Can I be honest with you guys? I love that the title of this blog is scandalous sounding.

What the heck happened Wednesday night?! People -- aka my sister -- tell me they like it when I start off my blogs like that so there you go.
"I don't know about you guys," but Ballywhoo? Mel is moving to North Cackalackie tomorrow. This called for one last hurrah. Originally we were just going to go to Baby A's and have some dinner and drinks, but we all know how that goes. We got the night kicked off with a toast to Mel and us making it to the halfway mark of this godforsaken deployment, despite Robert Gates' best attempts to sideline us.

I then led the group through some boot camp favorites like eight-count body builders and walk outs, just to make sure I could squeeze my work out in since I wasn't going to the run test. There is definitely something awesome about Awesome, TX in that they don't care if you do this kind of thing in the middle of a restaurant. The waitress even said she wanted to pick up some tips and stood and watched.

There was some (okay, a lot of) debate regarding whether or not we should take our party to the place where all things wonderful occur: the IC. I don't know why we even bothered trying to fool ourselves, because two purple margaritas later, we were there.

You know it's a good sign when you walk into the IC and they start playing Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'." Is there any better way to kick things off?

JTD was in top form last night and DD will be interested to hear that we discussed the account of last week when DD won the free drink even though they didn't recognize him. A photo op was necessary, of course.

Pretty cool to see the final nationwide product from the Displace Me event I went to in April. Check it out here.

So I forgot to mention that about five or six postings ago, I broke the 500 mark! That's right. For one reason or another, I've sat down 500 times to write something on here. Childsplay. We'll hit 1000 in no time.

Usually when TV shows hit the century mark, they have a big fancy recap show. I feel as though I should do something similar. So I thought I'd answer some questions that I just know have been at the forefront of everyone's mind.

I hope in the very least that this is interesting to someone other than me.

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1. What got you started blogging?

Actually, it was Dunndee. I can't remember how I found out he was blogging, but I did. I had always shied away from blogging because I saw no point in an open internet journal. I am pretty secretive and didn't understand what you would be able to write about that you would want the world to see. I wrote a lot but blogging was definitely a new format. And I think to a certain extent it forced me to learn how to write more openly and for a wider audience. I also learned how to censor myself and was forced to pay attention to how deep into the inner mind of Mean Rachel I wanted my audience to go.

2. Mean Rachel? Where did that come from?

Honestly I cannot remember. Again I think it was a combination of Dunndee and IS2 giving me hell. I can't remember what exactly it stemmed from. Hurricane Katrina, maybe, and my outrage at the time. I called the Army Inspector General and complained. Maybe this was seen by some as mean/crazy? I really don't know. I do know that while it's more fitting, Mean/Crazy Rachel was too long of a user name.

3. What is your favorite post?

While it's depressing, I think my favorite is Slaughter Rule. I wrote it at a very difficult time in my life (while hopped up on hydrocodene, as the entry explains) but it says a lot about what I was feeling but doesn't really drone on and on. There is something to be said for its conciseness. I also love the one I wrote on election night 2006, Don't Stop Thinking About Tomorrow. I stayed up late writing that after I got home from the results party. I wanted to remember how energized I felt -- I felt like things were going to get better, or if nothing else -- different. I wanted to remember that feeling. When I read it now, I can. I'm glad I stayed up late to write -- even if nothing really changed that night.

4. What was the hardest post to write?

I know the answer to this, without question. "Let them go shopping." I had just seen Marie Antoinette, so the title came easily. Sadaam had just been hanged a couple days before. Everything seemed so archaic and apocalyptic to me at the time. I had a horribly painful inner ear infection and felt terrible and lonely. I wrote that and worked myself into a rage unlike any other rage before. It really affected me, even as I wrote it, which was definitely unsettling. To read it now, it doesn't have the same sadness I felt when I wrote it, but I was incredibly sad.

5. What is your funniest post?

Hm...I actually really like the one about the first day of boot camp, because I can still remember how awful and hilarious it was all at once. Some of my rants have been amusing to me but I can't remember any right now.

6. Name one thing you've learned from blogging.

The posts you don't expect to generate a lot of talk sometimes do. Usually they are the shortest ones or the seemingly trivial ones. The longer more in-depth posts usually don't get a lot of commentary. I think it's because either no one reads them or because they don't always know what to say. Either way, it's a loveless life being a famous blogger, but someone's got to do it.

