Oh, Hey, Here I Am

Whoa. Holy crap. Totally forgot I had a blog. Except, no I didn't, because I see my ghetto blogger icon in my bookmarks bar daily when I go to OTHER people's blogs and regularly updated sites with actual, funny or meaningful content.

It goes south so fast! Wow.

November I was slammed at work. December PLS moved in (all the way from Dallas...everyone thinks this is "getting serious" or something...shhhhhnotlisteningnotlistening). And for the last month I've obviously been busy playing house so the only thing I could do with my laptop was search for pot roast recipes.

I kid. We've been outside a lot, walking around Boston on the weekends (PS, I still live in Boston, 7 months on Dec. 30th. Crazy.) Also, PPS, THERE'S NO SNOW. It's the end of December and I'm starting to feel ripped off, kind of like how I moved here without knowing about that whole "no happy hour" thing (yes I am still talking about that thank you). I want to make hot spiced cider but I have a hard time justifying the indoor day drinking on a perfectly good, albeit cold, Saturday afternoon.

I've just been in a funk, but hey, it's resolution season so things are going to change. I've been wanting to sign up for improv class for oh, about the last two years, and I finally decided to do it yesterday. I think up ideas and present them for a living but hey, I could really get better at it, and oh, also, there was a groupon for this class. Fact: you can't say no to a grouponed anything.

Now that PLS is living with me, I have no excuse not to go explore Boston more, and since he's one of the few loyal readers, he'll make sure I update this with some of the stories. Recent adventures have included a day spent walking to Brookline, over to Jamaica Plain and back through Mission Hill to the Fens, eating and drinking here and there. We went to the MFA and saw this Eames film and got our artsy architecture snob on with a couple friends. And finally, we tried and failed miserably to make a gingerbread house inspired by some modern abstract blah blah blah. Nope. Total fail. I hope this does not go against him while looking for a job.

The model:

And then, this is where we stopped taking pictures. The whole "putting it together" part was a whole lot of fugly. But it was delicious. And I had my yearly intake of powdered sugar.

It looks like it's supposed to snow on Saturday. It's not that I haven't seen snow before, it's just that I'd feel a lot better about missing friends in Dallas or SF if I could start my novelty Boston winter soon. Come on, climate change. Blizzard already.

Rock Caves and Such

You cannot go back to the age where you were old enough to run around outside, alone for hours simply exploring, but young enough to have absolutely no responsibilities. This makes me sad.

Excerpt from Michael Chabon's book, Manhood for Amateurs (via swissmiss)

“What is the impact of the closing down of the Wilderness on the development of children’s imaginations? This is what I worry about the most. I grew up with a freedom, a liberty that now seems breathtaking and almost impossible. Recently, my younger daughter, after the usual struggle and exhilaration, learned to ride her bicycle. Her joy at her achievement was rapidly followed by a creeping sense of puzzlement and disappointment as it became clear to both of us that there was nowhere for her to ride it—nowhere that I was willing to let her go. Should I send my children out to play?


There is a small grocery store around the corner, not over two hundred yards from our front door. Can I let her ride there alone to experience the singular pleasure of buying herself an ice cream on a hot summer day and eating it on the sidewalk, alone with her thoughts? Soon after she learned to ride, we went out together after dinner, she on her bike, with me following along at a safe distance behind. What struck me at once on that lovely summer evening, as we wandered the streets of our lovely residential neighborhood at that after-dinner hour that had once represented the peak moment, the magic hour of my own childhood, was that we didn’t encounter a single other child.


Even if I do send them out, will there be anyone to play with?
Art is form of exploration, of sailing off into the unknown alone, heading for those unmarked places on the map. If children are not permitted–not taught–to be adventurers and explorers as children, what will become of the world of adventure, of stories, of literature itself?”

They look harmless above water. But once you're in the water, they turn evil. 

The child in me is sure of it.

Makes me think of summers camping in what is still fairly isolated (the nearest grocery store is a 15 minute drive away, that's good, right?) Tahoe wilderness. There's a rock outcropping that only kids can fit through. When we excitedly told my dad about the "cave" in the rocks, he told us he had found the same cave when he was a our age. We left a note on yellow legal paper there for the kids who would come after us, wedged into a deep crack between layers of rocks. I wonder what shape it's in.

I Didn't Switch My Bank But...

I did quit Verizon!!!! Actually, what I did was sign up for Comcast / Xfinity. I will quit Verizon soon though.

Here's what my 5-month relationship with Verizon included:

• The daily cursing of my WiFi that doesn't work but says it's working
• The "Turn AirPort off"-"Turn AirPort on" dance
• The old "Open Network Preferences" try
• The every-other-day restarting of my router
• That one evening spent DMing customer support via Twitter after a particularly nasty tweet to no avail
• Three separate phone calls wherein me and customer service attempt to re-set up my Internet
• The old "Open Network Preferences" try
• The "Turn AirPort off"-"Turn AirPort on" dance
• The every-other-day restarting of my router
• The daily cursing of my WiFi that doesn't work but says it's working

You see, I've been one of those weird people living without TV, well, without cable. I have a TV in my living room, it's great for watching dust gather and the occasional DVD. Apparently my sister doesn't have cable either. Jesus, we are so those people. I've been trying HuluPlus, but I stare at a laptop all day and there's something about watching TV on a real TV as opposed to a 15" macbook. Call me old fashioned. I also like the real newspaper.

But Comcast put up enough fliers (Discount TV Package! Extra Cheap TV for Your Cheap Ass! Etc.) on the front door over the last month to make me pick up the phone and haggle with the lady on the other end. Somehow I ended up with something called Premium, but I got a good deal for six months and no contract to sign. Really it comes down to not signing their two-year contract. Avoiding that is a win in my book. I figure in six months, it'll be April and warming up and I won't need the cable again. I will need a treadmill and the Paleo diet and vitamin D.

Six months. That's a long time from now.

But right now it's dark at 5pm. Time to get down to business: Cable, DVR, more cooking, more drinking, gaining the winter poundage. Plus, I can only complain about so many things in my apartment, and right now, the really loud radiators are taking precedent over shit Internet.

Everything else is fine though.

Here It Comes

Radiators. Not like the things in cars. The big, loud metal things in really (really) old apartments. Me and the radiators in my apartment are getting to know each other. Sure, they work extremely well, and sure, they are paid for by someone other than me. I guess I just have to put up with their clanging, banging, whistling and heavy breathing. I should probably name them.

But the radiators make it 250% warmer than I ever let my always cold, drafty apartment in Dallas get, so I'm already happier.

And then there's this:

Snow is still a novelty to me. I know this is just the beginning but I really like the cold. And I know in March this will seem warm. And me and R1 and R2 will be hunkered down. But I'll be drinking boozy cider, right? There's always an up side.

Tomorrow's Hangover Will Be a Bitch

Sometimes, you just need a tub of cat cookies and a bag of pre-made pizza dough and frozen Tikka Masal for $2.99. Not for the same meal. Though I'd eat it.

