Austin Chick

2007-12-03T08:44:00.000-08:00

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.

2007-11-23T08:41:00.000-08:00

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?

2007-07-07T23:08:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-06-28T12:12:00.000-07:00

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."

2007-06-28T10:06:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-06-05T19:49:00.000-07:00

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

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!

2007-06-05T12:25:00.000-07:00

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.

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!

2007-05-18T09:37:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

2007-05-08T09:26:00.000-07:00

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.

2007-04-12T06:23:00.000-07:00

Austin’s Queen at Cafe Caffeine

Cafe Caffeine

909 West Mary St

In Los Angeles, everyone is on the hunt even if they pretend that they are not. Even if you frequently work with A-listers, recognizing a D-lister sipping a Starbucks can give you a bit of a rush. It's not necessarily even the exitement over seeing someone who has graced your television screen or checkout aisle tabloid... it's more the fact that you had the eagle eye to pick them out and recognize them. Seeing someone who is hard to recognize gives you bragging rights. Who hasn't seen one of the Olsen Twins dressed like a homeless person on Sunset? But can you pick Kevin Arnold's brother out of a crowd at a bar?

Of course, it's all about the story, too. So, seeing Slash on Melrose is not that exciting. Seeing the wild-haired rockstar buying a blah shirt in dmv colors at a Banana Republic is a much better story.

Seeing Bono and begging for an autograph has been done. But how many people have shot Bono a dirty look? Shooting a 47 year old poser a look of disgust for wearing painted on jeans, a bono jacket, and bono shades in a dark lobby just sorta came naturally to me. Realizing I had just snubbed someone I have been worshipping for years?

Golden.

Since I have moved to Austin, I've let my already weak talent for recognizing celebrities laspe. I know that there are celebs here. Everyone here talks about Ryan Phillipe getting caught canoodling at Kenichi while he was still married. Sandra Bullock spends a lot of time here and is seen frequenting her gym and her new restaurant. Then of course, there is Lance, Matthew, and all of the music talent that is either based here or comes here to visit.

But who care’s about them when you have Leslie? Leslie has been dubbed the Queen of Austin. He’s a vagrant crossdresser who has run for Mayor of Austin more than once. He is an advocate for the homeless of Austin and an embodiment of Keep Austin Weird. He shows no fear when strutting in a florescent thong and heels down 6th Street. He shows even less fear when dealing with animosity from the APD.
I saw Leslie my first night in Austin. All I remember seeing is his ass in a thong and a friend of mine grabbing my arm and saying, “Oh my God! Did you see Leslie? He totally just smiled at you! Now you HAVE to move here!”
I was just confused and couldn't decipher any meaning from that.

Saturday morning it rained really hard. The air was brisk and there were rumors spreading that before long it would be sleeting. I wanted to get out of my apartment, but wanted to go somewhere cozy. So, a friend and I met at Café Caffeine on West Mary.

I had never been before, but had heard people raving about the friendly staff, chill vibe, and great ambience. It’s kind of wedged between South Lamar and South Congress and has all of the Leftie politics but none of the pretense.

The coffee shop is brightly lit which is great for those that like to curl up at a coffee shop and read, knit, or crochet. There is a case full of vegetarian wraps and quiches that looked very tempting. Even more tempting was the vast array of desserts displayed on a fabulous formica countertop. Locally baked cherry pie, wedding cake, peanut butter cups, brownies, lemon bars… sigh, it was simultaneously beautiful and absolutely wicked. The coffee and tea menu is extensive and the impressively friendly baristas are happy to make sure that you get your beverage of choice exactly as you want it. Of course, barista seems like the wrong term. The women that were making the coffee when I was there seemed more like old friends of mine. There was a genuine connection with the patrons of the shop and conversation was fun, welcoming, and effortless. Proof that tats, piercings, and shaved heads do not an asshole make. I felt like I had just walked into some punk rock alternative to “Cheers”, but that they didn’t care that they didn’t know my name. They intended to find out and let me join their inner circle.

There is plenty of seating space at the formica tables that fill the open space. There is also a so very Brady L-shaped couch that is perfect for chatting with a large group or hogging to yourself with a good book. All around the space, vintage radios are perched forming unique bouquets around various mod lighting fixtures. A display is overfilled with creative and hilarious anti-war and anti-bush bumper stickers and a stage is set up to host the poets, bands, and comedians at night. Outside, there is a nice bamboo patio with plenty of seating for when the sky isn’t falling in the form of freezing rain.

So, I decided it was my new favorite place for reading, writing, crocheting, and meeting with friends. Being that I so immediately fell in love with this place, it’s not surprising that it is an Austin favorite. While ordering my drink, I looked at the Leslie Dress-Up Magnets on the counter and thought about buying one. I went back and forth on the impulse a few times, trying to think of someone that would appreciate that as a gift. But, I couldn’t think of who I should buy it for, so I took a seat.
My friend and I joked about this, that, and the other thing while sipping delicious lattes and splitting a piece of fantastic pumpkin bread.

Then, Leslie walked in.

He was wearing a trenchcoat which was unbuttoned and revealed a neon thong underneath, which was the most I have ever seen him wearing. He actually has an intense amount of charisma. When he walked into the shop, he carried with him an air of confidence, contentment, and strength. Then again, wearing a thong in public takes guts… Wearing a thong when it’s 40 degrees out and raining? We’re talking serious huevos.

I kept on stealing covert glances and then averting my eyes, which made me feel weird. I mean, everyone who’s anyone that lives in Austin has posed for a picture with him. But there was something about seeing him buying his morning coffee that made me feel weird. I wanted to run up to him and beg him to autograph his dress up doll for me. Which is an odd impulse, I have run into various icons of tinseltown in the past and have never felt the urge to get them to sign something for me.
I let the urge pass and let Leslie get his morning coffee while he chatted with the barista.

If you get a chance, check out the groovy digs over at Café Caffeine. Who knows, you might even get to have coffee with Leslie.

2007-03-29T12:14:00.000-07:00

Mudbugs by the Pound at Nutty Brown Cafe

12225 Highway 290 West

Mudbugs. Bugs. Poor Man’s Lobster. Crawdads. Crawfish. Crayfish. For such itty bitty crustaceans, these guys have a lot of different names… and an impressively big following. I knew that Crawdads were big in Louisiana, but had no idea that their fanbase spread across Texas to Hill Country. April and May is their peak season and all over Hill Country, people get together for the religious experience that is the Crawfish Boil.

Growing up, I had caught crayfish in my shoe from the river that once caught on fire in Cleveland. That was my only reference to them… a weird mini-lobster that was covered in mud and somehow survived the polluted waters of the Cuyahoga River. Not exactly an appealing picture.

But, when in Rome, right?

So, I went with Smitty and The Future Mrs. Timberlake (aka JT’s Girl) to Nutty Brown Cafe for their 4th Annual Crawfish Boil.

Driving out to the Nutty Brown Cafe, you really feel like you are in Texas. It’s near a town called Dripping Springs (population 1,100) and although it is not that far from Austin, it feels like you are driving far into no man’s land.
After miles and miles of nothing, we came across the neon sign for Nutty Brown Cafe. It kind of reminded me of the driving across the desert and hitting Peggy Sue’s at I-15 and Ghost Town Road.

From the front, the place looked small and packed, the front lot was full. So we pulled into a narrow, dark driveway to find more parking in the back. The back lot was huge, with loose gravel and cars parked somewhat haphazardly. I had heard that Nutty Brown Cafe plays host to a number of concerts throughout the year. The parking lot was big enough that it now seemed plausible. The mix of cars kind of reminded me of a County Fair. Everything from total hick trucks to tricked out rice rockets. After making a few rounds, we found a decent space next to a floral-covered VW van.

Country music complete with accordians filled the air. As we walked in, we were greeted by an amazing smell and a huge crowd of people. Harley Boy, a friend of ours, had arrived early on his bike to drink some beers and put our name down. They had told him the wait would be an hour and a half. So, we waited and chatted. It was about 7pm and allegedly, we only had about ½ an hour to go.

30 minutes went by.

40.

An hour.

An announcement was made that they are out of crawdads but they will be getting more soon.

Another 30 minutes went by.

40.

We are sat at a table at 10pm.

Which means that Harley Boy waited for 4 hours.

Damn mudbugs had better be good!

At this point, we were all starving. Starving. And we had been smelling amazing smells of food and seasonings for hours. And each of my friends had been romanticizing about just how much they love the entire process of peeling and eating crawdads. JT’s Girl confessed that she loves to dip them into mayonnaise. Smitty, the purest of the group, was highly offended by this.

Our waiter, Janis came by. Janis as in Janis Joplin. ‘Cept this Janis is a cute guy who is a sweet sk8r boy. Immediately after seating us, Smitty told Janis that we needed 2 pounds of crawdads a piece. He smiled and said, “See, that’s the way to do it!”

After bringing us our iced teas and more beer, he confessed, “Ok… so we are actually out of crawfish…”

“Wait, WHAT?!?!”

“Are you serious?”

“We have HUGE Jumbo Shrimp by the pound…”

“DUDE, we’ve waited THREE hours for crawdads… you can’t give us shrimp!”

If he wasn’t a cute, sweet sk8r boy, Smitty would have boiled him alive. Instead, she got flirty in sort of a Lea Thompson circa Some Kind of Wonderful sort of way. She gave him a cavity-inducing, sugary smile and said, “I’ve been craving these for months now and planning to come here for 2 weeks. Is there any way? Can you just see if they have any left? Please?”

He sighed heavily, “Man, I dunno. I’ve been carrying these things all day and I can’t even believe it… but we’ve gone through so much….”

She gave him a really sad look, “Can you just double check for us, Please?”

He shrugged and said, “Sure… I’ll give it a shot… I can bring you your sides for now”

My tummy was growling and I realized that I hadn’t eaten since early that morning. I stopped him before he skated off.
“Hey, Janis, can you actually bring me an order of Catfish, I’ll skip out on the crawfish, I’m starving!”

“Sure thing,” he said with a smile.

So, while my friends nibbled on their sides of fried okra and hushpuppies, I devoured my catfish. Since I had never had crawfish before, I wasn’t sure if I would even like it… and I knew I needed to eat. The catfish was awesome. Absolutely perfect and by the time I was done, I was full and happy.

Janis came back with a huge metal bucket with another server that covered our table with brown paper. He explained, “Ok… you guys got the VERY last of the crawfish… but that means that there wasn’t enough for 2 lbs per person. What you have is 2 lbs per person… but of a mix. There is the last of the crawdads… some jumbo shrimp… and it’s mixed in with the potatoes, sausage, and onion… I hope that’s ok?”

My friends were starving and realized that the fact that we got any crawfish was a relief. Janis poured out the contents of the bucket onto the table. It was a heaping pile that covered our table.

I was kind of surprised. I mean, there were just heaps and heaps of crawfish and shrimp… in an immense pile. It was so gluttonous and messy… and yet really, really fun to watch.
Except, from my catfish, I was now full. Just past the point of being comfortably full, which is pretty rare for me. The catfish was breaded and fried… and they gave me a Texas-sized portion. Yes, everything is bigger here.

So, I watched my friends peel and eat and peel and eat until the pile of food grew smaller and the pile of shells and heads grew bigger.
I was surprised to see just how little meat you can get off of those things. But, my friends were really happy.

Janis came back to check up on us, “Were the crawfish ok? Were there enough of em?”

Harley Boy told him, “There is never enough bugs”

Janis gave him a look, “Bugs?”

“Yeah… you never heard that before?”

Janis smiled and shrugged, “No man… sorry… I’m a Yankee...we call ‘em crayfish”

“Oh, yeah?” I asked, “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Cleveland, Ohio”

“Dude, me, too!”

So two Yankees got to dish over crayfish about a river that burned somewhere far away from Dripping Springs, Texas.

**UPDATE**

If you missed out on the Crawdads last weekend... Check out the Louisiana Swamp Thing & Crawfish Festival over by UT all day and into the night on Saturday, March 31st. Lots of great music + Crawdads by the tons = yippeeyaykayyay.

2007-03-22T08:04:00.000-07:00

Frencified at I Am Not Tartuffe

1204 Cedar Ave

Photo by: Wylie Maercklein

Last week, as most of you know, SXSW took over most of Austin. The whole scene actually really felt like the Sunset Strip in LA. Crazy traffic, no parking, long lines to get into everything, and obnoxious people schmoozing all over the place. Oh... and scores of emos.
Ick.
Driving downtown to meet friends took me 20 minutes instead of 10... and it took me 40 minutes to find a free parking spot.
And that was a Wednesday night.
The thought of doing it all again on a Friday wasn't all that appealing to me.
So, I was thrilled when I remembered that I Am Not Tartuffe was playing over on the eastsiiiiiiide.

So I got together some friends and headed over to play!theatre.

As we walked in, one of my friends, a wide-eyed 21 year old asked me, "So... uh... what is this about anyway?"
Honestly, I had no idea.
I knew it was something that had to do with the French taking over America... and something about God having an existential crisis. And Captain Jesus helping to defend America against those moody Frenchiphiles with the help of Rock 'n' Roll.
So, instead of asking what is the plot... It's more like, What is plot? What is meaning? What is life?
So, I just said, "Dude, I have no idea."
The wide-eyed girl gave me a look that was, well, wide-eyed.

The play was an intense show unlike anything I have ever seen before... and honestly, I was impressed. This was a really ambitious production. With ambitious productions, as I discovered as a film student, sometimes all that really means is that someone has a good idea, but that there is a longer way to fall if it doesn't work out. Quite simply, it's destined to either be realllyreally good or reallyreally bad.

I am not Tartuffe is reallyreally good.

Here Are 10 Reasons Why:

The Dialogue. It's funny and irreverant. It's the flavor of Colbert with some extra evangelical sprinkled in for good measure.

The Dance. It's always good to see an entire eclectic ensemble of all ages and sizes shake their groove thang... even better when the moves are an intersection of Westside Story, Thriller, and the Humpty Hump.

The Band Peel. 'nuff said... go listen to their music. Be their friend.

The faux French New Wave Film. What is faux? What is French? What is Film? What is Life? What is meaning? What is what? There is no what! But there is a film... scroll down and watch it.

The B-Movie Factor. Just as we were warned years ago in the age of Freedom Fries, the French took over everyday Americans one by one. Of course, this was done in true B-Movie fashion. It was like a live action version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers or my personal favorite: Hard Rock Zombies. Only with perky, hopeful Red State Americans being overtaken by moody Frenchies in black.

The Captain Jesus. He's kind of like Will Ferrell's character in Old School, but he's even better because he wants to save America with Rock 'n' Roll. Oh yeah, and wears a leotard over sparkly, flesh-colored leggings.

The Package of Captain Jesus. No, I don't have a link to a picture. You're just going to have to go and see it for yourself.

The Projected Chat Room. You can chat with God/France's inner voice and your snarky comments are projected on the backdrop while God/France rants and raves on the stage. Plus, if you bring your laptop, you gets $2 buckeroos off. Self-indulgent + saves you cash = Très Américain . Oh, and remember... there is no God. Only France.

The Whole Enchilada. Somehow all of these pieces come together and work harmoniously enough that you care about the eradication of all that is perky and perfect about Patriotism. And miraculously, sense is made of the senseless.

There is no 10.

So yeah.

Go. See. Now.

Here's the film by Teacup Pict-o-Films that was shown during the play...

Yellow Tape Construction Company's I Am Not Tartuffe

March 15th - 31st, Th/Fr/Sa at 8pm

play! Theatre, 1204 Cedar, 78702 [map]$14 [tickets]

If you are looking for a place near the theater to have dinner before the show, I recommend Ms. B's. Just give yourself enough time because meals at Ms. B's tend to be slow and leisurely. But the food is the best Creole in Austin and mos def worth it.

For drinks after the show, check out Long Branch Inn. Great music and people watching, full bar.

Both are very close by and show that life can be cool on the eastside.

2007-03-22T06:48:00.000-07:00

L.A. (back)Story II

How to get Scouted by a Pimp

Disclaimer: I realize that in the narrative that follows, I put myself in harm's way and it was a stupid move on my part... but, I think that it gives me a good, insane story. And really, I'm just trying to show you different examples of what can potentially happen in Los Angeles. (I put myself in harm's way for you dammit, so be grateful...) The following story occurred years ago.

One night, I was waiting for my bus on a different corner because I was going to go to the apartment of one of my gay Jewish boyfriends right after work. We were going to go to USC for an intro at the Marshall School of Business. I walked from my office - four blocks - to the corner of Wilshire and 5th. I was waiting for the bus. And yes, in la la land, I was usually the only white girl on the bus.

I waited for about 10 mins and it started sprinkling.

The bus I was waiting for is supposed to come every 5-10 minutes.
Two buses (not mine, but they would have done), went by me and didn't stop b/c they were full.

It started Pouring - LA Style. In other words, we were getting our yearly quota of rain all at once.

Of course, I had forgotten my umbrella. And my cell phone was dead.

Here is where I should have just gone into a nearby store, called Jewf and gotten him to pick me up.

AH, the easy, logical solution.

But, I'm stuborn, and I thought to myself, the bus might come any minute.

Five minutes go by...
10...
I had been waiting, stubbornly, for 20 minutes.

I was wearing my red dress with a red suit jacket, heels, and a scarf. The dress and jacket hit my mid calf. Kind of JAP. Very conservative. And of course, dry clean only.
I was freezing.
A limo stopped for a red light.
The driver rolled down the window, "It's raining really hard!"
Me, "yeah, I know"
I rolled my eyes and scanned for the bus.
"How long have you been waiting?"
Me, "...awhile"
"Do you want a ride?"
I looked at him like he was 8 kinds of crazy.
"NO."
"oh. Ok." (the light was still red) "I'm going to UCLA... I can take you as far as that"
Me, God this guy is stubborn, "Nah, I'm fine"
"Ok suit yourself. But I'll put up the window - just like you are in a cab."
I looked down the street and see traffic all the way and no sign of a bus. My hair was completely soaked and I was so cold that it hurt.
At this point, I hesitated and thought, what the hell? You'd get into a cab, right? So yeah, smartie that I am, I got in.

Anyway, the whole ride was completely uneventful... except for the fact that it turns out that he was a pimp.
I really shouldn't have gotten in. I should have gone to a store and waited... but woulda shoulda could doesn't matter. What matters is that I did.
I got in the back of the limo.
He wasn't a creep... he just has a disgusting profession. He was a nice guy and pretty much acted like most cab drivers that I've had... except, I didn't have to pay for the ride and I got a job offer out of the deal.

He didn't tell me right away that that's what he does. We talked about Santa Monica, the lack of parking, the homeless....
There was a ton of top shelf booze in pretty crystal bottles in the back. Nice leather seats. He put the heater vents on high - and I was totally warm. I was able to dry off a lot and my teeth stopped chattering.
I asked him what company he worked for.
He said that he owns his own company.
Oh. So why are you driving, I thought of asking. Instead, I asked, "So are you kind of freelance? Or do you only drive people from a particular company?"
"I drive my own employees. I work in the entertainment business".

DingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDingDing!

"Oh. I see".

"I drive my employees to various appointments or shoots"

"uh, huh."
Maybe he's a chauffer for an agency...
Yeah, but then wouldn't he proudly say "CAA" or something?
Don't be paranoid...

