffee shop.
We decided to meet there. Over the phone I gave a brief description. He said, "I'll wear one red shoe."
I laughed and thought about the classic movie with Tom Hanks.
At least he had a sense of humor.
The first thing that I noticed is that he was sitting outside at a table that was not shaded. It was 97 out.
Then, I noticed he was sweating and also noticed that he was at least 10 years older than I had been previously told.
Of course, as many of you know, I prefer older guys. Just one of those things. So, I wouldn't have minded if he had told me... just don't enjoy blatant lies right of the bat.
The next thing that I noticed was a really strong body odor. And no, I'm not sure if it was his. It could have belonged one of just a few others who had chosen to sit outside. Then again, they were sitting in the shade and thusly not visibly sweating.
"Do you want to move inside where it's cooler?" I asked after shaking his hand.
"Oh, no, it's a beautiful day."
Right.
He had a cup of water from inside. I waited a beat to see if he'd offer to get me one.
No offer was made.
To be very clear, I am not one who is terribly comfortable with chivalry. Actually, if you, my dear reader, have followed along, you might remember that chivalry is downright foreign to me. I don't have any expectations of someone to pay for me and I find that someone else pulling out my chair is a little awkward and completely unnecessary. Now that I have lived here for about 8 months, I've finally grown to accept doors being opened for me and have started walking out of elevators and through doorways first.
But it's been a struggle.
There have been plenty of awkward moments along the way while strangers waited patiently until I realized that they wanted me to go first.
That being said... if you have a cup of water that you got for free from the bar, you can offer one to the person joining you at said bar.
That's not chivalry. That's just polite.
I was torn. Maybe the thought just didn't cross his mind. Maybe he has an aversion to going back inside. Maybe they actually charged him for the plastic cup with tap water.
Maybe he's an ass.
Maybe he's nervous.
Maybe this is him trying to make a good impression.
Maybe this is as polite as he gets.
Maybe I'll get my own damn glass of water.
The conversation was kind of dull. He was didactic which is one of my biggest turn offs. I like a smart guy... love it, really. But smart doesn't have to mean preachy. So there I was in the heat, sweating from the direct sunlight and hoping that I had enough sunscreen on (us Irish girls don't leave home without it). I was getting lectured on different mathematical concepts. There was no conversation or back and forth try as I might. Because I think that when I responded he was kind of shocked. He didn't process what I said or respond back... he kind of just fished for another pearl from his big ole bag of endless mathematical side notes.
I realized that part of his pedantics may have been rooted in nervousness - an inability for small talk under the circumstances.
I started to feel more sensitive. Listened patiently. Responded without expecting response.
Well actually, I think I attempted to act that way. In my head, though, my mind was going through my grocery list for the week.
Wow. I'm a bitch.
When I came back to the conversation, he was saying, "One of my former colleagues was actually a Chinese fellow"
I wanted to say, "Actually Chinese? Or actually a fellow? Or a Fellow working on a post-doc in Chinese? Was he a fobby fellow?"
But I realized that as much as I amused myself, it probably wouldn't amuse him.
So, for once in my life, I was mute.
"He had a proverb that he would share with me from time to time that went something like this: [ed note: cue strum of guitar]
It is better to be single.
When you eat, everyone is fed.
When you sleep, everyone sleeps."
After shared this gem with me he took a long pause and sat back, sipping his water.
Apparently, when he drinks water, everyone's thirst is quenched.
I played around with my wedge sandals and one of them slipped off my foot. I tried to find it by poking around under the table with my toe like Audrey's character in the opening of Roman Holiday.
But, like Audrey, I was unsuccessful. I took a glance under the table and caught sight of two brand new chucks (aka low top old school converse shoes). Almost a pair, you could say.
But not.
He wore One Red Shoe.
Which actually didn't make me smile. It's kind of odd, because I think I might be amused by the one red shoe thing on the right person. But in this case it seemed like a desperate attempt at personality.
