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Part of my job requires me to drive long distances to represent the University of Houston at select college fairs around Houston. It was during one of the longer drives I had to make this week that I realized I’m currently doing everything I wanted to do.
A while back, I told my parents the one thing I ever really wanted to do was take off driving around the country and stop where I felt like stopping, sleep where I felt like sleeping. Of course, they would never fund such a trip and I had no means to do it on my own. But to me, it was such an ideal situation. I could just be out on my own, seeing things and experiencing things. I’ve always loved driving, and this seemed like the perfect thing to do - if I was unemployed.
But, I’m not. And the thing is, I actually ended up doing what I wanted to be doing. My job has taken me across south Texas, north/northwest Texas, and east Texas; I have gotten to drive everywhere. I have had experiences I could have never imagined a year ago. Where once I imagined driving just to drive, now I drive with a purpose, but get to see everything along the way. I never imagined I would ever travel to Eagle Pass or Del Rio, but I have and it is so fantastic. I love what I do, and in turn, who I have become.
I know this sounds stupid or silly, but I really do love my job. And now I have a new set of schools in the valley. I can’t wait to go visit them all this next fall.
Crap.. Maybe I should learn to speak Spanish…
And am I born to die?
To lay this body down!
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?
A land of deepest shade,
Unpierced by human thought
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot.
Soon as from earth I go
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe,
Must then my portion be!
Waked by the trumpet sound,
I from my grave shall rise;
And see the Judge with glory crowned,
And see the flaming skies!
My grandmother’s niece sent her a beautiful arrangement for the holidays, so I had to snap a few shots. This is probably my favorite of the set, and it reminds me of why I have always loved Christmas. Which also probably explains why my decorations are still out. I promise I’ll pack them away. Soon…
I can honestly say that sometimes I am at a loss about what to write here. During the days, I come up with plenty I would like to say, but when the time comes to actually log in and publish it for the world, I never follow through. Maybe I’m just tired from the day, or maybe it speaks to a larger personality flaw where I start a lot of things and never finish them. It has been known to happen before…
ANYWAY. Just thought I would give a quick holiday update. I suppose I should use the term “holiday” loosely, as we’re now four days into the new year and the next holiday is two weeks away (thanks MLK)! Unless, of course, you count my birthday on Saturday. Lets do that.
This was my first Christmas in my new apartment and really, it was my first Christmas on my own. When I was in college I would always come home about two weeks after Thanksgiving, so there was really no need to put up a tree or any other decorations. I definitely made up for that this year. My tree went up the day after Thanksgiving and is shamefully still standing in true Kelly From Texas style:
At this point, I might as well just call it a birthday tree. At any rate, I hope you and yours had a lovely holiday season this year. 2010 is not only a new year, but a new decade. What will it bring?
So it’s been a while. I know. There’s something about blogging that just keeps me from being consistent at posting. Some days I just have nothing to say, and others my mind races with the possibilities. I have missed my little piece of the internet, though, and I have had so many things in the past few weeks that could have made/could make excellent posts. However, I have just been so exhausted my brain cannot form the words to write. In fact, I am currently trying to warm myself back up after loading my car in a torrential downpour with the temperature hovering below 50 degrees. Wet and cold. Now that calls for a glass of wine. Or three.
The previous statement probably made no sense as I’ve offered no explanation of my job or what I do at all. It’s easy to say “oh, I’m an admissions counselor for the University of Houston,” but that could not possibly describe what I do completely. Remember when you were in high school and you had a “college fair night?” The people at those booths? That’s me. But the thing you don’t realize is that the person behind that booth did not magically appear; they had to travel there with a car load full of all the materials that are on their table and if it was raining they hauled it all in while getting drenched. It can be miserable. But I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I promise to tell you more later; in my three months on the job, I have met some of the most ridiculously stupid people you could ever imagine. But for now, I need to get to sleep. I’ll change lives tomorrow.
Or crush dreams.
Have you ever seen those annoying commercials for Jamster ringtones? They usually air on MTV2 (3, 4, 5, 500) or Fuse. And all I can say is…what the HELL is this song??? I mean come on, the green thing is horrifyingly frightening, especially when wearing briefs, pimping in his car, and shaking his ass. If the next gummi bear I eat starts singing me this song I will either be shit-faced drunk or having a nightmare.