"Right now, I'm picking up a girl from UCLA. She works for me. But she only makes $700 a night. Most of my girls make more like $1000... then there is the extra from video"

OK... your cell phone's last call was Jewf. Just hit talk....
crap.. you're supposed to call 911...
You're Overreacting!
Just start talking about your fiance...
no, that's dumb...
you know he's a pimp now, great... he wants you to be impressed. DON'T be impressed. This is everyday... nothing out of the unusual...

"Oh, interesting," I say in as flat a tone as I can manage.

"Oh, Interesting?"He says, "Are you telling me that you wouldn't love $1000 a night?"

LIE. "Oh, I work for a hedge fund. I make a lot of commission and do just fine. Plus, I am very happy with my fiance"

Him, "I have girls that are married! Fiance doesn't need to know!"

"I'm pretty boring and like my life just the way it is."

Him, "Maybe your fiance would like having you do that"

"Oh, I don't know... his family is strongy rooted in politics. It might not bode well." Once you start lying, it always gets easier.

Him, "What does he do?"

Me, "He's an assistant director and VP at one of the big 4"

He whistles."well, anyway, my girls are really happy. If you ever want to make an easy grand..."

Me, "like I said, I'm incredibly boring and like it like that"

Him, "Right. Well, everyone needs to unwind sometimes. Haven't you ever flashed someone? Or anything"

Ewwwwwwwwwww... My stomach turns.
Ok. Think.
What's a turn off?
Think church lady not catholic school girl...
"Oh, no. I think that's inappropriate and immoral"
Him, "are you religious?"
"I'm strongly catholic"
Him, "Oh... Catholic girls are the best!"
My face wrinkled up. I think that I threw up in my mouth a little bit.
Swift move, sherlock... now you went just where you didn't want to go.
Try not to think of the color blue... It's what you think of immediately.

Luckily, we had just passed Bundy. One mile to go.
I said "Oh, wow! We're already at Bundy! Can you drop me off at Barrington?"
Him, "Not a problem. But, look at the traffic. It might take as long as it took to get there as it took to get here"
I look around. We are inching along slower than molasses.
"Wow, I hate Traffic in LA"
Which turns out to be the most brilliant thing I said the entire ride. I should have known to bring it up before. Because Angelenos love talking about traffic and the mad skillz they have at avoiding it/getting through it/coping with it. Basically, the rest of the conversation was about the best ways to get from the east to the west during the rain.
Because, really... he may be proud of his girls as a pimp, but as a driver in LA, his pride comes from getting his passenger from a to b quicker than anyone else can.
He was thrilled to brag about his second expertise. We rode in the bus lane and he got me to Barrington before I could say, "You're a fucking pimp!"
He dropped me off and advised me to, "Stay warm, dodge the raindrops!"
I called out, "Thanks so much for the ride, you've done your good deed for the day."
Then, I walked from Wilshire and Barrington -6 blocks - in the rain to Jewf's house.

Luckily, by then it was just sprinkling.

That's right kids: Don't talk to strangers (especially not in LA).

2007-03-21T18:20:00.000-07:00

Bounty Divine at The County Line

The Original County Line
Bee Cave Road just past 360

Captain Don Lucero Jr. was in town for SXSW. The son of a now-retired Barbary pirate, Captain Don Lucero Jr., was going to SXSW for business. It's hard to be the son of anyone who is famous, but especially difficult if your father spent years capturing Christian Europeans and selling them in the Moroccan black market and was a crucial force in driving the Spaniards from Algiers. Oh, and did I mention that he was a pirate?
Captain Don Lucero Jr., forever in the shadow of his father's fame and fortune (the latter of which was mostly snorted up the nose of young junior in the 80's), is attempting to make a name for himself as a serious actor, but is currently working out of the valley shooting videos such as "Lord of the Cock Rings 8", "InReardence Day 4", and "BareBack Mountain: The College Years"*

Anyway, Captain Don Lucero, Jr, or Capt Luce for short, wanted to be sure to have BBQ during his stay in Austin. So, we decided to check out County Line for a late lunch.

We went to the one over on Bee Caves for the oft-praised views of Texas Hill Country. It had been a warm morning, but by the time we got there, the rain was coming down. This, of course, brought the temperature down considerably.
We were seated in the open dining area with a magnificent view of the green, lush hills.
"Are you cold?" Capt Luce asked earnestly.
Here we go again, I thought.

At every restaurant that we had been to during his stay, the temperature had been uncomfortably low.
"What is with this town?" he asked.
"I swear to God it's not usually this bad!"
"Dude, every place we've eaten at has been freezing… look!"
He showed me his arm, which was covered in goose bumps. I had to admit, I was freezing, too.
"Is anyone else cold?"
We looked around. Everyone was hunched over and had their arms crossed tightly over their chests.
"You know what helps?"
"What?"

"Yumilicious BBQ!"

So we gots food. He got the chicken BBQ combo and I got the Beef Rib platter. Then, they brought out the homemade bread.

Bread from heaven.

Thick slices, amazingly fluffy, chock full of awesomeness.

All of the food was amazing… the sauce was tangy and delish, the ribs were melt in your mouth perfect, but the bread… the bread is what really kicked ass.

And then, I didn't feel cold. I just felt happy.

*These are all lies. But when a friend of mine chooses a name as pompous as that, I get to embellish. Them's the rules of da blog.

Who's next?

2007-03-21T13:13:00.000-07:00

Opening the Gift Shop at the Four Seasons

98 San Jacinto Boulevard

I’ve crashed at the Marriott...

Watched bats from the Radisson.

I’ve stayed at the Sheraton…

Recouped at Embassy Suites.

So, I’ve had my taste of the hotels in Austin. And no, I swear I’m not a call girl.

Hotels are all pretty much the same.

Sure, I had a sleep number bed at the Radisson that I spent hours adjusting just for kicks. That was fun.

And at the Sheraton, the biker rally was going on, so I had the privilege of sharing the elevator with very large, tough looking men with giant mustaches and Harley shirts that barely stretched across their backs.

When I stayed at the Embassy Suites, it was totally unplanned and last minute. I was supposed to be moving into my apartment that day. But, of course, my flights were delayed and I missed the office hours at my prison complex of an apartment. So, I took my traumatized cat and checked into the Embassy Suites for the night. It would have been great to have a big suite all to myself. You know, if I didn’t have a crying, miserable cat.

But yeah, hotel rooms are all really the same.

In Vegas, I have stayed at the Venetian in a suite and loved it… but you know, the $700 rooms at Bellagio aren’t a whole lot different than the $200 rooms at Mandalay Bay. At least I didn’t think so. It’s not like you’re really going to spend much time in the room anyway. (Unless you are a certain flamboyant, Chinese, friend of mine… and in that case, honey, you ain’t neva gonna leave that room).

That said, when a friend of mine was staying at the Four Seasons downtown, you betta believe I wanted to crash out there. The room wasn’t amazing, the view wasn’t nearly as great as the view I had from the Radisson. But, the bed was ridiculously comfy with down pillows.

Then again, at 3:30 am after hours of drinking and dancing, any bed feels ridiculously comfy.

So, why pay $400?

Is it the cowprint-couch in the lobby?

We weren’t sure at first… but when we walked into the lobby in the wee hours of the morning and stared in a drunken haze at the monstrosity of a couch.... we figured it out. My friend had invited me to crash in his room for the night, but I had realized once we got there that I didn’t have a contact lens case or solution. And since I had a bad situation with contacts awhile back, I’ve been uber-cautious. My friend was like, let’s ask the concierge!
“For contacts? “
“Sure, why not?”
“At 3am?”

So, we went to the concierge. Even though there were no guests to be seen, there were two guys working behind the desk. We explained the situation, thinking that if they didn't have the items, maybe they could tell us where a nearby 24 store was.

“Well, we don’t have any items here, but we can open up the gift shop for you.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely."

"Wow, that would be great, thanks!"

He hit a few buttons on the phone. Then, he looked up at us.

"I apologize, but you’ll have to wait just a moment. We have to call in someone to open it for you, since I don’t have the key for the gift shop.”

Just after 3:30 am, the gift shop was opened for us. They apologized to us a few times over the fact that we had to wait a few seconds for them to open it. (As they should, those precious seconds are almost a minute of my life…. A minute that I will never get back). I was given choices of different colored contact lens cases, different brands of solution. They asked us if there was anything else they could help us with. I thought about the times I waited in line for ages at a concierge desk only to be greeted with attitude and apathy. So really, therein lies the difference. At the Four Seasons, it's all about me, me, me.

Viva La Difference!

P.S. if you are staying at the Radisson, you should ask for room in the wing that has been renovated. A friend of mine was staying in the "other" wing and noticed some dripping water on the walls of her bathroom. She called maintenance and they knocked lightly on the wall. The wall completely fell through from aforementioned light knocking and revealed scores of black mold that had eaten through the structure. Yumtastic!

2007-03-15T11:09:00.000-07:00

Kismet at the Austin Humane Society

Adoption Center
124 West Anderson Lane

Sometimes my life stories make better material for a French New Wave film than an uber-pink blog. Coincidences of the absurd seem deadset on making my life surreal. You know, existentialism and all that jazz.

Picture the below in images placed out of sequence and intercut with images of Brigitte Bardot writhing naked in the grass and some kid running for miles ...

A good friend of mine from Los Angeles moved to Houston where her boyfriend at the time lived. His name is Don Pascal. I met up with Don Pascal in Austin before I moved here and he introduced me to his cousin. After I moved here, I ended up going to a halloween party at his cousin's place where I didn't know anyone. As it turns out, many of the people at the party were somewhat homophobic members of some bible-lovin' group. Being a deviant fag hag and Catholic dropout, I didn't make any favorable impressions...
except for the impression I made on Don Pascal's cousin's girlfriend, Drea.

Drea had recently moved from Los Angeles to Austin and was absolutely loving it. Drea looks like Marisa Tomei... if Marisa Tomei was a bad ass. Since she's a former angeleno, I figured we'd have stuff in common. Like maybe we'd reminisce about how we both miss crazy-cheap manis and pedis.

Getting to know Drea, I've realized that I've been stalking her for years.

Sure she's younger than me. Sure she's a Bruin and I'm a Trojan... But, I've been inadvertanly following her around the States like a lil' lost puppy.

I've inadvertantly stalked people before. There was a two week period during which I saw John Ritter everywhere I went. I went to the bank; there he was. I went to Literati; there he was. I went to the grocery store; there he was. I went to my ob/gyn; there he was. Ok, maybe not the last one... but still. I saw that man everywhere and was actually thinking of asking him if he was stalking me. But then, I realized, that if one of us was going to stalk the other it would probably be me stalking him. So I realized that I might be stalking him. So, I stopped. Then, he died a week later.

Back to Drea. As it turns out, in the big ole city of Los Angeles, Drea moved to Sawtelle at Palms. Soon after, I moved right across the street from her apartment complex. Later on, she moved up to Purdue Ave. and Santa Monica Blvd. Not long after, I moved into the apartment building next door to her. We both used to go to the same nail salon. In any other area of any other city, that's so not a big deal. But in our hood, there were more Korean nail salons than there were gas stations. Something like 4-5 per block. The fact that we both frequented the same, but never met was a pretty weird coincidence.

It's like When Harry Met Sally. "We lived next door for years, but we never met."

Weird.

But not that weird.

Not Godard-weird.

Last night I was talking to Drea on the phone.

"Yo dog, whazzup?"

"actually, I got a dog"

"You adopted a dog?!?"

"Yeah! I just did."

"Oh, I'm sooo jealous. I can't wait to meet him"

"Mos def. You totally can come by anytime and we'll walk him"

"Where did you get him?"

"The Austin Humane Society"

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah, he's such a great dog"

"What's his name?"

"Fitz"

"Seriously?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Wait... is he black?"

"Yeah..."

"and 2 1/2 years old?"

"...yeah..."

"and a lil' bit skinny, totally sweet, housetrained... and"

"what the fuck!?!"

"Dude. I met your dog!"

"...Wait... what? what are you talking about?"

"I totally walked your dog! Like a few weeks ago!!! I love Love LOVE him! I'm so happy he's yours now!"

So, I could try to explain away the ridiculousness of how I got to meet her dog before she did. I don't volunteer there. I don't plan on adopting a dog anytime soon. I have two cats who would greatly resent me if the thought even crossed my mind. And yet, I honestly, truly, did walk that wonderful dog a few weeks ago.

Yeah, I can tell you how I met him and why...

But doesn't it make it so much more interesting when there is no clear explanation?

Anyway... I am so happy for Drea and Fitz. He's a fan-freakin-tastic dog. Just a total sweetheart.

I know because I pre-screened him for her.

Before I even knew she was considering adopting a dog...

Oh... and if reading this reminds you of how much you love French New Wave stuff... Check out this kick ass production my friends at Yellowtape Construction Co. are putting on!
It's called I Am Not Tartuffe . You can hear them dishing it over on KUT. They are running it Thursdays through Saturdays at 8pm, March 15-31st at play!Theare (1204 Cedar Ave). And... if you bring your laptop, your snarky comments can be projected live on the stage for all to see.

2007-02-27T12:39:00.000-08:00

The Potential Flop of Mr. Maybe at The Lion King

Bass Concert Hall
23rd St & Robert Dedman Dr

CJ had somehow secured 2 tickets to The Lion King at Bass Concert Hall and was tragically not able to go at the last minute. So, being the amazing friend that she is, instead of scalping them on craigslist.org, she offered them to me and our friend Waz.
Waz had friends and family in town that weekend, so she wasn’t able to go either… which was unfortunate, because we would have had a blast, guaranteed.

But… I looked at it as the perfect opportunity to get to know Mr. Maybe.

Mr. Maybe is a guy that I had met at Flipnotics on Barton Springs Road that previous Monday. Over a few cups of coffee and 3 hours of good conversation, I realized he had an adorable smile and a good sense of humor. So, of course, I gave him a call and asked if he wanted to join me.

The last time Mr. Maybe saw a play was when his 3rd grade class went to go see Annie. He seemed unsure of it but told me that he’d give it a shot.

“But, uh… is there some sort of dress code for this sorta thing?”

I told him a button down shirt… dockers or khakis if he had them.

There was an audible sigh. “I pretty much only have jeans.”

“That’s cool. Just don’t wear shorts or jeans with major holes. Then again… this is Austin. So you can get away with wearing whatever you want to wear.”

“See, LA girl, you are getting the drill.”

We met up at Marakesh on Congress for some cheap albeit yummy sandwiches.
He had a beef shawarma wrap and I had an artichoke with hummus one. They were gargantuan, but absolutely amazing. I have heard that the hummus here is the best in town and it absolutely did not disappoint. It was perfectly reasonable, casual, and worked well for a Saturday lunch.

We talked about various things but he didn’t seem as comfortable as he was at Flipnotics. Part of it might have been because he was up working for most of the night before. So he may have been burned out.
We talked about this, that, and the other thing. At some point, he brought up the subject of 420.
I said something to the effect of, “wasn’t that great in college?”

He looked greatly disappointed. Oh…

So I tried to explain, “I’ve kind of grown out of it, I guess. Just not something I enjoy or have any desire to do.”

He looked down. “Oh… I wish it were something I could grow out of”

“Well… is it something you do now and then for fun?”

“To be honest, it’s kind of a ‘most nights by myself’ kind of deal.”

“Oh.”

“You know how you called the other night and I took forever to pick up and then wanted to get off the phone right away?”

“Kind of, yeah…”

“Well, I was high and didn’t want to come off like a freakin idiot.”

“Oh. You were totally fine.”

“Well yeah, but it’s just a lot easier for me to be around people who smoke a lot, too”

“Easier yeah, but better?”

“Better for you,” he said with a smile.

Hmm…

Eventually, we took off for the play and arrived just in time. We got to our seats and found that we were in the handicapped row in balcony 2. Which wouldn’t be that big of a deal, except that seats 101 and 102 are not actually next to each other. Doh. 101 is a seat all by itself with a giant open space for a wheelchair next to it. I thought to myself that if CJ was here, you’d better believe that she would do some convincing and complaining and cajoling and before to long have amazing seats in the Orchestra section. But alas… I don’t have the moxie that she has.

So we sat for a time until it was obvious that no one was sitting in the other seat.

I moved over to the seat next to Mr. Maybe. I think he enjoyed the fact that my feet don’t rest on the floor when I sat all the way back a little too much.

I was psyched for the play to start since I had tried to get tickets in LA several times when the show was there. Mr. Maybe was a bit skeptical. I think that he was in part put off by the vast number of children in the vicinity and part uncomfortable at the scene in general. Both of us are people watchers and the audience did not disappoint. There was a woman in a sequined cocktail dress that looked straight out of Designing Women. Her 7 year old daughter was wearing a matching one. Child abuse comes in many forms.

There were lots of other couples there. My favorite was the one that wore matching painted on black pants with spandex/jungle print shirts. They were holdings hands. I wanted nothing more than to tap the girl on the shoulder and say, “Awww, so nice of you to be his beard! Is this a volunteer position, or are you paid?”

There were also adorable kids in adorable outfits. The kind that almost make you feel as though you have a ticking biological clock that you actually care about.

Almost.

The show finally started after what felt like an eternity. It absolutely did not disappoint. When I first heard about the Lion King as a Broadway play years ago, I totally pictured Disney on Ice and thought it sounded ridiculous and childish. But then, through reviews from film critics and friends, I realized that hokey and cartoonish, this play was not.

The sets and the costumes are absolutely ingenious and impressive…. Then again, I guess that they had to be in order to make a story with no human characters that takes place in Africa work on stages across America.

The cast was impressive and I was knocked away by the performances of the kids who played Young Nala and Young Simba. They changed the energy of the entire performance. It was a fun show both for the kids and the adults.

Leaving the performance, Mr. Maybe thanked me. He said that he honestly didn’t think he was going to enjoy the play, but that it was “really cool and fun.”

As we wound our way down the stairs, we overheard a conversation from the crowd. A woman said, “Did you know that these Broadway plays come here from Broadway, New York?!?”

I looked at Mr. Maybe, “Please, please tell me that she is talking to a child”

He scouted out the source of the ingenious voice and then laughed, “You don’t want to know.”

I went up on my tip toes. She was talking to another grown woman.

Anyway, we had a great time, but I haven’t heard from him since. I’m not really making a huge effort, though. I’m thinking that he has a burning desire to find a stoner girlfriend.

Plus... he doesn't like cats...

2007-02-26T14:42:00.000-08:00

Somethin’ Not Quite Right at Ruggles

701 M S. Capital of Texas Highway

Boytoy and I found ourselves famished and wanting to go out for dinner on a Saturday night. Despite the fact that our stomachs were growling, we decided to forego the fast food options and go out for a sit down meal as it is rumored that civilized people do. We figured that if we went somewhere close, we could have better food with just a slightly longer wait.

Hah.

We drove over to Abuelos. Which is not just a restaurant. It’s a Mexican Food Embassy.

*insert audible “oohs and aahs” here*

Really, it’s a Mexican chain and they are in mall parking lot throughout the red states of our Country. There is even one in Cleveland. Remind me to tell you about the “casa-dil-las” and “Jah-lop-an-nose” in Cleveland. Or the “tay-coze”.*

Anyway…

We rolled in, parked, and strolled up.

Boytoy explained that the building for this Abuelos was formerly one of those single-screen movie theaters. The architecture was an interesting mix of art deco and Spanish mission. I thought it was maybe because of the history of the building, as most old movie theaters were built in an art deco style… but no dice. It seems that the Abuelos, as a chain, has a universal look. Some people hate places like that.