I too shall be a lemming leaping off the cliff.

Go judge me, please?

Yes, thanks to the generosity of the H's and the Madwoman's hook up, I got my keyboard this afternoon.
I still can't actually play it but it makes noise and looks cool. C-Lo seems to approve as well.

Now...lessons.

I've decided to take one picture a day of Harry until he leaves. Why? Because apparently he's the most famous thing on my blog. Okay, so this is like three pictures but I had a hard time deciding.

Goldie is in Austin. And evidently, so is her gynecologist.

Stay tuned for more updates on: my sister turning into Charlotte from SATC, Cole Porter music marathons and temper tantrums brought to you by Goldie herself. Should be an interesting 3 wees.

But it's still worth posting one every social networking site I have.

Austin Adventure Boot Camp (and MeanRachel) On the News!

B-Towners, Please Note: the hat.

Reality:

1) I will have a very interesting clip posted up here tomorrow sometime.
2) This afternoon, in a case of Five O'Clock Madness, we decided to label Harry up to IATA standards for shipping live animals (live animal stickers on either side, and a sticker indicating the animal's name). Needless to say, he was not amused.


Reality?:

1) A Bloomberg/Hagel ticket? I'd be all about it.
2) In case you feel like being spooked, watch this (credit goes to OldM@ for having this link as his status on Gmail):

Today I took my car into the Progressive Service Center to have them look at the paint on the hood of my car. Those of you who haven't been skimming my blog for photo content will remember that Progressive fixed the hood of my car after a hotel employee smashed into it last Labor Day in Port A. I noticed maybe a month or so after I got my car back that the paint was coming off of the hood, about a dime-sized hole on the front left above the light. At the time, I was willing to chalk it up to poor quality service combined with a chip. Well, the other night I happened to be walking back from getting my mail and noticed that paint was coming off in various amoeba-shaped forms all over the hood. There were also some small bubbles of paint coming up.
This was enough to launch me into high gear so I called the auto insurance company and they made an appointment for me to come back in and have them "look" at it. I was frustrated because the first time they repaired it, they also dinged the driver's side door, right above the handle. So I was less-than-thrilled to hear that they'd be taking it back to the same place.
Then I started to realize that perhaps they wouldn't even agree to fix it at all, as it has been my experience with insurance companies (namely, health insurance companies) that they will screw you over as best they can in an effort not to spend another dime on you.
When I left work early today to head to the service center, I was prepared for a battle. I had prepared myself to scream and cry as much as necessary until they agreed to do what I wanted. I decided to go into the situation knowing I was going to get upset and flustered, and just go with it.
A nice looking woman came out to look at my car. I pointed out the (obvious) flaws in the paint, as she went, "Mhmm...mhmm...yes..." The woman went to wipe off something with her hand and the paint literally flaked off on her thumb. "See!" I said. "That's what it's doing!" She said something like, "Mhmm..." and said she was going to drive it around to have the paint people look at it.
I went back inside to sit down (it was 100 degrees outside. I don't know how you guys are exercising in Iraq, but that's another story). While I was in their lobby, I noted two things:

1) Customer Service Representatives at Progressive must have a high suicide rate, as they make their employees sit in a half-moon shape in an open room, perched on little stools and "work stations" like cockatiels in a pet shop.
2) The only magazines available for reading were "Highlights" which I believe I grew out of at around age eight, even though I continued taking Highlights until I was about eleven and reading it with delight. Highlights. Need I point out the irony? This also explains why one desperate housewife had brought her copy of Hardly a Husband (I couldn't make that up). I never got her story exactly but it seemed she was there in a huff over some botched towing job they'd done and was demanding to speak with the manager. The best part was when she went to leave and left it sitting on the tabletop and I got to say, "Ma'am? You forgot your book," and hand it to her with a withering look, one part empathy and one part, "I'm sorry your blood diamond is so big and your husband is hardly a husband."

