Lil Texas

I’m a little late on this but I finally got around to reading my monthly edition of Shape magazine and was surprised to find Mandy Moore on the cover–not because she’s Mandy Moore–but because she’s in a T-shirt and jean cut-offs! I’m used to a scantily-clad babe in a bikini showing off rock-hard abs that I yearn to earn. Now, the newlywed Mrs. Ryan Adams is no stranger to promiscuity, so why the cover-up?

Posted on January 6th, 2010 by admin
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I started this blog because my former boss thought I needed an outlet. He was right. I was too smart for an administrative job and had too much time on my hands. At first, I thought it would be a New York guide to Texans, hence Lil-Texas. But then, it turned into a narcissistic project about trying to find myself in the city. I still haven’t found myself. Let me know if you do! Then, I dabbled in a bit of Tex-Mex with Jon and we both went to South America, writing about our travels. Now, I have no idea what this thing is. I guess it’s a smörgåsbord of my life with no theme, constantly changing. There was a stint of dating travails but now I have a steady boyfriend. A run of unemployment but now I (thank you Tonic.com!) have a job. The only constant theme here is growing older.

At my friend Kenny’s birthday party, less and less people came because they either were married and spending Christmas with their in-laws or had children to put to bed and couldn’t get a babysitter. And no one even drank beer. We just sipped water and ate fruit. My grandmother is partying like it’s 1959 because in her head, it is. And I’ve finally ditched my beloved heels for some fuzzy slippers my sister gave me. Like I said, we’re getting older.

But with age comes better technology. The red wagon my parents got my niece has cup holders in it. Cup holders! I guess it’s the Cadillac of Red Flyers. My dad and I bought ourselves Droids for Christmas. Those things are stinkin’ cool. They’re TVs, cell phones, computers, and radios all in one. I know, the iPhone already does those things, but now Verizon fans can play too. Even the socks that my sister got me are infused with shea butter so my feet will always be silky smooth. Quakers say they’re happier with a simpler lifestyle but I disagree.

So here I am. I’m old enough to know that my life will constantly change, so I’ve stopped reaching for the answer to the dinner party question, “What do you do?” Seriously, I do so many things. I write, edit, sail, ski, shop, watch movies, talk during television shows even though my boyfriend hates it and I secretly do too but I can’t help myself, find dinosaurs with my niece that are hiding in her closet, watch the Yankees, sighed when Matsui left, bet on college football, root for the Longhorns even when I think we have a shred of a chance at the national title, talk about my boyfriend constantly to the point of embarrassment … you really don’t want to ask me that question at the next gathering because we could go for hours. My grandmother? She has Alzheimer’s and has not a clue who she is or where she is but she is definitely in charge. She will not let you forget it. My parents are now “Pops” and Mimi” to my niece. My sister is now “Mommy.” None of my girlfriends have gotten married but I’m sure their names will change when they do.

So yeah. We’re all growns up. Weird. Expected but weird.

Posted on December 25th, 2009 by admin
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This next one is going to be a stretch for me. I usually bill myself as one of those girls who was nerdy in high school on principle. I formed the “I Hate Popular Kids” club in fifth grade (with two other proud members; we really stuck to the statutes of unpopularity) because I saw exclusion as the ultimate aberration. I carried this attitude into my freshman year, quit the cheerleading squad, and vowed to befriend anyone who wanted to be my friend. But last night, I ran from a man I met after only two hours of sitting next to him in the same room.

I had planned on watching Monday Night Football with my boyfriend and his buddy Sean. When I arrive, I’m told that Sean has a fellow Broncos fan who’s staying the night with him because he has a wife and kids in Jersey and just needs a night out of the house. My sister has a two-year-old and another one on the way, so I can sympathize. Fair enough. Plus, I like meeting new people. When I open the door, I see two 40-year-old, overweight men sporting jerseys, which is another blog post entirely, but The Bleacher Report has already written that blog, so I’ll let you read it here. Let me know when you’re back. You’re back? OK.

So I see Sean and he’s wearing a Broncos jersey and a pair of yellow-and-black throwback socks. The man used to also play college football and he’s got a great personality, so I can forgive his heavyset build. That came out wrong. What I mean to say is he has redeeming qualities, so unlike a fashion model, his looks aren’t his only asset. Now his friend (whose name I’ve blocked from my memory to avoid developing some nervous tick but let’s call him Bob) looks like Penn from Penn & Teller crossed with a member of The Grateful Dead. He’s fat. He wears a gold loop earring. His rapidly graying hair is more surprised than you that he somehow finagled it into a ponytail. And he opens with this:

“Hey guys, I’m sorry I’m excited but I’m just so happy to be out of the house!”

Now, this would seem innocuous to anyone but the millions of girlfriends out there who have spent their entire relationships trying to prove to their boyfriends that settling down isn’t the equivalent of castrating themselves. I had spent the past nine months and made some headway (my boyfriend now thought marriage could work with the right person) and in front of me stood the blob that could undo all of that in a matter of seconds. But I kept my cool, flashed a 100-watt smile, and switched into a mode of fakeness that I thank my sorority sisters daily for teaching me.

Now I thought about taking you through the night step by step, but I think Bob’s highlight reel will be enough because a highlight reel is supposed to be your best work. Even an ultimate loser will look like a winner with a highlight reel because it spans over time. But Bob really was just that bad. I love football and I excused myself at halftime, forgoing the dinner that I had prepared for everyone (and I was starving) because I couldn’t take it anymore. Enjoy.

