Feeling the Heat

Saying it's hot here in Texas in the summer is a ridiculous understatement. There just aren't words to convey just how truly brimstone-like the weather is here in August. I got a rude awakening yesterday when I schlepped my be-suited, be-stockinged, be-heeled self a few blocks on foot to go to an interview in downtown Houston. Don't get me wrong - Houston is awesome. Museums, theater, restaurants, bars, shopping. It's all here. But I had no idea what I was in for when I parked in a garage a few blocks from the building where I would be interviewing. I haven't been downtown enough yet to understand how the addresses work on the streets. I walked one direction and it seemed like the addresses were going down. So I walked the other direction and seemed like the addresses started going up, but then they seemed to start going down again. I stopped a man who was rushing into a building (no doubt to escape the inferno-like heat of the Houston afternoon) and asked him which direction should I go for the address I was trying to find. He had no idea. He mumbled something about Main Street. Um. I didn't ask about Main Street. Perhaps he was doing some calculation in his head that I wasn't aware of and the only words he could access at the time were Main and Street. Or perhaps he'd been in the heat and sunshine too long and his brain had melted in his skull like a glob of pink goo. I could certainly relate to that. Perhaps Main Street was some kind of code and he wanted to see if I could figure out what he meant. Anywho, the extreme heat and relentless sun (I'm not complaining, just stating a fact!) were doing a number on my body. Especially my feet. I could feel my stockinged feet rubbing against my shoes and if it wasn't for the sweat my feet were producing, my shoes would've caught fire. Or my stockings might have melted. I knew I'd have blisters the size of quarters on my feet when I got home. I needed to find the address where I needed to be pronto before my hair (and clothes) caught fire. I finally walked far enough in the right direction and found the building I was looking for with about 10 minutes or so to spare. By the time I arrived for the interview, my clothes and face were soaking wet with perspiration. Was I going to make a great first impression or what? I pulled some tissues out of my purse and swabbed my face. I could've wrung at least a cup of water out of them. What do you say at a time like that when you are shaking hands and meeting potential employers for the first time and you look like you were just hit with a water balloon? Only thing you can. So THIS is what it's like in Houston in the summer. I'm sure not in Seattle anymore!! Ha-ha-ha. Sorry I look like I've just been dunked in a water tank. Could I have a glass of water, please? My tongue doesn't usually stick to the roof of my mouth like this but you know, it's about 1000 degrees outside and I walked a few blocks here. By the way, if you're ever in downtown Houston and you're walking across the street a bit too slow, don't be surprised if the delivery trucks (or anybody driving a trunk for that matter) nearly run you over and then curse at you for walking too slow. I guess it wouldn't have mattered to him if I told him I had blisters on my feet and that I was from Seattle. Nawwwww. Probably not. And a foot note to the story: I believe I got the job.

