Being local and living in South Austin, the drive to the Salt Lick isn’t all that bad for Scott and I, but in our typical fashion, we found a way to make a scene. He pulled up in my driveway in his Jeep with doors and top off, and I opened the door and informed him that in no way would I be making the 30 minute ride in that hair-destroying vehicle. There would be pictures taken, and cute boys there, and I am a girl, with a perfectly good car at her disposal.

And thus we proceeded to argue back and forth ["Get in the Jeep." "No!"]for a good ten minutes, him sitting in the Jeep idling in my driveway while I bitched from the pathway of my perfectly manicured front lawn. Roomie, being President of the Homeowner’s Association, would have been thrilled. (Hey, the neighbors say they never see us…) Matter settled; Scott drives off in the Jeep and me in the Mustang. …until we turn around, come back to the house, he parks the Jeep, and we leave in my car.

He bitches of course - Ian left the seat too far back, I only have one song from the artist on my iPod, there’s too much R.E.M., I drive “like old people fuck” (“yeah, fast and awesome!”). But by the end of the evening; more accurately, on the way home, he sees the light and agrees that letting me drive was the right thing to do. With a designated driver he’s been able to kick back and relax all night… which means I now have a most amusing co-pilot for the drive home. We joke that Scott IS Family Guy’s Peter Griffin. When you read the below, you absolutely must picture Peter Griffin when you do it, because it was never more accurate than that drive.

“You know what’s a fun word? Appaloosa. Appaloosa. Say it. Say it. Appaloosa. Say it.”
“Appaloosa.”
“You know what else is a fun word? Shin. Shin.”
….
“Shin”
“Elbow. Elbow. Say it. Elbow.”

_____________________________________________________________

Despite the offers, I passed on waking up early Saturday morning and driving to the other end of the world (i.e., North Austin) to hang out at a golf course with the gang when I had zero golfing skills. Sleeping in was much more my style, then running errands and heading over to Mookie’s for BBQ in the afternoon.

Mookie ran a great tournament, as always, and it was great to see everyone - Don, CK, Carter, Astin, JJ, Steve, Rocco, & Sed. Personally I wasn’t getting anywhere with my cards and ended up going out right at the break when my queens ran into aces, because I am such an online player and don’t adjust well to playing live at all, and obviously can’t lay down a big pair. I then drowned my sorrows with whiskey and chocolate and JoeSpeaker. I am such a girl.

At least I had a cutie to keep me company while waiting for the cash game to get started…

Complete set of pictures from the weekend are here - enjoy!

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“You drive like a fuckin madwoman.”
“But a skilled madwoman.”
“If he only knew how you drove in this car…”
“Please. After the shit that’s happened in this car over the past two weeks, do you really think a little speedy and aggressive lane changing is gonna be what gets me in trouble?? And trust me, he’s well aware of my driving habits anyway.”

My joyriding days in the Jaguar have come to a close, with Roomie handing me the keys to the Mercedes yesterday while he took the Jaguar in for it’s end-of-lease inspection. It passed with flying colors, no thanks to the dumbass moments he and I have both had with it in our care. Mine still remains a secret to him, and I have no idea how he missed seeing the two bright blue towels laying in the backseat for days on end last week.

With DonkeyPuncher in town, we headed out to dinner and then downtown to catch a coworker’s band’s show. When I head downtown, I always park in the same parking lot. It’s centrally located and makes it super easy for me to remember where in the hell I parked when the night is over. The one time I had to deviate from this simple rule during SXSW I spent a good 15 minutes wandering around 2nd street trying to determine which parking garage I had left my car in - and while sympathetic parking attendants will assure you you’re not the only one in the same boat, they still can’t identify the garage you’re looking for based on the level name. DP and I had no problem finding a spot in my favored lot this time and I took care to lock my purse in the trunk, gloss up, arm the alarm - the important things.

There had been rumor earlier in the day of rain, but we ignore such things in Texas, because most of the time it’s not going to happen. Even though the sky had looked particularly ominous when I left work, I was still choosing to pretend there would be none. When chatting with a coworker on the patio between bands, and he mentioned the rain was supposed to be coming in a few hours, I told him that wasn’t going to happen until well after 2am, when we were all safe and sound in our beds. We call this denial. Because it did start to rain, a hard solid downpour that would not let up, about half way through our friend’s set. I stood there with my coworkers who had come out in support as we all looked up at the ceiling, then each other, each with a “oh shit” look slowly spreading across our faces. Nothing sucks more than being out downtown when it starts to rain. Especially if you are a girl, as we tend to roll in heels and thin tops. But really… who brings an umbrella to 6th Street? As DP and I discovered when we finally decided to brave the thunderstorm and head out to the car, some people do. We call these people losers.