I knew it was there to be noticed and discussed. But, I was out of attention span. So, I refused to notice.
We said our goodbyes. I got into my toaster oven on wheels and he got into his shiny lil' convertible. I noticed a missed call from CJ, who knew about my blind date.
"Sooo... tawk to me... I want to hear all about it" She said in her best New York Jewish accent.
"He wore One Red Shoe..."
"Ok... that's kind of quirky. We could work with that. So, ...and..."
"No, that's it. That's the recap. One Red Shoe."
Pillow fight of the Pinups at The Texas Roller Derby Cavello Cup Championship
Austin Convention Center
500 East Cesar Chavez Street
Last Saturday, Jen and I went on a field trip together. We shared a unique cultural experience which enriched our appreciation for pillow fights and arm wrestling while broadening our perspective on bad ass chicks on wheels.
I had heard rumors about the resurgence of the RollerDerby across the country. I had seen ads on craigslist.org for girls who aren't "afraid to fall on your ass and have a good time." It seemed like a fun, kitschy outlet for girls to embrace their aggressive side while wearing short skirts and feeling sexy at the same time.
I'm a fan of kitsch and feeling sexy. So, when the opportunity arose to check out the TXRD and their championship cup, I jumped at the chance.
We arrived at the Austin Convention Center and just sort of stood there, dumbfounded, and took in the scene. There were costumes galore. Everywhere. And the oddest blend of people... young, old, families, singles, yuppies, prepsters, bikers, cowboys... a few guys in overalls whose beards grew longer and thicker than the hair that grew down their backs. Girls in platforms, short skirts, and dayglo-colored wigs who were sitting in the audience and, suprisingly, not part of the show. Oh, and there was a guy in a Jedi robe with a light saber who was desperate for the limelight.
At the center of it all was a huge, banked track. On it a few girls were doing some warmup laps in their torn fishnets and short plaid skirts that were constantly flipping to reveal ruffled panties. One of the girls was long and lean and was either stretching her adductors or just skating spread eagle for the hell of it. Another girl was very, very voluptuous. Her short skirt did not cover all of her assets. Underneath, she wore ruffled panties and fishnets that were ripped up a la Courtney Love circa 1994.
Jen and I were handed some handclappers in the colors of the Holy Rollers - one of the teams that were competing that day. Looking at their side, they had taken sacrilegion to a new level of badass. Many of them were wearing tee shirts screen printed with Jesus in his crown of thorns with "Mother Fucking Holy Rollers" scrawled across the top. There were banners with the Holy Spirit, crosses, and a priest and a nun in full costume.
The other side, Putas del Fuego had a lot more seating, so we made our way over there passing through a odd assortment of goth, yuppie, and hick. Over on that side, we were given gold maracas.
The arena filled quickly with adoring fans who purchased beer, checked out the threads and posters for sale, and reconnected with other adoring fans. It was like a giant reunion of some sort. I felt like Jen and I were crashing someones wedding. Trying to guess how the guy in the overalls was related to the chick in the leopard print dress and beehive. Trying to figure out if something sordid went down between a few of the schoolgirls.
It was people watching at its best and we were very entertained.
Then the main show started... er the *ahem* SPORTING event.
First, there was a broad overview of the rules and how the game is played by the announcers. I didn't understand any of it and figured I'd just get it eventually from watching. The line ups of each team were announced. Each member of the Holy Rollers did a lap after her name was announced and ended the lap with a knee-slide to the priest who then blessed her.
Following the line up was the worst rendition ever of the national anthem. It was painful to listen to and I wondered if it was part of the kitsch of the event. But, I think that the woman was actually pretty serious about it. Think of the worst American Idol audition you ever saw a clip of... and then stretch that out to the entire length of our anthem. Add in the live factor.
good times.
Let the games begin!
Here are some highlights:
1. There are four quarters of play, each 8 minutes long. Then there is a 45 minute half-time. Yes - 45. As in almost an hour.
