Instructions for ACLife

Originally written for the Fall 2014 Austin Locale ACL Edition.

What’s the best way to survive Austin City Limits Music Festival? Everyone has a recommended list of groceries to haul around, a survival kit of sorts. It always contains a sampling from the shelves of CVS spanning all manners of hygiene, first aide, feminine products, and skin care. I agree with all these lists, though aside from baby wipes you probably won't use any of it.

Here’s the truth of the matter:  ACL, like life, depends more on what you do than what you bring. You will require a plan. Let’s begin.

First, assemble your team. You're going to need good people, the kind you can trust with your cash, your liquor stash, and your ride home. These folks must be musically coherent, obviously, but more importantly must have impeccable resilience, stamina, and good sense. You don't want to end up babysitting a weeping drunk or sitting outside the EMT tent twiddling your thumbs. Sharing memories with your BFFs is lovely, however, ain't nobody got time for divas, jerks, or wimps. Select only those you know you’ll still like on Monday morning.

Next up, logistics. Determine a meeting place outside the festival grounds (at least 1/4 mile or more). Use the time walking to Zilker Park to compare schedules, hydrate (intoxicate), and get to know each other. As the festival engulfs you in a loving embrace, you may find this is the last time you are able to meaningfully connect with these folks all day so use your walk wisely.

Also determine where to meet after the festival. I suggest the same place you left off to keep everything straight amid the dizzying mixture of THC, alcohol, people, and darkness. Make sure out-of-towners write down the address on paper. Your phone will be long dead by then so you'll have to rely on others, possibly even law enforcement, to find your way so be prepared.

We're getting close now. I can almost feel it. Eat something substantial before heading out into the bright, hot, musical sunshine; this is not the time to jump on the kale bandwagon. Slather on that SPF and chug a coconut water. If you have a living will, make sure your mom knows where it is.

Ducks in a row? Ok. Grab a map and off you go! It is nice (and safer) to have a comrade but there is no need to cling to the same ship all day. You're no barnacle. You're an insatiable, fearless music pirate out to claim your booty while swilling the whiskey you snuck in. Let music be your compass.

Devour your 3 days like you did the latest season of Orange is the New Black, entirely and unabashedly. Put your palms up and let the vibrations fuel you if you feel tired. Don't treat your fellow music devotees with disrespect. Stand awestruck at the talent that exists.  Blow a kiss to the skyline of our pretty city. Make new friends. Follow your plan loosely...you never know what luck you may have or magic you may uncover. 

At the end, however near death, if you feel euphoric, exhausted, and ready to buy your early-bird ticket for next year, you did it right. It isn’t what you had. It isn’t what you forgot or lost. It was what you did that made it good. And, much like in life, it was what you did that you’ll remember.

Quality and Quantity

Enjoying SXSW is sort of like moving to a new city. I moved here almost 3 years ago and it has truly taken this long to get the hang of things and feel comfortable. The same principles apply to one of the biggest, most rowdy, most complicated music festivals and conferences in the world.

At first, you hang out with the wrong crowd, the first group that will have you, because you're too scared to brave the crowded, filthy streets of Austin by yourself. You make mistakes like inappropriate footwear, drinking too much, showing up too late to get in, and pledging blind allegiance to your boyfriend's favorite shitty band. Skinny jeans and garbage filled alleys are intimidating at first but then seem almost normal by the end. You learn a few street names and survival skills. You don't regret it but you're not convinced you had as much fun as everyone else claims to have had. Your head aches and you don't really like your friends as much as you thought (and definitely don't trust their taste in music).

Alt J at Stubbs

The next year you feel much more independent. You get your own wristband during pre-sale. Your research is your own, carefully curating a list of bands that you want to see. Convincing people to come with you is easier since they are beginning to trust your judgement and can't deny your commitment to music. You're on a text list and eek out an RSVP existence. You totally call one of the next up and coming bands and you get a high five from someone you really admire musically. Breaking away from the group to see your chosen playlist is nearly tolerable and you see way more bands than you did the year before because you're not hauling drama or naysayers along with you. Not quite part of a group yet, but bolder, braver, more equipped. Your head still aches but you feel happy you came and look forward to the year to come.

