I'm thinking about keeping a dream journal.

What say you?

This morning I dreamed that I was at a sort-of slumber party at a hotel. As we were walking in, something fell from the sky and hit the pavement a little way away. It was a human hand. This was discomforting, but I figured someone had commit suicide. Okay.

We went inside to this sort of conference room where we were hanging out. However, the room had windows and a balcony--and what looked like a section of leg was stuck through by a lamp post outside. We changed conference rooms.

In the new conference room, one of use had an encounter with a ghost, I think it was this kid Ryan that I played basketball with in middle school. She was trying to lure him to some sort of death (I've been awake fifteen minutes and I'm already losing things), but he woke up out of his trance or something. Later, the ghost lured another girl into the pool, where she drowned.

In the meantime, I went to brainstorm about why all of this was happening. There was a long history of people dying in the hotel, including a Matthew Maconaughey look alike who was there with a group of friends when terrorists or something came, and forced them all to jump over the balcony.

Anyways, I went down to the main lobby, and there was this sort of event or something going on--but more importantly, there were all these different coffee's set up. There were four or five little round tables, and each table had four different coffees on it. I wandered through them looking for a dark roast for a while... before I found the Double Chocolate Coffee, which strangely enough had a lable that looked pretty much exactly like Young's Double Chocolate Stout. Ha.

Anyways, I also made myself a cheese sandwich, which prompty fell apart and I had a large degree of difficulty carrying, since I had only napkins and no plate. I began to return to the conference room, when I ran into a fellow party-goer brainstorming in the dark, trying to connect the deaths of all those who had died so that we could understand why we were being targeted and how to solve the problem. He suggested that the only thing he could come up with was that everyone who had died was scottish.....

I woke up. It was one of those dreams where I try to fall back asleep so that I can see what ends up happening.... to no avail.

It's been a busy week.

School started on Wednesday. I went to class, came home, drove car-less Charles to the grocery store, changed clothes, went to this SIMS fundraiser for over three hours, went to my parents' as my sister suddenly had decided to come into town, went to dinner with the family, and got home about ten absolutely exhausted. I watched about forty minutes of The Emperor's New Groove, talked to Corey, and passed out.

Yesterday, I went to class, biked home, went for coffee at Quack's and did a little work on my Fulbright App before going back to campus for another class (I now have working drafts of both my personal statement and my proposal! now that they're due on Wednesday, ha). Went back to my place, went to Flips and did more work on my Fulrights, went back to my parents' for dinner and to shower (I'm hoping my tub drip gets fixed today so I can turn my hot water heater back on), took out the trash and found my internet bill (which I still need to pay), then actually relaxed for a little while, playing some Tony Hawk, before Corey came over (and we swtiched to SSX Tricky). Then we headed down to the Saloon to meet up with Kacy and Andy, and Eliot and Liz, and it turned out that I ran into James who I used to work with, who happened to know Andy, and of course the enitre reason for out late-night Thursday meet-up when Andy had class early and I had class early the next day was that THE LOVELY JEN IS BACK IN TOWN! Woooo. My life is already back to feeling more complete. I came home and passed out.

So, today I woke up went to class, came over to Quack's to drop off the kick ball flyer and get some coffee, finished setting up the Fulbright website for my recommendations, and now I'm about to head home to recharge my phone a bit before heading back to campus for this meeting I've got at 2. After that, I'm going to head home and meet up with Angelo and co. to play some pick up soccer, then probably stop by my parents--with Fidel, so he and my sister can meet and be all Ivy League chum-chum-chummy together, before hopefully watching Mad Men disk 3 and eating pizza, or something. If my shower's fixed, I'll even get to shower in my apartment... but I'm not getting my hopes up.

Anyways, it's good to be busy.

My family: More Converative than God.

[Coming home from dinner, we drive past a girl walking in our neighborhood with pink hair.]

