Saturday, December 29, 2012

Alcohol makes you smarter and more attractive?

I completed day one of this detox project with my wits still about me.  I've received both positive and negative feedback but my favorite was a text message from a fellow booze connoisseur saying "I'm really disappointed in you." I'll abandon this healthy living bandwagon shortly, do not fear.

In the meantime, I've added some fun challenges to keep things interesting. Last night, I was invited to accompany some friends in a band (Horseshoes & Hand Grenades) to a show outside Austin. They were opening for The Damn Quails so the night had serious potential for fun and good tunes. I was reluctant to go at first though. I feel sleepy and hanging out with a bunch of rowdy male musicians for a solid 10 hours sounded a bit iffy.

But, I realized that detox isn't just of the body. If I am to really clean up this trailer I am going to need to make sure I'm not boring without the warm, snuggly cloak of inebriety. My only live musical experiences so far involved moderate to severe amounts of liquor and the occasional illegal drug, so much so that when I thought about it I realized that I rarely remember people I meet at shows and sometimes don't even remember the music very clearly. This is sad I've decided. So, I packed up my juice and met them for drinks before getting on the "tour bus."

To hang out with band members, one must be pretty independent. I don't know many of their friends yet and my phone died as soon as we got there. I was definitely on my own. At first I was shy. My inhibitions and insecurities were fully intact. I wondered if booze has really been a crutch for me and that I am as stupid and unoriginal as I believe some boozers to be. This prospect terrified me and I was determined to let the self I have come to know as "my"self enjoy the show and have fun with strangers without a drop of liquid courage, a shred of false bravado, or even another person to guide me.

Finally, I spotted someone with a Nebraska coozie so, much like the times I've found myself alone in cities around the globe, I put on a smile and perused the room making friends along the way. It was incredible. My mind was sharp allowing me to remember nearly everyone's name. I heard every note and remember which songs I have to download today. I stayed out until my usual 3am and slept until 11 but I feel great! Just food for thought...mostly since I'm not eating any other sort of food. Last night was a satisfying morsel.

Friday, December 28, 2012

Day One: Prep

The detox program was delivered yesterday in 18 colorfully terrifying bottles. The realization that I am to have no booze, food, or fun for the next few days began to set in. Cashew milk, really? How do these healthy people do it? The instructions are simple: Don't consume anything except the specially prepared juices in a specific order and water with lemon. No problem for someone who gets normal amounts of sleep, water (without whiskey), exercise, and nutritious food. (I just had trouble spelling nutritious which is indicative of my familiarity with it.)

In preparation, I completed the following tasks:
  1. "Cleaned" out cookie and milk supply for breakfast
  2. Gave dog a bath (she'll be used as a stress ball over the next few days)
  3. Put clean sheets on bed
  4. Ate an inappropriate amount of pasta for lunch
  5. Ate an amazing, amazing dinner at a new Thai restaurant 
  6. Ate a spicy chocolate cake ball
  7. Drank 3 bottles of wine
  8. Stayed up until 3:30am
Ok, I'm ready. I can totally do this. 

Juice #1 down. It wasn't terrible. It wasn't butternut squash and goat cheese ravioli with walnut cream sauce either. But, the Donkey episode of Ab Fab is still funny for now and the sky appears to still be blue. Only 68 hours left. 

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Cheers! Thanks a lot!

Because I won't have time tomorrow and because work is an irritating distraction from all the smells coming from my oven, writing some words of thanks to use up a unit seem appropriate. 

Thank you, family! When I need you, miles and miles of distance doesn't even phase you. You make it better. Everything, you make it better.

Thank you, friends! My DC family is like a blankie I can't be without and I'm so grateful for the years I spent with you. You guys showed me what real friendship looks like and that is a rare and valuable gift. My new Texas family has been a long time coming but in the last 6 months, you have picked me up, dusted me off (or rather, dunked me in the river), and pointed me in the right direction on a path more my own. I'm not alone anymore and I'm so glad I finally found you.

I love my new home. I'm so grateful I get to be in this beautiful space everyday and call it my own. Not only is it infinitely more functional and equipped than any place I've lived before, it is also a fortress that unhappiness cannot penetrate. I'm thankful for granite countertops, closets, and surround sound. I'm thankful for my sunny sewing room. I'm thankful so many people have shared fun with me at Chez Ahrens and I'm thankful for the help I got making this place feel like home. I'm even grateful for plumbers, electricians, and Zilker event street closures. I'm especially grateful for Zilker events!

I'm somehow finally thankful for the terrible situation that got me this new home. Though swimming to shore was challenging, I'm grateful I knew when to jump ship. One must, must have gratitude for any lesson learned.

Thank you, neighbors, for not hating me. May the universe shower you with luck and happiness. I'm loud but I promise to always have whiskey and pasta on hand to make up for it. Your tolerance is a precious gift.

And, as always, I'm thankful for my sweet dog who continues to remind me that love exists. I simply cannot put into words how much she means so hopefully this will suffice: She is the dollop of homemade whipped cream on my pumpkin pie. And that's saying something.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012

Filth and Other Collectables

As I took the trash out this morning, I gave my usual thought to the monumental ickiness of dumpsters. I know what I throw in there and I can only imagine what else makes a grave in its stinky darkness. I'm oddly fascinated with shows about rare medical conditions and I always recall the sensationalized episode on flesh eating bacteria when I touch any trash receptacle.