Trader Joe's, we've been apart for five years, but I'm so happy to have you back. Even though THERE'S NO WINE SECTION. Boston. (shakes head)

You can't always get what you want. But if...you leave Dallas sometime and move to Boston and find your long-lost TJs, you will then learn there that there's a TJs being built in Dallas.

Long run Saturdays are back. Cold weather is back. TJs is back. Puffy vests, pumpkin candles. Jesus this post is turning chick-blogger post at an alarming rate. Allow me to go all the way then, with this photo of my dinner: said ball of dough, baked with mozz, bell peppers, onions, ham and arugula. And salad drowned in Tzatziki sauce. So, how was your dinner?

Wait, it gets better! Friday night spent with Up All Night and Pinterest. Guilty Internet Pleasures abound. You know what though? I really like Will Arnett.

And We're Back

I've been Internet-stalking this running group in Boston with intentions of joining, once I could run more than four miles and not die.

This morning I finally met up with them. Long run Saturdays, oh how I have missed you. Sunny and clear and in the 50s. 7 miles (I use the term "long" loosely) along the Charles with really nice people. Good water stops. Familiar talk of races and injuries. I was even invited to do a Memphis BBQ 5k tomorrow.

And then there's the breakfast after the long run. It tastes so much better than any other kind of breakfast. My addiction is back and I'm happy.

Doing the Bus Thing

I spent 36 hours in New York two weekends ago (super late post, sorry). It was a really good time.

I crossed "Be a Hipster in Brooklyn" off my bucket list by going to see Fleet Foxes and the Walkmen on the Williamsburg Waterfront. I had no idea what to expect, this being my (gasp!) first time to Brooklyn, but the two restaurant/bars I made it to had good crowds and good food. The concert only sold Brooklyn Brewery beers, natch. And there were fewer annoying over-the-top hipsters than I imagined there would be, minus the 6-foot tall girl in the ugly leopart print sweater with big clunky barrett circa 1986 in front of me. She really started to bug by the end of the night as she kept turning around to look back at the crowd, which inevitably led to awkward eye contact between us. But when I concentrated hard enough, I could look over her leopard shoulder and past the ugly plastic barrett to the stage.

It was at this point that I realized I would definitely hate concerts if I weren't 5'10.

Obligatory NYC skyline at sunset photo. Ooh. Ah. Yeah, it was actually pretty fantastic. 

Sunday my friend and I walked across the city to check out the High Line. There was some famous person walking the High Line surrounded by at least 10 men in suits and earpieces. Talk about subtle. Also, I use famous person loosely. Two euro-looking guys in pink button downs, a wife who looked South American and what I presume was their kid, or a nephew. We kept stopping to take pictures (of the buildings) and these important people would pass us, then we'd pass them, and so on. It became ridiculous because you knew the security kept eyeing us but seriously, this group was the least interesting thing happening (obviously, since I'm referencing them here). I think their bodyguards were actually laughing about the idiocy of taking a Sunday stroll in what appeared to be one of the safest, cleanest, whitest places in the city.

NYC is four hours from Boston on those buses that, outside of the New England-Northeast region, most people just refer to as "Greyhound buses." But here, they're cleaned up for young working professional people, who most people just refer to as "Yuppies." The buses are given fun names like Bolt, MegaBus and Peter Pan. You already know all this but it's new to me so just humor me, ok? I'm from places where they drive cars. They outfit the buses with wifi and outlets and a respectable driver. If it weren't a longer ride it'd be better and way cheaper than flying. The driver even stops midway through at his fast-food place of choice (my buses got Burger King and Arby's, the two places I pretty much do not eat at). I feel very New England when I take these buses, and I'm fine with that. Otherwise, I wouldn't have much to make me feel that way except my love of clam chowder and my dislike of forced pleasantries with strangers. Also, can we talk about how New York is the Northeast but Boston is New England? It's all a very small area, you guys. Get over it.

This was the first trip to NYC that's made me want to move there. I guess living in Boston will do that.

A Very Texas Saturday

Last Saturday, I rediscovered college football, but better still, I rediscovered cheap beer. I was starting to lose hope. I was starting to forget.

A friend of mine moved to Boston for a new job a couple weeks ago (we are slowly changing the landscape, one non-New Englander at a time). He found the UT alumni bar. I found the USC alumni bar. It wasn't really planned that we'd both go to both bars, but you know...what else are we going to do here? Sail? Go to the Cape? Lol.

The Greatest Bar. No joke. That's the name of the UT alumni bar. It's also the gameday bar for Penn State, Michigan and some other shitty school I can't remember. That doesn't matter, because it was basically all Texas that day. And here's the really weird part. When we walked in and I saw a sea of orange (burnt orange, specifically) I got all emotional. Well, that just means I felt at home, like I walked into my favorite Dallas sports bar. Which is the most unsporty sports bar for Dallas, I know you're thinking douchebags and Mark Cuban and cowboy boots and bedazzled jerseys and obnoxious Cowboys fans - or is that just me? - but this one is great and they make the best food ever and it's all average people and families and nondouche. Fuck, I just saw they won Best Dallas Sports Bar in D Magazine. Now it's ruined. Forget every nice thing I just said about it.

Anyhow, I liked TGB. Yes, I still remember who won the 2005 Rose Bowl. Nonetheless, UT was playing UCLA and while I generally think you cheer for your conference before non-conference, I was not cheering for UCLA. Five years in Texas and you start to get brainwashed. Plus, everyone west of the Mississippi will soon be in the pac-12 so what does it matter.

Here's how great of a find TGB was: Our Saturday started out with lunch at a really good Mexican food place. My carne tacos, while Boston-priced, were pretty legit. But we found something that overshadowed the finding of tacos. I've discussed with multiple non-natives how Massachusetts doesn't have happy hour. Ever. And how this makes me cry into my expensive beer. Well. The Greatest Bar had an offer we could not refuse. And we didn't refused it like, five times. A bucket of beer (only four, but that'll do) and a small cheese pizza: $10. I am so easily impressed is what you're thinking, right?

Four Lone Stars and a small cheese pizza. Ten bucks. Yes. I know you can get Lone Stars in real states for $2.50 and four for $10 is not extraordinary for a watered down beer, but this is a backwards place we live in now. Five of us enjoyed beer and pizza until we lost count, and the bill was $53. So yea, 5 rounds. Best deal in all of the northeastern U.S.

We trekked to the USC bar after the UT game. There were no drink specials. I didn't think there would be. But, there were free apps. We mentioned TGB's deal and the alumni group leader looked at me like he was just introduced to this great concept. Oh, USC! I'd almost forgotten about you. Then I heard the So-Cal spellout and I finally found some school spirit. Or a solid buzz. Fight on...but I'm still loyal to TGB until further notice.

#102 : Motorcycle Ride to Arkansas

Oh, Target. You and your many ad and design shops make lovely, jealousy-inducing things. Like this Facebook app. No, it aint groundbreaking, but it sure does tug the heartstrings. The "things to do" part could be more creative (see my checked-off #102), but we'll assume the client didn't want to tell people to have sex on the roof on a new Missoni throw. I get it.

