Things Happen

This year has been a wellspring of new friendships, a renewal of some unexpected old ones, and the coffin for others. What a difference a year makes?!

Friends who come and go and come back are not new to me. When you move around as much as I do, it becomes almost second nature. Making new friends gets easier. Losing friends becomes easier too. And, when I occasionally check in on my net friendships, all seems comfortably in the Black. Until this year...

The last 12 months have seen some heavy hits. My sister and I continue to be estranged and some very dear friends of mine have exited my life, some in a painful way. Libras are notorious for obsessively craving popularity and acceptance. It is a trait I both loathe and love about myself. Validation by acceptance is a powerful high and equally sickening low. To be pushed away is devastating to me.

I've not been the instigator of this year's exodus but I have allowed it, as one should in my opinion. Perhaps it is because I too have required a relationship Ctrl+Alt+Delete. It is interesting and uncomfortable to be on the receiving end but I understand and respect the process.

Luckily, I strongly believe things work out as they should inevitably. Things happen. That's all they ever do.

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.

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)!!

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

Between work and hurt and whiskey

On this day one year ago, I ate Chinese take-out from one of my favorite places in DC and then closed the door on the most important chapter of my life so far to begin a new adventure in Texas. I cried on the way to the airport as I watched my beautiful city go past, knowing it wasn't my city anymore. And then I cried most of the flight. And then I cried some more. Saying goodbye to my most precious and long-time friends, friends that had pretty much become my family, was one of the most terrifying and sad moments I've had.

I've thought about that day almost every day since with varied emotion. I'm overwhelmingly lonely at times but also grateful that I was able to shed the stale life I was living in DC for something new and different. I didn't know then if it would work out and I still don't. But, here I am.

Trying to replace my dear friends was the hardest. It was hard because it simply cannot be done. I get that now. The realization was, briefly, quite hopeless. But, now I try to remind myself that new friends can't be made overnight and being comfortable doesn't always come easily. That was the whole point of this move, after all, Rach. Comfort and me have always been at odds. It is one of my most devastating and delightful psychological defects.

Luckily, Austin has its charms. A city so full of music can heal even the most damaged outlook on life. I love the area and weather and calendar of events. I found an amazing man and some good friends to show me the lay of this very strange, very large land. I've shot guns, rode horses, cooked over flames, two stepped, smoked joints, and watched football, just like a real Texan. My boots are properly worn in.

I've also made my small mark. Some people in Austin now say darling with a little more daawwwwl. Folks sworn to hunting dogs have a new-found soft spot for Shih Tzus. Corn and Velveeta are becoming dietary staples. Muumuus are...um...ok, fine, still not in style, but I've only been here a year. There is hope.

One year in, I'm really happy to be here of course. But, I still miss the familiarity of my East Coast life a lot and, most of all, I miss my people. Tonight the whiskey I intend to drink will be both celebratory and therapeutic. DC may get a few drunken phone calls tonight from a happy/sad Texan.

Don't Think I Don't Think About It by Darius Rucker

Sparkly Red Shoes

The last couple weeks have been ones of pretty extreme change. Not unexpected by any means, but disruptive nonetheless. Knowing a giant upheaval was coming down the pipeline, I prepared myself the only way I know how…with distractions and denial comparable to psychosis.

One of my dearest and longest-running friends moved to Sydney, Australia. We met each other at my very first job out of college. I’d been in DC not quite a month and was lonely, broke, and second-guessing my decision to move to the East Coast. She was also a gypsy new to town so we had lots in common…we had both lived in Australia, we both wanted to save the world (but were finding out it was much harder than expected), we shared a love of long lady chats, and, best of all, we shared a love of cocktails in dive bars. We became fast friends and have spent the last 6.5 years working our way through countless of life’s growing pains and celebrations.

I was so sorry to see her go in a selfish way, but also thrilled she was moving back to Sydney with a man of unparalleled fabulocity and heaps of hope, wisdom, and excitement. The prospect of spending the next summer without her gentle guidance is terrifying, to say the least. (In my personal staff of life teachers she represents sanity, thoughtfulness, and Cajun food…subjects I clearly have not yet mastered.) I foresee many melancholy nights ahead. But, I also foresee fabulous winter getaways in the southern hemisphere and the new benefit of cataloging her wise ways in carefully organized email folders, a thing I’ve always wished I could do with some of our in-person conversations. Email folder titles will be along the lines of: Inappropriate Things Exes Ask, Red Wine, White Wine, Things overheard in wine bars, Wombat Sightings, Music I should be appreciating, etc.

I cried on the phone with my mom for a long time the night she left. To make her exodus feel less traumatic, I planned a birthday party for my dog. This was convenient because it kept me very busy with things that didn’t really need to be done. Hooray!

So, now that I’ve learned to make proper cheesecake, destroyed my apartment and then cleaned it up again, and worked my way tediously through several bottles of champagne, I think I’m finally ready to wish The Shazzer the best of luck in her new home. Also, I hear that in Oz when things feel a little uncool, you just click your fab shoes together and say there’s no place like home. Evidently everything gets way better if you do that. I’ll miss ya girl!


Wish I by Jem

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.