I like to think I don't hang out in places where the risk of picking up a flesh eating anything is possible, short of hipster zombie parties on the East Side. However, as I walked Olive and thought harder about it (pre-coffee), I realized I am in great danger.

I am actually most likely to be found in rank dive bars, smoke-filled honky tonks, and the most vile of them all, port-a-potties at music festivals, which I even went into barefoot once, bless my filthy heart. The funniest thing is that as I was writing this, I recalled a previous entry on the same topic. Clearly, my dilusions of noble ladyship, complete with girly handkerchiefs, good posture, and Junior League membership* are out with the rubbish. It is only a matter of time before I'm hospitalized. Whiskey should kill any life-threatening germs, right?

* I don't really want to be in Junior League. While I may be filthy, I am still classy. 

Thursday, October 25, 2012

Shy Wild


Today is my Mom's birthday. Like most women her age, she's 39. Since I wrote about Dad, I figured I better drop a line about how effing awesome she is as well.

Like most moms, she's mastered the drying-tears, band-aid, chicken soup sort of stuff. She gives good advice and teaches life lessons thoroughly and in the correct order. She makes a mean meatloaf and always has a Kleenex. And so on, infinitely... She has comprehensively owned "Mom" in the traditional sense of the word. (She had a really good teacher.)

"Traditional" she is not, however. Anyone who has met my mom usually walks away delighted and confused. She is simultaneously gentle and outrageous, caring and out of control, shy and wild. She has mended every one of my broken hearts and given me the most debilitating hangovers. She is a tiny, mild person who once threw a chair at a biker bar and likes to burn shit. She is a wonder, a juxtaposition personified. She is an angel and a pirate.

I speak to her almost every day without fail. No one else hears the stripped-down, honest (sometimes scary) inner workings of my mind. No one. But that's because she isn't just my mom, she's my best friend. She gets the 3am call when I'm crying or laughing or both. She answers. My gypsy lifestyle and unconventional habits are not always easy for me but she gives me the strength and confidence to keep doing my thing. As a fellow unconventional, I suppose she's already navigated these waters and to keep doing one's thing is the only useful strategy. I need her like I need oxygen.

I often tell people that once you meet her, I will make better sense. We seem to always love the same things which makes buying her gifts effortless and we both can't have the music too loud. But, thinking deeper about this, I'm not so sure. We're very different actually. She has tact, for example. Luckily, I got her eyes.

Happy birthday, Mum! I hope your day is as rowdy, loud, fun, and special as you are!


Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Check out those seat covers. Roger That.

ACL is Austin's best binge, in my opinion. This year was highly anticipated and didn't disappoint, though my toxin levels are severely in the red. It was particularly noteworthy because I now live in Zilker Park, about .25 mile from the festivities. My condo was turned into a rowdy, loud squatter camp for boozers, dancers, travelers from afar, and the hungry. It was brilliant!

Communication at the festival is notoriously a problem but it also adds a creative challenge to the mix that can be wildly fun to solve, should you be so inclined. When you're crammed into a downtown city park with 130 bands, 8 different stages, and over 70,000 drunken, chemically-altered concert goers, you can forget about using your cell phone or checking in on Facebook. This year we tried walkie talkies...not because they work better than T-Mobile or help you find your lost friends but because talking on them is hilarious and having one is your hand is cool as shit. Some rules of engagement:
Fab shades
  • Say "Roger that" after everything said into a walkie talkie. You can say "Roger that niner over and out cuuuuuusch" as well for added effect. 
  • Come up with your own group language so that outsiders don't know what the hell you're talking about. Bonus points if truck drivers can decode your made up language. 
  • Make friends with everyone else on your channel and respond to them with far out nonsense that makes them laugh. 
  • Don't give both walkie talkies to one person.
Nom Nom Nom
Additional lessons include:
  • Don't pee during the month of October. This frees up lots of additional time in front of stages. 
  • Make your own ACL Bingo game. Include things like a Texas flag tattoo, a baby in headphones, and someone not wearing pants. Here's mine.
  • Drunk people write the funniest stuff if you give them markers and large, washable pallets. 
  • If there is any threat of rain, wear white. You will be given a free poncho by a handsome, kind boy and make lots of new friends.
  • Avoid the lines at the food trucks and have food delivered to your tarp by those in need of karmic re-up.
  • Rusty will find you. Even in a mosh pit. Even in the dark. He is a ninja.
  • Sneak in whiskey.  
  • See Jack White.
  • Drown out the complaints of boring neighbors by turning the music up louder.
With the help of an epic band of gypsies, this was the best ACL (quite possibly the best music festival) yet! Next year, ACL is throwing my birthday party so expect more of the same. Music is fuel (and so is Rumchata)!!

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Not the same ACL without him

Almost a year ago, I lost the friend that told me to never take Advil for a hangover, especially during the 72-hour ACL binge. To do so was "sending my liver into a gun fight with a knife." I lost a friend that, even though I knew him only briefly, was one of the most precious of my new Austin friends.

I still think about him every day without fail and wonder what things would have been like had he been around to offer direction. Things, I believe, would have been so very different.

After Travis died, I was never able to console my now ex-boyfriend, Travis' best friend, who was devastated by the loss. In turn, he offered me no comfort either. I was told I was a failure because I could not take the pain away. Bringing him back was the only solution, a task I was indeed quite incapable of performing.

A failure, however, I am not. I try, just like everyone, my hardest. I miss him, just like everyone...with an intensity that is unspeakable, with a sadness in which I dare not even indulge.