But, really, I don’t care. I’m ok with admitting to liking The Cheesecake Factory. More than that, when I’m hungry, any philosophical opinions I might have on my food choices tend to be filtered out.

Unfortunately, as soon as we opened the door, we knew we weren’t going to be eating there.

It was wall-to-wall suburban hell. All Talbots and J Crewed out for their Saturday night dinner date… An odoriferous mingling of Obsession and Old Spice. Mmmm… sexy. And no, of course, my disdain for all things khaki and tacky was not what deterred us from making sweet love to an Abuelos meal.

What deterred us was the 50-60 minute wait. I looked around at the masses and realized that that wait was easily underestimated by 30 minutes.

Being the urbanites that we are, we made our way to the bar… only to find that there was a wait there as well.

Sigh.

So we were off.

We drove a bit further down 360, which is Capital of Texas Highway… a freeway of sorts that still has stoplights despite a 65 mph speed limit. Making turns off of it can take some huevos.
But, I've become used to said road, and we meandered around, realizing that looking for a place to eat at 7pm on a Saturday is just not the best idea.

After an odyssey of sorts, we stumbled on Ruggles.

Ruggles suspiciously had no wait. But, with audible growls emanating from my stomach, I didn’t let it faze me.

We were immediately sat at one of their many empty spots. The crowd seemed to be 40’s and up. That's hot.

Starving, we ordered “The Combo” appetizers, Vegetable Spring Rolls, Pot Stickers and Mini Crab Cakes. Our server was really sweet. He kind of reminded me of my friend Coker (of the infamous Great American Couch Exchange Fame).
Unfortunately for him, the whole restaurant felt like it was taking itself waaaaay too seriously. There was a very uncomfortable feeling there.

Despite the less than savory atmosphere, we were having a great time noshing on the appetizers and ordered our entrees. All was well since we were happily eating yummy pseudo-asian cuisine.

But then, I got distracted. Something about Boytoy looked not quite right.

I couldn’t put my finger on it.

It was like when you are playing erotic photo hunt at the bar with your friends… and you are trying to figure out what is missing from the picture.

He looked back at me curiously.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that”

“I don’t know… I just…” and suddenly it hit me.

As soon as it was obvious. It was REALLY obvious.

“Oh, sweetie… umm…” I looked right into his eyes, and tried to will myself to not be a bitch and laugh yet…I paused. Our eyes locked.

I looked right at his shoulder, pointedly.

He looked down non-chalantly. Immediately after, he did a dramatic double take. The kind you see in Warner Bros cartoons.

“Oh SHIT!”

He looked at me like a boy caught with his hand stuck in the cookie jar.

The poor boy’s polo shirt was completely inside out. And it was crazy obvious.

The collar was all over the place.

He lowered his voice and leaned closer. He said earnestly, “What do I do?”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing… laughing to the point where my face and tummy hurt.
My eyes were totally tearing up.
I felt badly... but I couldn't stop.
He was embarrassed, but then he smiled and said, "Wow, wouldn't this suck if this were a first date or something?"

I just couldn't get over how obvious it was - but that I completely failed to notice it.

I literally put my head down in my crossed arms because I knew that if I looked at him with his collar all totally jacked up, I would just laugh harder. I think he started to laugh at my uncontrollable laughter.

Of course, all eyes were on us.

Then the waiter came by. His face was slightly flushed. “Uh…” he said nervously, “Is everything ok?”

Poor kid.

I think we were the most excitement this sleepy place has seen in awhile.

Food-wise, just to make this an actual review, I kind of thought it was overpriced. My snapper had 6-7 scales still on it.
The first one I pulled out of my mouth, I didn’t know what it was. So, of course, Boytoy tried to convince me it was a fingernail.

Cuz that’s what friends are for.

*These words are best uttered with a Clevelander accent. Think: Canadian Mounty crossed with a Fargo native. The actual words are of course, “quesadillas”, “jalapeños”, and “tacos”. But that’s far too ordinary. Oh, and I apologize for being forced to call Ohio a red state. That makes me sad, too.

2007-02-12T10:59:00.000-08:00

A Case of Mistaken Identity at Jo's

1300 South Congress

Yesterday, I found myself at Jo’s Coffee on the receiving end of a cosmic joke of sorts.

It was supposed to be an uneventful morning. I had planned to meet with Jen of Jen Messes with Texas fame for the best coffee in Austin. We had been exchanging emails for awhile and discovered that we both loved the Ladies of the 80’s Singalong, missed Korean BBQ from our former cities, and enjoyed blogging about life in Austin.
Back on Friday via email, we decided to meet at 11am on Sunday at Jo’s on South Congress. She has a small pic on her blog and she joked that I would know her because she’s Korean “and there really aren’t that many of us here in Austin.”

True dat.

Usually, as a rule, I’m about 15 minutes late to everything… if I know you. But, if I haven’t metcha, I’m always on time. So, I rolled up to Jo’s at 11:00 and found rockstar parking right in front. I got out of my toaster oven on wheels and saw a Korean chick in a red knit brimmed cap with a Pomeranian pooch on a leash waiting in line. Because of the cap, I couldn’t see her face clearly – but I could tell she was Korean. Jen didn’t mention via email that she had a dog… but I didn’t let that faze me.

I waited until she finished ordering, and then I approached her.

“Hi, are you Jen?”

She lifted her head and looked at me cautiously, “Yeah?”

“Oh, hi!” I smiled.

She looked at me with distrust. I realized that she didn’t look like the picture at all. Then again… the picture was really small…

“I’m sorry, are you Jen Kim?”

She said coldy, “Yes. I’m Jen Kim. Can I help you with something?”

I noticed the people in line behind her shifted uncomfortably. I felt stares. I looked up and the cashier behind the counter was looking at me suspiciously.

I started racking my brain. Did she totally forget about our appointment? Or is this totally the wrong Jen Kim? What were the odds of the wrong Jen Kim being at Jo’s at the same time? I looked around again –and there was nary another Asian chick in sight.

Huh.

I realized that I looked like a freak. I wanted to explain myself…

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I was supposed to meet someone here named Jen Kim at 11am for coffee… she’s a blogger and I’m a blogger…”

“Well, I don’t have an appointment.” She said. I could feel how uncomfortable I had made her. And all eyes were on us. I laughed nervously and apologized again.

“Wow… what are the odds? I guess I have the wrong Jen Kim at the right time and the right place…”

She was not amused.

I stepped back from the crowd of people in line who were staring at me and frantically called the number I had for Jen Kim, blogger, and called her. I noted, that the Jen Kim in the red knit brimmed hat was now waiting for her beverage of choice and did not reach for a cell phone. More than that, not one cell phone within earshot rang. I tried to will the universe to allow there to be another Jen Kim and for that Jen Kim to not be standing me up. I can take being stood up. But I can't take being stood up when I really have something to prove... like my sanity.

The Right Jen Kim answered her phone, “I’m sooo sorry! I’m almost there, I’m walking down the road, you can probably see me!”

I looked over and saw her approaching. “Thank God!!! You are sooo not going to believe this!”

I told her about the run in with the other Jen Kim and explained how relieved I was that she was coming… since I was still getting suspicious glances from patrons of Jo’s.

“Who knew that there was another Jen Kim in Austin!?!?”

“Oh, actually… wow… I know who she is,” The Right Jen Kim told me.

“You didn’t warn me?”

Realizing that we were now in each others presence, we hung up our cells and started talking. I wanted to put her up on a pedestal and use a loudspeaker to point out to all of the onlookers that there really was another Jen Kim that I was waiting for and no I wasn’t some crazy woman stalking patrons of Jo’s.

The Right Jen Kim then explained to me that the other Jen Kim is the first minority female city councilwoman in Austin. Everyone knows who she is. She’s a big deal in Austin and has gotten a lot of flack lately for alleged diva-like behavior. Apparently, she’s had some very recent negative attention. And so she’s on the defense.

Ohh… crap.

So basically, everyone else at Jo’s knew who she was.

As a friend of mine in LA joked after hearing my story, it’d be like if he went up to Arnold Schwarzenegger at a party and said, "Arnold?”. And then asked, “I’m sorry, are you Arnold Schwarzenegger?"

That’ll show me for not paying attention to local politics…

2007-02-07T21:03:00.000-08:00

I'm Rick James, Bitch.

Ok, maybe not.

But wouldn't that have been a kick ass suggestion?

Not that I needed any more suggestions... I was impressed and overwhelmed by the creative submissions by everyone.

Every time I thought I was getting closer to a decision, another idea would be suggested. Like the witty Van Gogh, the sweet Beau, the curious Shaka Cthulu, or the obvious - Peter North.

aiy aiy aiy.

What was I to do?

I tried calling him different names, but he would just stare at me as if to say, "You can call me what ever you want, just gimme more wet food, woman."

So, I'm still calling him Beethoven out of habit... though the only thing he answers to is the opening of the can.

Officially, on his collar the poll won. It reads Patton Van Beethoven.

I know thinking my cat was nameless has been keeping you awake at night... so I'm happy to put you at ease.

No need to thank me.

2007-02-07T14:35:00.000-08:00

Actual (gasp!) Diversity for MLK at Casa de Luz

1701 Toomey Road

I was doing some much needed reorganizing at my apartment this weekend and came across a booklet from a fantastic show that I went to on MLK weekend. It was probably the best show that I’ve seen since I moved here, so even though this is ridiculously after the fact, I’m gonna do a lil’ write up now.

CJ’s momma was in town for the three day weekend and I was psyched to meet the woman responsible for my fabulous, outspoken, passionate, and hilarious new friend. But I was also intimidated… all that fierceness had to come from somewhere.

Having researched different activities going on for MLK weekend, we were reminded that Austin isn’t really all that Black. There are some here and there, but the word on the street is that most of the middle class Black population of Austin moved to Pflugerville (1. yes that is a real town 2. yes that looks like the name of a town Dr. Seuss made up 3.it’s pronounced FLEW-ger-ville).

It’s kind of like the White Flight phenomenon that took place in Los Angeles, only it’s Blacks and it’s Texas. I don’t really know if that’s true… that’s just what I’ve been told.

Back to my point, there wasn’t a whole lot going on here in Austin in terms stuff in honor of MLK.

So CJ looked and looked and found (deep breath) The Austin Music Extravaganza Special Martin Luther King Jr. Birthday Celebration at Casa de Luz’s Auditorium and told me that we were going.

To be honest, I have steered clear of Casa de Luz. The completely logical reasoning is that when I first moved here, I went to Randall’s and was buying some salmon. A woman approached me and started talking – or rather RAVING about Casa de Luz. Now, Austin is known for friendliness, and I realize that some adjustments from LA should be expected… but this was a little over the top. Out of nowhere, I was getting a 20 minute lecture on how amazing their macrobiotic food is and how it will change my life. I felt like a freshman getting proselytized by the campus cult. She went on and on for what seemed like an eternity. Then she said to me, “You know, I’ll probably see you there! I’m there at lunch almost everyday.”

I wasn’t sure if it was a cult or if she was hitting on me… but I wasn’t digging her or her cult. So yeah, I have avoided Casa de Luz like the plague.

But, I love CJ. And I am an amazing friend. Amazing, I tell you.

So, I went.

As all things in Austin, the setting was waaaaaaaay chill. The show started late,
people and performers sauntered in and left whenever. The admission price was collected in a big cardboard box, completely exposed, at the door. Change was made out of the sock (yes, the one he was wearing) by the guy in the rasta tam, who turned out to be a fantastic musician and excellent producer with a beautiful spirit, Rah Amen.

Rah Amen has been producing multi-cultural events with Cosmic Intuition Productions in Austin, Atlanta, Greenville, and Asheville for 15 years. And the experience shows. The acts were varied and surprisingly International, even for a concert that touted itself as "International". I've been to International thingies before that only have one culture representin'. And since moving to Austin, I've discoverd that the music scene is mostly indie and classic rock. Little else.

So where did Rah find these people?

In researching for this entry (ie, googling) I found that many of the acts were impossible to find online. I was amazed that Rah Amen doesn’t have a webpage, or even a myspace page. So I wondered how all of the diverse talent was brought together. As Rah explained during the show, some of the acts he has seen perform, some of the performers he has known for years, others were just like-minded musicians that he met while eating at Casa de Luz.

There were African drums by the Umoja Percussion Ensemble that made me want to get up and dance. They were followed by soulful cello solos by Steve Bernal. Then Shri Siddhah expertly played the didgeridoo… which looks like something that shouldn’t be capable of creating such beautiful music.

The Annoying Orchestra followed, with not so annoying Irish jigs, but maybe I’m biased. They were a fun, eclectic group with an accordion, fiddles, and flute. Apparently, their bagpiper was unable to get a ride to the show (?!?), so he couldn’t make it.

Probably the most phenomenal act was Beauford Anderson who is a teenager in a grey hoodie and baggie jeans that was able to come up with the most genius jazz improvisations I think I’ve heard. He’s a pianist who has been playing jazz and blues since he was 8. He looked like the typical apathetic teen, but he played with passion, style, and soul.

Later came the crowd pleasing Free Angola Eastside Capoeira Society. They were a large group and it was hard to see all of the amazing choreography in the venue… but it was definitely awesome. They perform fairly frequently and they teach classes, too, if you are interested. You, too, can invert yourself and fight in slow motion!

The grand finale was the Cuban Hip Hop Group, Krudas Cubensi. They are some fabulous, passionate, and beautiful women with amazing flow. Check out their website and if you ever have an opportunity to catch these women, don’t miss it!

Overall, it was absolutely and amazing experience. I got to see CJ with her mother and I also got to enjoy some of the best music acts I’ve seen since my arrival in Austin. Each act proved to me that Austin isn’t just an indie music town. There is diversity in the music scene, if you look for it. Oh, and I survived Casa de Luz and they let me leave unbranded. So, it’s feeling a little less cult-like and a little more like a cool place to watch music acts, eat food, and mingle with fascinating people.

Which is, of course, precisely how cults lure you in…

2007-01-31T10:43:00.000-08:00

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun at the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown

409 COLORADO ST

Last Wednesday night, I went with three friends to check out LADIES OF THE 80s SINGALONG at Alamo Drafthouse Downtown. It was a sold out show that had been getting rave reviews all over town. On Craigslist.org, women were placing ads, begging and pleading for extra tickets, offering well over the cover price. And why not?

Let’s see, dancing and singing in a movie theater to Madonna, Tiffany, Whitney, and Blondie?

While drinking?

Its like a dream to me. It was like being lost in heaven. Ooh, baby, do you know what thats worth?

If you don’t see it, then you probably don’t have ovaries. And, either way you definitely don't dig men.

Anyway, it was a huge dance party… and of course, all of my friends wanted to go. Cuz, when the working day is done, Oh,girls,They wanna have fu-un. We arrived a bit late, but it was a perfect arrival – just as I love Rock N’ Roll was playing. Joan Jett was strutting her stuff and the whole audience was singing and clapping along.

They played a little bit of almost everything. I was totally hoping for some Heart or Stevie Nicks, but other than that… pretty much everything was covered. Everyone there was on their feet… the Locomotion winded its way through the theater, everyone Walked Like an Egyptian, and there were 99 Red Balloons released at the end.

The compilation was complete and a lot of those videos I haven’t seen in 15 years. It was amazing to see The Pointer Sisters' Jump… and the dance moves on Pat Benetar? Wow. Oh... and seriously, check out Taylor Dayne's hair and lips.... that was hot? The video techniques that I remember thinking “Wow, that’s so FRESH” when I saw them back in the day (Paula Abdul’s Straight Up in particular), looked so outdated and ridiculous.
And that was all part of the fun. The songs were ordered perfectly… and it was great trying to guess which phenomenal classic was going to be next.

They did a great job of getting the audience involved… complete with white, hairy boy in Whitney drag climbing tables to “I Wanna Dance with Somebody”

Alamo Drafthouse, They Got the beat. If this ever plays again, Call me.

(I know… I cringed when I typed that…)

Other songs played that weren't flawlessly and entricately woven in to the above phrase?

What a Feeling (That FlashDance Song!)
Tina Turner's What’s Love Got to do With It?
Tiffany's I Think We’re Alone Now... gotta love that red hair.
Kim Wilde's You Just Keep Me Hangin’ On (Ooooh ooooh oooooooooooh!)
Eurythmics' Sweet Dreams (are made of this)
and probably others that I have forgotten...

If you need an idea for a great party, pulling those videos together and adding the lyrics to the bottom of the screen would make for instant fun. I was trying to buy the DVD of the show online, but I think they only sold it at the show.

Anyway, it was the perfect night out and I'm looking forward to more Alamo Singalongs in the future.

oh... and to show you just how cool Alamo is... it was mentioned on Heroes :o)

ok... enough youtube.

2007-01-29T10:44:00.000-08:00

Fantastic Latin Jazz at The Elephant Room

315 Congress Avenue

On Saturday night, CJ, Wazzerella, and I ventured out to The Elephant Room on Congress for Latin Jazz. As you likely know, Austin touts itself as the “Live Music Capital of the World”. On any given night, you can hear live music for cheap all over town.

That being said, most of the music scene here is classic rock and indie. Some country. Some Electronica. But, Blues, Jazz, Latin Jazz, World Music, Hip Hop, Rap, and pretty much anything else is just not as big here. I love classic rock and indie, but I crave variety... and a lot of times this town just doesn't seem to cut it.

Luckily, I have recently discovered that there is some range here, you just have to look for it.*

The Elephant Room is a place that I’ve been to before, but the last time the music wasn’t that impressive and so I didn’t feel inclined to blog about it. This club is intensely well suited for Jazz or the Blues, and they play Jazz pretty much every night. No cover on weeknights, and only about $5 on the weekends. It’s an unassuming place located in a basement, complete with exposed beams and foundations. It is suitably dim with sweet, young things as waitresses, a full bar, and absolutely no food. It’s a straight up, no frills jazz bar and absolutely my kind of place.

The Pete Rodriguez Latin Project was playing that night and they absolutely did not disappoint. Pete is intense, attractive, and passionate. Looking around the room, most of the women in the audience were transfixed under his spell. Which, he was absolutely aware of. He was workin’ it.

CJ, Waz, and I developed crushes on different members of the band. I know Waz was all about Pete, but CJ was eyeing the geeky bassist, and I was falling for the guy on the congas.

The names of the members of his group are not listed on his site… and I’m trying to track them down. I would love to see the lead vocalist again. He had such a soulful, amazing voice. There were three guys on drums (one on a steel drum, of course), one guy on bass, and then the lead vocalist/guitarist. Pete would chime in on vocals, play the trumpet, maracas, güiro… he was in constant motion.

The sound was powerfully rhythmic and it took a lot of restraint not to get up and dance… but tragically, The Elephant Room is not built for dancing. There were a two barflies dancing seductively together (obviously more for the benefit of any onlookers than for their own enjoyment). Other than that, people were just nodding along to the music in their seats… as there is hardly room for people to walk through the dark aisles there... let alone samba.
That music was absolutely made for dancing… so I would love to see them again at maybe Cedar Street Courtyard.

Despite that, with the good music, fun company, and eye candy… it was a great girls' night out. They played from 9:30pm-1:30am. And as Pete mentioned at one point to the crowd, “Now, I know some of you aren’t used to paying covers, but $5? I was just in NY and I paid $50 to see a show just like this.”
He's right, I’m getting really spoiled.

