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Escape to Colorado, part 1

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 13:12:28 -0500

I have been firmly convinced that the single most boring way to spend an entire day is the afore mentioned drive halfway across Texas, to El Paso, via west Texas. (Nine and a half hours of abso-fricking-lutely nothing.) I now know that I was sadly mistaken. The single most boring way to spend an entire day is driving in any direction at all across Texas.
I swear, I love being a Texan. I love that I can fly my state flag as high as I can fly my nation's flag (if I were to fly either, which I don't). I love that my state is bigger than most countries (except for when I'm driving across all of it). I love that everyone knows the shape of Texas, and where it lies on the map.
I do not, however, love how unbelievably unattractive my beloved state is. Seriously. After about the eighth hour of blankness, you start to wonder; how, in all this space, did we not manage one single real mountain? It's like the Rockies crept halfway across New Mexico and got tired. Even our forests are wee little clumps of trees, huddled together screeching at each other "Who's idea was this, anyway? I thought we were going to Yellowstone!"
The only thing breaking the monotony was a huge wind farm about six hours from here. We were so delirious by the time we came upon it that neither of us have any clue where it actually was, but it was huge. At sunset, it was a pretty impressive sight.

I fell asleep after about hour eight. I woke up in Las Vegas, New Mexico, at about hour ten, while Tim looked for a nice quiet place for us to sleep. We found a pretty little park, and tired as we were, it looked like a four star hotel. We climbed out of the truck, and as we stretched, a gunshot rang out. We looked at each other across the top of the truck and got back in without a word. We found a truck stop shortly after, but sleep was pretty hard to come by, at least for me. Whether it was the gunshot we heard, or the fact that one of the big rigs nearby had a motor that sounded like bad techno music, that was keeping me from sleeping, I'm not sure, but it was a long night either way.

In the morning, we endured the usual temper flare-up resulting from four or five hours of sleep after too many hours driving, said we were sorry and got back on the road. Oh, look, more flat.

Before long, though, New Mexico reminded us that it is, pretty much, a perfect mistress. She's much, much prettier, has curves instead of angles, and even smells better, but you still don't love her as much as your slightly worn out wife back home.

We stopped around 10:00 am for breakfast, at one of those huge, clean McDonalds that you always find in towns that don't seem to boast much else. As we ordered our McBreakfasts, this old guy was ordering a hot fudge sunday. At 10:00 am. The pregnant little girl behind the counter (they were all pregnant, actually... now that I think about it... seems there isn't much to do in that particular little town...) looked at him in confusion, as did everyone else. As she explained to him that they use the early morning hours to clean the machine thoroughly, his face got all scrunched up, and he finally exploded, yelling at her, "This is the worst McDonalds I have ever been to! This is ridiculous!" and he stormed off, muttering furiously to himself. Old people are funny sometimes.

New Mexico is small, and before long, we were in Colorado. I called Uncle Rob, who was meeting us there, and got directions, which went something like this;
After Hoosier Pass, go about a mile, mile and half.
There will be a sharp right turn.
After the sharp right turn, take the first sharp left, to the smallest A-frame in the world.
We'll be on the porch waving at you.

Okay, easy enough. Hey, look, there's Hoosier pass! We're almost there!
About a million sharps right, and lefts, go by.
Huh. Maybe we're lost. Tim starts questioning my ability to take directions. I start questioning his intelligence. Soon, we are screaming at each other. We crest a hill, and there due to road work, we are stopped for a while. Tim calls Rob. Rob tells Tim exactly what he told me, which is in turn, exactly what I told Tim. Now we are both confused, and cranky. Great.

About a mile after the road work, I looked up to see Rob and Brad on the porch of a comfortable looking A-frame, waving like a pair of idiots. We started laughing when we took the "sharp right turn", which turned out to be a gentle curve in the road, and took the next left. By the time we pulled up the the "tiniest A-frame in the world" (which actually is quite small, though not absurdly so), we were in great spirits, and ready to enjoy the hell out of the 70 degree highs.

#4 Update

Sun, 17 Aug 2008 12:15:18 -0500

Okay, so to be exact, this particular triumph had nothing to do with the Joy of Cooking cookbook, but damn, was it ever some cooking!

Sushi-grade, seared Ahi Tuna steak. Fresh, organic asparagus in a brown butter sauce. Side of herbed Havarti cheese with organic stone ground wheat crackers.
I rule.

