see you never, 2008

Despite the fact that 2008 was The Year of the Cockroach according to my personal Chinese calendar, I have to admit it has been the most exceptional year of my entire life, in the true sense of the word. I'm fascinated at the sheer volume of firsts that I've had, the number of skins I've shed, and the consistency of friends who have seen me through it all. 

For the first time I: 

played disc golf • drove a 4-wheeler • enrolled in a new graduate school • didn't throw up from drinking • threw up from vertigo • went geocaching • managed a building project • started a blog • made another amazing red-headed friend • built a flowerbed • went to California, Wisconsin, Illinois, Tennessee, Louisiana, Florida, and Mexico • bought a house • put up a Christmas tree • went to a sex toy party • kicked a referee in the head with a ball...oops • emptied someone else's house • lost money in the stock market • played sudoku • voted a black man into presidency • painted a faux finish • dreamt about a tornado in Memphis as a tornado was hitting Memphis • got a bike • went fishing • planned a funeral • checked my e-mail from my phone • rode a trolley car • had my dress fly up to my waist in front of a thousand people • saw Back to the Future I and II  • kayaked under a full moon • photographed 3 cemetaries • understood tithing • karaoked on a bus with a rabbit nose on • ate mussels and scallops • negotiated a loan • played on a volleyball, dodgeball, wiffleball, kickball, sloshball, and soccer team • gave a toast • got a therapist • presented to a college class • saw a student from that class a week later while drinking from a penis straw • paid off a credit card • used reusable bags • wrote letters that wouldn't be sent • creatively invested money • went to a female strip club • broke a lease • saw 7 plays • mowed a lawn

Phew.

2008, I'm going to usher you up-on-outta-here straight from the dance floor.

 

I say Google, you say "shut up"

Step. Step. Now on top of Google soapbox.

I heart Google as much as I heart my Mac and my cat and having queso twice a week. I met a woman recently who asked me how I stayed organized (not that I'm more organized than the average schizophrenic), and I rattled on about calendar/docs/e-mail/blogs/finance, and how the biggest technological conundrum I was having was whether to be an early adopter of the G1 or just sell my soul to AT&T and get the iPhone. That being said, the new Google video chat has blown my mind. I know that webcams are nothing new, but being able to sit at my desk and see/talk to Brian in realtime during his rehearsal on the northside of Chicago — for free — is rocking my world. 

Check your computer for a built-in camera. And then download this app. Here's a screenshot of a recent chat, just so you can see the clarity. For free. Doesn't my desk area look very important? It smells of rich mahogany.

Granted, I'm borderline obsessed with this entire line of software, but come on...it's pretty amazing that a program like this is free now, and only 10 years ago I was using a cell phone the size of a walkie talkie. By the time we're 35, what will we be using? My money's on being able to just take our fingers and draw the shape of a square in the air and have a screen appear...the new laptop, if you will. And I think you will. 

p.s. Update: the G1 is now in my pretty paws and I don't intend to let it go, come Hell, highwater, or a winning lotto ticket. If you want, I'll even show you the apps...my God, the apps...

oh tannenbaum

I have to say, I'm looking forward to the holidays much much more than I thought I would be. I foresaw it being a winter of discontent filled with bitter reminders that this year is not like all the others. In a Where's Waldo book, I thought this Christmas would be the wrinkly bald Waldo with a Winston in one hand and an electrolarynx in the other. But things are looking up kids, and here's why:

• I put up Christmas decorations like a big girl. It took a bottle of wine and a Saturday night, but I did it dammit! Here's a sampling, since you're curious.

• The girls are having our second annual gift exchange at my house and, clearly, gifts + friends + wine/eggnog/champagne = mucho merriment-o. 

• My bosses agreed to sponsor a family as part of our charitable giving this year, so I get to hit up Target with someone else's credit card. And it's for a good cause. Am I dreaming?

• I'm spending the holiday in Florida with my loverboy and his family...and I love the beach with the passion of a five-year-old in a moonbounce. Or of Brian when he wins the Heisman...in an Xbox game. 

• And last but most importantly: my Mariah Carey Christmas album has been located! Albeit after a weeklong rampage that may or may not have included tears.

So all in all, the next few weeks are shaping up to be quite nice. It's certainly not hurting that I've listened to this song about six times already. Happy Dreideling!

quiet

I have lost friends and family to heart failures and cancers, but never to suicide. This particular friend, Kelly, was more of a friend of friend, someone whose phone number I used to have but lost after high school. I spent plenty of time with him back in the day, but it was my close friends who shared late nights with him as we got older. I know his voluptuous laugh had spread beyond his friends to so many of those he was mentoring, evangelizing, learning from, and sharing with. My heart breaks for his parents, his brother and sister, his fellow seminary students, his friends, and for all the people who will never understand what he was going through.

I slowly lost touch with Kelly in college and after. He prodded my faith and beliefs in a bar one winter break while we were home for Christmas, and I shrugged it off, wondering when he had done a religious about-face. I wish I had heard him out, not because I needed evangelizing but because he was gracious enough to spend his time on me. How many other people do I know that care about the fate of my soul?  

Losing him has stirred a melancholic mental tornado rather than tears. As a Christian, hearing about the death of a seminary student who had started his own evangelistic network makes you revisit the dark places that are just easier to tune out in church. I know that some of his peers are fearing for his soul, but there is only one thing that I'm certain of in all this, and it's that no God I know could possibly turn away Kelly, regardless of what took him to such a desperate place...there's no better time for His mercy. I don't envy the pastor at tomorrow's service who is expected to answer impossible questions and quiet the bleeding hearts of so many confused and angry people, but I'm more than ready for the reminders of peace, joy, and unyielding grace. 

abracadabra

This post is just to acknowledge my disappearing act from the blogosphere. So much is going on, including but not limited to my renewed interest in the G1 phone, the first holiday at my house, my dad's estate sale, planning a ski trip, more dodgeball, less school, the approach of fantasy football playoffs and the utterly embarrassing demise of my team. I hope to be back in the saddle early next week! Happy Turkey Day! 

blind leading the blind

Megan McAdams' Guide to Life, Part I

(on money)

Leitch: I really want to buy a house, just not right now.