The third year you nail it. The perfect balance of toxins, water, and sleep deprivation is mastered. Your playlist is the perfect combo of worn-in must-sees and experimental must-trys. Your pack members are carefully chosen but expendable and scattered evenly across many venues. When an accomplice gives you trouble or has an opposing lineup, you shed them sans guilt like a free t-shirt. You run into people you know everywhere and the shared experience turns acquaintances into friends and friends into lovers. You learn that you'd give up toilet paper before you'd give up your bike. Your head still aches, but you accept it as a natural bi-product of a week's worth of smoke, chemicals, alcohol, loud music, and sheer exhaustion.

No, you don't just accept it...you embrace it with pride and congratulate yourself on being one of the survivors. Three years in and I've finally got both quantity and quality and easily the best SXSW memories to date.
Sunday, March 10
Ume
Cloud Nothings
Portugal. The Man
Azari & III
Zeale

Tuesday, March 12
Elle King
ZZ Ward
Divine Fits
Cirque du Soleil
Whoever was at Lucky Lounge

Wednesday, March 13
Cafe Tacvba
Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Alt J

Thursday, March 14
Capital Cities
The Sheepdogs
Fitz and The Tantrums
City and Colour

Friday, March 15
Clairy Brown & the Bangin' Rackettes
Doldrums
Austra
Toro Y Moi
Alt J
Some cool jazz band at the Camel House
Walk Off the Earth
Lissie
Savages
Youth Lagoon

Saturday, March 16
No
Some awesome gypsy violin band from Ireland
Kids These Days
Field Report
Hacienda
Some other bands at Outlaw Roadshow??
Neon Lion
Drop City Yacht Club
Small Black
Haim
Vampire Weekend

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.

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. 

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!

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)!!

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

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.

The rainbow after the tears are gone

It is not easy to win the affection of a boyfriend's friends. The approval rating usually ends up somewhere between tolerance and murderous spite. But, nothing is more valuable to a girl trying to land a man than a "gold star" from his best friend. That is why this week is so hard. I didn't just get a thumbs up from Travis Sampley. He was my biggest fan and the feeling was mutual.

Travis, AK, and I spent the last year on a whirlwind of rowdy adventures all over Texas. We were the 3 musketeers. We did everything together it seemed. All of my most fun and memorable moments since moving to Austin included him. We traveled in a pack, literally, walking home together (he lived just a few blocks away). Inseparable barely covers it.

He was my most enthusiastic kitchen guinea pig, gobbling down even the most inedibly tough steak and over-salted fish like he was eating first class at III Forks. He rarely even asked what I was making before agreeing to come over and he always brought my favorite Zinfandel.

My constant heckling for his taste in slow, emotive music didn't

Outside Sidebar hitting on chicks

deter him at all from turning off my tunes immediately upon arrival to plug in his iPhone. Every ride in my car started with, "Have you heard the new [insert band I've never heard of here]?" and a reach for the aux cord. He invited me to the most obscure concerts and taught me why vinyl sounds best. He introduced me to music far beyond my comfort zone and I ended up eating my words every time.

Most importantly, he liked me. Not just because he was obligated to. And, I liked him. Not just because I was obligated to. I looked forward to him like he was my own pack member and eventually that's what he became.

His sudden death makes me feel strange. I'm overwhelmed with sadness with spurts of disbelief. Sharing this grief with so many people is simultaneously comforting but also selfishly difficult. I'm watching my man's heart break and it is unimaginably painful. I don't think I'm alone in wishing that there could be just one more moment to say goodbye. In situations like this, I suppose it is natural. But, what would I say if I had that chance?

After Travis' birthday party at G&S

How do you put into words the solidarity of a friendship that strong? How would you let them know how much you appreciate the joy they bring to your life? Could you really express how much you'll miss them and how much you don't want them to go? I doubt it. Sometimes there are just no words. That is the blessing of death I guess. You can't and so you don't. You just feel it and know it and that has to be enough.

His absence will also be distinctly felt and known...at every party, at every bar, at every concert. His absence will just be distinct. Because someone like Travis doesn't go unnoticed.

I'm sending love and healing to his family and friends. We might have lost a rare one, but there isn't enough gratitude in the universe to match the thanks I have to have known him.

That's How Strong My Love Is by Ryan Bingham

Guilty Filthy Soul

I survived my first SXSW in Austin with relatively minimal brain damage and only minor bodily harm. Just so I remember for next year, here are some tips for having a kickass SXSW and making it out alive (even making it to work the following Monday).

1. Plan to brave it alone.

Like traveling abroad, I was having trouble finding someone who shared both my enthusiasm for the event and a similar or complementary list of bands to see. In a moment of diva independence, I bought the wristband anyway. Muttering "Hell with it. I'll go by my damn self," I vowed to let music, not another person, be my guide. I'm not popular in this town yet and I figured it would help me befriend some like-minded music lovers at the very least.