*I’m still looking for good hip hop, though. I heard one great Cuban Hip Hop group and will be writing up the review in an upcoming entry… but yeah, Must. Have. More.

2007-01-17T08:37:00.000-08:00

Finding Happiness at The Salt Lick

18001 FM 1826
Driftwood, Texas 78619

When I first visited Austin, I was told that there were three BBQ places that I must eat at before I really would know Austin. They are each very different from each other in their style, specialties, and sauce.
As someone who was raised vegetarian, I never had ribs before I came to Austin.

Never.

Which means that I'm very spoiled in that I have never had ribs that don't just fall off the bone in a tender, juicy taste of heaven sort of way.

So, perhaps I'm not the best judge of BBQ in Austin. That being said, I'm totally ok with putting the BBQ Triumvirate to test.

Twist my arm, yo.

The Big 3 are County Line, Rudy's, and The Salt Lick.

Of course, if you think I'm going to review them all within the same week or entry, u's a crazy foo'. It's going to take me at least a week to recover from the mo'betta meaty meat happiness that was Salt Lick.

Boytoy and I were having one of those "what do you want to do?"
"I dunno, what do you want to do" kind of aimless conversations on the rainy Saturday that followed the Pink Floyd show.

Suddenly, it hit me.

We needed to go to The Salt Lick.

He looked at me like I was a few kinds of crazy. He was skeptical because it was usually a once a year-type deal to go there. And due to the distance, generally, it was the type of thing that you planned well in advance with a group of friends. You don't just wake up and say, "let's just do it!"

Which is precisely why I wanted to do it.

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, "Salt Lick, really!?!"
"Hells yeah! Let's do it!"
He laughed and smiled at me. I could tell that the power of suggestion was working against his logic. He was still fighting the good fight, though.
"It's kind of far. And you have to take country roads. They might be flooded."

Damn. He was being rational.

"Yeah, you're right. They might be..." I conceded to his relief.

But, then I gave him my best, c'mon and give me what I want look and said, "But you know, we won't know for sure if we don't give it a shot..."

"Truuue..." he agreed slowly.

"Annnd... we'll have less time to wait for our food if other people are deterred by the yechy rain...."

Oooh... I could see my persuasive powers melting his rational thinking.

"I reallyreally want to try it... I hear the food is ammmmmmmmmaziinng..."

He smiled. "yeah... it's pretty amazing all right. If you get family style, you get everything... ribs, sausage, brisket... a plate that doesn't run out and their amazing sauce. You'd totally love their sauce because it's sweet and tangy, not spicy..."

So, of course, we went on what felt like a rebellious adventure down to a town called Driftwood.

How cool is that? I can drive in just minutes to a town called Driftwood.

Shit. I'm really in Texas, aren't I?

It was a beautiful drive with hills and trees and the rain was really not that bad. At some point, I realized that this was the farthest outside of Austin that I had ventured yet.

I was happy to discover that I didn't turn to stone, dust, or republican. *phew*.

We pulled into the huge unpaved lot. It all looked so Texas.. and actually, their tagline is, "The Last Bit of Texas Left in Austin". The place was enormous. Boytoy explained to me that when the weather is good, there is a ton of outdoor seating, which is perfect for big parties. I started to mentally plan my birthday party. And yes, this is before I tasted the food.

We walked into the warm, cozy restaurant and I was immediately hit with the amazing aroma of perfect food. A giant smoker with hundreds of sausages was just over to my right. Almost immediately, we were sat at one of their many picnic-style tables.

I let Boytoy do the ordering and he got us family style for two. Let me share with you what the menu says about this item, "heaping helpings of beef, sausage, and pork ribs, served with potato salad, cole slaw, beans, bread, pickles, and onions."

If this were a few months ago, I don't think I could have handled the "heaping helpings" at Salt Lick. I probably would have insulted them with my inability to make a reasonable dent on my serving. This has happened frequently since my arrival here in Austin.
That said, I still think I disappointed Boytoy with my inability to pack away mass quanties of food.

He looked so happy and excited. He explained what each dish was and why he liked it so as he dished some out on his plate. I mimicked his moves, figuring he knew what he was doing. Despite his best attempts to look like a man with a plan, he looked more like a kid on his birthday.

Every bite lived up to the hype. The sauce was absolutely deserving of its accolades. But what was most impressive to me is that it's not just the sauce that rocks. Which, at a bbq place, kind of floored me.

Take for example the potato salad. Admittedly, as an Irish lass, I like potatoes. Baked, scalloped, fried, boiled... love 'em any which way. But, these were unlike any potatoes I have ever had. They were sooo freakin good! Between the two of us, we decided that they must've boiled them and then marinated them with vinegar... then lightly mashed them with fresh garlic and onion... and then sprinkled them with crack.

Yeah. That good.

At some point, I reached for a piece of the bread, wanting to try at least a bite of everything. Boytoy shot me a curious look.
"What?"
"I don't think I've ever eaten the bread here... or seen anyone do it..." he said matter-of-factly.
"Really? Why not? Is it a decoration? Is it a garnish? Am I breaking the BBQ code?"
"Well... it's just that there is so much else... and that's kind of just there. Like maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaybe you can use it to mop up the sauce. But you can eat it if you want to... it's just not normally done."
Of course, I ate it. Of course, it was awesome.

I suprised myself by eating a little bit of everything and enjoying it all immensely. At some point, I was full. Looking at Boytoy, he was done, too. But, he eyed the last pork rib on the plate.
"Don't you want that?" he asked me, "It's soooo goooood."
"I know, it's awesome, but seriously. I'm so done... why don't you go for it?"
"Well, if you are totally sure..."
"It's all you, stud. Go for it."
And he did. He looked like he was barely going to make it through. He stopped just short and said, "This is my last one."
His cheeks were getting a little red, and his watering eyes confirmed his sentiment.
Then the waiter came by just as Boytoy ended the battle with the last rib- and won.
"Can I get y'all anything else?"

I smiled and started to shake my head no, and opened my mouth to utter my normal, "No, thank you, everything was wonderful. If we could just have the check" response to that question... but Boytoy stopped me and said, "Sure! Can I get a few more of these ribs?"
"Of course," said the waiter and whisked off to comply.

Boytoy looked at me like a guilty schoolboy.

"Dude! You just said that was the last!"

He smiled, "It's soooo goood, though."

Awww. His adorable inability to use logic when faced at the prospect of more yumtastic meaty goodness overrode my own practical thoughts of how they explicitly say on the menu that Salt Lick has a "no take home" policy.

You eat what you ask for.

Somehow, Boytoy fought his way through two more pork ribs and one beef rib. And either out of pity or a flexible take home policy, they let us take home the rest.

I pictured him in a happy food coma on the way home... and I was totally right. He curled up in the passenger seat in absolute bliss.

It's going to be really tough to top Salt Lick.

2007-01-17T07:30:00.000-08:00

Spectactular Spectacular at Pink Floyd Laser Spectacular

Austin Music Hall
208 Nueces

On Friday, as a birthday gift to Boytoy, I took him to the Pink Floyd Laser Spectacular at Austin Music Hall. I knew he was a fan and I have always just adored Roger Waters' lyrics. That being said, I was a bit skeptical about the show. I had never been to a laser show and wasn't sure that it would work on someone who wasn't on some sorta somethin' somethin'. Oh, and anytime spectacular is in the title, you have to wonder if they are compensating.

Driving to the show, I confessed my misgivings. He shrugged and told me anytime Pink Floyd is played loud is a good time, so he's sure it'll be awesome. We arrived and found what I felt was rockstar parking for $5 at a garage next door. Boytoy wasn't as impressed, being that he was disappointed that we didn't get a free metered spot.

That kid has no idea just how good he has it.

We arrived at the packed show and paid for the 3-D and prism glasses, 2 bucks a pop. I was a bit annoyed at first, having already paid a fairly steep price for a show that I couldn't find any recent reviews for... and the cardboard, ceral box prize-style glasses hardly seemed worth a dime. But, I played like I was at Disneyland and forked it over.

We were sad to discover that there wasn't any food or snacks of any kind for sale, since we had both skipped dinner to arrive on time. So it was beer for dinner.
No complaints there, I suppose.

It was open seating, general admission and we were able to score some seats with the perfect view.

The show started slowly, and seemed a bit hokey at first. There were laser images against three screens, each with projections of footage on them.
Before I knew it, though, I was reeled into some amazing, beautiful visuals that accompanied some of the most powerful music ever written. Sure I knew Pink Floyd before, but there was something about the show that really made you experience it.

I was shocked to discover that there were moments of the show that brought tears to my eyes. I can't quite explain it. Just the power of new footage of soldiers juxtaposed with the old, then blended together to the words of Bring the Boys Home. The tragedy of the continued relevance of The Wall, but the genius behind it that crosses generations so flawlessly.
I was transfixed by the beauty of the lasers against the visceral scenes from their videos. I felt empowered and compelled to act by songs that I have heard thousands of times before.

Boytoy confessed to nearly tearing up as well. Memories of good times with old friends... back before life got in the way of happiness. Blaring Pink Floyd and drinking beers til the cops shut them down.

We were both completely transfixed by "The Great Gig in the Sky". The visuals were just hauntingly beautiful, just like the vocals by Clare Torry.

We didn't want the show to end. Boytoy was sad that they didn't play more of Wish You Were Here. They only played "Have a Cigar" and "Welcome to the Machine".

I was replaying "Us and Them" again and again in my head. Wishing that I had some Pink Floyd at home (*ahem* hint, hint).

We walked out holdings hands and completely pumped up with energy and inspiration. When we got to my car, though, we were greeted by a line of traffic winding through the garage, creeping slowly towards the exit.

It was so very, very LA.

It looked just like the beginning of my daily commute from Santa Monica, creeping out of a garage. I was very abruptly brought down from my high.

Boytoy opened the back of my Scion and took a seat. I climbed in next to him, my feet dangling out of the back of my toaster oven on wheels.

"This is how we do it in Texas. We Tailgate."

He put his arm around me and I leaned in close and thought happy thoughts of good music, good times, and good company.

2007-01-10T15:06:00.000-08:00

Skease-tastic Fun at Boomerz Nite Club

6148 W Highway 290

It was late night Friday and Boytoy and I were watching bad tv and drinking Dos Equis with limes. Despite the fact that I have a few hundred channels too many, there wasn’t a damn thing on.
Boytoy gave me a nudge, “Let’s go out!”
I looked at the clock and thought about how late it was and how comfy my sweats were.
“Now?”
“Yeah, let’s go. C’mon… it’ll be fun. Not downtown, I kind of need a break from downtown. But we could go somewhere around here. Some place with darts…” He was up on his feet now and ready to go. I was thinking about just how comfy my couch was.
“Darts, huh?”
“Well, we don’t have to play darts, but the kind of place that has darts. Around here…”
“Around here?” I thought he was crazy. I live in suburbia. I had never once seen a bar.
“Yeah, there has to be bars around here… what about Oak Hill?”
“I have no idea.... there's an Applebees..." I was not being helpful, this I know, but honestly, I live by Walmart and Target and Pier One. Nary a bar in sight.

Boytoy looked let down, as if he was about to come back to the comfy haven that is my couch. Then, suddenly, his eyes lit up again.

Damn. He has an idea.

“Wait, I know, there is this bar I’ve been wanting to check out. It might be kind of sketchy, though.”

“Sketchy as in Dive-y?”

“Yeah… it’s definitely a dive”

That’s all I needed to hear. Suddenly my interest was piqued. I haven't been to a dive bar in Texas and this could be fun. What the hell? Why not?

I changed into jeans and a cuter top and wore my vintage cowboy boots. He drove since my tolerance is pretty much nil nowadays.

We passed the liquor store that I know so well and then he pulled into a dimly lit parking lot. A neon sign read “OMERZ”.
“Omerz?”
He laughed. “Nah… it’s Boomerz, but the B and the O are out”. I looked at the neon again. He was right. Boomerz Nite Club.

Oh, this is definitely a dive.

“Uh, is this a b-y-o shotgun kind of place?” I asked him looking at the sketchy exterior of the bar.

“Actually, I know this place because I go shooting with my friends right next door sometimes.”

“Seriously?” I asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. Seriously, it’s right over there.”

I shoot him a look.

“What, you don’t want to go in now?” He said teasingly, “C’mon, one drink..”

I took a sec and then I teased back,“It probably doesn’t look this skeasy during the day.”

My curiosity, per usual, beat out my trepidation and we eventually approached the door and walked in. As soon as we entered, we realized that the tough exterior is mostly just a front. Sure there were a handful of what look liked characters from a reality show on white trash bars. But, for the most part, all of the patrons were nice, chill locals who probably lived next door to me.

There was no cover, plenty of pool tables, a fun band playing good classic rock, and a friendly bartender who kept up with his busy bar. I was very impressed and felt immediately at home. I even made conversation with the bouncer, who was hilarious, fun, and full of creative energy.

Then, Boytoy and I got a couple of beers and I kicked his ass at Air Hockey. Then, he completely wiped the floor with me over a game of pool. He was totally cheating, though. I mean, first off he was sober, and second off… he actually knows what he is doing. Pffft.
Despite the fact that he’s obviously a hustler, we had an absolute blast.
It was the perfect chill night. Low maintenance, skease-tastic fun at Omerz.

Check it out.

2007-01-10T09:30:00.000-08:00

L.A. (back)Story

Those of you who know me, know that I love a good dive bar. For those of you who don’t know me (or don’t know me well), here’s a little backstory. This will make my next entry, a review of Boomerz Nite Club, easier to understand.

Living in Los Angeles, Tattle Tale (tagline: a disgusting place to meet)*, The Daily Pint (read those reviews on Yelp!), Brennans (weekly Turtle Races. Yes, really!), and a host of other local bars were my antidote to my distain for the overhyped, overpriced scene. Dive bars are my bar of choice, which I have had to explain to many an Austinite since my move. The majority of bars here are actually what Angelenos would consider dive-y. Places you can wear jeans and a t-shirt to, don’t have to pay a cover, can easily get to know the bartender(s), and drink cheap beer at cheap prices. Dive bars frequently (but not as a rule) involve darts or pool. To understand my affection for dive bars, one has to understand my aversion to the scene.

One summer in Los Angeles, years ago, I did the Sunset Strip thing frequently and was constantly at “those” parties and going into secret bars and after parties without names or signs to tell you where they were. I was stage managing drag queen shows and was networking at “in” private parties and rubbing elbows with all sorts of people who thought they were fascinating. The hope was that I would meet people who were working in The Industry. The people I was working for actually would say things like, “We’re doing a party in Beverly Hills and we need you to be our T&A girl.” I was 20, the drinks were free, and they were gay… so I figured no harm, no foul and went with it. I ate at places like Spago, drank at Bar Marmont or The Standard, held meetings at Hustler (not linking to that since I'm at work!) and partied at houses with beautiful views of the city below. All for free.

My turning point came at this party on Rodeo Dr. I was supposed to stand there, look pleasant, and network. Beforehand, at a beautiful house up in the Hollywood Hills, they dressed me in ridiculously high heels, a frighteningly short skirt, and an obnoxiously skimpy top. If you know me, I don’t play dress up. At the time I had a slammin’ body and the gay bois forced me to be their dress up doll. Apparently, I was Slutty Barbie, Malibu Barbie's ill-fated cousin. I felt like Ally Sheedy in The Breakfast Club. And looked just as ridiculous, I’m sure.

The venue (which I honestly can’t remember the name of) was a restaurant/bar that had a southwestern theme. Being that this was ’99, it was some kind of dot com schmoozefest with lots of men in suits that they couldn’t have afforded a few weeks prior… and in some cases, a few weeks later. It was my job to flank my boss whenever possible and look as if everything that fell off my boss’ lips was gold. At some point, my boss approached a man who was not much taller than my very petite height. My guess is that he was 5’3”. He was Italian and had his thick, full hair (rug? Plugs?) over-styled. He himself was flanked by two women dressed in next to nothing. They were gazelle-like, about a foot taller than me, and just insanely beautiful. The kind of beautiful that human beings have no business being. They posed expertly next to Mr. Tiny, as if he was Hugh Hefner. At some point, one of the gazelles made eye contact with me. We had a non-verbal discussion with our eyes that said something to the affect of, “Why God, Why?” and “Can you believe we are doing this?”
Looking around the room, I couldn’t imagine why. Old, fat men in suits, many of whom were behind various infamous porn start ups, were drinking too much and smoking fat cigars. Their faces were ruddy, their laughs obnoxious. The bois had found the other bois there. They flirted shamelessly and openly with the waitstaff. The music was terrible, I was feeling trapped in a sea of obnoxiousness.
The cocktails were $14 each, which luckily, my boss was paying for. The best part was, every time I went to get a drink, I got a minute to myself and felt much less ogled. So, I decided to drink up quickly and continuously.
At some point, I went up to the bar and requested a whiskey sour with Jameson to maintain my perfect state of buzzed bliss and a dry martini for my boss. The bartender took forever with my drink since he was really busy checking out a boy band wannabe at the other end of the bar. Finally, I got my drink and I took a sip. It was an amaretto sour. Ugh. I was so irritated. First off, when an Irish girl wants whiskey, you have to give her whiskey. Sure, amaretto is yummy in the right time and the right place. But right then, the last thing I wanted was something syrupy sweet. I angrily put my drink down and said, “Christ!” outloud. At this point, the bartender had now joined the boy band wannabe at the other end of the bar. The man in suit at the bar next to me looked over at me curiously.
“This totally sucks!”
He smiled and laughed, “That bad, huh?”
I had pretty much lost it. I could tell he was gay and he obviously had a good sense of humor, so I just went with it. “It’s bad enough that I have to deal with this,” I waved my arm, gesturing towards the meat market of the crowd, “But then not getting the drink I want, too? A girl can only take so much.”
He laughed and said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad.”
We joked around for a few minutes at how lame the party was and pointed out various people at the party and made fun of them for a few minutes. It was cruel and exactly what I needed.
At some point, I realized that I had to get back to my boss, “Well, m’dear it was lovely bitching with you, but I really must get back.”
I left his side and was immediately surrounded by my bois. My boss was red-faced, her eyes blazing. She got within inches of my face. The bois were practically twittering with excitement.
What was going on?
“Here, I have your martini, dry", I said, slowly, wondering what the deal was.
“Forget the drink!” she hissed, “Ohhhh my godddd… Please tell me you got his card!!!”
“Who’s card?”She went from red to purple. It looked as if she was going to explode right out of her ill-fitting suit. “Don’t play smart with me!”
(She’s serious. What the fuck?)
My look must’ve immediately communicated that I honestly didn’t know what she was talking about. She grabbed me by the shoulders and literally turned me around.
The man that I had just been talking to was now completely surrounded by a mass of people clamoring for his attention.
“Don’t you know who that is?” she hissed in my ear.
Suddenly, I felt my own face redden. This was some kind of a test and no, I didn’t know who the guy was who laughed at my sarcasm. No, I didn’t get his card. No, I didn’t even get his name.
Now I really felt trapped. Suddenly, the ridiculously high heels were painful. I was drunk, tired, and sick of being around fake people drinking the drink of the week and laughing at their lame ass jokes.
I twisted around, despite the fact that her acrylic claws were digging into my shoulders.
“Yeah I know who that is.”
She looked at me curiously.
“He’s someone else that thinks this party sucks and doesn’t want to be here.”
And I walked away and into the bathroom.
Once there, sitting on a vanity bench next to a girl who was doing a line of coke, I thought about my summer and how much I hated Hollywood. I would never be able to be comfortable no matter what I was wearing at these clubs. I would never have enough money, enough friends on the inside, enough clout. And suddenly, I didn’t care. I wanted to get as far away from the scene as possible. I sat there on the satin covered bench and realized that there wasn’t any part of me in what I was doing. Rubbing elbows with the occasional celebrity (or more likely less famous brother of a celebrity) was not worth hour after hour of schmoozing with disgustingly fake people. It was totally my Teen Movie moment… just without Jake Ryan or Duckie, which is a huge disappointment, I know.
From then on, I was all about going to bars where I could get away with wearing a tee shirt and jeans without getting stares. Places where I could get a beer for a couple of bucks from a bartender that I was on a first name basis with. Places where no one cares what you drive or who you know.

