What I learned at the learning conference's"Icebreaker Reception" last night:

In South Korea, I would actually be 24 years old. They count the nine months you are in the womb as a year...yes, even though it's only 9 months. Even stranger: if your birthday is before March, you add TWO years to your actual age. I couldn't really interpret why that is. You know what this means: sorry M. You're a whopping 27. But big girls don't cry, right?

My one of my agents from Budapest ("Emoke") and my agent in Shanghai ("Kiki") are female.

Russian customs is confusing because apparently you have to bribe them to clear anything going into Russia that is worth over $50 in shipping costs.

No one likes shipping turtles.

Marcel, my agent in Geneva, is not a 75 year-old chainsmoker huddled over an IBM in a bomb shelter as I had always imagined. He is a 6'4", blonde, tan twentysomething.

Today we go on our wine country/sightseeing tour. Theoretically at some point we'll stop drinking and actually start our learning conference, but I feel as though I've learned quite a bit so far.

Cheers!

I got into San Francisco this morning (by the grace of the 8lb Baby Jesus himself) and was notified by Two Dollars that I am in the running for Austin360.com's Hottest Bachelorette.

Help make Mean Rachel the next Perez Hilton of Austin! Please vote, starting Monday!

And anyone who comes here via the link on Austin360, welcome! Say hello, weigh in on the pros and cons of Mopac rush hour traffic, and stay a while!

Well, all you Becky Donaldsons & Uncle Jessies out there, I'm out. The PR crew is headed to SFO (that's San Francisco for those of you who haven't picked up on the Full House metaphor yet...amateurs) at the ass crack of dawn on Saturday. How early, you ask? Well, let's just say that we arrive in SFO at 8:15 AM. Morning. On a Saturday. That's 1315 Zulu (or at least, I think that's right...maybe 733CharliePapa can tell me).
You might wonder what we'll be out there doing but if I told you, I'd have to crate you up and send you to Cameroon. Let's just say this: I will be attending a panel discussion on different types of aircraft and cargo door sizes (and people are surprised when I know the max dims of a 737-500's cargo door). We also will attend a lecture on "Shipping the Common Exotic: Snakes, Reptiles & Amphibians." I kid you not. For the rest of the stunning (even to me) itinerary, check this out.

I don't expect to get a chance to blog tomorrow night (here's a tissue). I might squeeze a blog in if I have time while I'm there but it will probably be booze-induced drunk blogging which won't be very good reading since I tend to write in bullet points when intoxicated.

I know you are all wondering how I am going to blog about the Bachelor if I'm out drinking Singapore Slings all night. I have a contingency plan I'm working on and it might turn out to be a fun surprise. So stick around.

I would also like to invite you all to leave your goodbyes for Harry "Shashimi" "In Mah" Eracki because he is leaving for Tokyo on the Wednesday morning we get back. Believe me, no one is sadder than I am to see him go.

Shot this today for you Bachelor haters. Enjoy.

I took Goldie with me to Summer's birthday celebration at Red Fez tonight. I am trying to pace myself because this week is going to be awful and so far is leading to some serious sleep deprivation, so we had a couple of drinks and then headed home.
On our way back down 4th Street, we noticed this huge bright light up on a crane that seemed to be God telling me he wanted God's shoes back or something. Anyway, then I noticed there were cops and a giant stretch limo outside of this bar called Liquid. Liquid isn't really very happening in my opinion but when Mean Rachel sees bright lights, she stops and feigns making a phone call in order to get the skinny.
Goldie kept saying "I don't think there's anything left to see here" but I had managed to chat up Frank, one of the crew members, and eventually got him to divulge that they were filming the TV show "Friday Night Lights" and the most famous person inside was someone named Gaius Charles. He plays Brian "Smash" Williams. I was a little disappointed that the coach wasn't there, since I have a thing for him and Frank the Crewmember said "Isn't that a little old for you?"
So I told Frank to tell me when Gaius walked out and seconds later, there he was. I took a blurry picture but we were poised at the exact right spot since they were walking toward us.

I've been trying to find this video clip for a while now.
Someone nominate Colbert for The Bachelor Season 12!

Okay so you guys (Gingy, Mrhe) who want to ridicule my Bachelor watching:

Get your own blog!! Or Mrhe, go update your derelict blog!

I didn't come here to be judged! I came here to judge others!!

I can't ever please you guys! You complain when I write about politics!! You complain when I write about drinking! All you want are Harry pics! Well I have news for you: Harry is leaving! In a week! So you better find something else to enjoy! Might I recommend the washboard abs of Brad Womack!

And Gingy how would you like me to start blogging solely about sports! Oh I'll do it! I would! The BoSox are going to the playoffs! I could go all night about it!

I'm going to keep using exclamation points until you stop complaining!

20:20 PM
I'm ready. I've got my bowl of edamame and a Michelob Ultra someone left in my fridge, with Chubby Charles at my feet. I think I fit the prototypical Bachelor-watcher. Bring the cocktail dresses!

Dancing With the Stars...something I'll never understand. When did washed up soap opera stars ballroom dancing with ambiguously gay men become popular? Bring the acrylic nails and Zoom whitened teeth!

In honor of Brad Womack's string of bars, I'm going to turn this into a drinking game. Every time Brad is shown shirtless, I'm going to drink. This includes video montages of "Who is Brad?" as well as any preliminary hot-tub/pool chicken fight scenes.

Dancing With the Stars is wrapping up. Oh my God, this is even better than when I met Will Wynn.