I'll now go back to my regularly-unscheduled stories of drinking and observing the locals in Boston.

Bros

Bros are the gross generalization I give the east coast dude. It is the second of two forms of east coast dude, the other being the Vineyard Vines Guy. Neither pleases me, so PLSiii, you are safe. (Though I never thought I'd be dating someone from Texas who had a motorcycle and a country accent but there are exceptions to every rule, and your whole modern architecture thing and wearing of Vans is a good balance).

Anyhow.

Bros. They wear gold chain necklaces. They feel it's ok to wear tank tops, wife beaters, t-shirts that once had sleeves but no longer do. I saw a tight gray A-shirt in the mall this morning, tucked into jeans, with the gold chain. I don't know where he was going at 8:30 this morning. Probably not to buy a real shirt, though. Hey look, Bro! Gap has shirts with sleeves!

There is something about the Bro that makes him want to start a fight with another guy on the street, something that makes him want to yell as loud as he can at 2 a.m. Obviously that something is usually alcohol, but there's something else. I think it's a gene. A Bro gene. I've never lived anywhere, even my apartments in the borderline ghetto of USC by downtown LA, where I heard Bros shouting at each other, and at their chicks, women, bitches, girlfriends, etc. And then I moved to Boston.

First week here, a Bro and his woman were having a yelling match in the middle of the night. He'd yell. She'd sob. He'd yell. She's sob more. Then she'd yell. Then it was like he got hit with a conscience and he'd talk all soft to her. Baby baby baby. Then he'd yell more. She'd sob more. It wasn't just annoying, it was uncomfortable and borderline nerve-racking, me coming from a home where the only people yelling at each other are me and my mom. So this is what domestic violence sounds like. Interesting.

Last month, it was three Bros on one as they threatened to (and probably actually did) beat up the weaker Bro. Right outside my window at 3 a.m. Calling him names I won't get into on this blog. It lasted for over an hour, and of course, one of the Bros' girls had to get involved. 

And tonight, before was even dark outside, two dudes were yelling at each other about who knows what. I glanced outside to see two otherwise decent looking guys walking towards each other making threats, one's girlfriend pleading from behind to "cut it out." Five feet away from each other, the Bro with the girlfriend turned around and backed off. 

Oh, Bros. I will never understand you. And I'm fine with that. 

Dentist Hunting

This past weekend, I went to two different concerts, drove out of the city and into the 'burbs to Ikea and a mall (in the same trip, and I didn't even want to punch anyone), and enjoyed that whole "fall" feeling that's happening in the New England area right now.

More importantly, I looked for a new dentist. And here's my observation: Everyone who reviews a dentist, no matter what review site they use, starts their post with, "I really, really, really hate going to the dentist..."Then they go on to say that THIS dentist made them only hate it a little bit. Or this dentist was so bad, they added another "REALLY" to their list of how much they really hate going to the dentist. This type of review makes it really, really, really questionable and hard to tell if this dentist is in fact awesome, or just not as bad as the next guy.

My whole issue with any dentist review is that, for most of us, it's not about the dentist. It's about the dental hygienist/former high school cheerleader who didn't have a life plan beyond being most popular. Like Ashley.

These are the people who should be getting reviewed. They are the ones who are either too chatty, too aggressive, fake nice, horribly unfriendly, have bad breath, wear too much caked-on makeup that you have to stare at...I could go on for a really long time. Take my word for it. I have switched dentists before, and not because the dentist fucked up, but because the same 80-year old hygienist (the one hygienist who isn't like Ashley) would ask me the same 10 questions each visit, and our one-sided conversation (asking questions to someone whose mouth is full of hands isn't going to get you an answer, and they know this) would become a progressively harder-hitting sales pitch for Dallas. Me being a captive audience new to Texas, this was her golden opportunity to sell me a Plano timeshare, talk to me about SMU and brag about the State Fair (yes, this last one is totes worth bragging about, I get it now).

Also, the whole Handsome-in-a-Cheesy-Way Male Dentist with his Harum of Hot Dental Hygienists kinda creeps me out.

image via

So. I made an appointment for a new dentist (not the one in the pic above, though he got great reviews) and I go on Sept. 26th. I'll let you know how the hygienists are as well as the dentist. And the receptionist. And whether the office plays classical, Top 40 or rock. For the record, my last dentist was awesome, the hygienists were super friendly, and the office played KLUV, "greatest hits of the 70's and more."Big shoes to fill, new dentist.

Anticipation is High in Calories

The worst part of this entire Irene weekend is that I've had Come on, Eileen stuck in my head for two days. I know, not as bad as flooding or evacuations, but pretty close. I mean, if the Muddy River, or whatever that standing water is called that goes through the nearby park, was on the edge of my doorstep, I wouldn't be singing this song, right?

I spent most of Saturday inside. I ran (that was the one outside thing I did), I cleaned, I did laundry, I brought the bike upstairs from the basement since everyone was talking about floods, I took photos and uploaded them to flickr, I took more photos, I Interneted, Instagramed, Twittered, and Weather Channeled constantly. Hitting refresh across multiple sites and apps took up a good portion of my Saturday, as did eating. I decided that Irene was simply a warmup for football season - practice for when we all spend at least one, if not two days on the couch eating and drinking the day away.

But by last night I had cabin fever for sure. I had a couple glasses of wine, made a super-fatty frozen pizza (in case we lost power Sunday I thought it'd be better to make it ahead of time, and have leftovers for when we hunkered down in the dark), and tried to get into Always Sunny in Philadelphia. Again. It didn't happen. It's like an edgy "Friends" with a lot more bickering, to the point where I want to turn it off at least three different times during a 22 minute episode. Kind of a let down. But the pizza was surprisingly good, with its unexpected alfredo sauce and four cheeses. Here I was thinking I just bought a spinach and mushroom store-brand pizza.

By now you're realizing that no, I was not at a hurricane (or slurricane) party.

Anyhow, I got some good shots of the clouds rolling by with the lights from Fenway shining into them. This feature may be one of the best things about my apartment. Last night's scene was extra eerie.


After waiting since Wednesday for a hurricane, today Boston wakes up to a tropical storm that brings some big gusts of wind and rain. So glad I didn't lug those gallons of water to my apartment now. I knew two small water bottles would suffice. Also, I knew the minute I wrote "big gusts of wind" in a disappointed way, a tree would come crashing through my window. Sure enough, the wind has picked up and there was a very loud bang outside.

I still woke up this morning preparing for the worst though. I made coffee and have spent the last two hours in bed, iphone plugged in and charging to my left, laptop to my right, a magazine nearby in case I get tired of the Internet and some work stuff a safe distance away at the end of the bed in case I get tired of the magazine. There's also a package of chocolate-covered Hostess Donnettes I bought at 7-11 yesterday as my "emergency preparedness" food which is quickly being devoured with the coffee.

