Mary Baird: Continually Ruling at Exercise

I have body issues. I always have, and I always will. I eat healthy, I exercise and for whatever reason it never seems to be enough. Last July I started training for a half marathon – my high point was running about 22 miles a week. To some of my more crazy friends - and like half of the population of Austin - that’s like…. Nothin’. But I was super proud! I trained running from 10-22 miles a week for seven months and completed a half marathon on January 31st, 2011. Did I lose any weight? NO! NO!?!?!?!? You may be thinking “Mary, if you eat a whole pizza every day because you’re running, well, that won’t work. You won’t lose weight even IF you’re running.” Well you shut the hell up! I didn’t eat whole pizzas. In fact, I didn’t alter my diet at all. I hardly ever eat out, and I try to make healthy choices. Sure, if have my weak moments like everyone. But truth be told, I hardly ever eat what I want. And it sucks.

Let me also say, I hate working out. I thought if I did it long enough I’d grow to like it.. but… nope. Never once have I been like “wow, that was a great workout.” I always leave the gym like “eff, I’ve just wasted an hour of my life that I will never get back.” If I had my ideal sitch here I would be one of those skinny people that can eat like vacuum cleaners and NEVER have to work out.

Despite all the effort, recently it has occurred to me that I’m going about fitness the wrong way. I decided cardio is NOT my friend. The other day I went to the gym and just glowered at the elliptical and treadmills and walked away.



I walked around the basketball court, and went to an empty exercise classroom. There, I found a medicine ball. I played with the medicine ball, and did exercises with it. What did I discover? Well, I kinda like the medicine ball. I also discovered, the following morning, that the medicine ball is a sonofabitch. I was SO SORE the next day! That means it’s working though, right? Yep. So this morning I knew what my next step was. “I SHALL BUY A MEDICINE BALL!” I announced to Kevin. But there’s no athletic stores here. None. In fact, there are exactly two grocery stores, and exactly one department store – and that’s Bealls. CRINGE.

Remembering this fact, I told him of my dilemma, saying “I WANT A DAMN MEDICINE BALL BUT I CAN'T BUY ONE HERE!” “So order one online,” he says. No, okay? I don’t like ordering things online. They just never live up to your expectations. Plus, I wanted instant gratification. I wanted a medicine ball IMMEDIATELY. Not in five to seven business days. So Kevin scampered out of the room and promptly returned with a small bag. In the bag was a bowling ball… with his name engraved on it. Nerd. “Use this!” he proudly exclaimed.



Needless to say initially I was skeptical. But it’s twelve pounds, so eventually after some speculation I gave it a try. AND OH MY GOD IT’S EFFING AMAZING.

The great thing is, it involves DANGER! INTRUIGE! POSSIBLE MAIMING!



If I’m doing circles with it I might drop it on my head and get a concussion. If I’m doing the medicine ball “wood chopping” exercise, I could completely obliterate one of my toes. Nay, my whole foot. And if I don’t? Well hey! Success! Next time you see me I will be RIPPED UP boyyyyyyy! And if people ask me, “Mary, what on earth did you do to get so svelte?”



I’ll simply lob a bowling ball at their FACE and say “that’s how baby – and training starts now.”

This Desert Life

Hey all. Did you miss me? Don't lie, I know you did.

Life is different out here. The pace is much slower, but I have a lot more to do. Also, my creative writing is now a shared niche being occupied by my blog and a creative non-fiction class I'm taking at Sul Ross. Now I greatly prefer my blog as a writing outlet, but seeing as how I'm not graded on it, and I AM graded on what I produce in my writing class, the class takes precedence. More on that later.

----Here's some pictures----

Greetings from Alpine, y'all!



My favorite - the twin peaks mountain. Obviously I've adjusted the picture...slightly....



Amelia with a good friend of mine outside the theater. Two-screen theater baby!



Apparently we're finally in line with the inner workings of the universe, because things are going swimmingly. Kevin's found his calling, and is doing everything from helping to run turkey shoot tourneys to studying (taking tissue samples from) pronghorn antelope. He's also about to start tracking mountain lion kill sites. Basically that means he gets to ride around on a four wheeler and just makes observations about the areas that the cats are killing and the aftermath of the site. I don't know about you, but to me that's pretty much as awesome as it gets.

Me, well, I'm just focusing on studies. I'll get more involved in geology next semester as I make my way up to the upper division courses. In the meantime I'm ruling. 4.0 baby.

That being said, I've had little time to let my creative imagination flourish. Instead I've been working on a "creative" non-fiction article, which I will now post for you to read. Let me just say that I've explained who Everett Ewing Townsend is in this article -and it's perfectly understandable if you haven't heard of him. I hadn't prior to moving here. But HERE his name is, in recognizability, on par with Abraham Lincoln. So yeah. Here y'are!

Bye Bye Allie, Sweetheart

My journey into the culture of the Big Bend began just over a month ago when I moved my husband and two year old daughter from Austin to Alpine. I moved for a variety of reasons, but mainly I longed to see the sprawl of land, having tired of my daily battle with the cement jungle. I missed the flat rolling plains of the Texas panhandle where I grew up, but the adventurer in me wanted to start afresh in a new place - create a new life. The very thing that drove pioneers to this area over a century before the thought of striking West ever graced me.

Since arriving I've found a hobby in collecting stories about the veritable cornucopia of interesting and legendary people who developed the area, now long gone. Of the many I've read, dreamt of, desired to emulate in the corners of my mind, Alice Townsend stands out among the rest. We all know and respect Everett Ewing Townsend, father of the Big Bend and preserver of this remarkable area. But who was Alice? What was her story?

Under a case of glass in the Houston Museum of Natural Science sits a holster and a Lady Smith .22 gun belonging to the first woman to ever enter the ranks of the Texas Rangers - Alice Townsend. In 1931 Alice, better known to all as Allie, was honored for her extraordinary service to the state of Texas and inducted into the organization under the title of "Honorary Ranger." Every day prior to this celebrated moment was a life spent pioneering the wilderness and keeping vigil over the very area today we call home. And that life began by a chance meeting in Marathon, Texas.