Tim rates it in his top ten meals of all time.

More political nonsense

Thu, 7 Aug 2008 11:21:22 -0500

I have to admit, I was hesitant to watch the Paris Hilton response video. I like funny things as much as the next guy, but come on. It's Paris freaking Hilton. How funny can she be? Besides, I haven't seen a FunnyOrDie.com vidoe yet that I actually thought was funny. But then, today, I was watching news updates on CNN.com, and there wasa discussion about the video (must've been a slow news day), and they said that Paris' energy plan was better than either McCain or Obama's! I had to see it.

See more Paris Hilton videos at Funny or Die

Holy crap. I think they were right.

Also, I think it might not be a bad idea for President Bush to hire these guys to write his speeches. If they can make Paris sound smart, imagine what they could do for good ol' W?

A Presidential race WTF?

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 22:45:26 -0500

I feel I must preface this with a disclaimer. I do not usually participate in political debate. I prefer to leave that up to people more knowledgeable than myself. All kidding aside, I do not associate myself with any political party. I do not have a single religious affiliation (unless you count my in-laws). I have not made a decision, as of yet, as to who I will be voting for come November (and I want no opinions! I would rather decided on my own, thank you very much.) I agree with some aspects of each nominee's campaign, and I disagree equally with some aspects as well.

That being said...

Did you know that John McCain was NOT born in the United States of America that he is currently trying to be appointed Chief Officer of?

"...John McCain, who ran for the Republican party nomination in 2000 and is the presumptive Republican nominee in 2008, was born at the Coco Solo U.S. military base in the Panama Canal Zone to U.S. parents. Although the Panama Canal Zone was not considered to be part of the United States,[5] federal law states that "Any person born in the Canal Zone on or after February 26, 1904, and whether before or after the effective date of this chapter, whose father or mother or both at the time of the birth of such person was or is a citizen of the United States, is declared to be a citizen of the United States".[6] The law that conferred this status took effect on August 4, 1937, one year after John McCain was born � albeit with retrospective effect, resulting in McCain being declared a U.S. citizen from birth.[7]"

If you are like me, and don't really like reading through that kind of crap, I will sum it up for you; McCain was declared a citizen one year after his birth, but through somme retarded ass loophole, it was decided that he could get RETROSPECTIVE life-long residency.

Bullshit, I say. The man is in-eligible to run for president.
Here are the rules of eligibility;

U.S. Constitution, Art. II, Sec. 1, Clause 5: The Presidency:
"No person except a natural born citizen, or a citizen of the United States, at the time of the adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the office of President;"
(There is more to the clause, but it's about age requirements, and let's face, it's pretty obvious that John McCain meets age requirements for just about anything.)

See? I'm right.

I was under the impression that the office of leader of my country was a hard job to get. I didn't think someone could get into the Oval office through a loophole, but I guess I was wrong.
You learn something new every day.

Everything's bigger in Yexas, y'all!

Mon, 28 Jul 2008 21:41:39 -0500

I have lived in Texas my whole life. Until I was 21, I had never really left Texas. Only once I had did I realize how many misconceptions there are about my home state!

For instance, some people believe that we Texans still ride horses, rather than drive cars. People are amazed at how few of us actually wear cowboy hats and/or boots. Someone always wants to know if you have a gun on you, right then. Often, they will be confused by my lack of drawl. Everyone expects you to be able to lasso things with incredible accuracy. You are expected to be a die hard Republican. The list goes on and on!

Now, keep in mind, these are Americans. Generally, Easterners, or Northerners, but Americans nonetheless. I can possibly see it from folks from across the big lake (Europeans, for those of you without a sense of humor), but Americans? I thought these folks were my own people!

However, some of the famous ideas of Texas are true. Everything IS bigger in Texas. Try driving across it sometime if you don't believe me. People ARE nicer in Texas. Try waving at someone in California if you don't believe me. Women ARE prettier in Texas. Look at my pictures if you don't believe me (com'on, you'd have said it too!) There ARE still lots of wide open spaces in Texas (refer to my challenge to drive across it). They just aren't as pretty as the wide open spaces in, say, Wyoming.

To be fair, I have ridden a horse (years ago, but still). I haven't owned a cowboy hat, but boy, I wanted one. I do own a gun, or technically, two; one shotgun and an honest to god six shot revolver; I just don't tend to carry them around with me. When I am drunk, I do have one hell of a drawl. And last but not least, I toss one HELL of a lasso, if you'll kindly give me five or ten minutes to practice first.
(Oh, and I am not Republican. Tim, however, much to my chagrin, is. Hey, you can't win 'em all!)

