Since I moved into my new apartment, Chubby Charles and I have been arguing about her new living situation. Never one to be afraid of the outdoors or new situations (I found her as a kitten on the side of the road), Chubby Charles is a survivor. So it has been frustrating to me that since her arrival, she has refused to go outside more than once or twice to explore her new digs.
Today when I got up from my 20 minute nap that I take between my shower and leaving for work, Chubby Charles darted toward the door as if she didn't want me to leave her outside. Instituting my "stand on your own" policy of making her walk out the door on her own rather than me pushing her out, I held open the door as Chubby Charles cruised slowly past. She looked completely nonchalant, as if to say "I thought I might just see what this was all about today." So I bid her well and left for work.

Before I moved, I fashioned a new tag for her that has her name, my apartment number and my cell phone number. IS2 and I have a disagreement surrounding her collar, as he calls it her "slave yoke" and thinks I shouldn't keep it on her. I always tell him that I don't want to have anyone mistake her for a stray and take her into their house and never let her out again. To which IS2 argues that no one will ever mistake her for a stray since she is fluffy and snowy white. He does have a point. But nevertheless, I keep her collar on, especially since we're in a new place.

So at around 10:30 AM today, two hours after leaving Chubby Charles out in the great outdoors, my cell phone rang. I saw it was an Ohio phone number and didn't think much of it. Then the person left a message so I decided to see what was up.
The message went something like this:

"Um...hi...Rachel, this is your neighbor across the hall, John...um...Chubby Charles was outside and she was...uh...sitting on top of the roof...so I got out a ladder and got her down, and she's fine, don't worry, I've got her here in my apartment...but uh...I am going to keep her here until I go to class at noon...and I uh...wasn't sure if she was supposed to be out or not...so if you could give me a call that'd be great. Thanks."

I laughed for about five minutes. Keep in mind, this John character and I have met. The first or second week, when I was standing out in the hall way with Chubby Charles one evening trying to convince her not to be afraid, he walked out. He saw her and said "That's an awesome cat." This guy is about 5' tall and was wearing all-black, black wristbands, black hair, you get the idea. I laughed and said "Thanks. That's Chubby Charles." He replied "Man...I love that color of cat. (You mean white?) If I got a cat, that's the color cat I'd get. Man...I haven't seen a cat like that in a long time." I told him he'd be seeing much more of her.

Well, evidently the fortune ended up to be true. I can see little John procuring a ladder (who has a ladder that lives in an apartment?), climbing up the ladder to pluck Chubby Charles off the roof, and the Chubstress staring at him like he was crazy. I can just imagine Chubby Charles saying "Um...what do you think you're doing? Do you know how long it took me to get up on this roof? No, put me down, no, no, no...oh, so this is your place, huh? Mind if I roll around on the floor for a while? Pull tufts of my hair out and toss them on your carpet? Oh you like the color white? Here's a souvenir for you, one of my locks."

I called John back and told him that Chubby Charles was indeed authorized to be outside and if that involved climbing on rooftops then so be it. He said "I thought she was okay to be out, I mean she looked like she was just chilling up there, but there was a maid downstairs and she was the one who convinced me that she wasn't supposed to be out. She said 'Look at that cat! That's a house cat! That cat's not supposed to be out. It's wearing a pink collar with beads on it!'"

And so, it is with a heavy heart, I admit defeat to IS2 that yes, the collar is a slave yoke, and no, it will not save her from people dragging her into their apartments and holding her hostage.

Saw this on the Today Show.
I'm going to spare you all the wonderful, symbolic metaphors that come to mind.
Watch it until the end when they're all lined up for a photo-op. Or fast forward until the time reads right around 00:15.

Hilarious!!

Seriously - the guys this year are so...eh.

I only like the guy who can scat because all the other ones are creeps and/or make me cringe when they sing (especially the Indian Michael Jackson kid).

Today at boot camp we worked out in the parking lot of the park at stations set up to tire out our legs. Evidently the City of Austin Parks & Rec powers that be manage to keep the lights turned on until approximately 6:15 AM, at which point they turn off, ensconcing us in darkness. This was really strange, because I was actually somewhat awake thanks to the lights. As soon as they went out, I found myself drifting off again.

Naturally, at my new apartment complex, I live caddy-corner to the "CARES" Team. I don't really know what CARES stands for, but so far it has stood for me getting stopped in the parking lot by two girls who introduced themselves as the CARES Team. Basically these girls plan events like luaus at the pool, ice cream socials, and other various "community building" events I'll never go to without the promise of free booze. Last week I was accosted in the parking lot after work by these uber-peppy girls. I was as polite as I could stand to be and then got in my car, promptly almost backed over them, and drove away.
These two girls live in the apartment next door and his morning, I walked down the stairs behind one of them. She got in her car and I got in mine. This time, as I was backing out, she almost slammed into the side of my car with her pale blue Ford Focus. I feel like these girls are turning into magnets since I see them so much now.
Tonight, seconds after walking through the door after a very, very long day of shipping pets and fighting off an impending cold, my doorbell rang. I immediately had a little PTSD-panic attack, thinking it was the magazine salesman, back to make another easy sale. So I crept over to the peephole and saw my little CARES team odd couple. Actually, I just made out a large body but I figured that since last time the guy rang the door bell and hid around the corner so I'd open the door, it was safe to open (I know, I'll be murdered in my home some day thanks to my weak peephole policy).
"Hi Rachel!!!" These girls were really excited to "officially welcome" me to the apartment complex (wait, that wasn't what the whole car wreck in the parking lot skit was?) and handed me some fliers and propaganda surrounding the CARES team. Mmmkay. "We wanted to welcome you and your roommate!" Eh. I had to break the news that not only was my roommate carrying a contagious disease, she was also asleep and probably being bothered by the door bell ringing. The CARES people didn't seem to CARE too much, as they continued to give me a little song and dance routine about what they do.
I'm sorry, but here's the thing. I spend my entire day being nice to people. As soon as I get in my car, check my email on my Sidekick while cursing the burden that it has become, and get home, I am done being nice. I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to make small talk or for that matter talk at all. I want to lay down flat on my back, write angry posts for my blog to vent my frustrations and ponder why Ryan Seacrest looks so tiny standing next to some people and more normal next to others.
So, CARES Team, if it didn't seem like I was very caring, it's because I live in this apartment building for two reasons:

1) A van down by the river was too far of a commute to work.
2) I need a roof over my head.