Peters: Yeah, I'm not sure if I can afford it anymore. Megan, aren't you still looking at buying over there? 

McAdams: Well I was, but now that they're not letting people who can't afford houses to buy them, I can't. 

(on dreams)

Megan: hey do you know what dreams where your teeth fall out mean? don't you have a dream book? you should know that

me: well i used to...when I was 12.
me: you should probably focus on no longer saying words with Ts and Ss now that you don't have any teeth. 

ironically, "teeth" requires a set of teeth to be accurately pronounced. chew on that.
Megan: hahaha
actually i still have my teeth
my intern lost his in his sleep
and i told him it meant something but i couldnt remember what
me: well, is he annoying? If so, you should tell him it means he is subconsciously worried that he talks too much.
Megan: no, i like him
i did tell him it meant he was going to die though.

(on football) 

Posted on Fantasy Football Message Board

AUSTIN, TX -- #11 McAssKicker finally pulls one through to defeat #1 Doak Dominates in what has been called the biggest upset in fantasy football in years. A representative from McAssKicker says the team can't wait to see how far the win will cause them to jump in the rankings - maybe even to #10. "It's a Cinderella story," the rep said. "We are thrilled about the remote possibility of not sucking ass."

buckle your seatbelts

I never thought I'd say this, but on this monumental Election Day, I woke up feeling like a little kid on Christmas morning! Which I hope is an indication that the Lord Savior Obama himself is here to save our nation. Now don't go letting that right wing flutter you up into a frenzy...I'm just acknowledging that today I'm more hopeful and scared for the future of our country than I've ever, ever been. Living and breathing the financial Titanic at work has given me this constant tourette-tick feeling that our generation doesn't have any idea of the gravity of what's happening around us (myself included). I certainly hope I'm wrong. But I feel like today could very well be the day that we look back when we're old fogies and remember that that day — the one where it hit 80 degrees in November, where we watched the results come in at our favorite bar, where we spent most of the night trying failing to get Peters to take birthday shots, and where we let the Sticks N Stones set the literal tone for the chaos, anxiety, and release — that day set a series of events into motion that inevitably changed everything. 

happy skankoween

"Sexy Ninja"

Halloween is quickly becoming my favorite holiday, but alongside being carefree and debaucherous, I feel increasing pressure as I get older to make my costume something not-slutty. I admit, my costumes aren't particularly clever or anything (this year it's Roger Rabbit, complete with buckteeth that are going to give a nice spin to karaokeing on the party bus). But at least I'm not just closing my eyes and pinning the tail on the nearest profession and deeming it sexy. I know the "I hate skanky bitches on Halloween" diatribe is old, but this year I'm much more interested in Spirit Halloween's recent evolution of shamelessness. 

Spirit sets up shop once a year here around town, and I don't really know how far their tentacles stretch and whether you've seen them or not, but usually they have the typical onslaught of overpriced costumes. This year, however, they left pretenses at the door and re-titled one wall of clothes the Sexy Costume section. I'll refrain from judging the kind of people who see that sign and breathe a sigh of relief ... instead let's just focus on what's in stock for all the busty young ladies of Austin this year. 

LB's Top 5 Skankalicious Costumes

5. Sexy VIP Red Carpet Valet

When did parking your car become hott? 

4. Sexy Beer Girl

Wait, haven't I already seen this idea somewhere? Oh right, the Flying Saucer, yearround. 

3. Naughty Miss Claus

Nothing wrong with getting a two-for-one holiday combo! Scarring children since 2008.

2. Sexy Ninja

Warning: May salivate over nunchucks.

And the number one skankalicious outfit of the year award goes to......

1. Sexy Border Babe!

That's right, we're talking border patrol, people. Nothing turns on a Texan faster than a big-breasted lady trying to keep the Mexicans out!

Happy Skankoween!

in the name of love

So one of the most redeeming parts about having to sift through the items left behind by my dad and grandparents is that, occasionally, I find a little nugget of nostalgia so sweet it makes my heart drip into a little puddle right there on the floor. 

A few weeks ago, on my Grandaddy's birthday, I was going through some bookshelves and wedged in between a Tom Swift series I found "Our Wedding Book," which chronicled my grandparent's wedding in 1941. From what I can gather based on all the clippings, notes, telegrams, etc, it looks like my grandparents met during his final semester of college; got engaged in the middle of May; formally announced the engagement on the 24th; had three separate showers that week; and married on June 2 (the same day that he graduated college). In the back of the book was this letter, sent from my grandfather on May 21, 1941 to his parents. Even though you have never met him, I still thought you'd enjoy his depiction of life and love in the 40s....

Tuesday Night-

Tired but Happy

Dearest Folks-

Received your swell letter. Gee, what a fellow & gal you two turned out to be. Kay was with me 

when I got your letter & she just loves you both. 

You can start bragging, Mom, 'cause I passed my exam with flying colors. But how could I fail with Kay waiting right outside with her fingers crossed. But your encouragement helped a lot too. The profs said it was fine. It lasted 1 hour and 45 minutes & I bet I perspired a gallow. Ha ha.

Kay is soooo sweet. She is so understanding and encouraging. She gave me a little pep talk before I went in. You know, everyone (proffesors & all) are just crazy about Kay. We have the whole Business School buzzing & beaming. 