Haak Vineyards and Winery

I visited my first winery in Texas yesterday. I was shocked to find that there is a wine grape hardy enough to grow in this hot and humid climate. It's called Blanc du Bois, which means white wood. They only grow about 3000 acres of the grape here, well, 40 miles south of here. It's a really nice winery and the folks working there were all friendly and were very attentive. They have a very nice air conditioned tasting room. But when they have larger groups, they have tables outside where they do the tastings. They keep the wines in large coolers packed in ice when they are doing the outsides tastings. I was there in the mid-afternoon and the temperature was around 95 so thank goodness for ice. I paid $15 for seven one-ounce tastes (they have 16 different wines to choose from) of my choice, and that included a tour of the winery (I actually saw wine barrels and stainless steel tanks and containers of the Blanc du Bois grapes), and a nice wine glass with the Haak Winery logo. After the tour, the young woman who conducted our tour took our group out to one of the tables on the patio to do our tastings. The young woman pouring the wines had no words for what the wines were supposed to taste like. Every wine she poured, she described as either “cherry” or “berry.” But, she was a good sport when I whispered in her ear the correct way to pronounce Tempranillo. I tried the dry Blanc du Bois, which was a bit too light for my palate but it wasn't bad. Next, I tried a Sauvignon Blanc that had nice citrus and tropical flavors with just the right amount of acid. Next was the “Pink Pelican,” which was a delicious Rose blended with the Blanc du Bois and Tempranillo grapes. It was perfect for the hot day. It really hit the spot with its strawberry nose and it tasted just like it smelled. Yum! Next, I tried the Tempranillo. It was spicy and earthy so I thought it was a pretty good facsimile of the varietal. Next, I tried their Malbec. It was good but nothing that I'd want to purchase. I tried the Cabernet Sauvignon next and I'm a HUGE Cab fan, but not of that one. It wasn't bad, just didn't have the "oomph" that I like in a big, juicy Cab. Last but not least, I tried one of their Madeiras. I had the white Madeira made from the Blanc du Bois grape. It was really good. It was sweet (but not cloying) and nutty and it made me want to sip it with a piece of pecan pie. At 20% alcohol, you wouldn't want to drink much of this one unless you are home with a bed nearby. We were told that there are only a few wineries in the country that are allowed to make Madeira, and they’re one of them. They make 2 Madeiras, 1 white and 1 red, and 2 Ports, again 1 white and 1 red. If you’re not familiar with Madeira, it’s a fortified Portuguese wine that is made in the Madeira Islands. It can be made sweet or dry. After I tasted through the wines I chose, I had a glass of the “Pink Pelican” for $4. I also bought 3 bottles of that one since it was only $12 a bottle and they gave me a 5% discount for buying more than one. The other Rose/Blush wines were called “Red Crab” and “Purple Porpoise.” I plan to try those 2 the next time I visit them. I very much enjoyed my visit to Haak Vineyards and Winery and was glad I drove the 40 miles to visit them. They have concerts every Sunday evening so I plan to go back for the live music, as well as the wine very soon.

Dear Seattle

Dear Seattle, How are things going with you? Hopefully, most of the cloudy and rainy shite is behind you for a few months. I was thinking about you this morning (no, not missing you at all!) and thought I'd give you an update. I started a new job on May 22 with a company called EnerySys. They supply software for SCADA systems for the oil and gas industry. They do project management, and design control rooms (and furnish the hardware and software for the control rooms as well) for the oil and gas industry. I'm their first technical writer and apparently they're trying to work me to death. HA! I've been working every day since Memorial Day. I’m hoping to get a day off soon. I do like the job, though. It's a new industry for me so I'm learning, learning, learning. I LOVE that part of the job. I got an apartment just under 2 miles from the job site. I live in a place called Stafford, which is about 25 miles south of downtown Houston. There's not much to do here in Stafford (except go to the Fry's Electronics store, which I frequent, and eat at various restaurants) but I do love being so close to work. I plan to venture into downtown one of these days and experience some culture. Rumor has it, there are many things to do and see downtown. I’ve even joined a couple of meetup groups but haven’t had time yet to join them on an outing. One group is called Random Acts of Culture (clever) and the other is a wine tasting meetup group called Gusto. There is a wine growing area called “the Hill country” which is north, and which I plan to check out. That might be an overnight adventure. It is incredibly hot and humid here, which will take some getting used to but frankly, I love never having to wear a coat or sweater. Flip flops and A/C are my friends right now. There are many beaches about an hour or so south of me. Stewart beach in Galveston is a nice public beach and is only 60 miles. I've been there a couple of times and can't wait to go back. I went to lunch with a female coworker yesterday and got the inside scoop on the company. I’m trying to reserve judgment, but there seems to be a lot of turnover in the company. That’s not a good sign. Again, reserving judgment. Until the next update, I hope you are showing the Seattleites your beautiful, sunny side. Jude - The Newly Minted Texan

Thank goodness for pest control

Someone has to do it. Pest control, I mean. I called the apartment management today where I live to report my roach sightings. There were two over the weekend. The first was the big mo-fo that I slayed with a broom and a hiking boot (disgusting), and the second was a tiny, itty-bitty roach I found in my tub, which I crushed quite easily and quickly with a flip-flop. Done and done. However, when you have large roaches, and cute little baby roaches (isn’t everything cute when it’s a baby, except maybe a Cobra or a bird?), you have some breeding going on. Hence the calling and the reporting of said roaches. The pest-control people come out here on a weekly basis. That’s disturbing in its own right, but at least all you have to do is place a call and someone comes into your place (you don’t have to be at home) and sprays the “living areas” and places where roaches like to travel, and it’s comforting to know they take the pest issue seriously. I called today and they came into my apartment today and sprayed. My apartment smelled kind of funny but hopefully, no more roaches for a while. I mentioned it to a couple of my new co-workers this morning and I asked, “Is this a Texas thing?” One of the guys answered, “No, it’s a Houston thing.” WTF does that mean? I really was too afraid to ask what that meant, although I did Google it and found out that roaches are more of a “hot climate thing.” Oh, and I mentioned to the apartment complex management lady that I’m also getting bit a lot by mosquitoes in my apartment. She said, “Oh, those are an ongoing problem.” Really?? This means that I don’t even have to go outside to get eaten alive. Hmmm. Apparently, sunshine and warmth comes with a price, which I’m paying with my flesh. You see, mosquito bites on me turn into huge red, itchy welts. It’s not just a minor annoyance. Perhaps I need to eat more garlic. Sigh.

