drat

No cable. Apparently that comes next Wednesday. At least I get to watch the one channel I get on a couch and not an air mattress or dining room chair. I can't believe I'm going to miss Project Runway. Now that Mr. Raisins is gone and I don't really have anything to look forward to when I get home from work, I was really amped for the show. Ah well. Maybe the one channel I get will have something watchable.

Why does it always take so long to get cable hooked up? It's like a government operation or something. Just seems exceedingly inefficient. And there's no competition here, so I am at the cable company's mercy.

The weather here is gloomy and quite appropriate for my mood. I don't know why we decided to try to do a year apart. It's only been three days and it sucks. A lot. But I vow to not spend a year moping. That would just make it worse.

I'm boring

Sorry peeps, I got nothing to say. I am sitting alone with my cats in an apartment likely to large for my needs. I got freaked out being in the back of the apartment alone in the dark, listening to the clock in the kitchen tick-tock, so I dragged the air mattress into the living room. Nice apartment done up all ghetto; it's a pity. I get my couch and bed tomorrow, plus cable. Then I'll be a baller. I don't even know why I got cable. I probably shouldn't have. I bitch about money and I suppose cable isn't a necessity. But it's the middle of the season of Project Runway. You can't just turn away in the middle of the season. I'm rooting for the guy from Hotlanta. His take on Pam Grier was hot shit.

I am adjusting to east coast TV time. How do people in this time zone stay up as late as they do to watch the news? They get to work at the time as those living on central time. Do they just need less sleep? Are they more tired? I'm baffled by this. I have a feeling I'll be exhausted the entire time I'm here.

I still don't have my diploma. I am starting to feel inadequate at work. Maybe I'll just print something out saying "I went to UT Law" and hang it on the wall, just so that the five people I work with will remember that I also went to law school. I probably shouldn't be worried about my diploma since I am far too cheap to frame it right now. And certain professors made me feel inadequate enough about my undergraduate school/major/Honda CRX that I'm debating whether to ever frame that or if I should just hang something up saying that I really went to nail tech school (not that there's anything wrong with that).

And I can't figure out how to get myself off the OSCAR mailing list. Does anyone know how to get these people to leave me alone? I don't really care anymore that five more judges have joined the OSCAR system. I'm out of that game. At least it's e-mail, I guess. Ever since school and the bar ended, people apparently have less to bitch and whine about (except me, there's never enough to bitch or whine about) and therefore send less e-mail.

I may have a visitor this weekend; crossing my fingers that KO can make it out here. Not that I'll know what do to with her since I just moved here and get lost relatively easily. But I'm sure she'll love to hang out with me and my cats. Or not.

So far, so good

Made it here alive. All is well and my new city is really nice. My cats are finally accepting their new reality. I only had to dope up Opie once for the drive. He spent the next 18 hours with his mouth open, wearing a drool beard. That was creepy. Once we finally got the cats into the apartment he totally flipped out and hid in the bathroom closet for a few hours. Mr. Raisins thought it would calm him down to show him the balcony off of my second-floor apartment. Opie flipped out even more (expected since this cat never goes outside) and proceeded to jump over the railing, bounce off the metal awning, and land on the ground (I'm not confident that he landed on his feet). I found him cowering in some bushes with a busted lip. It was sad. And now he's sitting at my feet, seemingly content. Man, this is one dumb animal.

My apartment is nice - it's in an old house converted into a fourplex. I apparently live in a very nice part of town, which is new for me. The layout is a little odd and I think I am going to make the dining room my bedroom. It's bigger and it's where the really big closet is located. I don't really have any furniture and the fewer rooms I have to deal with, the better. It would be weird to have people walk through my bedroom to get to the kitchen if I was one to have guests over with any regularity. But I'm not, so that's not really an issue.

I got a couch today. I got it half off. I thought I would be totally cool with getting some used number that I would then give back to the Goodwill or whoever a year from now, but then I discovered that my aversion to used mattresses applies to any used furniture that's potentially absorbent. So I got a new couch. I did keep my vow of keeping my clothes and other assorted goods in drawers made of cardboard or plastic. But now I have discovered that no dresser or armoire means no surface space for crap like the mickey mouse doll I drooled all over as a baby or the music box my mom gave me that plays the song from Love Story. I'll have to get some shelving or something I guess. I never knew I was so attached to my dustcatchers until I had to box them back up because they didn't have anywhere to go.