Personally speaking I had on the best heels I could have for such an event, and with jeans rolled up it wasn’t so bad. We actually didn’t have too far to walk and the rain had lightened up some by that point so the only real concern I had was for the BlackBerry which wasn’t going to get too soaked, and if it survived all the times it got dropped during SXSW, then it’s a tough little guy. But as we got to the car, I noticed that in all my locking it up I had neglected to notice one small detail.

Driver side. Back window. Down.

It’s been pouring for hours, and the Jaguar with leather seats has been sitting there with the window open collecting rain. Hell never mind the rain, the Jaguar itself has been sitting downtown with the fucking window open for HOURS. And it’s still there! Relieved as I am over that, I am a wee bit shaken over how in hell I’m going to get out of this one. According to DP, there wasn’t too much water pooled up - had the front come in from the other direction though… Once I get home I towel the seat off as much I can and spend the next few days driving with the windows down at every opportunity - something I generally do anyway, but now with a purpose!

I haven’t told Roomie, and have no plans to do so. It’s not that my infraction is so bad really, and certainly he’s done worse. But I think it’s good for DP and I to have a little secret. And as nice as it’s been to drive luxury cars for a while, it did feel awfully good to drive my baby again today. You know, like an absolute madwoman.

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Not long after I began to entertain the thoughts of buying a new car, Roomie began the long process of his own new car selection. His current ride, a 2004 Jaguar, was a lease set to expire in June of this year and therefore a replacement was a necessity. He briefly toyed with the idea of downsizing to something practical with a lower monthly payment. Those of you who know him know that was a very very brief period. One thing he did decide on was that he wanted to move to something smaller - a two-seater that would remove him as the de facto driver every time we went out anywhere. He spent hours searching online and finally found the car that would meet his needs - a Mercedes CLK350.

He was buying pre-owned, and had narrowed down the choices to three - one in Houston, one in Dallas, and one in Santa Barbara. The one in Houston was the first choice and was the easiest one for us to go take a look at, so off we went one weekend to make a visit. A beautiful car, with everything he wanted. The only problem was the salesmen unwilling to budge from the sticker price. In fact, they informed us that once we left they were actually going to be raising it. I guess the economic downswing hasn’t affected North Houston. We wished the salesman good luck, put a hex on the car, and returned home. Last we checked it was still sitting on the lot.

The car in Dallas was 2nd on the list, and visiting it was just about as out of the question as visiting the one in Santa Barbara. Fortunately Roomie has a trusted friend in the area that he could call upon to make a visit and report back to him. Once he got the all clear, the negotiations could begin. And this time, Roomie was dealing with a salesman who actually understood how the game was played. A week later the car was delivered and we spent a Saturday driving around getting to know the new member of the family.

Roomie did the first leg behind the wheel of course, but let me take over in the afternoon so he “see how I drove it” before he agreed to let me take all by myself Monday and Tuesday. The windows weren’t tinted you see, wouldn’t be until I took the car in for it Tuesday morning; and until they were he wasn’t going to take it to work. Which meant he was going to continue driving the Jaguar until then, and I’ll be damned if I was going to let a Mercedes sit in the garage while I drove around in a 12-year old Mustang. So after picking up our friend Kevin at the best coffee shop in Austin and then heading to the mall, I was allowed to drive him home. If you’ve ever ridden in a car with me, you can probably guess how it went.

RED LIGHT TURNS GREEN, APRIL FLOORS IT
Me: Glancing in rearview mirror “HA! Lookit them all still way back there at the light!”
Roomie: “You are never driving this car again”

The car comes equipped with navigation system, one of Roomie’s requirements in his new car. While on the way to pick up Kevin he turned it on and the screen came alive with a highway grid showing… the 405?

“Is this… is this car from California???”
“Yeah. When I pulled the CarFax it originated from Long Beach.”
“Awwwww. I feel so much closer to her now!! She’s not really a Dallas snob, she’s a California bitch! Look, she’s trying to navigate us to LA. Take her home. Take her home!!“

He never does what I say.

During my drive time we stopped to get gas (she’s a thirsty one) and while Roomie pumped, I played with the nav system more. From it I reached a completely biased conclusion about the previous owner. Clearly he was gay. Every name programmed in there was male, save for one woman, and then mom.