In 1895 E.E. Townsend was riding down a road after a devastating blizzard when he noticed a buggy down the way abruptly come to a stop. When at last he approached it, he found two women and an unruly horse terrified out of its wits. Obstructing the buggy's path were two dead burros, casualties claimed by the bitter cold of the recently departed blizzard. Townsend assisted a one Ms. Alice Jones and her companion in calming the horse, and proceeded to remove the burros so that the ladies might continue their journey. In speaking of Allie and this first encounter, Townsend said "Allie manifested the same cool courage in managing that unruly horse that she has ever since shown when called to the test, and I guess I fell for her right then." After their meeting, Townsend, a Ranger who was then stationed at Presidio, made sure his ranging expeditions frequented the Marathon area where Allie resided.

Before long the duo became Mr. and Mrs. Townsend, and from then on were perpetually on the move with E.E. Townsend's rangering duties. During their first year of marriage, Allie went on scouts with her husband that covered a thousand miles. During their scouting expeditions they encountered every type of weather - dust storms, blizzards, rain and bone-chilling winds. Hardly any modern woman's ideal honeymoon, to be sure. But Allie, having been orphaned at age twelve, was no stranger to adversity. She ran a clean camp and kept stomachs full - she always made the best of it. "She was a royal pal and ever strove to do more than her share of the labor" her husband said. Having the hard times hade the good times they had much more memorable. E.E. Townsend describes Allie looking at the work of "ole Sol" creating magnificent sunrises as if painting the sky with a paintbrush. She loved to marvel in wonder at the glorious colors that were created, and would sit for hours discovering figures in the prismatic clouds of the Big Bend.

After their many scouting missions, Allie remained at home to look after their daughter Margaret and protect the homestead. "Bye bye Allie sweetheart" her husband would say as he trekked away with a heavy heart to fulfill his duty. Always a daunting task, Alllie worked diligently to keep their home and land in good working order. She darned socks, sewed buttons and took care of the family. She was never short on adventure, which brought both hilarity and danger alike. Several times when strangers approached on the horizon, Allie donned Mr. Townsend's clothing and a formidable looking weapon desperately hoping it would be enough to keep unwanted and unknown visitors away.

Today, it's hard to imagine having that type of life in our world. I don't exactly inspect the horizon for outlaws prior to entering my front door. When my husband comes home from a long day's work and I'm not feeling particularly productive, ordering a pizza is certainly not out of the question. If a button needs replacing, there's a chance I might consider the work involved, weigh my options, and favor ordering a new garment online. Bearing this in mind, as I pour over Allie's biography so lovingly written by E.E. Townsend it never fails to move me. I can't help but long to be as she was. To have my actions, even those diminutive daily tasks, mean something. While she may not be quite so in the limelight as her husband, the part she played in making the Big Bend what it is was formidable. As a "guardian of the West" her desire to protect its beauty was equally as profound and resonating as Mr. Townsend's. He said of her, "knowing its beauties, its strange and unnatural elements, as well as its ugliness, Allie was an enthusiastic booster and worker for the Big Bend International Peace Park and some day her dream and my dream will come true." And it did.

Six years after her induction into the Rangers at the age of 66, Allie fell ill and was confined to the hospital. Reflecting on her last days, E.E. Townsend wrote "I could write many more pages as a tribute to this noble woman, whose love was an honor to me. The doctor had told me that afternoon that barring accident she would be with me another three months. The next morning, answering an urgent call I returned hastily to the hospital and found that she had just gone - God bless you, Allie Dear, bye bye sweetheart."

2 DAYS

I can't believe it ... it's 2 days until I move. I'm not sure how it got here, but it did and I can't seem to find enough time to see who I want to see and get what I need to do done. AND as if the emotional part wasn't difficult enough, I'm sick! Well, sort of. Actually it's only reinforcing my desire to leave, and by that I mean I have brutal allergies. The dry mold count is off the charts right now and I feel like I have a mix of cold/flu. Is it cold slash flu? Nope. It's my horrid mold allergy. So what I'm doing right now is alternating packing and sleeping. As of now I only have laundry to do, then some light cleaning. But, as always, even with that little to do it's more time consuming than it sounds.

Anyway, we move in the wee hours on Wednesday. I'll be sure to update the blog with pictures and our misadventures along the way.

Adios Austin!

Awkward Encounter at The Help

Yesterday evening I went with 6 friends to see The Help. A few of the girls had read the book prior to seeing the movie, so they had some inkling of what to expect. I'd only seen one preview - and I didn't know what to make of it because I'd only caught the tail end. It seemed almost as if it was going to be civil rights movement meets quirky joke-a-thon. Those concepts didn't quite seem to marry to me, but hey - at least they hadn't decided on seeing Final Destination 5 (GAG!)

When I got to the theater, it was overrun. Never did I think I'd see that many people waiting in line. Of course, it had been awhile since I'd been to a mall theater. One thing I'm going to absolutely miss about Austin is going to Alamo Drafthouse. I'm totally spoiled with that.

So basically it was like a mob had descended on the place and of course, everyone was there to see The Help. I think the last time I saw a crowded theater like that was when they released Twister into the Cinema 6 (back when there were only a few crappy theaters) in Amarillo in the early 90s and Len Slesik, the weather man, was there dressed in galoshes giving a severe weather warning over the loud speakers.

Almost immediately we realized that we, as a group, would not be able to sit together. So I separated from the other five girls with one brave companion and sat in the handicapped aisle.

DON'T JUDGE

The handicapped aisle allows for unhandicapped people too, ya know! So we sat down in two seats and next to me sat a woman and her father, who was in a wheel chair. Jennifer, my friend, and I were chatting along merrily when all of a sudden I noticed that there was a woman in my crotch.

I saw it happen, in reflection, but the immediate realization was...
"holy shit, this woman is in my crotch."

