Fear and Loathing in Victoria

When I was in college, my best college buddy was Brittany. In fact, Brittany is still my best college buddy. We shared in the tribulation that was shoe-box sized dorm living, we ate the obligatory cases of ramen noodles together, we went through rush together and of course had many fabulously horrific drunken misadventures together. You've met college, right? Yeah.

So basically during the first few years after my mom passed away, I was in a rotation of spending holidays with friends. Once, when we had a break from school - Fall break I believe? I went to Victoria to see the place from which Brittany originated.

What I can say about Victoria: Hi...I'm in Victoria...

Though I imagine those that visit Amarillo harbor somewhat similar feelings. Nonetheless, I toured the outskirts just barely outside of Victoria and arrived in the small municipality of Raisin - where Brittany's family resides. Raisin' Texas, y'all!

Brittany's house is on a rather sizable chunk of land, and out behind it is a two story barn. Or at least, it WAS a barn. It had since been remodeled to a sort of back house that had couches, a pool table and a refrigerator filled with a veritable smorgasbord of alcohol. I was twenty, and to me this was a thing of unadulterated majesty. However, Brittany's brother Cody had completely decimated the stash. The only things that were left were as follows: Hot Damn and Jager.


Now if you know anything about alcohol, you know that those two drinks are, well, rough. And even more rough? A combination of the two. At this point in my life, I was equally unacquainted with what both of those drinks were. So I, as well as Brittany, thought...."hey, why not combine the two?" The evening started with one shot of each and as far as I can recollect, ended in a mixed drink of the two.

All I know, is at one point I was talking to Cody about politics and totally smashing the Bush administration. Then? Nothing.

The next thing I knew, I was in the hot tub. I didn't realize what was going on, or how I ended up there. All I knew is that I was alone, until I heard someone calling me. I looked around, and there was Cody standing outside of the hot tub. He said "Mary, are you okay? You're not going to fall asleep in there...are you?" "How did I get here?" I say. "I have no idea, I just came outside and here you were" said Cody. I look down, to my horror, and see what I'm wearing. Here's a hint: it's not a bathing suit. Don't worry! I wasn't naked or anything! What I WAS wearing was my pink bra and a pair of Brittany's mom's spandex bicycle shorts.

What?!

I think I know, in retrospect, where I got the bicycle shorts. Earlier that day, I was hanging out with Brittany and Debbie, her mom, in Debbie's room. Upon entry into her quarters, I saw that she had a gazelle! Woooohooo!


Please tell me this doesn't look fun guys. If you tell me it doesn't look fun you are being a filth monster. It's like gliding along on poofy clouds at a superhuman SPEED! Like...Pocahontas painting with the colors of the damn wind!

I got overly excited about the gazelle, which may be apparent at this point. So I happily pounced on it and started wailing away doin' mah thang. Then I started being goofy and overly exaggerating my leg movements. The next thing I knew, my center of gravity was compromised - and the NEXT thing I knew was that I was laid out on the floor, my feet having just flown out from under me, on my back, with my legs sticking straight up and the wind completely knocked out of me.

This is something Brittany and her mom STILL give me hell about. There's even footage of Brittany's mom telling this story on Brittany's wedding video. Awesome.

So anyway, I have a sneaking suspicion that drunk giggly hot tubbin' Mary decided to sneak into Debbie's room and abscond with a pair of schexy bicycle shorts to use as a swimsuit.

The next day, after a rather large mexican food lunch and too many tylenol gel caps, Brittany and I headed aft back to San Marcos. Mostly in silence. I turned to her and said "Brit? I'm never doing that again." "Never EVER hot damn and jager again - it erases our memories and renders us lunatics" said Brittany. "Yes" I agreed, head hung in humiliation. "Yes it does."

February: A Month From the Bowels of Hell

My family (me, Kevin, Amelia) has been sick for the ENTIRE MONTH of February. As many of you may or may not know, I absolutely loathe going to the doctor and will be at death's front door before I finally relent and allow myself to be taken. Usually Kevin or my best friend Laine will have to say something that affronts my delicate (uh...ha!) nature in order to convince me I'm being ridiculous and might meet my end if I don't go.


I would see him though, because he's hot. Yes I said it, Hugh Laurie is hot. He has an attitude problem, he's British and he dresses in those print tshirts with a courduroy jacket. Swoon!

Onward. Yesterday I met with the ridicule of Kevin and Laine. Plus, I was scaring people at work. So I went to the doctor, and she essentially had an aneurysm at me. "Jesus, you sound awful" she says. "I sound like a 500 lb smoking man" I say, to which she gave a nod of affirmation. I left with an antibiotic, an inhaler and medicated nasal spray. I was offered steroids and hydrocodone, which I respectfully declined. As previously discussed, I already sound like a man so I don't need steroids, thank you. I declined the narcotics because I'd be all... "aw?" when it ran out.