---

20:30

Three hundred and thirty five hot tubs and we've only got one wedding and a baby out of the deal? I love these stats! They should dedicate an entire show to Bachelor statistics.

Mmmm...Oh! Running shirtless on Lady Bird Lake Hike & Bike Trail! DRINK!
Cheers! They're drinking champagne. Did I tell you guys we polished off the last two bottles of Andre?
Shirtless as a baby in the tub? I guess that counts. DRINK!
Stationed in the Gulf of Mexico on an oil rig in his late teens, early twenties.
Oh! Shirtless running past the Convention Center. DRINK!
Walking into The Marq. Is that me back there? The girl with the flask?
"I'm missing that one thing I've always wanted and that is a Austin blogger." Oh, Brad, you shouldn't have.
Shirtless in the shower! Getting dressed! DRINK! DRINK!

Here come the creepy ladies! Awesomeness.
Commercial break. Thank God. I need to go get another beer to keep up. Please excuse any typos from here onward.

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20:40

What a quaint Malibu home, Chris Harrison.
It's a shame old Chris is married. I'd go on a show called "Who Wants to Mary The Cheesy TV Host."

Ok hoochies. Oh! Opening with Lori, the Biology Teacher.
"Silly Hillary?" Home girl needs to start a blog.
Solisa has fake boobs. Classic editing: "The moment I meet the Bachelor, my heart is going to be jumping out of my chest," she says, as they cut to her pulling a spandex halter dress over her giant boobs. Nice.
Hahaha "My strategy is to not cry, and not get drunk." Mine too, sister, mine too.
Interesting...now the girl is drinking in the limo. Might want to slow down.
Brad shows up. Strong handshake, this I know for a fact. This is somewhat trippy. Very meta.
Commercial. From the looks of the "Coming Up" clip, Brad's strategy is to "Not stare at their boobs and keep my tux on for as long as possible."

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So in case you're wondering, the Austin ABC affiliate is promoting The Bachelor on their 10 PM news. Now I don't feel so bad. If everyone else is capitalizing on this, I might as well get some Google hits out of the deal. No restraining order jokes, please.

20:47

Apparently Brad is the sexiest bachelor ever. Ever? Wait. Matt Damon was a bachelor once. Boston accent trumps Texas accent, I'll admit it. Brad announces he is a millionaire. This does not explain why The Marq didn't have a sign for the first six months of operation.
Okay, Brad is acing this interview. Brad Womack for President. He confesses he has an identical twin.
"Imagine," says Chris, "walking into a room of 25 beautiful women. All eyes are on you. Can you handle it?"
"Just a typical night at The Marq."
Chris obviously thinks that Brad is going to get eaten alive.
Less interviewing, more shirtless scenes! I'm thirsty!

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20:55

The ladies/golddiggers/assorted beauty salon employees are arriving. You could cut the desperation with a knife.
Sheena, also known as He-Man's Jilted Lover, steps out. Looks like she got caught in a paper shredder.
Jenni, the "dancer," arrives. Kim, the tall chick, arrives. Brad seems to really go for the dress. Gives her a hug. Sarah from O'Fallon, IL rolls up. Bettina, another realtor comes out. The hugging is now a pattern. I think he forgot to hug the first few and realized he should start.
Hoochie Party Bus arrives. The news anchor, Jessica, walks out. I recognize her because I remember her terrible high lights from her bio picture. Morgan the graduate student shows up. "Do you like my dress?"
Self-proclaimed "Miss Brown Sugar" shows up, birth name Regina. Brad apparently was coached by his mother to compliment their dresses.
I got distracted by a typo. Missed that girl, but her friend lived in Austin. "Now we have something to talk about."
DeAnna walks up and starts talking in Greek. DeAnna, how do you say "horizontal stripes are not flattering," in Greek?
Juli without an "e" on the end! YES! That is what these "ee" girls do! Change it up. Excuse me, I'm gagging.
McCarten the Irish girl shows up and says creepy stuff about dreaming about the Bachelor. Brad says "I can't wait to meet you inside."
Weird silver dress girl shows up. "I'll see you inside." That is apparently Brad's "get outta here" line.
Lindsey the Michigan model assaults Brad with her Midwestern accent.

I'm exhausted. Ten more women to go. Really? And ten will get kicked off? Ditch Juli without an e! Please!

And I'm just going to close my eyes and imagine Brad shirtless, because this has been way too long without a drink. I invite you to join me.

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21:06

Acupuncturist Kristy. Or Christie? Dunno. She forgot to tell him how to spell her "ee" name.
Giant Boob Solisa says she's from Austin. No, Georgetown is not Austin. Georgetown is the seventh circle of hell.
Some girl I missed because I was getting worked up about Solisa's slanderous account of where she was from.
Silly Hillary is a nurse. Here comes Lori the biology teacher. Hm. She looks a bit vacant. Actually, it's her eyes. Her banter is okay, it's her eyes that are weird. She has those crazy googly runaway bride eyes.
Missed this girl's name. Pink dress.
Mallory the nanny from Hawaii is here. Brad seems either smitten or weirded out by her.
Michele, another realtor, Jersey girl is here. This lady's biological clock is obviously ticking. She used the word "love" in her opener.
Melissa says she's nervous. Uses the word "sweetness." Not sure what's worse.
Jade got a kiss. And a twirl. Oh my god - the second "love" bomb has been dropped. "Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk out of the limo again?" She asks.
"Do you believe in awkward long silences? Or should you use a corny pick up line on national TV?"