If I could have lessened the pain for my man, my friends, Travis' family, the state of Texas, the universe, believe me, I would have. But that isn't how these things work. We all take a piece of the pain and carry it whether we are strong enough for the extra load or not. That is the burden you accept when you love someone like we all loved Travis. Like all things we love, to have them taken is a risk we must be prepared for, a weight we must be ready to bare without warning.

And so I try to carry my grief with gratitude. I don't always do it gracefully. I don't always do it right. But I do it, always. Because like I said a year ago, there is no greater thanks for the sadness I feel because I'm one of the lucky ones that gets to miss him.

I miss you, my dear friend. ACL won't sound the same without you. I wish you could be there to sing along to Avett Brothers with me. But, I have my tarp ready and I've chosen Jack White instead of that old guy. I know you'll be listening. 

Head Full of Doubt/Road Full of Promise by The Avett Brothers


Thursday, October 4, 2012

Thank you, beautiful friends

It's official. I'm the luckiest girl in the world. Today is my birthday and I'm overwhelmed by the love sent my way.

Beginning yesterday, because some of my friends live in hemispheres where everything is done a day early, I started getting love notes and it has been heartwarmingly constant since. With a midnight knock on my door for shots and the best shih tzu snuggle alarm clock, my special day has been too good to be true, and it is only lunchtime. My phone has been buzzing every few minutes all night and morning long and I'm quite overwhelmed by my beautiful pack members; old, new, close, and far. Thank you all so, so much. You amaze me to tears. There is nothing more precious to me than friendship.

Mum is arriving in a few hours for a packed weekend of music, fishing, overeating, and (knowing the Queen of Pirates) mischief. It is going to be a weekend (um...maybe more like a month) of memories for sure. I'll post photos of my fishing catch...with the luck I know I have for being friends with all of you, I know I'm going to catch a whopper.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Worth It

I recently heard a story about Pablo Picasso. He was asked by a fan at a café to sketch a drawing on a napkin. He did and then asked her to pay him $10,000. Shocked and unwilling to pay, she retorted that the drawing had only taken him a few seconds. He replied, “No, my dear, it took me 30 years.”

Self-worth of this magnitude is impressive, possibly even valid. But it isn’t self-worth that is important to me in this story. It is that worth takes time, hard work, even failure. Worth isn’t arbitrary, it is earned. Worth doesn’t declare itself. It is given and taken based on a complex formula of needs, wants, and perceptions.

Of course, there are things in life that are monumentally undervalued and foolishly overvalued. Look at the wage divide between teachers and NFL players. Look at the price of an engagement ring and the price of a divorce…ironically similar, huh? And if you can pay for both in less than two years, perhaps they should both cost more. Even taking into account my own “values”, I’m almost ashamed to admit I spend more on alcohol than I do on groceries. Almost.

Clearly, there can be a binary between what something is worth and its value or cost. For example, friendship. In my opinion, friendship is one of the most valuable things a person can posses. But adults treat it cheaply, at least in my early-30’s world. This is one (possibly the only) place highschoolers have it right. Death is preferable to hurting a friend in highschool. Adults do it all the time.

Can you really not buy love? Yes, you can. The good stuff costs kindness, patience, flexibility, and love back. You can and you must invest. This shit is NOT free. I’ve also met my fair share of golddiggers in Texas who would argue to the grave that you can buy it. I’ve contemplated becoming one of these people but decided the karmic payback is just too terrifying.

Self-worth is another tricky one. After you determine what you’re worth, are you confident and proud when you reveal the price? Alternatively, are you red-line pricing things that should never be discounted? Picasso sure knew his worth. He knew because some valued him as much as he did. He also felt he had earned it.

Worth may not be arbitrary but it is definitely relative. It can stand alone, but alone it just might be. Worth that isn’t worthy usually gets forgotten anyway. I’m going to try to remember that the next time I have to determine worth or the next time I negotiate my own value. I’m going to try to make sure that worth = value which means it isn’t that complex of a formula after all.

Friday, September 7, 2012

My Dad Gets Around

Today is my Dad's birthday. He's 55 which makes him nearly ancient. I'm shocked how close in age we seem to get every year I get older. Hmmm.... Anyway, my Dad once gave me a very useful piece of advice:

The best way to get from where you are to where you want to be is to not stop moving.

As the owner of a trucking company and one in a long line of successful farmers, he knows a thing or two about getting from here to there. He argued against the popular advice that a "straight line" is the best path. Being an arrogant teenager, I'm sure I argued him right back and like most cerebral arguments with my parents, I learned in hindsight he was correct all along.

The path, quite frankly, is never a straight line. There are bumps, turns, potholes. The whole damn path could be washed away or simply end abruptly without any signage. You yourself could experience a blowout or just run out of gas. If it goes in a straight line too long, assume you are going in the wrong direction and start worrying.

I have used his advice countless times in life, from schoolwork to break ups, from my career to the purchase of my first home.  In fact, I pretty much live by it. I haven't really ever stopped moving and have a string of hometowns and families to show for it.

I'm not quite sure yet if either of us has ever gotten from here to any sort of final there. I'm not sure either of us are even sure where "there" is. But, Dad and I have definitely gotten around and that is pretty awesome.

Thanks for teaching me to keep on truckin', Dad. Many more happy birthdays!

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Hi. I'm Crazy.