The woman in question was attempting to go get a concession before the movie started and was walking down the handicapped aisle with her companion, wildly gesturing with about five or six dollar bills in her hand - and didn't see the gentleman two chairs down from me in the wheelchair.

So while wildly gesturing (dolla bills waiving) to her friend, she managed to trip over his prosthetic leg and land face-first in my crotch. She was just as shocked as I was. In fact, she was so shocked she didn't move. She just looked up at me with her giant bouffant hairdo apologizing over and over in a heavy Southern accent. "I'm sorray! I'm just---I'm just so sorray!!!"

I obligatorily said "it's okay" about four times before she finally got up. She stood there for a moment - still in shock - the seconds ticking away like hours.... before she finally turned around ready to bolt away from this disastrous situation.

Unfortunately when she finally decided on the bolt she didn't look where she was going. Promptly after turning around she slammed into someone else like a pinball with bad poofy hair before finally escaping the theater to get her snack.

All I could think was "literally this is the most uncomfortable thing that has ever happened to me." Luckily, thank GOD, the previews started shortly after.

I was not prepared for The Help. It was fantastic and heartbreaking. I highly recommend it - I absolutely loved it. You should go see it! Just watch out for space cadet women who might unsuspectingly end up in your crotch.

12 Days Until the Move

I will, Alpine. I will. I'm so ready for the cooler weather! Yes, it's the desert, but it's been in the 80s there WITH RAIN. No rain here in Austin and for the past few weeks we've had temperatures around 107. I'm ready to go!

I Sawd a Gowzt

Ah, a lot of memories came up when reflecting on working at the Crystal River Inn - so I thought I'd share some more of them. Many interesting things happened during my duration there. For example, a raccoon died underneath one of the guest houses. Our guests began to complain of a smell, guessing that there was a gas leak or a clog in the pipes. I went out there to investigate, and immediately knew what was wrong.

You see, I was super into my forensic anthropology class and had done some field exercises with my professor. While I cited that as the source for my knowing the smell's origin, it was pretty easy to tell even for a layperson. The guests that had alerted us to the problem were old, and I'm sure they knew. They just wanted me to stumble upon the dead thing and be shocked and saddened. Little did they know they got ME. Someone who majored in dead things and badassery.

I looked all around before deciding to explore the outside of the house, and on my second turn around the property I noticed a small entrance to the crawl space. I went and found a giant flashlight, and then a man. You know, so the man could haul out whatever carcass it was. I may be somewhat of a tomboy outdoorsman, but look - if I can find someone else to fish out an animal carcass I'm going to do it. So I crawled under the house, and here's what I saw:



Only dead, smelly and covered with...well, you know. "Stage 3 decomposition" I proclaimed - and sent my man servant in after it.

Then there is Mo. There were two apartments that were part of the Crystal Inn property that were both rented out. One of the women that lived there had a dog, and the dog had puppies. All of them were immediately adopted, save one. The little puppy that was left behind didn't get chosen because she had some health problems. She was the runt, and needed some sort of gum medication. Well, my roommate Brittany had been expressing interest in adopting a dog for months - and this little pup was perfect, I thought, and presented herself at just the right time. And she was TINY which was good because our apartment wasn't exactly what you would call big. The woman sold her to me under the condition that she would agree to pay for the first two months of medication. I was very proud of myself for that negotiation.

I brought the pup home and Brit was elated. She was so easy to love, tiny and infirm. Adorable. We named her Mo short for Captain Morgan. Because we were college students and alcohol was the coolest thing we could think of to name her after. But Mo quickly grew up and she was the biggest holy terror of a dog that either of us had ever seen. Even the guys we knew hated her, and as I've discovered men have a slightly higher patience tolerance of dogs. They regularly suggested having a barbeque with Mo as the main course.

She WRECKED our apartment. The carpets were ruined, the couches were ruined, she even ate my CHI straightening iron (SWEET JESUS NO!). Her favorite thing on earth was to streak back and forth as fast as the speed of light down our tiny hallway, sending all of my carefully arranged runner rugs flying up on the walls and rendering our artwork askew. I swear some days we'd come home to this:



Then Brittany and I would just look at each other, collectively say "eff this" and go get some cold beer and sit by the pool instead, until we'd gathered up the courage to face it.

However, Mo finally grew up to be a REALLY GREAT - and more importantly - chilled out dog. Though I think she may still feel guilty about her defiant adolescent years...



Without question, the most noteworthy occurrence at the Crystal River Inn I had was the ghost.

Across the street from the main house, were a couple of rooms in a historical house that the CRI annexed. Downstairs there were two apartments that were unaffiliated with us. But when you walked up a very long and narrow staircase there were three small efficiency apartments that shared a breakfast bar. Those were ours, and in constant occupation in the summer. Every year the CRI allows guests to choose a murder mystery party package. It's super fun. They have multiple scenarios they use, and guests and employees and the owners are all involved. There are cigars, chocolates and brandy in the parlor awaiting the guests upon their arrival - the whole act.



Anyway, we had a group due to check in at 4pm. So at 2:30pm I ran over to the annex to make sure the beds were straightened and nice, the rooms scented, and the breakfast bar fully stocked. The first room I went to looked good, so I just freshened it with some potpourri. The second room, I decided, needed some pillow fluffing. So I walked over to the bed and arranged the pillows the way I liked them - and began fluffing. All of a sudden, I saw a gentleman at the door. He was wearing a bowler hat and a suit. He was starring at me, expressionless. Then, he turned and walked from the doorway towards the breakfast bar.



Because of how he was dressed, it was obvious he was one of the murder mystery crew... and he was an hour and a half early. Somewhat exasperated, I sat the pillow down and began talking. "I'm so sorry your room isn't ready sir..." was as far as I got. I was going to tell him that the brandy and chocolates were waiting across the street in the parlor... but he was nowhere to be seen. I would have heard him going down the staircase, I thought to myself. I'd only seen him seconds ago. There's no way he could have already left.