I do not want to offer ideas for community events (isn't that your one and only job? To come up with said community events?) or be told for the fifteenth time that you live right next to me. I didn't go to college for a reason. If I wanted to live in a dorm and have an on-site confidant and party-planner, I would have enlisted at UT for four years.

Thanks.

I caught this last night during Countdown. It fired me up. This is what I'm talking about when I talk about "anger." I wanted a speech with this tone from Barack.

Worth the 8 minutes you'll spend watching it. Olberman really gets rolling at the end.

I just came to the sinking realization that almost every single one of my close friends reported to me symptoms of becoming sick today.

M
AmyGangsta'
Aman
Chrisy

Oh no. Oh no.

I just went and chugged half a carton of orange juice. I vaguely remember my dad doing that once, and getting even sicker, due to what he called "Vitamin C poisoning." I think maybe the orange juice had just gone rancid as it was wont to do in the Farris household.

Please join me in prayer:

Dear 8-pound baby Jesus,
Please please do not let me get sick. At least not until next week. This week is way too crazy and I have to finish up my last week of boot camp.
Amen.

I don't know if any of you noticed this commercial during the Oscars last night, but the girl who won the contest looks a helluva lot like Shirikins.

You be the judge.
Will the real Shirikins please stand up?

Downtown Austin was packed last night. I don't know what was up with it. But I wasn't enjoying the scene. Austin and I are in a fight.

Dear Obama '08 Campaign:

My sister and I have a theory about birthdays. It's a pretty simple one, really. No matter how old you are, what milestone you're hitting, birthdays inevitably are a let down. Not because of what they are, but because of what surrounds them. A birthday is a milestone, whether you're turning 17 or 71. Either way, you should look back on the past year and realize your growth, in both age and wisdom. However, what makes birthdays a let down is the hype, the excitement, and the inevitable "That's it?" feeling you experience by the time the sun sets on your big day.

I've been avoiding the Obama hype. Or at least, I've been trying to. I first heard about Barack Obama's potential 2008 campaign during the last election, in 2004. I was watching Meet the Press and I remember thinking then "Why can't he be running now?" Since then, Obama's cloud of press has evolved into a veritable tornado of exposure. Like an over-promoted movie, I feel like I've seen everything there is to see just off the previews alone.

So I was hoping that by attending Obama's Austin rally yesterday, I would walk away committed. I was hoping I would want to rewind the movie I just saw, watch it again, quote the best lines, and drag my friends and family to go see it with me.

My pent-up aggression toward the government combined with the inspiration I felt standing ten feet away from a man far more intelligent than the Number 1 or Number 2 in office caused my emotions to completely polarize my thoughts yesterday. I was beyond excited, beyond enthused, beyond in awe of such a spectacular event. To stand unified in a crowd of 22,000 Americans, in Bush's own backyard, was a once in a lifetime experience. And I heard the words of a very well-spoken man wash over me. "De-escalation" and "Katrina" and "education" and "health care" -- I understood that Barack Obama is representing my beliefs and for that, I felt relieved.

But I still was underwhelmed. It took me almost an entire day to put my finger on why. I left the rally feeling like I just saw an Oscar-nominated movie that somehow failed to resonate with me fully.
It came to me today.

In his speech, Barack Obama spoke of "cynicism" and how it was so much easier to be a cynic than it is to be hopeful. I felt myself bristle at the time, and I didn't understand exactly why. I'm Mean Rachel, I thought. I guess I'm a cynic.

But what I realized today, after hearing that another soldier that has been in Iraq for only 4 months has died, is that I am not only cynical, but angry. And what was lacking in Obama's speech, for me, was anger.

It's not 2004 anymore. A lot has changed in four years since the Dean Scream in Iowa. We've watched more people die around the world. We've seen the numbers on global warming. We've watched the levees break, the president rest on his laurels, the federal law of Posse Comitatus not only abused by the Patriot Act but also blatantly broken. I feel fairly certain that if Dean were running today and delivered his screaming speech, people would be screaming back. People are done hoping that someone will come along and talk some sense into Bush. While it has become audacious to hope, it is even more unthinkable to me that there is anyone out there who is not incredibly angry. I'm done with hoping something will change. I want someone to tell me it will.

I understand that Obama represents everything I want to have changed. But what I was looking for in the speech yesterday was whether he was willing to fight to have this world changed. I wanted to be inspired to continue to writhe in verbal wars against Republicans at parties and wave flags on 6th Street and write "Tony Snow is an idiot" postings on my blog. I wanted someone on the stage as furious as me, unafraid to declare to the world that yes, this is a fight, and yes, it will be won.

A Democrat either way,

Mean Rachel

I really want to dedicate more time to Barack Obama's speech he gave today in Austin.
However, I am a bit crunched for time at this very moment and I spent all night working on a compilation video for everyone and then lost everything at the last second. Yeah, long story.

I'll work on this some more tomorrow. Until then, here are some of the best pictures we got today. It was pretty effin' cool to be about 10 feet away from our future President.

Thanks to my fantastic boss, I am going to see Barack Obama speak today at 2:00 on Auditorium Shores in Austin. Should be complete mayhem, as I got an email from the campaign saying they are expecting at least 10,000 people to show up thanks to their RSVP system.
I am armed with a camera, my cunning ingenuity and some good connections. My mission that I have accepted is to get a picture with Obama, wearing my PetRelocation shirt. The grand prize: a week off. That's some motivation!

I'll let you all know how it goes down.