Cousin-in-law: I think that girl should go dye her hair a better color.
Me: I think people should be able to do whatever they want with their hair.
CIL: If God didn't want my hair this color, he wouldn't have given it to me.
Me: If God didn't want you to dye your hair, he wouldn't have given you the ability to do so.



Why the FUCK does a person's hair color even matter?

A good day!

Once again, yesterday was a fabulous day. I awoke on Darlene's couch, as Jimi was getting ready to leave to go... somewhere? Lounged around for a little while longer--cleaned a bit of my ridiculously smeared make up from the night before off my face, and then headed home. Ambitiously, I got my stuff and headed to Quack's to get some work done, but after browsing listlessly online for about an hour and a half, I realized that was the farthest thing from anything I wanted to do. I needed to do work, I should do work--Fullbright app's are due on Monday!!! but... it was beautiful outside... I looked out the window. Well. Fuck it. I wasn't going to do any work, and my day was going to be amazing.

I rode home (on Dolly), where I locked her up and loaded Eileen onto my new trunk bike rack (best gift ever), then headed to my parents. I hadn't been riding her at all since the seat was waaay too low, and the way that the reflector was attached made it impossible to undo the nut with my cheap little wrench. I knew I needed a ratchet for the job, and I was feeling inspired since Corey had moved my back wheel back a little bit to make my chain fit better. And hell, I might as well shower while I'm at my parents', since my tub is still dripping hot water, so my hot water heater is still off.

I get home, and neither of my parents are home. It's about 12:30, so they would normally be home from church by now. I figure they went out to lunch by now. My dad has the same sort of boundary issues that I do--he doesn't care if people use his things, he just wants them to ask first (and put them back when they're done), so I hung out for a while to see if they'd make it back, watched about half an hour of Jezebel on TCM, then decided fuck it, if my dad got mad, I'd deal with his wrath.

Well, I found a ratchet set and got to work... the 1/2 inch head fit the nut perfectly... but the ratchet was turning in the wrong direction. Well, I didn't know how the fuck to make it change directions, so I went back into the garage and found another ratchet set. This one was going in the right direction... but the 1/2 inch head was too small, and the 9/16 inch head too big. Well, fuck. And the heads of the two different ratchets were incompatible. Lucky for me, after delving back into the depths of the garage, I was about to find a third ratchet set. This one was going the right direction, and the 1/2 inch head fit the nut. Everything was perfect. I unscrewed the seat, took off the God awful reflector, raised the seat, and took a little spin around driveway.

Well, I also wanted to tilt the seat further down, and this required the use of a regular wrench. Fortunately, in my excessive ratchet searches, I'd located my dad's wrench collection, and I dove into it with gusto, looking for the 1/2 inch wrench. It wasn't there. Well, I thought I'd try the 9/16... too big. 7/16... too small. Fuck. After some more frenetic searching (you know, ten minutes or so), I locate the 1/2 inch wrench... in a box of screwdrivers. So I try it on the nut... too small. Well, fuck. I figured I'd move onto metric. 11 mm was too small... I found a 14 mm... too big. I began to pull out each wrench, one at a time, hoping for a 12 mm or 13mm... and found a 13, which was right on the money. I adjusted the seat, resecured it, and took her for another spin. Perfect... except the tires needed air. Pumped 'em up, and I was ready to ride her anywhere (in spite of the rear brake not working). All in all, it only took about an hour to raise and adjust my seat. Ha.

anyways, I took my shower, drove home, and decided to go for a ride... and ride I did, for about two and a half hours. I took Eileen all the way down to Barton Springs, then rode over and back across the river at First street, down 2nd, over to... Trinity, I think; took Trinity to 13th, and rode around the capital for a while, before heading down the other side of 13th back to Nueces, rode back up to 27th, skipped two blocks West and rode Rio Grande to 3oth, down that wide road that runs through back there, coming out on 34th; crossed back over Guadalupe, to Speedway, the rode up and around in Hyde Park, evenutally up past North Loop and all the way to Koenig before winding back down North Loop, past the IM fields, and then home. It was a really nice ride... and I was pretty tired at the end. I probably would have kept riding if it hadn't gotten dark. Nicely, the only thing sore today is my shoulders, which is kind of weird.