This drinking game has lost it's thrill. I say we drink now whenever someone says "love" and/or shakes their boobs.

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21:14

Brad thinks his wife could be waiting for him inside. Really? For serious? Because I didn't see any bloggers in that crowd.
Cheering bachelorettes. Now I remember why I don't watch this show.
Okay Jenni the dancer looks like one of the evil stepsisters from Cinderella. "Sing sweet nighting gale...sing sweet desperation."
Horizontal stripes is up. DeAnna the Grecian with the southern accent. I'm confused. Realtor by day, bartender by night? What?
This banter is a bit dull. Surfer girl, yak yak. Chinese medicine crazy girl talks the bachelor into sticking out his tongue.
Broken faces girls bond together. But wait - the news anchor went and stole him. She called herself a journalist. Is holding an imaginary microphone. Uh oh! Breaking news. Crazy gray dress goes for the kill.

Okay. Yawn. I now remember why I stopped watching network TV. I'll numb myself with alcohol. My edamame is gone. How about we drink every time they promote the new show called Private Practice or there's a Victoria's Secret commercial?

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21:22

First impression rose time. Brad made the mistake of suggesting they do a talent show to earn the rose. He failed to think that perhaps they might not have any talent.
Jenni does a really bizarre dance, and Brad seems enthralled. Michigan model (nose job? Thoughts?) gives Brad a rose. And she's going to sing a song. Oh dear. Oh dear. Yeah, um. What? Was that supposed to be the "Yellow Rose of Texas" melody? Because it sounded more like "Friends in Low Places."
Tammi owns her ass. Juli without an "e" looks somewhat like Carrie Underwood. Except I don't think Carrie Underwood studied karma sutra.
Melissa lost a "boob." And her sobriety. These ladies obviously don't know that those "boobs" are called chicken cutlets.
Morgan announces she has a 'signature move.' This will be good. What? Webbed toes? WEBBED TOES ARE NOT A SIGNATURE MOVE!!!! THAT IS A BIRTH DEFECT!!! WOMAN! STOP!!!! DATING SUICIDE!!!! DO THE WORDS 'NATIONAL TV' MEAN NOTHING TO YOU?
Mallory busts out a bikini. Is this the nanny from Hawaii? Do nanny's often instruct their pool mates "I think you should take your pants off?" You know her employers are sitting around the TV right now with their 8 year old son, covering his eyes. Awesome.
The rose! I hear this is a big deal. Oh - burn. Ditched the girls inside. Tell me the nanny gets it.
Oh! Dear! The ugly step sister wins the first impression rose. Giggly. Love! Love! Two loves! Let's drink guys, we may not get another chance!!
Prediction: Giggly the Dancer is going to get old by episode 3. Laughing at every joke is cute for about twelve hours.

I am starting to wonder if Brad is a devout Christian. Because he seems to genuinely think these are quality women and that one of them may be a potential wife. That takes incredible faith.

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21:42

Recapping the night with Chris. Okay now I know Brad is a BS'er. She has a terrible voice. Oh, thank God. He confessed. "Pretty good voice." If by "pretty good," you mean "beyond repair," then yes.
Pretzel Girl gets panned. Here comes the recap of Morgan's "signature move." That still baffles me. Do you think she's been doing this all her life, thinking that guys think it's hot? Or do you think she just got desperate and used it to get his attention? Jesus, Morgan, get a blog. WebbedFeetMorgan.com might be available.

My beer is warm. What a disappointment.

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21:49

Here comes the rose ceremony. It always reminds me of that scene from Toy Story where the stuffed alien toys are "chosen" from the crane machine. If you know what I'm talking about, drink.
Jade makes it. Good start. Not an "ee" name. Bettina makes it. A realtor, but we'll take another "ee" free name. McCarten! Yes! Three for three (minus Jenni whom I don't count). Ugh Silly Hillary. DeAnna the Southern Grecian. I think she might stick around for a while. Michele with one L. And bad hair. Carrie Underwood Human Pretzel has still not been chosen. Sheena gets a rose. Did she even talk to him? I don't remember much about her other than her cheesy name.
Steffie? Estefia? Wait...he's calling her Steffie! They totally decided to just agree to disagree on the pronunciation of her name. I can't believe they edited that out. Broken Face Erin makes it. Big Boob "I'm From Austin...But Not Really" Solisa makes it. Lindsey makes it. Who was she? Aren't we done yet? Sarah makes it. Almost falls down. She looks wigged out. Mallory the nanny makes it. How did she dry her hair so fast? Wasn't she just in the pool?
Final rose. Lots of girls left in the wings. Awkward. Christi makes it. The tongue girl? Really? Weird. Maybe he wants some free acupuncture.
Take a moment say goodbye. Thank God he ditched the crazy woman in the gray dress. Love! Love! Sweet. Finish your beer off, you might be able to finish another one at the rate this is going.
The biology teacher with the runaway bride eyes didn't make it. And is crying. I've made a teacher or two cry in my day. Usually it had more to do with my boycotting the curriculum.
What is the selection process for getting on this show? Anyway, the drunk Melissa apparently doesn't know how drunk she was.
Cheers! We can drink too. Might as well.

Love! Drink! Love! Drink! Love! Drink! Love! Drink! This is great! Shirtless! Drink! We've got a season ahead of us! Drink!

Okay drunk Melissa outtakes at the end made that entirely worthwhile. Maybe she'll get her own show.

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22:04

Okay, single ladies. Commence sobbing into your pillows.