The hair on my neck began to prickle, and I felt like I was about to have a heart attack I was so scared. I left everything - including the room keys and bolted for the main house. I couldn't find anyone. Finally I went to the laundry room, where I found Alicia from the previous blog entry loading sheets into the washer. Sputtering, I told her I thought I just saw a ghost. I set up the scenario, but she cut me off. She said "did he have a bowler hat on?"

......


I lost my balance and fell into the laundry room wall.

Me: what?
Alicia: he had a bowler hat on, right?
Me: yes....
Alicia: he's a regular.
Me: a REGULAR????
Alicia: I've seen him too, we all have. We just don't tell new employees.


I went directly home after Alicia consented to finishing my work at the annex. I never went over there without having another person with me, but I thankfully never saw him again.

....and I probably won't sleep tonight.



YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME GOWZT!!!!

Tom Selleck Jr.

When I was in college, I had a work buddy named Alicia. She and I worked together at the Crystal River Inn Bed and Breakfast in lovely San Marcos (or San Marvelous, as we called it - a joke, because it was anything but).



I loved working at the Crystal River Inn. My mom and I actually stayed there multiple times before I started working there when we came to tour Texas State University, where I went to school. It also afforded me the opportunity to learn a lot about cooking. I still use recipes I learned there.

Anyway, the CRI was also responsible for throwing me in league with Alicia. Alicia was from Columbus, Texas, and her father (as she told me) was a "coon ass." I had no idea what that meant, and it terrified me. I didn't even inquire as to what a "coon ass" could be, because I didn't want to know. All I knew was that Alicia had to be from .... interesting stock. In addition to the "coon ass" remark, she had her own sense of language. She said "fet-ew-cee-nee" instead of fettucini. She said "dij-ih-cul" instead of digital. Despite my having corrected her about a hundred times, she persisted.

Now I knew all of these things - but after being initially shocked by them, I came to embrace the diversity. Thus, when she invited me to her homeland to attend a crawfish boil (which she boasted would involve 1,000 pounds of crawfish) how could I refuse?

After work, I ran and packed and we headed aft towards Houston. When I arrived, I was thrilled to discover what I had pictured was absolutely spot on. She lived in something resembling The Burrow where the Weasleys from Harry Potter live. Her parents' house, I believe, had initially been 2 bedrooms, one bathroom and a kitchen. However, as they had children I believe they just began piling things on. By things I mean rooms. And a screened in porch. There was odd Louisiana relics all over the place. It was as if I stepped out of Texas into a bayou swamp house. Nets, fishing rods.... Alicia even joked that we were having possum for dinner. I didn't think she was kidding, but luckily she was. I also discovered what a "coon ass" was - and it's someone who is cajun. Slang for a very cajun person.

Her dad arrived the next morning, having just made a run to Louisiana in a TRUCK. That was now COMPLETELY FULL OF CRAWFISH. I went out to the backyard to observe the crawfish activities. They had GIANT - and I mean GIIIIIIIANT vats in which they were planning to throw the crawfish in once they reached a boil. I'd say that they were the size of a large wading pool. And there were three.



Bigger than that, actually, if memory serves.

So the boil began at 6am. I watched the beginning, and went back to bed. When I awoke, there were a freaking billion crawfish, ready for the eating. Alicia's dad planned on selling two of the vats, and eating the third. So we got started. And I don't think I've ever been more full in my entire life. After all, they were prepared by a coon ass. And we all know how good coon asses are at preparing crawfish.

The next morning, we prepared to leave. I was so SO ready. But I decided, last minute, to go back and look at the vats. I just had to see them one more time - in awe of what they had produced. As I was observing, I looked down and saw him. One sole survivor of the crawfish genocide. A tiny little dude.

Naturally, I immediately decided he was mine. Out of the billions of crawfish that had been cooked, there was only one who was mischevous enough to escape and survive....and STAY next to what would have meant certain death for him. I decided he needed to be kept and cared for. He was a badass, after all. Next to-do, he needed to be named. So I named him. Tom Selleck Jr.

Tom Selleck Jr made the trek with us from Columbus Texas back to San Marcos, and lived in my sink for 2 months before I decided he needed larger grounds. Especially considering that in that time, he'd grown to nearly the size of the sink itself. I had cared for him well, obviously, giving him minnows and adding some plant life. Why did I not get an aquarium??? I'll never know. For some odd reason, it simply never occured to me. I guess it was because imagining a crawfish as a long-term pet is somewhat ridiculous.

So I headed down to the Guadalupe, said some words, and let Tom Selleck Jr. go. He was the man. I imagine he's still alive today, because that's what he does. Survives with badassery. He's probably struttin around some popular crawfish hang out right now, pickin' up chicks.



I miss you TSJ! And...you're welcome. Alicia invited me back to her house, but I never accepted. I'd had enough coon ass for one lifetime. And enough pet crawfish as well.

A Practical Guide to Battling Road Trip Boredom

Hey! You there! Yes, you! Do you have a 70 hour road trip to embark upon for the summer? If you dwell in Texas, I'm sure you do. Because 70 hours is how long it takes to get anywhere in Texas, due to it being as large as all of the other states in the Union combined. Plus one of the Koreas.



Here's the thing - if I have somewhere to go in Texas, I usually drive. It makes the trip so much more fulfilling. Flying is annoying. Driving is calming, and you make the rules. You don't have someone telling you when to board, you don't have to be packed in some random vehicle (that you don't know whether or not is mechanically sound) and if you ARE packed in like a sardine, at least it's with people you KNOW.

Now naturally, there are some pitfalls with road tripping as well. One can only listen to so much of the Insane Clown Posse albums before a road trip becomes monotonous, bland and sometimes even maddening. But I have some ideas for you that will really put some excitement into a lackluster road trip. Aren't you excited? And grateful?

I'm taking you from this


To THIS!



That's right, you saw that. Weird drawing of walking a long and lonesome road to driving a maserati (not pictured - but just imagine it) while awesome celestial happenings pepper the sky.

