Girls' time.
For the first time in my life, I have more female friends than I do male friends.
This is utterly bizarre. I do not relate well to females. I don't know how to do makeup. I hate the mall. I do not like to dance. I don't wear heels. I don't know what my wedding dress will look like. I don't even know if I want to get married. I don't really like babies. I fear (and hate) committment. I do not like backstabbing and gossip.
In summary, the only girly things about me are:
a) I like romantic comedies. A lot.
b) I do not like beer. I have tried. I just don't like it. End scene.
c) I am addicted to Sex & the City, and pinot grigio.
d) I like pop music.
I like to talk about college football. At length. I know rankings. I read ESPN.com daily... usually more than once a day. I love to camp. I hate being indoors. I prefer shorts, a tshirt, and a baseball cap to a skirt, a tank top, and every hair in place.
As I'm sure that you can see, I fit in much better with the guy crowd talking about pre-season rankings over a piece of red meat than I do with the girl crowd buying lingerie at Victoria's Secret.
(I don't even own lingerie. What the hell is the point?)
But since I've moved to Dallas, I've found that the majority of my friends are girls. I'm not complaining--they're amazing people, and tend to lean towards not being girly moreso than being mall-obsessed. Someone once said that you spend your teen years acquiring as many girlfriends as you can, your twenties sorting through them, and your thirties holding onto the ones you have left for dear life.
I'm done sorting.
My best friend in Dallas is always there. On any given night, we're probably at her apartment (or mine, once I move) watching television or working our way back through Sex & the City, season by season. I have two high school friends that I'm still in touch with. They like to drag me out and make me dance. There are five or six more girls who are always up for happy hour or going to see the newest chick flick.
Sure, the guys are still around. But right now, it's time for the girls, apparently.
Oh, girls just wanna have fun
Check it.
http://whatisplanc.blogspot.com
You'll find me there, occasionally.
Tell me something I didn't already know.
American Cities That Best Fit You: |
| 80% Austin |
| 75% Atlanta |
| 65% Denver |
| 65% Las Vegas |
| 60% Portland |
Which American Cities Best Fit You?<
Back in the day
Before it was cool to have a blog, before there was a proliferation of people's opinions posted at whim on the internet, I used to have a gig writing for a website.
It went something like this:
Take 9 or 10 college kids, ranging in age from 19 to 22, and give them one rule: make one post per week.
Well, two rules. The second (unspoken) rule was "Don't be a dumbass." We all did OK with the rules. Most of the time.
I retired from my 2 year career as a writer in 2003, at age 21, as the site died down. Some people graduated, some people didn't have time anymore, and the posts became fewer and fewer.
When I posted my farewell entry, someone left a comment saying that they thought that my leaving the site felt like there was a character leaving the cast of Friends. I've never been more touched, and I've never felt more confident that people actually do enjoy reading things that I write. Sometimes.
I'm in the process of digging up my contributions, and I'll likely be posting some of the highlights as I find them. I found this one using the WayBack Machine, and it made me laugh to remember this moment in time. It was Labor Day, 2002. So, without further ado, here it is.
Lakeside Adventures
I believe more firmly than ever that pain is very much mental. Girls will empathize with me on this one--if you've ever cut your legs shaving, you really don't even feel it until you see the cut when you're drying off. I'm not sure why the brain works that way, nor do I have any desire to find out--but it's baffling all the same.
Labor Day... a day of cooking out, beer, swimming, going to the lake, and generally just having one last day of summer. Well, unless you're an Aggie. *gloats* Or you live in the Baylor Bubble. No matter which way you look at it, as an American, you have an obligation to eat red meat, refresh your tan one last time, and drink a beer on that day each year. I did all of that. Well, I tried to, anyway.
Windy Point is a very cool place to go if you're in Austin and the weather's nice. Not surprisingly, half of the people who live in Austin went there yesterday, to include myself and a group of friends. Among the highlights of the day:
White Trash Woman and the $30,000 truck
We had to take two carloads of people out there. One (the one I was in) managed to find a parking spot relatively close to the main gate and tollbooth. I think the other guys had to park halfway back to campus. While waiting, the four of us in the first carload just kind of stood around. One of the guys leaned up against some red truck--a decent truck, but c'mon--it's a truck. I don't think any of us were prepared for what happened as a result. All of a sudden, this trashy woman came flying towards us, screaming "Don't lean on my truck. It's a $30,000 truck. Get the hell off of it."