Roaches, Rodeo Drive, and Rest

I’ve discovered another con of living in Texas. Roaches. Big f-ing roaches. The mosquitoes are annoying as well, but the roaches are scary and can carry small children on their backs. Let me back up a little and explain. I moved into my new apartment on Thursday evening and it’s now Monday, so I’ve been busy settling in, getting everything put away, cooking my own meals again (YAY!), resting (the new memory foam mattress is a slice of heaven!), and generally trying to make my new place like home. After unpacking, I had a few boxes to break down. Unfortunately, my new apartment complex doesn’t offer recycling. Like I’ve said before, Texas is pretty awesome, but it isn’t perfect. So, feeling guilty, I’ve been throwing everything away, even boxes. I promise, I’ll try to find a recycling center. I don’t know if they exist around these parts, but I’m guessing there is one somewhere. Anywho, I was in my living room this morning breaking down the last few boxes and suddenly I saw a very large roach crawling up my wall. Gooseflesh broke out all over my arms. Heck, all over my body. I froze. I thought, in Jurassic Park, if you freeze, the T-Rex won’t see you. That was the only plan I could come up with on a moment’s notice. If I don’t move, the large roach will move along (but where to?) and he won’t come and eat my head off. Then the fight or flight response kicked in. I knew I couldn’t flee because, well, this is my apartment, not his. Fight it is! But how do you do battle with a large roach climbing up the wall? I have previous roach experience from living in Florida as a kid. And from living in Phoenix in the late 1990s. So it’s been quite a while since I’ve had to kill a roach. I didn’t have any insect spray. Would that even kill a roach? They’re probably immune. I couldn’t smash it with a shoe because it was nearly at the top of the wall. Thank goodness I bought a broom on Saturday. After a few moments of feeling icky and wanting to run away, I grabbed my broom and swatted the vile thing from the wall to the floor, praying silently and quickly that he didn’t take flight and try to eat my face off. Yes, Virginia, roaches can and do fly. I then proceeded to beat him with the broom while he scrambled for cover. He wasn’t going to get away. I had grabbed a hiking boot (glad I brought that from Seattle) and crushed him to death. Victory was mine! It occurred to me while I was cleaning up the mess that I will no longer be able to leave food (tomatoes, bananas, fruit of any kind) on my kitchen counter like I did in Seattle. The worst things I had to deal with pest-wise in Seattle were those annoying little fruit flies (which are actually tiny gnat-like things). And what could be going on in my apartment while I sleep, gulp, I don’t want to think about it. On to more fun subjects. Shopping! I live in a city called Stafford. Stafford is about 20-25 miles south of Houston. Stafford has some shopping. There’s a Wal-Mart (I’ve been buying a lot of my apartment essentials there), there’s a Walgreens, there’s a Fry’s Electronics (already bought some software for a Microsoft side-project and a shelf stereo from there), a movie theater (I am within walking distance of it!), and lots of other typical stuff you find in a typical city. But yesterday, wow, I discovered a Rodeo Drive-like shopping area in a city called Sugar Land. I’d heard that Sugar Land was a very rich area. It’s true. My apartment complex is right on the border of Stafford and Sugar Land. I went to Sugar Land because there is a Pier 1 Imports (my favorite store) there. It was only about 3 miles south of here, so piece of cake right? Um. Nope. The store was in a freaking shopper’s Mecca. There’s a giant shopping mall (what else would you expect in Texas?) that has free Valet parking for the entire complex. I drove around and around trying to find the Pier 1 Imports store. I finally stopped and asked a woman coming out of a store. She had no idea where it was. Then I stopped and asked the Valet parking guy. He had no idea either. Apparently, the rich folks shopping at the mall across the street with the free Valet parking wouldn’t dream of shopping at Pier 1. And the lady that’s usually barking out driving directions from my Garmin was unusually quiet. Apparently, she didn’t know exactly where the Pier 1 was either. I finally found the store and found exactly what I was looking for there. I needed a TV stand for my bedroom and found a nightstand but it easily doubles for a TV stand. I’ve also ordered a dining room table and one chair from Pier 1, and they’re supposed to be in by the end of next week. And my last subject: rest. I’d been sleeping on a futon, and then the floor for over a month. My step-brother and step-dad were nice enough to let me stay in their spare bedroom until I found a job and my own apartment so I don’t want to complain too loudly, but my poor back was ready to get back into a bed again. The memory foam mattress was worth the wait. I’ve been sleeping like a baby the last two nights. And speaking of mattresses, there are mattress stores in every strip mall, enclosed mall, ever corner, you can’t sling a dead cat without hitting a mattress store. I was curious about that so I asked my brother why all the mattress stores around here? About 50 miles from Houston, there is a city called Sealy. Yep, that’s where Sealy mattresses began. If you’re as curious about the world as I am, and you’re interested in reading the history of Sealy, you can go to this link http://www.sealy.com/About-Sealy/History-and-Heritage.aspx, or simply Google it. Have a great Memorial Day, everyone!