Which is why Austin is so totally my speed.

*I still have lots o' free drink tokens for Tattle Tale if anyone is interested. They cleaned up the bar a lot and don't allow smoking inside any more, but a free drink is still a free drink. Lemme know, yo.

2007-01-05T09:08:00.000-08:00

Cedar Fever New Years at Peacock Lounge

515 Perdernales St.

Ok, so I’m not sure that I have cedar fever. Sure the “Cedar Count” on the news has been really high and everyone’s talking about it. And I have all of the symptoms. But… then again, Rock Climber Sista picked up a cold from a Mormon in Mexico and then stayed with me for a few days. Then Ma and Pa came and stayed with me for just shy of a week and were both hacking up their lungs the entire time from a big, bad, mean germ from my tiny, beautiful niece. So, It’s either cedar fever or I’m fighting off the various germs in the cozy Petri dish that is my apartment.
I have never had allergies before, so I didn’t think it was notorious Cedar Fever, but everytime I tell someone that, they say, “Yeah, yeah… you never had allergies before…it’s the same with everyone who moves here”
I think on the Austin brochures, they should forget the whole “Live Music Capital of the World” slogan and trade it in for something like, “Cedar Fever Capital of the World: Our Evergreens Will Make You Want to Die Once a Year”. I like honesty. Or to make it short, but sweet, “Austin: Kill ‘Em with Kindness, or Pollen.”
Austin is blanketed with Cedar Trees which are also called Junipers. They are responsible for keeping the Greenbelt green year round, which means that Austin is more green than I ever imagined Texas could be. But, Cedar Trees also release pollen in a cloud. A lot of people come down with Cedar Fever when the Cedar Count is at it’s highest.
Regardless, on NYE this year, I was totally congested, tired, itchy eyes… feeling gnarly. Which is always the best way to ring in the New Year, doncha know.
I went with some friends of mine, one of whom used to live down the street from me in LA, literally a few doors down, but I didn’t meet until I moved to Austin. We all met up at Peacock Lounge which is on the East Siiiide.
I'd love to say that that's where the story is. At the Peacock Lounge. That we went to this fabulous NYE Party (which it was) and I met the most fascinating people and have the best story... but alas.
I was the dd for Krazy K, my friend that moved to Austin from Boston around the same time that I did. I picked her up and, running late per usual, had no idea where we were going.
I had glanced at the map on the website and saw that it was just east of the 35 on 6th street. But, as I discovered, the map is not meant to be believed or used as an actual map. “Just East” or about a block over, as it appears on the map is actually over a mile East. A skeasy, sketchy mile East that is not pleasant to walk. My friend and I parked over on 8th and San Jacinto (Pronounced San Jah-seen-to for those not used to the fact that people in Texas don’t believe in speaking Mex-ee-can). It was the cheapest parking we found near 6th and 35. Then, Krazy K called her boyfriend who is a pedicab driver. I highly recommend dating a pedicab driver… or sleeping with one. If both seem too complicated… find a friend who is doing so. It’s a huge help in a pinch.
He pedaled us over to 6th and 35 and we walked on our merry way.
Merry until we realized that we had walked 9 blocks into unlit no man’s land. Of course, no man’s land is a stretch. There was the trailer trash couple that were giving the closest thing I’ve seen in a long time to a live sex show on the street. Then there were the crack ho’s on the corner. The empty lots with gleaming syringes.
It actually made me homesick for LA.
3 blocks later, my feet were killing me in my high heel boots. We had no idea how much further it was. But it was freakin cold, uber-sketchy, and it didn’t look like there was an edge to the ghetto-sphere.
At some point, we saw a cab and flagged him down. We told him where we were going and he took us there.
We pulled up to an adorable little club with bars on the window (aww… SO LA!).
In the 20 minutes that I was there in the club chock full of fascinating people dancing to a great dj, I went from feeling slightly under the weather to “Oh my god I want to pass out” sick.
10…9…8…7...6… 5…4….3…2…1…
Happy New Year!

And we got up and left- taking a cab back to the car.

Hey... the year can only get better from here.

Right?

2007-01-04T14:27:00.000-08:00

What's My Name?

This formidable ball of fur needs a name. He came with the name Beethoven, which I like, but I want to put it to a vote to see if there might be a better name out there for him. He looks very tough, like an old general who has been through a few wars and has the battle scars to prove it. But, despite his red badge of courage, he really is just a big softy, as evidenced in below picture. Please vote on a name. If you don't see one you like, please feel free to indulge the rest of us by posting a comment with your suggestion.

Note: You can vote more than once - But you have to wait a day. Sorry, rules of Pollhost.com :)

2007-01-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

Holidays at Austin Chick’s Apartment, Part Two: The Great American Couch Exchange

There is no better way to end off a year by ridding yourself of the old and bringing in the new. Especially if you are ridding yourself or your apartment of old baggage. Especially old baggage from ex-boyfriends of Christmas past.

Starting fresh in Austin, I have a lot of new things. New apartment, new car, new view. The one thing that carried over with me in the big move that could be considered aforementioned old baggage was a beautiful black leather couch. The couch is comfortable, classy, sleek, and modern. Really soft leather, down-filled cushions.

I bought the couch just after Christmas the year before last with an ex that I lived with. We picked out the couch together... and because I got my choice in terms of sleeper or non (non! no room for future mother-in-law, aka bitchface at the inn), I conceded and allowed him to pick out the material.

So leather it was.

I must confess, I loved the design of the couch. The square arms, the soft cushions. It really is a sexy couch.

But, as our relationship quickly soured, so did my affection for the couch. I didn't sell it, though. I paid off the couch on my own after I kicked my ex out.

I toyed with the idea of selling it again and again... but never had enough motivation. I always figured that I wouldn't get enough for it to make it worth it - or to afford me to buy a couch that I would need. So I tried to put aside its past and pretend that it had no other memories for me.

And then I moved to Austin.

And that couch just sat in the corner, totally ruining the flow of my place... just not suiting me or my new digs.

And then I met Coker.

Coker is one of those rare, amazing people that you meet once in a lifetime. Funny, smart, sweet, and empathetic. An Artist and an Athlete. Makes sweet ass websites for kick ass artists for trade. Tres Austin and Tres bien. We found that we had a lot in common... including the fact that we each had a couch to get rid of and were in need of a replacement couch.

We both knew that we wouldn't find buyers willing to pay what the couches were worth on craigslist... and then if you do find a buyer, then you have to find a good deal yourself and pay for delivery.

The solution?

The Great American Couch Exchange!

With delivery by Coker's dad.

The motivation?

I realized that the end of the year was a great time to start fresh... and plus, my parents were visiting for Christmas and they are not by any means fans of a big ole leather couch. They are vegetarian - and not because of how cute cows are, but for economic/16 lbs of grains to get 1 lb of meat reasons circa 1970. But, that being said, my mom hates the feel of leather couches and avoids them at all costs.

So, I went over and checked out Coker's exchange couch. It was dark green, soft fabric and was super-deep. Great for curling up in a hundred different ways.

Game on!

Coker's dad loaded up the Green Couch of Happiness and drove down to my 'hood in SW Austin. They met me there which is great, because I got to meet Coker's dad.

Coker's dad is a real live rancher. And he totally looks the part. Cowboy boots, hat, huge belt buckle, big mustache... jeans and a denim shirt. Shoot! He looked sooo cool!

Of course Coker didn't warn me of this... so I was totally suprised. Coker usually is usually either wearing his motorcycle jacket when I see him, or some super-official looking athletic wear from when he competed in triathalons.

Coker and Coker Sr. then unloaded my new couch and took away the old.

Coker now has a sweet ass leather couch... that I honestly wasn't man enough to possess. He and his english bulldog adore the new couch and are making it their own.

The Green Couch of Happiness hosted my parents and is totally at home in my new apartment.

It was the most liberating, wonderful thing I've done in awhile.

2007-01-04T07:58:00.000-08:00

Holidays at Austin Chick’s Apartment, Part One: Mexican Odyssey

My apologies, I have been a bad blogger of late. My only excuse is that I was busy with the holidays. And being busy with the holidays means that I've been busy entertaining visiting family, but haven't done a helluva a lot that's interesting.
But, my family has... so... I'll fill you in.

My little sister came through town on her way to a rock climbing adventure in El Potrero Chico which is near Monterrey in Mexico, driven by two Mormon boys, one of whom had to argue his way over the border since he had no passport, birth certificate, and his voter registration was expired. Various offices were called and bribes were made (well, ok, no bribes, but had they not been Mormon, there would have been bribes). So the two hours that I spent with my sister that day were spent online and on the phone trying to figure out if the trip was still possible. I wanted to convince my sister to forego the Mexico thing and just chill with me in Austin. There are outdoorsy things here. Lots. No, I haven’t done any of them yet. But yes, I know they exist.

But, Rock Climber Sista was determined to have her Mexican adventure. Plus, her boyfriend was already in Mexico waiting for her… they live together in Seattle but were traveling separately illogically. Yes, as big sister, I’m allowed to deem plans illogical.
Eventually, they were told that they would be ok to get across. Once they drove down to the border, they had to argue and cajole their way once again. Who knew that getting into Mexico was so tough? Apparently, on the way back, the border patrol didn’t even blink at them.

My sister, on the other hand, was raked over the coals on the way back over the border into the US of A. You see, on the way back she took a Mexican bus. Which means that she was the only white girl on a bus chock full of Mexicans. They were convinced that her climbing pack was full of the Mari-jah-wanna and asked her about a million and one questions. Of course, with border officers, just like when dealing with customs, it’s best to just keep things as simple as possible. But, no one in my family is really capable of doing that (we love a good story and are too damn honest for our own good).

So, from what I could gather, the conversation went like this:

Border Patrol Officer: Where are you from?
Rock Climber Sista: Seattle.
BPO: Can I see your passport and ticket please?
RCS hands them over.
BPO: This says Ohio? I thought you said you were from Seattle?
RCS: Yeah, but I moved to Seattle. I have a Seattle Drivers License.
BPO: Uh-huh (big pause). So, why is your bus ticket from Mexico one way?
RCS: I got a ride with some friends on the way down.
BPO: From Seattle?
RCS: From Austin.
BPO (looks ticked off): Austin.
RCS: My sister lives there and I figured it was on the way and these friends of mine picked me up and drove me down there.
BPO: Friends of yours? Where do they live?
RCS: Texas. Dallas and College… uh…
BPO: College Station? How do you know these friends of yours?
RCS: Well, they are friends of my boyfriends. He met them rock climbing. He’s down there with them right now.
BPO: Down where?
RCS: They are still climbing. They’ll be back in a few days.
BPO: So you are coming back early, on your own, without your boyfriend, on a bus full of people speaking a language you don’t understand– when you could get a ride back with your friends and your boyfriend in a car in a few days?
RCS: Yes.
...Somehow they let her through. Then everyone got back on the bus once they went through the border check.

About 2 hours later or so, I got a call.

Rock Climber Sista: Hey, it’s me.
Austin Chick: Hey babe!! Where are you? Are you ready for me to pick you up?
RCS: No… I’m on the bus still.
AC: Oh, where are you?
RCS: On the border. The bus hasn’t moved in 2 hours and I don’t know what’s going on.
AC: What!?! What side of the border are you on? Are they not letting you over?
RCS: No, they let me over. Or at least I thought they did. But I’ve just been sitting here on the bus. What if I’m on the wrong bus? How far are you from the border?
AC: This is lame, but I actually have no idea how far I am from the border… Lemme check. Do you know what city you are in?
RCS: Seriously?
AC: ok, ok… any ideas???
RCS: I saw a sign for Laredo, and it’s on my itinerary.
AC: Ok, cool. (pause for google mapping it) Ok, babe, I found it. It’s 3 hours from me. And it’s right on the 35 which runs right through Austin. Do you think you need to switch buses? Can you rent a car? Do I need to pick you up? (that last thing I added reluctantly. Very reluctantly).
RCS: I don’t know what to do.
AC: Can you ask anyone what’s going on?
RCS: No one speaks English.
AC: No one? Not even the driver?
RCS: No.
AC: Did you try?
RCS (impatient): Of course I tried!
AC: Ok, Ok. And you haven’t moved?
RCS: Not for hours. This totally sucks.
AC: Totally. (beat) Does your ticket say Austin?
RCS (irritated): Yes.
AC: Ok. Hmm. Well, does it have more than one number on it? Like bus lines?
RCS: No…
AC: Ok. Well, maybe there is something wrong with the bus. Did they announce anything? What do the other passengers look like?
RCS (laughs): Uh, they look Mexican.
AC (trying not to laugh): C'mon!
RCS: Ok, ok... People are just chillin. Nothing’s going on. No announcements, nothing.
AC: Maybe it’s a break? I mean, if something was wrong with the bus, people would be upset, right?
RCS: Why wouldn’t the break be on my itinerary? And plus, according to my ticket, I’m supposed to be in Austin in an hour – and that’s so not going to happen.
AC: Damn. This sucks.
RCS: You’re telling me.
AC: Ok, go talk to the driver.
RCS: He won’t speak English.
AC: I know, but just say, Porque no vamos? Necesito va a Austin esta noche. (It’s the best I could do with having taken my last Spanish class 8 years ago… ).
RCS: I’m so not going to remember all that.
AC: Ok, then. Just say Porque no vamos. That should get your point across.
RCS: Fine. I'll talk to him, but I'm not going to say that.
AC: Fine. Just try something.

And try she did.

As it turns out, the bus was on a break. And then about 10 minutes later, it started up again on its way to Austin.

Late that night, I got a call from my sister letting me know that she was ready to be picked up. I drove far along Airport Blvd, way way way East in an area that feels a lot like Los Angeles, actually. East Los Angeles. Shade better than Watts, but not much.
I pulled up in my Scion to see a row of people on a bench, all looking exhausted from their journey. They looked at my car like it was the strangest thing they have ever seen. And yeah, driving a toaster oven on wheels I do get that a lot. But this was more like, "Are you lost?"

It was a row of all Mexicans and then my sister. She was wearing her golden brown and highlighted blonde ringlets in braided pigtails. She had a huge backpack like she was waiting for the eurorail and was wearing shorts. Her knees were all scratched up from climbing. She had a huge smile on her face and was just glowing.
She climbed into my car (and stunk to high heaven, I might add… but after not being able to use hot water for a week… I guess that’s what happens).
So the windows went down.
We went home, she showered… and I poured us some drinks that were stiff albeit girly.
We sat in front of the tree, all lit up, and listened to some of Barbara Streisand’s A Christmas Album*.
It was just before Christmas and we were both ready to celebrate.

*Yes, it sounds like an oxymoron, and yes it’s an album that even Liberace would deem a little too gay…but its RCS’ favorite. Here is just more proof that was genetically pre-determined that I would be a fag hag. Either that, or listening to my sister play that album over and over and over again year round growing up turned me into a gay man imprisoned in the body of a woman. As a child, I used to worry that poor Babs was going to go to hell because she was Jewish and singing about Jesus. I'm every therapists dream...

2006-12-20T10:10:00.000-08:00

Defining Boytoy at The Ginger Man, Cedar Street Courtyard, and… Oilcan Harry’s?!?

The Ginger Man
304 West 4th Street

Cedar Street Courtyard
208 W. Fourth Street

Oilcan Harry’s
211 West 4th Street

Since he first surreptitiously graced the entries of this blog, Boytoy has created quite a stir. I have had countless emails and phone calls asking for more details on this vague character. Even Boytoy himself wanted to know why he was so ambiguously discussed and asked what he needed to do to have a bigger part in, as he referred to it, my soap opera.

My gay friends back in LA for the most part had the same two questions:
1. Is he hot?
2. Is he your new gay boyfriend?

To my gay friends, I explained that although he is hot, he is neither gay nor my boyfriend. To Boytoy, I explained that since I don’t kiss and tell, we really would need to go out on the town sometime if he actually wanted to make a tangible appearance in the blog.

For whatever reason, he agreed.

Wearing my new vintage western boots that are tres cowboy and tres hot, I took a cab and met him at The Ginger Man downtown late last Thursday night. The Ginger Man is a great beer bar that is a cozy place to meet a friend for drinks. It reminds me of the dark pubs in Europe and the service was not bad at all. He had a Chimay White (bottled) and I had a Fat Tire (draught). As some of you may know, Chimay is one of my favorite Belgian beers and they do have Chimay Trippel on draught, which made my mouth water when I saw it on the great wall of beers. But, my tolerance isn’t what it used to be, and I wanted to keep my head at least for a little while.

We talked, flirted and had fun. The backstory on Boytoy is that he is a Longhorn and was born and raised in Austin. I met him through a friend of a friend of a friend of mine and we hit it off. More importantly, he is cute, witty, and good in bed.

We have met for drinks before and gone out to eat a few times, so this wasn’t the first time we went out. We have fairly good chemistry and have good banter, but neither of us is in this for an official relationship. He has his reasons and I have mine. And right now, it’s just a good deal for both of us.

It was a pretty slow night for the bar and eventually, being the smoke-when-you-drink-ers that we are, we decided to head out, get some cigs and wander to another venue.

We ended up at Cedar Street Courtyard where this fantastic band was performing. True to its name, Cedar Street Courtyard has a beautiful courtyard with a small space for dancing, lots of tables, and a great stage. The sound is perfect and I loved being under the stars. It was the perfect night.

Boytoy drank Seven&Sevens and I had a few amaretto sours. We smoked cigarettes, snuggled, and did some people watching. The band (which I believe was called Foundation, but have yet been able to track down) had 3-4 singers and was an old school R&B band. Many of the people there started to get up and dance. Some of them had some smooth moves and the music really made both of us want to move. Boytoy told me that he wanted to dance with me. I explained that unless I had a lot more alcohol, the only place I’d be dancing would be Oilcan Harry’s, the gay club directly across the street. He looked at me and said, “Well, then, you need more liquor!”
Just then, a white guy with his girlfriend headed past us towards the dance floor.
“Uh-oh, watch this guy… this isn’t going to be pretty,” I told Boytoy.
“Oh, you don’t know that…” He said tsking me for being so judgemental.
“No, I do. I can tell.” I tried to assure him.
“Oh, yeah? How much do you want to bet,” Boytoy said, teasingly.
“I know he can’t dance. I bet you Oilcan Harry’s” I said, confidently.
“Huh?”
“Oilcan Harry’s. If he can’t dance, we’re going to Oilcan Harry’s”
He thought it over for a bit. “I’d go there. With you. You made it sound fun. And I’ll have you there. Plus, I want to see you dance”
“You’re on”
So really, it didn’t matter if the tall, gangly white boy could dance or not. But still, we watched. He got up there and started convulsing to the music. Well, actually, not really to the music, though, I’m sure that he would argue differently. He kind of did a slow motion running man… kind of like if you were in step class and doing knee lifts very slowly. Only with convulsing. It was beautiful.
We both laughed like the assholes that we are. Then we sat and drank and closed out the bar.
We were the last to leave and were forcing pda’s on the poor clean up crew of Cedar Street…. Which I never do, but I was buzzed.