Guess what? Today about 11:00 o'clock Mr. Ron Dyer of Houston Humble Office phoned me long distance and told me he had me a good job - that he had been working on it for some time. Then I had to tell him about the army & he said that was too bad. He said he was coming up to Baylor tomorrow to see me & several sermons & then we'd talk it over. Dad, it just

makes me sick. The things I've wanted all my life being ruined by the army. I won't mind the army - it's just what it takes me away from. But maybe something will happen - I hope. I haven't heard from Hughes Tool Co. yet. But oh if I could work for the Humble & stay out of the army, everything would be absolutely perfect. 

Kay & I are going to get married regardless of whether I go to the army or not. She has to go to Baylor two terms more anyway. You see, her Dad is the Baylor contractor, building all these buildings. She gets all her tuition, fees, etc. paid. It doesn't cost her dad anything.

So she could finish school & get her degree, army or no army. She doesn't want to wait & neither do I -- so guess it won't be long. We are waiting for everything to be settled about the army & everything. Her dad was teasing her this morning about getting her an ole beat-up Ford car as a wedding gift & she suggested he give us a honeymoon trip to Galveston for a week. He said that sounded O.K. to him. Isn't that a sight? He's so swell. We all thought your letter was grand. We are all well & happy. Well, I owe about $8 dollars counting everything. If you could please send me ten I could make it I believe. Kay is so sweet, we won't have to spend much till school is out. 

I am going to bring Kay home with me for a week or so right after school is out if everything works out. She needs a vacation, she's been going to school continuously for nearly 3 years -- summers & all. And then I want you to get to know her & her to know you. 

We have more fun. Today as Kay got up to give a talk in Dr. Carroll's class, four of my fraternity brothers began humming "Here Comes the Bride." It embarrassed Kay so much, she blushed & sat back down. Everyone had a good laugh, & (confidentially, as she said) she really got a thrill out of it. But it was embarrassing. Everyone congratulates us, everywhere we go. O Boy - it's grand. 

Well, I must close this & go to bed. I'm really tired tonight. Tired but oh so happy. 

Be sweet, & start bragging. Can hardly wait to see you & tell you everything. Tell Erma & Bill & everyone -- Edna -- all -- I'm sooooooo happy!

Will get my birth certificate & everything. Bye. 

Love (ain't it grand)

Graves

My grandfather did end up getting drafted for the war and spent the first few years of their marriage in the Navy. When he returned, he ended up working for Humble like he hoped after all. They were married for 57 years until Grandmama passed away. 

Although I can usually think of about 2,376 things I'd rather be doing than going through my dad's house, things like this make it worthwhile. 

say bye bye, tyra

America's Next Top Model has lost that special, guilty place in my heart.

What in the name of baby Jesus has happened to this show? The marathons used to nurse me through all-day hangovers, but last night I realized that Season 357 is finally suffering from the cinematic sequel syndrome...just don't bother. Unless it's Batman, Lethal Weapon, or Beverly Hills Cop*, it's going to suck and make me wish I'd spend that $8.50 for my ticket on an ice pick to drive through my skull.

*Obligatory exceptions so Brian doesn't disown me.

I'd stumbled upon a short clip criticizing this season's premiere episode of ANTM, but the clip was from an equally horrific show—apparently Topanga has needled her way onto the Style network (really? is this a step up from Nutrisystem ads?), thus making "The Dish" one drop shy of Chinese water torture. But, I have to give her credit for giving me fair warning about Tyra's fall from grace....any season premiere that starts out with an overplayed futuristic Tyra-is-a-robot-get-it?-ha-ha scene is on its way to being blackballed by...well...me.

The episode was packed with cliches, pathetic metaphors, and melodramatic deliveries from the judges and Miss Thang herself. Tyra has also lost total control of her vocabulary, and now prefers to speak in incoherent jive. Her critique of one model's picture: "You look like you sayin', 'I'm about to toot my booty up!'" There are no words.

While I mourn the loss of the one role model I had left now that Paris is finding a new BFF, can someone please try to figure out how I'm going to find another show that makes me feel as ugly and fat as this one did?

you know you're a homeowner when...

...you wake up naturally at 6:15 a.m. because the Home Depot down the street just opened and today begins their storewide clearance sale. And maybe you need something.

weeeeeeeee

I apologize in advance, because I know you're not going to care, but I just need someone anyone to feel the intensity that this weekend is about to bring...

Vampire Weekend

Patty Griffin

Raconteurs

Jenny Lewis

Swell Season

Foo Fighters

MGMT

Erykah Badu

Beck

Silversun Pickups

Okkervil River

Tegan and Sara

Robert Plant and Alison Krauss

....and those are just the ones I highlighted. God bless Austin City Limits, this (extra)ordinary respite from the blazing heat, and friends that love music as much than I do.

it's girl talk

In the past 6 weeks or so, a few angels introduced me to the glory that is Girl Talk. Since then, I might have made you listened to him (Gregg Gillis, that is) in my car or maybe I let you watch me do high kicks around the house with his music in the background. I scored some of the last tickets to his upcoming show in Austin yesterday afternoon and the only thing standing between me and immediate ascension was a vat of TCBY. Thanks to a link from Peters, I ultimately found this interview from two years ago. I have the attention span of a goldfish when it comes to reading, so if I can get through this whole thing, you know it's got to be interesting. I especially enjoyed the part where he calls out underground music snobs...I have no patience for pretention when I just want to get my white girl groove on.

You'll probably wonder if he's been sued for sampling so many huge artists, but I don't think he has. It would be asanine for an artist to even go there, since his mixes rekindle a love for songs you haven't thought about in years (i.e. I'm guessing Track 3 spawned more impromptu downloads of All That She Wants than Ace of Base has seen since 1993). But I am kind of wondering if since this 2006 interview, he did get a cease and desist letter after all, since the latest album Feed the Animals is offered in the same pay-what-you-want style as Radiohead's In Rainbows. (Incidentally, Radiohead also just released the stems for their track Reckoner with an invitation to "Sample, cut, take the sounds, whatever. play it in a club. Play it in your room." Very a la Girl Talk.)

