Drinking Sure Is Fun. Can I List It Under “Hobbies?”

I love it when Austin is named the “Best of…” anything. We’re usually on lists of best cities to live in, best city for singles (that’s bullshit, BTW), best city ever, and the like. But I was particularly proud when the Center for Disease Control, the ones who fought the monkey in Outbreak, named Austin the hardest drinking city in America. Okay, well, technically Forbes magazine complied the data from the CDC and made a slideshow out of it, but its a lot cooler when you say the CDC did it.

But ANYWAY.

Now, I was actually kinda proud when I read this. Is that a bad thing? Should I be concerned about this? Yes, having a large contingent of drinkers leads to more bad things like alcohol-related fatalities and drunk girls taking pictures with Leslie, but as the article points out, ” A top-drinking town could be populated by health-conscious adults who sip a glass of wine a day in order to keep their hearts healthy. And just downing a few cold ones doesn’t make a person irresponsible.” So there. Drinking is okay! The CDC says so!

But just the fact that we beat cities like New York and Miami and New Orleans makes me wonder a bit about this list. I guess we have more drinkers per capita but it still seems to me like other cities would be higher. And yeah, UT contributes a lot since college students are drunk 23/7 and the drinking lessons you learn in college take a while to go away (what is this “one drink with dinner” thing everyone talks about?). But Austin is so much more than just UT. Think about college towns where all that’s there is a college. I would think they would have a higher per capita alcohol intake than Austin.

In the interest of science, I though about everything I drank over the weekend. Here is a list:

Friday: two strawberry daiquiris, one rum and diet, one Jim Beam and diet
Saturday: three(ish) Jim Beams and diets, six(ish) Molson Lights (that’s damn good
beer)
Sunday: One Bud Light (they were out of Miller), two Lone Stars

That’s not really so much, is it? In fact I think thats FAR less than what I usually drink, or what other people around me drink. I’m kinda ashamed that I wasn’t able to drink more, actually.

So this is obviously a cry for help. You can catch me at the Methodist Church on Thursday evenings. My name is Austin.

Odds and Ends 5: Odder and Endier

-It wasn’t so much a new favorite book I was looking for, methinks, than a new favorite author. I compiled a list of books that were my favorite and found that I had quite a few. I just really don’t have that author that I can turn to for anything anymore, and that might be what I miss the most. So who’s a good author? Cause I gots me a shit ton of books. 

-When I was at home a few weeks ago, I saw The X-Files: I Want to Believe with my mom and sister. I was going to do a full post on it, but I didn’t figure anyone would really care, and they shouldn’t: the movie wasn’t too good. I love me some X-FIles, but it has to be, you know, supernatural and shit. The movie was like an episode of CSI. There were no aliens, no ghosts, no monsters, no nothing. Just a couple of gay guys that killed people to steal their organs so one lover could help the other into a new female body (sorry I spoiled it, but you weren’t going to see it and you know it!). So we moved on from aliens to killer gays. Orson Scott Card would have approved, I think. But the movie was just BORING, and it makes me sad that the franchise, for all intents and purposes, is dead at the movies since it made less money than I do. Now, I don’t mind talking or any of that kinda stuff. And the themes and everything were very close to the series. But, you know, throw in a flippin’ alien! 

-So the Fundamentalist Latter Day Saints (the ones who had all those children that were taken from them, if you remember), have a clothing store. Which rocks, cause those chicks were sporting some very becoming dresses. When the ’80s and eventual ’90s revival comes and goes, I think the 1800s frontier revival will be right behind them. So, I was all prepared to buy me some overalls and magic underwear. But there’s no clothing in the men’s section! Seriously, mormons. What a cock tease. Maybe I can just order a really large size of the boy’s pajamas. 

-Watched Project Runway for the first time the other day. I wasn’t terribly impressed, but my heart kinda fell for Tim Gunn. If he ever gets his own show, where we don’t have to put up with shitty designers who talk about themselves in the third person, I am totally there! 

-This might, might, be my most boring post ever. I think I will call it Just Like the City: I Want to Believe I Will Have Something Interesting To Say Again One Day. 

-So, Wordle lets you put in a bunch of text and make pictures out of it. Say you put in the text of a book. The site figures out which word is used the most, and that word is biggest in the picture and so on. You can also input a URL, so I did my site. I think it only accounts for the first page, since I didn’t talk about weddings that much. But here’s the current first page of my website, in picture form:

-Seriously, I had nothing to say! I just posted something cause I felt something needed to be posted. But, things will get more interesting soon! Cause TV season is coming up! (but Friday Night Lights and Lost won’t be back for a while). And football season! And birthday season! So many birthdays pile up at the end of the year. Screwing around at Christmas leads (approximately) to August babies, New Years to September babies (that’s right, you were probably conceived drunk!), Valentines Day to October babies (or in my case, probably my mom’s birthday…shudder), and so on. I might be a little off on some of these dates. These are only preliminary findings. I will publish my full paper in scientific journals shortly.

A Fairly Memorable Weekend Part Three: The Wedding

And now, the conclusion of my epic, three-day recount of one wedding. This one took a while to write and it’s, um, long? I also found that, when I’m doing something in a series, it is really hard to finish the last part. As I said before, I don’t want to leave a lot of details out cause I want to remember them. Also, I clearly have nothing better to do. I have expended more words and more energy on these posts than I have on letters to my family members over the course of my life (not counting graduation thank yous cause those were, like, a lot).

Anyway. I’m going to have to speed through all this really fast, cause there is a lot to tell (I think).