Giving my phone number to strangers is risky business. First, I rarely like anyone so being on the hook to respond to phone calls and texts is a massive chore for me. Second, most people are crazy.

Exhibit 1: Gave phone number to ok-looking male at neighborhood convenience store. He immediately texts that it was good to meet me. Now I have his phone number. Makes sense. He had also given me his card. Very professional and polite. I'll refer to said male from this point on as "Crazy."

Crazy: Why do you have a Colorado phone number? Ha!

My internal monolog: I realize some folks in Texas have a difficult time grasping that there are places outside of Texas from which someone might be. I also realize that many people in Texas find it very difficult to leave Texas. I do, however, feel a bit befuddled by the acute shock that I'm from another land so far away and exotic as Colorado. Furthermore, the fact that I have a Colorado number can really only mean one thing: I once lived there. Further furthermore, why is it funny?

My actual response: I went to undergrad at Boulder.

Crazy: I thought I'd send you a completely random photo of me and my friends at a burger restaurant that also sells cupcakes. Ha!  (I'm not exaggerating. He actually did this. I'd left the convenience store about 10 minutes ago.)

My internal monolog: Um, thanks...(I'm still wondering what is so goddamn funny.)

My actual response:

Crazy: Would you like to go to happy hour on Friday? (This is the morning after meeting at the store.)

My internal monolog: Yeah, probably, as long as nothing more fun comes up. I appreciate you asking a few days in advance. I'll respond when I get off work.

Crazy (a few hours later): Why are you avoiding me? Yes, I'm calling you out.

My internal monolog: You're effing crazy and I never want to meet up. I'll respond to your texts when I'm good and ready and not a second before, maybe not at all. And that's perfectly alright. So there. I hate that shit.

My response: I just got home and actually I think you might be a bit full on for my taste. Please lose my number.

Within 24 hours of meeting him I got 12 texts (compared to my 2 responses). The final few were comically insane. I was scolded for being adverse and unresponsive to so many texts when anyone else would simply find them friendly. I was also chastised for not using his business card to stalk him online. If I had I would have known that I was lucky to have received so many texts from him because he is such an upstanding citizen and generally awesome guy. Very kindly, his final text apologized that he had led me to so presumptuously think he was into me. He was just trying be friendly to a neighbor and hopes someday I'll be a normal person. Whew...what a relief?! Now Olive and I don't have to wear wigs and sunglasses to the convenience store.

If he's normal, I'm so glad to not be.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

Smile Therapy

When I taught yoga a million years ago in Boulder I used to do a guided meditation with my students called the Inner Smile. You simply closed your eyes and visualized all your bits smiling. And by "all," I mean it literally, from your brain all the way to your toes, allowing your organs, limbs, every cell to radiate what is typically delegated only to teeth and lips. After about 7 minutes, I would ask them to open their eyes. Without fail, they would all have this strange (almost creepy) smile on and they would slowly lumber out into the world, my guess is to give someone a hug. It was awesome.

Fast forward a few million years in DC where I saw What The Bleep Do We Know!?, a documentary about quantum realities and the interconnectedness of our emotional world and our actual world. 

One of my favorite parts of the documentary was when they showed how words like "love" and "patience" create beautiful ice crystals from water while words like "hate" and "war" create jumbled crystal patterns. (This is research done by Emoto.)  I'm not saying I believe every word. In fact, I'm a natural skeptic. But, pleasantries and blind hope keep me from flinging myself off national landmarks so I try to go with it. This was an interesting concept especially considering humans are 70-80% water. I also liked in the film that she draws smiley faces all over her body with marker. I've always wanted to do it because it reminds me of the Inner Smile meditation. 

The other day I decided to document my smiling patterns, mostly because I realized I hadn't done it much lately. I didn't try to pinpoint why (that's easy...left all my best friends in DC, emotionally vacant relationship with latest boyfriend, a stranger in a new town with little direction, job on the fritz, etc. Nothing especially unique here.) I wanted to conscientiously smile at every single person I saw for a whole day and see what happend, both to me and to them. 

It was a pretty cool day. I got invited places, flirted with, kissed, serenaded, and asked for my phone number, all in about 4 hours time, all by different people. I was certainly on a cloud and I appeared to cheer up everyone in sight. This is an experiment I suggest everyone try right away. I wasn't smiling out of my ear or kidneys but my mouth seemed to suffice.

I'm not sure if smiling can change the universe but it certainly can't hurt. It is infinitely more useful than pouting, scowling, or flipping the bird. So I am on a new mission of smiling, much like that dude in Ally McBeal, even if I don't feel like it. If nothing else, a wise friend of mine told me recently over martinis that "sometimes, girl, you just have to fake it till you make it." Indeed.


Thursday, August 9, 2012

Air will take the shape of any container. It can be compressed or it will naturally expand as far as it is allowed. Air plays nice with most other elements. It lives side by side with Earth. It is a integral, yet nonreactive component of Water. Fire requires Air. This need is rapacious, however. Fire uses up Air until there isn't any left. To be, Fire must destroy Air in a way it cannot other elements. It is in this complex relationship that Fire exists at its strongest. But where does that leave Air?

Gone. Running for the hills, hiding in dark corners or up high, hoping Water comes to the rescue. It is not a pretty sight.

Fire must be careful not to use up all the Air, even though the supply seems infinite. Just like Water better not put out all the Fire, just like Earth should not confine Water, Fire should be mindful of its strength and appetite. It may not mean to, but Fire can really fuck things up with the one thing it needs. Both end up nonexistent.