2. The derby girls make Hockey players look tame, lame, and well-behaved. Slamming girls into the rails, tripping girls, cross-checking, and beating girls to the ground with punches to the head are all part of the game. I winced with a "Ouch!" and a "hot damn!" now and again.
3. While the roller girls are serious about the competition, no one is serious about the penalties. One of the Putas del Fuego gave a beat down to one of the Holy Rollers. The penalties are handed out by Eva Knieval who runs Spank Alley. She spins a wheel and then reveals their penalty. That time, the penalty was a Pillow Fight. The two girls were given pillows and they fought.... with pillows and then the chick from Putas just ditched her pillow and continued giving the Holy Roller a beatdown. So, her penalty was that she got to beat the shit out of the girl again. Oh, and Holy Rollers lost a point.
Other penalties included:
Spanking - Spank Alley Members (chosen by lottery) get to spank the player who made the penalty.
Reverse Spanking - The player with the penalty spanks Spank Alley
Arm Wrestling - The player with the penalty arm wrestles a girl from the other team.
Long Jump - The player with the penalty and another girl from the other team have to take a running (er ... skating) start and then jump as far as they can. The "landing" is very, very hard to watch.
Tug of War - just kind of tragic on skates, really.
I discovered that the Texas RollerDerby is like WWF... except with actual athleticsm, no visible use of steroids (though, there certainly did seem to be a lot of rage), and a lot more entertainment. That being said, these chicks scare me. I would not like to come across one in a dark alley, that's for sure.
However, the roller derby girls and the fans what love them are really a fun bunch that know how to have a good time. I don't think I'll ever be one of them, but it was definitely fun crashing their party.
Oh, and I got a "You're cute" from a punk girl. If that’s how you roll, ie, you are chick that's into chicks, especially rebellious punk and or goth chicks, this is mos def a place for you to meet that special someone to skate off into the sunset with.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
A Very Hoffy Birthday at Iron Cactus and Esther's Follies
Part Deux: Is that Magic in Your Pants, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
Iron Cactus Downtown
606 Trinity St.
Esther's Follies
525 East 6th Street
Part Deux: Is that Magic in Your Pants, Or Are You Just Happy to See Me?
Iron Cactus Downtown
606 Trinity St.
Esther's Follies
525 East 6th Street
After posing for a few obligatory/scandalous pictures with Leslie (that's me helping Leslie lift his jugs), the group was ready for some quirky Austin fun and Esther's Follies did not disappoint.
Lauded as the "new vaudeville", Esther's has been making Austinites laugh for 30 years. Which means it's not so new... but it is still vaudeville.
Some of the acts were a bit tired and outdated... like the Patsy Cline bit or some of the celebrity jokes. But, overall, it was a hilarious variety show with fantastic energy, great performances, and juggling... who doesn't love a juggler?
Esther's used to have more Austin-based humor and broadened it out a bit more. Overall, the humor is very universal. The stage is 2-sided. The paying audiences watches from the auditorium. The back wall of the stage is a large storefront window, so that revelers on 6th street can get a peek at the show... or become the punchline for a joke.
What suprised me the most was the magician. My hoffy birthday love affair with The Hoff ended the minute that magician walked on the stage. To be honest, when I heard there was going to be magic tricks as part of the performance, I was a little dismayed. I'm not a big fan of magic or illusion... and prefer satire and witticism to bunnies from hats and card tricks any day.
But, Ray Anderson is really the Conan O'Brien of magicians.
He is snarky. He is funny. He is mean. He is silly. He is wonderful.
During one of his silly card tricks, he began to hurl insults at the passerbys on 6th street. A group of UT girls in miniskirts and generally skanky attire walked by. "Oh," says Mr. Magic,"Prostitutes start so young these days."
Only Ray could also wear a colossal codpiece chock full of what looked like the contents of both of Leslie's cups while sawing a damsel in distress in half.
Anyway... we had fun.