OK, I am off to go choose a health insurance plan. The fun never ends.

Later taters

My last day in Austin. It was exciting. I bought sunglasses. And not cheap ones. Not super-expensive ones, but not cheap either. I never wear sunglasses, so I'm always squinting,which sucks. Not anymore. Although it was depressing. I always thought my glasses were crooked, but it turns out that it's just my face. I can't even tell if it's like my ears are uneven or just my eyebrows. I mean, I know my eyebrows aren't symmetrical, which my lady says is the norm. So my sunglasses look crooked. But they also feel crooked, leading me to believe that my ears are uneven. Which wouldn't surprise me since my chin isn't exactly in the middle of my face, a slight defect that becomes more and more obvious with every ounce of chin fat. Man, I am a freak. I bet I'd discover that one arm is like six inches longer than the other if I measured them.

I also drank too much coffee. I saw my Jenn one last time before I left and we had coffee. Then I went to the wrong Starbucks to meet my high school friend, but didn't realize I was at the wrong one until after I bought a grande latte. So then I had to go to the right Starbucks and get another coffee. The good news is that my car was hot enough while parked in the sun at the correct Starbucks that my first coffee wasn't cold after an hour.

My last night in Austin will be perfect - I'm catching up on Project Runway. I hope Mr. Raisins doesn't expect me to help load the car. I can't even load the dishwasher, so hopefully he'll just want me to stay out of it. Crossing my fingers.

Later Austin peeps. Feel free to come visit me. If you need lodging, just call 1-800-Marriott.

Everyone wins

I hate packing. I am glad I bought the new car because no way in hell my clothes would fit into the Accord with the cats. I have a lot of clothes. Which makes the fact that I wear the same crap over and over again really sad. But the more I get sick of packing, the more I think things should just go to Goodwill. So now I have a huge stack of crap that I was just too lazy to pack that someone will love more than I do. I am not even sure that everything I have packed will fit in the new car. Cross your fingers that I can successfully manage to bring it all. I'll die if I have to leave behind part of my jacket collection. I'll really just die. Or mail the box to myself. Whatever works.

Got to see some peeps last night that I'll miss. One of my best beer buddies was among them. I'll think of her when I am having beer alone in my new city. Maybe we can arrange to be having beer at the same time and then text each other. Not sure how effective that would be.

Tomorrow is the last full day in town. Need to run to pick up repaired halter top at the cleaners (warning - Banana basics totally falling apart on me all summer long). I'm having coffee with super pregnant friend from high school that I feel ashamed about never seeing (she lives in Pflugerville, which might as well be Oklahoma as far as my driving habits are concerned). Need to load up car. Need to see Jenn. Need to hug Mr. Raisins a lot.

Since I never posted pics of the vacation, here's some.

Crooked arch in Amsterdam. Lots of issues with subsidence in the city and there's more than a few buildings leaning precariously. This archway was one of my favorites for some reason.




Rembrandt's Night Watch, a really friggin huge painting.

Let the freak out begin

Good news - the random $700 was really just one of those confirmatory temp charges. Even the chick at the hotel thought it was a bit much. I'm glad I didn't have to deal with that. What I was not glad about was the gentleman in front of me on the 9-hour flight home who wasn't tight with our friend Mr. Deodorant and seemed to think that his airline seat was a fucking rocking chair.

I will pack up some things over the next few days and then we're off on Thursday for a really long drive to horse country. On Friday I do paperwork and get the keys to my as-yet-unseen apartment. Monday I start work. I am the last clerk to start. Great. I love being the new one. By this time next week I will be trying to sleep, but will be totally freaked out by the new job. When I was little, I would be so nervous about the first day of school that I would put on my new outfit and lie awake until my mom came in telling me it was time to get up. I don't do that anymore (the clothes thing and my mom waking me up).

I'm not the only one who is a little freaked out, right? I mean, do any of us really have any clue what we're getting ourselves into? What if law school was a fluke and it turns out I was really good at law school but will suck ass at being a lawyer or a clerk? Like some poor soul who is really good at playing spoons, but not a real instrument. And today I got the resume of the co-clerk for the second clerkship. She seems much more impressive than me. So yeah, I am a little freaked out.