“And then there’s this entry… it just says ‘Dealer’.”
“That could mean a lot of things…”
“Yea… but it don’t mean Mercedes dealer!”

I did drive it for the first two days, taking care of the window tinting so Roomie didn’t have to suffer the indignity of showing up at work with a car not ready for her public debut. She is most definitely an LA girl. To my delight, this car has an auxiliary jack whereas the Houston car did not, so she and Steve [my sentient iPod] hooked up immediately. Together they pulled the Silversun Pickups on average every other song.

Roomie loves the car, and I am happy for him. It’s a beautiful car. The Mustang is enjoying a nice rest in the garage, as I have been driving the Jaguar for the past few weeks. Truth be told, the Mercedes doesn’t do much for me really. Oh sure, the initial acceleration is nice. But once you get there? 80 feels like 70, 70 feels like 60, and so on. I realize that’s the point. But I like to feel like I’m doing my speed. That you don’t in luxury cars is exactly the reason why I always get my speeding tickets in them. I prefer the Jaguar over the Mercedes for the reasons it drove Roomie crazy - the little bits of road noise and bumps that let me feel the road and let me know where I am. For me, driving the Mercedes is like having unsatisfying sex with a really hot guy. It’s boring and uninspiring. But looks good!

I’m likely losing the Jaguar in a few weeks, as opposed to the planned date of June. It’s probably for the best - I’ve gotten a wee bit attached, to the point of considering buying it myself. It’s probably better I go back to other plan - finding a way to get the old man down the street with the new Shelby to put me in his will.

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Things I haven’t done yet but probably will:

1. Break down and call the cable company and sign up for another year of Extra Innings
2. Convince my IT guys that I should be allowed to stream video across the network since they break the rules too, and then sign up for mlbTV. Or just skip the convincing part.

One thing I will for sure do is attend Astros opening day which is next Monday (the REAL opening day for me). This was decided late last night, and I can see the conversation with my boss now.

“I’m going to be off next Monday.”
“But that report is due.”
“Yes, but it’s Opening Day.”
“But… the report…”
“OPENING. DAY.”
“O….kay… just have that done before you go…”

And today, Steve the iPod will be playing the baseball playlist several times I’m sure. Maybe even drawing from it on his own, as surely his sentient little self understands the significance of today. I’d turn the playlist into a Muxtape for y’all like all the cool kids are doing (catbird ftw) but most of it is not in mp3 format and I’m in no mood to convert. So you get a list:

1. Centerfield - John Fogerty
2. Go Go Astros - if you spent anytime in the Astrodome in the 1980s, you remember this song. And it’s about as cheesy as you’d expect based on the description.
3. Houston Loves The Astros - same as above. These are not easy to find though, and really, no better way to torture the non-Astros fan with you.
4. Turn it Up (Astros Version) - Chamillionaire
5. Sweet Caroline - Neil Diamond (sorry metsgrrl)
6. Who Killed Tangerine - Tears for Fears (we’ve covered this before)

Short, but sweet. Gives me plenty of time to move on to my new musical obsession, French hip-hop.

I hope everyone has a fantastic Opening Day, unless you’re a Padres fan, in which case I hope you cry like a little girl!

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When I was 12, two things defined me - my crush on Wil Wheaton and my love of R.E.M. Neither one of which was much understood by my friends and was pretty much seen as uncool. But I didn’t care. I never missed an episode of ST:TNG and the very first CD I ever bought was R.E.M’s Green, and when they toured for that album, I made my mother take me. It was the first concert I ever attended.

Of course, years later it was cool to be an R.E.M. fan and all my friends were then joining me at the concerts and going on about how wise I was in the ways of music to have known from such an early age how awesome they were. Knowing what a huge fan I was, they wondered what would I do if I was ever to meet Michael Stipe, the lead singer of R.E.M.? The mere idea of such left me speechless. “I have absolutely no idea” I would tell them. “Probably stammer, say nothing, and make a complete fool of myself.”