SATURDAY

We wake up, have breakfast, attempt to finish the movie we started last night. There’s electricity in the air and it’s all very exciting. But before the big event, there are some last minute errands to run. We take the dogs, Lily (who once shat on my bed) and Emma (who’s mustache smells like a chum bucket) to the boarding place, or “doggie spa” as my mom calls it. I don’t know if you’ve ever done this before, but it’s incredibly sad. The dogs just assume that you are leaving them forever and I guess it doesn’t help that I kept reminding the dogs that Billy was never coming back. We then head to 7-11 for Big Gulps (I know, I know. I don’t want to leave out details!). The lady at the register asks what we’re doing today and we both just laugh hysterically at her. Poor woman. She probably thinks we were making fun of her accent.

Billy decides he needs a pocket watch so we can all take a ridiculous picture later on of all the groomsmen waiting for a train or something. We head all the way up to Lakeline Mall, get the watch, pick up a few more presents from Dillard’s, and then stop by Thundercloud for lunch. Billy orders his sandwich with onions. On his wedding day. So we get back to his place, eat, watch TV, shower, fellow groomsman Chris comes over, and we all head to Target because I don’t have an undershirt. And then we head for the venue.

The place was called Kindred Oaks and it is out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in that undefined void that is the combination of Round Rock, Georgetown, and Cedar Park. Where do these towns begin? Where do they end? No one knows! Though we drove just a short distance, it really does feel like we are roughing it out in the country now. All eight of us have to get dressed in a room the size of a postage stamp, while the bridesmaids get like a locker room or something equally huge. Seriously. It was sexism on a level that is staggering in this day and age. I managed to stick my hand in the ceiling fan while I was putting on my coat and almost lobbed it off. It would have been the right one this time. My, wouldn’t that be something. I also had to sneak out and put on the neon green American Apparel undies that The Gretch presented me, since I promised her. They felt funny. But quite comfortable and cotton-y.

So we all take a shot of bourbon or whatever the hell it was and get lined up. I’m compressing time here. We sat around for a few hours and just, well, dressed. So we line up. No one payed attention the night before so who the heck knows what we are supposed to do. We run through the show. Mistakes are made. My escort, the maid of honor and Gretchen’s sister, isn’t even out here. But we get it all figured out and take pictures. The photographer was actually a friend of Morgan’s whom I had met several weeks earlier but did not remember now but knew I had seen her somewhere. The other photographer was…married. Sigh. My parents and Morgan show up. I say hi and run back inside. Later, I will be told that I was shaking and Jill thought I was possible doing lines of coke in the back. Well, what can I say? I loves me the ’80s! Oh, and we take the picture of us and our stopwatches. I trust it was funny.

I’ve been typing forever and I feel I’m getting nowhere! We line up again, we walk to the altar, nothing crazy happens, everyone in the audience is amazed by how absolutely beautiful everyone is. We’re all lined up and the big moment was here. Gretchen chose a white dress for the occasion, a little unorthodox I’ll admit, but she was stunning. Stunning! The whole thing sorta happened in a blur. The only thing I really remember was Jamey telling me not to look at him, which I immediately did. Long story short, they got married. And it was very nice. And very short. And I am so incredibly happy for them. But I’ve got to save my typing energy for the after party!

Since the combined total of all the family members plus the bridal party was somewhere in the three figure range, taking pictures took quite a bit of time. In fact I think it was longer than the actual ceremony. We frolicked in a field, we stepped over deer poop, I sneaked out to the bar really fast while everyone was waiting on us so they could eat, etc etc. Finally all the pictures are done, we enter the dining area (they even called out names and everything), and the reception had begun!

The meal was very nice, I have no real idea what it was since I was just shoving everything onto my plate and trying to get to the open bar ASAP, but I remember everything tasting very good and thinking to myself, “Hm, I should really find out what this stuff is!” I was also running all over the place and talking to people in between bites. In retrospect, I probably did resemble a coke head, much more than I did last Halloween. Then came the toasts which were sweet. I’m really glad I didn’t have to make one because A) I wasn’t prepared to make one and B) in light of what happened at lunch the next day I probably would have lost it.

And then the dancing starts. Now, Billy’s family is Peruvian. That means they are from Peru. And they can dance (because the stereotypes say they can). Better than me. I’m partially Slavic. That means I’m white. Morgan, honorary “south of the border”-ite that she is, tries to teach me the dance moves. My whiteness and the cocaine make this impossible. So I’m dancing some half-assed version of whatever dance we are trying to do. I dance with mom and Jill, who make me feel a little better cause, hey, they’re white too! But all the dancing was a blast. I was doing good until the swing music started. Now, the way I dance to swing is just to move around uncontrollably. This, coupled with the alcohol, food, drugs, no sleep, and excitement of it all, made me feel a bit, um, sick. So I had to sit out a few numbers. Mom, Dad, and Jill leave, so now the party can really get started, right? I dedicate “Sexy Back” to The Gretch and it moves everyone out to the dance floor. The DJ was really good. He played “Don’t Stop Believing,” which people don’t so much dance to but scream the words at the top of their lungs. Seriously, has there ever been a song that brings people together in quite the same way? I move to make it our national anthem. That would scare the SHIT out of the terrorists. There’s more dancing, some slow, some fast. Billy’s dad, who has been nothing but incredibly nice to me the entire weekend, is quite impressed with Morgan and I. I’m pretty sure more so Morgan than me, and I’m pretty sure Billy has told him absolutely nothing about me.