2. Find someone to see music with.

As the event neared and the town started to fill up with scary-looking, dirty-haired folks who were all far too thin and being compressed into black jeans that would put even Kate Moss into a bad mood, I decided it best not to brave it alone. So, I found some amazing characters last-minute with which to share tabs, parking permits, and mutual awe of the fine tunage. Their company elevated my fun to levels almost too much for words. I am so grateful to have shared the chaos with them and look forward to the stories we'll recollect. (Future conversations with these folks will probably start with something like "Remember when we collapsed in a beanbag pile outside Lustre Pearl and drank free beer? Yeah, I hope that idiot who unplugged your cellphone has bad sex for life.")

3. Footwear is vital.

I'm used to teetering around on platform strappy sandles. Luckily, I'm not a moron. I knew I'd be walking to and from my home (about 3 miles round trip) and back and forth from downtown to East Austin several times a day (5-10 miles). I only made one tragic footwear decision: flip flops. My feet were relentlessly gashed and stomped. I limped home in regret. I never regretted paying that much for custom cowboy boots though and I still don't. Thank you Lucchese.

4. Don't party too hard.

I actually passed a deceased person on E. 6th outside a bar. The police had given up trying to revive him but cops on motorcycles don't carry sheets to cover the dead I guess. I wondered as I walked by how long the young man laid there being tripped over before someone actually checked to see if he was breathing. It was a sad reminder that certain mixtures of booze, drugs, and music can be lethal.

5. Party your ass off.

I started each day with a few hours of work and a coffee. (Aren't I a big girl?!) Next up, toxins. I wasn't necessarily trying to get fucked up. There is just something about strolling around downtown Austin in 80 degree weather in March listening to a thunderous level of music with a little buzz. Dancing like a loon and enjoying music (the good and the bad) just doesn't feel the same without a healthy dose of poison. Also, by the end of each day, my feet were aching and my eyes were drooping. I didn't go to bed before 3am for one full week. Red Bull, you are kind and brilliant for sponsoring SXSW.

6. Go with your gut.

Sure, I could have gone to Kayne, or Perez Hilton's party, or Deer Tick on the last night of SXSW. But instead I went to AWOLNATION, which ended up being the all-time best, most fun show of the whole week. It isn't my usual style of music at all. I like to call it Marilyn Manson Lite. But, I had this strange compulsion to be there, just kinda knowing it would be amazing. This band, along with the others in the showcase, rocked my tired, weary world. I was laughing out loud with delight. If i didn't think that wearing cowboy boots while crowd surfing was unethical you can bet I would have flung myself into a sea of drunken hipsters and scrawny teenagers without question. Also, my beau and I had the most amazing time hanging out with rockstars after the show. Never question those feelings that something strange and magical will happen at SXSW...if you let it happen, it surely will.

2011 Shows
Wednesday:
Brett Dennen
DeVotchKa
Flogging Molly
Random DJ next to The Hanger

Thursday:
The Strokes
T Bird and the Breaks

Friday:
Dickies Party at Lustre Pearl
Black Joe Lewis & the Honeybears
Hayes Carll
Ryan Bingham
Robert Earl Keen
Lucinda Williams
Party at Malverde
Party at ??? (long day)

Saturday:
Filter Party at Cedar Door Courtyard
Electric Touch
Tres Mts.
AWOLNATION
Panic! At the Disco
The Bravery

Burn It Down by AWOLNATION

Yellow Brick Road

I'm basking in the haze of hot sun and secondhand pot smoke at Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros the other day in Zilker Park. I'm stoked because Edward Sharpe had fast been becoming one of my favorite bands. I'm also a little drunk. I'm transfixed by the backdrop of the stage which includes a far off Emerald City and hills of yellow brick road. Because I'm a fruitcake, I start comparing my life to Dorothy's. This is easy when you:

a. Are alone at a gigantic music festival.
b. Have been sitting through almost 3 full days of mind blowing musical ecstasy, comparable in sensory bliss only to a lazy Sunday having sex on faux fur with Lenny Kravitz.
c. Need therapy.

I've met them all. The stupid, clumsy sweetie you just want to slap; the heartless one with such an impossible body shape getting close to them is an effort in futility and much lubrication is needed; and the cowardly lion (I've met many of them, in fact).