So now I'm medicated and feel a little better, though I still sound like a corpulent smoker, and am still voming from excessive coughing. Just to reiterate the hellishness of this month, allow me to disclose to you the disgusting diseases that have befallen my house recently: flu, pink eye, bronchial infections, respiratory infections, small pox, jungle monkey virus, plague, dysentery, snake bite...basically all the diseases in Oregon Trail.



Okay, only the first four were true...but still how awful is that? Here's hoping March treats us a little better!

2011: Off to a Ridiculous Start

Okay, where do I begin? 2011 started with an almost immediate launch into tax season. I work within a tax center that offers free preparation for low income families along with free financial coaching and free financial aid assistance for college. Sounds awesome, right? Well that's because it is! But the problem is, like any tax preparation agency right now, it's super busy. When it's super busy and people have to wait for extended periods of time....what do they do? They complain.

But dude, seriously? It's a free service. Don't complain!



Naturally, because I'm a weirdo magnet, a lot of complaints find themselves in my lap. And daily I feel like I'm being leveled with an assault rifle. Or a bazooka. Some sort of super intense weapon. Still, I put on meh happy face at work, but when I get home I collapse and go to bed at like 7pm because it's exhausting.

Second, the dreaded half marathon. I finished - but when I arrived at the finish line I looked like a dead wildebeest. I also lost my left toenail and bled clean through one of my shoes.


Before the race, happy but scared. And I look fugly.


After. Totally jank.

Third, I'm turning over the program I run for the National Alliance on Mental Illness called In Our Own Voice over to a new coordinator because unfortunately, I'm just too busy to coordinate it AND work AND have a two year old while maintaining the integrity of the program. So I go up to the Austin State Hospital, which is a mental hospital, to hand over the reins. Saying 'mental hospital' may or may not be derogatory...so sorry if it is!

Anyway, while I respect both those who are in it and those who are employees of it, it's super freaking creepy. The walls are this icky green color, and it always smells both sterile and sickly. OH! And the numbers on the doors never correspond with the doors next to them. SO strange. One time I got lost in there, and I couldn't open any of the exit doors. It felt like a bizarre and terrifying nightmare...luckily I found an employee who believed that I wasn't a patient that let me out.

I digress on the strangeness. You get the idea. So I go up to the Austin State Hospital to hand off my well organized, top notch, squeaky clean, freaking perfect, awesome work on the program to the office staff. When I get to the 4th floor, I discover they haven't yet arrived, so I take the opportunity to go to the restroom...which is a tiny one-person stall.

After that was attended to, I washed my hands and proceeded to have the automatic paper towel dispenser unload its entire contents on me. So I struggle in this tiny little cubicle to stop the paper towels, and don't succeed. I stuff everything in the trashcan, feeling sullen at the tragic waste of the paper. I put my jacket on, and reach to unlock the door. Nothing. The knob doesn't move. WHAT? What is going on here? What do I do?


Oh. My. God. I'm going to die in here!

I start banging loudly on the door every couple of minutes to alert any passers-by.

Finally, after twenty minutes of banging, I get a response. It's the office staff. "WE WILL GO GET A KEY!" they say. They do. The key doesn't work. So we sit there in a state of pushing and pulling and turning and more banging. This goes on for 30 minutes before we finally get a maintenance man up there and manage to unlock the thing.

Like the place doesn't freak me out enough? And I lock myself in a bathroom? Only me. I swear...why does it ALWAYS have to be me?!

So needless to say my year is off to a ridiculous start, but then again that's par for the course. Naturally I will keep you posted on any further interesting events that take place.

I've Liked Sushi Longer Than You

Like? Nay, I love sushi. We go way back.

In fact, I invented it...which is a little known fact. I view it as being less like food and more like an art form. Every aspect should be savored and appreciated. Unless it's at a grocery store, because oh my God, that is not sushi you guys. Blasphemy!

Sushi is very popular right now, even with backwoods Texans. But it wasn't always that way. I was actually persecuted for my love of sushi in my youth... back when most Amarilloans sneered at sushi, saying things like "oh mah gawd, hao can yew eet raw fitch?" and called it "sootchi." Neophyte filth.

I distinctly remember in fifth grade, my friend Meredith would ask me if I liked sushi in front of other people my age specifically to get the shock and awe effect directed towards me, which is something one never wants to have focused on them when growing up. I got enough of that already, proof positive in my post Gross Miscalculations of a Callow Youth. Naturally the response to her announcing it, especially in a town where a sushi establishment did not yet exist, was disgust.