Air may be invisible but it is everywhere and pretty darn useful. It has to try really hard to be noticed, but take it away and you'll be sorry. So folks, be extra nice to Air the next time you run into it (which will be now. And again now. And now.) Listen, even though the voice may be tiny and see however the transparency. It can't carve canyons, it doesn't hold your highrise up, and it can't cook you a steak, but it is good and deserving anyway.


Monday, July 30, 2012

Austin > Most Everywhere

This week marks the 2nd year I've managed to stay on alive the great planet of Texas. I've survived insane heat, one of the worst droughts in the history of the state, countless hangovers, immeasurable auditory overstimulation, one legislative session, one mortgage, and one broken heart. And I still think I'm going to stay.

Just as expected, music has become my boyfriend, my best friend, my happiness, my only dependable thing. I'm forever grateful and in constant awe of the musical talent in this town. I will never tire of it.

I continue to be head over heals for Texas men. They are handsome, furry, rowdy things that talk kinda funny. And I'm essentially helpless against their charms. I love their beards and their trucks and their pet names and their boots. Even things like meat and football seem somehow sexier when done by a Texan man. Most males from the Lonestar State are also trained to treat women very kindly...the good ones anyway. They are lovely (fortunately plentiful) creatures.

(DC friends...sit down before reading this next bit.) I've become outdoorsy. Moving even beyond drinking on patios and "hiking" to martini bars greater than 10 blocks away, I now enjoy such activities as boating, swimming, and exploring places without sidewalks. I have my own tent and I joined a kickball team. I sometimes wear flats. Gasp! Olive has also taken to sunbathing in the dust and hunting. It is remarkable, albiet truly, truly unexpected and strange.

I still struggle to feel at home here but it has gotten easier I suppose. Missing my people is the hardest. People in Texas don't leave Texas. For that reason, they all have the same people they've had since pre-school. Gypsies are often looked at with suspicion or ignored completely. Being a gypsy, this is tricky territory. Being a super-social gypsy that hates to be alone, it is downright rotten for me sometimes. I often find myself puzzled by the unfair perception of the cold, hard, dangerous streets of DC, which to me were the most open, reliable, and loving I've lived.

I moved here for a reason though and it remains the same...I belong here better than any other place. Not perfectly or effortlessly. But, better.

I'll celebrate my 2-year likely with the usual whiskey shots and almost riding the mechanical bull at Rebels. And there may be tears like last year. Hopefully a few fewer.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Solid Ground

Going home to Nebraska was incredible. I hadn't been back for a year which is the longest I've ever been away. For the first time in a long while I was I looking forward to it. When I go home, there is a ritual...sweet corn, breakfast and exploring barns with Grandma, boating, Kelly's Fish Market, boutique shopping (and, somehow, always Walmart) with Mum. It is a great time.

I had some strangely sentimental moments. I sat very quietly looking at the Missouri River go past me on the new boat thinking about how lucky I am to have this and them and it. Maybe it was those swigs out of the Fireball bottle Dad talked me into but I felt so grateful to call Nebraska home. The corn fields looked so beautiful. Just being on the farm calmed me and assured me that the rough time I've had in Austin lately doesn't matter. I have everything I'll ever need just a short trip away.

Not so long ago, someone told me after meeting my family that they wanted to be part of that. "That" meaning the fun, chaos, love, and closeness of my family. 

Further defining the "that" is difficult and entertaining. We have our shit, like any other family, but I've truly never met anyone like us before. We drink and dance and carry on all night. My folks have a beautiful farm and lots of cool stuff. We are unstoppable at Flip Cup and my parents kiss a lot. Sure, "that" is pretty awesome. But the "that" is so much more than one might see from the outside. It is protection, commitment, tradition, and solidarity. It is reliable. It is forever. It is the feeling you get when you lie down on soft green grass in the sun...held up by the most solid thing ever but comfortable, playful, and beautiful. It felt really, really good to be home surrounded by "that."

I was honored when the person said it a while back and I noticed the same sentiment on this trip a few times. Turns out, lots of people want to be part of our pack. When I paid attention to how people react to us, I saw sparkles of envy in more than one eye. That kinda feels good too.

To that end, applications are now being accepted for pack membership. Competition will be fierce but membership has quite a list of perks (sunburn and hangover notwithstanding). Thanks for all the fun you guys!! I'll be back again soon.

♫ Back Where I Come From by Kenny Chesney

Tuesday, July 10, 2012

The Impossible Question

As an Air-sign cowgirl, I struggle constantly with keeping one toe on the ground and my thoughts lassoed. That's why I'm so glad there are other people.

I was touched by a recent blog post by Robin Anderson, a friend and colleague who regularly awes me with mindfulness and insight. This chick may have one full foot on the ground, maybe more! With severe honesty and frightening rightness, she asks about the thing we are most unable to define: love.

There are lots of different sorts of love, none any more or less understandable. Romantic love, love of God, familial love, self love...we know them when we feel them but like so many things, the exact sensation cannot easily be put to words. As a very small child, I used to test my love by asking myself if I would care if the object of my affection died. If I would care, then, yes, I loved them. Now, of course, things are much more complex. I've even tried to simplify it to love is the absence of hate. Not so. Love can exist with hate, turns out. Love can exist in spite of hate even. Fucking bizarre world we live in!