It was good.
You should check it out.
Oh... and lots of thanks to JT's Girl for making sure that my first Austin birthday was fun!
A Very Hoffy Birthday at Iron Cactus and Esther's Follies
Part One: Bet Care Packages are Looking Pretty Good Now, No?
Iron Cactus Downtown
606 Trinity St.
Esther's Follies
525 East 6th Street
So the secret is out. I am having an affair with David Hasselhoff. You might know him as The Hoff. I know him as Hoffy-Bear.
I'd like to say that it was my secret that I was harboring a secret affair with this pop culture icon.
But, I had no idea.
I found about the torrid affair when I arrived at work on my birthday and discovered that my cubicle was emblazoned with his image.
Part One: Bet Care Packages are Looking Pretty Good Now, No?
Iron Cactus Downtown
606 Trinity St.
Esther's Follies
525 East 6th Street
So the secret is out. I am having an affair with David Hasselhoff. You might know him as The Hoff. I know him as Hoffy-Bear.
I'd like to say that it was my secret that I was harboring a secret affair with this pop culture icon.
But, I had no idea.
I found about the torrid affair when I arrived at work on my birthday and discovered that my cubicle was emblazoned with his image.
I mean, I must be in love with him, right? And I might as well be some devoted fan that believes that our love is the love that will last forever.
And who wouldn't love the man in this 2006 insta-hit?
aiy aiy aiy.
Now that's hotttttttttt.
Really, all that Hoffiness early in the morning really overshadowed the late night shennanigans in Downtown Austin...
For dinner, I went out with my nearest and dearest in Austin to ... well, apparently the worst place in Austin for a birthday dinner. We had originally planned on going to Asther's the recently re-opened and only Ethiopian restaurant in Austin. But, after too many jokes about whether or not we'd be served Care Packages for our dinner (isn't that joke soooo 15 years ago?), we decided to find a Tex-Mex place within walking distance to our after-dinner destination: Esther's Follies.
JT's Girl took the reigns and organized the whole shindig marvelously. She called ahead to Iron Cactus and asked if she could make reservations for 12 on Friday at 7pm. The woman she spoke to said that she'd put her name down and see us as 7pm.
Miraculously, our whole party arrived on time.
JT's Girl swung up to the hostess and let her know that we arrived for our reservation.
"Oh" said the gum-chewing, constantly befuddled hostess. "We don't take reservations. I'll put y'all down for 12"
JT's Girl protested, but Miss Bubbalicious gave her a blank stare as she chewed her gum like a cow chews grass... you know, all sexy like.
"Well, how long is the wait?"
"Oh, we'll have a table for you in 3o minutes," responded Miss Bubbalicious.
JT's Girl was disappointed with the fact that she was mislead, but the rest of us shrugged and had a few drinks.
Our 30 minute wait turned into an hour... then an hour turned into an hour and a half. And we were cutting it close to our showtime.
JT's Girl was starting to stress. Everyone's tummy was starting to grumble. Like vultures, our party stood looking at the tables hungrily. JT's Girl reminded the hostess of our presence, in case her view of us was obstructed by the enormous pink bubbles she blew with her overchewed gum.
At some point, three tables were cleared with 4 chairs each. At last! 12 seats!
We all turned and faced Miss Bubbalicious. She picked up two menus and then led a couple to one of the empty tables. The other two tables remained empty.
I overheard the guy saying to his date, "Wow, I can't believe we had to wait 30 minutes for a table!"
I had this very strong, animalistic urge to trip him as he walked by.
It was the hunger, I tell you.
JT's Girl approached Miss Bubbalicious and asked why we weren't seated. Miss Bubbalicious looked up at her with her now signature vacant stare, "But, there aren't enough seats open?"
Sigh. We can't all be brilliant, you know?
So, JT's Girl asked to speak with the manager.
After tears and cajoling and begging and selling our first born, we were granted tables by the manager.