Meredith: What is your favorite food Marrrayyyyyy?

I could tell I was walking into a trap.

Me: Pizza

Meredith: Nuh uh! You told my whole family at Trivial Pursuit (my mom and her parents used to host TP tournaments on a small scale) and you didn't say pizza!!

Me: Nuh uh! It's pizza!

Meredith: MARY LIKES FLYING FISH EGGS!!!!!!!! She eats raw fishhhhhuh!

Elementary school classmates: EWWWWWSICKKKKKUHHH

Me: (head hung in shame)

But yes I did, and still do, like flying fish eggs. I like smelt roe even more, which are fish eggs as well. Isn't it beautiful?


Now, since I started eating this before birth, I obviously didn't have the unique pleasure of drinking sake with sushi... initially. When I did discover it, I found that no words exist that accurately describe the majestic and exquisite bliss that is the paring of sushi and sake. Something like this?


EXCALIBURRRRRRR!!!!!
It's nothing short of fabulous, I assure you. For those of you who do not drink, you should start immediately so you can try this. Here's what you do. You go to a fine eatery that offers sushi and adult beverages. You order a beer, and have them bring out a glass with the beer, separately. Then, you order a sake. You fill the glass of beer half-way, and put your chopsticks on top of it spaced a half an inch apart. Fill your sake cup. Put the sake cup on top of the chopsticks. Ball your hands up into fists, then raise up your hands and pound them on the table on either side of the glass as hard as you can. You'll immediately see the sake glass drop into the beer. This is where, at the speed of light, you grab your beer and chug (if possible) the entire thing.


You may be saying, "well, that's not very ladylike."

My response to that is, I very much like to be ladylike as often as possible. I don't think I succeed at this because my sense of humor is far too dark and I'm far too negative - both of which are traits undesirable in a ladylike personality. But even if you are the daintiest flower, you should throw caution to the wind and try it.

In my last visit to the mother ship, Amarillo Texas, I accompanied several friends to our favorite little sushi bar - Sakura. I've been to Sakura so much that the owner and his wife know me, and still offer me a complimentary food or drink item when I come, even though I come very sporadically these days. They're great and I love them! Anyway, we were a huge group, and as per usual with my friends - we were far louder than we should have been. Luckily we had joined this scene in the thick of the night, so our loudness wasn't as noticeable as it was normally. We hardly ever get together in a huge group because we all live in different places now, so needless to say things get a little hair-raising when we do.

Even though there was a moderate buzz of conversation in the room, it certainly wasn't loud. The next thing I knew, I'd devoured a boat load of sushi and sake bombs were on the way. The whole table of twelve had ordered one a piece. We all got our beers, sakes and chopsticks in place. Then: thunder.

We all pounded our fists at the same time, which most likely registered on a Richter scale as a minor earthquake. Every single person in the restaurant stopped mid-conversation and turned to gawk at us. My face flared red.

I started to even say something by way of a standing apology - but before I could move, an old man at the table next to us shouted "I WANT ONE!!!!"

Then, the next thing we knew, the whole restaurant was a cacophony of people banging fists on tables in a conglomeration of sake bomb merriment.... which brings me to my next point....

I started a restaurant-wide sake bomb waterfall long before you did.

Running Will Turn You Into a Blob of Emotion

So yesterday I met up with Betsy and Harms to go jog at Crockett high school. I got there at 6:00pm, started around 6:15 and ran until about 8:00pm. Yeah that's right y'all!

I'm not a fast runner, like, at all. But I don't run fast as I can because I want to be able to run this 1/2 marathon without stopping to walk. If I run as fast as I can, I tire out WAY too easily. This means I need to take a slow and steady wins the race approach. Don't get me wrong, I'd like to go fast. Who doesn't want to finish at a good time?! But I'd rather opt for slow and steady and finish at an okay but not great time, than tire out early and totally give up six miles before the finish line. Here's some possibilities of what that would look like.





So anyway, I trucked around the track for about 2 hours, before we collectively decided it was enough for the night.

When I looked at my nike+ (which helps track your time, distance, pace and etc) I couldn't believe my eyes!! A 9.50 minute mile average?!?!?

YES!!!!!!!! YESYESYES!!!!

Oh. Wait. There's seriously no way at all that 9.50 is accurate.

MAYBE IT IS ACCURATE!!!!!!! What if it's accurate you GUYSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!?!

No. Nope. There's no way that's right. I will never be able to run that speed consistently. My fastest mile EVER is 9.56, and I was trying very very hard.