Check out the the article, the album, whatever. I dare you to not shake your ass. 

she-man

"I think you have more testosterone than the rest of us" is not something you want to hear amongst a group of 10 girls. Especially at a bachelorette party. Granted it wasn't an orthodox party since we spent part of the weekend out at my boss's river house (again, my job is better than yours). But since I was on my knees on a pebble beach by the river using a wooden oar to dig an ATV out of a hole, I didn't have much room to argue.

(I got it stuck, ok? And no, I didn't know that 4-wheel drive existed. Back off.)

I don't need to be a girly girl, persay, but good lord, I don't ever want to be singled out as the 1 in 10 who may or may not be tucking in her junk. I'll admit, I have some man-habits. I spit. I skip rocks. I take shots with no chaser. I burp out loud, sometimes with a rumble, always into the phone if possible. I talk about dijar and forget to cross my legs and just a few days ago played a game with Brian that involved throwing screwdrivers into the lawn. 

I think my only saving grace is nail polish and an addiction to crafts. But then again, it's one thing to take an interest in "girl things" (i.e. I like to spend ridiculous amounts of time in Target...girl thing.) and another thing to be capable of "boy things" (i.e. digging an ATV out of a ditch...boy thing). Sure you want to be able to hold your own, but I'd prefer to be a sleeper tomboy than the obvious culprit of, say, leaving the toilet seat up.

So last night I put myself to the ultimate test: edging the lawn. 

Please behold, a sample patch. 

(look closely)

                                             ⇓

Call me Edward Scissorhands but bitches I've got estrogen!

jerry springer, live

Who needs daytime TV when you've got the Facebook news feed?*

*Note: I don't like to capitalize on other people's pain, but if you don't know how to control your Facebook privacy settings and you are okay with publicly emoting, then you're leaving yourself wide open. 

slightly aawkwaard

This is about how comfortable I feel right now in my cluttered house, but I have two great excuses to get my shit together and get setup tomorrow: my first houseguest and a white trash / tailgating shindig in honor of board games, UT vs. UTEP, and my lack of living room furniture. I'm so pumped about Liz's arrival after her harrowing drive through the desert and am ready to show off the city's goods! TGIF!

home is where the...well, somewhere

I've always adored this scene from Garden State and tend to think about it a lot when I feel homesick, homeless, or homebound (best from 1:00+).

For as long as I can remember, my concept of home has been rooted in a constant, relentless, nomadic shift. I never grew up in any one particular home (most of you understand my mom's ongoing Monopoly game). The only place I visited repeatedly during the past 25 years is now one big matryoshka doll of nostalgia—a house full of closets, which are full of boxes, which are full of photos and knick-knacks and letters. My early twenties have all been spent trading a dorm for a balcony for a bungalow in Memphis for urban living in Austin. If only I'd decided to play the game like the Red Paper Clip Guy...

During the frustrating *awesome!* venture of looking for the next place I'd call home, I spent a lot of time trying to dissect where I had felt "at home" in the past and what about those places managed to borrow a little piece of my heart. Slowly I started to realize that I couldn't define those nebulous spaces as home, persay, because the things that felt most comfortable to me usually weren't structures at all. "Home" to me is d-d-d-d-dirty rap seeping through the walls at Rosemary Lane, avoiding potholes on the bike ride back from the Draught House, grilled steaks and merlot on an ivy-lined porch in Chicago, the silhouette of my mom typing on her computer.  Now home is on the site of an old airport, where I am in hyper-nesting mode, trying to unpack all of the things that will set the scene for the next chapter of my life. Of course approaching it that way puts so much more pressure on the unpacking process, because if I choose silk drapes over tan faux wood blinds, what will that say about me?! So I'm taking it as lightly as I can (not very), but I am still so excited about the day I say I'm on my way home and I mean it. 

  

mortgage sparring 202

A little follow-up to anyone who read my first post about this whole mortgage lender debacle:

Before I even got home that night, I'd already decided to go with my girl regardless of the money difference. So the choice was made and I'd planned to let everyone know in the morning. I checked my email that evening and she had sent me a message saying that she reviewed her quote because she was sure that her fees weren't as high as they looked, and she realized her computer hadn't picked up a debit and instead registered it as a credit. Long story short, once that little computation error was fixed, her bid actually beat out the guy's bid, meaning that I wouldn't have to mourn that $$ loss at all. So I guess good decisions can be rewarded after all!

Super Nerd

Oh how things have changed. Once upon a time, I avoided the Rhodes business building like it was lined with hypodermic needles. Now, I see the front cover of Business Week and think, Oh great! An article on generational tension, and even better, Jim Collins contributed! And Michael Bloomberg! Oh this one, this one's going to be good. Ugh. 

After that little outburst, I was already a little self-conscious about my nerdiness...and then I went to the dentist. And loved it. I didn't even get a free goodie bag or anything. I just love having my teeth cleaned, and I loved the new technology they had (ultrasonic water picks and digital x-rays, oh my!). I loved the metal scraper tool that makes awful vibrations in your enamel because it is hands down the best plaque removal tool I've ever seen. (I may or may not have tried to buy my own). I had a great conversation with my hygienist about dental school. I polled her about her favorite types of toothbrush and toothpaste and whether or not Listerine was really the best mouthwash or not. Like a kid in a sugar-free candy store.

Then this afternoon to top it all off, I decided to finally set up a LinkedIn profile. I've been avoiding this for a while in an effort to maintain a modicum of privacy. Also, there's just something super "adult" about professional networking. And really I don't need to add anything else to my cyber toolkit. But don't worry, I gave in anyway. And then spent a good hour importing information from my resume, seeking out old colleagues, and adding people to my network. One more site to check now!