BBQ, border crossings, and buck naked bald men

As I said in a previous post, on my trip down to Texas from Seattle, I decided to stop in a couple of cities that I’d been wanting to see. One of those cities was NOT El Paso. The only reason I stopped in El Paso was to get something to eat and get some rest. I was really happy to see a Texas BBQ joint next to my hotel. I had never been to a Rudy’s before (they’re building one here in Katy – YAY!) and boy-howdy, what a treat! As soon as I walked in they started pushing samples of different types of BBQ’d meat at me. And samples of their version of creamed corn and some kind of spicy vegetarian chili. It was all so dag-gum good. It was a tough decision but I decided to go with the ribs. There were two kinds of sauce. There was the regular sauce and something called the Sissy sauce. I tried them both and I couldn’t decide which one I liked better so I alternated them the whole time I was chowing down on the ribs. Everything there was good, including the BBQ’d beans and the creamed corn. Rudy’s was the highlight of my stop in El Paso. After the boring drive from Tucson to El Paso, I was exhausted, so after pigging out on pork (HA!), I climbed in to the giant, comfy bed at the hotel and passed out. I woke up feeling pretty good and decided to get on the road first thing after a shower and breakfast. By 7:00am, I was back in Magnum and we were rolling on to I-10 with San Antonio set on the GPS as our next destination. I was happy to be leaving El Paso behind because from what I saw, there wasn’t much there except strip malls and lots of dust. After less than five minutes on the freeway, all lanes of traffic heading east came to a complete halt. WTF? And I had just started seeing very large signs announcing border crossings in to Mexico. For some reason, I started to get nervous. Did I accidently get into a Mexico border crossing lane? I turned on the radio to see if there was news about the traffic jam. It was still pretty cool, about 70 degrees (funny how your perspective of what’s cool changes pretty quickly after leaving the Pacific Northwest), so I rolled the window down. I couldn’t find anything on the radio about what the traffic jam was all about, but I did get to hear lots of perky voices speaking Spanish and who doesn’t like happy-sounding Mexican music? After about 15 or 20 minutes stuck in the traffic jam, moving very slowly, making almost no progress, I hear a man yelling HELP! HELP! at the top of his lungs. I look around to see where it’s coming from. In the lanes on the freeway traveling the opposite way, the traffic was moving much better than the direction I was headed, and running down I-10 in the middle of swiftly moving traffic, I see the source of the yelling. It’s a Hispanic man, naked from the waist up, covered in tattoos, bald head, yelling HELP! and trying to grab onto every vehicle that whizzes by him. I fully expected to see someone run the guy down, then I saw a bunch of police cars speeding down the freeway after him. I had become very invested in the half-naked yelling man saga that was happening right next to me. Then the traffic started moving again. Dang it. I’ll never know what that was all about. The traffic jam on my side of the freeway was about three smashed cars right in the middle of I-10. So at least I found out what was going on there, and I wasn’t accidently in a lane to go across the Mexico border. That was a relief. But not as much of a relief as it was to get some miles between me and El Paso.