Anyways, I rented movies--Disk 2 of Mad Men was finally in, so Fidel came over to watch Eps 4 and 5 (we still have 6!), as well The Front Page. I've been going through an extended Billy Wilder phase--which originally started when I saw The Lost Weekend in all it's alcoholic glory--and I'm fearing that it's going to turn into a full-blown Jack Lemmon phase. He's just so charming. I watched Avanti! last week, and I aboslutely loved it. The Wilder/Lemmon/Italy combination just pushed all my "happy" buttons, or something, but I've been generally happy of late anyways, so I'm not sure what correlation there really is.

Anyways, today has more promise, as I'm going to swim and grill with Corey, and because I'm supposed to be getting my tub drip fixed, and a keyless deadbolt installed on my door. Thanks, Landlord. You're a pal.

At Quack's.

The dude sitting near me has holes in the ass of his pants, and has no undies.

Words with Leah

Yesterday at the Springs Leah and I were joking about dating boys in horrible bands--like the kid David I dated while in high school (although I still have his band's t-shirt). In any case, I started it off: "Yeah, if your band was any good, I would have kept going to your shows after we broke up."
"If your band was any good, I would have bought the CD," she countered.
"If your band was any good, you would have given me the CD."
"If your band was any good--"
I cut her off. "...You wouldn't be dating me."


It's healthy to laugh at yourself.

No fun.

I snapped this this morning outside Trianon. I'm not sure why they're worried about bicycle riding, since there isn't a bike rack anywhere in the shopping center, and it's pretty much got a plain, flat parking lot (with lots of cars) so there's no reason to BMX around. I've seen kids skating a couple times, but they're just practicing ollies and other things like that, and I don't think anyone's rollerbladed in the last ten years--and roller skating? Cooter riding, on the other hand...

Moments I feel stupid

In a t-shirt mood this morning, I thought about it and finally pulled my Interpol shirt out of my drawer, put it on (I would have just worn the shirt I wore last night, but one of the girls who works at the coffee shop I was going to has the same shirt and that would just be awkward). I grabbed my "new" hoodie that Andrei and Andrew found cleaning their house before the party, just in case it started raining, which is totally bad ass--except that it's a Rilo Kiley hoodie. I went into the living room to grab my tote bag... and realized my stuff was in my Flaming Lips bag. This was too much. I moved it into my messenger bag, showed up at Quack's, and pulled out my computer... oh yeah, it has band stickers on it.


I'm such a tool

sockhop/cake/birthday/dayafter/birthdayparty

Birthday.

Well, Birthday 2008 is finally over, and I am 22. I feels about the same, except suddenly I am falling asleep around 12, 1 a.m. and waking around 9. I am apparently aged ten years in one week. It is a terrible feeling.

My birthday itself was way fun. Well, actually, it started a little bit awkwardly.

I woke up and went to look at this Mixte frame bike--it wasn't a great bike, but it was only $125, and I don't have a Mixte, so I thought it would be fun, but I had to make sure my mom would buy it for as a gift since I didn't (and don't) have an extra $125 at the moment. But I thought it would be awesome to have two road bikes to fix up (Eileen could use a friend,you know). Eileen is a poorly converted ten speed to single speed, which essentially means they simply removed the gear shifts and derailler--and this Mixte frame was pretty much exactly the same thing. For a moment, I had dreams of having a ten speed AND a single speed AND a cruiser.