The part about Robin's post that I liked the best was that a repeated broken heart has taught her to love and be loving. Personal failures may very well be my forte, but learning from them is a strong-suit as well. I don't just hurt, rinse, repeat. Analysis and self-reflection (of both sides, however forcibly) is no fun, but it must be done, just like drinking water and sending thank you notes.

The point of love for me is strength in numbers. It is propping each other up so we don't have to sleep with our heads in the mud. It is why I cried in Moonrise Kingdom when the boy tells the girl, "I'm on your side." Good things can happen alone, but great things can happen when we are together.

Erich Fromm also has amazing insight on the sociology and science of love. This isn't your typical fluffy "love is everywhere" bullshit. This is separating the molecules of love to their atomic level. Has it helped me answer Robin's question? A little. But what has and will help even more is to keep doing what I'm doing: trying (and sometimes failing), flaws, fears, and all.

♫ Flaws And All by Beyonce

Friday, July 6, 2012

Get 'er done

Being from the Midwest, there are a number of phrases used regularly that I interpret correctly but don't really understand. These are usually muttered by old people but because they are so frequently used, they creep into everyone's mental dictionary and even sometimes slip out, when lack of a better description exists. Much like Velveeta, when in doubt, the familiar reigns supreme.

Take "I don't know anything else," a phrase that indicates that the person would like to end the conversation they are having with you. It is used universally in Nebraska, usually at the end of a phone call. Not having anything else to say or simply just having to go, sure. But confessing to being completely cerebrally vacant, that's funny (and actually quite descriptive when you think about it). I once pointed it out to my parents and now we giggle together when we get off the phone since they can't help but continue to use it.

Another is "could've cared less." (pronounced kudha) This one really does befuddle me because it denotes that you could have cared less but you didn't, meaning you did care. My guess is that Midwesterns just got their contractions mixed up or perhaps they just shortened it since couldn't've is tricky to say. Also, it isn't a word.  

My favorite is "being beside one's self." It makes absolutely no sense which is why I like it best. We all know it means to be especially excited or upset. Being fascinated by these sorts of colloquialisms, I like to come up with my own, more literal meanings. For this one, think of yourself standing next to another you. Look over at them. Then say, "Damn! That's what I'm talking about!" (Add a bit of an LL Cool J head nod and a single eyebrow to really "drive it home.")

Friday, June 22, 2012

Is it a duck or a rabbit?

The issue of "perception" has been top of mind lately. Like so often, the universe has splintered my own ideas on the topic by dropping saws and axes on me. If it sounds painful, you may be right but such is life for an intelligent airhead.

Perception is, by definition, a bit amorphous. It is the state of being aware of something. That something can be anything and everything. It is just what is for an individual. Because reality simply cannot be objective, perception is reality. Since reality is inconsistent for everyone, it is easy to see how quickly differences in perception can occur and multiply. I'm nearly confusing myself about it as I write. Try smoking pot and thinking out it...you may start exhaling vowels.

I've known people who can only see or who only accept one reality, one perspective. Their perception is their reality, same as for everyone else. But, they lack the need/want/ability/concern to see, if not attempt to understand and even occasionally incorporate, another's perception. To not care what another person thinks or feels or experiences must be wildly liberating. I'm very jealous of these people even though I don't usually like them.

Unfortunately, I do care what people think and I want people to care about what I think. I also very much care how people experience me and I care that their perception of me, their reality, is positive. I'm not able to know someone has experienced me badly and brush it off because I don't care about their reality. It troubles me, even if I can't fix it. I also can't ignore that they have a reality outside my own. This can be problematic for me because seeing another perception of things is very difficult, especially if I flat out don't agree or don't like what I see. It is truly amazing how two individuals can experience the same thing so differently! Herein lies the tactile responses to differences in perception...curiosity, misunderstanding, confusion, even hate.

I can't help think of one of my favorite quotes by Maya Angelou:

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel.

To me, this is the truest testament of perception. When the details fall away, all that is left is your own perception of reality.

When you're getting over a troubled relationship like I am, this sensation is visceral. I can't remember the exact words that were yelled or which door was slammed. But I can very much remember the sick, anxious, insecure feeling I had almost every morning. I remember feeling afraid and alone. I remember feeling bullied. It is one person's perception to be sure. But, it is mine and it is real.

I attended a conflict resolution seminar recently (I'm a consultant so I regularly play a diplomatic role with conflicted clients. I don't attend cheesy seminars regularly, I promise.). It recommended eliminating the inconsistencies of perception and instead focusing on intention which can be better defined. Asking what someone's intention is and then declaring your own does seem far more concrete. Good plan, especially the next time I run into one of those "isolated reality" folks.

 Now, to come up with some intention to take my mind off reality...I'm thinking wine.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you.

My dog and I don't coexist in the traditional sense. I'm not the parent and her the child. I don't own her. It is more symbiotic...when I need her she is there and when she needs me, there I am. And we pretty much always need each other. She is my Samwise Gamgee. We have done it 3 times together in the last 8 years and she has proven to be exceptionally adaptable and helpful in a move. A pictorial memoir...

Deciding where our furniture should go
 
Unpacking (rats were in a high priority box)
 
Enjoying our new neighborhood, Zilker Park

Testing our new bed

Selecting paint colors at Home Depot

Posing for Martha Stewart in our newly decorated bedroom

Worn out from too many projects
 
I could not do this without her. Fact. 