I decided to do a little research before the show started, in order to know what I'm working with here tonight. This is a pretty drab crowd of ladies.
And what's with the bios saying "Hometown:" and then immediately next to it it says "Currently resides in..." Why didn't they just eliminate the word "Hometown" because none of them currently reside in their hometowns, whatever they may be. Jesus, ABC's web editor needs to get on it.

I digress--

Total Bachelorettes: 25

Total B'ettes whose names end in the sound "ee": 9 (but there is one girl named Sh'ee'na who makes it 10 because who the heck is named Sheena? Sounds like she's He-Man's jilted lover.) It's too bad the biology teacher is an "ee" named Lori, otherwise my money would be on her.

Girls I would immediately eliminate if I was not under the influence of alcohol marinating in a hot tub for two months straight:

• Anyone with the occupation of "Graduate Student." This is also known as "living off my parents' money, soon to be Brad Womack's money."
• "Jenni"
• Occupation: Phoenix Suns Dancer
• I needn't elaborate.
• "Sarah"
• Hometown: Currently resides in O'Fallon, IL
• Tried to ship two dogs to O'Fallon once. Major pain in the ass. Stay away from that town.
• "Solisa"
• Hometown: Currently resides in Georgetown, TX
• Georgetown, Texas? You mean, up there off of I-35, also known as THE WORLD'S BIGGEST TRAFFIC NIGHTMARE? She might as well live in Amsterdam.
• The Realtors: Bettina, DeAnna, Kim, Michele
• I give one of these girls the highest probability of being the house villain.
  
• "Mallory"
• Current Occupation: Nanny
• Hometown: Currently resides in Honolulu, Hawaii.
• Again...anyone who thought a bar owner based in Austin would seriously consider someone living on a remote island was clearly high at the time.
• Also, no one ever liked Mallory in The Baby Sitters Club. Why would this be any different?
  

• "Estefania"
• Hometown: Currently resides in Atlanta, GA
• I predict at least thirty seconds of their initial conversation will sound something like this:
• Brad: What an interesting name, how do you say it?
• Estefania: Teehee. Es-te-fania.
• Brad: Este...Es...what? I'm sorry.
• Estefanie: Es-te-fania. Heehee.
• Brad: Est--::inaudible muttering::--a. Like that? Did I get it?
• Estefania: Yes! Hehehee.
• Then you will never hear Brad say her name again.

This is going to be great.

Tonight is a big night. For the first time since I was sixteen years old and living in a house without cable, I will be watching network TV. What could possibly drag me away from my nightly rituals of browsing through YouTube videos showing Cupid Shuffle variations and practicing the G position (it's not what you think) on my keyboard?

You got it: My secret desire for overnight celebrity status.

So I will indulge myself and live vicariously through Austin's own Brad Womack, the new guy on The Bachelor and quite possibly the only person from Atlanta who has not been to the Cyclorama I have since found out.


Because I have no life (and because you can only watch so many presidential debates), I plan on live-blogging tonight's episode starting at 9:30/8:30 CST. I have never really watched the show, but a few season ago, Chrisy asked if she could come watch the season finale at my apartment because her roommates were ridiculing her taste in TV. Apparently my apartment is the embassy of bad TV watching.

So a clearly delusional girl that had made it to the top three (shocking) was talking about how she'd already started trying on wedding dresses and picking out invitations. Had I made it on The Bachelor and hot-tubbed my way to the top three, I would have been just as shameless. I would have sat down Austin's hottest self-made bar owner (second only to Kenny Luna and his Ivory Cat) and showed him the marketing campaign I had planned for MeanRachel.com, followed by the book deals I was considering. Then we would have capped off the rose ceremony at The Marq with a remote TV interview with Barbara Walters, while the bachelor poured me a Red Bull vodka and Kanye West played incredibly loudly in the background.

"Well, Baba Wawa -- I can call you that, right? -- when I heard 'media blitz,' I knew he was The One."

On weekends I would interrogate him about the Lindseys and the Jennies and the Ashlees and the other girls from the show whose names ended with that horrible sound, and when the buzz died off from the season ending, we'd fake a broken engagement. This would be followed by my announcement that I was going to pursue a singing career along the same vein as Vanessa Carlton and rumors would fly that perhaps Kenny Luna had been the Other Man.

Grim: Getting locked out of your apartment at 4 AM by your new roommate when your old roommate is in town from Los Angeles.
Grimmer: Deciding to get a ride to your old apartment building where your new roommate has gone to see your former upstairs neighbor, since your new roommate is not answering repeated phone calls.
Grimmest: Pounding on said former upstairs neighbor's door at 4:45 AM while ringing the doorbell repeatedly, only to have the door open and come face to face with a stranger who regretfully informs you (in so many words) that said former upstairs neighbor no longer resides there and "It's four forty five in the fucking morning."

"Good night to you, too, sir."

Sounds from the weekend, for posterity's sake:

"We should look him up in the phone book."
"Luna, Kenneth?"

"Just for future reference, she does not have a phone number for a blood relative but she is prepared to bail you out of jail at $1000 bond."

"You have plaid shorts on."

"Evidently if you order everything on the breakfast menu at the Driskill it costs $87."

"I'm really glad you're not here right now, because if you were here, I'd punch you. And then I'd kick you. Goodbye."

"You have two options: you can either share your hookah with them or scale three stories to my balcony and let us in."
"I'll climb the wall."

"The piano playing at five AM has got to stop."
"Is there something wrong with that?"
"Next time I'm calling the cops."
"What, 'Officer, I'd like to report a piano offense?'"