Besides eating donuts, drinking coffee, flipping through Wired, refreshing weather.com, and writing this, I'm doing a little research into the opening act for The National when they come to Boston on Sept 9th. Can we talk about how excited I am for this show? Yo La Tengo and a band I haven't really listened to called Wye Oak both open for them. Wye Oak sounds okay - but seeing as how I have one very expensive, guaranteed seat at the Bank of America pavilion for this show, I may show up a tiny bit late. Totally splurged on this ticket and paid way more than face value but it's in row F on the leftish side of the stage. If my counting is anywhere near correct, that's six rows back from the front. I hope the horn section is on that side. Yum.

Before this post turns into a full-on love fest for this band (too late, spent the last two hours YouTubing them), I'll just post this clip from when I saw them last October at HOB Dallas. This isn't my video, but he did walk right by me. I died.

/

Finally, a Weekend Inside!

Apparently, this is happening.


Now, the weathermen are never right, but in anticipation not so much of tornados (I've already experienced the Boston tornado warnings and now an earthquake while on the 19th floor) but being stuck inside for a few days, I'm arming myself with the following:

wine
beer
flashlight
batteries
movies
all the ingredients to make the mexican food I've been missing

I have a grocery store run to make now. Laters.

Wednesday Want

Hey look, a blog post theme I used to do a long time ago.

Can we talk about how AWESOME, with all caps like I'm shouting it, this person's Etsy shop is? Jimbob art. This is where you should register for your wedding, people. Screw C&B, BBB, WS, PB and the rest.

Um, yes please.

Oh hello, Ghetto Badger.

Adorable.

Favorited, favorited, favorited. How far away is Christmas?

Images via Jimbob Art

I'm Running a B&B. Or Maybe a Hostel.

I'm thinking about picking up a side job as a Duck Tour driver. I'd be great at it - I'm an aggressive driver and can handle the streets here and I'm starting to learn my way around really well. The only drawback is that I hate tourists and children and noisemakers, like the duck noisemakers everyone gets. After 2 months and 10 days of living in Boston, I feel like I'm pretty damn qualified to give an informative tour of Boston and only bullshit my way through about a quarter of it. Which is probably close to the amount real tour guides bullshit - things like "This is where Paul Revere and Betsy Ross conceived their first of eight children. True story."

And the best way to learn a city is to be forced to and/or volunteer to show people around it. (Or spend a lonely weekend walking it, but that's a different post). Luckily, I've had about 500% more visitors in the last two months in Boston than I had in five years in Dallas. This past weekend was no exception with two of my best friends from Dallas visiting, so now not only am I qualified to give a historical Freedom Trail tour, I'm qualified to give a tour of Boston dive bars. Yeah, you know you want to come visit me now.

Also, based on a nickname given to them by one of their fathers bc of how much time they spent together, my friends refer to themselves as Nancys. They're not. But it's funny. This was their Nancys Boston trip. Not that you care.

Here's a recap of our days/nights. If you would like more information on any of the places you see below, please don't hesitate to ask a question in the comments section. Someone will answer it eventually.

Thursday
Nancys’ Flight arrives in Boston at 12:45pm. Nancys explored Newbury Street until I called them to come drink at my office. They met me at my office, and we enjoyed the Lone Starts that coincidentally arrived at the office right when the girls from Texas did. This was not planned but totally awesome. Thanks, client based in Texas that I don't even work on. We left work through the mall, walked to my house, and then walked to Fenway for a Red Sox game.

PS, I don't recommend getting standing room only tickets unless you get to the game early enough to get standing room in the front. Or you can just not care about the Red Sox and enjoy the Fenway Franks instead.

Friday
A handyman showed up first thing in the morning to install my A/C unit. It’s been cool outside ever since. Of course.

We went on a Boston historical tour – from Faneuil Hall up to Old State House and the King’s Cemetery. Our guide was from New York. See, anyone can do this shit.

Towards the end of the historical tour, we cut out and went to Harpoon Brewery in South Boston for a tasting. I highly recommend this. It was fun. We drank samples of a lot of Harpoon beers for free. Pretty good time. Also, the Harpoon IPA is my go-to beer now in Boston.

Dinner and drinks in the South End. We put on makeup and stuff. Looked real girly.

Saturday
This was the longest day. And the funnest day. We walked to brunch at The Other Side and had mimosas. Next, we walked over the bridge to Cambridge, past MIT, and went up to Harvard. At this point, it was humid and sticky so we quickly left Harvard to find a bar that I'd heard good things about.

This bar that everyone liked online was playing music like Chumbawumba and the Cranberries. It made me angry. The 26 year old bartender who clearly has no friends in his life is a prick and is also wearing a pukka shell necklace. It made me ever angrier. We left the bar for another place and met up w/ Nancy #1’s friends from Rhode Island.

We headed to the Waterfront / North End for more adventures, and found ourselves at a bar where apparently Nancy #1 and her R.I. friends had been like, ten years ago on New Years Eve. That was a fun flashback. We took a detour through the North End as they were wrapping up one of their saints festivals (drinking, feasting, praying, dancing, etc). It’s like North Beach on drugs - double the tourists, smaller streets, and more Italians. As you can imagine, we quickly got the fuck out of the North End.

We then went on to find what could be the best bar I have been to in Boston. Don’t let the name fool you: Durty Nelly’s Pub. Now before you judge, read on. Mixed crowd of totally normal people, of all ages, coming from who knows where. It's a smaller place (wait - actually, there was an upstairs. We didn't go up there). Random music was playing, like Aerosmith and DMB and Peter Gabriel, but then with some Mumford and Sons thrown in. At this point in the day (night), anything was better than 90s bar. The two bartenders were fun. One even recommended another dive bar, which we ended up meeting him at on Monday. That’s right. We had a date. Not like that, shut up.

The best part was, at some point in the night, the two bartenders and some other dude who sort-of worked there started telling people who came in the door that they were closed, and no more people were allowed it. I realized it was only 11:30. We asked them what was up and they said they made enough money for the night and now they liked the people currently in the bar, and didn’t want anyone else in. Literally, from 11:30 until close, the same crowd stayed in the bar. We were fans of this. Even if this was an asshole move. Or because they were planning on holding us hostage later.

Sunday
Sunday it rained until mid-afternoon, so we went to the ICA to check out the exhibits. This is actually one of the cooler museums I’ve been to (been twice now, if you’d like more info on the ICA or to arrange a tour, please use the comments section, thanks). I think it’s just the exhibits that are really good right now, like The Record, and Catherine Opie’s photos of Americans. (This is the first time I’ve ever talked about how much I like a museum, I feel pretty smart and artsy.)

We left the museum to eat crab and calamari nearby on the water. Eating crab legs is such a brutal act. And the butter is delicious.

She's originally from Maryland. Girl can eat some crabs.

Monday
I went to work, Nancys went out to the Boston Harbor Islands. In the rain. On a ferry. They explored a fort on St. Georges Island. They even had that really hot park ranger that’s only in the movies. He does exist! He works on the island only during the summer. Just so you know and want to plan a visit.

Monday night we went to The Tam to meet up w/ the bartender from the other bar. I was underwhelmed, but based on the fun Yelp reviews, I also had really high hopes. I mean, it was fine, I’d go back, I was just hoping for real dive bar atmosphere. Whatever that means.