When I first met Wil, he was in town for a Linux convention and did a thing at the Alamo Drafthouse where they showed Stand By Me. It took me a good fifteen minutes to work up the nerve to go introduce myself. During the 2006 WSOP, Ryan took a group of us to dinner at Nobhill where on advice of the server Wil and I agreed to share the lobster potpie. When he decided he wanted to add a steak too, he asked if I’d be up for sharing that as well; when I agreed, he jokingly remarked “Okay, now it’s official, you’re my date.” 12 year-old me fainted and had to be carried away on a stretcher. Adult me has made a great deal of progress. Maybe a little too much progress…

Tonight, after checking in at the St. David’s church and confirming that yes, there was no way I was going to get in to see M. Ward (how awesome would that have been?) I was headed down 7th to Stubb’s to see Okkervil River. Mind as empty as the street. Will there be a line; what to wear to brunch tomorrow (Betty can confirm losing 30 pounds really crimps the wardrobe); what a nice night it is; etc. Walking along when I look up and there passing me on the left is none other than one Michael Stipe. Michael fucking Stipe.

In the split seconds it takes for us to pass each other on the sidewalk, 12 year old me wakes up and says “Holy shit it’s Michael Stipe!!” while 31 year old me says “Yes. Indeed it is.” 12 year old me responds with “You should stop him! NOW! Say something! Do something! It’s Michael FUCKING Stipe!” 31 year old me responds with “Oh? So I stop him and then what? What are you gonna do? What’s your big plan there smarty? And watch your fucking language.”

Deep down though, 31 year old me knows 12 year old me is right. Cause it was the 31 year old me that nearly cried, knowing that with each step I took I just became more crazy obsessed fangirl. I mean it’s one thing to stop the guy when he’s right there next to you on the sidewalk; it’s another to chase him down a block cause you’ve been having this bizarre internal dialogue.

So of course, when you have a moment like this, you immediately Twitter it, because it’s SXSW and there is an unwritten law that that’s what you do. Standing on the corner of 7th & Red River, shaking from more than the chill and texting away, I was approached by a homeless guy asking for “just 50 cents”.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you right now. I’m… look, I’m kinda freaking out right now.”
“Aww, I’m sorry. I won’t bother you.”

So if nothing else comes out of this, other than another one of April’s what the fuck moments, I can offer to my fellow Austinities a new line for giving the brushoff to the homeless guys on 7th. Just tell them you’re kinda freaking out right now. Apparently they understand it.

And next time Stipe… next time. 12 year old me and 31 year old me have made up and are preparing something just in case.

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Short of hurricane or other natural disaster, I don’t think you could have picked a better time than the last day of SXSW for the EDGE network to be going down in Austin. Really. Absolutely perfect timing. Much appreciated. Why don’t you just come down to 6th & Trinity and start handing out iPhones too?

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No time nor condition for a real recap, but in response to requests for something up here on the topic:

Tonight was Day 3, and really the first day I had bands I really wanted to see - namely Dr. Dog and Tapes N’ Tapes, both playing the same showcase at Cedar Door. Since Dr. Dog was going on up against Vampire Weekend, I didn’t expect to see quite the long line I was up against, but what the hell; it’s open air so I could at least still hear and maybe I could make it in for the Tapes N’ Tapes show, right? This is all good in theory. In reality, it is Friday and the SXSW crowd has actually gotten a hell of a lot bigger. [Still! Vampire Weekend people! Don't you know where you're supposed to be??] I never did make it in for the Dr. Dog show, and just gave up for the Tapes N’ Tapes, but had one hell of a good time in line.

There was the couple that was in a band whose names I forget; then there was Destiny and her boyfriend who had the badge but she only had the wristband, and her friend Laura who was sneaking back and forth from the bar bringing us drinks while we waited in line. Laura - I can’t thank you enough for that $16 dirty martini, it was indeed the best I’ve ever had. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve never had a $16 martini before, though I’m pretty damn sure that was the first. And Destiny, it’s only been 5 hours but I miss you already. Like the time that guy asked you for a pen cause your purse was so big so he assumed you had to have one and you then proceeded to rattle off the exact contents of your purse to him, right down to the tampon - that was pretty damn funny. And the “line dissuader” scheme we came up with? That’s gonna be a big hit. And random girl who didn’t even have so much as a wristband yet thought she was gonna get in the show? You were funny in ways you didn’t even know.