The service was kind of amazingly bad. Probably because a very hungry, large group was given a very green, very timid waiter. But we played nice. It was just kind of frustrating to ask for water 4 times. Or to get your silverware after you get your enchilada... or have your drink spilled on you along with someone else's. But like I said, he was new.
Some of us were lucky enough to have dinner and a show. I mean, if you can call walking in on a couple having sex in the bathroom at Iron Cactus a show. What do you do in a situation like that? Do you give them a score? Do you offer advice? Condoms? The address to a motel that rents by the hour? Do you ask if you can watch? Do you make the sign of the cross furiously?
I mean, don't they know? That kind of skease really should only take place in Austin Theatre.
But, the sour taste that Iron Cactus left in our mouths only lasted so long. As we left Miss Bubbalicious and her lovely place of employ, we were greeted by none other than Leslie! Leslie posed for several pics which will be posted later on. And, of course, his very presence lightened the mood.
After dinner we were off to Esther's... which I shall recap in my next post.
I know... you are waiting with bated breath. Bated, I tell you!
Friday, May 18, 2007
Live S-E-X at The Vortex
2307 Manor Road
I used to stage manage drag queen shows and set the marks and props for the dancers (*ahem* strippers). Wearing a vinyl french maid's costume, I've danced like a video ho on a float in the Pride Parade with bois in their boxer briefs who shot penis water guns at the protesting bible thumpers. In film school, I watched the so-called art films that some of my classmates made... many of which would make even the most seasoned valley video vixen blush. I had a class or two with Annabelle Chong, one of which screened all sorts of classic x-rated movies that were shot back when they actually used film.
But I'd be done see'n about everything when I seen Wallace Shawn's A Thought in 3 Parts at The Vortex.
I went to go see the play with Amanda and her posse of fun theater friends. Amanda and I met years ago while attending an all girls Catholic college preparatory high school. Kind of like Gilmore Girls, but without the boys and with lots of Jesus and even more Mary.
We took classes like "God Loves Life", which was a class on Abortion, Capital Punishment, Suicide, and Death. I used to call it "Death Class" or if it was after lunch, "God Hates Lunch" class. Cuz lunch was hard to keep down after looking at some of those slides.
Our sex ed came in the form of "Christian Life" which used to be called "Marriage Class". The name wasn't switched to accommodate diverse sexual orientations... but instead, they decided to open it up to those who wanted to be Sisters or single.
In this class, our teacher wrote out all of these forms of birth control on the board. Condoms, The Pill, IUD, Spermicide, and so on and so forth. On the middle of the board, she wrote Rhythm Method.
Then she erased all but Rhythm Method and said, "This is the only one that works and it's the only one that doesn't go against God."
There was a great analogy given to us, "Would you really want to go into war with just a little pill or piece of latex to protect you?"
Another time, a group called CATS (concerned about teen sexuality) came in to see us. We were all abuzz because there were GUYS in this group. Sure they were in some lame anti-sex group... but the fact that they were guys in OUR school was so very exciting.
They provided handouts on bright red paper. On the handout was a list of different... activities, sorted in ascending order by level of "badness".
Kissing
Kissing with Tongue
after Kissing with Tongue, there was a HUGE Line across the page
___________________________
Below the line, you can imagine what they had... petting, heavy petting...
you get the drill.
Anyway, we were told not to CROSS THE LINE and to keep our friends ABOVE THE LINE.
We also played games like, "Name that STD!"
Fast forward 10 years or so, and here I am with Amanda watching various sexual acts performed on stage.
Like I said, during the past 10 years, I've been no stranger to controversial ...art.
But, this play made me profoundly uncomfortable.
It was kind of watching a live action porn...
only, it was like the opposite of hot.
The opposite of sexy.
I had heard that the sex "scenes" were funny and awkward and slapstick.
I found them kind of ugly, unfortunate, desperate and sad. And to be honest, I wasn't expecting them to be as graphic as they were.