Bouquet toss. I have no idea who got it. It landed right in front of Morgan but she just stepped away. Garter throw. Billy’s cousin Hugo gets it. My arm almost gets broken again in the process. There are a few more dances and then, just like that, it’s all over. We send the bride and groom off on their way, not with rice but with bells. Yeah, I was confused to. And people just stood around ringing them like we were third graders or something. But all in all, it was a blast and the second best wedding I’ve ever been to (my aunt Karen’s will always be the best, for many, many reasons).

Panic! I’ve lost my coat! I put it on one of the tables but everyone is cleaning up now and my coat has been removed. Also, just about everyone else has already headed back to the hotel. That thing is going to cost me $300!. The people at the venue are no help at all, so I just assume that maybe someone picked it up and it’s back at the hotel. I change very quickly and head that way.

Rickey, Billy’s cousin, had it all along! So now I can relax and enjoy the after party, which might have been the most fun event of the entire weekend. We start out in someone’s hotel room and there’s like thirty people in there. All drinking. And we’re partying like rock stars. So we obviously get kicked out and sent down to the lobby. But the hotel staff was really nice. They even gave us ice and everything! I’m pretty much unable to drink at this point, as I’m absolutely exhausted and haven’t had anything for hours. But still had a blast. All the friends were there, all the family, pretty much exclusively the under-30 set (the old ones passed out way long ago). It was so much fun, I even made friends with an Aggie and a Sooner! Aggies I can handle, but a Sooner! AND I ACTUALLY WISHED HIM LUCK NEXT SEASON! I WAS CORDIAL! Oy vey. Nice guy though.

So at around two, everyone is starting to drift off, so I say bye to everyone and head back to my apartment to sleep in my bed for the first time in three days. I tell everyone that I have a long drive back, maybe 15-20 minutes. They all laugh, being Houstonites that they are, where the average time of commute is between 40 minutes and sometime next week.

SUNDAY

I’ll make this part short, as it’s just a little coda. Everyone gathers at The Oasis for a final meal before the couple goes off to Vancouver. The Houstonites are quite impressed with the place. They’re all, “you must come here like every weekend. It’s so close! And so cheap!” And I’m all, “Um, no.” The place is nice and all, but, um, no. So we’re drinking, eating, I finally get to talk to Billy’s uncle for a bit (the camera operator).

Everyone starts to leave, which is sad cause I’ve made friends with all these people over the weekend, and we step outside to take a few pictures. Billy, Gretchen, and I take one together. And I turn to them to wish them happiness and “have a good time” and all that stuff and, um, I started crying. Yeah, I know. I’m talking crying, making an ass of myself. I really am so happy for them and glad that I got to be a part of such a great weekend. So there, everyone. I cried. I’m now one of those people that fucking cries at weddings. Now you know what can make me cry: weddings and Friday Night Lights.

THE END…?

So that was my past weekend, in a nutshell. Please, someone else get married! It’s fun! And I promise not to do so much cocaine this time. And congrats again to Billy and Gretchen. You guys are the best!

A Fairly Memorable Weekend Part Two: The Rehearsal Dinner

For full enjoyment of the following post, please scroll down to the previous entry and read, since this is sort of the sequel. Also, I realized that most people probably don’t want to read multiple posts on a wedding they did not know about or attend. But this is mostly for me, since this blog is pretty much my diary, so the details of the weekend won’t entirely slip away. You have to admit, though. It is entertaining, right?

So brief summary: Thursday was the bachelor party. That should catch you up.

FRIDAY

My eyes pop open at 7:30ish and I know immediately that I will not be feeling my best today. In fact, I might actually be sick. There’s a guy in a suit stepping over the bodies that litter the living room floor. Apparently Eric’s boyfriend was there all night as we yelled and ate all his food. So he probably hates us because he’s leaving for work and is stepping over bodies like the plague hit and he’s a UNICEF worker. But I can’t think about that right now because I am contemplating backing out of the wedding. There’s no way I’m going to be good to go by Saturday, or ever again for that matter.

I try to drift off to sleep again but it hurts too much. My insides want to be on the outside. But I don’t throw up because I rarely ever throw up. It probably would have helped. But I think maybe I should because Billy did it when we got him back last night and he looked like he was enjoying it. So I stumble to the bathroom and try but I can’t because puking scares me too much and I will do anything to avoid it. So I dress, put my glasses on (no contacts today, that’s for damn sure), place a hat on my greasy ass head, kinda sort of brush my teeth (cause the toothpaste is making me sick), and head back to the living room. Just about everyone is up now, minus the groom. Everyone has a dazed look on their face, none of us quite sure what had happened the night before or where the hell we even were. My guess was somewhere in Texas but I wasn’t 100% on that.

But we have to get Billy up cause we have to get to his parents house and then back to Austin to get ready for the rehearsal dinner. We are making no progress, so we open windows, play music in his ear, slap him, beat him with inflatable hammers, and so on. Eventually he shows signs of life so we load up the car, kinda clean up the apartment, and leave. I am now the driver. Billy can’t do it. Kevin offers but, if you’ve ever driven with Kevin you will know that his driving can be, um, not conducive to serious hangovers. So it’s me in the driver’s seat, which actually helped. As long as I could focus on something other than the symphony of death in my head, I was going to be relatively fine.