I was getting tired and ready to go home, but Boytoy stopped me. “Wait, let’s go to Oilcan”
“Seriously? You don’t have to…”
“Why not, I want to dance with you, it’s open late, and when else am I going to go there?”
Suddenly, I had a second wind.

We crossed the street and into OCH.
The dance floor was packed. Guys dancing with Guys. Girls dancing with Girls… and actually, more Girls dancing with Guys than anything else.
Wha!?!?
Other than some guy in and out of his tighty whitey’s on the bar, it actually didn’t even feel that gay.
Is the secret out?
Or has OCH always been only pseudo-gay?!?
I really couldn’t tell…

Anyway, the DJ was awesome, the strobe lights were going. There was an initial shock where he looked uncomfortable, but then once we started dancing together, he was fine. We had an unbelievable time.
Right before close, we finally headed out. Boytoy was psyched because he completely agreed with me, it was one of the best dance floors in Austin and loved that it was open late.

We got to his car and I saw a large case in the backseat.
“Oh, do you play the guitar?”
“Guitar?” He looked at me quizzically, “Why?”
“Really? You don’t? What’s that then?” I said pointing at the giant case.
“Oh, that’s my shotgun.” He shrugged.
“Wait… What!?! You have a shotgun in your backseat?!?”
“Yeah, I was going to go hunting, but I didn’t and I haven’t taken it out yet.” He said matter-of-factly.

Again, hot, yes. Gay, no.

2006-12-16T16:02:00.000-08:00

Antidote for Christmas at Santaland

Santaland Diaries
ZACH's Arena Stage
Zach Scott Theater Center
1510 Toomey Rd.

'Tis the season to overdose on all things Christmas. Non-stop seasonal saccharine has taken over every store, lobby, house and home. All of us that love to hate holiday cheer being shoved down our throats can join together and enjoy one holiday event together: David Sedaris' Santaland Diaries performed at Zach Scott.

There are those of us that love David Sedaris' sardonic edge. There are others of us that think he just isn't as funny as he thinks he is. Then there are those of us that aren't familiar with the man, but need an antidote for all things happy, tacky, and Christmas. Whether you love him or hate him, know him or don't know him from Santa... as long as you are tired of the sickness of the season and need a community that will accept your bahhumbugitry, you will find yourself at home at this play performed each year.

Why is this play such a killer antidote for too much Santa?

10.Because you can drink beer IN the theater.
9. Because it's another way to avoid the mall in those final shopping days before Christmas.
8. Because Martin Burke's improved antics with the audience ensure that it's never exactly the same show twice.
7. Because you have never “raised the roof” with so many white people.
6. Because you can't wait to see that emo girl on the other side of the theater in the round join in on the “Wave”.
5. Because there is nothing like a hot woman in a sexy backless dress belting out “Making Love Alone”.
4. Because there is nothing like watching the women in the over 60 club, in the front row, laugh 'til they cry listening to the filthy lyrics of “Making Love Alone”.
3. Because you'll find out why it isn't Christmas unless there is a prostitute coming to dinner.
2. Because it is impossible not to love Martin Burke as the sardonic Macy's Christmas Elf, Crumpet.
1. Because the only thing funnier than an adult in a velvet elf suit is one who is making fun of retarded children who have come to see Santa.

The play is running until January 7th and you betta git yo' ass there to see it. You won't regret it.

And you may even be lucky, like me, to go with a friend who is so inspired by the lyrics of the songs that they decide to burn you 9 cds of subversive Christmas music. That's right NINE. Not to brag (too late), but said cds are chock full of classics. Classics such as "Merry Muthafuckin' Xmas" by Easy-E, "Frosty the Pervert" by Bob Rivers, "Christmas Sucks" by Tom Waits and Peter Murphy, "XXXmas" by Tipsy, and "C-H-R-I-S-T-M-A-S" by Yobs.
If you are wondering what's so subversive about that last one, you might just want to take a listen or look up the lyrics. As a warning, the song is decidedly NOT worksafe. View or listen at your own risk.
I'd be happy to send you the full list of songs if you need something to counteract the season and you aren't willing to fly to Austin to see Santaland Diaries.

That being said, if you are in Austin and you don't see Santaland Diaries, you are putting yourself at serious risk for a Christmas overdose this week.

go. see. it.

NOW!

2006-12-13T14:06:00.000-08:00

Joy at a Local Holiday Party

Circle C

I haven’t been to many parties for locals since I’ve been to Austin. There was the one thrown by two identical twin brothers, one of whom was in AA, at their house off SoCo. That party was segregated by the AA friends of one brother and the heavy drinker friends of the other brother. It was a truly fascinating mix. Another party was a Halloween party at a friend’s which involved thowing pumpkins into a bonfire.

The local holiday party I attended on Saturday was, officially, my third party in Austin.
CJ begged me to go. It was at her coworkers’, who she liked, but she didn’t want to go alone. Which meant that I needed to go, too. Just so I wouldn’t be the only one there that didn’t know anyone, I invited our mutual friend Wazzerella.
The three of us went out to the party, not sure what to expect.
First off, the house is a beautiful place over in Circle C that is really well decorated. The Christmas decorations were a bit strong and overwhelming and I felt a strong Martha is my homegirl vibe, but other than that… it was cool.

We started nibbling on the food and realized that we should be mingling. I overheard a woman with a mullet talking and gesturing fairly loudly, so I figured she was the alpha of the group. Mullet or not, she was liked. I could tell.
I listened for a minute, and then surmised that she had made one of the dishes.

Bingo.
Conversation opener.

“Oh, did you say that you made the queso? It’s delicious!” I said, sucking up to The Mulleted One.
She swung around and put her hands on her hips and puffed up her chest like a rooster about to crow.
“Oh, yes, my queso is the best.” She said in a condescending tone.

I realized that I hate her already. But, I was there to mingle, so mingle I did.

“Well, it really is great. You know, I had never had queso before I came to Texas.” I said, truthfully.

She sort of twittered back and forth, and put her hand on one of the reindeer that were dancing distastefully across her chest. Her feathered mullet with its big bangs ruffled a bit. I was amazed that it could move. I might as well have told her I am pregnant with my lesbian lover's child.

After her melodramatic reaction, she somehow managed to pull herself together. “Where could you possibly be from that you’ve never had queso?”

Now, here’s the thing. Queso in Texan doesn’t just mean cheese. Queso is a pretty uniquely Texan thing that people love to love here. The cheesy fondue-style dip is served everywhere here and is a staple of Tex-Mex. At some restaurants, like Kerbey Lane, it involves guacamole, covered in melted cheese, and then topped with pico de gallo. At other places, it’s pretty much just melted cheese with some salsa mixed in. Sometimes it has mo'betta meaty meat in it, other times it's vegetarian. Whatever it is or isn't, it’s very uniquely Texan, so I didn’t get her deal.

“Uh, I’m from Los Angeles.” I saw a look of disgust travel unmasked across her face. So, I quickly changed gears, “So, uh, what did you use to make this queso?”

She gave me a proud look like she’s the hottest babe since Madonna. Then she shook her head no.

No what? What, am I supposed to guess?

“I’m assuming you used cheese…” I tried joking.

She puffed up her chest again like she was on a pulpit and started waving her arms like a preacher as she recited the ingredients for her melted cheese fondue. It’s not just queso, it’s a religion, you know….
“Sausage, velveeta, sour cream, mayonnaise…”
I found myself getting fatter just listening to her bark out the list. And it went on and on. And on.

At some point she stopped and looked at me, expectantly. I had glazed over after just four vein-clogging ingredients and just really wasn’t listening to her diatribe. So I did what I usually do when I haven’t been paying attention… I asked a question.

“Wow, that’s really amazing. Is this your own recipe?”

She looked at me like I was slightly more than mildly retarded.

“Of course it’s my own recipe.” She said and jutted out her hip. Then she leaned in and got right up in my face and said haughtily, “And no, I do not share my recipes.” She leaned back and smiled, chest puffed out again like she does so well, “So don’t even ask.”

I look at her in her stonewashed jeans that are painted on. Her reindeer sweater embroidered with the word “Joy” across it… and an id necklace that also spells “Joy”.

Most. Ironic. Name. Ever.

2006-12-13T09:47:00.001-08:00

Drowing in Holiday Cheer at Walmart

5017 Us Hwy 290 West

The other day, I descended into the depths of Christmas hell, aka Walmart's Christmas Shoppe... and would not have re-surfaced from drowning in a sea of wreath bows, dancing snowmen, and twinkling lights if it hadn't been for CJ.

For her, it was Mission: Walmart. She had a POA and was determined to divide and conquer.

CJ and I had gone in there so that she could decorate her house so that it would be suitably Christmas-y for her two step-sons when they came to visit. I also have some family coming into town and wanted a mini-tree and a few things to make my apartment seem holiday ready.

Keywords: mini and few.

CJ's POA was in the form of a list. She was militant and ready to attack. I was a sitting duck.

Seasonal music was being pumped out of the speakers, brainwashing me with the need… the need for greed. Glass bulbs called out to me, telling me that it wouldn't be Christmas without them. Then, I realized, that they wouldn't fit on a mini-tree… and the taller ones looked so much more Christmas. But, if I have a taller tree, I might as well get one that is pre-lit… Oh, and wouldn't it be nice to have something to put on my balcony… I mean, the 3ft lighted Santa is so much less garish than the 7ft inflatable motorized Santa, right? Suddenly, my benchmark for tacky was so far off, that I couldn't tell vile from charming. I started looking fondly at hideous ornaments that were too gaudy for Liberace. I was a wreck.

Luckily, I was with CJ. She would see me looking a little too long at a surfing santa ornament and would just kind of raise her eyebrow just enough to let me know that it wasn't quaint or cute, if that's what I was thinking. There were times, though, that even she was tempted by the tacky. The tacky temptation for CJ was the stuffed reindeer that sings "La Vida Loca", but she restrained herself. She was determined to put Walmart in its place. She was not Walmart's bitch. That's right, Walmart, you were her bitch.

There were times when it was just too much for me. I tried to swear off the tacky, but was feeling exhausted and overstimulated by the bright lights, singing chipmunks, and incessant cries of, "moooooooommeeee, I waaaaaaaaaant that!". I just wanted to get out of there.

But CJ had a list. And we were going to get everything on that list, come hell or rollback prices.

She would tenaciously charge down the aisle with her two full carts and expertly swerve to miss unaccompanied children who were running rampant through the store. I just tried to keep up and not get distracted by bright, shiny things accompanied by low, low prices.

And, somehow we survived.

I got home and looked at my bags and bags of oozing with red, green, and gold shit and felt like I might overdose on my own Christmas decorations. Walmart's madness was infiltrating my apartment.

It took me awhile to convince myself to go back to the superstore from hell, but having that much tacky in my apartment was really just unacceptable. I waited in a long line full of people, each returning one item. I was the only one with a cart full.

I approached the customer service desk and watched her take item after item back, no questions asked.

I returned to my apartment and set up my not-so mini, pre-lit tree and with just the right number of ornaments.

2006-11-29T07:42:00.000-08:00

Gettin’ Some at Oilcan Harry’s

211 W 4th St

Going from bar to bar along Sixth Street, there are some nights where the pickings are slim. The straight guy’s secret is Oilcan Harry’s, the gay place to be in Austin.

Yeah… I know… I was as confused as you are. But, apparently, it’s not uncommon to see straight guys at Oilcan Harry’s. And hey, if you can stomach the shirtless guys, consider this fact of nature: where there are gay men, there too are straight girls… who are dancing with their friends and wishing that there were straight guys in the mix.

I was one of said girls. I love the dance floor and eye candy at Oilcan Harry’s. The last time I was there, I was with a friend of mine who was visiting from LA and wanted to check out the gay scene in Austin. We had already been up and down 6th Street and most places were turning on the lights and shooing out patrons. He had dealt with my scene, so now it was time to party like it's 1999 in his. We discovered that Oilcan Harry’s stays open an hour later than the rest. So there we were with our entourage after 2pm, bumping and grinding to electronica.

As is prone to happen at gay clubs, a guy came up behind me and grabbed my hips. We were dancing and I was letting myself go in that way that straight girls do when they are dancing with a boi. But, then something I wasn’t expecting happened. He turned me around and before I knew it, he lifted me in the air and was open-mouth kissing me right there on the dance floor.

Whaaa?

It’s not easy to shock me, but I must admit that I was not expecting this turn of events. I have been pulled off my feet and kissed by a gay porn star… I have kissed various gay friends during those awkward moments that sometimes happen between friends. There is always an immediate, mutual shrug of, “Yeah… Nothing,” that follows.

This wasn’t the case this time.

It seems that this was a str8 in a sea of mos. It was either the most brilliant pick up scheme ever, or just a phenomenon that I am not familiar with.

He lowered me back to the floor and squeezed me tight. Then he grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear… apparently he wanted me to go into the back with him and have sexytime. I wasn't terribly tempted... I've seen the back alleys of gay clubs before... so, I decided to return to my gay date.

Apparently, I showed up to my gay date’s side just in the nick of time. He introduced me to this guy that was manhandling him by saying, "Hi, I'd really like you to meet my wife."
The unwanted attention immediately ceased, as introducing your wife is by far the easiest way to deflect attention in a gay club.

The two of us ended up dancing the night away together.

Oilcan Harry’s has a great bar and a fantastic dance floor… and apparently also has a little something for everyone. Giggity Giggity.

2006-11-27T14:52:00.000-08:00

Canoe Date at Town Lake

On Saturday, I went on a first date with Gameboy. I was feeling a little odd going into the date, as I had tried to ignore spending the holiday in a new place without family or friends to cook with by hanging out as much as possible with Boytoy. I had postponed a date with Gameboy before, and was not sure that I was up for it. But, it seemed healthier to go on a date than to spend another day inside with Boytoy.

So, I met with Gameboy at Austin Java on Barton Springs. We ate some lunch and talked and hung out. He’s very enthusiastic, fun, and loves to game. He also loves fast cars, the outdoors, and men… but I’m not sure that he knows about that last one yet.

We hung out and then went over to Town Lake. I had walked around parts of Town Lake before, but I had never been by the canoes. I had no idea that it was one of the best spots in Austin for people watching.

We sat down on the bank and before too long a hilarious scene was played out for us. An older couple, most likely from the Northeast, decided illogically to pick the rocky, slick spot in front of us to trade places so that the woman could sit in the less demanding front seat of the canoe. The older man, was terribly frustrated with the canoe and was taking it out on his wife.

“Paddle this way!” He’d shout. “No, not that way! THIS way!”
“I’m trying!” She yelled back defensively and then shot us an apologetic look.
“No! Paddle on THIS side, not THAT side”
“Can’t you say Right or Left?”
“You should know which way I mean!”
“Well, how can I tell which side you mean when you are behind me!”
“If you were paying attention…”
Boom.
Somehow the canoe hit the bank. Obviously, his helpful directions worked.
“Ok, get out now.” He told her.
“I can’t, I don’t want it to tip!”
“It won’t tip!”
“How do you know?”
“Goddamn it! Can’t you just listen to me?”

His wife muttered something inaudible under her breath and cautiously stepped out of the canoe and onto the bank. Once she had her footing, he told her, “Ok, now PLEASE, hold the canoe. Steady it. I’m going to get out.”

Determined, she got a good grip on the canoe. He started to get out and tripped on the side of the canoe, which then started to slip a bit off the bank. He grabbed ahold of it.
“Goddamn it! Keep it steady!”
Gameboy stood close by the couple, ready to help them if it got out of hand. The whole thing seemed utterly ridiculous.
I couldn’t help it. I laughed outloud.
The woman looked at me and smiled. “I’m so sorry we interrupted your date. We must look ridiculous. I really don’t blame you for laughing.”
I felt badly for her and saw that she was embarrassed.
“Oh, come on, I thought that was very well executed! I give it a 10”
Just as I started to say 10, she lost her footing. She fell back, right into the water. She managed to capsize the canoe at the same time.
This, of course, was exactly what her husband had been hoping for. Antics ensued. It was beautiful.

Gameboy and I were convinced that we needed to canoe, too. We rented one and started out on Town Lake. It was a beautiful day on Saturday. Amazing weather and the trees were just starting to change. Gameboy filled me in on his passions, which include cars, games, and dancing. Yes. Dancing. No, not hip hop, breaking, or two-stepping. Swing, salsa, ballroom, et al. I realize that this does not a mo make, but still. Combined with his demeaner, the dar was going off. He described people as dancers and non-dancers. Dancers are intelligent, creative, and find beauty and everything. Now there were flashing warning signs.

He proceeded to tell me that his previous relationships were all long distance. He told me about his dancing partner, “Oh, she is so beautiful. She totally looks like Kate Beckinsale and all of my friends think she’s super-hot.”

Sigh.

“I just love to dance. I feel best when I am dancing.”

It was a beautiful day and we had fun.

But, at the back of my mind, I will always be thinking, “You know you’re gay, right?”

Ok. Back to Boytoy.

2006-11-27T13:00:00.000-08:00

Eating Thai food with a Cowboy at Madam Mam’s

4514 West Gate Blvd.

Having survived the chivalry overload from our first date, I decided that I was up for Cowboy date, part deux, so long as we went somewhere more laid back. The original idea was to go two-stepping, but after my experience with Cavender’s Boot City, that seemed about as tempting as abstinence.
Since we live close to each other, I let him pick me up and explained that I wanted to go somewhere chill.
“You say that a lot” he looked at me teasingly.
“What?”
“Chill.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah, you do. What do you mean by it?”
“Seriously?” Was he seriously asking me what chill meant? I looked at him and saw that he was dead serious. “Uh… I don’t know… you haven’t heard that before?”
“No, I have. I just want to know what you mean when you say that.”
Huh. What the fuck? Was this some kind of weird test? I just looked at him quizzically.
“I’m asking because you’ve said that about me.”
“I did?”
“Yeah, you said, 'You’re so chill'. I’m just making sure it’s a good thing.”
“No, it is… I guess I just mean that you are laid back, low maintenance, you know… chill.” Crap… How do you explain chill? And who asks you to explain chill? I hoped that my answer sounded reassuring and non-sarcastic.
For dinner, we went to Madam Mam’s over on West Gate and had surprisingly good Thai food. We actually had pretty good chemistry and joked around while we enjoyed the food. I found myself forgetting the chill exchange, ignoring the chivalry thing, and just having fun. The ceiling is covered in parasols hanging upside down and the decor is overall fun and charming. We shared spring rolls that were uber-tasty. My yellow curry was actually very impressive. So, yes, you can have good Thai food in Texas. It’s been proven.
Everything went really well… and I didn’t put up a fight when he paid.
Afterwards, we headed over to Amy’s Ice Cream for some dessert. He got some sort of milkshake-type confection and I got a tiny Mexican Vanilla with chocolate sprinkles. The girl working behind the counter was hilarious and fun. Just one of those contagious people that tend to work at places like Amy’s Ice Cream. While finishing up our ice cream, we headed over to the movie theater.
For one reason or another, I insisted on paying. Probably because I wanted to emasculate the Cowboy and end the date. Yes, I kid. But, as a tip, if you are ever into a Cowboy… even if you are not sure where it is going and you are just feeling it out… never, ever pay. Apparently, it’s the quickest way to turn a Cowboy off.
To be fair though, that wasn’t all of it. I was also really intimidated by the fact that he seemed really into me and mentioned that he doesn’t date, but believes strongly in relationships. I just moved here and get the heebeejeebees from serious relationship talk so soon after meeting someone. So, I’m sure I was putting out the friend vibe in spades as a defense. Anyway, we went into the theater and watched “The Departed”, which was 3 hours too long for a date that had turned from chill* to cold.
Suddenly, I was receiving one word, monosyllabic responses to everything. I felt like I had to work really hard to pull the conversation out of him. I don't know if he was tired, hated the movie, or just felt jilted from when I paid.
We pulled up to my place. He pulls over and looks completely put out. "Uh, do you want me to walk you up?"
I look around. There aren't any parking spaces close by and he doesn't seem to thrilled at the prospect of getting out. He has a big, manly, Texas truck with a large counsel between the seats. I consider leaning far over the counsel to give him at least a kiss on the cheek. But, then, not only does this seem completely impossible and uncomfortable, I realize that he doesn't look that interested. Fuck it.
"Nah, there isn't any parking. I had a great time, though. Thanks!"
And I hopped out of the truck and up to my door.