What's up, dog?

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 00:52:11 -0500

The other morning, I woke up from my nap, walked out to the living room, and said to Tim, "It smells like updog in here."
He fell right into my cleverly laid out trap. He actually said it. He said, "What's updog?"
And I laughed my ass off.

Nothing else particularly awesome has happened recently. Turns out that the hubby and I work too much.

Work and boobs.

Sat, 12 Jul 2008 11:47:39 -0500

I'm currently confused. Well, I'm fairly often confused... okay, fine, I'm pretty nearly always confused, but you don't have to be so snarky about it...

Bitches.

Anyway.

I have a job. (Speaking of which, my business cards came in already, and I realized that I have no idea in what situation one gives out business cards. More confusion.) Legal assistant, and all that.
But I also work for Tim on the weekends, bartending and waiting tables. I was sure it would be short-lived, and that he would fire me as soon as he realized that I am a terrible bartender and waitress, but he hasn't yet, and my name keeps coming up on the schedule. (More confusion.)
So... can I say that I work two jobs, or does the second one not count since I only work there because I am sleeping with the boss? Does it fall more under the category of hanging out with the hubby that actual working? I don't think it's that, by the way, because he keeps making me actually do stuff while I'm there. "Make those drinks." "Bring these people their food." "Stop drinking whiskey on the clock." You'd think he'd at least let me not mop, or something, right? I mean, seriously.

Interesting completely unrelated side note; when I was a real little kid, I thought boobs were full of air, and that you could actually pop one like a balloon. Nipple piercings still freak me out because of that. I may have been a strange child.

Tranny office staff.

Thu, 10 Jul 2008 09:40:52 -0500

As I'm sure I mentioned before, I have recently started working in the Omni hotel office suites. While there is nothing special about the private office area, the reception area is lovely. Anywhere that is in public veiw, in fact, is lovely. The bathroom has granite counter tops.
And it is the bathroom, or the ladies room, rather, that brings me to my point.

Can anyone think of a single good reason as to why, halfway through the day, someone is leaving the seat up in the ladies room?

When I arrive in the mornings, I go straight into the bathroom to change out of the shorts and tank top that I wear for the 2.9 mile bike ride to work ( I totally G-Maps-ed it last night). I go to the handicap stall all the way at the end of the row, so I see all of the toilets. The seats are all always down, the way they should be in a women's restroom.
At the end of the day, I return to the restroom to change back into my shorts and tank top, and lo and behold, the seat in the very first stall is up.

Do we have a transvestite working here?!I mean, seriously!

In a related side note, does anyone know what movie or television show had a scene with a guy yelling, "Dude, she's a stander, not a sitter?!" Bonus points for the actors in teh scene. It's driving me nuts that I can't rememeber.

Photographic evidence

Thu, 3 Jul 2008 19:23:39 -0500

This is a picture of the damage from my boxing match with a car.

Not too shabby, eh? That sucker is right on the center of my calf.

Just in case you didn't know, it is damned hard to photograph a bruise that is on the back of your own leg. I have been trying ever since the accident to get a good picture, and this (and the other one on my Flickr) is the best I could get. The bruise is starting to fade... and for some reason, that makes me kinda sad...

A climber's best friend

Tue, 1 Jul 2008 12:51:11 -0500

I don't know how it is in other climbing towns, but here in Austin we take our crag dogs very seriously.

For those of you who aren't climbers, a crag dog is NOT a pet. They are climbing partners, camping partners, spotters, and the guy who always watches your stuff when you are on the rock. They are drinking buddies who never drink your last beer. They are best friends who you don't have to worry about hitting on the new hottie you are dating.

The breed of a crag dog isn't important, only the personality. A good crag dog is patient with the lesser animals that some people might bring along. A good crag dog knows that value of an unattended crash pad, and stakes claim by going to sleep on it. A good crag dog knows better than to go to sleep on a crash pad that is under a rock climb.
A good crag dog is a lot of things, but a pet is not one of them.

Austin lost a good crag dog today, and a good man lost a best friend. The world is full of people I wouldn't waste a tear on, but for Commadore, I think I'm not alone in saying I shed a few.

Rest in peace, Commadore!
11/15/96 to 7/01/08