We’re following Ronnie, who is one of those drivers that doesn’t like to indicate and enjoys changing lanes at the last possible second and cutting off several cars. I have no frame of reference in Houston, having driven through it only once and I stayed on the major highways that time, so I’m scrambling to get around. We stop for donuts (where I think we ordered one of everything), Billy gets in the car with his brother, they speed off before I can even get the car on, and I’m like “crap.” I think they take a left so I go that way. Wrong. I’m lost. Long story short (too late) Billy’s phone was in the car, we call his brother, take extra time trying to find them at an outlet mall, and eventually make it to his parent’s house in kinda one piece. I meet several members of his family not looking my best, including his uncle who is a camera operator for Michael Mann and works on the show Dexter! And I so want to talk to him but I’m afraid I’ll sick all over him (to steal the British phrase).

So we eat some donuts, take some Tylenol, and head off to Austin. The drive seems to take FOR FREAKING EVER. We again pass the donut/seafood restaurant. The death of my intestines is now imminent. But everyone is in surprisingly high spirits for being so sick. I want to kiss the Austin city limits sign when we get there. It’s funny how just amazingly happy I get when I return to the city, even if I’m just gone for the day. I’m sure other Austinites can back me up on this.

Drop off at Billy’s. Meet Gretchen’s parents. I promise them I will look better by tomorrow. Now I have to fly home, hope that my pipe hasn’t burst again, take a quick shower, dress, and head back to Billy’s to get to the rehearsal dinner in Round Rock. I debate about what to wear (as I am want to do sometimes) but I decide to go dressier to make up for my appearance in the face and my feeling in the bowels. Get to Billy’s, help them load up the car with all sorts of crap for the dinner, say hi to The Gretch before she heads out, and Billy and I leave. We have to make several stops and errands before we actually get there but we do.

Okay, trying to speed this up now since I am taking WAY too long. I’ve been to a few rehearsal dinners before (this ain’t my first rodeo after all) and this was way different than any I had been to. I was sicker than a kid who has eaten 72 Pop Tarts while jumping on a trampoline and swimming (I’m trying to be creative with my comparisons here). Also, the rehearsal was not at the venue but at the hotel. Also, everyone started drinking before we even got started so by the time it came to actually rehearse, no one was paying attention. I even had a beer cause, you know, I’m bat shit insane. So we get through that, eat Rudy’s (great, love thinking about work! How about we go to an Express game and then Hoveround race back home, huh?), watch the slide show, toast, and all that stuff. Billy’s dad made one of the best toasts I’ve ever heard as he forgot people’s names and where they were from or why we were even there in the first place. The families are both great, they are being super nice to me cause apparently my reputation as the funniest and most charming guy ever has proceeded me and Billy and Gretchen talk about me and most have seen the Facebook pictures. I felt that I was a disappointment cause, lets face it, I wasn’t feeling too charming. I was so freaking sick the entire night it wasn’t even funny. But they were all the greatest people, made me feel like I was part of their family, and I actually want to hang out with them all again soon. For groomsman presents, Billy presents us each with a little speech and a pocket watch with our last named engraved on the cover. That’s a pretty sweet present, and it has already merited a coveted spot on my memento shelf along with the card and my receipt for donuts since thats the only thing I had left to remind me of the bachelor party.

So they all want to party at the hotel. I’m staying with Billy that night so I ask him what he wants to do. We both agree to forego the revelry and just sleep cause, you know, tomorrow is kinda important for him. And we feel as though the T-Virus from Resident Evil has hit the hotel and we’re going to turn into sickly zombies at any moment. Also, I don’t have a hotel room since I, besides B and G, am the only one from this freaking town. And there’s no way I’m sleeping on a floor tonight. So we say the goodbyes, some of which took longer than others, and headed back to the apartment. And in a reversion to the four years we spent living together, Billy and I ate leftovers from the fridge, put on a movie, and nearly passed out on the couch. He eventually made it to the bed with the dogs and I slept on the air mattress that was my bed away from bed during Flood Storm ‘08. And I think we got a decent amount of sleep.

That was Friday. Coming up next, naturally, is Saturday. Highlights include, um, the wedding? And I’ll probably throw in Sunday’s denouement in the next post as well, since four posts would be WAY too much space devoted to this. You won’t believe the shocking surprise ending!

A Fairly Memorable Weekend Part One: The Bachelor Party

This is going to be long, so fair warning. In fact, I’ve decided as I’m typing this that I’m going to split this one up into several posts. So I don’t know why I’m still typing this disclaimer. Why are you still reading?

This Saturday, two of my best friends, Billy and Gretchen Garretsen, got hitched in a ceremony/weekend for the ages. The days leading up to the event were memorable as well. Here are the last four days as best as I can remember them. These memories are culled from a week with little sleep, WAY too much alcohol, and uncontrollable giddiness. Is that how you spell giddiness?

THURSDAY

Got my tux first thing in the morning. I was worried that the pants were going to be too big, and they were a bit loose for my liking. Or maybe I’m just saying that cause I didn’t want to fit into them. But whatever. While trying it on, I figured out pretty quickly that when the time came on Saturday to wear these outdoors in 500+ degree weather, I would be sweating balls. But more on that later. The vest, however, did not fit so I was vindicated in some small way. A new one was ordered, and I was off to Billy’s. The bachelor party was tonight in Houston. I was kept out of the loop as to what exactly was going on since my name did not make it on the email list (I know, fuck you, right?) but having seen the pictures of The Gretch’s bachelorette party from the weekend before I knew several stops would have to be pulled to match it.