Closing vacation thoughts

Tomorrow we depart for home. I can't wait to have a chicken sandwich. And the upgraded hotel room may not have been so free. You know how when you check in they run your credit card and some temp charge is there for a few days and then goes away? Usually those aren't for $700, right? I shall protest that I did not agree to pay an additional $700 for the privilege of staying in the superior suite. I shall be an obnoxious American if needed. I haven't wanted to drag that part of me out in Europe, but $700 is $700 and since I have negative dollars right now, it matters.

Now for my shallow observations of Europe (or at least the two places I actually went to).

The man-bag is big here and I'm a fan. I always wonder how men get by with just a wallet. And no one likes a fanny pack (okay, so a lot of people like the fanny pack, but that doesn't make it okay). I know Seinfeld tried the man-bag. I think American men should jump on this train. I tried to get my better half to jump start this trend, but I don't think he's playing along.

Speaking of Seinfeld, what the hell is up with Europeans eating burgers with knives and forks? I feel like I am in the episode with the candy bars. I want to scream at them, "Pick up the burger and eat it like a man!!"

French fries go with everything. Eggs benedict? Side of fries. Lasagne? Side of fries. Pizza? Side of fries. The people here love their fries. At least they eat them with their hands.

I could never live here because people aren't in enough of a hurry. I almost prefer fast food because it will take about an hour to get your check at a regular restaurant. And everyone walks like they're out on a stroll, which I guess a lot of them are. I am by nature something of a power walker; I don't stroll. I may not know where I am going, but I will get there fucking fast. And no one else here is in that kind of a hurry.

I could also never live here because I don't think I could ever dress like a European. You know how when you in the U.S. and you can tell that someone is from another country just by the way they dress? The subtle differences that are a tip off (usually with foreign men, this leads to the debate of is he gay or foreign?). Well, here I stand out as a boring, unadventurous, typical American woman. Which is fine with me. I think the whole effort of putting together a look that screams I carefully planned this outfit to look like I didn't plan it at all would just be too much for me.

I have seen the skinny jean at its best and worse. It seems that they only work if you have the luck (or curse, depending on your ideal of the feminine form) of having your ankles be the same size as your thighs. That's about 1% of the population. I recommend that the other 99% of us just stay away. Far away. I have seen it go terribly wrong and it ain't pretty.

Best marketing award. The restaurant in Dublin called Gruel. Irish food is nasty and that name sums it up, but is it smart to just put it out there like that?

Best potential tort liability. An establishment here called Dolphins had 2 lights hanging over the bar that doubled as fish bowls, each holding a few gallons of water. I just about peed myself when one of them crashed down onto the bar, covering the patrons sitting there with nasty fish water. No one was hurt. But if someone was, can you say lifetime supply of free weed?

Another 11 euro down the toilet. You people better comment out the ass.

Amsterdam? Superior.

Apologies to the five people who read this thing. Our hotel doesn't have free Internet, so we're shelling out 11 euro for two hours. That is the only bad thing I will say about our hotel. I thought initially that Amsterdam and I may get off on the wrong foot since I had to walk too far in the rain to get the hotel, dragging my luggage through the streets. But no, all was well. We got to the hotel and were upgraded to the superior suite. It is superior and costs more than the Raisins were willing or able to pay for a hotel room. So we're happy.

Amsterdam is awesome. I've done the touristy things. The Van Gogh museum was cool, as was the Rijksmuseum (although a lot of it is closed right now, so I feel a little robbed). I always feel a little weird about going to museums since my thoughts on art boil down to, ohhh, that's pretty. People around me are waving their arms, no doubt using words like "perspective" and other such nonsense. I just assume they're poseurs and I am the one keeping it real since my response is visceral, even if it's the same reaction a five-year-old would have.

I dragged my other half to the Oude Kerk, which was great. Saw where Rembrandt's wife is buried in there. Creepy. Walked through the Red Light District, which was just depressing.

Mostly, we just walk for hours every day. My feet are killing me, even in tennis shoes. Every joint below the waist aches. Apparently I am made for the sedentary lifestyle I have been living. But it's good walking. I just really like this city. And I have managed to figure out the bike lanes so I can avoid having the natives ring their little bells at me and call me a *$%#^ American. That only happened once, on the first day (before I realized that bikes rule this city). I don't know what the adjective was, but I don't think it was something nice.