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Lessons from Moving Day

I'm thrilled to be out of the glorified dorm they call Park Terrace and into my beautiful new condo. I've spent countless hours and lots of money trying to sleep soundly in the apartment I shared with my man and turns out, while the most expensive thing I've tried, all I needed was home-ownership. I haven't slept more soundly in over a year.

I expected Olive and I to sense emptiness. After all, we're back to living alone. Instead, it is the most calm and happy we've felt in a long time. The anxiety of our former roommate's unpredictable treatment is gone along with night after night of tears and yelling. There is absolutely nothing empty about quiet rain coming down while I unpack, rinsing away the hurt of the past year. I may never tire of it.

Living with a lover is trying. I don't think anyone can challenge that statement. People argue and lose patience, say things they don't mean and things they do. Love is made and love is challenged. Lessons are learned too, good and bad, proud and shameful. I've learned something each time I've done it and am better for it. I look forward to doing it again even, more cautiously of course.

This time around I learned about commitment. I committed to one year and in that time my will and tolerance were tested to their limits. But, I didn't give up until the very last hour, just before I had to turn my old keys over. And at that moment I realized that my commitment was meaningless. I learned that commitment doesn't get you all that far every time. In fact, sometimes it gets you nowhere. It isn't always the good thing it is made out to be. I will take that lesson to my next relationship...commit if committed to. Share if shared with. Understand if understood. Love if loved. And if not, walk the other way.

I heard a repetitive shout again and again this year that has now became a mantra: Move on. My commitment didn't let me do that very comfortably before now. Luckily, I'm a fast learner.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Girl, I didn't know you could get down like that

I bought my first home. Major decisions and change make me very insecure and emotional and this was no different. I didn't much feel like celebrating even though I should have. It is a major accomplishment, after all. I wanted to feel a level of glee in line with the price tag (like shopping at expensive boutiques in NYC) but mostly it just felt lonely; lonely because gaining a condo meant losing a roommate.

I had hoped my first place would be an adventure I would share with someone else. It didn't work out like I expected, like so many things in life. Going it alone feels amazingly satisfying but a bit terrifying as well. My plans to create a loving space for two people was whittled down to the usual me, myself, and Olive. Everyone keeps reminding me that this is great, one of the best things a person can do for themselves. But, let's be honest, cohabitation failed me and that sucks.

Two steps forward and one step back is still forward movement though. My new place is beautiful and right next door to Barton Springs, a string of awesome restaurants, and one of the best outdoor music festivals in the country. I can see the Austin skyline. The previous owners shared with me that they had zillions of awesome memories and that the place had made them very happy. Hopefully some of that will rub off on me. My living situation the past year has been traumatic and tearful. It will be nice to be in a peaceful, happy place again, even if that means braving Austin alone again at first.

Seth Godin, the guru of online usability and general master of being useful, had a quote the other day that hit me like a Texas driver*:

"Everything will be alright" is not the same as "everything will stay the same."

I have clung to this statement, barnacle like, for the last few weeks. Everything will be alright, just like always. People adapt, get over it, move on, and move forward. And everything is better for it every single time. Remember that, Rach, you silly girl.

Luckily, two steps forward and one step back is also how you two-step which is not a bad way at all of getting from A to B in life. Wish me luck!

*No one in Texas was taught to drive. No one. The basic principals of staying in the lines, using signals, and generally paying attention are not used in the Lonestar State. Learning to operate a vehicle is clearly not as important as learning to shoot guns and say "yes, ma'am", which most Texans do quite well. This does not put my mind at ease.

Hang On Little Tomato by Pink Martini

Monday, March 19, 2012

At cool shit doing cool shit

Another SXSW under my belt with no visible damage to report. The only casualty was my poor phone which got the newest release of the cracked screen app. Amazing music and even more amazing company made this week the best music festival yet! Some of the artists need a lesson in etiquette but overall it was fabulous. Noteworthy moments in no order of priority:

Watch Andrew and I at Kimbra...we were in the front row for this truly amazing acoustic set. I'm in a white dress and AK in shades just to the side of the green Spotify wooden sign. She did the whole thing with just her voice, a recorder, and an iPad. She was so scared, her fingers were trembling.

We had the misfortune of choosing to see fun. at 1100 Warehouse where technical difficulties held them up for ages and finally required them to "make it work" with no sound. However, the last song, especially the tiny bit at the end where their sound finally goes out completely, was a remarkable comeback and ended up being one of the most fun and memorable shows of the week. I can't wait to see them with speakers.

When AK and JDLV led me through a broken down tool shed wedged between two buildings not even close to making it out of a code violation , I was skeptical. But, on the other side of the wooden plank door was a crazed DJ laser show that nearly put Skrillex to shame. When we realized the door we had just come through had gone missing, we knew this was a moment not of this Earth that could only happen at SXSW.