So we leave. It’s Billy, Kevin, Justin, and myself heading down to Houston. Car trip was fine. This iPod was not working properly so I was forced to serenade everyone with Lisa Loeb’s 90s classic “Stay.” Passed a seafood/donut restaurant, the combo of which instantly made me sick. Houston is far. And big. We left at 2 something and didn’t make it to our destination until about 6ish. Eric, another member of the groomsman posse, was our host for the evening. We stayed at his absolutely posh pad in downtown Houston. So we get there in the nick of freaking time cause everyone is already showing up. I put down my stuff and we all had a drink.

And so it began.

Now Billy’s (and Gretchen’s) plan was to spend a quiet evening at home chilling and playing video games. Fuck that. We started out at Dave and Busters because everyone wanted to eat and drink and have an excuse to horse around. We get there and order a round of Jagerbombs, which set the tone for the evening. To make a long story short, we managed to drink a lot at a friggin arcade of all places, and made asses of ourselves playing Daytona and some sort of something where you jump a virtual rope. I have no idea either, BUT I was the only one to do it perfect and get the jackpot so I’m good for something right? So at the end of several hours we had accumulated somewhere in the neighborhood of five billion tickets. Enough that Billy was able to buy video games. With the rest of the tickets, we bought yo-yos and inflatable hammers. Which we proceeded to beat Billy senseless with out in the parking lot. Basically, we reverted to nine year olds for the evening. The entourage is rolling something like 12 deep now. All the groomsmen are there, some of Billy’s cousins, and multiple friends. The groom party, for later reference, included Billy’s brother Ronnie (who everyone should meet at least once in their life), Eric (with the apartment), Jamie (hell of a nice kid; suffers from pre-mature balding), Chris (another childhood chum of Billy’s), cousins Hugo and Ricky (Hugo was dressed quite nicely, Ricky…meh), and myself (dressed and acting like a retard as is my style). For those counting at home, thats seven which is an awfully big bridal party. And a HELL of a payday for Al’s Formal Wear.

It’s time to hit up the strip club. This is a bachelor party, right? I don’t know how much I’m really allowed to say about this part of the evening since a certain someone might possibly be reading, but everyone was well behaved including the strippers. Some quick observations/concerns. First, Houston is expensive. Strip clubs are expensive. This was a strip club in Houston. I think my bank account died at some point during the evening (but not as much as other peoples! Ha ha, joke’s on them! It wasn’t even my scene!). Second, they lined us up and made sure we all had closed shoes and collared shirts cause, you know, it’s a classy establishment and not a sleezy-ass strip club or anything. Third, strip club DJs are compete douches but he did call Billy Ben Stiller at some point and Ronnie Gomer Pyle so I guess he kinda made up for it? Fourth, I was drunk. Like, terribly so. So I really don’t know how much more I can add to this portion of the evening except fun was had and more Jagerbombs (I think) were consumed. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it ; )

We all make it back to Eric’s place and he cooks omelets and I didn’t get one cause I’m too slow so its a bag of Doritos for me. Billy is stone-cold passed out on the floor. We literally had to drag him from the car. We take off his pants and pose for compromising pictures and then haul his ass to the bed. People drift off to sleep cause some of these poor bastards have to WORK in the morning. Some of us stay up, me cause I’m simply too sick to go to bed. Eventually we all do, cause we have to wake up and 8 and it’s 4. Oh dear. And I didn’t fit on the couch, but there was no way I was sleeping on the air mattress with Justin.

All in all, I think we contended quite admirably with The Gretch’s party. We all stayed safe, had a blast, and were sicker than the sickest hip-hop beats in the morning (how’s that for an analogy?). In the next installment, we get to Friday. Highlights include getting lost in Houston, the Battan Death Drive back to Austin, the rehearsal dinner/alcohol nightmare, and Billy’s last night as a human being. You won’t believe how he spent it!

How I felt in the morning…

Just Like the City: For Your Consideration in the Category of Best Lead Actor in a Comedy Series

On this week’s episode of Just Like the City, I attended physical therapy for the first time. At the moment, I am scheduled to go twice a week for four weeks, which is a lot if you are counting at home. And I was a little nervous going in the first time, not gonna lie. I mean, I have already been doing some stretches at home and they really, really hurt. What would these hippie dungeon-master therapists do to me?

To my surprise, they were exceedingly nice and helpful, something I had not been used to when dealing with medical professionals during this little ordeal. On my first day, I had this guy who wanted to talk to me about video games for the entire time which is a conversation I can totally hang with for an extended period of time. He put my hand in this machine that is filled with sand and heats up and I just move my hand around, sort of like it’s water. Why they don’t just use water I don’t know, but moving your hand around in hot sand is actually pretty cool. Ten minutes in that thing and I felt like I could move anything with my hand. Until I actually try to move something. And it hurts. So my training regimen consists of stretches, hot sand, putty, moving a hammer back and forth, and wall pushups. They are attempting to get my range of motion back to normal before starting in on strength training, which my arm needs because it has withered away and the hand has like no muscles in it. He also told me that my arm is going to get stiff when it’s cold and that I’ll be able to tell when rain is within thirty miles. So cut to me, seventy years old, sitting on my porch in a rocking chair, sipping on iced tea, and being all “rain’s coming!” It’s going to happen. I’m going to be that guy. 

Day two, I saw the other therapist. She put me back in the sand machine which I think I broke because I got sand everywhere. It was like I was at the beach. And she actually massaged my hand which was heavenly. She kept bringing up how her partner wanted to learn more about video editing, and of course I’m all, “That’s what I do! It’s easy.” So now I think she wants to bring her in so I can talk to her while doing my hand stretches. Whatev. As long as my hand is in sand and/or the therapist is massaging it I’ll talk about anything you want. The good news: she told me that my wrist is healing phenomenally and that I might not have to go for the full four weeks. Which would be nice, cause it’s expensive. 