Tuesday
I went to work again. Nancys went to tour Fenway before they went to the airport. Apparently they liked it. I HAVE NOT done this, so don’t ask me questions about that or I’ll have to make something up.

Good times. Nobody got too out of control or arrested or injured and we're all still friends. All this can be yours if you come visit...Hurry, winter's coming fast.

The Perfect Reason to BYO Lunch

In case you don't know me that well - wait, there are like, four people who read this and three of them used to work with me - I've been known to talk about how much I dislike the landscape of Dallas. Now, before I go any further, this is not a post about Dallas, this is a post about karma.

I spent a solid five years among endless strip malls and fancy malls and shopping centers that are around Dallas. In fact, I'm pretty sure you can walk from shopping center to shopping center without encountering anything else from Dallas all the way up to maybe ten miles short of Oklahoma. Just follow Hwy 75. I complained about this lack of scenery for a long time, to anyone who would listen. Clearly, I should have shut up about it.

Why? Because here I am in the loverly city of Boston, walking to work every day, not driving anywhere, toting groceries home in a freakin' reusable bag (okay, I've only remembered to bring it like, once), and where do I go five days a week, sometimes even more, say, if want to use the gym or if I forgot my power cord? A MALL. Sure, it's The Prudential Center, but that doesn't change the fact that it's a mall, filled with summer tourists, a food court, escalators,Vineyard Vines, a candy store with an asshole clerk, five billion strollers, unleashed children, too much A&F, AE, and Hollister to count, the whole nine. It's only empty in the morning. After 9:30 a.m., you're screwed if you want to go anywhere without running into someone because they've decided to just stop walking and do a 180 into you.

On the plus side, the air conditioning is amazing right now. There's also a Qdoba that sells a decent (if you close your eyes and pretend it's Taco Cabana) breakfast burrito. And once I actually get to work it's good. But you know. Just be careful what you wish for. Or bitch about.

Two Months In

Well hello, last day of July. You're looking hot. Also, you got here fast. I've been in Boston two months now but it feels like longer.

I've been really bad about taking pictures here, so yesterday when I took a bus to a new neighborhood in search of - wait for it... Home Goods! - I brought my actual DSLR with me. And I didn't use it. Boston is way too clean with way too much brick. Kind of uninspiring. I guess I'll have to go to Southie or Dorchester to get all urban. And/or get stabbed.

Here's a little recap. Sorry it's not more interesting. I'm working on it.

I left Dallas. And some amazing people. And Mexican food.

I moved into a place in Fenway that's actually pretty decent.

My corner bar is called Church. This makes me happy.

I'll never date anyone here because they all wear shit like this.

I try to avoid it but sometimes I do this.

Boston has old things that still work. Like this bridge. And the T.

I'm afraid of what these gardens and my mood will be like in February.

Went from being dependent on AA to US Air. So far, US Air is winning.

For all Boston is (still trying to figure this out), I'm having some serious California withdrawal. The good news is, now I get to fly home to SF on Virgin or Jet Blue. Unfortunately that may not happen until Thanksgiving. 3.5 more months. I should have my accent down by then.

Meeting the Locals

So I spent a few nights out at some Boston bars and here's what I have to report. Boston is strange to me. So is drinking with new coworkers. They're sort of the closest thing you have to friends when you start a new job in a new city, and you feel (especially after half a beer) like you know them, but that's only in relation to the rest of the region you're in where you know not a face. I just found myself looking around having the same reaction I had for the first three years when I lived in Dallas: "Holy shit. I'm in Massachusetts." (Only in Dallas, I'd say Texas, obvs) Not just Boston. Massachusetts. That name has more impact, I guess because it's harder to spell - I'm still trying to get it right, and sounds more like uncharted territory than does Boston, which is simply a Vampire Weekend reference now. Or home to a lot of sports teams. Whichever you want.

One of the best parts of living back in a real city (sorry Dallas...) is walking between bars. Not like, down the same block, I mean down a few blocks. Or a mile. Into one T stop and out another. I've missed walking. It makes the night more of an adventure and helps keep you, well, walking upright. Unless you consider DUI-ing your way down Hwy 75 from Addison to Dallas a worthwhile Saturday night adventure. Me, not so much.

I went to a few definite locals-only places. One with really fucking awful powder blue walls and a sad group of people. I will try my hardest not to go back there. It's called Remington's. It was really the only choice at the time, in my defense, in case you look it up. I also found myself being taken to the original bar for 30-45 year old dudes looking to score with barely 21 year old girls. A decent time (did I just say that?), lots of A&F, students, a group sing-along to Come On Eileen and bad well drinks. Oh, and a $5 cover even for girls!

One night involved a stop at a good place for actual adults, not just those looking for junior junior leaguers (total southern reference). At this place, you just told them what you were in the mood for (drink-wise) and they made you an unexpected drink. That place was called Drink (at least its concept was pretty original).

The best worst place of the weekend was probably the bridge-and-tunnel bar called Whiskey Priest. It's on the wharf. Or waterfront. Whatever it is here. Waterfront. Is it just a given that in America, if something is on the waterfront these days, it will be really trashy? Anyhow, it's a few stories tall. And it's full of meatheads and the latest top 40 plus the usual JBJ and GNR and dudes fighting dudes for no good reason. We stayed until the lights came on.

Don't get me wrong - all of these places were fun because all of these places were new. That's the beauty of being in a new place. You just don't know any better.

This weekend I go back to Dallas to wrap up some loose ends. I'm selling the MINI that I got in February (as much as I tried to love it, it never felt like it was meant to be) and hanging out with a few friends, though not the boyfriend; that has ended and Boston has begun.

So this is all happening. Here's to a weekend of carne tacos and queso and 105 degree weather.

Also, I have Come On Eileen stuck in my head now. You know you wanted this.

Soon I'll be in the back of Us Weekly

Apparently this is turning into a fashion blog. Whatevs. Today on the bus I saw this and it took me right back to high school (mid-90s). The soccer team, the water polo players, the field hockey hos, and everyone else sporting the sock-in-the-sandal look. Only this guy was wearing a polo and khakis. Sick.

A Brief List

This one's called Summer in New England. Not that I had to say that.

Coral shorts

Navy whales

Coral shorts embroidered with navy whales

Faded shirt from The Black Dog

Sperry Topsiders

And while I haven't specifically seen any or been looking, this entire outfit makes me think of these.

*There's always this little voice in the back of my head when I write something like this that says, "You are wearing shorts from 2005 and an $8 t-shirt from Target. You are not a judge on a Bravo fashion show." No, but I should be.

Nowhere Near Here

While I've been busy moving my life to Boston, trying to figure out how to use the public transit system here and looking for a decent brunch, my sister and my friend/former coworker have, through separate journeys, been in Nigeria helping children.

Their stories are inspiring, eye-opening, humorous and often quite sad. They make our daily problems seem very trivial.

My sister's blog, about working on an IBM project in Abuja, Nigeria.

My friend Matt's blog, about taking his whole family to volunteer at a Nigerian orphanage.

I highly recommend you spend a few minutes with them in lieu of Facebook or whatever.