The above title was the theme of our Vegas 06 trip - however, it is rather appropriate for many things in life, like when you eat a Hot Pocket, wear a white shirt on a rainy day, try to come up with a title for your entry for your blog, or go to boot camp.
Boot camp today was rough. This might have something to do with the fact that last night I got a very, very wild hair to run two miles and off I went at 6:30 PM for a jog. I think with the weather getting nice, and the days getting longer, I've been having an itch to get outside and soak up some sun.
So this morning when my alarm went off, after a solid seven hours of sleep (which I think is the most sleep I've gotten on a weeknight in the last 5 years), I was a little surprised to be dragging as much as I was. And then I had to remind myself that I had made the mistake of exercising twice in one day and it all made sense.
I remembered when I got to boot camp that today was running lanes day. After our first indian run yesterday, I knew this was coming. Running lanes reminds me a lot of high school track, minus the dreaded "Chap Hop." I have a little PTSD left over from the Chap Hop, and I'll share that experience with you now.
Every day before we started running we would do drills out in the middle of the football field. When I say "football field" I actually mean giant, jumbotron stadium with Astroturf, because we're in Texas people. We had different drills we did on different days but on Tuesdays and Thursdays, we had the Chap (pronounced sh-ap, as in "Chapparalls" as in road runners, which was our high school mascot) Hop, which was this invention I presume my track coach came up with. Basically, you start off by jumping up, lifting one knee up in the air. Then you put that foot down, jump up again, and put that same knee out to the side in the air. Then you put the foot down. Then switch your the foot you are lifting in the air. All of this must be done in rapid succession, while making forward progress at the same time down the football field. Oh and you have to do this all in front of the football team. Mmkay. So we would line up and start hopping down the field. When it came to be my turn, I could never do it right. Every time I would do some random variation. Looking back I don't know why I even cared at all about doing it right, but I was fifteen and it was a big deal at the time. I would go home and practice in my back yard, trying to get the movement down. I'm by no means a dancer and by no means "agile." So this was my nemesis for two years.
Now that you've had a look into my miserable high school existence (just one of many parts that made up that miserable existence) we can move on, fast forward seven years ahead and me trying to do the "Grapevine" in boot camp.
Okay. If my teacher is reading this - I apologize for my crassness. However...frankly, between you, me and my yoga mat, I don't think any activity called boot camp should involve any certified dance move, even if it's from the eighties. I just can't do it.
I digress.
After reliving my high school years, we started doing upper body stuff. During the .0725 seconds in which we had a break between the drills and the onslaught of push ups, crunches, and so on, I was sprawled out on my yoga mat, hoping that Stephanie the teacher would announce that we'd work on deep breathing exercises for the rest of class. Not so much. However, I heard her ask "Where's Rachel?"
"Here," I sputtered back, from my near-comatose state on the ground in the back row. The back row is key. In fact, the back row, the back of the line, anything really at the very end of any exercise class/group sport is the best place to be. You aren't required to set any sort of precedent and odds are no one is watching you. So every day I put my mat in the exact same spot, hidden somewhat by a planter and a small shrub.
"What are you going to blog about today," Stephanie asked.
"That I shouldn't have come."

One funny part was that a participant started talking, between gasps of air during the shoulder press, about how she'd lost 35 pounds. She mentioned she was slimming down for a reunion. The woman to my right immediately, without skipping a beat, asked "What sort of reunion are you going to?" I burst out laughing but I think I was the only person who found it hilarious. I guess she was genuinely asking what sort of reunion she was headed to, but I thought it sounded more like she wanted to sign herself up for the reunion if it was enough incentive to lose 35 pounds.

Oh! And. The other funny thing was that I had on my BoSox hat that I bought when I was in Boston during the World Series (with The Madwoman!). I heard someone say "Are you Lindy?" and I didn't look up because I thought they were talking to someone else. Finally I realized the person hadn't answered and I looked up and I was like "Oh me? No I'm not Lindy." I went back to messing with my shoe and again I hear "What's your name?" For some reason, I'm an idiot and STILL thought she was talking to someone else. Again I had to look up and say "Oh me? I'm Rachel. Sorry, I don't actually wake up until 7:30. This is all a bad dream."
Then she asked me if I was a BoSox fan and I said "Yeah. Well, I'm not from there." I guess she thought I said I WAS from Boston and she started talking about how she was from Boston too. So I corrected her and said "No, no, I'm not from Boston. I just..." I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying "I have a large readership there." I instead chose to say "I just have some friends who live there."

That's right people. I'm representin' the B-O-S.

And now this S-O-B is going to sleep.

Dear Central Texas Weather,

Thank you so much for finally, finally getting warm. I'm impressed, I've got to say, that it was 83 degrees today in the middle of February. A month ago at this time I was taking pictures of icicles hanging off my old apartment.
But apartments change and so do weather patterns. For that, I thank you.

One side note: while I enjoy having my windows open to allow the 65 degree air flow through, please don't hurry to warm up much more. Let's save the 90's for late April, whaddya' say?

Always your defender,
MR

I found this satire website called Demockeracy.com, where they have satirical articles and headlines written by contributors from the internets. They also have a weekly essay contest based on one topic, and the winner wins $50 and a byline with their blog link. Needless to say, this was enough motivation for me to write a little something for a crack at having my blog gain some more public attention. This week's essay contest was "The Next Diet Craze." Too easy. Below is what I submitted to the contest. I'll let you know if I get any feedback from them.

The Fuzz Buzz
Celebs slim down, one hair at a time.