Once the little line crew broke up, I headed back to 6th Street to see if my 1am show selection (Destroyer) was going to be possible. Given that the 12am show was the “She and Him” combo of Zooey Deschanel and M. Ward I was pretty sure the answer was “no fucking way” and I was indeed correct. So I wandered into Maggie Mae’s where the Canadians had taken over the downstairs and were getting a little rowdy. Decent enough, and served my main need (read: booze). [BTW Alix, damn you for mentioning 7 & vodka; my booze budget just doubled.] However, there was some seriously good sounds coming from upstairs and a line was starting to form to get up there… further investigation was needed. No idea who the hell was playing, apparently few people had any idea who it was - they were just coming in from the street drawn in by the sound from the rooftop. I caught the last half of the set, and that alone made the night. Absolutely amazing. Right after the show ended, the guy next to me turned and said “Do you know who that was?” I replied “No, but, that was…” and simultaneously we finished “fucking awesome.” The band was The Whip, and they’re from Manchester. In Paul Ford’s Six-Word Reviews of the SXSW Showcasing Artist’s Mp3s over at The Morning News he reviews their song as “this song makes me crave cock” so you know it’s good.

Full write-up later. Having fun, wish you were here. For those of you that ARE in Austin, wristbands and badges or no, do join us for SXSW Recovery brunch this Sunday at the Irie Bean Coffee House!

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Every year it’s the same thing. I’m not going. I’m ignoring it, too busy to attend, too old for a week of night after night of non-stop bar-hopping, long lines and overpriced beers. Usually I skip town all together. This year I was planning on serving as Official Babysitter to the TroubleKitten, but once that sadly fell through I was left with options open. Enter Gus.

Anyone who has ever click-wheeled through my iPod knows that I’ve got an eclectic taste in music. I am militant about what makes the cut, which has resulted in a hodgepodge of single-song artists known mostly to no one but music bloggers, DJs, and hipsters. And Gus. Lately the collection has been feeling a little stale, so I’ve been hitting the music blogs pretty hard to freshen Steve up. The unintended side effect of which has of course been to make my already music-centric self even more so obsessed. The workday iPod swapping with a friend just fueled the fire - more new music to discover, another person to expose my excellent taste to, music talk all day, Gus returning to Texas… I had ignored the first round of SXSW music fest wristband sales, but when the second round went on sale, I got in the virtual line and got mine.

Thanks to the anti-scalping efforts of this year’s SXSW organizers, Austinites now have another favor to ask of friends that ranks right up there with “Will you help me move this weekend?” or “Can I crash on your couch for a week or two?”. Gone are the days of the line snaking around Waterloo records, where you paid for your wristband and were free to do with it as you saw fit. Now you pay for it online and pick it up at the convention center a week later where it is immediately snapped around your wrist. Only those with Austin ID can buy, and good luck trying to get the thing off and on to someone else.

The Interactive portion of SXSW is always the first to start, drawing geeks and bloggers and gamers from all over the world. Downtown parking, which has never been easy, becomes impossible. Austinites in general have a love/hate relationship with SXSW. Love that we get to see awesome films, hear amazing music, benefit from thousands of people in town for weeks; but yet hate that there are thousands of people in town for weeks. Which is why when I rattled off the list of things we needed to do Sunday afternoon, I casually mentioned the one little stop I needed to make… and absolutely waited until after we had left the house and were in the car to do it.

Parking was relatively easy, requiring only a few laps around the block dodging badge-wearing SXSW’ers. Armed with instructions on which exhibit hall the music fest wristbands were in, Roomie and I entered the convention center and headed straight for it. Being the Interactive fest, it was geek central. Bloggers everywhere - playing with Legos, leaned up against the wall typing away on their laptops (no doubt blogging), talking on Blackberrys (look! I have one too!!), every single one of them texting, probably all to Twitter. (Hey, when in Rome…)

“You two look lost” said the woman handing out booklets when Roomie and I walked into the massive exhibit hall. He probably did have a blank what-the-hell-is-this-shit-she’s-gotten-me-into-now look on his face; me, my look was more of a OH MY GOD IT’S A ROOM FULL OF GEEKS PLAYING VIDEO GAMES HOW LONG HAS THIS BEEN HERE AND WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME? Having zigged when we should have zagged, we walked into the ScreenBurn 2008 arcade, and well, it’s pretty much what I just said. Roomie responded to the nice lady by telling her we were looking for the wristbands, to which she nicely pointed us in the right direction. But of course, if we’re here…

“I… I… wouldn’t mind taking a look around for a… while…” I said as I took a booklet from the woman up front, got the eye roll from Roomie and went on my way. “Remember sweetie, they don’t know what to do with a pretty girl” he cautioned. Warnings were unnecessary as I didn’t find anything that peaked my interest, other than the games of course.

I’ve often given thought to attending the Interactive Fest, as those are clearly my people - heck, they’re OUR people, they blog! - but haven’t since I didn’t consider myself official enough. But um, that’s dumb. For multiple reasons. And much like the music sharing getting me to the music festival, I think my little taste of the Interactive Fest might have me coming back next year for more.