Anyways, I met up with my mom and brother for brunch at Magnolia Café where we had an incredibly friendly water boy. By incredibly frienly, I mean he introduced himself to me, wished me happy birthday, and kept my coffee cup full to the brim (I was nearly shaking from caffiene by the end of the mean), saying, "Here you go, Teeney," everytime he refilled it. After we introduced ourselves, he said, "Well, how old are you turning? 22? Well, maybe we can do something to celebrate later." WTF? What am I supposed to say? I'm with my MOM for fuck's sake. I mumbled some reply that didn't blurt out the fact that I was going to get drunk to celebrate (hey, someone has to protect my mom from the truth). Anyways, the entire meal, anytime he can catch my eye, he gives me this giant smile, and then, at one point, he WINKED at me. What?! I've NEVER been winked at in any form of seriousness before. It was weird. Then, he brought me a complimentary cup of hot cocoa (I guess since I was drinking hot coffee, he figured I didn't mind hot drinks when it's 100° outside). He kept this ridiculous level of "flirt" up the entire time. But really, that kind of flirting will never work on me for a number of reasons:

1.) You know it's my birthday, and for all I know, you're humoring to make sure I have some flattering story to tell on my big day.

2.) You could do this to any girl who comes in, for all I know. It's not hard, and as some one who's done my share of waiting tables, I know it can significantly increase tips. Hell, I flirted with any guy (without a girl) who sat in my section. It makes more money.

3.) My mom is right there. RIGHT THERE. If you something along the lines of "Maybe we can do something to celebrate later," in front of my mom when I don't even know you, what are you going to say in front of her once we've gotten all chummy? I don't even want to know.

Anyways, after this, my mom called the girl about the Mixte frame, and she'd sold it. Damn, oh well--wait, she realized she needed birthday presents for me, so we went shopping. The present I've drooled over the most since getting it is the She & Him album on vinyl. That format just really suits the album, and the album is so good, and I've really just playing it over and over again. It's wonderful.

Anyways, after shopping, I came by work, where I was supposed to meet up with Kacy for a quick birthday drink, or whatever. I came into the store, and there was no one there, and for a second, I was completely puzzled. Suddenly, everyone who works downstairs jumped out from behind the counter, shouting "Happy Birthday!" It was awesome, and caught me totally off guard. Then, they presented me with a cake and gifts. The cake was by Kacy's boyfriend who is a pastry chef, and was mightily delicious, and the gift was a pair of Ornamental Things earrings I'd been ogling for a while, and new replacement streamers for Dolly, since Kacy had broke my last pair. I was all smiles, and almost cried. Aw. Thanks, guys. :)

Looking at the clock, I realized I was running behind schedule, and was suddenly terrified I'd be late for my makeup appointment. I rushed home, showered, threw on my black B. B. Dakota dress, and drove to my appointment as quickly as possible. I arrived right on time, and sat foto get beautified. I needed new make up, and the plan was to go ahead and get the makeup as a gift, and get my free makeover. It was awesome. I looked fucking hot.

Ran home, did my hair, and collected the fam and Fidel for dinner at Manuel's, which was fucking delicious. They even gave me free flan. I almost died. Back home for cake and presents, before heading out to Trudy's for my free Mexican Martini, where I met up with Fidel, Adrien, Emily, Erin, Andrei, Corey, and his brother Dustin. We had some drinks, I was feeling good, and we transitioned over to Barfly's, Erin giving me a ride on her adorable scooter.

Unfortunately, this is where the night sort of fell apart. I ran into a girl I know, Jessica, at the bar, and mentioned it was my birthday. She told the bartender, and before I knew it, I had a full glass--not a shot--of Jameson standing in front of me. I'd had too many drinks to say no, even though I knew it was probably a bad idea... and I drank it down. My immediate thought was, that was probably a bad idea. Next thing I know, Fidel's driving me home, and I'm vomming out the window, all over my arm, then I woke up in my bed in a t shirt and undies. Fidel was sleeping on my loveseat (Really?! The loveseat?). I was still wasted, and wonderfully enough, managed to rehydrate before sobering up. Aside from the vomming, it was a birthday of win.

I came back out to flips for some much needed coffee, and chatted with Esther, before driving over to my parents' to do whatever it was that needed doing there. Corey, with whom I'd made informal plans to go canoeing with the night before, called. "Hey... I was just calling to see if you were still wanting to canoe today." "Uh... I'm not sure I can do any canoeing." Turns out, he was in the exact same boat that I was (Hahaha!!!! I'm hilarious), and we decided, instead, to go to freeswim at Barton Springs instead.