This week's newest diet fad promises it all: no starving yourself on rice cakes or drinking chemical-filled protein shakes. No, the newest diet to hit Hollywood is as simple as a pair of electric clippers and a trip to the salon. Affectionately known as the Fuzz Buzz, celebrities are heading out in droves to sculpt not their bodies, but their scalps.
"It's amazing what shaving off six pounds of extensions did for me," said Britney Spears, bikini-clad in the lobby of a hotel that asked not to be named. Spears is the Fuzz Buzz's newest celebrity-spokeswoman, after she bared it all on the last remaining part of her body we had yet to see: her head. "I feel like a new woman," Spears went on to say. "I can think clearer without all that hair on my head – it's so energizing!" Unnamed sources said Spears was heard mentioning that had she shaved her head a few years ago, she would never have started dating Kevin Federline. Spears' publicist was not available for comment.
Celebrities like Spears are hitting the town after shedding their locks, and the results are pouring in. Sniffing cocaine off of a toilet seat has reportedly become easier without all those over processed tresses in the way. Fellow starlet Paris Hilton reportedly prefers her sex tapes featuring her curl-free-coif to her older video appearances. "It's like, so much more beautiful to watch," Hilton said. "I didn't think it was possible but I like, look even skinnier. That's hot."
For a mere $200, the rest of the United States can get this diet directly from the professionals by visiting the salon that Spears chose for her hair-liposuction. Generic alternatives can be found at Wal-Mart where one can purchase an electric clipper for about thirty dollars. Either way, it's a lot cheaper than diet pills.

Because I said so.

Nothing Like Early 90's Dancing!


This Guy Had An Incredible Voice!

Those of you who had panic attacks last week when you tried to go to my blog and it was down are probably still recovering from realizing that I changed the first part of my Blogger address.
While rtruairf is my stand-in name for just about everything (email accounts, random things you have to create registration names for, etc.), I decided it was time to start branding myself a little better which meant getting a hold of the meanrachel.blogspot.com address before it was too late.
Over the years, a lot of people have asked (okay, so it's only been like one person, but work with me here) "What is rtruairf?" Those who know me well (i.e. my mom) can't even keep up with the symbolism of rtruairf. And she named me!
That's right. Rtruairf is a melding of my name - R for Rachel (obviously), my middle name (which is Truair) and my last intial (F). RTruairF. It has been good to me, but I had to let it go.

So you can imagine my shock when today I accidentally clicked on my bookmark (I had forgotten to update it) and saw "cool confetti bedding" as the new blog taking up space on rtruairf.blogspot.com. The horror! To make matters worse:


Sacrilege. This is probably because all those women have been Googling "Naked Bear Grylls" and finding my blog. The powers that be realized it was a high traffic Google site and thought they'd get some buyers while my links were still coming up in Google searches. The internet is a blog-eat-blog world.

Sullying up my good namesake with Viagra ads. Great.

This weekend was by no means boring. After Crapentine's on Friday night, I hid out all day Saturday. Well I actually sat out on my balcony soaking up the sun -- it was warm and beautiful out and a great cure for a hangover.
On Saturday night I went with some pals to a party that was themed as the "JJJHS (J.J. Jackson High School) Talent Show. " This was actually a brilliant idea (says the girl who threw an elementary school reunion). The girls who hosted the party were serving "after school" fare, like cheeze-puffs, pizza rolls and tater tots. They turned their garage into the JJJHS auditorium and from there, hilarity ensued. Complete with a principal, band director, school announcements and the always necessary crazy art teacher who sings the Japanese national anthem, this party was actually a huge success (for something that easily could have gone really wrong).



The Announcements

A Piano Interlude

Tribute to Top Gun

The Japanese National Anthem



Today I decided to finally come out of retirement and go trail riding with Chrisy and her friend Pam. I had only 2 rules for the ride:
1) The weather had to be between 60-80 degrees and sunny to partly cloudy, with light variable winds.
2) The horse needed to be lazy and not try to spook/buck/kick/rear/injure me in any way. If the horse killed me, that would be acceptable as it would save me a lot of headaches.
We headed out to Manor, which is about thirty minutes east of Austin (near Elgin, the famed veterinary hospital I used to drive to weekly). Chrisy's friend Pam lives back behind a large commercial riding stable and her next door neighbor (they're separated by about an acre) is a woman named Joan. As Chrisy put it, "It's like a horsey-Desperate Housewives back here, only there are no men in sight and...Joan is eighty." Joan has Chrisy ride her horses and had offered to let us take them out with Pat to some trails nearby. Joan's two horses are Sam, a big gangly grey horse, and Colby, an elderly, fat, stocky palomino. My kinda guy. Chrisy promised me that Colby would do no harm toward me. So, we got them brushed off and the whole time they were quite gentle.



We then walked them over to Pam's where we loaded them up in the trailer and headed out to Bastrop where we were able to head out on the Pace Bend Trail. The weather could not have been any better and Colby was a perfect gentleman. He listened quite well to everything I told him to do, when I would say "whoa" when he wanted to go faster down a hill or if I wanted him to stop. However, his one thing was that he wanted to be able to see Sam the entire time, even if he was a good 50 meters away from him.
I brought my camera with me and got some great shots as we went along. A lot of this was thanks to Colby -- if I hadn't been on such a mild-mannered horse, this would have been way harder.


At one point, Pam turned around and said "Hey, Rachel are you ready to canter?" I thought "Eh, why not." I was a good 100 meters away from them, but I had head Colby was quite lazy and I figured I'd need some room to get him going. I prepared myself to take off at a quiet canter, like I was back at the barn, doing circles around an arena. So I called back "Sure!"
Seconds later, Chrisy and Pam were off like rockets. And old, slow Colby decided he wanted to go too. Off we went, at a pace that I believe was more equivalent to a gallop. Meanwhile, I'm trying not to get my knees knocked off on trees. Thank goodness that despite his desire to catch up with the other two, Colby was still rather attentive to what I was doing and trying to tell him.
After an exhilarating gallop through the woods, during which point I had a small gnat fly directly into my eye, we headed down to the river to let the horses splash around. And splash they did, especially Colby whom I was convinced was going to attempt to roll. However, he still did not try anything silly and was quite well-behaved in the water.



From the water, we headed back up along the bank and did another "canter" through the woods. This trail was even more windy than the first, and rather hilly. Colby decided to leap across one of the ditches which is the closest to jumping I've been since March 2006. Pretty crazy. Luckily, I saw the ditch coming, and remembered them telling me he used to jump. I knew what was next!
We wound our way up along a scenic trail, which had great views out across the hill country. I was really impressed by the entire trail system - something I didn't even know Central Texas had to offer. Sad, really -- I've never done anything quite as adventurous on a horse in all my years of riding.