*for a definition of chill, please see above.

2006-11-27T08:45:00.001-08:00

GI Thanksgiving at Maggie Mae’s

323 E. Sixth Street

I swore that with all of the unique and distinctive locales in Austin, I would never post about the same place twice… but here we are, only a few entries in and I’m talking about Maggie Mae’s yet again. To be fair, Maggie Mae’s has one of the best rooftop patios that I have ever seen. With delicious views of the surrounding skyline, a jumbo screen, two bars, and plenty of space for standing, roaming, and chillin like a villain, it is by far one of my favorite bars in Austin. So there I was, in the wee hours of the night or early Thanksgiving Day, accompanied by Boytoy (mi amante latino du jour).
I sat and smoked a cigarette while sitting at a patio table whilst Boytoy got us some drinkees. There I sat, contemplating life, the universe, and everything in it when a jar head plopped into the seat next to me.
He swayed to and fro as if he was being tossed back and forth on a boat in a storm. His eyes were half mast, his face a bit green.
Hey there, sailor!
I was amused by the situation. Until, of course, he looked at me in that look that lets you know that you are either about to be hit on… or puked on. And it was looking to be that the latter was far more likely.
“You’re puuurrrdeee”And with that, he collapsed into my lap.
Please, oh please, do not puke on my Lucky Brand jeans!
I looked around for Boytoy, but he was still at the bar. I looked around and saw a group of similar jar heads that appeared to be Private McPukey’s friends. They were equally blitzed and absolutely delighted that their friend’s head was buried in a girls lap.
I shoved McPukey off of me and back into the chair.
He smiled and slurred, “hiiiiiiii”
I said, “are you doin’ ok?”
“Aye jessssss got beckkk from Afgannnisssstan and aye donnn even giva fuuuck”
“Oh, ok.”
“Aye sed thaaa Aye donnn even giva…a… fff-FUCK!” He yelled loudly.
“I understand completely”
Deep drag on the cigarette. What the fuck was taking Boytoy so long?
McPukey threw me a half mast look that must’ve seemed dead sexy to him when he looked in the mirror after the nteenth shot.
“I’mm Tommy… whazz yer name?”
With that, it was back into the lap.
I pushed Tommy McPukey off my lap again and back into the chair. He teetered back and forth… so I held him up with my arms and leaned right up to his ear.
“Do you know what I want you to do Tommy?”
“Yeaah?”
“I want you to go to the bathroom – it’s right over there”
“Ohhh… yeahhh… okeyyy…”
He stumbled to his feet… and started in the direction that I was pointing. But, then, as he struggled across the deck, he took a sharp turn behind the second bar, which was miraculously closed. He then proceeded to puke in buckets.
“You miss me, kiddo?” says Boytoy as he walks up and hands me my drink.
“You have no idea…” I say as I clink his glass with mine and look over at the bouncers pulling Tommy McPukey out of the closed bar.

2006-11-18T19:48:00.000-08:00

Chivalry is Not Dead at Vespaio

1610 S Congress Ave

Going into my first date in Austin, I had no idea what to expect. I kind of assumed it would be more casual and laid back than dating in la la land, quite honestly. So, I was surprised when a certain cowboy from West Texas suggested Vespaio for our first date.

The thing is that where I come from, dinner is generally a no-no for a first date. Hell, even the Tom Hanks character in “Sleepless in Seattle” knew that*. But, the Cowboy gave me a good vibe and I figured that I should go with the flow, when in Rome, and all that jazz.

So, I went on Austin360.com and read up on Vespaio. In addition, I consulted an Austinite friend of mine who is a serial dater. When I mentioned Vespaio, she responded with what can only be described as a squeal. Once she calmed herself, she said, “Score! You did good, girl”
It was nice to have a cheerleader, but I let her know, “Dude, it's the first date. We're splitting the tab.”
To which she responded, “you're splitting a tab with a Cowboy from West Texas? Yeah... Good luck with that one, babe.”
Based on my research, I devised that Vespaio was no dive. So, I dolled myself up a bit and headed out in my highest heels.

As it turns out, Vespaio does not take reservations for 2 and typically has a 90 minute wait for a table. I met the Cowboy at the bar and we decided to forego the awkward hour and a half wait and just eat at the bar. Looking around, most of the patrons were men in suits, which is a rare sight in Austin. The Cowboy wore a nice, crisp white button down shirt tucked into dark jeans, and the prerequisite western boots. In the words of Borat, "Verrry Nice."

Everything was amazing, but I realized something. I am not used to chivalry. I am so not used to it, actually, that I didn't know hot to react to it. To the point where I was uncomfortable.

How tragic is that?

To be clear, I'm not talking about simple gestures like holding the door open. That's been done. What I'm talking about is hard core chivalry. This involves, but is not limited to, pulling out your chair, unfolding your napkin, asking what you'd like, ordering for you, making sure you have the first bite, and just generally catering to your every whim.

It was overwhelming to me. I felt as if I was getting diva treatment. Flashing through my mind were thoughts of, “Am I coming off as high maintenance?...Do I look uncomfortable? Is that why he keeps asking if I need anything else?...Am I giving off a princess vibe?...What do I do?...”
Of course, I did what I usually do in situations where I feel uncomfortable, I rambled continuously on God knows what and asked him what must have been 101 of the most random questions he must have ever been asked. Somehow, he managed to hang onto my words and answered my questions politely.
At some point, I quickly popped out of my chair, saying that I had to use the restroom. He kind of stared at me with a surprised look. I thought to myself, “Christ, is it really a surprise that 3 glasses of water later, a girl has to pee?” Once in the restroom, I debated whether or not excusing yourself to the restroom during dinner was breaking a cardinal rule of dating. I shrugged it off, washed my hands and returned to our spot at the bar.
He jumped to his feet and pulled out my chair for me saying, “I wanted to get your chair before, but you didn't give me the chance.” He then handed me my napkin which I had hastily tossed next to my plate before I bolted to the restroom.

The napkin had been refolded.

The rest of the meal was fine. The food was amazing. Vespaio was cozy and well lit for a first date. The Cowboy was cute, charming, funny, and, as put to test by my nervous chatter, he was a great listener.
The check came and I reached for my purse. He stopped my reach and said, “No, not a chance”
I watched him put his card down to pay for wine, appetizers, entrees, and dessert. I couldn't help myself and started to reach for my purse again. Damn tall bars with purse hooks just out of reach.
He stopped me again.
“Seriously? Let's split it. It's the first date...”
He looked at me and said, “Did you enjoy it?”
I didn't really have to think, “Everything was great.”

“Good. I asked you and you let me take you out to dinner.”
It was all so matter of fact.

After we left the restaurant, he walked me to my car and kissed my cheek goodnight. It was all very lovely.

Driving home, I called one of my guy friends to give him the promised play-by-play. I explained the awkwardness of the tab and told him that I felt guilty that the Cowboy paid. My friend, always the romantic responded, “Well, if you feel guilty, you could sleep with him. You know he paid to get laid.”

Apparently, my eye roll was audible across the miles via cell phone.

“Ok, ok... Look, don't feel guilty. Enjoy being wined and dined. He sounds like a good guy. You had fun. I'm sure you'll get used to the chivalry eventually. Oh, and while you're at it, get some.”

I got home and got into my pjs. My phone rang. It was the Cowboy.
“Hi, I just wanted to make sure that you got home ok and say thanks. I had a great time.”

Wow, Toto. Now I know I'm not in Kansas anymore.

*As Sam (Tom Hanks' character in Sleepless in Seattle) explains to his son, "But not dinner necessarily on the first date because by the time you're halfway through dinner you might be sorry you asked them to dinner whereas if it's just a drink, if you like them you can always ask them for dinner but if you don't you can go home if you see what I mean."

2006-11-16T14:32:00.000-08:00

Studying Islam at St. Edward’s University

Mary Moody Northern Theatre

3001 South Congress Avenue

Last night, I checked out “Kneeling Down at Noon”, a play performed at St. Edward’s University. My entourage was composed of a Muslim, a Syrian descendent, and a Texan, which sounds like the beginning of a joke. Which the play kind of was… a joke.
The play made the cover of last week’s issue of the Austin Chronicle and the reviews have been overwhelmingly positive. The name of one review was Kneeling Down Stands Up for Islam. A quote from the Austin Chronicle review says, “Steve Moore's latest play makes a pilgrimage to the truth of a misunderstood faith”
As a practicing Muslim who just moved to Texas, a friend of mine was interested in checking this out. She was impressed by the fact that there are 4 mosques with active, thriving communities in Austin and was looking forward to a way of explaining her faith to us, the collective confused.
As the play was set in Syria, my friend whose dad is Syrian, said to her when he heard that she was going, “Good! You will learn about my culture!”

Here is what we learned about Muslims and Syria:

1. Muslims believe in Genies. Genies make cupcakes.
2. Genies can convert American Soldiers to Islam.
3. If you are Muslim and you are having a nightmare, just summon your Genie by rubbing an inscription from the Quran/Koran.
4. It's perfectly ok for women to pray in front of men in the Muslim tradition.
5. Genies can two-step.
6. Cowboys like to point with knives.
7. The pilgrims that go to Hajj are birds, they fly there.
8. All Syrians are either crazy political writers, Kurds, or secret police.
9. There is nothing happy about living in Syria.
10. The secret police in Syria look like American FBI agents. Or as if they are about to say, “Goodbye, Misterrrr Annnderrrrsonnnnnn”
11. American college girls love Middle Eastern men and/or paraplegics and smoke crack.
12. If you are a paraplegic, its ok to wear jeans so tight you cut off the circulation to your balls… since you can’t feel them anyways.

I left the play more confused about Islam and Syrian politics than I was when I went in. My Muslim friend was offended by some parts and confused by others. She was shocked that this play was accepted by the Muslim community. She said that the scene where the women prayed in front of the men alone would have driven many devout Muslims out of the room. I guess to put it in Catholic terms, it’s like making the sign of the cross with the left hand, or backwards.
We realized that none of the reviews were from the Islamic community… and I have been trying to dig up one with a Muslim voice since then. But, no dice. The overwhelming positive reaction to this play appears to be from those that want to be compassionate towards the culture, but don’t have first hand experience with it. The play has been sold out for its entire run, so obviously there are many people who enjoy it and are interested in learning more on this topic. There are also many who were sleeping in the audience last night, who likely attended as a class assignment. Regardless, there is an audience for this. My hope is that at some point a clear, entertaining work is presented which introduces us to the real Islam.

2006-11-08T09:57:00.000-08:00

Getting Crafty at The Work*Shop

1211 West Sixth Street

Tucked away in the corner of the L-shaped West Sixth Street Marketplace, The Work*shop is a cozy retreat for cultivating your inner artist. Here is a studio that is comfortable and inviting where you can spend hours discovering a craft that you have never tried before. Try your hand at mosaics, soapmaking, ceramics, painting, decoupage, or beading. Sit in the cozy library and flip through books for inspiration. Walk through the shop and see what local artists have made and what options are available. Chat with others as they work and then join them, working along side them on your craft.

When I went, I didn’t have a lot of time, so I decided to paint a wine glass. The total cost was just the cost of the wine glass, which I believe was under $10.00. After looking through stencils and the library, I spent over an hour painting my wine glass and meeting great new friends. We were able to admire each others work and help each other execute ideas. I left with a beautiful glass that was completely unique and so very me.

I will absolutely go back, maybe for one of their “Take a Break from the Holidays!” events. For the cost of Admission (between $15-30), you make a cool, individualized gift (like a spa set or tea lover’s set) and they even offer a complimentary mini-facial and a seated chair massage.
The concept and execution of this studio is brilliant. It’s perfect for a girls’ night out, that last minute gift, or unleashing some creative energy.

2006-11-06T09:36:00.000-08:00

Kickball on Crack at Krieg Field

515 S. Pleasant Valley Rd

In LA, I felt all rebellious and hep for joining the renaissance of playground games and playing kickball every week. I would get double takes whenever I mentioned it to people and loved recruiting people to the sport where 30 is the new 8 and athleticism is a bonus and not a requirement. We would spend 45 minutes or so playing a 5 inning game that was just like softball… but without the bat and with a big, red Four Square ball in the place of a softball. As the team captain, aka Team Mom/MILF, I would bake cookies or treats to fuel my teammates. After the quick game, we would cheer on another game or head to the division bar where we would spend something like 3-4 hours. Kickball is the ultimate social “sport”. I’ve seen pitchers smoking cigarettes on the mound, fielders sipping a brew between kicks, and even a runner munching on a rice crispies treat on base. Sure, you can break a sweat, but not everyone does. And despite the fact that it’s such a Sport Lite, most players still end up getting into it and cheer, jeer, and generally get competitive. It’s a blast and a great way to meet other chill, unpretentious people in la la land. By LA standards, kickball was weird.
This means that it’s not weird enough for Austin…
When I moved here and mentioned kickball as my sport of choice, the response from just about every Austinite was like, “But have you played Mojo?”
Sure you’ve seen The Channel, but did you swim it?
Apparently, vanilla kickball is substandard and blasé to the far superior Austin original sport of Mojo Kickball. So, I decided to see if it would live up to the hype.
I went with seven friends to Krieg Field on Sunday. Showing up late to the demo, I was completely confused when the practice game started. Looking out at the field, it looked like a completely lawless fuster cluck in which people run erratically about and everyone seemed to have a ball in motion at once. Trying to follow the 6 balls in play and the twenty people on the field was complete overstimulation. It was like trying to track one bee in a swarm. There were some players who were very familiar with the sport and it was obvious that this is the one place where they are able to feel masculine in this world. So their testosterone was peaked and they were frustrated with the rest of us that had no idea what was going on.
At some point during the actual game when we had 3 teams of 8 players competing, I started to catch on to the game and then eventually, I started to have fun. I won’t say I was good at it (because I wasn’t). But, I did start to get it.
There are definitely positives for this game. First off, you do get a good workout. I was only sore after full day of kickball for charity, but one game of mojo kickball did make my thighs burn a bit the next day. Then again, I think we played for 2 hours. You are pretty much always playing and always on. There aren’t long periods of waiting to kick. You aren’t just standing in your position in the outfield waiting for that one fly of the inning to come your way. You don’t actually “have a position”, so you don't have to worry about being stuck out in right field and never getting a chance to help your team. It seems to be the perfect sport for anyone who is a gamer and used to overstimulation.
The downsides for me are that I don’t know if I need all the chaos, I miss the social nature of kickball, and as a newbie, there were times that I felt about as useful as tits on a bull. I wanted to help my team, but I really just didn’t get what was going on sometimes.
I will definitely play again and give it another chance. I might fare better the second time around, now that I know what to expect and know what is going on. But, at the end of the day, I might just like to keep it simple. One ball, 3 outs, and a pint at the end.

2006-11-03T14:30:00.000-08:00

Freakin’ Cold at First Thursday

South Congress

First Thursday is one of those things that you hear about and makes you glad you live in Austin. Every first Thursday of the month, the shops along the artistic South Congress stretch stay open until after 10. Artisans along the street sell their wares and musicians play in the street to the hipsters and non-hipsters alike that wander through.

South Congress kind of has the feel that I thought Melrose would have before I ever went there (and was desperately disappointed). There are plenty of those that are hipper than thou, but it’s all very mellow, approachable, and non-snobby. Even if you are about as trendy as Walmart, you’ll survive unscathed. No Pretty Woman moments here.

I would have been able to spend hours at First Thursday, admiring beautiful handmade jewelry, sculptures, paintings, and clothing, but I was not dressed for the weather. When I moved here, I didn’t get the memo on the 40 degree fall evenings. And honestly, even if I was warned, I doubt that I would have believed anyone. For awhile there, I found it hard to imagine that the temperature ever dropped below 95 degrees.

So, logically, last night, I was wearing a knee length pink dress and some high heel brown boots. Over that, I was wearing a jean jacket that was more for looks than for warmth. My disclaimer on my completely inappropriate outfit was that is was what I wore to work and I didn’t have time to go home to change. Oh, and it was damn cute.

When we got there, the wind was going from crisp to fierce. I fought my discomfort as long as I possibly could, by picking up one of the best lattes ever made from Jo’s (officially my new favorite coffee shop).

Despite the fact that my nose was so cold I thought I might be about to involuntarily join Mr. Disney and be a future case study for cryogenics, I did actually have a kick ass time and see some amazing things for sale. Next time I go, though, you’ll know me because I’ll be the girl in the parka. 'Cuz that's hottttt.

2006-11-01T15:18:00.000-08:00

Pretty Woman at Cavender’s Boot City

4435 S. Lamar

So far in my first month here in Austin, for the most part, everywhere I have gone, I have encountered many amazingly friendly and helpful people. So many, in fact, that I’ve come to just expect and even enjoy the small talk and pleasantries. Which is what made my trip to Cavender’s Boot City so surprising.

In my effort to experience all things Austin, I decided that I wanted to learn how to two-step. Of course, if I want to two-step right, I have to have the proper footwear… which means I have an excuse to buy a hot pair of authentic western boots. Knowing nothing about this, I asked a certain cowboy from West Texas if he knew where I should go. He gave me some pointers and then suggested his personal favorite, Cavender’s on South Lamar.