So clearly the solution I have in mind is having super fun games in order to keep your fragile mind from collapsing on itself like a black hole. So without further adieu...

1. Go get a post it notes pad.
2. Put two post it notes on the passenger side window.
3. Label them Roadkill and Trucks

Roadkill: The Game
What you do, is count every dead animal you see. Is it gross? Yes. But NOT cataloging it isn't going to make it any easier to endure. HELLO - you're going to notice it! Why not document? Plus, if you actually save the statistics you'll know what time of year you're likely to encounter the most dead animals, and thus you can avoid it. Isn't that fun?

Trucks
Just get as many as you can to honk. And document that. PASSENGER VERSUS DRIVER!!! Winner gets...whatever. Recognition? A coke? Whatever you want.

Finally, we come to the best game which requires no documentation.

BLIND
Blind is a game I invented on road trip when I was alone, very tired and feeling a bit sadistic.

Some things to know about Blind: 1. Blind can only be played at night, and 2. It's a delicate art.

Here you are, driving down one of those lovely lonesome two lane back-woods Texas highways. You have your high beams on, because you do. Then, you see a car coming. What you do, is (as you would normally do) when you encounter another driver at night you turn off the high beams as a courtesy. BUT! Just as they are about to pass you, you hit them with the high beams and laugh diabolically.

That's it! The rules are simple, but the payoff is both huge and complex. It's a thrill ride of deliberate cruelty and rule breaking! And it keeps you awake!

Here's the best part - Blind won't get you in trouble. Why? Because it could be an accident. You could have ACCIDENTALLY turned on your brights again just a liiiiiiittle too soon. So the other driver may be pissed, but not pissed enough that they're going to go all 'brutal road rage' on you.

Have a great summer everyone!

Another Time in Mexico...

As you know, recently I went to Mexico. This was in Baja California Sur - by and large the nicest part of Mexico I've been to. I've been to Acuna and Nuevo Laredo (Lisa's 20th birthday whaaaaaaat!), but those are border towns and not an accurate reflection of the entire country. For instance, this is where you encounter 'pharmacies' on every corner, strange bodies of water on the streets that may or may not be milk, trash bags on streets that may or may not be filled with severed heads... you know, that sort of ambiance.

Great margaritas though.

Anyway, those are the border towns. But I went to a very different sort of border town in the summer of 2001, right before my freshman year in college, that I'd wager that .0001 of the population has been to. Probably less. It's a tiny little town called Boquillas in Chihuahuan desert.

Here's a picture of the thriving metropolis that is downtown Boquillas...



As a precursor, I'm going to tell you something you already know. From the ages of 18-24, I thought the greatest thing in life was to grab up a few friends and drank. Not drink. Drank. There's a difference between drink and drank that you may not know about.

Example: Let's go grab a drink.



Drank, on the other hand, is different. I could call you and say....

"Oh my gosh whozits...."


"It's been the (insert literally any word here) DAY EVER. Let's go drank!"




....which leads to



You understand.

Now, this takes place the summer after my senior year...and as such, I was ready to get to college and live it up like Animal House styles. However, an entire summer had to be spent prior to living the dream, and I spent most of mine in Alpine, Texas with my dad and step mother. My dad, at the time, was the editor for the Alpine Avalanche - the local paper. And it just so happened that there was a rather exciting story that he wanted to report on, but unfortunately didn't have the man power (ie, reporters). Or did he?



Eventually dad thought "Hey, why not send Mary? This will be a great life experience for her." Well, he was right. And when he broke mention of it to me, I was like "Oh I'm gonna get mah drank on, because I can. In Mexico you don't have to be 21 to drank." Actually, I'm pretty sure in this little patch of Mexico you don't even have to have started teething to drink. (of course I didn't ACTUALLY say this to him... because that would be a guarantee on being pulled from the project immediately)

Anyway, the story I would be working on, in my opinion, was nothing short of fabulous. A conservation biology (me) nerd's dream. Mexico had decided to set aside some land in the Chihuahuan desert to use as a wilderness preserve in order to restore the area to it's natural state. Flora, fauna. All would be kept in pristene condition in order to maintain the integrity of the indeginous majesty. The story would be full of exciting facts...and oh the photograph potential!

So two days before the dedication of the preserve, Christina (a bilingual Avalanche employee) and I loaded up in the company suburban (like.. a suburban ala 1990) and headed aft through Big Bend National Park to the border for Boquillas. On the way down, Christina filled me in on some deets.

1) The only place remotely close to where this dedication is taking place is Boquillas, which describes not only a small town, but rather an area of Mexico that is largely uninhabited.
2) Boquillas is a town of less than 100 and has no running water or electricity.
3) We'll be staying at an "American" bed and breakfast that has access to natural hot springs for bathing. I put American in quotes because it this place was run by expatriates and because usually American implies 'safe' in other countries as well. This is what I assumed she meant.

When we arrived at the border, we had to cross the Rio Grande. This is how we were transported:



Then, we got to the B&B. Bed and Breakfast was a very... complimentary way of describing this place. Or at least my experience of it. For starters, because the town had no phone lines (or cell service) you couldn't call to make a reservation. And of course, due to the dedication, the place was full. This translated to me and Christina having to sleep on cots on their screened in porch. I don't think I need to remind you that this was the middle of summer...in a Mexican desert...

The next morning we woke up and bathe in the hot springs. Thank GOD no one was there but us. Then, we treked out into the desert with the other folks attending the dedication via 1970s SUVs. If the cars had broken down, I swear I'd just be a pile of bones being used as a perch by buzzards. But finally, after an hour and a half of travel in the blinding white scorching sands, we arrived and...

IT WAS AWESOME.

There were all sorts of dignitaries, biologists, Mexico City socialites and the like. I felt very under-dressed, but suddenly all of that melted away when I saw about ten troughs full of corona. I excused myself post haste from Christina and raided the troughs. Then, I set out with my camera. In the misty haze of fabulous Mexican beer, I found many things to photograph. OH LOOK (said I) A SPIDER'S WEB! NeVer hAAAve EYE seeeen SuCh a glorious MajEstic Web!! AND LOOOOOOOK tHiS yucCa! Nature thou arT FuLLLl of SpLenDOR!