Last night was the much-anticipated Crapentine's 2007 event. I was able to sneak a nap in after work and then the girls showed up. We headed downtown at about 10 PM, crammed into my car (and I do mean crammed because the other Rachel aka Bluebell aka Tall Rachel is about 6'3" or so). We stopped in at Fuel briefly to grab a free Malibu & Coke (which was heavy on Coke and not so much on the Malibu). From there, we made a beeline to everyone's favorite piano bar The Ivory Cat. We began drinking and generally making a ruckus. Andrea and Cashmoney decided it would be funny to put a request in saying that it was Christine's 2 year anniversary to her husband Todd who was in Iraq. While it is true that her husband Todd is in Iraq, it was not exactly her anniversary. Christine of course did not know about this request until suddenly the piano player said "Is there a 'Christine' in the house tonight?" She didn't look to pleased but definitely got an A for effort for standing on stage through the entire duration of "Why Don't We Get Drunk And Screw." She came and sat down muttering something about payback being a bitch and the Cats players segued into "Proud To Be An American."
At this point, I started to gag and decided to unfurl the colors. Or lack thereof. The rest of the song (okay the rest of the night) was filled with much flag-waving.

From there, I got in a very heated singing contest with some girl sitting directly in front of the stage wearing a lot of glitter around her eyes. We were both competing to win the free fruity looking drink. I can't believe I didn't win, despite my flag-waving, and when they announced the winner I yelled out "The State of Florida demands a recount! Hanging chads! Hanging chads!"
This didn't get me much more than A Look from Joe the Drummer.

A very nice couple was kind enough to offer to take our picture with everyone together. I think this was before they realized we each had a camera. But it was still funny. Especially because my camera was set on video and I have a great video of us all posing for a picture for about 10 seconds.

I decided not to pass up an opportunity to plug my blog, so I took a picture of the nice couple and told them it would be available on MeanRachel.com within 24 hours. Shameless. Plus, look how cute and happy they are!


Finally, it was 2 AM and we had to return home. At which point I was able to capture the classic slumber party picture of three out of four of them (Bluebell passed out on M's bed).

Wow. Thursday already. This is not a bad thing.

Several items I have realized about myself this week. Let's discuss.

1) Events ending with "-palooza" and not involving heavy drinking are not my thing.
2) I suck at bowling. And pretty much any other sport involving a ball (stop snickering).
3) I can make a damn good pomegranate martini, eh?
4) I have started using the word "eh" to almost the point of being annoying.

So here's what's been going down.

Just when you thought it was safe to come out...
Boot Camp Is Back!

Oh my goodness people. I know I complained before but this new set up of four consecutive days in a row of my alarm going off at 5 AM basically just sucks.
There is a marked difference in the new blood at boot camp this month. First of all, I think everyone there has some sort of tropical impetus as their reason for being at boot camp. I'm convinced 90% of the class has listed "Spring break in Cabo" as their reason for wanting to shape up. The general attitude of the people in the class seems to have a lighter feel - as in, people actually talk. Not me, of course, because I'm just barely awake enough to jump up and down the entire time. However, the other people seem like they have a good peppy goal to work toward and understand the light at the end of the tunnel. I think the last session was just the hardcore "I'm going to work out in the middle of January" people.
But, in spite of the groundhog's fallacies, spring has not quite sprung here in Austin. And while there were no icy ponds for me to fall through a la Bear Grylls, it was damn cold out this week. Monday started off fairly warm, if you consider 50's warm (which I don't but for the sake of my pride I'm going to call it "fairly warm"). However, Tuesday for our mile run it was a blustery 40-something. A blustery 40-something sounds like it could also be described as "Murphy Brown" weather. Minus the out of wedlock child of course. The mile run was somewhat triumphant for me, as I beat my own time from Friday with 9:20. I credit the Fit Deck. Which brings me to Wednesday...yesterday. It was 32-degree-Murphy-Brown's-been-canceled weather. Sweet. There are a ton of people in the class (actually, the better wording would be "there were a ton of people in the class" - up until today). So Fit Deck didn't seem that terrible and I just kept pretending like I was stranded in the Alps.
Today was Friday in the land of boot camp. Which really threw me off because it also felt like Friday in the land of work. I managed to drag myself out of bed and put on the following items of clothing:

- 1 pair regular underwear
- 1 pair silk long underwear (you laugh)
- 1 pair long pants
- 1 pair windpants
- 1 pair of the thickest socks I own
- 1 sports bra
- 1 long sleeved shirt made out of some sort of synthetic material
- 1 long sleeved zip-up turtleneck made out of above material
- 1 long sleeved zip-up fleece
- 1 down coat
- 1 pair of fleece gloves
- 1 wool hat lined with some sort of synthetic animal fur that one of the barn moms gave me and that I only wear in desperate circumstances
- 1 pair of running shoes

Twelve items of clothing. Twelve. And I was still freezing cold! I live 1.5 minutes from the park where boot camp is held, but I wake up at 5:09 (after a 9 minute snooze) and it takes me until 5:23 to get dressed. Outrageous.
The temperature this morning was 27 degrees, and when I got back in my car it had dropped a degree. Luckily I felt a teensy bit warmer. The increase in my body temperature was probably due to today's events - lunges.

More appropriate is the term coined by one of the boot campers, one of the people who actually has a bit more esprit de corps than the rest of us (who just have esprit de cold). The word of the day was:

Lungeapalooza.

It does seem funnier when it's 26 degrees and you're doing lunges back and forth across the grass for 30 minutes. Trust me.
Although now looking at the word "Lungeapalooza," I think it'd be a great word for the Deltoid Alphabet. I'll bring that up if I ever wake up during boot camp one morning.
Lunges are one of those many, many things that I find are good in moderation. They even make you sore after doing like 3 of them so that the next day you can walk a little stiffly and if someone asks you why you're hobbling along like Quasimodo, you can say casually, "Oh...I did lunges yesterday."
However, just like Long Islands, cashmere sweaters, and Bear Grylls, it is so easy to over do it. And over do it we did. As my mom would say "We overly-diddly-dooed it." Just another one of the family phrases like "soul-sucking" and "spiral of despair."
Anyway, back to Lungeapalooza. I can hardly walk already. Tomorrow promises equally crippling results.