OK--maybe he shouldn't have been leaning on it, a fact that my friend readily acknowledged. However, since she was screaming at him, he wasn't exactly inclined to be cooperative. After he huffed a bit, she screamed "Don't you huff at me. Don't lean on my truck. It's a $30,000 truck." She drove off after that, proceeding to curse out the two park rangers preventing people from driving onto the point. I caught "I have 10 kids to pick up down there, and I can't make them walk all the way back up here. Why the hell can't I fucking drive down to the point?"
My friend raised two good points. One, trucks are made for hauling stuff. If you're worried about people leaning on it, you've purchased the wrong vehicle. And why would you spend that much money on a truck that couldn't serve the purpose it was created for? The second point was that it's generally a good idea to spend more on your trailer than on the vehicle you tow it with. Not exactly PC, but true. *sigh*
Watch out for Stabbing Rocks
I'm a self-admitted klutz. However, usually there's more drama involved in my injuries than there was yesterday.
As we were walking along the (rocky) path to find an unoccupied grill, I was actually being careful not to trip. Maybe wearing flip flops when it's that rocky isn't the wisest move, but hindsight is always 20/20. I felt myself kick a rock after a minute or two, but it wasn't enough to make me stumble, so I didn't even bother to look down.
When I did look down a minute later, the big toe on my right foot was gushing blood from a gash about 3/4 of an inch long and 1/4 of an inch wide. Lovely. I stopped, stared, and thought "Gee, it really doens't hurt for all that blood." My friends saw it at that point, and were all rather grossed out. To be honest, I was really grossed out, and it was on my toe. After we dumped the stuff at the table (another 100 yards away, I might add) one guy and I hiked back up to the front to see if the park rangers had some first aid stuff. They were quite impressed with my cut, and one antisceptic wipe and three band-aids later, I was good to go.
Of course, my day was shot so far as swimming, sand volleyball, and pretty much anything involving dirt or water. I called the UT nurses' advice line when I got home last night, and she advised that I get it stitched up. Then I thought about the fact that the Urgent Care center at the Health Center was closed, and I'd therefore have to wait through the Labor Day crowds at the ER. I now have an economy sized box of butterfly bandages and a huge tube of Neosporin.
Spatulas: An Essential Accessory for the Modern Griller
We had way too much shit in the way of food and beer when you considered that there were only eight of us, and of those eight, four were girls. The other six managed to get the grill going while I was in search of first-aid, and we popped the first of the burgers and hot dogs on when I got back.
We had everything you could need--beer, Smirnoff Ice, Dr. Pepper, Vanilla Coke, regular Coke, lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, ketchup, two kinds of mustard, Capri Suns, lemonade, plates, paper towels, chips, salsa, forks, knives, napkins, and even a trash bag.
When it was was time to flip the first of the burgers, we realized we had no spatula. Yesterday was a learning experience--"How to grill with a fork and a few paper plates without third degree burns". Most of the burgers were more like crumbles of ground beef collected on a bun. Oh well. I didn't pack the cooler, so I feel no responsiblity.
The burgers really weren't bad, either.
I'm getting too old for this stuff.
Following is the email that I sent several of my friends this morning when I got to work:
I realize I said this after the wine/champagne incident of July.
However, I mean it this time. Last night was no bueno. See the following list of reasons:
1) You should never mix tequila, vodka, and pinot grigio
2) I don't remember driving home after Iris (or wherever the hell we were), but my car was in my parking lot this morning. This is disturbing on so many levels. I'm not sure how I thought I got home, but there's really no logic behind a drunk person's thinking.
3) When you make out with someone in a parking lot, you probably shouldn't a) expect them to remember your name, or b) be insulted when they don't.
4) I have got to stop documenting these nights of mayhem. Seriously-I might run for political office one day, and y'all are going to kill my campaign with this stuff!
5) The taste that I had in my mouth when I woke up at 5:30 AM (for no reason) was enough to make me want to die. Twice. Because I'm pretty sure I died last night already.
Do you know what I did? I got to my apartment at 10:30. I sat on the couch. I watched a little TV. I started to upload pictures. Then, the room began to spin, my stomach began to turn, and it was all downhill from there.
Jenn, go ahead and eat those sour cream chicken enchiladas that I left in your fridge. I never want to see, smell, or taste a sour cream chicken enchilada again. EVER. I puked. Multiple times. Then I brushed my teeth, did a load of laundry, and went to sleep. My life is an episode of Desperate Housewives. I'm the worst drunk ever-who the hell pukes and then does laundry before they pass out? In all seriousness, I'm beginning to think that I should stop eating sour cream chicken enchiladas while drinking-the only other time that I've puked (since age 6) came the day that I ate those for lunch. Then last night.