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Today was the first day of the rest of my life. Ok, scratch the dramatic opening. I really hope the rest of my life does not consist of a comedy of errors. Today, I began my job at the University of Houston. That was KIND of misleading, as today was only their orientation, or ROAR. I’ve long forgotten what that acronym means, but it did kind of make me want to spontaneously bust into a roar at 2oclock this afternoon. I’m sure afterward an asterisk would appear after the title stating that anyone who actually roars is subject to immediate job termination. But at least I would have my roar.
It’s been a long day.
Since I’ve been sitting on my unemployed ass for the past five months, I’m not used to being awake before 10 err…11am, but I awoke at 7am perkier than I could have possibly expected. I glanced longingly at my baggy shirt and shorts as I pulled on my khaki pants, brown shirt, and wedge brown heels, and then headed out, arriving a good 30 minutes early. I would need those thirty minutes.
Why? Because I am an idiot. I looked at the map, “memorized” it, and thought “oh, I know where that is” because it looked quite simple: my building would be directly across from the parking lot. Except in reality, it was a big fucking parking lot. Lots of buildings were across from it.
After aimlessly wandering and asking three strangers who all suspiciously had no idea where this building was, I finally came across it. I was sweaty, my hair had expanded 6 inches around my head (thanks, humidity), and my adorable brown wedges were feeling less than adorable as they rubbed my feet in all the wrong places. But I had arrived and there was a complementary breakfast. My day was complete.
Almost. When we finally broke for lunch, we had two tasks to complete: get our ID cards made and buy parking permits. Conveniently, both of the places we needed to go to accomplish these things were directly on the opposite side of campus. So off I go, in my increasingly painful brown wedges, prepared to go take a terrible picture of myself and fork over a ton of cash for a parking spot. I was going to be smart and get my parking permit first, since everyone else in my orientation group was getting their ID first. This way I wouldn’t have to wait in line! And I didn’t. Because halfway to the building, my feet were dying and while concentrating on the blisters I knew were forming I made a wrong turn and ended up back at the parking lot COMPLETELY ON THE WRONG SIDE OF CAMPUS WHERE I NEEDED TO BE.
At this point, I said fuck it, and decided to spend the remaining 50 minutes of my lunch break hobbling to my car, driving to my apartment to grab my tennis shoes, head back and hopefully be able to find another parking spot. Luckily, someone who desperately needed a parking spot as desperately as I wanted to not be walking in my awful brown wedges offered to give me a ride to my car so he could have my spot. I probably should have hesitated a bit, but I didn’t. It was wonderful, even though he almost asphyxiated me with the bath he took in cologne before driving to campus.
After the tragedy that became my cute brown wedges, the rest of the day finished smoothly in my comfortable brown tennis shoes. After orientation was over at 3:30, I was able to get my ID made, acquire my parking permit, hike back to my car, and be home by 4:45 with a little traffic along the way. I’d say it wasn’t too bad for a first day, minus the part where I can hardly walk. So now I’m sitting on my new porch and enjoying the cool, humid-less breeze, a rarity for Houston this early in the fall. And I am also enjoying the bud light lime that’s capping off the first day of my new life.
A while back I posted this entry, sharing a creepy commercial that will haunt your dreams. It was probably created by people who dropped acid a few minutes before filming began, ESPECIALLY the dude with the giant pickle/dildo on his head. I can’t imagine anyone was paid very much to humiliate themselves this greatly. I’m sure the copious amounts of drugs caused them all to not care anyway.
Since then, it has become the most commented entry on my website, not because real people are actually viewing it and saying “OH MY GOD THE HORROR.” It’s because Viagra and Cialis spammers latched on to the the title “pickle surprise” and decided that would be the most appropriate entry to place their poorly designed comments and links to buy their products.
But really, after viewing the video, I suppose you would need a heavy dose of Viagra to even hope to get your penis in the upright position. Especially after seeing the hooker with the blacked out front tooth in the first 10 seconds.
I have visited many cemeteries doing genealogy research and have never really been disturbed spending time wandering around. The style and etchings of the stones usually indicates the era in which the stone was made, and I have always found looking at the dates fascinating. While I was in Waco, my street ended at the entrance to Oakwood Cemetery. It has a sprawling landscape and many important people in the Waco community have been laid to rest here, including the founder of McLennan county. I have driven around it a few times and always loved looking at the dates on these stones, especially the older ones, while imagining what the lives of these people were like. A few weeks before I moved back to Houston, I went in the late afternoon one last time and snapped this shot of the seemingly endless road through the cemetery, lined with the giant trees who have silently guided those here to their final repose.