So let's just do a quick recap of SuperNerd's day:

9:30 a.m. - Uses the phrase "This could be the best issue yet!" while referencing Business Week 

12:00 p.m. - Loves dentist 

2:30 p.m. - Creates LinkedIn profile

After work I'll be subscribing to a pocket protector catalog, and before bed I'll make sure to dust my Star Wars action figure boxes. 

mortgage sparring 101

While I never thought that buying a house would be easy, persay, I never expected to be in the middle of a menage trois of lenders. I'm like the girl that didn't know she just walked into a swinger's party...maybe I'd have been okay with it if I'd have understood what was going on, but all of the sudden being in a tug-of-war for my affection (or commission, as it is)...well, that's going to take some getting used to. 

I suspect the mortgage business has soured in the past 12 months since Bear Stearns tanked and America put out her un-ashed cigarette and gestured with a grimace and fake naivete, "What'd I do?" Since tons of buyers can't even get a loan to buy one of the thousands (millions?) of overstocked homes, it seems as though brokers are in a real pinch here. Which means they want your money. Bad. 

I had a broker that was a friend and co-worker of another very close friend, so I was completely confident this girl wasn't going to screw me into 2038...that's right, when my loan will be complete {insert gag}. Put on your Pig Latin hat and let's call her Endall-kay, for privacy's sake. So things were moving along nicely when my builder decided to jump in the mix and start offering mortgage incentives. So they passed me onto their lender. Already I felt like I was cheating, but I know that it's common to "shop around your loan" so I thought why not. The lender then passed me to an "associate" who I come to realize is a broker from an unconnected business. Meaning, two people are getting commissions now. Red flag.

So Ris-que (Pig Latin, people) then sends me a bid that undercuts Endall-kay. But he also calls me 3 TIMES while I'm at lunch, freaking out saying I have to lock in my rate that minute because oh shit I think the stock market is dropping and rates will rise and what will do if the world caves in and you haven't locked in your rate? Sign here, please. His urgency and faux concern for my interest rate totally irks me, so I send Endall-kay his quote, asking if she'd match it so I could just get rid of him. She does. She points out all the places he was jacking up fees, which totally offset any incentives I was supposedly getting. Red flag. I send a Dear John letter to Ris-que. The builder's lender (stay with me) writes and says he's sure that once the dust settles, he'll be able to undercut her again. I'm sorry, when did "dust settles" become a proper negotiation term? Red flag. I get another email from the builder asking to see my girl's quote. Red flag. Now I'm extra irked, like the same kind of irked I am when I realize I'm out of colby jack cheese. So I blow them off. Sure enough, just like a typical man, the silent treatment works and today I get a final bid from Ris-que saying he's cut his commission in half just to get my business and hopes that I will appreciate the "really great option" he's given me. 

Unfortunately, it kind of is a good option. It's like, a brand new 42" LCD HD TV good option. 

But I just have this female-intuition-vibe that's telling me if he doesn't screw me now, he'll screw me later. I feel like he's somehow going to mortgage roofie me at some point, and what price tag can you put on fear?

So I'm going to sleep on it, because that's how I make big decisions, and then tomorrow I'll follow my gut and decide that my 24" TV gets a pretty good picture after all. 

i'm a big kid now

You know it's Friday when you wake up and realize you dreamt that Troy Aikman had been following you from party to party because he was in love with you. I mean, really, can you blame him? 

Strangely, my Cowboys-lover dream was not the biggest thing that happened this week. Nor was the last day of class, signaling my three-week release from prison back into the real world! Nor was the amazing Hold Steady concert, at which Lundy and I wriggled our way to the second row and sweated it up to some rockin' rock. Amongst all that stuff, I signed a 1,273 page contract signing away my firstborn child in exchange for a sweet-ass-all-mine-put-your-big-girl-pants-on house! 

I've been on a serious house hunt since June when the armpit shithole rental house fell through. Sally referred me to Don, the patron saint of good decision making, and after visiting at least 50 houses, we both finally agreed that my new little gal was the best choice! I am so thankful to have had a knowledgeable, wise, altruistic, and patient helper like Don and I was so excited after signing the contract that I distributed not one but two hugs in appreciation! 

My whole goal during this process was, first and foremost, to find a home that I would love, feel stable in, and feel "me" in. Secondary goals included avoiding a money pit, choosing something that would rent easily once I move on, and finally picking something that would re-sell easily someday down the road when the market is up and running again. After much see-sawing between those objectives, I realized that buying an old house (hence, one I felt most comfortable in) was diametrically opposed to all sensibility. Given my general stress level of life right now and my track record of luck lately, the charm and character of an old house would probably soon give way to some unwelcome repairs that would leave me just shy of a strait-jacket. Since I'm looking for more stability, not less, I realized I needed to save my "ideal" house for later. 

Just as I was about to give up (why is this always when it happens?), my little lady fell right into my lap, before she even hit the official market. By the end of the month, I'll be a proud new member of the Mueller development going up on the site of the old airport. For those who think traditional developments are the Anti-Christ, I hear you, and I hope you're pleasantly surprised by the new urban concepts at play in this green community. It took me a while to warm up to the idea of paying a homeowner's association fee, but the bike trails + greenways, town center, light rail, and easily maintained house eventually swayed me. This whole hunt was a great test of my patience (or lack thereof), and I'm so glad I held off on the many properties that I considered. I think the reality of being a homeowner will kick in once I start hiring movers, painting, switching utilities, forwarding mail, and all of the other prosaic tasks that come with moving....and I can't wait.

what's your sign?