I'm telling you, there's something to this theory.
Open Letters.
Dear Swollen Glands/Cough/Snot/Sore Throat,
Please go away. I have plans this weekend. You heard me--PLANS. Plans that involve going out, bowling while drunk, and getting shitty. These plans do not include laying on my couch and supporting Kleenex's third quarter revenue tally.
Dear car,
Please magically fill with gas overnight. Thank you.
Dear NFCU,
Thank you for giving me a credit card with an interest rate that does not make me want to cry. Also, thank you for restoring my faith in the fact that someday my credit history will not be quite so abysmal. You actually gave me an APR below the average rate.
Debauchery, Austin-style.
I went to Austin this weekend. Normally, I fly solo on my trips to Austin--it affords me far more freedom. If I change my mind at 2 AM and decide that I'd like to swap couches, I can. I can do whatever I want without having to factor in someone else's preferences.
However, this weekend, I caravaned down with a group of four other girls. Four of us work togehter, and the fifth works in the same industry and went to college with me. One of the girls also went to school with us, while the remaining two had little (if any) Austin experience.
It is a weekend that we will not be forgetting anytime soon.
Those of us who can remember it, anyway...
Jenn and I hit the road at 5:30 on Friday. Once we were out of Dallas, the trip went smoothly. She chugged a Red Bull and occupied herself with making friends with drivers we passed on 35. Unfortunately, all but 2 were on their cell phones. She was disappointed to find that "they don't need to be friends with me. They already have friends. Aww..."
Indeed.
We ate at Hula Hut for dinner (see the "World's Biggest Spoon" pictures), and headed to Sixth Street. I had attempted to explain just how small of a world Austin is before we left Dallas (this was Jenn's first visit there), but I don't think she quite understood it. Until we walked into the first bar, one of my usual haunts, and ran into the creative interns from the agency. And thus began an entire night of seeing people I knew... most of whom weren't the ones I wanted to see.
We did shots at Cheers and said hi to my friend who bartends there (who I am willing to bet is again single, as he kissed me on the lips instead of the cheek, as per usual). We went to Cuba Libre to see another friend of mine.
She saw Leslie at one point.
"WHAT is that?"
"Huh? Oh, that's Leslie."
"What's a Leslie?"
"You've never heard of Leslie? He's famous. He wanders around Austin in that (a thong and tshirt), a teddy, or a powder blue leisure suit."
"That's disturbing."
"He runs for mayor."
"That's even more disturbing."
Hee.
The rest of the night passed quickly, and we then crashed at a friend's place. I got into a fight with my friend after Jenn had crashed, as he said she had a bad attitude. I told him that she was just exhausted, and not to mess with me.
Yes, ladies and gentleman (who know the rest of the story), I am that good of a friend.
On Saturay, we picked up Taco Shack (heaven), and then set to work deciding which river to float when we'd met back up with the rest of the group.
We decided on the Guadalupe.
Had I known then what was going to transpire in the next 8 hours, I probably would've thrown Jenn in the car and driven back to Dallas. Alas, I haven't figured out the whole seeing the future thing yet, so I went along blindly. And dumbly. And ever other bad "-ly" word I can think of.
Let's do the math:
- 6 people
- 1 case of beer
- 150 Jello shots
- 1 5 hour float (complete with rapids)
- 3 Canadians
- a partridge in a pear tree
In all seriousness.
Jenn got obliterated. You know how obliterated we got that fateful Wednesday night? She was worse.
I won't go into the details (she'd kill me), but I will say that she survived with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises.
I, on the other hand, stayed stone-cold sober, and am now nursing a badly bruised wrist. I had a disagreement with a rapid, and subsequently a disagreement with some rocks.
Jenn passed out at 8:30 on Satuday night.
I left to have dinner with friends, and called her at midnight to see if she was awake and wanted to come to my friend's place to watch a movie and sleep there. Apparently, she got my message when she woke up at 4:30 AM. Heh.
We hit the road after lunch at Shady Grove and arrived back in Dallas at 4. I wish that I could elaborate more, but our mantra for the weekend prevents it.
What happens in Austin, stays in Austin.
All in all, it was a great visit. I can't wait to go back in a few weeks for a (lower-key) trip.
But this time, it's my turn to get obliterated on the river.
I like to spend my days floatin' down the Guadalupe River
Drink a cold case of Lone Star Beer while my body shivers