People who don't know me well enough to know better are probably thinking that I am smoking all the weed in the country. But, no. Pot's not really my thing. I don't really have a thing. I don't have an issue with pot in the abstract. Just not my thing. So, I'm not here for the drugs. Strangers and acquaintances often ask me where to find weed, so I guess I look the part in some way.

Anyways, it's probably a really boring vacation by a lot of people's standards, but it's been great for me. I get to sleep in. I don't feel a need to see everything. But I will be glad to get back, if only to eavesdrop on a conversation in English (Dutch is a hideous language, in my humble opinion) and to get a chicken sandwich.

Kersplat

Damn these people for driving on the wrong side of the road. Even though the sidewalk helpfully tells you which way to look before crossing the street, I have still managed to almost be run over by a bus at least twice a day. Speaking of buses, I have decided that American cities should spice up public transportation by making our buses the double-decker variety. Maybe then people would see taking the bus as some kind of adventure. I'm not totally sure it would work, but I would totally rock the double-decker at home.

We have decided that, from now on, we are only traveling in the off season. Sure, the weather will suck, but we'd be surrounded by fewer of our kind (a.k.a. annoying tourists). I always knew that I had the temperament of an easily-annoyed elderly person, but it really hit home the other day when I repeatedly shushed a bunch of really annoying German teenagers who were on some kind of organized trip. And when I say shushed, I mean I really shushed them good. I'm sure they were super scared of me. But I did see the Book of Kells, which was pretty awesome.

Oh yeah, there is something I've been meaning to say for a long time, but it's really been killing me on vacation. If you're gonna wear a racerback tank, for the love of all things holy, buy a racerback bra. A peeping bra strap isn't something to hang your head in shame over, but the straps should at least follow the cut of the shirt. And, to those clever ladies out there buying the bras with the clear, plastic straps, this applies to you too. Clear doesn't mean invisible; we can still see your bra straps, and the fact that they're plastic makes it almost worse, since you're wearing plastic and all.

Dublin, again

So, is it sad that the one thing that sticks in my head about Ireland is that the signs for the emergency exits just do away with the pretense of proceeding calmly and in an orderly fashion to the exits? The signs have the handless, footless guy hauling ass for the exit. I think I like that they just admit that, if there was a fire, 99% of the population would step over their own mom to get the hell out the building. Charming. It sort of meshes with the fact that the Irish don't really move for anyone and, if you should get bumped, don't expect an "excuse me" or an apology. They're like really old people who have just earned the right to stand their ground. I would show a picture of said exit signs, but us Raisins are operating with a disposal camera since the digital camera gave out about five pictures into Dublin. Apparently Ireland doesn't have the Euro plug, so we have to no way to charge the digital camera. Film - it's so retro.

Today was all about beer. We did the Guinness tour. Tomorrow is all about old shit and the baby Jesus. I am sure Mr. Raisins is sooooo excited about the historical tour!!!

Dublin

It's the end of day 2 in Dublin. Day one consisted of me buying a much-needed flat iron for the hair and then sleeping until dinner time. Day two thus far has consisted of me buying two new pairs of shoes (loving the leopard print ballerina flats) and a new green leather jacket that Stacy and Clinton would approve of. Then we came back to the hotel and slept. Tomorrow is when we begin seriously being tourists. Maybe we'll even feel a need to bust out the camera.

The hotel is okay; three-star European, which is apparently the equivalent of a sideways thumb from Roger Ebert. Kind of a mixed bag. Of course the room is small. Of course the bedspread looks like something from your grandma's nightmare. But the bathroom is a nice surprise since it's apparently been redone sometime recently. Although nice, it throws off the whole aesthetic, like someone just forgot to remodel the rest of the place after they finished the bathroom. Overall I'm okay with it. Except the television that won't let us turn it off unless we unplug it. It will just turn itself right back on over and over again. Obstinate bastard.

Obviously the Raisins know how to kick up their heels on vacation. We're tired, sue us.

I am such an idiot

I should never have let my hair lady give me free highlights for graduation. I weaned myself off haircolor when I went to law school so that I could save money. Now I'm hooked again. I am one of those women whose natural hair color just doesn't make any damn sense. At least I got in with my hair lady on the ground floor, before her prices got expensive. Cut and highlights for 80 bucks before tip is kick ass, and so are my highlights. So I guess I can't complain. Except that I don't have any money and highlights aren't so much a necessity. On second thought, I think maybe they are. Yes, they totally are.