I didn't realize that there would be about 40 minutes of an orgy with more strap-ons than a lesbian porn shoot. Mayhaps I was just a tad unprepared?
I'm not sure what I was expecting... but I wasn't expecting a whole lot. I heard that there was nudity and sexual content... but I wasn't expecting to watch so much jilling and jacking off...so much guy on girl, girl on guy, girl alone, guy alone, girl on girl, guy on girl on girl on guy... and all that combined with lines like, "You make me want to vomit, you cunt."
Then, there was a near rape scene that I almost walked out during. The guy looked like he had a prosthetic in his pants, too... then he started hitting the girl and throwing her down in the bed. Luckily, it ended around there. Pants stayed on for once, which was very very good.
2307 Manor Road
I used to stage manage drag queen shows and set the marks and props for the dancers (*ahem* strippers). Wearing a vinyl french maid's costume, I've danced like a video ho on a float in the Pride Parade with bois in their boxer briefs who shot penis water guns at the protesting bible thumpers. In film school, I watched the so-called art films that some of my classmates made... many of which would make even the most seasoned valley video vixen blush. I had a class or two with Annabelle Chong, one of which screened all sorts of classic x-rated movies that were shot back when they actually used film.
But I'd be done see'n about everything when I seen Wallace Shawn's A Thought in 3 Parts at The Vortex.
I went to go see the play with Amanda and her posse of fun theater friends. Amanda and I met years ago while attending an all girls Catholic college preparatory high school. Kind of like Gilmore Girls, but without the boys and with lots of Jesus and even more Mary.
We took classes like "God Loves Life", which was a class on Abortion, Capital Punishment, Suicide, and Death. I used to call it "Death Class" or if it was after lunch, "God Hates Lunch" class. Cuz lunch was hard to keep down after looking at some of those slides.
Our sex ed came in the form of "Christian Life" which used to be called "Marriage Class". The name wasn't switched to accommodate diverse sexual orientations... but instead, they decided to open it up to those who wanted to be Sisters or single.
In this class, our teacher wrote out all of these forms of birth control on the board. Condoms, The Pill, IUD, Spermicide, and so on and so forth. On the middle of the board, she wrote Rhythm Method.
Then she erased all but Rhythm Method and said, "This is the only one that works and it's the only one that doesn't go against God."
There was a great analogy given to us, "Would you really want to go into war with just a little pill or piece of latex to protect you?"
Another time, a group called CATS (concerned about teen sexuality) came in to see us. We were all abuzz because there were GUYS in this group. Sure they were in some lame anti-sex group... but the fact that they were guys in OUR school was so very exciting.
They provided handouts on bright red paper. On the handout was a list of different... activities, sorted in ascending order by level of "badness".
Kissing
Kissing with Tongue
after Kissing with Tongue, there was a HUGE Line across the page
___________________________
Below the line, you can imagine what they had... petting, heavy petting...
you get the drill.
Anyway, we were told not to CROSS THE LINE and to keep our friends ABOVE THE LINE.
We also played games like, "Name that STD!"
Fast forward 10 years or so, and here I am with Amanda watching various sexual acts performed on stage.
Like I said, during the past 10 years, I've been no stranger to controversial ...art.
But, this play made me profoundly uncomfortable.
It was kind of watching a live action porn...
only, it was like the opposite of hot.
The opposite of sexy.
I had heard that the sex "scenes" were funny and awkward and slapstick.
I found them kind of ugly, unfortunate, desperate and sad. And to be honest, I wasn't expecting them to be as graphic as they were.
I didn't realize that there would be about 40 minutes of an orgy with more strap-ons than a lesbian porn shoot. Mayhaps I was just a tad unprepared?
I'm not sure what I was expecting... but I wasn't expecting a whole lot. I heard that there was nudity and sexual content... but I wasn't expecting to watch so much jilling and jacking off...so much guy on girl, girl on guy, girl alone, guy alone, girl on girl, guy on girl on girl on guy... and all that combined with lines like, "You make me want to vomit, you cunt."