Here's the lineup:

March 10 Sat
DJ Throwdown at Mohawk
The Tontons at Stubb's
UME at Stubb's
Respect the DJ party at Empire Automotive (Best Trip to Narnia)

March 12 Mon
Lithium Party (Best Photos with Friends and Monsters)

March 13 Tues
Nneka at Clive (Best Concert Poster)
Some crap show at Belmont
Tango Alpha Tango at Whiskey Ink
Electric Touch at Buffalo Billiards
The Soldier Thread at Buffalo Billiards

March 14 Wed
Alice Smith at Fader Fort (Most anticipated, Least rewarded)
Gary Clark Jr. at Fader Fort
Tribes at 1100 Warehouse
fun. at 1100 Warehouse (Best Rebound)
Twin Atlantic at 1100 Warehouse
Neon Trees at 1100 Warehouse
Danny Brown at some tiny bar near De La Vina's place

March 15 Thurs
Kimbra (acoustic) at Spotify House (Most Creative Acoustic)
The Shins at Auditorium Shores
Drop the Lime at Lustre Pearl
Yaught at Lustre Pearl (Runner Up - Best Performer)
Miike Snow at Lustre Pearl (Worst Show Overall)

March 16 Friday
Grimes at Google Play party
Kids These Days at South by San Jose
Alabama Shakes at South by San Jose (Best Music)
Hollywood Holt at 1100 Warehouse
The Cool Kids at 1100 Warehouse
EL-P at 1100 Warehouse
Das Racist at 1100 Warehouse
Spank Rock at 1100 Warehouse (Best Lyric Used as Mantra for the Rest of SXSW)
Skrillex at 1100 Warehouse

March 17 Sat
Mr. MFN Exquire at Fader Fort
Dive at Fader Fort
Kindness at Fader Fort
Darkside at Fader Fort
Rittz at Fader Fort (Most Unexpectedly Awesome - http://www.thefader.com/2011/03/09/rittz-white-jesus-mixtape-mp3/)
Sleigh Bells at ACL Live Moody Theater (Best Performer)
Nas at ACL Live Moody Theater (Best Stage)

March 18 Sun
98 Episodes of Friday Night Lights, Maudies take out, and 5 gallons of water at home

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Warren Buffet can thank me later

I checked my Mint.com account recently and was playing around with their comparison budget tools. Pretty nifty until I got to the part where it compared 2010's spending habits to 2011's. The differences are striking, especially in the music category.

Pre-Austin, it appears I spent around $100 annually on concert tickets (a few shows at best). In 2011, that number increased 10 fold without even factoring in all the tickets bought for me by others which were substantial. Add in all the money spent on booze and the occasional t-shirt and you're looking at a degenerate music junkie who would sell plasma to see shows should I ever loose my job. If it weren't so much fun, I'd be alarmed.

I don't think of this as money wasted or even spent, however. I consider it an investment. According to Wikipedia, an investment is putting money into something with the expectation of gain, even the security of a return. This precisely defines what I do when I buy concert tickets. Music is an investment in life, happiness, relationships, musical prowess, boredom alleviation, intellectual complexity, and so many more things.

Sure, sometimes you invest and you don't see a return (such as the Modest Mouse show at Stubbs). But, sometimes your ROI is stupendous. The net gain from shows like Edward Sharpe, Grace Potter, Awolnation, Bright Light Social Hour, Friendly Fires, Gaygns, Young the Giant, or Muse far surpasses the initial investment. I wouldn't take that money back for anything.

It isn't just what music is worth in comparison to other investments we make. It is the whole host of intangibles you get for investing in that way. It has never let me down unlike most of my other monetary investments. I have no intention to decrease the amount put towards these most valuable expenditures.

Wikipedia also says that putting money towards something without the the security of return is considered gambling, an activity I do not care for generally. That being said, I have tickets to every major concert happening in Austin from now until late May and many of these bands are not my favorites. I'll label those for now as speculation though. I've found that with music you have to spend to "make."

Friday, January 27, 2012

Douchy bars are a dime a dozen in most larger cities. This is strategic I assume. Like likes like, after all. You simply cannot mix all types happily. People are not like Midwestern casseroles. As a seasoned bar goer and lifetime alcohol enthusiast, I've found myself in my fair share of drinkeries in need of a lower pH. Austin, naturally, has healthy options when it comes to douche dens and I'd like to point out a few should you be in need or adamant about avoiding.

Kingdom, a daycare that plays loud music


Hoards of strangely dressed children flock to this douche gem. Those with fake ids you'll stand next to at the bar. The others hang out in the dingy alley outside the club. The music is indistinguishable and the decor forgettable. But, if you're looking for a full-body version of the Hitachi Magic Wand, by all means, get thee in front of the wall of bass speakers. It is fabulous, until you realize the only other people in the room are Texas versions of Snooky and the Situation. Another thing of Vagisillian beauty is the glowing silhouette wall where you can find Austin's finest greasy meatheads and scantily clad bimbos posing for Facebook photos. It is a thing of wonder.

Qua, a conservationist nightmare

This place is true royalty when it comes to the the lavish fakeness and severe misguidedness of douch bags. They actually have a shark tank in the floor. Now, I know my politics lean left and I've been accused of being a naive bleeding heart, but sharks underfoot as decor is simply going too far. I wish I had anything good to say about Qua but the only thing I can come up with is I hope they soon sell the excellently located property to another, more tasteful douche proprietor.


Rebels, charming country with a hint of vinegar

Rebels is an urban honky tonk. I consider this a bit of an oxymoron but I love me some Dwight Yoakam and I can't be bothered to go all the way to Gruene so they get a pass. Just like the movie, this place is filled with urban folks with no business in hats and boots. Pearl snaps, fancy country swing, and an over-sized buckle does not a cowboy make. Luckily, they distract you with the most voluptuous bartenders in town dressed in outfits that would make your mama go straight to the Old Testament for advice. Ride the mechanical bull before you get too drunk lest you too become a master in the art of douchebaggery. Leave before the hip hop line dancers set in. Of all the douche joints in town though, this is my favorite for its charm, personality, and heavy pours.