Midway through my photographic reverie, Christina tracked me down because the dedication was beginning. I giggled the whole way through because the translator, I kid you not, sounded exactly like Cheech Marin.

THEN - ADVENTURE TIME!!!!!!!! Helicopter tours, front-mounted seating range rover tours.... we had a grand old time. I felt like I was in Mexican Jurassic Park!

...and I slept the whole way back to Boquillas.

The next morning, a lovely Sunday morning, we prepared to depart for Alpine. Again whe hit the hot springs. Then? We hit the bar while the town's church service was being announced over the town's loud speaker - a giant speaker mounted on a pole. (you know, in case you were working... or drinking... (which I guess is pretty common for Boquillians) you could hear the service.) Yay!

This is where Christina introduced me to the wondrous world of Mezcal. Here's some history on Mezcal:

Mezcal, or mescal, is a distilled alcoholic beverage made from the maguey plant (a form of agave, Agave americana) native to Mexico. The word mezcal comes from Nahuatl melt and ixcalli which both mean 'oven cooked agave.'

The maguey grows in many parts of Mexico, though most mezcal is made in Oaxaca. There is a saying attributed to Oaxaca regarding the drink: "para todo mal, mezcal, y para todo bien también" (for everything bad, mezcal, and for everything good, too.)

Despite the similar name, mezcal does not contain mescaline or other psychedelic substances.

And oh yeah. It has a worm in it.



The worm: It is a misconception that some tequilas contain a 'worm' in the bottle. Only certain mezcals, usually from the state of Oaxaca, are ever sold con gusano, and that only began as a marketing gimmick in the 1940s. The worm is actually the larval form of the moth Hypopta agavis that lives on the agave plant. Finding one in the plant during processing indicates an infestation and, correspondingly, a lower quality product. However this misconception continues, and even with all the effort and marketing to represent tequila as a premium—similar to the way cognac is viewed in relation to brandy—there are some opportunist producers for the shooters-and-fun market who blur these boundaries.

Recently a company had the idea to put a scorpion in the bottle instead of the traditional worm. They do not recommend eating the scorpion, but the stingers are removed for those willing to try.

No thanks. The worm was enough!

Christina handled the stuff like a well-oiled machine... but after two shots of worm tequila, I was toast. I didn't even want to make the 15 minute walk back to the lovely canoe awaiting us at the Rio Grande. So Christina, forlorn and no doubt very frustrated, found an alternative option to waiting. She left the bar for a quarter of an hour, and came back gesturing for me to step outside. When I went outside, I found my chariot awaiting...




That's right. Christina hauled my ass back to the Rio Grande on a donkey.


...then we crossed the river....




Once we reached our 'burb, I reclined my seat to the lovely white noise of Christina repeating the phrase "don't tell your dad" about a hundred times. And once again, I slept the whole way back.

I wish I had a copy of the story Christina and I wrote for the Avalanche about the trip, but unfortunately I don't. And apparently the Avalanche doesn't keep stories dating back to 2001 on their website. Needless to say, quite a bit was omitted.... but I know in my heart of hearts that it was a GLORIOUS story based in fact with a few patches sewn in to cover spots where our memories were slightly fuzzy... or our handwriting was too difficult, even for us, to read.

You may be like "hey, that sounds... pretty dangerous actually...."

Yeah, well, you have no idea. I left out the part that the Mexican Militia was out, in great numbers, everywhere we went. EVERYWHERE! And one militia man told me "Maria, you are the most beautiful Maria...I have evah seen." (you have to say that in an Antonio Banderas accent)

But you know what? Keep calm and carry on. And then judge. And then embrace.

Miasma Update

I have several metaphor vehicles that I routinely employ in illustration of how I regard my life. My favorite happens to be, apart from a miasma that is, that of an airport. I picture myself blundering about this figurative airport, encountering cancellations, gate changes, delays, transfers and the like. Perhaps one day I'll get out of it, but in the mean time I'm in a perpetual state of being in transition from one place in life to another without having found a place to drop my bags and unpack.

Having said that, I'm coming to yet another major junction in my figurative travels. In August, I will be moving to Alpine. Sound familiar? If not, you are welcome to go HERE to see my first miasma post or to refresh your memory. In October of last year, I decided to (as if this is unusual) run a life evaluation to see where I was in my scale of success. As usual I was falling short - and I'll do you the honor of illustrating. If you would have asked me as a senior in high school, here's what I would have told you my life was going to be like.

2001: Graduate high school


2005: Graduate college magna cum laude


? Years of study in the WILDS of some rainforest collecting LARGE QUANTITIES OF GROUND-BREAKING IMPORTANT BIOLOGICAL DATA!


Marriage (approx age 26)


Babies


More working and getting LARGE AMOUNTS OF FOLDIN' CASH

=



Age 50 = retirement and touring Europe with friends smoking fancy cigarettes out of those long tubes like Audrey Hepburn uses in Breakfast at Tiffany's and drinking white wine spritzers.




Sounds pretty great, right?

Well, it totally didn't happen that way. Between 2001 and 2005 I encountered a lot of really difficult obstacles (not of my own design) that threw me into my airport jail that's lasted until 2011. But I'm about to embark with my few successes (Kevin and Amelia) to Alpine to finally finish my stupid degree. Don't get me wrong, I'm enthusiastic, but finishing like 10 years behind what you had anticipated is pretty disappointing no matter the excuses. And you might think that (what, with all of the spare time I have had to plan out where I'll end up in the future) I'd have it all figured out.... but I don't. I have absolutely no idea what to do after this degree business is finally finished.

Plan as of now: finish in 1 year and throw a billion resumes out to the wind and hope that it blows me in the right direction.