The walls are brightly colored
Stained with crimson,
Adorned with shame
And drifting shadows form silhouettes
that disappear, consumed by darkness.
With vision only night bestows
You can look toward your crimson wall
Seeing only shades of gray
and the faint outline of my face
That fades with morning’s light
Then with the break of dawn
the shadows disappear from your eyes
You can see clearly now -
and drive another nail into your wall
as punishment for your sin.
I have never been a patient driver, but I like to consider myself a smart, albeit speedy, one. Yes, I realize that few people actually describe themselves as terrible drivers, but I would like to think that in the ten years that I have been on the road, my spotless record (squeaky clean thanks to defensive driving) allows me to brag just a little bit.
However, I am definitely no longer a complete moron; as a freshman in college, I would routinely drive 90mph or more on my drive to Houston from Waco. I have no logical explanation other than I did it because I could. Those extra 15 minutes I saved in travel time were TOTALLY worth the risk of violent death. Since I have mellowed with age, I generally cruise 75mph when traveling on the highway and have zero patience for stupid drivers. If you ride my ass on the highway for no good reason, I promise that it will not make me go any faster. Just ask the guy in the white F150 who discovered this when I was going to Houston this past week.
I was gaining on a slow 18 Wheeler when the F150 tried to pass me at a point where there was clearly not enough room to do so. Visibly irritated that I was only going 75mph, right after we passed the 18 Wheeler, the F150 immediately cut the truck off before I could get over, swooped in front of me and slammed on his brakes. Of course, there was no one in front of him, but I had wronged him by not going fast enough. This was my punishment.
As he slowed down to 65mph I couldn’t help but visibly shrug to him just so he knew that I really didn’t give a shit. Seriously. YOU WON’T WIN THIS GAME WITH ME. About that time, Katy Perry’s newest single, “Waking Up in Vegas” began to play on the radio and I suddenly had the perfect solution: I began to sing along to the song as obnoxiously as I possibly could. Now, I have never had any shame in singing along with the radio while I am in a car. I really don’t care what you think of me as I rock out while driving around town. But this time I went above and beyond. I exaggerated every word of the song and did some awesome white-girl car dancing. Most people would probably describe it as a seizure. This was not the reaction the F150 driver wanted to illicit from me, and when he slowed to 55pmh, I couldn’t help but to throw back my head and laugh. I’m sure he noticed, because it was about that time when he finally sped up to about 90 mph and shot off into the distance.
The best part? I caught up to him five minutes later. Traffic will always trip you up, no matter how much of a dick you are.
While in Seattle, we visited a variety of drinking establishments, and by variety I really mean that I LOST COUNT OF THE NUMBER. My liver just twinged out of anger after I wrote that sentence.
My absolute favorite place that we visited was called Bleu and it was located on Broadway, the main drag of Capitol Hill. Their drink menu was a huge packet consisting of everything you could ever imagine, and the atmosphere was exquisite. Guests were seated at private tables partitioned by large drapes, and I told Brad that anytime he has a date and does not bring her there, he will definitely not be getting laid.
Of course, in true Capitol Hill style, after I took this picture, a group of naked bike riders whizzed by.
In a little over two weeks, a U-Haul truck will be loaded with with everything that represents my life in Waco for the past seven years. If there is one photo from the collection I took while in Seattle that makes me want to send that U-Haul on a two thousand mile trek northwest, it would be this:
I took this my last night in Seattle on our way back to Brad’s apartment after passing a bar where drag queens were performing their best impersonations of Lady GaGa and Reba McEntire. Lets just say those drag queens and the wonderful sushi dinner we had at a place called Ha Na, followed by this skyline, made me fall in love.
Brad and I have been friends since we were 14 years old. Although he moved back to Seattle after our freshman year of high school, this awesome invention called the internet helped us keep in contact. Really, if we had to write letters to each other I don’t think we would have made it this far. As fun as snail mail can be, it just doesn’t have the same effect as waking up to an instant message exclaiming HOLY SHIT I WAS SO WASTED LAST NIGHT.
Although he did come to visit once before our senior year of high school, since then a lot of our time was spent either on the phone or instant messaging. It was during one of these phone calls last year, while I was driving to San Antonio to visit my boyfriend, that he announced his intent to come to Texas. Lets just say that in July 2008, after seeing each other for the first time in seven years, we really did have the ability to have a conversation comprised entirely of inside jokes.