This is where it gets good. My car was pulled back into the drive and the woman summoned me to come and look at it. I felt like a criminal about to be given the guilty verdict because I knew the fact she wanted me to come look at it meant she was going to point out why they shouldn't fix it.
"So, they looked at it," she said, "and they said that yes, there are chips in the paint and yes, it's covered for us to fix it, (the old "bring 'em up and crush 'em down tactic) but you see, they said that each on has a little dot in the middle of it which means it's--"
"Do not say 'rock chips.'" I cut her off before she even had a chance.
"Yes," she nodded and smiled patronizingly. "They're rock chips."
"No," I said. "They are not. Where else on my car do you see rock chips?"
"Well, we looked at your lights and windshield --"
"My lights and windshield are GLASS. Show me any other place on my car where there are rock chips." I was doing what some people might call yelling at this point.
"Well--"
"Where!?!!?" Now I was kind of going ape shit, running around the hood of my car, pointing at the flawless paint all over my car except on the hood. "Where do you see chipped paint other than on the part they fixed? WHERE?"
"Well--"
"And did the paint not just chip off when you TOUCHED it? How is that a rock chip?!?!"
Full on rage at this point.
"I'm sorry, that's what they said it--"
"I don't give a shit. This is bull shit. This is fucking outrageous and I refuse to accept it. You're going to have to come up with something else."

Yes. I dropped the f-bomb. I not only dropped it but I basically cursed the poor woman out. She stayed surprisingly calm, no doubt it wasn't her first ride on the ferris wheel.

I had had it. I mean, what the hell. Insurance companies can kiss my ass and I'm done being nice to them in an effort to get ahead. Perhaps this was post-workman's comp rage (once you're denied workman's comp, for a work-related injury, you never, never forgive) but someone had to hear it.

She said something about going to get the "paint expert" and hustled off. I prepared myself again for battle. Suddenly I was surprised I wasn't crying and I realized that I was so outraged I didn't have time to get upset -- I was just straight up pissed off. I started talking to myself I was so mad. I even remember at one point looking up at the ceiling, assuming they had hidden cameras, and saying "I will not leave here without taking someone down with my car if they don't fix this. I'm serious. You've got it on record."

Yes, I was that mad.

Then a tall guy walked out, who I had already decided was the manager or at least the problem-solver because he was the person who talked to the desperate housewife before me. "Hi, I'm John, how are you?" He said, trying to be friendly.
"I'm Rachel, are you the paint expert?" I said this snidely because I knew he wasn't.
"No but I consider myself to know a lot about paint."
I started making my case -- pointing at the chips and even having the woman testify that she had made the paint come off just by touching it. She agreed without hesitation.
John stood up and said, "I see what you're saying. We'll take care of it."
What?
"Well," I said, "thank you. And while we're at it, if you could have them not dent my door again because this is what they did last time." I walked to the door and John followed me hurriedly. I pointed at the dent and said, "They told me there was nothing they could do about this before."
"I'll have them fix that too."
What?

We've discussed this before and perhaps we'll discuss it until the end of time. What is so wrong with being mean? What is so wrong with having a freak-out? As I drove away in my free rental car, a cherry-red Toyota Corolla, I realized that had I not gone postal on the woman, I would be driving away in my flawed car which over time would cost me hundreds of dollars to fix. And I would have been here tonight, bitching about the unfairness of insurance companies and writing letters to Vice Presidents of Progressive but not getting anywhere in the long run.

There is a time and a place for being mean. And that is what this blog is all about.

Hours of entertainment and laugh-out-loud hilarity.

My mom bitched about the annoying sound this thing made, so I just changed it to a link.

Unless that horse is at a horse show, in which case, all horses are not created equal.

Aside from the rain in the morning, the show went better than I expected, mainly in part to the reduced class-size (due to people not showing up because of the thunderstorms that moved through at about 6 AM) and the rain-cooled temperatures and rain-soaked arenas. Horse shows have a tendency to get hot and dusty, so an inch or two of precipitation in the morning makes for some perfect footing and conditions for the rest of the day.

I had forgotten how long it had been since I'd been to a horse show (March 2006, for those who are counting, the infamous, poorly-run San Antonio show where I mysteriously hurt my back). But honestly, it was like I'd never left -- the people were the same, the same smells, same general atmosphere. There was the token "Loose horse!" who somehow ditched his rider in the warm up ring and took off at a happy gallop across the show grounds, with his rider's trainer trotting behind him shouting "Bucky! Bucky!" (Note to potential horse buyers: never purchase a horse named Bucky.) The obligatory youthful EMTs were there, lolling next to their ambulance, waiting for something other than a loose horse to happen, staring at everyone as if they had stepped into some foreign world.