I was pretty sure I wanted to move back to Amarillo, but really I just don't know. Is it a great place to raise a family? Yes. Does it maybe have too much of a tie to my past and therefore might hinder my ability to continue to grow as a person and allow me to dwell on things that have caused me great sadness in the past? Yes. Do I have some stellar friends there that I would love to be around and watch our children grow together? Yes. But at the same time would that be depressing to see all of their families surrounding them there, where I no longer have any? Yes.

So here I am (as Kaki would say in her blog post titles).... having no idea whatsoever.

All I know is that on August 21st I'll be in a new place. Wish me luck! And send me ideas about where I can live afterward...

Also - I'll be posting another story next week that's vastly more interesting (and scandalous) that this and my previous post.

The Blues

Man, is it hard to come home from a trip in paradise. Going to Cabo San Lucas for Whitney's wedding was the best thing ever! Now I'm in a slump. Whaddup with all of this structure during my day? Why is everything here covered in cement? Why does everything smell of gasoline? Yuck. Also, how the eff did I gain seven pounds in Mexico? Oh, that's right. I was at an all inclusive resort with 24 hour room service and four different restaurants. Blah. BLAH. Here's a picture of the ocean taken from where we stayed.



I've found one thing that's cheering me up today, and that's Jack Handey quotes. My uncle Bill recently commented on a Gandhi quote that my aunt Mary posted with a Jack Handey quote and it made my day. Here's the thread:

(Aunt Mary says) Three-fourths of the miseries and misunderstandings in the world will disappear if we step into the shoes of our adversaries and understand their standpoint. I offer you peace. I offer you love. I offer you friendship. I see your beauty. I hear your need. I feel your feelings. My wisdom flows from the Highest Source. I salute that Source in you. Let us work together for unity and love.

(Uncle Bill says) “Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.” Jack Handey

(I say) YES. YES UNCLE BILL. Jack Handey is my Gandhi. Good quote though Marrrayy. True. I just identify more with ole Jack, I think.


Now? The whole family is in a full tilt Jack Handey quote war on facebook. Take a back seat Gandhi! Here comes Jack Handey, the great Texan philosopher!

"The funniest thing to a great white shark must be a wounded seal trying to swim to shore, because, where does he think he's going?!"
— Jack Handey
Exactly. This is why I refuse to snorkel.

"When I was a kid my favorite relative was Uncle Caveman. After school we'd all go play in his cave, and every once in a while he would eat one of us. It wasn't until later that I found out that Uncle Caveman was a bear."
— Jack Handey
I had an Uncle Velociraptor.

"Sometimes when I feel like killing someone, I do a little trick to calm myself down. I'll go over to the person's house and ring the doorbell. When the person comes to the door, I'm gone, but you know what I've left on the porch? A jack-o-lantern with a knife in the side of its head with a note that says "You." After that, I usually feel a lot better, and no harm done..."
— Jack Handey
If only I could do this to every single person I'm stuck in rush hour traffic with.

"The wise man can pick up a grain of sand and envision a whole universe. But the stupid man will just lie down on some seaweed and roll around until he's completely draped in it. Then he'll stand up and go, "Hey, I'm Vine Man."
— Jack Handey
Literally, this is now my mantra.

"I think that a hat that has a cannon that comes out, fires, and then goes back in is at least a decade away."
— Jack Handey
And thank Christ for that.

"Whenever you read a good book, it’s like the author is right there, in the room, talking to you, which is why I don’t like to read good books."
- Jack Handey
I read the Twilight series. I don't think I need to say anything else.

"It's true that every time you hear a bell, an angel gets its wings. But what they don't tell you is that every time you hear a mouse trap snap, and Angel gets set on fire."
— Jack Handey
JUST YOU REMEMBER THAT! Mouse traps are inhumane anyway, even though mice are gross I still wouldn't use one. I'd just tie a cat to a long rope in my basement. If I had a basement that had mice in it.

That's all today folks. Ideally I'll come up with something a little more interesting in June!

The Formation of Travuals

I woke up on a not-so-distant-past Monday morning feeling as if I had just regained consciousness after months of being in a coma. This was because the previous weekend's activities took me on a magical thrill ride of awesomeness the likes of which have never been seen.

It all started with planning Whitney's bachelorette party. I love planning bachelorette parties. Actually, I love planning anything. I like making up lists, organizing and highlighting them, striking through certain things (neatly) and then editing the list until it's an unflawed thing of perfection. I totally had a list for this. Places to go, things to eat and etc. But as you may know, the very best vacations happen when the list goes out the window and you just go with it. This is precisely one of those vacations.

Something especially great about this desert trek through the sands of awesome was that I didn't even have to leave town. We stayed at the Hotel San Jose right smack in the middle of bustlin' South Congress. That means we were close to some of the town's best shopping and eateries. The Hotel San Jose is one of "those hotels." As in, when you tell people you're staying there they all do a wistful sigh. It's not that it's overly nice, it's just really Austin-y and in a fab location. Here are some pictures!


The front.


The pool.


The hotel beer and wine bar.


Our suites!


Jo's Coffee next door.

When I showed up at the hotel the gals had just arrived. Even though I had never met them, I felt like I had because of a string of email threads that had been going on for months prior to the event. If you know me at all, you know I often speak very oddly. I'm sure you can tell via this blog. So when I started seeing strange language all over our email threads by them, it excited me to no end. I love saying amaze-yewls. When I saw one of them say amazeuals (what?! an extra syllable!!!) on one of the emails I was like "YES! I LOVE these girls!" And then Bonnie, Karen and Jennifer waltzed into my life and ROCKED IT. Whitney and Aubrie, the other two, were already ROCKING IT. Since all of them are from Dallas, I'm beginning to wonder why I be hatin' on Dallas so much. Hmm.

Check-in. Super annoying. They told me that check-in began promptly at 3pm.. but they didn't have our room ready until 4pm. What?! Yes, this gave us a chance to sit by the pool and begin drinking, but there were kids cannon-balling at the tiny ass pool. Look at the pool! I posted a picture! Dude, don't let your kids cannonball in a pool that size. Very bad form. So a full hour later (hello at least offer us a free drink or something!) we were able to check in and begin the oh-so-familiar girl get-ready process. Then? On to Gueros!