Which leads me to my Halloween costume...Lion Tamer. These brave circus performers are really just glamorous cat herders. While herding cats is something I'm not particularly fond of, the outfit is adorable and I like the metaphor of smacking around cowardly lions for the entertainment of crowds. Also, carrying a whip is rad.

After putting the finishing touches on my "bridesmaid dress turned sex-kitten circus freak," I think I'll have no trouble channeling Mabel Stark, the original fearless mistress of big cats, and seeking out some courageous kittens worthy of a good whip tickle. I declare this weekend opening night under my own little Austin Big Top. Like a what?!

Trouble

Me: Hello darling. We need to talk. I’m afraid my love for you has come to an end and I must move on. That red wine the other night at Veritas was the last straw. I mean, sure, I really enjoy your company… I feel we’ve spent some amazing nights together and you always cheer me up. But it always hurts the next morning. There are other things I should attend to. Furthermore, I can’t really afford you.

Trouble: Hmph…you can’t get rid of me. You heart me. And you know there’s no chance I’ll ever really go away. We’re life partners, you and I. Like it or not… Now, do something with that hair so we can go get a martini.

Me: You’re right…i do love you, but like others I’ve loved before, there comes a time when I just need to walk the other direction. You understand, right?

Trouble: You won’t survive without me. You know this. I know this. One day of sobriety and yoga and you’ll be back. Really, honey, why bother?

Me: Oh alright! You win, as usual.

Trouble is a friend by Lenka

Should have seen it coming

Just after telling a boy suffering from noncompliance to hit the road the other day, I was awarded a long, luxurious laugh…he retorted that he was only in it for Olive anyway.

I’ve always suspected the sly Shih Tzu would try to steal the hearts of my suitors. A face like that cannot be trusted.

:-)

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Mix equal parts gin, walnut cream sauce, and good friends. Garnish with sleep deprivation. Shake well. Serve over Dean Martin Christmas music.

This delightful little concoction will knock you on your ass and make you wish you had a sugardaddy instead of a job at work the next day. Trust me.

Fascinating conversation though. The trials and errors of finding one's soul mate are one of my favorite topics, one that often pops up if you hang out with lots of 28-year-old single women, which i do. Last night's convo had a twist though.

There we were...three slightly toasted souls just trying to make sense of it all. The one thing we had in common was that we all came from long legacies of hereditary soulmating. What i mean is that all of our parents, grandparents, and for all we know Neanderthal ancestors, had found a life partner to love wholeheartedly and depend on really, truly forever. We had all seen it. We would all recognize it if it happened to us. Because we had been witness to it in our own families, we would accept nothing less than the genuine, the certified, the absolute real thing.

My grandparents ages ago.

This is cause for some concern. What if the kind of love and commitment we've seen doesn't even exist anymore? What if it just went away like dinosaurs or Vanilla Ice? What if expectations, roles, and responsibilities are just different now? What if the whole thing was a sham set up by our relatives to confuse us? Perhaps they thought it would be funny to watch us constantly search for love like a mouse in a mirror maze. Yeah, hilarious.

My grandparents after 50 years of marriage.

I'm clearly blessed to have had such amazing relationship role models. But, have they ruined me for the reality of modern dating? It is entirely possible that the ideal has become an impossibility and that pickiness will be my downfall. But, i'm not entirely convinced that pickiness is my problem. Hand in hand with my mid-week drinking partners, settling is simply not an option. My friend made a very valid point..."I'm not even able to BE picky. There aren't even any losers around to turn down."

Fair enough.

My two lovely companions, let's hope that our genetic pre-disposition for successful relationships doesn't end up being some kind of auto-immune deficiency. Let's not give up on history quite yet. It can be done after all. We've seen it.

I've got a f-eva

I discovered a delightful distraction this week that has helped me completely blow off work and daydream away most of my afternoons...There Will Be Breakdowns. This is a blog created by a dear friend of mine from Sydney who is driving a van across the country with her dog, Ralph (he got his name from throwing up on a bratty kid...my kind of pup). She calls it a Vanta-C. I like to live vicariously through all my friends, but this is like accompanying Madonna, Kerouac, and Earhart to the moon in a vintage blimp. It is simply fabulous.

What I like most is that she admits to crying a lot. Crying for me is an unsustainable waste of water, one terrifying step closer to an IV drip. However, I do it often and have little control over when and where it will take place. My desk at work has become a favorite spot lately. I also like to cry while walking down Connecticut Avenue. The canal near the Georgetown waterfront is another good spot. I try not to cry at home because it upsets Olive.