If you've ever seen the Christopher Guest movie "Best in Show," you already know the type of people. Mildly-neurotic women and flamingly gay men are the only people who attend horse shows. We do have another category, which would be the entitled children, ranging from ages four to twenty three, popping their horse's flank with a crop for no reason, milling about with armfuls of ribbons.

I had an interesting cross-section to judge, because they had moved the "Special Beginners" into my ring, which had 13 riders in it. Special Beginners is a division they made because Beginners was too challenging for the average beginner starting out. It's a division that everyone from my generation on up has to go through. The course of jumps is very simple, you're allowed to trot or canter the jumps, as they're only eighteen inches high.

Nevertheless it becomes a very cutthroat division where kids who probably could make it in the beginners scoop up the ribbons. Then you have people who actually should be in the division who are just struggling to make it around the ring. It's hard to judge because the question becomes: Should you give first place to the very talented child who should be in the next division up, proving to her trainer that she should move up, or should you give first place to the "true" special beginner, who exhibits the skills necessary at that level. Things aren't quite as cut-and-dry as they might be in a class of more advanced yet equally skilled riders.

I tried to do my best, feeling my own twinge of nostalgia during the flat classes. Riders show over fences individually; they are judged in two "Hunter over Fences" classes (judged on the horse's style of jumping) and "Equitation over Fences (the rider's position over fences). The results of those classes aren't announced until later. Then the entire division of kids/adults comes back into the ring for two flat classes, one "Hunter Under Saddle" which is judged on the horse's way of moving and one "Equitation on the Flat" which is judged on the rider's position, or "equitation."

At the end of each flat class, riders are told to walk and line up facing away from the judge (so you can see the numbers on their backs). The judge calls in their selections (first through sixth place in most cases) and they are announced right then, with each horse and rider departing the line to collect their ribbon, in order of which they were called.

So inevitably, you are sitting there in the line up for the flat class with high hopes and dreams, and each number gets called aloud. It is a very public thing and for someone like me, who at age nine only wanted first place (who am I kidding, all of my life all I wanted was first place) had to sit through four other riders until their number was called.

I always remember that moment, my first big horse show when I was nine, the feeling of coming in fifth place, and walking out of the ring second to last. Now I realize that it was actually a pretty good ribbon, considering the size of the class I was in and the horseflesh I was up against. But at the time, I felt like a failure.

After the Special Beginners, I had a few different divisons come through, all of which were at the 3-foot level. This was ironic to me because I had only shown at three foot once in my life, at my last show as a junior. Because I never owned a horse, and lesson horses were limited to 2'9" jumps, I only got the opportunity to show at 3' when I took a horse named Tate to the year end horse show. He was owned by the owners of the barn and was like a Cadillac compared to the chitty-chitty-bang-bang horses I'd been riding all my years.
And so here I was, judging a class that I'd only been in once. I guess no one kept track of my statistics but me. In the end, it didn't matter. A good trip is a good trip, a bad trip is a bad one. It was easy to separate the winner from the rest of the group. I felt confident in my choices and feel as though I gave fair scores.

It is a strange phenom to be the person who the little eyes dart toward when they pass you, looking to see if you are paying attention to them, trying to sit up tall for you, clucking at their horse frantically as they get closer, trying to keep old Pokey going. It is one thing to stand on the side of the ring as a trainer and proffer advice whenever the student comes around, but they usually look at you more with a frustrated glare than anything else, for as the trainer you are always the veritable thorn in their otherwise ambitious side, telling them what they can and cannot do and when they can do it. The parents, rather than staring at you expectantly to tell them what their kid could have done better, stare at you respectfully, as if you hold their children's dreams in the whitespace of your judges card. Very strange, indeed, to turn the tables on something that even I myself at one point considered hallowed. It almost felt like the old saying, "If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours forever." I felt like suddenly I had more control over something I had never even come close to grasping. The elusive ship on the horizon (I know who gets this reference) had finally come to port. And you know what? It was just a regular old ship the whole time. I don't know what I had been so afraid of.

"Hey, Rachel, I have good news and bad news."
"Alright, give me the bad news first."
"You have to judge Ring 1."
"What?"
"You still remember how to count strides and know what lead changes are, right?"
"Um. Yes."
"Okay, see you tomorrow."


I never did get the good news.

It's raining like whoa outside right now. Serious summer thunderstorm. I kinda dig it. It's still light outside, which is sweet too. It feels super late.