The wrist really doesn’t hurt all that much. When I wake up its a little stiff (as things tend to be in the morning). But after moving it around a bit I hardly notice it. I don’t even really need the arm brace anymore but I choose to wear it out because A) it’s trendy (like a Power Glove!) and, B) it gets me A LOT of attention (like the individual Morgan and I met at the fireworks stand in Kyle. On, Firecraker…). 

And thus Arm Storm ‘08 is coming along nicely. As is Flood Storm ‘08. I’m back in my apartment right now. I have new carpet and you’d never know that anything happened here or that the place was completely tored up last week. I was pretty sure I would need a FEMA trailer for a few months, but now I’m planning another trip to IKEA! Yay! Once again, thank you to Billy and Gretchen and Heather and Justin for helping me out with not being homeless. I feel I need to pay them back in some way, but let’s be honest. Just a few minutes in my presence is reward enough, right? Right? 

Just kidding. Also, I want to say that everyone I called DID call back eventually and in my previous post I was in no way criticizing them for not answering immediately. The point of my story was to point out the absurdity of calling everyone at six in the morning while my sister slept in the car and drugged out hookers approached me in the alleyway. So thanks to everyone for calling and sorry I woke yall up. 

I’d also like to point out that I LOVE three day weekends. Yesterday was the 4th, which we celebrated by going down to Auditorium Shores to watch the fireworks. Austin is such a pretty city and it looks that much cooler when the sky is on fire. When the aliens attack I’m going down to Town Lake cause it’s going to look hella cool down there (yeah, I used hella). Afterwords, we headed to Morgan and Ashley’s and attempted to burn down their house. Good times. 

Busy week ahead! The Wedding of the Century is on Saturday and I’m pretty sure it’s going to be epic. And I would like to do some Photoshop for this post but I can think of no movie poster that goes along with this week’s theme. And I’m lazy.

Flood Storm ‘08: Um, Help?

Ever since starting the old blog, fate has made sure that I would never run out of fun things to talk about. On Saturday night/Sunday morning, my apartment was flooded.

It happened like this. All day Saturday, I cleaned the apartment top to bottom. Then I went and renewed my lease and signed up for a free carpet cleaning. This is all important later for irony’s sake. Later in the evening, I returned from movie night at Jake and Travis’s (I’m not at liberty to discuss what was watched). Jill, who was visiting for the weekend, left for like her eighth party in three days. So it was Saturday night, midnight, and I decided to do what all cool kids do at that time. I fired up The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess on the Gamecube. Since my wrist is healing, I am finally able to play video games again and playing a good old Zelda game was something I had been looking forward to for a while.

Now, a few times I had gone over to the fridge for a Diet Coke and heard water running through the pipes under the sink. The pipes in my apartment are constantly making noise, so I totally ignored them and figured they would shut off. Besides, I had finally got to the overworld in Zelda and I had to get back! So I play for a little longer, two o’ clock rolls around, and I figure it’s time for me to call it a night. I had a big Sunday planned: breakfast with Jill and then laying out at Billy and Gretchen’s.

But that watery noise is still there! So I takes me a look under the sink. Water is flowing freely. Not a lot, but there was significant drippage along the back wall and onto my cleaning supplies. I’m not a plumber or anything, but I do know that the knobs turn off the water and this usually fixes most problems until they can become…um…more fixed? So I turn the knob.

ARMAGEDDON. Water explodes out of the pipe, onto my face, all over my broke-ass arm, etc. Like, a lot of water. Turn five faucets on and put them together. That’s how much water. And it’s not stopping. I try the knob again, which has ceased to turn in any direction.

So I’m all, “Crap.” I rush to unplug the electronic stuff because the water was approaching the living room fast. I call my apartment office an dial the number for the 24-hour emergency extension. No answer. “That’s weird,” I say to myself. “I mean, I thought it was 24 hours. Why would they lie?” I try again. Still no answer.

So I go from “Crap” to “OMFG!” in like five seconds. What am I supposed to do? And water is everywhere in the kitchen, already an inch or so. Phone books! I kept those around! So I tear one open and dial the first plumber. They were like, “You’re screwed kid.” It took my five different places, but someone finally said they would come out. I mean, I’m trying to explain to all these people that MY APARTMENT IS IN DANGER OF SINKING and no one seems to give a fuck. So I’m like, “Great. Can you get here as soon as possible?” The on call guy is in Leander, which might as well be Massachusetts. But I can’t do anything. So I tell them okay. And I spend the next HOUR waiting on him and pacing around. I can’t do anything. Every time I try to play with the pipe, I just make it worse.

I’m in several inches of water now. I’ve moved all the furniture, WITH ONE HAND, as far from the flow as I could. I put a towel under the door to my bedroom cause that was going to fucking do something. And the guy shows up and is all “Holy shit!” and am all “I tried to tell you!” And he basically just bends the pipe to stop the water. Then he tells me that some connection had come off somewhere and that it was badly installed to begin with. And speaking of my apartment complex, I try their number again. Nothing. I leave a voice mail calmly explaining the situation and to please call me back at their convenience.

So now we’re waiting on the extraction team. Below my apartment is the complex office. It sounds like it’s raining in there. Water is seeping out from under the doors. I try their number again, No answer. I leave them another message calmly informing them that they are fucked and they might want to call back.