The only horoscope I've read in the past four years was out of The Onion, and it told me the good news was, I was going to have the best day of my life tomorrow! The bad news was, I'd be hit by a car the next day. I hadn't even so much thought about my sign until a "family dinner" the other night when Jenilee proclaimed that obviously she's moody, I mean, she IS a Cancer, which spiraled into a detailed dissection of all of our personalities and sent me running for the Internet to figure out who I really was.

Thanks to astrology.com, I found out I am a huge pansy. I'm sensitive and dreamy and emotional and I sound seriously annoying. I hate illiteracy, and I'm probably short with pouty lips. (I joined forces with Wikipedia too, okay?) Which is where I also found out that Pisces have the most beautiful eyes in the Zodiac. Boo-yah! Where's the part about my voluptuous breasts?

More reputable sites suggest that I'm a good confidant, a solid caretaker, and I want to love and be loved. Sometimes I feel isolated and disconnected. Now we're onto something. I have a strong intuition and use that to solve problems, although I hate making big decisions. Tough times will be great sources of wisdom for me. Damn well better be. 26 is going to be a year of important change. Gah, not more than 25 please! There's a good chance I'll be a writer, and I'm usually very loyal. I can't cook for shit. (I couldn't find that exact phrase but it had to be in there somewhere).

So aside from the whole pouty-lipped dreamer thing, I feel like a lot of this stuff was pretty dead on, which kind of blew my mind. Does anyone else buy into this whole zodiac thing, or am I taking a turn down Crazy Road?

why didn't I think of that?

Brian and I have tried to describe Improv Everywhere to some of you, so I thought I'd just put a video up so you could see for yourself. The group assembles hundreds of New Yorkers for a mission, but only tells them what to wear or bring. No one knows what they'll be doing until they get there. 

Ingenious. 

Here is their latest, The Human Mirror.

A spinoff website started called Urban Prankster, and they did a pretty good one on the Verizon Wireless Network. 

TGIF!

things you should do...

...because I said so.

1) Teach me how to use the Mac corners function thingie.

2) Go see the Dark Knight. I know it's unusual for the girl who doesn't go to movies to post about movies, but I saw one, and you should too! Heath Ledger was, in professional movie critic terms, freaking awesome. I hate getting caught up in the hype only to discover that no, that person actually was not all that impressive, so please believe me when I say that you will not be disappointed in Ledger's rendition of the Joker. He's the first villain since Hannibal Lecter that I was totally in awe of, terrified of, and kind of wanted to be his friend all at once. Plus, there are a lot of schizophrenic currents running through the movie and hey, analyzing that is an English major's dream.

3) Visit Pandora.com. I abandoned Pandora last year because my work computer didn't have a sound card. (So anyone who sent me a video in the last 10 months, I probably haven't watched it in its full glory...although I did improve my lip-reading skills.) But now, the iMac actually has sound {gasp!} so I re-activated my Pandora account and it is already changing my life. God bless this crazy stalker website that is expanding my musical horizons while creating the perfect playlist for little 'ol me. If you want to be a super stalker too, I think you can listen along with me...

i'll take the red pill

Hello Laura. This is your iMac. I will be changing your life. 

It's not talking to me yet, but I swear it wouldn't shock me in the least if this thing started reading my mind. Or making me waffles. My bosses just bought this bad boy yesterday and I'm already starting to feel a little holier-than-thou about my computing abilities. But how could I not? What Google is to the internet, Apple is to your computer system. What Pure Romance is to hoards of lonely ladies, Apple is to raw photos. What tuna is to Powder, Apple is to your music library. If you're on the PC train, buckle your seatbelt.

Yes, it's just my work computer, but anyone who knows anything about my job knows that work=personal (minus the porn downloads). Because my bosses are angels brought down from heaven above, they even bought me a 24" screen. Read: way more man than I can handle. I mean, I feel like I'm sitting in my own personal media room. The opening welcome sequence felt like an IMAX show, complete with a little dizziness. Since then, everything about this operating system has been blowing my mind. I'm feeling a little deja vu from when I bought my Razr after 9 years of standard Nokias and I turned it on in the store and the first thing I said was, "Oh my God, it's in color!" Except I'm experiencing that with every.single.click.

I totally don't need this computer. I'm not an artist, or a musician, or a very important businessperson with 1.5 million contacts that need to sync with my iPhone and MacBook. But shit, I'll take it. I feel like I just stepped into the matrix and realized that my previous life was all just a farce. Laura, welcome to your iLife. 

 

  

memphrica

It's almost 2 a.m., we're almost packed, and it's almost time to get up and head to Memphis. I am dying to see my best friends, my Big Black Boy, and bbq shops around every corner! It's crazy to think about how different life in Austin is...sometimes I wonder how I even survive without people like this.

starstruck

Happy 4th of July, all you patriotic slackers who are still sleeping while I slave away at my desk. Wait, you're at work? you might ask. Why yes, yes I am. My progressive bosses allotted me a set number of vacation days a year and allowed me to choose when I wanted to take them. Of course, they also assumed I was mature enough to not blow all my vacay days without considering what days all my friends would be sleeping in and barbecueing and maybe I'd want to do that too...they thought wrong, so here I am, and for this, you get a blog.

Life has been crazy with what I'd like to call the Revolving Door of Slinging Poo, so I haven't had quite enough time to devote to this here blog, but I did manage to take a break from paper writing to meet one of my favorite bloggers, Stephanie Klein. She's responsible for Greek Tragedy, which Jackie introduced me to back in 2004 when Steph (that's right) blew up on the radar. I was a religious reader back in the day when she was a real live Carrie Bradshaw, single in NYC, dating around and getting sexual favors in cabs until she found the love of her life. Since then, she's gotten married, moved to Austin (holler!), and had two adorable twins. I have fallen off the bandwagon a little bit lately, but that doesn't mean I didn't lose my shit when I realized she'd be reading from her newest book Moose at a nearby B&N. YES.