So...another little cloud over my day was that I noticed the paint on my car's hood is starting to chip in multiple places. I am guessing this is due to the incident at Port Aransas last year where the hotel employee backed up into and smashed my front bumper and half of my hood. You ever hear those "Your Momma" jokes about how "she's so stupid she hit a parked car?" Yeah. That was this guy.

Progressive, his auto insurance company, took pretty daecent care of me -- I got a smelly "non-smoking" rental car (read: smelled like a cigarette) and they took care of it. But I think the people they farmed the work out to did a bad job. I first noticed a chip maybe a month after I got it back but chalked it up to maybe a rock having hit it. Well, now there are chips all over, especially on top of the hood, and bubbles where the paint is coming up. So frustrating, since the car is not even 2 years old! And the paint job is less than a year old! Alas. I think I am going to be able to take it back to Progressive next week and remedy the solution, but I have a sneaking suspicion it might require me screaming and crying until they agree to fix it.

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The indian run today at boot camp was extremely gratifying. Not only did I run with Group 1 but it didn't smoke me like the runs usually do. Between that and actually doing push ups now, I feel like perhaps six months of work is beginning to pay off. Don't get me wrong: I still drip sweat and writhe in agony for the entire hour. But even when miserable, I feel stronger. And that's a great thing.

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This thunderstorm speaks to me. I think I'm going to watch an episode or two of SATC, read a little Winds of War and then hit the hay.

Peace.

(Excluding the Hendrix phase in 8th grade when I fell madly in love with some goofy kid named Eliot Hendrix who, sadly, was uninterested in a girl who ran around like a horse during lunch and jumped over binders and textbooks.)

Great things abound! A certain soon-to-be-expat has gotten me hooked up with a free keyboard (many thanks to the ever faithful H family, all of whom seem to be my biggest fans). So I might actually get to start piano lessons within the next couple of weeks. Definitely the excitement of the day.

I've enjoyed this week so far, for reasons unknown. Perhaps upping my water intake has made me a more positive person? I don't know. These trivialities are best left unquestioned.

I may have to shat-can the 5K on Saturday as I have been asked to judge a horse show. When I say "asked" I mean "they didn't have a judge so they called me." I forgot to ask the important questions (will anyone from MRS be there) but oh well. It's money in the bank, y'alls. No amount of social anxiety can stop me.

Anyway, I'm thinking that the 7:30 AM start time of my duties combined with the excruciatingly muggy heat we've been having (and will continue to have on Saturday) will leave me with little inspiration to be running a 5K that evening. Unless between now and then I can rope someone into running it with me...although I feel a repeat of the famed Displace Me event coming on. "Sure, I'll go sit in a box by myself in the middle of a field for 24 hours."

What a nice day. Breaking the speed of Mean Rachel barrier this morning got things started. Then a lovely lunch of leftover chicken piccata. Followed by my boss bringing in Starbucks at 3:30 PM. Thrills at being quoted on MRhe's Facebook profile for saying, "Perhaps if my essays were made out of cleavage" (ah, if only). Enhanced by the sun shining until 8:30 PM on a regular basis.
All quickly trumped by my old high school track friend Marla tracking me down and posting a comment on MeanRachel.com.

Said a *certain* grim dude in reference to the meal I prepared tonight, chicken piccata. The recipe I used can be found here, for those of you who care.
It turned out really well. I would say even better than the eggplant Parmesan because I didn't spend 2 hours cooking it and I didn't have to bake it in the oven. In fact, when it comes to simplicity, I was quite impressed.
A shout-out is in order to Chrisy, who converted me to organic meat-eating. The chicken was great! If you haven't cooked with organic chicken, I highly recommend you give it at least one shot.

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I have narrowed down the field of contestants for my piano teacher. However, I can't start taking lessons until I get a keyboard. If anyone has an 88 key, touch-sensitive keyboard with metronome for sale, I'll buy it from you!

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Today was the start of the new session of boot camp. Run test tomorrow. Really would rather not go.

In other assorted news, I did SEVENTEEN (17) push ups today on my toes. I was rewarded by running a lap.

Over heard as I was leaving boot camp today:

Girl 1: "Yeah, Icy Hot, you rub it all over your ankle and then use one of those packs and wrap that around your ankle."
Girl 2: "And it works?"
Girl 1: "Yeah, totally, makes the pain go away."
Girl 2: "Hm...maybe I should go buy some...right now." - pause - "I can't believe I'm 30."