San Diego is not just full of bat-shit crazy people

On my trip down to Texas, I decided to stop in a couple of cities that I’d been wanting to see. One of them was San Diego. If you’ve never been to San Diego, put it on your bucket list. It’s truly a tropical paradise. I stayed about a block from the water. I parked Magnum in the hotel garage and never moved him while I was there. I walked everywhere so I was able to see, smell, and feel the flora, and of course, the glorious sunshine. The first thing I did when I got there, after checking in at the hotel, was to walk the three blocks to a neighborhood called “Little Italy.” Little Italy is a very cool part of town with a bunch of restaurants, pizza places, coffee shops, and wine bars. My kind of place! I walked around first to see what my options were for eating and drinking. I wasn’t really hungry, though. I was craving a glass of wine and hoping to get lucky enough to chat up a local. I spied a restaurant with a wine bar that looked like an interesting place and ducked in. I ordered a glass of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc and took in the scenery. The restaurant was Italian (duh!) and it looked like a scene from Venice. I was in luck! There was what appeared to be a local sitting at the bar having a glass of wine and reading a book. I wasn’t sure if he would be open to chatting with me since he seemed to be engrossed in his reading. After a few minutes, though, he started chatting with the bartender. I waited for my opening. He finally paused for a bit and I told him I was from Seattle and was hoping he could recommend a good restaurant in the area. That’s all it took. He was more than willing to share his knowledge of San Diego, restaurants, neighborhoods, and his political views. Wait. I didn’t ask about his politics. I listened politely to all of his super radical ideas about, “If I was God, this is how things would be run” (his exact words), because I didn’t want him to think that I was rude or impolite. He even had a few really good ideas. Such as, Congress shouldn’t be allowed to make any new laws; they should only have the ability to remove existing laws that are crappy laws anyway. He said that Congress should only be able to meet three weeks out of the year. In summer. When it’s the hottest time of the year. And they have to meet someplace without air conditioning. By golly, things would get done in Washington, DC! Congressmen (and women) could only serve one term. As a matter of fact, all politicians could only serve one term. That way, they wouldn’t be in office long enough to figure out how to use the system to their advantage. It would cut down on corruption, he said. After several more minutes of his ideas on how to run the country, I finally said, “You’ve given this a lot of thought.” This is code for: “I’m drinking my glass of wine as quickly as possible and I’m getting the heck out of here. Please God, don’t let him have a gun.” He smiled and said, “Yes” to my comment. Then he moved on to how he’d solve the drug problem in our country. He said that it’s a simple matter of supply and demand. He said because there is a demand for drugs, there will always be a supply. But if you changed it around by killing anyone caught doing drugs, therefore eliminating the demand, the supply would dry up. Not only did he think anyone caught doing drugs should be killed, immediately, but they should be executed on television. This includes everyone in our country. He thinks we shouldn’t discriminate. If a ten-year-old is caught smoking pot, then execute the ten-year-old on television. Wow. My first opportunity to chat up a local and he turns out to be bat-shit crazy. Oh well, I’ve always said that I’m a moron magnet. Some things never change. The next day was awesome, though. I went to the San Diego Maritime Museum, which is a bunch of really old ships and boats on the water. I walked over to another neighborhood called the “Gaslamp Quarter.” Very cool part of town with lots of restaurants, shops, bars, and there’s a Ghirardelli store where you can get ice cream concoctions as well as their fantastic chocolate bars. I stumbled upon a cool liquor store called “The Wine Bank.” They sold more than just wine, but they had a really nice selection of vino, including several varietals from Chronic Cellars, the California wine club to which I belong. I snagged a couple of bottles of the Purple Paradise, a zinfandel/petite sirah blend. YUM! I went to an “Anthony’s Seafood” restaurant on the water for lunch the first day. In case you’re wondering, this restaurant is not related to the “Anthony’s” around the Seattle area. I asked the bartender and got some non-bat-shit crazy history of San Diego. I guess my moron magnet needed recharging after the previous night. I went back to “Little Italy” one more time and had dinner and a glass of red wine. I had a pork belly dish that was amazing and a beet dish that was equally as good. The weather was so perfect at around 72 for a high and sunshine and water as far as the eye could see. I did see a few homeless people, which was not surprising since the weather there is so nice, and given the economy. But for the most part, they left me alone. I noticed there were lots of police in the area around my hotel and around the “Little Italy” area. Leaving San Diego, I felt sad for having to leave so soon but I was only about half way to my final destination, so I knew I had to get back on the road. Wrapping my shoulder harness in a maxi pad, I got back on the road and waved to San Diego. I didn’t say goodbye, I said, until next time!