I have always wanted to go to Seattle to visit Brad, but it had never happened for various reasons. However, my impending unemployment made for the perfect excuse to get the government to pay for my flight to Seattle. Thanks, Stimulus! And so, the “Buddy Trip,” nicknamed after years of drunk dials starting off with the word BUDDY!!!!, became an annual event.
Now let me take a few minutes here to tell you about one of the most AWESOME TRIPS OF MY LIFE. Brad lives on Capitol Hill. The name doesn’t lie. It’s a big fucking hill that I’ve walked up and down many times and have the blisters to prove it. Although we did do a lot of touristy things, like ascending the Space Needle, taking the Underground Tour, and going on a Duck boat tour, we also did a lot of walking around his neighborhood. The weather was absolutely perfect, compared to Texas, and Capitol Hill has to be one of the most fun neighborhoods, mostly because you never know what, or who, you’re going to run into. In the course of the 5 days I was there, we saw naked bike riders, colorful people, and overheard many out of context quotes, such as “I really love your hairpiece,” and “I need to clean my cock ring.” Also, the sheer amount of bars in the area is astounding; we had to have visited at least 10 while I was there, with my favorites being Bleu, which had great atmosphere, Clever Dunns, where I played shuffleboard for the first time ever, and The Honey Hole, which was a gay bar. Enough said.
Did I mention how on the plane ride home I was contemplating applying for jobs in the Seattle area? This trip was THAT MUCH FUN. I will be in Houston next year, and since this will hopefully continue to be an annual trip, I’m going to have to work extra hard to find things to do that can even compare to this experience. And I definitely cannot wait to go back.
Whenever I go to the mall, I am inevitably accosted by various people working kiosks trying to hand me soap or re-straighten my already straightened hair. Their overpriced lotions, soaps, and salts are not all as terrible as some of them smell; I have purchased sea salt and a package of lotion after significantly haggling the prices down. Most of the workers are directly from Israel and probably receive commission, but I’m sorry. 99 dollars for a container of bath salt is not going to happen, even if you collected it directly from Jesus’ ass after a soak in the Dead Sea.
I usually avoid making eye contact with these people and hustle by as quickly as I can because, no, I really don’t want you to inspect my hands. However, my mom was not so lucky. Yesterday, she was pulled aside by a lady who aggressively grabbed her hand and began the buffing process as my mom was telling her, no really, I already have a buffer. The woman continued talking through her rehearsed speech, halfway insulting her skin as being too dry, as my mom countered that she already had products that she clearly didn’t use from the sea salt kiosk down the way. But that is where the lady exclaimed that she wasn’t selling sea salt! She was actually selling a sugar based product from Las Vegas that was so good for your skin that it was even edible. Because that makes sense.
And then she asked if my mother was married. After replying yes, the seller excitedly informed her she could even lick it off her husband, and winked.
Needless to say, she didn’t make the sale.
My best friend and I were born five days apart. This has always led to several fun joint celebrations, starting with our arrival at the ripe old age of 18. Being the great risk-takers that we are, we took Houston by storm, hitting up the liquor stores with our fake IDs, renting a hotel room, hosting a huge party and trashing the place while getting totally wasted.
Who am I kidding; our lives were nothing like that movie 10 Things I Hate About you. Friday after school we went to the local Diamond Shamrock, got cappuccinos, and bought some scratch-offs and lotto tickets. Why? Because we were 18 and could legally purchase them! The most disappointing part, other than the fact all our tickets were losers, was that we weren’t even carded. We thrust our IDs at the clerk, who probably pretended to look at them only because we were acting like morons. Now, its a slight inconvenience to pull out the ID, though I probably get carded more now than I did then. Not that it’s a completely bad thing.
Anyway, up until now, the two or three times I got a scratch off on a whim, I have always been a loser. The state of Texas is now my bitch. I’m sure Texas really going to miss those twenty dollars I just won, what with the recession and all…
I have long struggled with what to do with my life. It is both a blessing and a curse; on one hand, I have the luxury of taking my time with this decision. On the other hand, being given this time leads me no closer to any path that I should choose.
I am already twenty-five years old. I know many people my age who have it all figured out: married, one or two kids, great job; it all seems so easy, to them at least. But to me, I find myself in a constant struggle with what I should do versus what I would do with limitless funding. Realistically, I will find a job and stick with it for the foreseeable future. Intuitively, a desk job feels like a slow death. There is something restless inside of me. Something that wants to take off at a moments notice and just go to wherever I feel like I’m supposed to be. I think that will eventually be my downfall.