A Weekend Worth Writing About. Finally.

The boyfriend came to Boston for the long weekend and I ate and drank enough to make up for the past four weeks of eating small healthy meals and drinking minimally. It’s a trade off: Have no life, but fit into a smaller pants size (which I do now!) and save a lot of money, or go out, eat and drink more, stay up past 9:30 each night and feel bad about buying multiple $7 beers. I’m trying to find a happy medium. The first step is finding people to do the second option with.

Anyhow. Every morning, the boyfriend and I set out to find a bloody mary. This is harder than I expected in Boston. The first day, killing time until our real brunch destination opened, we walked up fancy-pants Newbury Street, only to find you couldn’t sit on their restaurant patios (any of them) and just drink, you had to order food. Of course.

So we went around the corner to another bar. To our disappointment, this bar only served beer and wine and mimosas. So we kept on. We walked around the rest of the block to Dillon’s, which was just being opened by two sorority girls. We waited at the bar for one to appear. 15 minutes later when she was done eating her hangover breakfast in the back, we were drinking watered-down tomato juice.

Does it have to be this hard?

Finally, we made it to Corner Tavern, the brunch destination I found on Yelp (despite the snotty reviewers on Yelp, the Yelp app has been really handy as a location-based bar finder).

Corner Tavern didn’t disappoint. I mean, it would have had to be a smoldering pile of ashes for it to at that point. It’s nicely hidden below the sidewalk and without fancy signage, so it's somewhat dark, with light coming in through the windows from above ground. The bartender was friendly. The few other people there seemed like regulars. Food was $8 a plate. Cheap and good, but portions were small (compared to brunch in Middle America). The bloody marys were good enough to have a second. I’d go back.

After brunch we walked over the Mass Ave. bridge into Cambridge and eventually landed at a newly built Irish bar called the Asgard. Unfortunate name, no? BTW, we did not plan on doing this bar crawl, it just sort of happened. You walk, it’s hot, you get thirsty, right? We had a beer at the world’s cleanest, quietest Irish bar and then walked another 1.75 miles to a place where we could kayak on the Charles River. After a morning of drinking and walking, kayaking was kind of exhausting. After kayaking we got ice cream at J.P. Lick’s in Harvard Square. That's right, ice cream, not booze! (Side note: Brad, a place called Christina's in Cambridge has burnt sugar ice cream. Maybe that's it?).

The next day started out at Eastern Standard, the restaurant and bar in Kenmore Square that was highly recommended by the bartender whose bar only served beer and wine. It was his idea of “The Best Bloody Mary.”

I’m a big fan of this place, and it’s close to my house. I’m totally taking Mom here when she comes to visit. And the bloody mary was the best of the weekend. However, the general Boston bloody mary seems way less spicy than other cities. We asked for spicy and the bartender offered jalepeno-infused vodka. Fine, but I want pepper and horseradish and Tabasco. We still didn’t get that. Is this typical? I am, after all, an east coast newbie. At least it had celery and two olives. Where’s the goddamn build-it-yourself bar around here? Am I about to claim I miss something in Dallas?

From there we proceeded to have a little adventure called “Going to Jamaica Plain.” And this is where I found my bar.

Unfortunately, my bar is a bus ride away and only takes cash. This just means I won’t wear it out or become a fixture. It’s called Brendan Behan Pub and it’s the kind of bar I was hoping I’d find a lot more of in Boston. They don’t serve food but you can bring it in from next door, they have a great beer selection, they allow dogs, they have excellent music and there’s enough old-time bar kitsch on the shelves, but in a good way, not a cliché way. The place is really small and has a mixed crowd who are clearly locals because nobody in the South End or Cambridge would venture to JP, I imagine. After the first beer, I was in love. I wanted to stay there all afternoon. But we had places to go, so after three beers, we went to find Jamaica Pond. You never know when or if you’ll come back to JP. Gotta see all the sights.

The pond is full of water and surrounded by trees. Crazy, right? I imagine on a good day it’s pretty nice but it had started mizzling (if it’s not sunny in Boston, it’s probably mizzling).

Needless to say, Sunday night everything hurt, especially my legs and liver, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Once you leave your 20s, two days of walking and day drinking with an hour of kayaking is something you should only do on occasion.

I should add, so you don’t think my weekend really centered around drinking, that Monday we went to see the reading of the Declaration of Independence at the Old State House, ate clam chowder, and went to a Red Sox game. Go America.

Or if it's Friday Night and You're Bored

If you have a lot of time to kill or work to avoid and you want to see some stats and facts (often depressing, always eye-opening) illustrated in creative, informative ways, check out GOOD's YouTube channel.

Here's one to start, infographics illustrated by Frank Chimero.

Reminds me of a place I used to go every day.

Revolving doors means it's every man for themselves.

From here

My Short Bus

The 55 is our own personal neighborhood bus. No seriously, see that picture? It makes a little square around a couple blocks and then it proceeds on its way out of the neighborhood and into the downtown area on one street. And then it turns around and comes back. That’s its whole route. When it arrives, it waits for a few minutes at the stop. But first, it backs up to align itself closer to the curb. The real point of backing up isn't to get close to the curb, it's to signal - using the reverse-noise beeping - for everyone to come outside and get on the bus. Seriously, everyone comes outside at this point. You won't see anyone waiting at the actual stop. The bus isn’t even a half a block from my front door. It’s almost too easy.

Four stops later, the clean, air conditioned little 55 drops me off right outside the door to my office. I’m not kidding when I say this bus is like door-to-door service. I hope it’s not some fair-weather luxury that stops in the winter. I may be moving.

Immediately the bus reminded me of the Marina bus (30x? 41? I can’t remember…) because of the “young professionals” on it, but calling it that would be a disservice to everyone on this bus. This bus is missing the pretentiousness and douchebagginess, and the vibe doesn’t make you feel like you’re inferior to a bunch of receptionists and business majors fresh out of UCSB. (I only rode the Marina bus maybe twice, out of desperation or because I was dressed nice enough to be allowed on, and only to get to North Beach, but I’m pretty sure that’s an accurate portrayal of it.)

The first couple times I rode the 55, I’ll be honest. I was the idiot who’s never taken the bus (this bus). Within minutes, I realized that my stop was the first major stop out of the neighborhood and into any sort of business area. Which means sitting on the outside of the seat is a bad idea because you have to ask the person next to you to get up, when they most likely just sat down at the previous stop. Tangent: This is like when you get in an elevator and some dumbass gets on whose floor is the first stop, but they go to the back corner, and then immediately have to push right back through ten people saying ‘Scume me! Sorry! ‘Scuse me! Sorry!” I really dislike this person.

Anyhow, the person will not only be annoyed, they’ll also wonder why you are taking the bus such a short distance. I’ll tell them it’s because it’s hot and sticky out, or mizzling, or because I’m wearing heels or because I have a stress fracture in my heel, bitch please. The bus makes the mile walk to work seem really, really short and like you’re kind of lazy. But the AC on the bus and not greeting your coworkers with a sweat mustache is so awesome.