Aliens and giants: part two

Continued from "Aliens and giants: part one." Still squatting, I look up at my brother and squint because the sun is shining in my eyes. I’m sure he’s lying because he’s jealous that I found the alien and not him. Behind Danny I see a giant walking towards us. He’s carrying a long, metal weapon in one hand. It’s hard to see what the giant is carrying in the other hand because the sun is glinting off the metal and shining in my eyes. I’m pretty sure it’s a severed head he’s carrying, dangling from his grip on its hair. Should I turn into a mermaid with beautiful, shiny green and blue scales so I can swim away before the giant can get us? He probably has a collection of shrunken heads at home like the ones I’ve seen at the wax museum in St. Petersburg. Will I be one of his shrunken heads dangling from around his neck? Will he grind my bones to make “oh juice” for his soup? I’m much too little and skinny to make a decent meal for a giant. I prepare for the sound of crunching and tearing and see my own blood spurting from my headless neck. I hope this doesn’t hurt too much. Daddy says, “Come on you guys. Let’s go. We’re going fishing now.” He sees the dead floating alien and leans over to look at it with us. “Hammerhead. Fisherman probably caught him and dumped him.” I know that daddy would never lie to me so I guess Danny was telling the truth. Reluctantly, I leave the dead alien/hammerhead shark for the gulls and crabs to finish. I tag along behind daddy and Danny as we walk under the Tampa Bay Bridge with our fishing poles and our bait bucket. A hammerhead shark. I’d seen the regular kind of sharks before with the big jaws and teeth. I’d even found shark’s teeth on the beach and in the fields on daddy’s farm. How would it feel to have the jaws of a shark crunching down around my leg? Would I wind up in his belly next to an old shoe, a license plate, some tin cans, and a few hundred anchovies like Jonah in the Bible? If I didn’t die from the shark bite, I could have something even more interesting than arrowheads and shark’s teeth for show-and-tell at school. My classmates would gather round me and gawk at my scar while I told my story about how I managed to escape (just barely, mind you) going down the gullet of a large, hungry man-eating shark, or in my case, a little girl-eating shark. I imagine them hanging on my every word. I’d be the most popular girl at school for at least a week. I might even get out of homework for a while. It just might be worth it. To be continued...

How to embarrass yourself in front of Border Patrol

Being short has some disadvantages. You learn to cope. Being mature has some advantages. You learn to improvise. On my drive from Seattle to Texas, I had to improvise. After driving for 11 hours straight (except for bathroom breaks and for lunch), my shoulder harness was digging into my neck and I looked like someone was trying to behead me with a very dull knife. My neck was so sore by day two of my trip I decided I needed to adjust my shoulder harness lower. Next pit stop, I tried to adjust the shoulder harness but discovered it was as low as it would go. Time to improvise. I looked around my car to find something to wrap around the harness to keep it from digging into my neck. Maxi pads have many uses. Besides embarrassing the opposite sex, they make great shoulder harness pads! I had a maxi pad wrapped around my shoulder harness for about a week while I made the journey from Northern California to Houston, Texas. After traveling so many miles, you get used to whatever improvisations you’ve made. You get into kind of a traveler’s rhythm. So when I was stopped twice by border patrol, once in Arizona, and once in Texas, I had completely forgotten about my makeshift shoulder harness pad. Border patrol guy: “Are you a US citizen?” Me: “Yes.” Border patrol guy: “Okay. Have a great day.” Me: “Thank you.” Wait. That was way too easy. Granted, I am the whitest person on the planet. Hey! I lived in Seattle for 12 years. I would burst into flames if I came in contact with the sun there. Sunshine was a rare commodity, to say the least. But still, I didn’t need to prove anything. Why didn’t that border patrol guy make eye contact with me after he looked in at me? Then it hit me. I had a large maxi pad (is that redundant?) wrapped around my shoulder harness to protect my neck. I laughed so hard it brought tears to my eyes. If you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at? :)