I have always admired people who are completely defined by their life’s work; something that they do that makes an indelible mark on the world in which they live. When we read about such people, we rarely read about the intense struggles that they face. While we might hear that it was “difficult” at first, no one ever tells of the self-doubt, the self-loathing. It’s always, “I struggled at first but was eventually successful after hard work.” But to me, the complete realist will never reach for that ultimate goal.
The reason I read those words from successful people are because they are just that: successful. How do you take into account the thousands of people with similar aspirations who may or may not try equally as hard but who finally live with empty dreams and unfulfilled lives. Of all things that I fear the most in this life, realizing when I’m fifty that I have achieved nothing in this life is one of the things that keeps me up at night. And I really don’t know how to reconcile that with who I am. I want to be somebody.
But really, I am nobody.
Happy Anniversary to my parents, who were married 36 years ago today.
I’ve been stuck in Houston for the past few weeks with almost nothing to do. Rather than continuing to play Mario Kart Wii all the time, I decided to begin a project that is unlikely to be finished before I have to return to Waco. Since Houston has had some close calls with Hurricanes in the past few years, one of the biggest problems for my parents has been deciding what to take with them when they evacuated to my apartment. The two times this has happened, they arrived with two cars completely full of important things to be saved. If they hit a bump in the road or rounded a corner too fast, I wouldn’t have been surprised to witness papers flying out windows or the trunk busting open. In fact, I think they had a lovely view of boxes in their rear-view mirror for the duration of the drive.
A large number of the boxes were dedicated completely to family photos. We take a lot of pictures around here, and since purchasing a digital camera, I have neurotically backed up every photo I take two or three times just in case one form of media storage would fail. Of course, it is infinitely easier to transport a hard drive rather than 20 boxes full of pictures. Thus, I have begun an attempt to scan in every picture my family has in case another evacuation is necessary in the future. And LET ME TELL YOU. I think this might have been the STUPIDEST idea for which I have EVER volunteered.
This is why: after spending over three hours last evening scanning pictures I had only made it three months into my life. I scanned pictures of me in the same poses looking up, looking left, frowning, cross-eyed, naked etc. Over, and over, and over. I’m already sick of looking at me.
And there are eight more albums to go. Including pictures of me from my nefarious “awkward” stage that probably lasted twice as long than a normal person’s. Meaning at some point the label is no longer “awkward,” but “beaten by the ugly stick.” If I could think of anything that a hurricane should destroy, it would be those photographs.
I make often trips to Target for necessities, if not just for something to do on a Thursday afternoon in Waco. We can discuss my Hobby Lobby obsession later. Target strategically places multiple bins of dollar items right as you enter the door. It’s their sneaky way of getting me to purchase something, and it usually works. It’s only later that I find out whatever I bought was a total piece of crap when it falls apart, or in the case of the nail polish, peels off the next day. However, one thing they do carry in these bins is Buzzy Seeds grow kits for a dollar each. Thus, I have attempted to grow strawberries, lavender, clover, sunflowers, petunias, green peppers, Christmas trees, a rose plant, and sensitive plants. The rose plant has taken over a year to grow to be six inches tall, two of the Christmas trees survived and are an inch tall each, and I have eight sensitive plants that refuse to die. Everything else either didn’t spout, sprouted and died, or became a breeding ground for fruit flies. Since I do eat a considerable amount of fruit and do not have a functional disposal, the fruit fly problem became exponentially problematic.
The internet provided me with a variety of ways to exterminate fruit flies so I could stop picking them out of whatever drink they chose to dive-bomb. One website suggested that I place a piece of fruit in my oven and leave it for a few hours to collect a hoard of flies. Then, shut the oven, turn it on, and watch the fireworks. This option sounded extremely gratifying, even though I kept imagining the inside of my oven looking like my windshield after a long trip at night. I totally wouldn’t eat off of that.
I found another option on eHow that involved pouring some fruit juice in a cup, placing saran wrap on top, poking holes in the wrap, and then waiting. Because fruit flies are not the most intelligent insects (established by their suicide dive-bombing of my drinks), they can’t find their way out of the cup and then you can either let them go outside, or swish the cup to drown them as payback for inhaling them with your dinner.
I’ll let you guess which option I chose, but I will say this: they definitely don’t have the guts to go through that again.
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