I couldn't wait to see her in the flesh...there are pictures of her online and everything, but you can't really get a feel for what someone's like until you meet them in person. What if she was a snob and I hated her and then I hated her blog and had wasted four years of spare time reading it? What if she was cheesy and I hated her for that and then I hated her blog and had wasted four years of spare time reading it? So I'm excited, sitting there among 15-20 other people (seriously? where was everybody?), she walks up and....I fought the urge to cry. I KNOW. I have no idea what's wrong with me. I am all about psychoanalyzing myself and my emotional-ness but I got nowhere with this one.

Anyway, my ridiculous foray of tears is not the point. I pulled it together, loved loved loved her talk and her book, and couldn't wait to have her sign it (plus her first one, which I'd brought). As she's taking questions, I have a million running through my head but am suddenly too embarrassed to ask them in front of other people. Or maybe just in front of her. I thought they were probably stupid and that no one else would care about the answers. Fair enough. So I'm waiting in line, rehearsing what I want to say, and mind you I've been thinking about this for a while. When you meet someone you think is kind of a celebrity, what are you even supposed to say? I feel like it's flattering to comment them, because compliments can't be that annoying. Maybe you should prove what a fan you are by listing the most obscure album/article/book that person produced....and how much you loved it. Or maybe it's important to say what their work has meant to you, because most people intrinsically operate with the hope of making a difference to someone else.

Once I opened my mouth, it was hard to believe I'd thought about any of that stuff. Or that I even contained an entire lineup of chromosomes. I got up to the table and went blank, had no idea what to say, and just kind of was like, "Hi...I really like your blog." Good one. So now I'm officially old enough to know how to read but not advanced enough to understand the components that make up a complex sentence. She asked me a question or two, like, "So have you read Moose yet? Do you have a blog yourself?" and then, I guess my brain got all excited because oh my God, we're having a conversation and I lurched from neutral to overdrive and started blurting my life history and every question I'd ever had since the beginning of time. "My-roommates-and-I-have-been-reading-your-blog-since-2004-and-we-love-it-and-we-think-it's-so-fun-and-I-lived-in-Memphis-when-you-moved-to-Austin-then-I-moved-to-Austin-and-I-was-so-excited-because-I-thought-maybe-possibly-at-some-point-you'd-have-a-book-signing-and-then-I'd-actually-get-to-come-and-here-you-are!-So-what-are-you-working-on-next?-Do-your-prefer-blog-writing-to-book-writing-or-do-you-now-like-script-writing-better?-What-channel-is-your-tv-show-going-to-be-on?-Do-you-think-you'll-continue-writing-memoirs-or-will-you-maybe-write-some-fiction?"

So obviously, instead of asking intelligent questions in front of the group so everyone could benefit from hearing the answers, the smarter option was to go ahead and revert to second grade and have an explosive verbal blowout in front of her table, while everyone else is tapping their feet in line, secretly hoping I get removed from the store.

I have only met one celebrity before, so it's not like I have a lot of experience with this or anything, but it was Jane Seymour, and I had to interview the woman! So you'd think this little book signing would be no problem. But really? "We think your blog is so fun" ????

Shoot me.

not for the faint of heart

Now, I don't mean to be a prima donna....I don't believe in the 5-second rule. Sometimes I wear my socks twice. And I've been known to let Powder sleep next to my face even when she has kitty litter paws.

That being said—a lady has standards.

And expectations.

And legal documents stating that when I arrived at my new rental house on moving day, this would not be in the front yard:

If I'd been in the market for motor oil, unidentifiable rusted objects, or the quintessential junkyard accoutrement—a tire—then this might have been a nice surprise. But I half expected The Sandlot dog to jump out from under the HVAC duct tubes. What I was really hoping for was, I don't know, a liveable space where I wouldn't get tetanus walking in.

I had higher hopes for the inside, until I saw some little pink fuzzies on the hardwoods ... harmless, right?


Oh no wait.

That's fiberglass, people. Not to be touched, inhaled, or (ideally) projected from your air conditioning vents. Some even call it a "health hazard."

Hoping for better luck in the bathroom, I instead found this turd swamp in the sink.

And HIV around the toilet/bathtub.

And then hepatitis dripping from above the stove.

I thought about relocating the homeless shelter there, but instead I started researching tenant/landlord rights, calling a lawyer, etc. Because my "landlord" (I can't even call him that with a straight face) was a lawyer, I figured I'd need to be well equipped to fight getting out of my lease. Even though he was clearly in breach of contract since he hadn't done anything to prepare the house for me to move in. I know it looks nasty, but I've seen a million episodes of Hidden Potential and dammit, I knew that place would be perfect for me if it was just cleaned up. Instead, the two disgusting potheads who previously lived there decided to dump their life in the yard, then the landlord left the house for dead and didn't even have the courtesy to call me before my moving day to let me know, oh by the way—bellybutton hole lint, body odor, and acrylic nails had a baby and named it 403 W. Monroe.

clip ties and aviators

It's amazing how much you learn about someone after the fact. Tomorrow will mark two months since my dad passed away, and I'm finally starting to experience days here and there when the weight is not so heavy. I was anxious about cleaning out his house, because it contains two generations of stuff, since my grandparents lived there before him. The notoriously depressing scene of uncovering photographs and old clothes and knickknacks that spar forgotten memories...I dreaded all of that. And don't get me wrong, it's impossible to make emotional or physical progress without all of that mixed in. But the whole "sifting" process—trash, Ebay, keep, garage sale, appraiser—is starting to be therapeutic. And fascinating. How often do you do an archeological dig into someone's life?