It’s like 4:30 now. Jill returns. We take pictures for Facebook posterity. We call Jared cause he really needed to be a part of the experience. Then the extraction team shows up. The guy’s name is Austin. I tell him my name is John and that it’s funny that he lives in Austin and his name is Austin. Okay not really. But I do tell him I’m John. Cause I don’t want to deal with that shit right now.

So I figure they’ll vacuum and get rid of stuff and I’ll be in my own bed 5:30 at the latest. Six rolls around. The extraction team is done. My furniture is everywhere. Some is on the deck. Some is in the hallway outside. My bed is covered with all my belongings. Fans are installed everywhere. Carpet is pulled up. I can’t stay here tonight. I call everyone that I know/like. No one answers. I understand. It’s 6. [ADDENDUM: Morgan did answer but was out of town].  Jill and I are prepared to sleep in the car (I do want to add that at some point, a drugged out prostitute came wandering near me in the ally way as we got in the car but she ran away when she got close. I didn’t even bat an eye I was so out of it).

But Heather finally calls back! So I grab a few things, grab the iMac, and we head to Heather’s. I collapse on the couch but I don’t sleep. Jill dreams of milkshakes for some reason.

Ten in the morning, No sleep. Not my house. I call the apartment complex. Someone finally answers. I’m all, “I called you last night about the flood.” And they’re all, “So you’re the culprit.” I longed to tell them to fuck themselves, but I grabbed Jill and headed back over. They were in shock. I told them the whole story. They were impressed that I handled it so well. I was flattered (all you have to do is complement me and I’m no longer upset). I shove the plumber bill in their face, which they promise they’ll pay.

That’s mostly the story as it stands. Carpet is mostly gone and the apartment looks like a war zone. I’m told it won’t be ready until Tuesday, when they better fucking clean it and move my furniture as well. I don’t care how messed up their shit is. I went back to Heather’s for a shower. Jill high-tailed it to Gatesville. And then I went to Billy and Gretchen’s and laid out, cause screw it if any sort of crisis is going to get in the way of that! I spent the rest of the afternoon watching I Love the New Millennium and not blinking. So that’s where I’m staying for a few days.

That covers most of the basics of this newest incident. I’m optioning the rights to my life to anyone who wants it. It would make a great sitcom. Interesting side note: the extraction team had to clean out all of my closets and put everything on the bed. I heard them laughing at some point. A few of the objects on my bed (from various locations in the apartment): neon green underwear from American Apparel, Justin Timberlake Rolling Stone circa 2003, two Bibles, and a Zelda sword. Oh, and all my toys from the living room. And they had the audacity to laugh at me! When you see objects of your life sort of all thrown together like that it makes you want to step back and take stock. But sleep first.

Arm Storm ‘08: Brace Yourself!

…and pretend the movie is about getting your cast removed and not about a volleyball stuck on an island

Everyone take a moment to look at your left arm. It’s the one on your left. Just look at it and think about it for a few seconds. Go ahead. I’ll wait. 

Haven’t you always taken that arm for granted. I’m not talking to left-handed people, they already know this. I’m talking to us normal right-handed folks out there. You can admit it, you’ve never really given your left hand its due. In some countries it is an offense to even shake hands with your left. These are countries without toilet paper. Figure it out yourself. So you go about your daily life not really ignoring your left hand but certainly not thinking about how much life would suck without it. It’s okay. I was one of these people. 

Let me tell you: that left hand is important. And you don’t know how important until you loose complete use of it for like two plus months. Say someone does something impressive and you want to clap. Guess what? You can’t! Let’s say you want to type a well researched, well thought out rant on your blog. Well, it’s going to take you twice as long with only one hand. 

Since breaking my left wrist (it was my wrist, I was told this several times today), I have been in all sorts of contraptions. A cast that ended right past my elbow so I had no movement at all and weighed like ten pounds. A splint that bent my hand back and almost caused me to black out. A ratty post-op splint that made my arm look like a stuffed animal with all the stuffing coming out. A faux block of swiss cheese. And, more recently, a waterproof cast that many of you were kind enough to sign. I didn’t keep this, by the way; it smelled and I’ve run out of metaphors to describe it. Just trust me when I say that it was bad. 

And now the journey is almost at an end. My cast was removed today and my left arm was exposed to the light of day for the first time since that fateful day on the roof (take a moment of silence next May 3). It’s not as white as I thought it would be, but it is quite skinny. Also, it itches. Bad. Every time I itch it, several layers of skin fall off. My small surgery scar is visible, the hair around it still not fully grown. And it hurts. For a week I have to keep it mostly in a brace which makes me look supercool. Remember those braces that people used to wear in the 90s when computers gave you carpal tunnel but no one wears anymore cause apparently computers are safe now? That’s what I’m wearing. I also got to see the x-ray. It looks like I have two nails stuck in my arm, and they are absolutely permanent! 

But now for the best part: I actually have to go to physical therapy. They told me at first I should be okay but when I tried to move my wrist today and screamed out “OH MY HOLY LORD!” they reconsidered. It feels better now, but I still can’t move my wrist too much and I certainly can’t move it fast. So twice a week for four weeks I get to have someone re-teach me how to move my hand again. All I’m saying is that my physical therapist better be hot. 

So I’m clearly not out of the woods yet, but I’m not in a cast which is the most important thing. All I want to say is, take some time today to appreciate your left hand. God gave it to you for a reason. And don’t tan on roofs. Barton Springs works just fine. So I’m going to stop talking about this until it is absolutely over, sometime in the coming months. 