To request a stop, you have to press this yellow “tape” as they call it. I know – this is probably how every other bus line in America works besides MUNI but let’s remember I’ve been in Dallas driving a car for the last five years. So the other morning, not knowing how exactly to press said tape, I sort of just hoped the bus would stop. I got up and made my way to the back door, which is actually the only door besides the front, as this is a short bus. The bus did stop, but it was to pick people up. I never actually pressed the yellow tape, so the back door never opened. On this bus, touching the handles won't open the door, so there I was, standing at the door, and everyone around me starting yelling “Back door!” The girl right next to me: “This nice lady (read: dumb fuck) needs to get out!” Finally the doors opened. I wanted to die. I kind of hated myself for being that person.

The next time I got on the bus, I made sure I saw someone press the really, really obvious yellow tape. Just like the sign says. Got it. This is embarrassing. I shouldn’t have even written this.

I Believe the Word is Mizzle

So I'm about to get real honest and talk about how lame I'm being tonight. I had one - that's uno, a, lone, solo, Celine Dion "All By Myself"-style ticket to a show at some little bar in Cambridge to see a band called Here We Go Magic tonight and I am totally bailing. What am I doing instead? Why, I am sitting in bed with the laptop I've only been using all day at work, blogging about what I'm not doing.

Here's my list of excuses. First, Boston wears me out. I think it's the walking. I walk a mile to work. That's two miles a day. Except I've started taking the bus one way recently to not arrive at work sticky and sweaty. I've also been going to the gym after a short hiatus, so that's even more physical labor. I know, I used to run several miles a day, and I had to walk in Dallas, though usually only from the front door to the car. Not sure what the problem is here. Maybe it's the two flights of stairs I climb to my apartment, carrying a computer bag. And often a jug of water on my head and two children on my back. Or the fact I wake up at 4:30 every damn morning because that's when it gets light here. Seriously, the latest I have slept in four weeks has been 6:40, including weekends. Someone put me out of my misery.

Aside from just being beat down by the end of the day (at 6, when I get home from my hard job of sitting at a desk tweeting for not-real people), tonight I made the poor choice of eating leftover turkey burrito fixings, drinking two beers, and sitting on the couch with a warm laptop across my legs that only helped the Pacifico and tryptophan circulate through my bloodstream.

It's not too late. I could walk to the T, take the green line, transfer to the red, go to Cambridge, hang out with the 21 year old college kids, watch two local opening bands, see HWGM at 11:45, and take a cab back because the T stops running after 12:30ish. Also, can we talk about that, Boston? Midnight? I'm going out on a limb here but I think even the DART in Dallas runs past that and people don't use that train.

I really did want to report on the cool kids in Cambridge. But alas. I'm old. Also, the ticket was $14, and that was after taxes and fees. Even I can take that hit.

I watched a couple of their videos on YouTube. They aren't that impressive live.

Finally, the weather is doing what is called a mizzle. If you've ever played Balderdash you know what I'm talking about. Perfect weather to stay in bed and get some sleep. 4:30 will be here before I know it.

I Hope You Feel Like Reading

Since my last post began with “This is my last week in Texas” and it’s been almost four weeks now, I guess it’s time to say, “This is my third week in Boston.”

A lot has happened between when I put – ok, when I watched two large men put my stuff in boxes and load it onto a truck, and right now.

Let’s see.

I boarded a plane, flew to Boston, stayed two nights at one of those random “not-quite-motel-but-hardly-a-hotel” hotels, started a new job, and finally got the keys to the apartment I paid firstlastbrokerandsecurity for.

And boy was it worth it. The apartment smells like the back of an undetermined ethnic grocery store. Okay, it’s not that bad. I notice the smell every time I walk into the place, but it goes away quickly. So I’m either used to it or there’s just something rotting in the hall closet.

Luckily, the landlord is going to have the place painted, after most likely being told by his broker who is trying to sell the place that it needed it. Mainly because there are so many dings and scuff marks and patched up holes on the wall and hey, it’ll sell faster when it doesn’t look like a college dorm. So that should cover up the smell or at least replace it with a different smell.

The apartment is actually pretty nice, especially compared to some of the others we looked at two blocks away for the same price (which blows my mind, really). And the building’s entryway and common areas are freshly painted and clean and light, which sold me instantly on the building itself. It’s a mile walk to work, almost half of which is through a lovely park and community garden with geese (or very large ducks, I’m not sure) and squirrels and unicorns romping through it. Okay, not the squirrels, I made that part up. It’s a big corner unit (big for Boston) with wood floors and lots of windows and recessed lighting ON DIMMERS! Booyah. Living the good life now! The landlord (or management company) even had it professionally cleaned before I moved in by a team of blind cleaning people. Let me tell you about one of my nights after work I spent scrubbing the entire kitchen, including the stove and fridge and the inside and outside of all the cabinets. THAT was fun. I didn’t want to unpack before that layer was removed for fear of catching something.

Yes, I had the option to hire a cleaning service but then I began to think all cleaners in Boston may have poor eyesight/standards/hand-eye coordination/motivation and a lack of education on proper scrub brush use, or something like that. Plus I’m a big believer in “If you want something done right or at least up to your own mediocre standards, do it yourself.”

Now everything is unpacked and cleaned (minus the big pile of laundry that has been building up for a month – hello wardrobe I usually don’t wear).

Every day I check things off my to-do list. This week I went to Bed, Bath & Beyond, not just once but twice, and neither time with one of those nifty coupons they send every address in America except for mine. I bought a few groceries from Trader Joe's (hell yeah cat cookies) and some beer to put in the fridge. This morning the cable guy (Verizon, if you want to know, but Fios isn’t in my hood yet so it’ll be slow and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I miss AT&T’s Uverse wtfwhoamI?) came so I have Internet and something called a phone line that I need so I can buzz people into the building. Oh, and call my mom, so we can talk via phone without the risk of contracting brain cancer from the cell phone companies or whatever.

I toured the Boston Sports Club this week and was told by Dave the creepy front desk guy that “If I waited 15 minutes for his co-worker to come back, Dave himself could give me a personal tour and make it more worth my while *WINK*”

So, you know, I didn’t join that club, but I did join the one in the same building as my office. We get a sweet corporate rate for it and can even get reimbursed for part of it by our healthcare provider, and I can join any time I want, not like, five years from tomorrow or some BS rule like that. I imagine when its -10 degrees here, it’ll be a tiny bit easier to go to the gym when I don’t have to leave the building, as opposed to a separate building with creepy front desk people.

Perhaps my biggest accomplishment yet is filling out and (as far as I know) correctly submitting online and then correctly faxing an expense report for the MoHotel stay (that word doesn’t work if you reverse the motel and hotel order, btw). That task was haunting me for the past two weeks and I finally tackled it. It’s the little things.