Aliens and giants: part one

Something dead is floating in the inlet. I rush over and squat on my haunches to inspect the find. The thing is long and gray. It’s an alien that crashed in the bay. I wonder if it died from the crash to earth or if it lost its alien helmet and died from our poisonous air. Aliens can’t possibly breathe the same kind of air as humans. I wonder where its family is right now. Did they stay home on their planet? Are they waiting for their daddy to come home? Mama aliens wouldn’t venture to another planet. Mamas have to stay home and take care of the babies. I poke it with my flip flop. The alien rolls over and I can see one of its eyes is missing. A seagull or possibly a crab has made a snack of it. Other than the missing eye, it’s pretty much in one piece. Looking out at the ocean, I wonder where this alien’s spaceship is and if can still fly into outer space. I’m only five but I’ve seen lots of UFOs. When my sister and brothers and I put our sleeping bags on the driveway and look up at the night sky, sometimes we see lights that do weird things. They’re up there big and bright, and then they disappear in thin air just like they were never there at all. Other times we see bright lights that move really fast across the sky. I know there are UFOs and aliens because I’ve seen them on Shock Theater and The Outer Limits. I hear something behind me. Could it be another alien from the crashed spaceship? “Whadja find?” I turn around to see my brother, Danny. He’s looking at the alien floating in the water. I don’t want him to see it. This is my discovery and I know I’ll be famous when everyone hears that I’ve found a real live, well, not live, but a real alien. “It’s a dead alien and one of his eyes is gone,” I say quickly. Danny gives a sort of snorting laugh. “That’s not an alien, dummy. That’s a hammerhead shark.” To be continued...

A liberal in a strange land

Seattle Wine Muse here. I've recently moved to Texas. When I say recent, I mean this is week three. VERY recent. It would be an understatement to say, "we're not in Seattle anymore, Toto." Mayhaps you're thinking, WTF? Why would anyone move from Seattle (THE most liberal, Godless city in the US. Possibly even the world, if you listen to CNN or FOX) to Texas (think opposite of liberal). It is a bit of a culture and mental shift. I'm keeping an open mind. I'm not judging. I'm trying to keep a journalistic eye on events, places, people, food, pretty much everything I encounter here. Will the world come to an end if I hear, "Obama is an idiot" one more time? Probably not. If it did, however, I wouldn't have to feel guilty anymore for throwing food away when children are starving in Africa, China, or India. My carbon footprint wouldn't matter anymore either. Many things are different here. One of the ways I cope with change is to write about it. It helps keep me sane. It's free therapy. This new blog will be my free therapy while I'm adjusting to the major changes I'm going through right now. I hope anyone reading this doesn't take offense. I'm not doing this to offend anyone from the south or anyone from Texas. If you're a jerk and you read this and you're offended, then I meant to do that. Not apologizing. Now to get to the meat of this post. Here are some early observations from a Liberal in a Strange Land: 1. The only things more annoying than a Texan in a giant pickup truck riding my a$$ in traffic are the mean and nasty mosquitos who have a propensity to silently, invisibily, and painlessly dine on my blood. 2. If you enjoy not smelling like an ashtray, be careful where you dine and drink. Houston is smoke-free. The burbs are not. 3. Everything truly is bigger in Texas. Especially the peoples' waistlines. 4. The local liquor stores are awesome because the state doesn't own them. There is an abundance of spirits, wine, beer, and promises of alcohol tastings several times a week. The follow-through is a different story. Not all promised tastings actually happen. Perhaps it's the hot climate. "Are you going to do that wine tasting at Spec's Liquor store today Margaret?" "Maybe. It's awfully hot today. Maybe not. 5. People are friendly here. Until they see you have tattoos. Then they stare at you like you have three heads and have an arm growing out of your back. Unless they are young women between the ages of 18 - 23. Then they love your tattoos and tell you. Everywhere you go. 6. Thunderstorms here have actual thunder. Loud thunder. And lightening. And the major highways have signs telling you not to drive on them when the water gets a certain depth. I'm taking their word for it. 7. When the temperature "cools down" to the low 80s or upper 70s, it's time to turn the AC off and open the windows and doors. Make sure your screens don't have holes (see observation number 1). This ends the first "free therapy" session. There will be more. Stay tuned.