But then the hair salon is next to the store where I often buy my overpriced jeans. And I needed a new pair for vacation since most of mine are so long that a heel is necessary and I can't do walking tours in heels. Who these jeans are designed for is a mystery for me. There must be some tribe of amazon women with small waits and 40-inch inseams. I'd like to see one up close. Anyways, I just dropped way too much money on a pair of jeans. And I bought them an inch too small in the waist. Remind me to get a gym membership because these things are barely fitting. How I didn't notice this when trying them on is beyond me. And I probably don't need new expensive jeans when I am complaining about not having any money. But jeans are something you just have to drop some serious cash on; I am a believer in getting what you pay for when it comes to jeans. The Gap just isn't my butt's best friend. And I don't feel bad about it because my purses are generally cheap, my highlights are bargain basement, I never buy shoes that cost more than $100, and I generally live in $12 wifebeaters and Gap sale-rack tank-tops during the summer, so my thing with jeans totally makes sense. Just go with me on this.

I realize this post is totally meaningless. But that's what this blog is for. Can you imagine getting a call with someone talking about the above subjects? How fucking annoying would that be?

Tasty

Has anyone else seen the commercials for the new season of Flavor of Love on VH1 (or am I the only loser who watches VH1?)? Seeing Flava Flav make out with or make googly eyes at the women on this show makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. Seeing him with Brigitte Nielsen is charming after just seeing the commercials for this show. Gross.

Tomorrow is vacation day, which I am excited about. Luckily for me, I can sleep on planes without a problem. It's the poor sap next to me that I'm drooling on that has the problem.

I have been spending a ton of time at home this week to avoid spending money. Which is making me a little crazy and I'm not really saving any money that I can tell. But this week wasn't too bad; I had meals with some of my favorite people and hopefully will catch up with a few more before I move. I got a cool, gorgeous, fancy fountain pen from a good friend. I am saving its first use for something super cool and important. Like maybe when I get my zero-percent-interest-on-balance-transfers credit card. I love being at the point where I have to save my cash for rent. Anything else goes on the credit card so I can deal with it when I have a job. Why can't landlords take credit cards?? Then I could totally afford to move.

Oh yeah, shout out to Ellen for agreeing to feed the cats and fish when we're on vacation. I'll show you how to scrub the litter box when you come over tonight. It'll be great.

It's the little victories

Today was vet day. Normally Nikita hates to travel and usually takes a crap the second the carrier gets into the car. Today I put her into her new carrier and sat her in the front seat so I could talk to her the whole drive there and back hoping she would be courteous enough to not take a crap a mere foot away from my face. Success. She did take a crap on the floor the second we got home, but it was still a victory overall.

Opie is just shy of twenty pounds. He's husky, not fat. He has a little bit of a gut, but he's mostly just thick. Not that he's not a healthy eater. Hell, yesterday he ate a ball of hair I had jut pulled out of the brush after brushing Nikita. And then he got sick. Nothing like seeing a black hairball come out of an orange cat. And all cat owners know that a cat will sprint 200 yards just to puke on the carpet. Thanks for that.

Today we get to clean Nikita's ears and teeth. Grooming this cat is like grooming a badger. She makes the most awful noises - like if Linda Blair was a cat and wanted to kill me. Can't wait.

Danny Cooksey, you are my hero

My hair is getting super long. It hasn't been this long in maybe six years. But my highlights are fierce, making it look better than it otherwise would during this awkward phase. But my highlights are in the red family, so I'm starting to resemble Danny Cooksey, the best chili bowl ever sported on television. You may remember him as Gary Coleman's best friend on Diff'rent Strokes. If you don't remember him, we can't possibly be friends.

So, maybe everyone else has been doing stuff, like moving or having kids or something super exciting like that, but I have been bored out of my friggin skull since the bar exam. I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. Thank God for reruns of America's Next Top Model. When I can watch an entire season in a day, life is good and there's no worrying about what to do with myself since Tyra and VH1 have planned my day for me. There's nothing like the drama of pretty chicks fighting about who's prettier and having judges tell them, "Catch the light; know where your nose is," or some shit like that. Not to poke fun. I've had my picture taken all of one time and it sucked. I apparently don't really know how to make a face that doesn't look like someone just farted. So good for hot chicks who can be hot, or whatever hot people do. I wouldn't know.