Fairly daecent weekend y'alls. I decided to embark on Part 3 of my three-prong self-improvement plan (yes, there is a self-improvement plan aside from boozin'). Part 1 was having my ass kicked at 5:30 AM every day, Part 2 was learning how to cook (did I mention I bought my first chicken breastestes tonight, organic no less?), and Part 3 is learning how to play the piano, i.e. moonlight at the IC.

Kidding, kidding.

But! If the Omni hotel security gig doesn't work out, I am thinking about going and sitting on the corner of 6th and San Jacinto with my soon-to-be-purchased keyboard and having a little tip jar with a flag sticking out of it that says "I *heart* Iraq." Chubby Charles will also be draped across my shoulder holding a sign that says "MeanRachel's Ivory Cat." What? It works! I could even go on tour with Rod Stewart - Tribute Act! Endless possibilities.

Anyway, first I must clear hurdle numero uno: Learn to play the piano. Learn to tickle the ivories. Learn to read sheet music. And so on.

Drumming up teachers and second-hand instruments was never so easy since the invention of Craigslist. Seriously, I think I should try to be That Girl who only purchases things off of Craigslist and sees where it gets me. I mean, everything. Toilet paper? No problem. Custom flag design? Sure.

Hopefully by next weekend I will be in possession of a keyboard and a teacher. And maybe even a stirring rendition of Chopsticks.

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Went and saw Knocked Up this afternoon with my dad. I thought that Father's Day was today, which in fact...it was not. As we were getting up from our seats after the movie, my dad said "Well, that certainly had some life lessons in it..." Classic Dad line. To which I responded, "Yep, just another great father-daughter flick!"

So it's an interesting movie that certainly will make anyone dubious of ever getting into a relationship. I thought the most noteworthy aspect was the way it polarized men and women -- the men in the movie are almost prehistoric beasts, pounding their chests (and other various appendages) and rolling around in their own filth (of course, loving every second of it). Meanwhile, the women in the movie are portrayed as cunning, emotionally-unstable walking time bombs of hormones, screaming at anyone and everyone who crosses their paths, then sobbing uncontrollably minutes later. I thought that despite the emphasis on the difference between men and women, it actually still ended up being a very believable cast of characters. Everyone was a caricature of someone I'd known in life. Sadly enough, I saw myself mainly in the chiding, borderline-rageaholic sister "Debbie," played by Leslie Mann. Mann gives an almost painful performance of an embittered woman, getting by on doses of three Red Bulls every fifteen minutes, waiting to snap at the tiniest piece of the world being out of place. The storyline is almost shared between the main characters, Ben (Seth Rogen) and Alison (Katherine Heigl), and Debbie and her cynical, jaded husband Pete (Paul Rudd). Ben and Alison are obviously going through their own minidrama of Alison getting "knocked up," while Debbie and Pete are forced to reckon with the notion of "If we had to do it all over again, would we?"

The movie is definitely not short on jokes and as someone who was underwhelmed by 40 Year-Old Virgin and Talladega Nights, I thought Knocked Up out-funnied both of them. I appreciated the emotional outbursts in the movie, finding the funniest moments to be when people "cut the shit," to put it in the words of Ryan Seacrest, who makes a short but funny cameo in the movie.

The movie brings up some interesting questions about relationships. It made me regret not actually seeing it with the person I'm in a relationship with. It forces the issue of the differences that men and women have in what they expect from a relationship, and the different ways each party is willing to give.

Anyone else see this movie? I'd be interested to hear your thoughts.

I had really high hopes for last night. I was hoping for a sublime, carried away by the smooth percussion of JTD sort of night. The old saying "nothing surer than disappointment" comes to mind. My expectations were high. Ipso facto, they were dashed.

I met up with the ladies at Buffalo Billiards, after getting a ride downtown by Shah, my Kashmiri cab driver. He came over almost ten years ago after winning the citizenship lottery in India. We were having a discussion about his winning the lottery and it was one of those moments where you realize how fortunate you are to be born in the US - I would go so far as to say you realize you are "proud to be an American." He was one of 70 winners out of 55,000 applicants. Pretty insane.