It's so hard as a child to envision your parents as anything but givers of gifts and punishment. They serve a function to you, but they are not like you, in that they couldn't possibly have a "life" like you have a life. Once I left for college, my parents started taking new shapes in my mind. They revealed more of their interests, talked more about their pasts and their mistakes and their relationships. They made lude jokes (hereditary) and cried openly. They couldn't protect me anymore, so they tried to understand me, and eventually that same desire transferred to me. I had learned so much more about my dad since moving last June, but it is still amazing to me that his personality is becoming more and more defined through the remnants I am finding now.

There is a Police Pile, which has weapons (seriously.), a bulletproof vest, ammunition, a BB gun and pellets, department patches, and nightsticks, for good measure. There is a bag full of camera equipment with a tripod and multiple lenses. There are 3 sets of speakers for the hard drive full of classic rock. There are hundreds of burned DVDs and an Excel sheet of their titles. There are flight and driving simulator games. There is a box full of maps from nearly every state, but most are from Colorado. There are pilot charts and photographs from plane shows. Books on everything from whittling to buddhism to bird watching to ... cats. Standard black Bic pens and mini flip-notebooks by the dozen. Hilariously inappropriate jokes printed off the internet. Clip ties and aviators. A lifetime supply of sneakers for a man who didn't run.

It's all so endearing that I have to wait a few days between each session, not because my heart can't take it, but because I want it all to just rest in my mind so each detail can find its own nook to settle in. I laugh out loud more than I cry, and I think that is the genesis of progress.

the shadow

So you know how everyone has those weird thoughts every once in a while, the ones where you think, I wonder what would happen if I just didn't stop at this stoplight and plowed straight into the back of that car? Or like when you're on a roller coaster and you have this flash of oh-my-god-i'm-pretty-100%-sure-my-lap-bar-is-missing-a-screw and then you spend the whole eight minutes frozen in fear of either flying off the ride or actually making it through but then having to walk through the park after peeing yourself? OR (this is my favorite) you glaze over while someone is talking to you and you wish to God that you had an egg to smack over his/her head right then. Just to see the look on their face.

Since Brian brought the hog down to Austin (just kidding, I would never say that...except in super professional situations), this kind of stuff is all I think about. I don't want to say it takes the fun out of riding, because it doesn't. But you kind of have to stop and wonder if it's worth enjoying the wind and sun and freedom when you're mental reel keeps looping these scenes in which you get sideswiped by a car and go flying off the bike and slam into {insert nearest object}. Sunday it was a concrete sidewall, a cliff, a lightpost. Yesterday I decided the best place to get thrown off would be the bridges crossing Town Lake, because you'd totally just fall into the water! Of course they have those concrete supports that might cause some problems on the way down. But you have no idea how excited I was to realize that for those 35 seconds on S 1st, I was totally in the clear. That bridge is my new binky.

I know, I know, these are horrible thoughts and why the hell am I making you read them. I think I'm secretly (or now, very publicly) hoping that if I put them on paper or make someone else think them, then maybe they'll be out of my head. Expunging, if you will.

After a few eye-opening highway rides—one in which Brian was certain that at any second the wind would rip right through the one open snap on his shirt and his button-down would turn into a black cape—we've decided those are just bad bad bad. When we're just riding on normal city streets, I rarely envision my body as a twirling Gumby flipping through the air (in my imagination, I'm super acrobatic. Because it's not really worth becoming paralyzed if you don't execute a perfect 3 1/2 on the way down, right?). Seriously though, I know it's dangerous, and I'm being careful, and I only get to ride it a few times a week, if that. Plus, my dad rode for well over 20 years and never got hurt, so I'm hoping its hereditary...

Fortunately, I'm about to get a three-day break from my mental morbidness while I stick to a different mode of transportation in San Fran called feet.

non-maternal instinct

Oh my gosh you poor blog you. If you were a child, they'd have CPS knocking on my door. I seriously will start paying more attention to you. Just as soooon as I finish a few other things.

this is how I roll

Sometimes you just know it's gonna be one of those days. The kind where you're tearing off your shirt because that tag is so f-ing itchy or you're trying to untangle your headphone wires so viciously that you look like you're starting a lawn mower. The day always gets less awkward and clumsy, but the opening act is just exhausting. Well, I've had a lot of these lately. So many that I sighed out loud just from typing that sentence. After four mornings like this in a row, I forced myself to get a full eight hours of sleep last night, because I couldn't stand the thought of starting off another day wishing I was my Mii so I could triple punch knockout the neighbors cat next person who walked by.

I figured eight hours would do the trick. I wake up, put on my ugliest shirt as a test, didn't immediately want to rip it off, and think yes, this is going to be a good one. I then move to the kitchen because I deserve breakfast on this by God good day, and obviously there's only one thing that would make me happy: a Blanton Blaster McMuffin. I have exactly seven minutes to get out the door—plenty of time to get the goods on the grill, make myself look decent, and be on my way. And I'm alarmingly dexterous this morning! Selecting a pan while grabbing salt from the cabinet, balancing the fridge door with my hip while spraying the skillet. I'm rocking and rolling. Turning on the burner while breaking the—

—only reliably unexpired egg yolk in the house slithers out of its shell and in between the stove and the cabinets. Where did that space even come from? And why the hell did the kitchen designer put it there? I'll tell you why. It was made for this, this eggtastrophe that would set the tone for my day. That space in the cabinet was sent from Satan himself to magnetically suck the goodness out of my Thursday. I watch the viscous blob slow until it clogs the crack, and the yolk breaks upon hitting the floor, leaving me with nothing but a gooey Rorschach test and one minute to spare.

So I was late, hungry, and bitter because I know when I get home, I will have to flush out the vortex of evil with disinfectant so that my apartment doesn't smell like one giant fart.

The good news is, I was inspired to film a documentary called Counting Crows: 1993-2008, starring this egg.