"They're God's shoes!"

"God's shoes tried to kill me."

"I don't accept drinks from Republicans."

"What if I just like getting up early on a Sunday morning and practicing the piano?"
"In a bikini?"

"Do you think she'd get mad if I left a bottle of Tylenol PM and a box of earplugs on her door mat?"

---

Come back to Texas!!! It's not the same since you went away. Before you lose your accent.

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For the ladies who won the free drink whom I met at the IC when I defected - here are your pics! If you click on them, they will enlarge to their full size and you can right click and save 'em. Nice meeting you guys, way to be rockstars.

There was a moving van parked outside my window this morning. The movers turned on their radio really loudly to a local hip hop station. At first I was kind of irritated since I could halfway hear the music, but then I remembered the cranky bitch who used to pound on our door and yell at us at 3 AM when Mean Rachel's Ivory Kitten was in full swing. That woman had her fire alarm sprinklers go off randomly in her room one day (karma is a wonderful thing) and now she stays pretty quiet. So I didn't let it bother me and instead opened my window so I could hear the music while I archived some old pictures on Flickr (I lead a fascinating life, I know).
Cupid Shuffle started blasting and I heard one of the moving guys yell "That's my jam!" I got up off my ass and walked to my window to look down to see if the guy was actually doing the dance (I live on the third floor - stalk me, please!).
Sure enough, in the middle of the parking lot this guy was doing the Cupid Shuffle all by himself. So I yelled "Shake it!" at him. For serious. He looked all confused and I started yelling the words to the song at him. Then he laughed and started dancing, while I sang out my window. This was all going on at 10:30 AM.

When the song ended, the guy went back to carting boxes in and out of the apartment and I went back to my Saturday morning trivialities. But then it got me thinking and I formulated a theory.

We should ship some giant speakers to Iraq or buy them on the black market there and pipe in Cupid Shuffle 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Someone can teach the Iraqi Army the moves, and they can then show the Sunnis, Shiites and Al Qaeda how the steps go. There have been three public instances in my life now where the Cupid Shuffle has brought together random groups of people who would otherwise not give each other the time of day. It would totally work on the war on terror. I bet even Osama would crawl out of hiding.

Just look at the lyrics: "To the right to the right to the right to the right, / to the left to the left to the left to the left, / now kick now kick now kick, / now walk it by yourself, walk it by yourself." Bipartisanship first, then strength to stand on your own.

This will be my platform should I run for president in 2022.

I saw Superbad tonight with I Want My Two Dollars. It finally dawned on me that I couldn't avoid every bandwagon out there and that eventually I probably ought to see a movie this summer.

I was pleasantly surprised by the movie, if for no other reason than its jokes seemed a bit smarter than what I was expecting. I first read Mrhe's review about it a while back, which stated his approval, and then my sister told me it was just okay. Since I think I fall somewhere between Mrhe's male sense of penis-humor (is there really any other way to describe this?) and Goldie's self-proclaimed deviation from the real world, I thought I might enjoy it or at least tolerate it.

I found the movie pretty typical: nerdy high school dudes trying to get laid. Luckily, as Two Dollars pointed out, there is no one notably famous in the movie, so it seems a little more true to life. Nevertheless, I had a hard time relating to some of the teen antics, since I spent most of high school consumed with my own selfish pursuits.

It did resonate with me a bit more than Knocked Up. Mainly because there weren't any scenes involving a woman producing a watermelon-sized creature in her womb and also because I didn't spend the whole two hours asking myself, "Why on earth did I agree to see this movie with my dad?"

And, unlike Knocked Up, the movie did not end with my dad turning to me, taking a deep breath while looking a little pale and saying, "Wow. Some real life lessons there, Rachel." Right, Dad. Life Lesson Numero Uno: Don't go see a movie called "Knocked Up" with your dad.

I think men/boys/fetuses with Y chromosomes probably get more entertainment out of Superbad. Women will likely just sit back and think the whole time, "Yup. Men are idiots. Hot-damn I'm glad I'm not a man."

What you don't have you don't need it now
What you don't know you can feel it somehow
U2 - Beautiful Day

I came outside to sit on the balcony this evening when I came home from work to revel in the beautiful evening, or what was left of it. My favorite time of year in Austin has historically been the days of mid-September through early November. These days remind me of kicking my legs back and forth on the swing set after the new school year started, narrating a story to myself about my imaginary horse "Nickles & Dimes"; bright weekends spent leaning against a jump in the middle of an arena, watching the now real horses and riders encircle me; the crisp, cool collar of my cotton show shirt buttoned up to my chin, the wool hunt coat finally the perfect temperature after sweating through it all August long; the shedding coats of all the horses finally floating off into the breeze, revealing sleek, seal-brown hides underneath. Even the laziest horse would perk up a bit, trotting forward more boldly, encouraged by a sudden gust of northern wind. Austin's fall -- or its fading summer -- has always been the best time to be a rider.

I talk a good game about my burn out and my bat-out-of-hell departure from the horse world. On the dark, muddy frigid days of winter and the baking, humid hours of summer, I groan inwardly when I recall the effort and the endurance riding required. But even Texas has a respite from itself every so often and I'm reminded of the best moments.

I miss that life on days like this.

Heartbreaking, nailbiting Red Sox loss to the Yankees tonight...Sox had bases loaded in the 9th, 2 outs, and Big Papi just couldn't make it happen. Yanks win 4-3. Still a pretty great game.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go check my blood pressure. Grim: I have a personal blood pressure machine. Grimmer: My doctors told me I needed to get one. Grimmest: I borrowed it from my fifty-seven year-old dad.