By the way - if you are actually able to do lunges and listen to music, "Beat Down Low" by T.I. is the hotness. I recommend the remix with Young Jeezy. You can thank me later.

Chrisy was my date for Valentine's this year and we had, as we always do, a lovely time. She came over, made me dinner (some kind of yummy chicken dish with mushrooms involved and she used the oven - I tried not to watch) and I made her drinks (pomegranate martinis that were fantastic we both agreed). The funniest part was that we both made Valentine's mixes for each other and I think out of the 15 songs on the one she made me, I had put at least 6 of them on the one I was making for her. We reflected on our serendipitous way of meeting two years ago and how funny it was that such a downer of a place like Elgin Veterinary Hospital brought us together. At least something good came out of all those drives with the horses. We tried to watch Sleepless In Seattle which was playing on one of the movie channels, but gave up at about 10:30 PM.

Tomorrow some of my friends who are married to the military (I think this sounds better than just saying "the wives") are coming down to Austin for my Crapentine's 2007 event. Basically this will consist of me preparing pomegranate martinis for everyone and then we will all head downtown for some more beverages and celebrate Month #4 of this damn deployment being OVER! I know. I know. On 21 February, I will embark on Month #5. I can hardly believe it myself. I am trying not to count the days too much -- but I finally broke down and put up the countdown for when IS2 comes home on leave. Because I love the look of 49 days! When he comes back, Month #6 will be over and we all know what that means. Halfway! Unless The World's Best President decides to extend them but I have not come to terms with that yet. So I'm just operating as if that's not going to happen for now. A girl can have dreams.

Unlike my fellow boot campers, I will not be abstaining from alcohol during boot camp. Sorry! It is a very fine line of me drinking versus me going crazy, denouncing America and moving to Spain. So I'm going to keep placating myself with alcohol.

P.S. Hey Gubna' Dubya - Iran called. They want their Power Point-based Iran invasion back. Also, they wanted me to tell you that they are only responsible for 8% of fatalities in Iraq since 2003. Perhaps you should work on the remaining 92% and focus on the Sunnis instead. Just for now, you know, until you get your fledgling democracy to fly in Iraq. Then you can go shock and awe Iran. Until next time, I remain, very truly yours.

Sadly.

May you spend the day with people you love.

What do you get when you stay up for 22 hours, drink heavily, sleep all the next day and then go to a wooded area by the railroad tracks as a social outing?

Some interesting photo and video footage.
Things started off where they always do on Fridays (or at least the last four Fridays of my life) -- boot camp, baby (sorry, bad taste with the TrimSpa joke). It was the dreaded mile run test. I surprised even my inner pessimist by managing to bring my time down from 11:20 to 9:38. I wasn't even dying at the end of it like I was on the first day. This is a good thing. I'm looking forward to the next session, even if it does mean waking up at 5 AM on four consecutive days.
From there, I went to my eight hour workday (you can subtract the two hour lunch outing from that). When I came home it was an immediate costume change and M and I headed out downtown for some revelries.
We had decided - I had decided - last weekend was extremely lame. So I was glad to be able to get out of the house. We stumbled across a new bar on our way downtown. M wanted to grab a bite to eat so we had planned on starting things off at El Arroyo on 5th Street. But I was looking for parking on 6th Street and accidentally turned into a parking lot of the sports bar Third Base (they should get a point for the double entendre). We decided since we could park right up front to check it out instead. It was a pretty typical sports bar - I counted 24 plasma screen TVs, all playing either ESPN variations or Anna Nicole news items. The inside was kind of Aspen-meets-Austin, with stone and oak facades everywhere. Apparently it was their third night in operation. I immediately vaguely recognized one of the female bartenders and spent about ten minutes trying to figure out how I knew her. Suddenly it hit me - she had been in our dance class over the summer. I asked her to confirm and we talked for a little bit about how much it had sucked. I told her about boot camp being loads better and turns out she lives just down the street from me and said she wanted to try it out. She asked for my phone number and I gave her the website. I may have recruited a cohort, we'll see.
After a couple of drinks, it was late enough for us to head to the real part of 6th Street. We went to Cheers to see Paul who unfortunately was bartending outside so we froze our asses off while we talked to him.

We did a quick run through 6th Street, going in any bar that offered us our first drink on the house, and managed to go all the way down 6th Street without paying for a single drink. By this time it was getting close to 11 and we had made plans to meet up with our old upstairs neighbor C-Lo whose friend was having a birthday party in the VIP part of Vicci. We took a rickshaw/pedicab (depending on your vernacular) back over to 5th/4th Street. I didn't realize that the pedicabs had unionized themselves. You can't walk up to just any pedicab driver - they have an order of who gets the next customer. They also charge FIVE dollars per person. Outrageous. I remember a couple of years ago Chrisy and I took a pedicab about two miles and we bought the guy a slice of pizza as payment! For the record, I blame Bush & Tony Snow for the hike in pedicab fares.
We got to Vicci and things quickly started getting a little fuzzy. This was probably because I haven't been intoxicated in quite some time (it's amazing what a good hangover will do to you). Also the two shots of Jager didn't help.


At some point, I lost C-LO and M (in violation of Roomie Rules Number 4 and 23) and I ended up having to drag myself out onto 4th Street in search of a cab. Sorry to everyone I text messaged at 2:45 AM asking them if they were downtown. I seriously considered calling my mother to test her vow to come get me the next time I desperately needed her (the first, only and last time I was stranded downtown without money for a taxi, at about 10:00 on a Friday night, I called her and she refused to come get me). Luckily, a very nice Jim Gaffigan look-alike wandered up and asked me if I wanted to share a cab as he was headed south as well. He turned out to be a democrat who had relocated to Austin (he even used a relocation company we work with quite closely!). I shamelessly promoted my blog to him, of course.
I finally got home at around 3:30 and realized I'd been awake for 22 hours. This was somewhat frightening. So I went to sleep and ended up sleeping pretty much all day today, other than the hour I spent getting my car downtown, eating and then promptly throwing up. I reminded myself why I don't drink very much.