And it’s not just for the ratio, I swear.

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My Valentine’s morning was filled with secrets and scheming:

“I’m not asking for a commitment from you. I’m asking do you want to go?”
“I’d love to go, but I can’t say for sure that we can go. Or when would be the best time to go. I can’t make a decision without speaking to him first.”
“Really? We have to wait for him? We can’t do this on our own?”
“Do you know how much trouble I would get in for that? I’m essentially married. I can’t do things like that!”
“I know honey. Really, I do. You know how I feel about long-range planning! I don’t even know where I’m going to be in August! And I don’t like to be pressuring you. But… you do understand these are behind home plate, right? You understand the significance of the net if we take baby with us? I can’t guarantee these seats will be available this afternoon, that’s all.”

I have always thought people taking babies to baseball games was quite possibly one of the dumbest things you could do. I mean, I get it that it’s expensive to go to a game (especially after today!) but still - find a relative, find a friend, find SOMEONE. Maybe it’s because I’m usually sitting right in prime foul ball territory and see it happen all the time there. This is quite possibly the worst place to have a baby in a ballpark. Never in a million years would I ever do that. *cough* I’m spending good money to take a 3 month old to a game he’ll never remember going to. But by God he’s going to be sitting right behind home plate in close proximity to a former president and behind a net. So I’m not a total hypocrite.

Yes, Pokerwolf came closest with his guess… it’s not a season ticket package, but the Astros had a single game ticket presale this morning, mailing out the password to those on the newsletter list at dawn. My list was short - not that many games on this year’s schedule I really want to make it too, but my standards for where I sit when I do make it to a game are high. And opening day was a priority. Sadly, that was shot down early, as my standards for seating were not being met - those will have to come via some other means. But for the rest of the games I wanted - Diamondbacks, Mets, & Red Sox - only a couple of those should have a problem.

The Mets were surprisingly easy. The Red Sox tickets had been put up for a lottery along with the Yankees tickets and were sold the day before - the remainders still not available to the general public. More ticket tilt. That only left me with the Diamondbacks, and I was having to wait for Baby’s Daddy to call for his daily lunch check-in before I could get a go-ahead. My plans of bank account emptied and ticket coffers filled was pretty much crushed at this point. All that buildup and excitement…

While midway through the chat with Baby, another manager walked by and saw the Astros site up on our screen and it was then I discovered one of the IT guys had neglected to let me in on a little detail yesterday:

“Hey, you know James won the lottery to buy the Yankees and Red Sox tickets, right?”
“…. WHAT?”
“Yeah, he got em yesterday.”
“Lucy… I’ll be right back.”
{brief run to IT}
“OH HAI… did you forget to mention something to me???”

By the end of the day, while I didn’t spend near the amount I planned on tickets, nor did I get all the ones I wanted, I got the important ones - Baby’s First Game (should scheduling allow) - and a pretty solid lead for the ones I couldn’t get. So overall, mission accomplished for the day.

What?

Oh, and yes, there was chocolates and flowers and what not too.

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If you read Betty Underground (and if you don’t, what in the hell is wrong with you?) then you’re no doubt familiar with the weekly Photo Project that she, F-Train, and I have undertaken. If not, here’s a quick fill-in: each week we have a theme, we take a picture relating to said theme - done. This past week the theme was up to us, and I snapped a picture of my favorite shoes. One picture in particular led Betty to comment that it was “like a self portrait”.

F-Train was a bit confused why.

Maybe this conversation from today will help explain it to you F-Train…

Him: “You know what Thursday is, right?”

Me: “Yes… Do you?” [It's two things, actually. One of which is far more important to me than the other.]

“Oh, I know. Have you got a plan?”

“Yea…” [Ignore everything and everyone until I've gotten all I want.] “There are still a few things I need to decide on, but that won’t be hard - will just take me a few minutes that morning really. I’m really not much of a long-range planner, so I’m always a little nervous committing myself with large purchases months in advance, but for things like this you’ve just got to do it really, ya know? I mean, to be sure you get what you want.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” [No sweetheart, I don't think you do...]

“Yep, so now all I need is the password really.”

“Wait. What? Password? What are we talking about exactly?”

I’ll tell ya tomorrow.

____________________________________________________________

On a completely unrelated side note, a big thanks to Buddy Dank for having me on the show tonight. If you’re not listening to the show, you’re really missing out on a good time. Tune in tonight during the Mookie!

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