On a kinda related note, I quit my job yesterday. I don't have plans to use the contents of my "Don't You Dare Touch This" ING savings account on a cross-country adventure with Olive sitting shotgun. I'm not cool enough to pull it off and, more importantly, Olive usually throws up in cars. So, I just got another job instead. I did all my crying over it last week. Now the adventure can begin.

Send my friend bunches of good energy. Her adventure will without doubt be amazing. And, since my new job will be helping small non-profits launch mega-successful online fundraising campaigns, it is only appropriate that i start right now by encouraging all my readers to donate to the Vanta-C. Let's keep gas in this girl's tank and keep the hope alive that you can still drop everything and travel unarmed across this country with only Apple electronics to keep you on track.

Good luck girl! You're incredible.

Kisses with tongue

It is well known that i am in the throes of an intense and satisfying love affair, the most life-altering relationship to date...with my dog, Olive.

Dogs are, without a doubt, one of the most charming creatures on this planet, up there with otters and pandas. Now, i'm not belittling the importance and loveliness of cats. I have some very dear friends that would scratch my eyes out if i ever spoke ill of the feline. Let's just go with a disclaimer that Rachael, though appreciative of the cat, is completely bias towards dogs.

My dog shows me near obsessive loyalty, friendship, and love; never passing judgement, even after witnessing my chronic misbehaviour; always thrilled to see me, however briefly i've been away; constantly worrying about my whereabouts and safety, much like an attentive nanny or suspicious prison warden. I've come to realize that this kind of devotion is not possible with a human companion. I've given up on a human version of unconditional love.

However, my adoration of Olive has taught me many things about loving unconditionally and generally being a better person. My mom also got me a lovely book a while back filled with interesting observations about how applying dog traits to my everyday actions could make my life happier. The following lessons i have learned from my own fluffy therapist:

1. Ask for what you want. If you want a Greenie, much like if you want a promotion, just ask for it. You'll probably get what you want just for being ballsy enough to ask.


2. If you don't get what you want when you ask, keep asking. Eventually you'll become annoying enough to get a positive response.


3. Have preferences. If you don't like carrots in your food, remove them from your dish and place on the floor. You are likely to get no carrots the next time you are fed.


4. Get excited. Nothing makes people feel like pleasing you more than acting happy when you are pleased.


5. Be important. It is OK to know that you are worth extra effort and are worthy of praise, affection, and time.


6. Don't apologize. Sometimes you fuck up. But you try harder next time. Your real friends will continue to love you anyway.


7. Sometimes you need only sit quietly next to someone to make them feel better.


8. Growl before biting.


9. Be spoiled. Indulge yourself in things that make you feel good. Eat well, drink well, take naps, take yoga, get a full-body rub down...whatever makes you happy, do that.


10. Don't be bothered. If you don't want to sit, keep standing. Don't do things you don't want to. (This life lesson is specific to the Shih Tzu.)

I recently celebrated 3 years with Olive by hosting a fabulous dinner party and cocktail celebration that went well into the following morning, as most of my parties do. Friends came unexpectedly from far and wide to help us celebrate and, from the look of my house the next morning, a terrific time was had by all.

Olive perhaps taught all our guests a few additional lessons that night as well. For example, if an unwanted guest shows up (the adorable Miss Dutchess, the English Bulldog), just take a shit on the floor so that everyone at the party knows you are unhappy. Also, if you are underage, it is best to steal swigs of champagne when your mum isn't looking.

Working from the outside in

I had a fabulous dinner party last night with some of my Latino (and Latino wanna-be) friends. If you have friends of Spanish decent, you understand why i am clutching my coffee with a death grip this morning.

I'm proud to say i kicked ass in the vegetarian Italian cooking realm and we had a lovely Salsa lesson. We also managed to finish off several bottles of wine and Cava, which may have contributed to the impossible task of arriving to work on time today.

Awakening, bleary eyed, to an apartment littered with champagne glasses and wine bottles this morning was simultaneously shameful and fabulous. Shameful because there really is no good reason to drink that much on a random Tuesday. Fabulous because i'm glad i don't feel too old to drink that much on a random Tuesday.

I dressed in my most professional gear today. My colleagues must think I have a job interview. I don't. But there is something about looking like a grown-up that balances out completely not acting like one.

Thanks for all the fun Simon, Colleen, and Gabriele! I appreciate you speaking English all night just for me.