I went down memory lane tonight watching some YouTube clips of the Animaniacs, Pinky and the Brain and other various old school shows. I forgot all about the Animaniacs recap of the presidents throughout history, but it's kind of interesting how they use words like "whiskey," "assassinated," and "really fat" in their descriptions. I don't think they could get away with it today.
They mention or reference all of the major wars (including several battles) except for Vietnam and the Gulf War.
Note Hillary at the end. Prophetic? I don't know. They also managed to edit out Monica Lewinsky standing in the background smoking a cigar -- surely due to time constraints.



Also, because it probably is the most genius comic sketch ever, "Goodfeathers." Enjoy.

My mom is undergoing surgery tomorrow morning, so I am playing the role of Surgery Buddy all day tomorrow. She should make a speedy recovery but please keep her in your thoughts.

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In other news, we were awarded Friday off today for a job well-done (on the customer service end of things). This makes me IncrediblyPleasedRachel.com.

The rest of my coworkers were taking the day off anyway to go to the ACL Fest. I had planned on prank calling them all day with imaginary emergencies and to remind them how awesome air conditioning is. Now my shenanigans will not be necessary. I'm gearing up for "Three-Day Weekend: The DJ MeanRachel Remix."

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You know you're getting your ass kicked in boot camp when you are doing a new circuit known as "The Ring Of Fire" (and trust me, it is not the Bunny Hop as I initially thought it was going to be) and you find yourself wishing the lightning would strike you down so you could stop running. Today I announced to the girl next to me while doing wall step-ups that I have signed a Do Not Resuscitate and that should I fall and break my neck, please, just leave me on the ground.

Nine months of boot camp and I still can hardly drag myself around a track. I better get a date with The Bachelor out of all this.

I've got some time to kill before I indulge in my guilty pleasure (The Hills, where I live out my imaginary life as a wealthy Californian who wears jeans to the beach and makes out with people with names like "Justin Bobby") so I thought I might dissect some of the Google searches that lead to my blog (because I'm actually just a mundane Texan who wears jeans to work and cooks edamame for dinner).

"Joan MTV Lake Travis wakeboarding Made"
I wrote about one sentence about catching an episode of MTV's Made where this kid Joan got "made" into a wakeboarder. This is by far the most common search that leads to my blog. I guess a lot of people were inspired by the girl Joan. She was basically a rockstar wakeboarder after five weeks of training.
I would have just managed to be "made" into a quadriplegic had I attempted to become a wakeboarder.

"Mayor Will Wynn's girlfriend"
Ladies, I have no idea who his girlfriend is. He's got a girl at every port as far as I can see. And by "every port" I mean "every public appearance."
Although part of me just thinks this is the Mayor's ex-wife trying to find out the skinny.

"Pickup Artist Austin VH1"
You all know my thoughts on this: hypnotically lame. And now that I've laid eyes on The Book, I find it even lamer. I do have a favorite buzzword that I've learned from it: Peacocking. This is when a dude is wearing either a strange hat or a really bright shirt. Basically something to set him apart from the others. It's become an interesting sport for me to try to spy the peacocking techniques that people implement in real life.

"Can you mix vicodin and Advil PM"
I must have a lot written on here about vicodin and Tylenol/Advil PM. But Dr. Farris would like to clarify:
Mixing the two is definitely not a good idea. You might have a terrible nightmare that you are Britney Spears at the VMAs and never be able to wake up from it.

Since May, I have been reading The Winds of War by Herman Wouk. The 900-page tome has secured itself at the top of my Favorite Books Ever list.
The purchase of the book was a total impulse buy - I was standing in the "M" section looking at the Christopher Moore books, and when I turned around I found myself face to face with it. I'd never heard of Herman Wouk or for that matter The Winds of War, but I picked it up and bought it.
Two hours later I was about a hundred pages into it. There were some passages that really grabbed me and at the time they seemed to mirror my life.
The book starts in 1939 with Navy Captain Victor "Pug" Henry arriving home after a long day at his desk job on War Plans. His wife, Rhoda, is giving him the silent treatment. Pug begins to reminisce on the days when he courted Rhoda, during World War I. At the time, the thrill of war and her aspiring career military husband were appealing to her. Now, twenty four years later, the uniforms no longer had a glow.
Pug & Rhoda's boredom in their marriage mirrors Pug's feelings of being stuck in a less than glamorous position in the Navy. He longs to take command of a battleship and be at sea. Instead he finds himself pushing papers and working on various war plans schemes that may never come to fruition.
The book begins to shift gears to follow the lives of Pug & Rhoda's three children: Warren, an ambitious Air Force pilot-in-training, with dreams of becoming a politician; Byron, the proverbial "black sheep" of the family who is living in Italy working for a Jewish-American write named Aaron Jarstrow; and Madeline, their head-strong daughter who drops out of college and moves to New York City and begins working for a radio celebrity named Hugh Cleveland.

From the invasion of Warsaw, where Byron finds himself stuck in Poland with Aaron Jarstrow's niece Natalie, to a RAF air raid on Germany, where Pug - now an atache in Berlin - rides along in one of the bombers, the book is not so much a war book but a story about the affects a war can have on the people who must endure its maelstrom -- whether in the trenches overseas or back at home attending a cocktail party.
The book leads all the way up to the Pearl Harbor attack, where Warren is stationed with his wife and son. Originally much longer, Wouk separated his work into The Winds of War and then the second book, War and Remembrance. The second book picks up where The Winds of War left off and delves into the Holocaust and the true heart of WWII.