Bitter discouraging loathing of myself and my lack of speed set in. And a feeling of damnation towards the nike+ for getting my hopes up.



So, feeling very diminished and defeated, Betsy took me home. When I got home, I discovered that Kevin, being the wonderful (and lets face it, extremely attractive) person he is, had dinner waiting for me. Woo!

Suddenly, an ick set in. ICK. Oh a very icky feeling. My throat started hurting. My muscles ached. I got shivery.

After managing to shovel down some food, I said I would do the dishes since Kevin was nice enough to cook dinner. I tried to get up, and then, well, I didn't. I knew dishes were not a conceivable option at that moment in time. I addressed this by saying... "like...uhhhhhh...I'm going to lay down."

Hours (or what felt like hours) went by. Kevin walked into the room to get something, and I sat up in a flash.

I'M GOING TO DO THE DISHES. KEVIN?!?!?!? I AM. I'M AWAKE, SEE? KEVIN!!! I'M AWAKE!!!!!!!!!

He had already gone in and out of the room before I said any of that, I discovered after receiving no response. So I decided to lay back down, assuming he already knew that I was fully aware of the fact that I needed to do the dishes, and that I was planning on honoring my obligation.

Guilt at taking so long eventually overtook me, so I got up. My throat still hurt. I was still achy. I was still living with a knotted stomach at the despair of my disappointment in not having a 9.50 minute mile speed.



Anger slowly built with the pain of achy muscles, then exploded like a reactor.

"KEVIN, it's like you TRY to see how many dishes you can get dirty in the course of making dinner. IS THAT WHAT YOU DO?! You sit here and go... "hey, how can I make as many things for Mary to clean as POSSIBLE??!?"

Kevin: um, no?

"YES YOU DO. I see how you are, all, sitting over there with a secret grin on your face. I'm sorry I wasn't home at a time you thought was adequate enough for dinner to be served and that you had to do it yourself. But next time, let's not punish me by leaving an entire KITCHEN full of DISHES in the SINK!!!"

Kevin: silence.

Before I even finished saying it, I knew I was in the wrong. But was I going to admit that? Of course not! Saying something awful and immediately conceding defeat would open the door to backing down in future arguments. And everyone knows that a marriage will not work if one party is a doormat. Right? And um, plus, I hate being wrong. Actually, there's no valid excuse except that I don't like being wrong. So I went to bed.

I woke up this morning, throat still hurting and ashamed of my lash out. And I still feel like this.




Moral of the story: running will turn you into a blob of anger and despair. And it will mug your family. And it will give you the Bubonic Plague.

ps,
That weird looking blob thing is actually a FISH! It's called a blobfish. Isn't that crazy?!

Bwahahamahh

Howdy all,

I've had the hardest time motivating myself to write a blog post lately... probably because we just got done moving to South Austin, and I'm having trouble motivating myself to do anything in general. Especially to unpack boxes. I've started two posts and have yet to finish them. One is about how to keep yourself entertained on ridiculously long road trips, and the other is about how Kevin annoys me with piling his shoes up where they shouldn't go.

I just wanted you to know that I'm still alive, and yes, I am planning on posting again. Stay tuned!

Tapir Caper: a mini post

The other day I was watching Dora the Explorer. I was with my daughter, okay? Quit looking at me like that. Though I have been known to watch Spongebob by myself, I have yet to get to watching Dora by myself. I've already resigned myself to the fact that I will never learn Spanish, or Spanitch as I call it, and therefore I pay little attention to what's going on in that show.

So anyway, they happened to showcase a particular animal on Dora. Wait, Diego. Yep, it was that Diego show. Diego is Dora's cousin that saves animals. Why do I know this?! Whatever. They both try to teach Spanitch so they're essentially the same. So ANYWAY on Diego their animal that they're supposed to be saving is a tapir. AND HOLY CRAP HOW MUCH DO I LOVE TAPIRS?! So much, y'all!!!



Holy Mother of God, is that not the most bizarre looking thing? Look at that proboscis!! And weird ungulate feet!!!

So basically what happened was that I got on google image search, and just started looking at tapirs, as you can see. Then, I came across this image. I've written you a caption so you can tell what he's saying - in case there was any confusion.


EEEEEEEE!HEHEHE!!!EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!

So yeah, I laughed a lot at that. I'm still laughing at that, actually. And as I continued to peruse more pictures, I stopped short. In shock. THERE IS A TAPIR CALLED Baird's Tapir!!!!



I really wanted to create a caption for that, and believe me, I have one in my head. It doesn't translate well to internet paper though, as it involves a weird sequence of meeps. However, if you approach me curiously wondering what the meep sequence is, I will gladly oblige.