After a drink or two at Buffalo Billiard's we walked over to the IC. Oh! Wait. I'm getting ahead of myself. Did I mention I was wearing my new hot shoes? This warrants a photo.


So I took my shoes to the IC for their maiden voyage. We get there and sit down, joyously, in front of JTD and DTP. That's what I am going to call David the Pianist for the remainder of this blog because I am too lazy to write it out.
We put in our requests...this is where all things fell apart. I had brainstormed all week for a song I would like to hear that I hadn't heard them play and I came up with Brick by Ben Folds Five. I encourage you to play it while you read the rest of this blog and just think about what a beautiful song it is.



So, I request it. DTP says, "Oh, that's a great song." Yes, yes it is. Hence the request, DTP. "Have Cole print out the words and I'll play it." The words materialize somewhere, even though Cash$ and I volunteered to sing back up. I cue up my camera, ready to film the rendition of Brick, whenever they start to play it.

Song after song goes by. I make a belligerent request again for it and DTP says, "That's more of a 2 AM song." Fine. So I wait. Ben Folds actually has a song called "Annie Waits." That is what I did.

In the meantime, Em comes up with a fabulous idea of preempting the obligatory Proud to Be An American they play every night. So Em writes a note, which I took a photo of for posterity.


At one point, I saw a girl I knew in high school walk up on stage. We'll call her K. Those who knew me in high school will remember her as the girl that had her 16th birthday party with me. So I went to talk to her and found out that she's working for a senator at the capitol. I made the mistake of asking "Republican or Democrat?" I knew what was coming. So I gave her hell and she said "No, no, he's very moderate, very moderate." I rolled my eyes and heard "Wave on Wave" start to play and immediately said "Did you request this?" Of course she had.

So the night wore on and suddenly it was 2 AM. Guess what song I hadn't heard? No, not Cheeseburger in Paradise, my all-time-most-despised-song that was played at least once last night, but BRICK.

This did not a Friendly Rachel make.

We descended upon DTP who said something about how it was really busy and that he hadn't gotten a chance. Granted, DTP and JTD played for five hours straight which was a feat I'd yet to witness. Usually when there's only one pianist, they have a break halfway through and pipe in radio music. Perhaps my bitching at C-Rod about how no one is going to pay cover to come inside to listen to the radio finally made sense to him.

Then basically we created a small mob around the piano and pretty much forced DTP to play exactly 57 seconds of Brick. I know because I recorded it. And it was great! Seriously -- would have brought the house down had they played it earlier. Then some man who I'd never seen before came over and yelled at us and DTP had to stop playing. This was uncool.

KL was in absentia last night, aside from his picture on the wall staring down at us like Marilyn Monroe. We decided to toast to him anyway. I believe we toasted twice.

Anyway, we finally gave up on Brick and excused ourselves from the building. This is when the night got really interesting because somehow an Afghani cab driver allowed all six of us to cram ourselves into his cab. And not even a van cab, but a regular car. Let me tell you how many times we've argued and begged and pleaded with the drivers of van cabs to let us use the additional row of seating. It is a law in Austin that you cannot put more than 4 passengers in a cab for some reason. A really stupid one. A really stupid one that ends up endangering six girls by cramming into the first cab they see. Suddenly we realized this wasn't the best idea, so Cash$ and I got out at the Omni Hotel. I called Shah to see if he could come get us and he said ti was going to be about 20 minutes. So we went into the Omni and ended up talking to the security guards. At some point I explained that I was really tired and would like to sit down, so Cash$ and I found ourselves sitting behind the security desk. Ha! We got really into the whole night watch thing. There was a bag of popcorn that appeared out of nowhere and we watched all of the cameras while munching on popcorn.


Finally we made it home, thanks to Shah, and managed to stumble our way up the stairs to my apartment. We then discovered the flotsam and jetsam of our party.


All in all, the night had its merits. No one got sick, no one was unable to walk on their own accord, and we all made it back in one piece.

I leave you with another beautiful Ben Folds song.

Damn. I've been really tired this week, which has led to me going to sleep at 8:30 PM on several occasions. Not sure why, exactly. Doldrums, perhaps? Waking up at 5:09 AM for six consecutive months, perhaps? Writing manifestos never to be seen by anyone but me, perhaps? Who knows.

Not to worry, the June Platoon is tomorrow night. Nothing a large dose of JTD + Bon Jovi songs + extraneous amounts of alcohol + David the Pianist can't fix.