It's a taco bar about a block or two away from the hotel.

Live music came ext, as it was easy to access being right next door to the restaurant. Now, Jennifer up until this moment had seemed like the quietest of the group. Yes, she participated and was fun, but I hadn't quite pegged her to be the "WOOHOOOOOO" one. But then when the live music came about... Jennifer sprang from the depths of herself and was dancing like there was no tomorrow. I believe the band addressed her specifically several times. GETTIT Jennn!!!!

Even though the beer was flowing like wine and the salmon were instinctively flocking like the salmon of Capistrano, it couldn't change the face that due to the live music, we couldn't even hear ourselves think. So we decided to take a quick jaunt back to the hotel before making up our minds where to go next. Confession. I immediately broke into a sake bottle being held captive in the mini bar in our room. Save the sake guys! It was all alone in there! Not really, but anything I can say to rationalize drinking it.



Finally we made up our minds to go with Ego's, a karaoke bar within walking distance. Despite the fact that it was well within walking distance, we got lost. Of course. And as soon as I got to the bar, I directly ordered a double gin and tonic. I sat down, and started people watching. All of a sudden I felt the need to scratch my scalp, and guess what I found when I did. A WORM. A GEE DEE EFFING SILK WORM. Do these guys stalk me? EVIDENCE = YES.



Jennifer signed up everyone for karaoke, and she signed herself up with Whitney first. Jen picked SHOOP by Salt n' Peppa and we were all really excited! So she and Whitney get up on stage, and start. Usually karaoke is two people falling all over themselves to get the words right, and Whitney was at-par with that. But I think this was basically due to Jen TOTALLY DOMINATING at karaoke!



She knew every word and said it in perfect timing! This naturally made the whole bar obsessed with her. Including a girl. It was truly bizarre - she made Jen give her a business card, and upon realizing the card did not include Jen's cell, she MADE her write it down on the card. Whitney to Jen "that girl wanted to wear your hair." I think Whitney was right.

Ego's is a crappy looking bar. But it's fun. I had a lot of fun, and a lot of gin and tonics. And it was good that I did, because I needed a lot of the hard stuff to get me through the experience that was the bathroom. The bathroom looked like it was fresh out of the Rwandan genocide. Like someone had recently been there with a machete, slinging it all over the place. I'm pretty sure there was a blood-like substance on the ceiling. I actually cautioned some entering girls that it WAS Rwanda in there. God knows what they thought I meant.

Whitney basically carried Jennifer home, and that was the end of the night.

DAY 2

Since this post is getting awfully long, I'm going to give you the abridged version.

Girls go to get massages at AZIZ downtown. DO NOT GO TO AZIZ. They told Bonnie that her arms were strangely long and chastised Aubrie for having short nails. It looked like rural Mexico. They were all kept apart the whole time and they treated Whitney like CRAP even though she's the bride. They also charged them for a member of our party that didn't show up even though they were running behind on their appointments... if anything our extra party member being absent helped. They are ridiculous fools... but I can't say they didn't make things interesting.



Complete filth. But whatever.

The rest of the day went as follows.

Breakfast = Jo's Coffee
Lunch = Place that serves meat in a cone
Shopping = Hot as EFF on South Congress...like 90+ degrees. Miserable.
Next = Hotel.
Next = Getting ready, piling up into Bonnie's car.
Dinner = Sushi at Imperia. Wine and sake consumption.



We = Without question the loudest and most inappropriate table in the restaurant.
Weirdness = Encounter our second of 3 people with lisps on the trip - the second being our waiter. And our waiter tells us after eating some delicious escolar that it will give us diarrhea.

WAITERS. NEVER TELL PEOPLE THAT AFTER THE FACT. IT WILL NOT DO ANY GOOD. AND IT'S DISGUSTING TO SAY DIARRHEA AT ANY ESTABLISHMENT THAT OFFERS FOOD.

Then, the hand of God came out and touched our table. Collectively we decided to form a travel group called TRAVUALS! First we're going to Cabo San Lucas for Whitney's wedding, then we're going to have a birthday blowout for Bonnie at the Belmont. Future travuals ideas include Napa Valley, somewhere on the east coast for oyster tour awesomeness, Santa Fe/Taos, the Big Bend area and more. It's going to be so badass. What's better than a traveling group of inappropriate and debaucherous girls?! Nothing I tell you. Nothing.

Next = adult shop of questionable repute. I'm very shy about talking about this stuff, so I'm going to be cryptic. A lot of money was spent by the ladies. Let's just say that. But in the midst of this, we had to deal with the traffic associated with the Texas Relays. Relays is a gangster spectator sport, apparently. Everyone thinks it's just track and field. It's not. Because this is what we saw everywhere we went when we were out Saturday.


Do you SEE the crazy line of cars with RIMS? Like 60,000 people were in the downtown alone causing ruckus.


It was seriously scary! Poleetz cars everywhere!

Then? Back to the hotel beer and wine bar for wine, beer and sangria. Penis tiara in all the pictures. At some point I decided to do the whole 'hold the camera up' thing to get pictures of the group in action. Basically I got a bunch of weird photos of the tops of peoples heads.

Back to the room. Whitney and Aubrie walk to Home Slice Pizza and get like 45 pieces of pizza to go. We eat them. All. With ranch. We basically motor boated the ranch and pizza.

Sunday morning = packing.

Go to Snack Bar for brunch, where we drink mimosas.

Order delicious breakfastuals.

Again, the loudest most obnoxious table in the establishment. We relive the night and embarrass the hell out of Aubrie's boyfriend who came to pick her up. He was so pleasant considering the content of our discussions.

So sad to see these gals leave. TRAVUALS IS THE FABUALS!!!!!!!



Also, this is a bachelorette party which warrants lewd behavior. So if you have a wayward eyebrow? As Bonnie would say, "judge and get over it."