Then, there was a near rape scene that I almost walked out during. The guy looked like he had a prosthetic in his pants, too... then he started hitting the girl and throwing her down in the bed. Luckily, it ended around there. Pants stayed on for once, which was very very good.
Anyway, yeah... there was something about the violent nature of the sex... the desperation and the loneliness.
I didn't feel like I was taking anything away from it... I certainly didn't connect with any of it.
And actually, the middle part was so ... uh... distracting that I don't even really remember the first part and the third part I spent trying to erase some of the images from the middle part out of my head.
The first part was about a couple who were so emotionally disconnected that they couldn't get it on. The second part was about a group of horny kids at a youth hostel that were so emotionally disconnected that all they did was get it on. The third part was about an older guy who was, I think, alone in the world and trying to hit on the audience... The acting was impressive throughout. Though, when the lights went out on the youth hostel scene, no one clapped.
So yeah... interesting, risky, controversial... and despite all that, so not my bag.
If it is your bag... check out the site. It's still on this weekend.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Hoochie Mama on the Prowl in the Bay Area
Hello from Austin Chick. I have been a bad blogger of late due to loads of crappity-crap crap crap going on... but, I'll be back later this week with some new fun stories from Austin. For now, please enjoy this email I recently received from my college friend Michele who is now living in the Bay Area... and has found herself a walking fetish.
Fetishized Females of the World Unite!
So I found my job, my apartment and my bed on Craigslist--it's especially useful in the Bay Area because it started here and so has the largest number of users here. So I thought--why not a date. I've scanned the ads several times and never really found anyone particularly interesting; some were downright repulsive but so far that's about the same as a night at the bar.
It occurred to me that there might be people like me who scan the ads but don't actually place any and that us scanners would never find each other. So I placed an ad.
Oy vey.
I got a couple of guys who, rather than actually responding to my ad, seem to have just cut and pasted their own ad into an email. I got one guy who complained about the lack of a physical description in my ad because how else would he know whether I looked like Tyra Banks or a "jet black Nigerian gorilla" or words to that effect--he also said I had a vocabulary the size of a ghetto hoochie which I was insulted by until I realized he didn't mean I had the vocabulary of a ghetto hoochie but one that was large the way a ghetto hoochie was large.
I thought about revising my ad to point out that those replying to an SBF should ideally not be racist but I realized that this guy in all likelihood wouldn't have considered himself racist and so it wouldn't have helped.
Here's what's funny--everybody knows about the Asian fetish a lot of men have. I've heard many an Asian woman get up at open mic night at spoken word clubs and rail against these guys with lines like "I'm not your fucking China doll!" and I've personally known a lot of Asian women who were, rightfully, just repulsed and angered by the whole thing. What's funny is that there seems to be a similar racial-stereotype fetish for black women here. Lot of guys into black women, or rather what MTV has taught them black women are.
There's a little bit of disagreement about what exactly they're looking for--some want the "hoochie mama" look (and yes, they use phrases like "hoochie mama"--my favorite Craigslist post is the European guy who is really frustrated because the only women who seem to reply to lines like "I want a woman with an ass the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro that I can climb up on and ride" are hookers--this is the line he put in the revised, post-hooker ad, mind you) but a basically normal (read non-ethnic) personality.
Some want the full package of look and the hoodrat attitude.
Some inexplicably request a black woman but then describe someone who sounds a lot more latina--fair-skinned, long hair, etc.--which makes me wonder why they don't just request a latina.
What they all have in common is none of them are capable of seeing a black woman as an individual--a lot of the ads will address themselves to "black women" as if we were the borg from Star Trek (I wish more people knew this reference--it comes in handy so often. In case you don't know it, the borg was this species which was actually one single organism made up of millions of parts which appeared to be independent organisms but actually thought and spoke the same way all the time-something like that): "I'm really attracted to you" "I like your attitude and your love of life."