I went there after work and was just in awe of the art involved in their handcrafted leather boots. Prices range from $90-$400 for women’s boots. I spent a decently long time just admiring the boots as if they were art in a gallery. Then, I eyed the prices. As I was narrowing down my choices, I felt like I was being watched. I turned and saw a woman standing near me. “Can I help you with something?” she said, not unkindly.
“Yeah, I’m trying to figure out my right size in boots.”
“Well, what are you going to wear them for?”
I’m confused by the question. Does she mean that there are different sizes for different purposes? How does that work?
“Well, I was going to wear them to go dancing.”
She looked me up and down, frowning, and said, “Oh.”
I’m wearing my work clothes, a dark skirt, a sweater, and low heels. I swear, the way she looked at me, I felt as though I must have had an anarchy symbol on my chest and ink over every inch of my available skin.
“Is that not a good idea? I was told that if I wanted boots for dancing, this is where I should go.”
She looked at me and blinked.
“Well, how much are you looking to spend?”
Thinking I had made some progress, I said, “Well, I was hoping to spend around $100.”
She just stood there. Then at last said, “You didn’t see any that you like, did you?”
“I’ve seen a lot that I like actually, I responded quickly.
“Oh, really.” There is disbelief in her tone.
What is going on here? I mean, they do sell boots, right? Or at least want to?
I started to reach for a pair of tallish boots that were dark brown with a pointed toe. Some nice designs were sewn into the boot and gave it a really neat, feminine feel. They had leather soles.
She thrust an entirely dayglo pink boot with a rubber sole into my hands, “How about these, these might suit you”
“Wow. Uh, well, those are kind of bright. I think I want to stay away from pink.”
She looked at me as if she had no idea what to do with me. Then she grabbed a pair of slouched boots. “I usually recommend these for my tourists. You know, the ones that just feel like they have to wear boots because they are in Texas?”
Zing.
I realized that she looked at me as an outsider encroaching on her turf. She wasn’t necessarily trying to be rude, but she didn’t know why I was there and she didn’t know what to show me. What was she supposed to do with me?
She showed me boot after boot that looked as non-western as possible. Which, being in a western boot shop was no easy feat. In the meantime, she was judging me. At some point, I realized there was no way that I was going to shake her, either. She was watching me like a hawk. I even attempted to steer her to boots of my liking, but I think when she imagined my feet in those boots, she died a little inside. That’s the only way I can explain her reaction. There was a pair that I really liked and they fit me really well.
"You can't wear those to go dancing tonight"
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, you should break them in, the bottoms are real leather. Look."
Now the truth is, that 2 minutes out in the parking lot wearing those babies, and they would have been sufficiently scuffed and ready for dancing. She did not want me to buy those boots.
"Plus, I think that your heel might start to slip on those"
Might. Start. Right.
Finally, I gave up. I was getting tired of pretending like I didn’t hear the edge in her voice. I said, “Ok, well, you gave me a lot to think about. Thanks for your time.”
She stopped me with a stern lecture on how buying boots is not just a thing that you can do quickly. It’s something that takes time and that you have to expect to pay over $100 for a pair of real boots, if that’s really what I wanted. Also, she told me that I needed time to break in the boots. It was very Mr. Miyagi of her and I couldn’t break away fast enough.
I called The Cowboy and told him about my experience. He was shocked. Of course, he always has amazing service with a smile there. Then again, he goes in wearing his authentic, worn boots and all. He told me that next time I want to go, he’d go with me so that that wouldn’t happen again. I’m wondering if I can swallow my pride long enough to have him play Richard Gere for me at a boot shop so that I can feel all confident when I go dancing.Then again, if I’m encroaching on the boot shop, with my Angeleno ways, just how accepting of me will they be when I go to dance?

2006-11-01T10:03:00.000-08:00

Halloween Cell Phone Shocker at Maggie Mae’s

323 E. Sixth Street

Once upon a midnight dreary, while we wandered weak and weary, a lioness lost her cell in the madness and chaos that is All Hallows' Eve on 6th street.

It was after the witching hour when the three divas finished our dilly-dallying with our fake eyelashes, fishnets, and wigs. Honestly, we were both driven and detained by the vanity and narcissism that accompanies the requisite naughty garb of single girls on Halloween. Arriving late to the scene, we scoured the area for parking for what seemed like hours, circling through the streets of downtown for that precious space just for us. As we searched for a spot, we were distracted by the zealous costumes and the number of people that were out and about not long before 1 am on a Tuesday night. It felt like Mardi Gras, maybe because it was Tuesday… or maybe because I saw lots of boobies and people drinking in the streets. Regardless, that was the feel, bacchanal debauchery… on a school night. And really, that’s what Halloween in Austin is all about.
The sexy lioness, delectable secretary, and I, the 80’s tramp, wandered the closed off street and posed for pictures. We watched a conga line of frat boy gorillas that danced down the street in Backstreet Boy synchronicity. And we tried quizzically to figure out why there were so many marathon runners in short-shorts and afros (I believe I counted 12 with that costume… if you know what this is… I need to know!). Regardless, I was impressed by how many people were in costume, nary a wet blanket in khakis was in sight.

Several years ago, in WeHo (West Hollywood, CA, yo!), the block party for Halloween was off the hook and jam-packed with some of the best costumes ever seen. At some point, the creativity dwindled year by year and there were fewer fascinating costumes, a lot of ass-less leather chaps on old men, and hundreds of confused suburbanites walking around in everyday wear with cameras around their necks wondering where the notoriously fabulous costumes were hiding.

6th street renewed my faith in the holiday. Girls were appropriately dressed inappropriately, men were attractively dressed unattractively. There were lots of Little Red Riding Whores and Sexy Nurses on the arms of Sumo Wrestlers and Bearded Ladies. All was well on All Hallow’s Eve. Until disaster struck, of course.

We wandered in and out of clubs, spending the most time at Maggie Mae’s (my personal 6th street favorite) and Red Fez. At some point the dancing in the aforementioned fake eyelashes, fishnets, and wigs wore on us and we were ready to ditch our vivacious alteregos and climb into boring flannel pjs and our own comfy beds.
So, I drove my friends home at some time just before 2am, first pulling in the drive of casa de Sexy Lioness. Unfortunately, as I entered in the code and entered the prison gate of her complex, Sexy Lioness realized something really quite unsettling.
Her life line (ie cell phone) was missing.
Gone, actually.
At this point, my eyes were half-mast. I was staring through drooping lashes attached with adhesive. My eyelids were literally heavy.
We searched the car. We emptied purses. We tried to remember everywhere we went attempting to figure out where her cell could be.
Sexy Lioness was clearly shaken. When Sexy Lioness is in the real world, she is a Sexy Nurse who works for several Austin hospitals. All of her work contacts are in her phone. And no, she didn’t back it up (do you know anyone who actually has?).
She is calm under pressure, and a lost cell compared to a Code Blue is really no big deal. But, still, she was stressing.
So, I do what any good friend would do.
“Fuck it, we’re going back”
I said good friend, I didn’t say rational friend.
I dropped the Naughty Secretary off at home and the now Stressy Lioness and I journeyed back into the night.
We scoured every bar, every parking lot, every street, every corner. Not since the introduction of the vibrator has an electronic device been so sought after.
The once fascinating, titillating crowd was now a drunken, obnoxious mass of hooligans that were in our way.
We asked at Maggie Mae’s and no cell phones were turned in. We were told that they don’t get lost, they get stolen.
Although, we knew this was true, we didn’t want to hear it from a surly bouncer.
We asked at each and every place we could.
Nothing.
Discouraged, we drove home through the traffic and late night construction.
I got home, peeled off my costume, lashes, and wig. I crawled into a night shirt and scrubbed my face so that I was no longer painted like a whore.
Then, I passed out.
I woke up to my phone ringing at 5am.
Delirious, I answered the call from a number and area code I didn’t recognize. “Hello?” I sighed, mostly asleep.
“Hi, my name is Russ and I work at Maggie Mae’s”
His voice was really smooth and friendly. I have no idea why he was calling... how he got my number… but I wasn't about to complain.
“Hello, Russ, what’s up?”
“Sorry to call so late…”
I’m pretty sure this is now in the realm of early… but ok… I decided to go with it. I was thinking, how did this guy get my number? Did Sexy Lioness give it to him?
“No worries… what’s up?”
“I have your friend’s phone”
I shot up, wide awake in bed.
“Oh my god! Really?!?!”
“Uh, yeah… I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I work at Maggie Mae’s and I saw this phone, so, I put it in my pocket and was going to try to figure out whose it was. But then, it was really busy. And, I actually forgot about it. When I got home I realized that I still had the phone. So, I saw that she called you a bunch of times, so I figured I’d call you and you’d know how to get the phone back to her… I would have called earlier…”
“Seriously? She is going to be so thrilled! You’re such a rockstar – I can’t believe you actually have her phone.”
I realized that I sound like a gushing idiot.
He stammered a bit, “It’s really no big deal. What else was I going to do with it? I would hate it if I lost my phone. It has all my numbers in it.”
“I know; I’m just surprised and impressed that you went out of your way like that. My friend is going to be so relieved.”
He shrugged off my praise like a modest schoolboy and we made plans for the three of us to meet up so that Sexy Lioness and her phone could be reunited. And that, my dears, would have never happened in la la land.

2006-10-30T09:13:00.000-08:00

Platonic Romance at Town Lake

DIE GELBE ROSE CARRIAGE
6th and Brazos

On a crisp, October evening, under the constellations spread across the dark expanse of the sky, a horse-drawn carriage meandered slowly through a peaceful downtown. The night was still young, the city was ours. We felt as if we could do anything… and there really is nothing like flippin’ a bitch with a Clydesdale on the Congress Avenue Bridge.
Taking a carriage tour was an impulse. My companion and I were walking down 6th street and realized that it would be a few hours before the scene really picked up. We saw a beautiful carriage and just went for it.
We climbed excitedly into the cozy, albeit roomy carriage and met our fabulous driver, Beth. We asked for the Town Lake Tour and she offered us a warm, snuggly blanket to guard against the night chill. She gave the majestic Clydesdale a quick whip with the switch and we were off.
Beth looked over her shoulder at us and asked, “So, are y’all interested in a running commentary, or would you rather me keep the eyes on the road?”
Crickets.
Which is shocking because between the two of us, there is rarely an awkward silence. Frankly, I think we were just kind of stunned by the question.
Beth prompted, “Is this a romantic ride?”
My companion and I smiled at each other and then he looked at her, “Well, I’m gay, so…”
To which I responded in mock horror, “Wait, what!?! Are you serious? Christ, when were you going to tell me?”
Pause.
Feigning caution, Beth responded with, “Maybe I should do the commentary …”
My companion, “yeah… maybe you should do the commentary...”
The fact that Beth got the joke and ran with it was simply fantastic.
We ended up spending the rest of the time on our “romantic” ride checking out guys and trying to decide which ones we should pick up. The carriages are built to accommodate up to 6 passengers. So really, we could have had 2 guys a piece. Not too shabby. Beth really knows the town, loves giving the tours, and had great stories about how she copes with aggressive taxi cabs (she smacks their hoods with her whip). And she really did have her Clydesdale flip a bitch on the Congress Avenue Bridge. If you see Beth, don't just ask her for directions, ask her for a ride. She is such a rockstar and the ride was definitely worth the price. She might even give you a complimentary ass-whipping if you ask nicely.

2006-10-27T09:43:00.000-07:00

Fight On at Pete’s Dueling Piano Bar

421 E. 6th Street

Walking around Austin, particularly on a game day, it becomes obvious that the uniform of this town is Orange. Longhorns are everywhere. The back of every car, most shirts, all hats, some purses… everywhere. Walking into any restaurant, every table is orange. Even Target is a sea of orange. Not wearing orange on a game day will get you looks of surprise or even disbelief. You can wear pj pants to the grocery store, but not wearing orange when the Longhorns are playing? Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. It’s like not wearing green on St. Paddy’s Day… only… it’s every freakin’ weekend.
Having gone to USC, I have found in Austin that my cardinal ‘n’ gold umbrella goes over about as well as a loud, noxious fart in church. Maybe a little worse, actually. I was perfectly aware that this might be an issue when I was looking at moving to Austin. But still, knowing is one thing, experiencing is a completely other thing.
This is what made my experience at Pete’s Dueling Piano Bar so utterly unique. I was there with a fellow Trojan, drinking and singing obnoxiously along to “Paradise City” and “Hotel California, when a duel of fight songs ensued. It was UT vs. Texas Tech, reps from each school were raising the monetary stakes to have their song played again. “$20 for Texas Tech!”
“I got $40 for UT!”
UT’s song played and about ¾ of the crowd showed their Longhorn pride…. Hootin’ hollerin’ and holding their hands up in that now very familar gesture.... "hook 'em horns"

Then, a bride-to-be and her bachelorette entourage put in another $30 for Texas Tech. They all stood silently and held up their hand in an “L”. Is their gesture “loser”? Who thought of that stroke of brilliance? Someone told me it was supposed to be a gun, but I don't know for sure.

My friend and I thought the whole thing was amusing. We were in the middle of it all, but not a part of it in any way.
Then, shock of all shocks… a guy runs up to the piano. He thrusts a wad of bills in the hands of one of Pete’s best. Then he saunters off.
“Uh, I have something weird here” the pianist says over the muted “filler music” that the other is playing...
“What’s that you got there”
“It’s another request…”
“What’s it for”
Pregnant pause.
“It’s $280 for the SC song”
“Well, Damn!”
And then, the Trojan fight song filled the room…. And they played the shit out of it. Again and again, making sure that my anonymous Trojan got his $280 worth.
My fellow Trojan and I were thrilled and started with our own ridiculous hand gesture, the two-fingers of Trojan pride. We sang along and were really quite into it.

The funny thing is that I don’t think I ever showed that much Trojan pride in my life. It was just fantastic… especially because we were the only two really doing it. The rest of the audience there at Pete’s just looked at us dumbfounded. Like, “You people really exist?”
I guess the rebellious nature of it all was really the best part. It was overall a fun night, though, as my friend noted, the ratio of girls to guys was about 3:1. Pete’s is a hilariously irreverent place, a great place to sing along and embarrass your friends. It’s also the apparent destination spot of every bachelorette party in Austin. There were 4 Brides-to-be there that night… sipping out of penis straws and making noise with testicle rattles. The musicians are talented entertainers. Really, anyone that can turn Nine Inch Nails’ Closer into a symphony of barnyard animals singing along to a piano is talented in my book. Pete’s derives its energy off of embarrassing and offending it’s patrons, which is divine.

2006-10-27T07:17:00.000-07:00

Trying to Eat at Shady Grove

1624 Barton Springs Road

Considered one of the most-loved places to grab a bite in Austin, Shady Grove is an eclectic, fun, and chill spot. But, chill is an understatement. It’s definitely chill, relaxed, laid-back, leisurely... and all that adds up to slow, dawdling service which may or may not involve bringing you your food. My best recommendation? Don’t go when you are starving and definitely don’t go if you are on your way to something else. Oh, and be assertive if you do want to eat or drink. Don’t be afraid to ask your waiter, “Can you check on our food?” Because, he might just respond with, “Oh, shit, I totally forgot to put that order in.”

How this is thought of as a lunch spot, I’m not sure. I mean, the burgers, sandwiches, and salads are perfect for lunch, but 2 ½ hour lunches don’t always go over to well at the office. But, I’m sure if you are having a Saturday lunch with a good friend (ie, not a somewhat uncomfortable lunch between 3 coworkers), the venue is perfect. The patio is very cozy, there is great people-watching, and once you do get your food, it is delish. I got the Hippie Chick Sandwich which was loaded with zucchini, mushrooms, eggplant, tomatoes, mozzarella cheese, some sort of pesto-spread, and grilled chicken on their hippie bread... maybe if I had ordered it on corporate american bread, I would have gotten it in under an hour. Damn Hippies! :)

2006-10-26T12:29:00.000-07:00

Convenience at the Post Office

Oak Hill Station
6104 Old Fredericksburg RD

It seems to be that convenience is a high priority among Austinites, which is not that shocking or bizarre as a value in and of itself. But the fact that it actually shapes the way business is done here is impressive. Even a thing like going to the Post Office is surprisingly painless and convenient, which pretty much takes the cake in terms of cultural phenomenon. My past experiences with post offices included long lines, smelly customers, rude employees, and just general malaise. I usually had to rush there at lunch since they closed at 5, was unable to find parking, and always found myself being growled at by a surly employee with daggers for eyes and a personality to match.
When I sent in my change of address form in LA, I called the management for my apartment and asked for the address. I filled out the form and sent it in. Once I moved in, I discovered that the managers gave me the wrong address. I’m sure someone would love to receive all of my credit card offers for me. I needed to submit a new form with the correction, but I was supposed to do so at the post office closest to my former address. Wanting to get on it right away so that I wouldn’t miss little things like bills or more important things like Interview Magazine, I decided to go down to my local post office in Austin and see if they could help me out.
I went online and found Oak Hill station, which is very close to where I live. It’s open until 7 pm on weeknights. 7pm, people! This is exciting. Thinking that if I got down there too close to closing time, I might still face a long line, I headed out right after work.
I found it easily and was greeted by a big, beautiful parking lot with nice, wide spaces and plenty of parking. Sigh. Beautiful.
I walked into the spotless, organized waiting area and noticed that there wasn’t a line. There were people there, but they weren’t waiting in line. They were chatting. Yes, chatting. Just then, a number was called, and a woman who was practically in mid-sentence, paused her conversation and said, “oh, that’s me!” She turned to the woman she was chatting with and said, “good luck with everything – I’ll probably see you here again”
The other woman said, “Oh, you know it”
From that and their body language, I gathered that they hadn’t met before.
I went up to the deli-style number machine and took mine, number 39.
They were on 35.
I look at the counter, there were 4 employees working. I did my normal “I’m-by-myself-and-want-to-look-busy” defense mechanism of scrolling through missed calls on my cell phone.
“Do you know what time it is?”
I tear my eyes away from the fascination that is my missed calls and see the woman who asked the question. I remembered seeing her earlier when I walked in, she was in a corner filling out a label of some sort.
“Yeah, uh, it’s 5:09”
She laughs and says, “That’s so precise”
I’m not sure what she means by this. Is it that I didn’t just tell her that it’s ten after? I start to respond, but she goes into some sort of soliquoy on how she never wears a watch, but then realizes how she’d be less likely to run out of time if she had a watch. But then, does she really want to have a watch on her wrist, making her feel late all the time?
Her intellect was truly dizzying, but she was really sweet in a way.
“Number 39, 39 Folks!”
“Oh, that’s me,” I said, somewhat interrupting her theory of time’s oppressive nature.
“Oh, ok, she said. I guess I’ll see you here again!”
“Yeah, thanks… see you”.
Wow.
As I was walking up to the counter, I noticed the huge, mammoth clock on the wall, in obvious display of the entire waiting area… And I realized that she didn’t really need me to tell her the time in the first place. I’m not in Kansas anymore…
I got up to the counter and came face to face with an employee that could be best described as a small town deputy. He had a soft drawl, with kind eyes and a handlebar mustache. I was kind of half-expecting him to say, “Don’t worry little lady, we’ll get your cat out of that tree”. Golly-gee.
I told him my situation, how I just moved here and my mail was being forwarded to the wrong address. He gave me a sympathetic look and said, “you know, these big apartment management companies can make it rough. It looks like you did everything on this form right. I’m going to put CORRECTION on the top real big. I’ll send it up to your office up there in “EL – A” and we’ll give a copy to your carrier. If you don’t get your mail soon, you just come right back here and let me know. Do you need anything else, a book of stamps?”
I’m kind of reeling in shock from his helpfulness, but I manage to say, “No, thank you, I’m ok”He said, “Well, then, welcome to Texas. We’re glad to have you here and hope you like it as much as we do”
As I leave, I check my phone. 5:12pm.
My fastest and friendliest trip to the post office that I have ever had.

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