There are hundreds of characters in the book - Hitler and Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin. The characters intersect and cross over, being blown around by "the winds of war." At one point, in reminiscing with his son Byron, Pug states "That's the worst of a service career. You never strike roots. You raise a family of tumbleweeds."

My favorite passage of the book comes at the very end when Pug realizes that the United States is about to enter another world war:

"...This madness was the way of the world. ... Why?
Because the others did it, he thought. Because Abel's next-door neighbor was Cain. Because with all its rotten spots, the United States of America was not only his homeland but the hope of the world. Because if America's enemies dug up iron and made deadly engines of it, America had to do the same, and do it better, or die. Maybe the vicious circle would end with this first real world war. Maybe it would end with Christ's second coming. Maybe it would never end."

I've already started reading War and Remembrance. It's over 1000 pages long, so it will take me a while. But Wouk's writing is lyrical and beautiful and never for a moment feels like a chore.

Some thoughts from last night:

The Marq is my new favorite spot. And I'm not just saying that. The place was packed at about midnight last night. M and I made a lap around and bam - there was The Bachelor himself. "Mean Rachel!" He exclaimed. That's right: He remembered both of our names. Kudos.
The music they were playing was awesome. A great mix of new and old, pop and hip hop and electronica.

My current favorite club song - World Hold On by Bob Sinclair. Check it out.

Last night was the boot camp "Camper Appreciation & Two Year Anniversary" Party. It should have been called "Come Drink All The Calories You Burned Off This Morning" Party. At about 5:45 AM yesterday, well into the newest torture workout Trainer Stephanie cooked up (hop scotch pop squats? Really?), it occurred to me that it was going to be awfully hard to walk from bar to bar in 4.25 inch snakeskin heels, due to the lack of will power left over in my legs.
Nevertheless, I persevered and rocked the heels anyway. I think I tripped like six times, mainly when my hamstrings decided not to pick up my feet and the rest of my body was continuing forward. The party was at The Marq, which I thought I'd never been to until I got there. Turns out I went to The Marq just last weekend but I thought it was still called Glass. Up until last weekend I had been boycotting Glass because two years ago when Glass first opened and we went to their opening night, they were out of carbonation. Not cool. Apparently my two year boycott seriously affected their business, since they finally shut down.
I digress. M and I hiked across half of Austin (for some bizarre reason we decided to park on 4th and Guadalupe and then walk to 5th and Congress), with me carrying a metric assload of canned goods. The party was also a benefit for the Capital Area Food Bank. This gave me a good chance to get rid of all of the cans in our pantry that I purchased under moments of false ambition thinking I might actually cook something. And by "cook" I mean "locate a can opener and use it."
The most unexpected surprise once we got to The Marq was that ABC's new bachelor, Brad Womack, was there. I already knew that he and the rest of his Ken-doll brothers owned The Marq and several other Austin bars, but I didn't expect him to be slumming it with the boot campers.
The problem with the party was that I only recognized two people: Trainer Stephanie and the other Stephanie, since I have seen her outside of boot camp. Everyone else there was basically a stranger, since they looked happy, clean, not dripping in sweat or cursing under their breath. No one was curled in a ball groaning on the ground or attempting to do a push up.
Luckily, just like Brad Womack himself, I'm a bit of a boot camp celebrity. I'm not going to lie, I'm kind of a big deal. One girl said to me "You're Mean Rachel!" Yes, yes I am. Turns out I have a great fan base. So the girl, who we will call Karma (we'll get to that in second), and I chatted. I told her of the inner struggle I was having: should I swallow my pride for the sake of my blog and get a picture with The Bachelor himself or should I maintain my pride and just stare longingly from a distance. Karma had a fantastic idea to go up to him under the guise of "This is Rachel and she's completed seven boot camps, and we'd like to get a picture of her with you for the website." That's a line Mystery himself couldn't come up with.
So we did a little drive-by and basically shanghaied him from this gaggle of women who had been talking to him for thirty minutes. The introduction was made and I began what I do best: shameless self-promotion of MR.com.
Turns out The Bachelor hypnotized his way onto the show. Seriously, the guy had some seriously intense eyes. I almost said "I accept this rose."

Two side notes for everyone as you head into the weekend:

1) Don't drink and drive. Make friends with a good cabbie. I don't want to have to serve on the jury in your trial.

2) Can I just say how incredibly happy I am that line dancing is becoming socially acceptable now, even when you're not wearing Wranglers? I never was able to get plugged into the Texas dancehall scene, but now they've got hip hop line dancing and I love it! It's hard to look stupid when everyone else is doing it.
If you got the Cupid Shuffle down, it's time to learn Crank That by Soulja Boy. Take it from me, it's going to be happening this weekend and you're going to wish you'd practiced. An instructional video from the seventeen year old Soulja Boy himself is below.
I would make my own instructional video but I'm too incredibly sore from doing an ungodly amount of push ups to even try. Yeah. It's like January 1 over here.

Yesterday I emailed my agent in Hong Kong while we had a five minute break from jury duty. I told her "I'm in jury duty but I'll email you X document when I get back in."

Today I received an email back from her:

Hi Rachel,

What's "jury duty"? sounds very interesting ....and wonderful!