He picked me up at 8:30, presenting me with a Stevie Wonders - Greatest Hits LP (fuck yeah!), and we swam. I resisted his efforts to get me to go off the diving board, and he resisted the urge to run in the sprinkler that was set up. We stopped back by flips (apparently, this is where I spend all my time these last few days before the semester starts), had some beers (I was surprised that I was able to drink so soon after my vomtastic night), and then he took me home. It was a lovely, low key night.

That was the birthday celebrations. Too much fun. :)

Last night was Andrei and mine's joint birthday party. It was good and low key, but I got super tired around 1. I escaped to the front porch for some quiet... and promptly fell asleep on the porch couch, waking up (and pretending I'd been awake) when Bryan came outside. I figured it was time to go home if I was falling asleep, and left my own party around 1:30, went home, and fell dead asleep.


And that was the official end of things.

But Andrei's birthday is Monday, and who knows what will happen?



Stay tuned for an exciting photo update tomorrow!

Welcome to the neighborhood

Well, apparently one of Andy's ex-girlfriends just moved into my neighborhood. Always the nice guy, he was quick to tell her about the previously mentioned violent sexual assault that happened on my street. Luckily for her, her car was broken into the next day (in the middle of the day), and then she read Leah's column about the crime inHyde Park, and about "her friend getting knocks on her door in the middle of the night" (Andy's words; I'm the friend). Anyways, she's apparently too scared to stay in her new apt. now, and is staying at her parents'.

The real kicker is this: She moved to Hyde Park from West Campus--which has one of the highest crime rates in the city. Ha.

n00bs.

Criminal Intent vs. SVU

"Well, why do you think she wanted that?"
"I thought she wanted to whack her husband."

"Well, why do you think she wanted that?"
"I thought she wanted to whack off her husband."

A little TMI

I have these bug bites on my ass and they won't go away and they're driving me fucking nuts.

They itch like a bitch.

Good nights leave me only with smiles.

This art piece sounds amazing, and I wish I could see it:

A giant inflatable dog turd by American artist Paul McCarthy blew away from an exhibition in the garden of a Swiss museum, bringing down a power line and breaking a greenhouse window before it landed again, the museum said Monday.

On this day in history

Dolly is officially back in working shape!

Dolly had suffered a flat tire at the drunken hands of Team Flipnotics at ICSK (Independent Coffee Shop Kickball), but I won't name names. Anyways, in our varying states of intoxication, we managed to get the wheel off the bicycle, the tire off the wheel, and the tube off the tire. However, since it was dark and we were drunk, we were completely incapable of finding the hole.

Two days later, I stop by the Bicycle Sport Shop, and after about ten minutes of looking totally lost, an employeee finally finds me and directs me to the tire changing necessities I so badly need. Moments later, I was the proud owner of a set of pink tire levers and my very own patch kit. Very exciting.

Since I do not have my own bike pump (although I think I am getting one for my birthday... which is tomorrow!!!), I went to my parents to undertake my challenge. I pumped up the tire and successfully located and patched the hole, reassembled my wheel, and fell asleep. What can I say? Sanding the tube was tough work.

The next morning, I discovered that my tired, fully aired and ready to go the night before, was sad and deflated. Well, fuck. Fortunately, I hadn't gone to trouble to reattach the wheel to Dolly.

I got the tube once more, inflating it to search for holes. I could hear air escaping, but couldn't for the life of me discover its point of origin. It was time for the sink.

With the help of my filled sink basin, I was able to fully ascertain the extent of damage left on my tube. My original patch was working fabulously, giving me one thing I didn't need to worry about. In the meantime, I discovered not just one additional hole, but three of them. Thanks, team Flips. You managed to get FOUR holes in my tube. Lovely.