Which means I may not show up for the run test tomorrow. Oh, who knows. I just did one the other day. Really not wanting to do another one. You guys will just have to wait until next week for my 7 minute mile.

For serious. Run test? Mmm....no.

You cannot put $3.89 worth of basil in the fridge overnight.

Lesson learned.

Tonight I made Eggplant Parmesan.

No kidding.

And I ate some of it.

I was at the grocery store and saw an eggplant and I was like "I want to cook that." When I picked it up I suddenly realized that I had never held an eggplant in my hand because it was soft, almost squishy, but not weirdly squishy like a mango or anything. Just kind of foamy almost. I said to it, "You are the chosen one" and put it in my basket. I then looked up a recipe on my phone and walked around getting additional ingredients. I had to call my mom to make sure I could use olive oil instead of vegetable oil.

When I got home I realized that basically I was making marinara sauce for about forty five minutes. I almost lost hope. So I then went into my bathroom and said "Rachel, I love you and tonight I am making you marinara sauce from scratch." Evidently I'm totally in love because I added an extra clove of garlic and parsleyed it up. This all occured between the hour of 7:30 and 8:30 tonight. I listened to Kathy Griffin doing standup on Bravo while I did everything so that kept things moving. I also realized why people put TV's in their kitchens.

The consistency of the eggplant was very different from what I expected. I thought it was going to have a bunch of seeds like a cantaloupe (which it didn't) and be more like a cucumber in texture (which it wasn't). The peeling process daunted me at first, but then I realized the sides were very soft and easy to peel. I think I picked out a good one. I also was happy with the size I picked out (who the hell knows what a "medium" eggplant looks like?).

Avocado sandwich for lunch and Eggplant Parmesan for dinner. Top Chef here I come.

...Chrisy and I went to Baby A's. I won't get into gory details but I did mention that I'd always wanted to go to Niagara Falls. Chrisy pointed at the little fountain off to the side of the patio and said, "Rach, does that interest you? Does it? Because it's like that, times 800. It's the most overrated place on earth."

So we had to take a picture of the mini-Niagara Falls.

We then wandered around aimlessly on Barton Springs, watched a little bit of bluegrass at the Green Mesquite and plotted our imaginary trip to Mexico which perhaps some day will come to fruition.

So Saturday night was the infamous 'downtown in a skirt' night with M. This went pretty well. I was a little irritated that I lost my wingwoman early on in the night, so it was not the all-out adventure it should have been. However, we went to the Gay Pride parade, wearing our skirts. I had bought some shoes at the mall earlier in the day. Using the words "some shoes" to describe my shoes doesn't really do them justice. They are "some awesome shoes." Despite the fact that they gave me raging blisters.
We underestimated a) what time we should get downtown and b) the high concentration of lesbian women (I guess we were only expecting to run into gay men). So there we were at about 7 PM, in the light of day, thwarting women's efforts to hit on us. Interesting, I can give it that. We went to Malaga for some tapas and then went across the street to 219 once the parade started. Since we were the only straight people there, this garnered us a lot of attention from the bar staff. Attention ended up equaling free drinks made with various forms of Absolut.

All in all, we had a good time. I made a stop at the end of the night at the IC to say hi to JTD and remind him of the June Platoon next weekend. I have been thinking of some new songs to request...I'd like to see if they know any Ben Folds. Cash$ suggested walking up with sheet music for the songs we like. Heh. Just the notion makes me laugh.

After a rough week on all fronts, I am glad to say it is now Saturday and I have managed to get 11 hours of sleep in so far. I have got to fill my weekly deficit of negative eight hours of sleep.
Last night I went down to The Belmont to meet up with Chrisy and her new beau Clay. It was a little bit of a madhouse because the ROT Rally is in town (Republic of Texas bikers turn out in full force). Also in town is the Gay Pride Fest (tonight). According to the radio, there are an estimated 200,000 people in town for these events and they are all downtown for various forms of parades and revelries. So this has created some parking/traffic/Mean Rachel swears off Austin moments. But all of this is outweighed by the exceedingly wonderful weather we have been having for several days.
Anyway, back to The Belmont. We were just going to have "a few drinks" while waiting for Clay to show up. Well, that turned into several VT's and a lemon drop shot. And of course, the Chrisy/Rach picture extravaganza.