Now I get to experience some of the wild-eyed anger of my Asian counterparts--maybe I'll do some spoken word on it. Anyway, thanks to the fetish guys, I got more than one reply from a man who was so obviously not what I was asking for. They saw SBF, recalled whatever chick was in the last video they saw and replied to her rather than me.
Then there was the guy who called me feisty--I stopped reading after feisty; the guy who offered to treat me to a hotel room; and the guy who "didn't really understand my ad" but wanted to meet me anyway.
I guess I should stick to looking for inanimate objects on Craigslist.
Hello from Austin Chick. I have been a bad blogger of late due to loads of crappity-crap crap crap going on... but, I'll be back later this week with some new fun stories from Austin. For now, please enjoy this email I recently received from my college friend Michele who is now living in the Bay Area... and has found herself a walking fetish.
Fetishized Females of the World Unite!
So I found my job, my apartment and my bed on Craigslist--it's especially useful in the Bay Area because it started here and so has the largest number of users here. So I thought--why not a date. I've scanned the ads several times and never really found anyone particularly interesting; some were downright repulsive but so far that's about the same as a night at the bar.
It occurred to me that there might be people like me who scan the ads but don't actually place any and that us scanners would never find each other. So I placed an ad.
Oy vey.
I got a couple of guys who, rather than actually responding to my ad, seem to have just cut and pasted their own ad into an email. I got one guy who complained about the lack of a physical description in my ad because how else would he know whether I looked like Tyra Banks or a "jet black Nigerian gorilla" or words to that effect--he also said I had a vocabulary the size of a ghetto hoochie which I was insulted by until I realized he didn't mean I had the vocabulary of a ghetto hoochie but one that was large the way a ghetto hoochie was large.
I thought about revising my ad to point out that those replying to an SBF should ideally not be racist but I realized that this guy in all likelihood wouldn't have considered himself racist and so it wouldn't have helped.
Here's what's funny--everybody knows about the Asian fetish a lot of men have. I've heard many an Asian woman get up at open mic night at spoken word clubs and rail against these guys with lines like "I'm not your fucking China doll!" and I've personally known a lot of Asian women who were, rightfully, just repulsed and angered by the whole thing. What's funny is that there seems to be a similar racial-stereotype fetish for black women here. Lot of guys into black women, or rather what MTV has taught them black women are.
There's a little bit of disagreement about what exactly they're looking for--some want the "hoochie mama" look (and yes, they use phrases like "hoochie mama"--my favorite Craigslist post is the European guy who is really frustrated because the only women who seem to reply to lines like "I want a woman with an ass the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro that I can climb up on and ride" are hookers--this is the line he put in the revised, post-hooker ad, mind you) but a basically normal (read non-ethnic) personality.
Some want the full package of look and the hoodrat attitude.
Some inexplicably request a black woman but then describe someone who sounds a lot more latina--fair-skinned, long hair, etc.--which makes me wonder why they don't just request a latina.
What they all have in common is none of them are capable of seeing a black woman as an individual--a lot of the ads will address themselves to "black women" as if we were the borg from Star Trek (I wish more people knew this reference--it comes in handy so often. In case you don't know it, the borg was this species which was actually one single organism made up of millions of parts which appeared to be independent organisms but actually thought and spoke the same way all the time-something like that): "I'm really attracted to you" "I like your attitude and your love of life."
Now I get to experience some of the wild-eyed anger of my Asian counterparts--maybe I'll do some spoken word on it. Anyway, thanks to the fetish guys, I got more than one reply from a man who was so obviously not what I was asking for. They saw SBF, recalled whatever chick was in the last video they saw and replied to her rather than me.
Then there was the guy who called me feisty--I stopped reading after feisty; the guy who offered to treat me to a hotel room; and the guy who "didn't really understand my ad" but wanted to meet me anyway.
I guess I should stick to looking for inanimate objects on Craigslist.
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