I’ve even had visitors from Dallas. Sure, they were here for another reason but they took a cab from the Ritz over to the Fenway area just to walk around the block, see the stadium from outside on the sidewalk, and have a drink with me. This happened to be the night the Bruins won the Stanley Cup, so I really think the highlight for them wasn’t seeing me but watching from our spot on a patio as a parade of moto-cops zoomed by and proceeded to set up barricades to prevent the drunks from rioting. (Does Vancouver not have cops or riot control? It is a nice quiet city so maybe they never thought they’d need it. Wrong! Canadians drink beer too.). After seeing the barricades and getting the “oh shit we need to get out of here” feeling, my friends got their tab and a cab and headed back to the R-C. I got a calzone from the pizza place on my street and went to bed.

And now it’s almost the weekend, my first actual weekend in Boston, since two weekends ago I was back in Dallas for a wedding and then last weekend I was in a pasture in Tennessee for Bonnaroo. What will I do with myself this weekend? Here’s my list, in case you’re wondering:

-Get quarters from my $10 bill

-Buy detergent

-Do laundry

-Buy a phone for that land line (there’s a Best Buy next to BB&B and Creepy Dave’s Gym)

-Ride my bike (somewhere, not sure where yet)

-Go to the water (I live on a coast now!)

-SHOP! For non-essentials like jeans and a new computer bag and maybe even shoes

And maybe I'll even write another blog post. I promise to do that more now that I'm settled and have Internet. Yay!

Please Send Queso

So this is my last week in Texas.

Let's go back to the middle of March. I got a call about a possible job in Boston. Right, I thought. Like that'll happen, but I said I was interested. Then, a couple weeks later, I got an email about an interview in Boston. OMFG. I'd almost forgotten. I went. It was an adventure. My luggage was lost. I wore day-old clothes to my interview, clothes that I had sprinted through the airport in while trying to catch the second leg of my flight. And let's be honest, I don't glow. I sweat. You can imagine I was not so fresh nor so clean, despite the shower and the $50 spent at CVS that morning on deodorant, toothpaste, and makeup. But apparently it went well because finally, at the end of April, I got an offer. And of course, I accepted it.

So here it is, almost the end of May. I leave on the 30th. I truly didn't know if this time would come. I had wondered over the last couple years if I'd be a Texan for life. Or at least until I got fired and moved back in with my parents in California. And thanks to my great friends, boyfriend, new convertible (which isn't coming with, sadly) and large, cheap apartment here, I was beginning to embrace this land of strip malls and humidity. Now I don't know what to say. Except that I will miss my friends, warm nights and rullll dirty Mexican food. I may have to buy a crock-pot for the sole purpose of making queso.

My last day of work was five years to the day that I arrived in Dallas from California. Last weekend I took a trip to Boston, figured out the city a little, enjoyed the cool weather, and found a sweet apartment by Fenway. I can't wait to not have to drive 30 minutes on a congested highway to go to a baseball game. The irony is that now that I can walk to the stadium, I won't be able to afford a ticket to a game.

The movers come this Friday. Somehow it's cheaper for them to pack every last item in my apartment than for them to deliver me boxes and let me pack myself. Should I be worried about this math of theirs? Whatever. I thought I'd have a checklist of things to do before leaving Texas - places to go, things to photograph, foods to eat. But I don't. At least, nothing is inspiring me or making me sad. Which means I'm ready. Ready, and also completely emotionally shutting it all out. I'll cry like a baby and throw my own pity party when I'm alone in an empty apartment waiting on my furniture and dishes. Or not, after all, there's a bar called Church on my new street. I find that comforting. Now, if only it was called Mega-Church I'd feel right at home. So I'll just have to take a trip back to Texas after I've spent a few months walking everywhere I need to go, lost five pounds doing so, and become sick of the fog. I'll land at DFW, take off my sweatshirt, and drive straight to Fuel City for some barbacoa tacos.

Check out this weather. Who's excited? Just me?

In the coming week I'm going to try to conjure up a nostalgic blog post about the last five years. Stay tuned for some wine-induced feelings.

In Case You're a Heavy Sleeper

Last night was the fourth Sunday night in a row with thunderstorms and heavy rain and lightning flashing. Which means the fourth Sunday night in a row I haven't slept. But who's counting.

HBD Jill

It's my friend, coworker and Bachelor-watching partner in crime Jill's birthday today, and in honor of her awesomeness, a birthday shout-out on the blog. She has helped me learn to live in peace in Texas, brought out my inner design nerd (or at least that nerd's credit card to buy things on etsy) and been one of my best friends in this chapter of my life, or all chapters, really. I know, so emo... So here, in no particular order, are some of the most memorable times that I can actually, well, remember. See, my dear friend Jill, there are plenty of fun times I'm forgetting here, but I'm older than you and let me tell you - the memory loss sets in quick. Good thing we have Facebook for photos because I don't do scrapbooks.

Bonding over the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf postcard at my desk in March of 2007.

This little event isn't necessarily memorable. Jill just showed up at my desk because it was really just a way for a writer and an art director to fill their timesheets and not get fired. But it was the beginning of a wonderful friendship. So here's to that postcard, CBTL and First Effing Magnus. RIP, LoanTracker.

Helping Bert through one of his less-than-adorable moments.

It involved scissors and some fur and for Bert's pride, I'll leave it at that. Bert and I bonded that day, which means Jill and I bonded too. Hugs, Bert and happy belated birthday.

Costumes

What's more fun than theme parties, house parties, game nights, cocktail parties and holiday parties? Any of them in a costume. Jill is amazing at costumes, the more original she gets, the better. I even went to a few Jew parties with her in costume, knowing we'd totally rock it, also knowing I'd totally stand out as the tall blonde. Sorry I scared away the dudes, Jill. But we were such great doubles partners. Club Champions!

Getting a flat tire in the Mini on a 100-degree Saturday.

Nothing says friendship like a near-death parking spot on the non-existent shoulder of Hwy. 75 near the Fitzhugh exit. Except maybe your ass sweat on your friend's leather seats. But nobody remembers those details once you've been rescued by a eight Dallas cops, right?

Monday Nights

On a day that starts off depressing, there's no better way to end it than surrounded by friends - Jill, Bert, Girards, Salad, and Frozen Pizza. And a few other key people. Like Chris Harrison, douche bags, and whores. I have Jill to thank for always being the best hostess ever.

Getting coffee and talking about our hopes and dreams and fears.

You don't drink the office coffee for the caffeine, you drink the office coffee so you can walk away from your desk for a few minutes. And if you're lucky, you have someone who meets you at the coffee maker to discuss the day ahead and commiserate with you.

Gymnastics

Only once in my lifetime will I have the opportunity to go to the Pride of Parker Texas Hometown Parade. That opp was a couple years ago, and luckily I had the good sense to go with Jill to see none other than famous Olympic gymnasts like Nastia Liukin being paraded down the street in fancy cars (I mean, who wouldn't go??).

I've also seen Nastia and Shawn Johnson speak at a Dallas sports luncheon, which Jill and I went to. Jill has more love for gymnastics than probably half the gymnasts out on the floor at any given event (especially those forced into it by their countries but whatevs), and no matter what she does in life, she will always stick her landing. Always.

Happy Birthday Jill, you are awesome. This will be a big year for you, I can feel it.

PS, sorry for the lame title and thanks for the use of your facebook pics.