To Get To You

Getting around in Austin, TX is a nightmare. Transportation in this city is so epically mismanaged and poorly planned that it has caused me to become enraged and borderline dangerous on numerous occasions. It is no wonder Texas has such a high rate of drunk driving.

First, the traffic is impossible. On the way to work, i zip straight there in 10 mins flat. The way home, on the other hand, is a painful, soulless stop and go that can be up to 60 mins of pure mind-numbing torture.

Parking is an effort in futility that usually leads to homicidal fantasies.

You cannot get a cab to save your life. I had an easier time snagging a cab in DC during the Obama inauguration in the freezing rain. Hailing a cab is out of the question. You must call to be picked up. There is a single cab company with 1 or 2 phone lines, likely manned by an unambitious, bong-hitting high school kid. These alleged phone lines are often disconnected and go straight to what sounds like a third-world country's IRS helpline. If you do manage to get through, the person on the other end usually hangs up before you can get your address noted. It is infuriating.

If, by some miracle of the universe, you do find yourself in a cab, the driver is invariably grouchy and rude. These men clearly need to get laid, which may be possible if they didn't refer to their unlucky significant others as "my old lady" and have permanent scowls on their miserable little faces. I promise...because of the rare treat of riding in a cab I am overly polite and kind to these people (without effect).

Walking, my preferred method, is possible. However, you frequently have to jump fences, scale cement walls, or cross interstates to do so. Walking in 110 degree heat isn't the most fun ever. Also, Texas is big. I mean, really really effing big. For that reason, you can walk miles and still only be to the next intersection.

The only mode of getting from A to B I have discovered is to fling yourself on to the cargo train that passes over Barton Springs occasionally and then fling yourself off the moving train nearer your destination. Hobo-ism is evidently the most reliable transportation.

These Old Shoes by Deer Tick

Nighttime, A Love Story

I stayed up too late last night and it hurts today. It's just that I love nighttime so much I don't want to miss even a little bit of it. My 9 to 5 bullies my true love like a jealous boyfriend. It is unnecessary.

Night has all the qualities I like best: cool, dark, rowdy, reliable. I could go on and on. And right now, i'm wanting it...bad.

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?!

Hurts so good

Been in Austin for just over a month now and can even now only just collect a few sentences to describe it. In a word, "bliss."

Being away from my friends is difficult, as expected. I notice my chest clenches a bit when I'm hanging out with new people, trying my very hardest to fit in, absorbing information like a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser. It is not comfortable. Whenever I notice it, I try to relax into it like my DC yoga teacher had instructed me before I left. In yoga, eventually our poses will become comfortable so we must always push. Not so much we hurt ourselves, but enough to feel a sensation.

And sensation is what I feel. Everywhere i look. Everywhere i go. With everybody i meet.

This town is simply lovely. There is something to do every minute of every day. Trying to take advantage of it all is exhausting, especially for someone so notoriously lazy. I have no 10 block radius here. It just isn't possible.

I often find myself in a moment of confusion as if I've overslept a flight or woke up and don't remember where i'm at (um...and it isn't like that happens to me all that often, c'mon). Like i went on vacation and forgot to come home. It is a strange sensation indeed. I guess it feels that way because this place doesn't feel like home yet. Whatever the reason, i like it. If i'm sleeping, don't wake me.

40 Day Dream by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros

Testing, testing, 123

Wild One by Those Darlins

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Like any sizable life event, moving brings people together. I've had night after night of meaningful connections with old friends the last couple months. I've also had a handful of random idiots contact me with hope I will carve out time for them, time obviously already booked by my true friends.

More than once, I've gotten a text out of the blue from some a-hole I dated several summers before wanting to know if i have plans my last few weeks in town. Um, yeah...i'm kinda busy. (insert clubbed head followed by braindead stare)

I kinda wish there was a way to unsubscribe from old boyfriends, drunken phone number exchanges, and overbearing people met in bars. If i could just respond to them with a "Please take me off your list," it would sure come in handy. Being in the online marketing industry makes me all too familiar with CAN-SPAM policy.

That being said, if any of those randoms wants to help pack my moving truck in 100 degree weather and a possible thunder storm, feel free to gimme a ring. I'll wait to report you to the FTC until next week.

Will you marry me?

Making decisions is one of my all-time least favorite activities (up there with hangovers, eating salad, and dealing with Verizon tech support). The last several weeks have been uncomfy, to say the least.

The logistics of scraping up my life, stuffing it into a moving truck, and dumping it out in another time zone are overwhelming, expensive, and all-consuming. Fortunately, there is Tequila.

Tequila and I have always gotten along. We became BFF right away and have stayed close for going on 10 years now. It isn't just alcohol...it is warm and soft, like a blankie or the perfect head-sized indentation in a lover's shoulder. Clearly, I've been intimate with Tequila. I consider it a friend with benefits.

Tequila is a fickle, cliquish friend, however. I daresay it can be downright bitchy at times and has bullied many of my friends into submission. I feel sorry for these people.

When faced with monumental decisions, stress, and uncertainty, Tequila is a rock upon which one can perch safe from and untouched by reality. Like many of my close friends, it has a dynamic personality that keeps our relationship healthy.

For instance, this unique concoction of Tequila and avocado rocked my world. We spent a steamy afternoon together and I fell a little bit more in love. Tequila is always reinventing itself...that's why I like it so much.

I only require salt when taking shots of Tequila. However, this salt foam atop a perfectly-mixed classic margarita was subtle, understated, and refined. Tequila always accessorized impeccably. Like a man in a conservative suit with clever cuff links, I couldn't help myself...I wanted it, BAD.
This papaya margarita from my company picnic was syrupy sweet, cold, and delicious...for a while. After a brainfreeze and eventual need for a toothbrush, I became annoyed with Tequila and needed some time apart to be with my other friends, Whiskey and Gin. Don't worry though, we made up the next day.Thank you, Tequila, for being there for me during this move. You make making decisions the tiniest little bit less painful.

Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off by Joe Nichols