This brings me to tonight. Earlier in the week, my cousin Will had invited me to go with him and his friend Matt a.k.a. Tim Gunn to the Enchanted Forest. I probably should have known this was going to be lame. As I said to Matt, "This is like the Renaissance Festival - only the good thing is we didn't have to drive 6 hours round trip to get here."
The Enchanted Forest is a new to me, but at the same time it's very familiar. It's basically old Austin hippies getting together to lay claim to a small piece of land in central Austin and then find random "artists" to come entertain them. Basically, an excuse for them to gather and smoke pot and confirm to themselves that Austin hasn't turned into Dallas yet. I was dragged to similar events as a child and even in adulthood. It was very similar to the Kerrville Folk Festival (which I told my family I would never go to again) with it's "I just wanna be free" themes. Eh.
However, I had agreed to go to the event, called Pandora's Box, which I guess was an apt name since every single show was weirder and more teeth-grittingly annoying than the next. Will feigned a stomach virus and didn't end up coming, so I met up with Matt and Chrisy in the parking lot of the Office Depot across the street (yes Goldie, the Office Depot of school supply nostalgia). We walked up and the admissions people announced it was $10 to get it. I had researched it online and hadn't seen anything of the sort, and they said "Well, it's suggested." I managed to dig $10 out of my purse. We went through a creepy poorly-lit path toward what we could hear was the "revelries." The event was BYOB, and we came up with ideas for what BYOB could stand for -- bring your own body paint, bring your own bong, bring your own bodyguard. As Matt said, "If there was a forest to get murdered in, this would be it."
When we first got there, a circus act was onstage. I quickly realized that I could never even begin to explain the circumstances unless I took some video.

The women in these videos are completely topless, with their chests painted.

At one point, Matt said "For once I am glad to not be part of the counterculture." Everyone there was chain smoking, wearing tights and striped shirts, dredlocked and/or mohawked and looking rather dazed and confused. Matt looked like he just came from the hair salon (which he had), Chrisy looked like she was in grad school and I looked like I came from track practice in high school. We stood out like sore thumbs and yet also appeared to be having the most fun out of everyone. Don't worry, we weren't having that much fun.
They had a bonfire going which we sat by for a little while. I heard a girl screaming in the woods to the back and I made a crack about "It's okay, she's probably just getting scared by someone. Or she's getting raped." I have to learn to filter my rape jokes in public. Matt laughed and said something to the extent of "She asked for it anyway" and some guy with long hair who looked like a woman said "That's terrible." The creepy long haired guy proceeded to inch closer and closer to where we were sitting. Matt and I could not stop laughing nervously and finally had to get up and leave.
As we were leaving, I said "Do you think the ticket takers would be offended if I suggested they give me my suggested donation back?"

Click the image to play. Moderately safe for work.



Humorous.

I was solicited tonight. No, not by a male prostitute. But by a man selling magazines to help him out of the troubled life he had once lived. Or something like that. His name was Antonio.
I caved in and bought a subscription to Glamour. First I tried lying, by telling him that I already subscribed to Cosmo, Conde Nasty (secretly I don't like that magazine) & Bass Fisherman Today ("My boyfriend's a really big fisherman...in fact, he should be home any minute now."). This did not convince him to go away. I finally decided, fine. Glamour it is.

Oh well. Pay it forward, right? Plus he said he liked Las Vegas. Can't be that bad of a guy!

We got our cable today! What a treat. Confession: I am currently drinking wine and watching cable. Technically I am not supposed to be drinking alcohol during boot camp. As Gladys would say, "I only drink a little to thin the blood." I should be careful since evidently my instructor reads my blog. I found out that out this morning. Trying to talk to my boot camp instructor while actually participating in boot camp reminds me somewhat of trying to answer your dentist's questions when they've got their hands in your mouth. I was shaking in agony trying to hold the "plank" and she came over and started talking about George Bush. I had to mutter "Uh huh" and "Yes" and "I know," the whole time thinking: I'd love to have an in-depth conversation with you about what an idiot Bush is, but at this very moment I can hardly remember who he is. Perhaps my goal for next session should be to hold a political conversation while also holding the plank for a minute. I think it may take a few more classes...
However, surely she can't expect me to wake up at 5 AM, run a mile more than once every other year, and give up drinking? Plus, I believe the punishment for drinking is push ups, and I certainly did my share today of push ups. My deltoids (now that I know where they are) agree with me that I've certainly done enough today.

Also, it's not like I sought out this bottle of wine. My bosses gave it to me for a job well done on an article I wrote for a HR magazine we're advertising in. Because that's how I roll. And so now that I have been pre-punished this morning, I will commence in drinking.

We did not do our mile test today, which only means we have to do it on Friday. But - ha! I thought we were done with Indian runs, but not so. I think we're finally, finally done. Until next week.

Below follows a recent debate that I had with a California Republican who will remain anonymous. Since I am now engaged in that very same debate yet again with a different person, I am posting this for their edification.
We'll call him "Arnold:"

Not to worry about those Texas Republicans warping your mind...they just
wait til you get older and tired of paying taxes, then they welcome you from
'the dark side' with no held grudges (or so I've heard)
Signed, Arnold

My response to Arnold:

I imagine that when I am old (assuming the world doesn't burn down from global warming first), I will probably be paying $7.50 a gallon for gas, still paying for the last four years in Iraq, and wondering what happened to my social security checks. Luckily Alzheimer's runs in my family, so I will have that. Seeing as that will incurable because we can't research cures using stem cells, I will be too out of it to care anymore. I'm really actually looking forward to it.
Then and ONLY then will I head over to the Dark Side. I will have a long list of friends who are R's to call to let them know when that day comes -- I will add you to it.

I think I'll let myself have the last word. That's the fabulousness of a blog.