Cheers

Today I had jury duty and by "I had jury duty" I mean "I was not selected to be on the jury." I happen to be part of a small demographic (compromised of myself, my mom and Mrhe, it seems) who actually wants to get on a jury. But everyone knows that when you want something you rarely actually get it.

It was a DWI case (without any wrecks, injuries or deaths involved) where Travis County was prosecuting the defendant for driving while intoxicated (ed. note: they didn't say anything about not talking about this in blogs, so I figure it's okay until someone develops a blogger law).

The total pool of jurors added up to 18 people. The count was weighted heavily on the male side. I counted only five women, including myself. I was of course seated next to a strange Irishman who looked like Mr. Burns, but with a heavy accent that made him sound like Seamus Heaney. He also had a giant umbrella that was as long as my leg which kept falling over and hitting me in the knee cap.

They started questioning us regarding our knowledge of DWIs. I was unaware that in Texas, the law has two parts. You can get a DWI for:

- Having a BAC higher than .08 (which everyone knows)
OR (emphasis on the "or")
- Appearing to the police officer to not have your physical or mental faculties.

This seems incredibly subjective at first but when you consider the fact that you are allowed to decline the breathalyzer (or as the defense attorney called it, repeatedly, and with no objection from the prosecution, the "intoxilyzer"), it makes sense that the officer has to have some sort of recourse for detaining you if you choose not to take the field sobriety tests and breath/blood test.

What was really the most staggering was the statistics that our little focus group created. Out of the eighteen people there, five people raised their hands when asked if they'd ever been pulled over for driving while intoxicated. All five had been arrested and most of them had gone to jail. One was a repeat offender.

Even more disturbing, and what probably lost me a seat on the jury, was when they asked if anyone had ever had a friend or family member directly affected by a drunk driver in an accident, resulting in injury or death. Hands flew up, including mine. I tried to count the hands and I got to about 8 people when the defense had us put our hands down. He had each of us state what the accident had been. Almost all of the cases were immediate family members who died as a result of drinking and driving. I briefly recapped the story of DD getting hit by the drunk driver and knew my chances of getting on the jury were gone.

To say the least, there are a lot of drunks out there. But I was unaware there was such an overwhelming amount of drunks who decide to also operate a motor vehicle and then smash it into a wall, or into a person as it were.

If anyone ever needs Shah's number, you know how to get a hold of me. Everyone knows I'm no mathematician but it seems the $25 I spend having Shah cart me around is a heck of a lot less than what the snowy-haired criminal defense lawyer charges by the hour.

My month-long, doctor's orders hiatus from boot camp ends tomorrow at 5:30 AM. I decided my liver might break down before my spine will, so the trade off is okay.

I am really, really going to miss the following:

Waking up at 7:30 AM
Not hearing the words "eight-count body builders."
Staying up/out late on weeknights.

That's right. The Great Existential Crisis was allowed a one-month grace period of Monday through Saturday cavorting about Austin but now all good things must end.

But - hey - that's why they made Fridays and Saturdays.

I don't know what's funnier:

The uncanny resemblance to the way we sometimes feel at work when we're "talking shop."

or

Will Farrell doing an uncanny resemblance of Chubby Charles.

Either way - this is a must-see.

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Enjoy your Tuesday. I hear it's the new Monday.

North Korea announced today that they would disable all of their nuclear programs by the end of the year. Sweet. I hope it happens.

In other news, Iran claims to have reached another goal in their nuclear enrichment processes, to supplement their "alternative energy" program. Bummer. Wa-wa-waaa.

I'm not sure if North Koreans or Iranians are crazier, but I imagine we'll find out at some point. It's hard to say whether I'd trust a Communist megalomaniac dictator over anyone attempting to wage a Holy War, Iranian or otherwise.

Maybe I'm just paranoid, since I'm reading the tail end of The Winds of War right now.

However as an American I really don't have room to talk, since we are violating the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty as well.

Okay time to stop thinking about this. I'm sure there's an episode of "The Hills" or something to watch.

A woman in Cuero, Texas (which, incidentally, is on the way to the lovely Port Aransas) is claiming she found the body of el chupacabra. For those of you who don't know what a chupacabra is, get ready for your opinion of Texans to fall a little bit.

The chupacabra is a mythical boogie monster that started somewhere in Mexico or Puerto Rico. The word chupacabra means "goat sucker." Most people attribute it to looking like a monster, sometimes almost alien-like. It has been blamed for sucking the blood out of rancher's livestock, but over the years has turned more into an urban legend. It can also be used as a joke, among the right company -- "Don't stay out too late or the chupacabra might get you," for example.

The picture in the news article looks more like a hairless dog to me. Some of the comments on the article (which are pretty funny) say that it looks like a breed of dog known as a xolo. The xolo is also known as the "Mexican Hairless" dog. They can now list "el chupacabra" as one of its other names because it looks a hell of a lot like the picture of the dead chupacabra.

For those of you who are wondering how this is even a legitimate news story, I'd like to remind you that we're talking about Texans here. Sometimes the heat gets to our heads. We did manage to produce the el Presidente as well.

The question I have, and what we should be more concerned about, is why this woman who found the bodies decided to preserve the head of one of the bodies in her freezer. "Honey, can you get me an ice cream sandwich? Just behind the chupacabra head? Mmkay, thanks."

E-Dub's got two three-day passes to ACL Fest if anyone wants to buy one or both of them. She's asking $160 each.

I personally would rather stick a fork through my esophagus than go to ACL which is why I'm acting as her agent instead of buying them for myself.

It is easy to under appreciate the functionality of an alarm clock, until it ceases to function.