Well, I patched her all up, got everything back on my wheel (let it sit overnight to check her air retention) then finally, yesterday, reattached my wheel.

Well, I immediately noticed that wheel was incredibly wobbly. Well, fuck. I figured I'd put it on wrong, and on my way back from the Springs stopped in at Austin Bikes. The very nice guy working there (the people working there have always been very nice to me) popped Dolly up on the stand and examined her wheel. Turns out, yours truly had perfectly reattched my wheel. This was not the problem. First, he trued my wheel, but as much as it helped, it wasn't enough.

"It looks like the beading on your tire is off," he said, looking at me. "Have any boys been riding your bike?"

If only he knew. Thanks, ICSK.

...wow

Today the AP killed me a little.

In this article, the AP writer wrote the following sentence:

"How dare this man come in here and name a snake after his wife?" said the writer who identified themselves as Margaret Knight.

ugh.

I am so excited.

oh, p.s.

I was published for the first time today.

Bad day.

Today was bad.

First of all, because yes, we put Sam to sleep, which was really hard.

Second of all, because these bright pink flyers appeared all over my neighborhood. Apparently, there was a vicious sexual assault that took place--on my very block--at 3:30 AM on August 2nd. The poster said something to that effect, then described the suspect, ending with, "He was wearing a white t-shirt that would now be blood-stained from the attack." Saying to call if you have any information.

Well--first of all, this in itself is fucking terrifying. Terrifying. Secondly, I had an incident merely one week before where a man matching that description knocked on my door at about 12:15 and said his friend needed help. I told him I wasn't going to help, it was really late, and closed and locked the door. I live very close to a 24 hour drugstore, and he didn't seem at all desparate for help, much less upset when I told him I wouldn't help him. And he matched the description almost perfectly.

So, I get to thinking, and I realize I've had quite a few late-night knocks on my door, but I always ignored them and didn't pay any attention, figuring someone was lost or drunk or something. Then I think back to one night where Darlene, Gil, Wes and I hun gout at my place and drank. Wes left, but Gil and Darlene were both pretty drunk, so they were just going to stay at my place. As Darlene and I were settling into my bed, we heard Gil answer the front door, talk to someone, then close it again. We all just assumed it was Wes coming back for something he forgot, which is why Gil opened the door in the first place. It turned out it wasn't, but he was said it was some random Hispanic guy, which is the race of the guy who knocked on my door and the guy who sexually assaulted someone on my block. Now, I know there's more than 2 Hispanic men in the area, don't get me wrong, but it's easy to jump to conclusions when you're scared shitless. And how many people go around opening random apartment doors? Not many.

Anyways, so I'm totally freaked out about it, and I don't know if I've had all these random, similar experiences because they're all connected, or because there is some scary man who wants to sexually assault me and cover his shirt with my blood. But it's scary.

Anyways, in an attempt to be "safe, not sorry," I was going to call the APD about it.

Well, I spent about 40 minutes on the phone with them. First I called the general APD line, who connected me to someone, who connected to someoen at the homicide department--but it wasn't a homicide. He called communications, and they told him to tell me to call 911. SO, I call 911. She tries to connect me to someone, but he hangs up or gets disconnected or something. So 911 gives me this guy's number to call... and it directs me to 311 once again. Well, fuck. I tell the lady at 311 everything that's happened--I'm so scared about it all that I'm almost crying at this point--and she apolgizes (everyone is very nice on the phone) and connects me to another guy. This guy gives me the name and the number of the detective on the case, and I thank him, and hang up to call him. I dial the number, and the answering machine tells me that it is not a valid extension, and hangs up on me.

I tried again, and the exact same thing happened.

Tried once more. The same.



I gave up and emailed. I'm bad at being frustrated in general, much less on a day that my dog gets put to sleep and I think I may be being targetting by a violent sexual assualter (assaulter? is that a word?).

Fortunately, I'm not staying in my apartment the next few nights, but I'm still scared shitless. Does anyone have any advice?

Independent Coffee Shop Kickball