Before I go, I want to thank everyone who helped me out with this, and I’m being completely sincere here. I really do have a hard time asking people for help, so people just did it for me without me having to ask. To everyone who held a door open for me, thank you. Thank you Morgan and Ashley for taking me to the emergency room and putting up with “the help” with me. If my insurance company tries to hit yall up for money, tell them to shove it (they won’t try to hit you up, but just in case they do…). And, of course, Julio for picking up the ladder as I lay prone on a concrete bed of emotion. Thank you Billy and Gretchen for taking me to the store and helping with my laundry and everything else. I shall now be able to dance unrestricted at your wedding. Thank you to the peeps at work who gave me shit everyday but let me take off when I needed to. Thank you Jake and Travis for the book on Japan. I’m trying to stay brave, I really am. Thank you to the Gatesville United Methodist Church for placing me on the prayer concerns list that led to several panicked phone calls by people who wanted to know if I was dying. I trust a gasp went through the congregation as my name was read. And thank you to everyone who called or something. Just about everyone I know thats important mentioned it to me at some point. And when they were done laughing, they asked if I was okay. So thank you for that. If I left you out specifically, I’m sorry and thank you. It’s getting a bit hard to type (but I’m trying to be brave!). 

And thank you to Mom and Dad and Papa and Nene (whom I know don’t read this cause they would have had a long talk with me by now) for all that yall do. And I guess Jared and Jill too : )

 

Well that was a real moment, wasn’t it? Anyway, back to normal. So what’s the deal with hipster douches? 

 

Odds and Ends 4: This Is Not A News Site, Just In Case You Ever Wondered

-So two stories I previously wrote about turned out to be not as true as I thought they were. That tribe in the Amazon? FAKERS! Turns out they were discovered years ago, and some hippie hipster douche photographer kinda made up the story to highlight the dangers of logging. Oh yeah? Your mom’s a danger to logging. Plus, the powder on Mars turned out to be not cocaine but probably just ice. Ice, you say?

-I realized that, unlike most bloggers, I rarely post too much information on myself, falls from roofs excluded. This is done for several specific reasons, not the least of which is that it would probably bore you to tears. But in the interest of having noting else to really post, here’s a linear break down of my weekend: home from work, nap, eat, shower, go downtown, drink, dance, drink, [event retracted], drink, dance, go home, text, sleep, shower, confess, lawn service, decline cologne offer, eat Whataburger, lay out, don’t get in water, receive rain check, play marimba, meet friend for drink, brief nap, shower, go country dancin’, drink, dance, drink, dance, get sick, eat kolaches, sleep, shower, Hot Cheetoes and Bean Dip (?), back to Barton Springs, lay out, swim, submerge cast (terrible idea in retrospect), lay out, burn, play marimba, flip a coin, eat McDonald’s, watch several terrible music videos and a few good ones, eat cookies, part ways, watch Degrassi, read Charles Dickens, sleep. There. I trust you shant ask again. Overall though: fun weekend. Can’t you tell?

-I love the office chart site, from the makers of I Can Has Cheezeburger. This is why I love the site:

- Brief Arm Storm ‘08 update: WHEN WILL THIS FUCKING THING GET OFF? Oh, Thursday. Hopefully. I went swimming with it on this weekend (as noted earlier). The smell is absolutely phenomenal. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. Phenomenal. Imagine being followed around all day by a dump truck filled with fish urine. No, I can’t imagine that either. But this smell is unimaginable. Thus, a comparison that is unimaginable.

Odds and Ends 3

-What a week.

-So Lost wrapped up its fourth season last night, and it got me thinking (like things tend to do). When the show first began, and well into its third season, the plot was completely all over the place. The pacing was slow, and there was no forward momentum to the story for episodes at a time. Since then, the creators have set an end date for the series and a count of the number of episodes remaining. On top of that, this season (which was already going to be short to begin with) was cut even shorter by the writer’s strike. So what we ended up with were 13 episodes that had very little fat and the narrative momentum of a bullet train. This should be a good thing, right? It’s what we wanted, right? Now I’m not so sure. The story moved maybe too fast, to the point where I kinda forgot what was going on at some points. I’m used to watching Lost through a glaze, really only paying attention when the music peps up. I’ve had to retrain my brain to watch everything, cause almost everything was important. And the character development, something I always griped about cause I want to know what that fucking polar bear is, was kind of missed this season. I want to know more about all the new people on the island, like Miles and Faraday. I hope the writers are able to strike a good balance next season. And speaking of next season, the way it was set up last night, it could be really intriguing or excruciatingly boring. I’m talking beginning-of-Season-Three, sitting-in-cages, Kate-flashback-episode boring. The episode last night was good, though.

-There are tribes out there that have not come into contact with the modern world. I find this beyond fascinating. I mean, can you imagine? The world is supposedly so advanced, and there are tribes out there like this? Shooting arrows at planes? Absolutely fascinating. I kinda want to join them. I’m sure the rent is low. Unless they make you put your hands in gloves covered with flesh-eating ants as an initiation. That would suck.

-How is getting all gussied up and standing in line for Sex and the City somehow acceptable but dressing up to a Star Wars movie is not?

Oh, wait. Never mind.

-In closing, I would like to congratulate my sister Jill, who is graduating from Gatesville High School this evening in a ceremony that might attract national attention, if our family barbecue doesn’t beat them to the punch (it could get wild). So now both my siblings will have moved on and my parents will be empty nesters. Time marches on, I suppose.