So I would just like to state, for the record, that the next time someone tries to tell me I'm not handy, I actually in fact am.
And, while I may not be able to cook anything more than scrambled eggs and asparagus (which does not a romantic dinner make), I can fix shit with the best of them.
A little Farris tinkering goes a long way.

No transition in my life is complete without laundry becoming a significant "issue." All of my life, I have hated doing laundry and managed to barter my way out of doing it. For many years, my sister and I had a win-win situation where she did my laundry on a weekly basis in exchange for first right of refusal to wear any of my clothes to school on any given day.

And this worked for us.

Then, for a long time I had a neighborhood "co-op" where I would drop my laundry off every Monday morning with one of my former clients/friends/horse moms. I would then open all of her mail and pay her bills for her, while she washed, folded and sometimes even ironed all of my clothes. It was the golden era of my laundry. My clothes had never looked -- or smelled -- so good!

As I have grown older, climbing my way toward 23 years, I have found myself having to fall back on my own bare knuckles and devices. For a while, we didn't have a washer and dryer and I was forced to either use the coin operated laundry room in our apartment complex or mooch off my parents house. I would stop by their house on Saturday afternoons carrying a basket full of essentials. This is the equivalent of sending me into the Ganges River with a basket balanced on my head. I spend more time complaining, dreading and procrastinating.

Finally, when M moved in, she brought with her a washing machine and I went out and purchased a dryer. This was nearly a year ago now. Granted, I spent $45 on my dryer and hers she got as a hand-me-down from her parents, but you would have thought that having a washer and dryer in my house was like having a personal chef. Okay maybe not quite as good but close. I was even at a party the other night when I heard some people remarking on how wonderful, after years of living in apartments and using coin-operated rigs, it was to have a washer and dryer in one's own abode.

Yet these small gifts of God do not come without their own trials (see: Daily Affirmations) and tribulations (see: tonight's entry).

After finally getting my dryer to work, and missing out on death by electrocution by calling my dad, we were so excited to do our laundry.

But wait.

Our washing machine, when we first got it, had some trouble draining water. I don't know why but after several uses, it finally started draining and we never had a problem again. This was a good thing, because the washing machine weighs about 200 pounds. Or something like that. Let's just say this: it's no Deltoid Alphabet.

So M informed me last night that she had tried to use the washer and dryer for the first time, and the dryer worked but the washing machine wasn't draining. This is like the sun without the moon, people. Because while you would think that you could just take your soaking wet clothes out of a washing machine and dry them, the truth is: you cannot. It takes 4 hours of the dryer to get them even remotely dry. Plus the downside of the washing machine not draining is that it doesn't drain the soap.

Tasty.

I was not to be discouraged. I spent all night kicking the washing machine and hoping if I got it off balance enough it would magically right itself and start working. Somehow it was working when we left. Could it be that going up stairs was that traumatizing for it?

Suddenly, it came to me. I have never ever claimed to have enjoyed or retained any shred of Geometry but one thing I remember from Algebra I and II, mainly because my Chinese (and then Lebanese) teacher botched the word so wonderfully, was the definition of "parabola."

I'm not sure of the actual function or use of the parabola. However, it does not take a Rhodes scholar to deduce that if you have a tube that is supposed to serve as a drain for the water, and it is creating a parabola from the washing machine to the wall, chances are another mysterious term called gravity will intervene.

I pulled the foam tube up and hooked it over the washing machine. This was a victorious moment despite the fact that water that was balancing on one side of the parabola (I remember there was a word for the side, but again, it's lost forever to me) came gushing out of the tube all over the floor. I mopped all the water up (wondering if I should unplug the dryer, but then I decided screw it, so if I die in a fire tonight, you'll know why) and turned the washing machine on.

Twelfth time's the charm! It worked! I felt victorious, standing there in a puddle, my shirt wet, my foot hurting where I stubbed my toe on the corner of the crown molding. The water started draining, my extremely loud dryer went "clang-clang-clang" and I declared "Hells yeah."

Daily affirmations. That's what it's all about.

Tuesday, the official Lame Day of the Week, is over. Phew.

Andy Dick, who usually is pretty funny, got a little out of control on Jimmy Kimmel. More impressive to me was Ivanka's eye makeup and lock-jaw accent.



Did anyone actually see this live? I'd like to know what they talked about after Dick got dragged off the stage.

Also, Gladys Hardy was back on the Ellen show yesterday. The magic, sadly, is somewhat gone. But the crowd still seems to be pleased with it.



This was one of those things that would have stayed funnier without the news media digging around. Oh well. To those of you in Austin - don't you think that if she actually did go see Borat, she totally went to Westgate 11 Cinema? Their restrooms are always so clean! Gotta be. If not, what theater in Austin do you think has the cleanest bathrooms?

I'm starting to think that Gladys might be my former downstairs neighbor Dottie. They sound very similar and Dottie's sister's name is Gladys. Hm. I might have to investigate. Although I'm not sure Dottie is 88 years old.

Boot camp week four is wrapping up. Yet another Indian run on Monday, followed by many more wonderful activities incorporating mats and weights and jogging laps in between.
There is some rumor that our mile run test may be tomorrow. The weather has been heavenly for the last few days (70ish and sunny) so I'm all for it. Plus, we are supposed to get a cold snap and some rain on Friday which would definitely put a damper on the running festivities.

To those of you in the Big Chill: I'm sorry. And yet I'm not. That's what you get for living anywhere near the Great Lakes. But if you're going to move to Texas, why don't you move to Houston or something because our roads in Austin already suck as it is. Until Perennial Perry decides put his pea-sized brain to the test of creating a light rail, mass-transit system, I would prefer to keep our roads full of the existing Suburbans we already have.

I went for a run and then came back and hung out with Chubby Charles outside. What was going to be me taking pictures of the grounds quickly turned into me taking pictures of Chubby Charles.
Tell me she's not the coolest cat ever.

Happy Super Bowl Sunday, everybody! May all your Las Vegas bets be won.

I took some pictures this morning now that my camera is up and functioning. I might take some shots of "the grounds" later. For now, this will have to suffice. Please forgive the remaining boxes.