“I’ve heard the word ‘douchebag’ 10 times today. Oh, sorry, Kathryn. Can you hang with the big boys on football night?” Yes, and Andy also let me out of the house today! Gee whiz. You males are so wonderful!

“Don Imus is not a racist. He has cancer camps for kids!” And Michael Vick is making speeches for the Humane Society. It’s called PR.

“Are you guys on Facebook?” Looks around to see what we’ll say. “I’m not…” Sees that we are and wants to belong so much that he switches his story. “Well, I am but I don’t like it.”

“Dude, you know that cheerleading outfit we got for my daughter? Well, my wife cut off the frilly part and now it’s a top for my son!” Your son is a cross-dresser?!

“Is this breast milk?!” Mind you, we are at a bachelor’s pad. No, it’s coconut milk. “Kathryn, I know you don’t know what this is…” (But let me belittle you and explain) A. Douchebag, I’m a woman, so yes, I do. And B., I have a niece and another one on the way, so I’m all caught up.

“You want a drink?” He asks my boyfriend.

“Come on, get a drink!”

“Nnnnnaaaaannnncccccyyyyy, get a drink!”

“Man, I sound like that old school, peer pressure guy. After the sixth time I ask and you don’t want a drink, I should probably get the hint!” There’s a glimmer of hope for this one. I won’t call social services for his kids.

“I’m the guy who does video for Columbia Records, so anytime you need some Beyonce…” Your job involves no interaction with coworkers or the public. They keep you in the back for a reason. Good God!

“Did I mention I’m glad to be out of the house?!”

Sean, where’s your bathroom again? “It’s over there! He points out the window. Where else could it be?! The apartment’s so small!” Douchebag, and I will continue to call you that, so you can up your D-Bag quota to 12…there are two floors and a rooftop to this apartment, so it’s not small. 

“Dude, get an authentic jersey!” He says to my boyfriend. I guess he never read The Bleacher Report and thinks that a $200 shirt is a good investment in becoming the world’s greatest douchebag.

“It’s DOOM-ervil! Not DUMB-ervil! As in you’re DOOMED!” In response to my boyfriend’s mispronunciation of outside linebacker Elvis Dumervil’s name.

“It’s hhhhhoooooottttttt!” Maybe if you lost a few pounds, you’d stop sweating in a 72-degree Farenheit room. And quit whining, douchebag. 13.

“Dude, did Roethlisberger dye his hair?! He looks like Leif Garrett.” OK, I know you’re nearly 40 and your wife hasn’t let you out of the house in two decades but Leif Garrett now looks like this. 

“You’ll probably leave because of the cigar smoke.” No, douchebag (14) but that’s the first good idea you’ve said all night. I’ll fake a headache and go home.

And I did…for two seconds until my boyfriend walked me into the hallway to ask what was wrong. He knows I don’t care about cigar smoke and love to watch football, so why was I leaving at halftime? Because every five seconds, I wanted to punch Bob’s face, I told him, which makes me sad because…

“Hey guys! I’m so glad to be out of the house! Sorry I’m so excited!”

Yeah, no sadness. Some guys just deserve to be punched.

Posted on November 10th, 2009 by admin
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• I lived a stereotype when I sipped tea while watching Texas beat OU.
• I realized that by asking my boyfriend, “Is OU’s defense that good or our defense that bad?” I was asking my version of “Do I look fat in this dress?” Luckily, he knew how to answer the question and said, “No baby, OU’s defense is really good.” God bless him.
• After being chided for applying lipstick in the street, my friends accused me of being too much of a tomboy (I ordered the German meat plate at brunch). Too feminine, too tomboy. They then added that all I needed was beef jerky to seal the deal. Later that night, my boyfriend came home with…beef jerky.
• My new gym class instructor sounds like Rocky. “Come on, Kathryn, baby! You and me, baby! Ugh!” I half expected him to yell, “Adrienne!” during reverse flies.

Posted on October 19th, 2009 by admin
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Usually when a big, black woman enters your subway car screaming at another patron in said car, you mind your own business, lest you be next. This morning, I couldn’t help but look. She was yelling at a homeless man.

“Oh HELL no! Honey, there are way too many people on this car! Get up!” she said.

“My ribs are broken,” he said.

“Well, sweetheart, you need to go to a hospital, not the N Train,” she finished and then sat right next to him.

I sneaked a peak at others in the car and everyone had a silent grin on their faces. She didn’t say it in a mean tone. She had used the words “sweetheart” and honey,”  but she was stern. She said what everyone was thinking. Our personal hero. Her companion was laughing so hard that he had to walk to the other end of the car to compose himself.

Whenever I see a homeless person, I look the other way. Part of it is guilt. Part of it is that I don’t want to be asked for money. But this woman respected him as a person by not ignoring him. I’ve said what she’s said to others who weren’t homeless before. There’s subway etiquette, after all. If you’re a 400-lb. person, you don’t need to sit between me and an Asian lady. You won’t fit. I’ve told people as such. But to say that to someone who has nothing? I’ve just never done it. It always seemed too mean. Yet, besides being comical, this morning’s incident proved that homeless people don’t need to be ignored. They’re people just like everyone else, even if that means that they have to give up their seat.

Posted on October 13th, 2009 by admin
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I remember launching an hour-long conversation with Jon one night on our hike to Machu Picchu. We were lying in our tent and I confided that I wanted to be great. He was surprised. He didn’t. Why would I want to be great? From there, we defined that greatness is not fame but something that very few achieve. I don’t remember much else of the chat.

I’ve quit waitressing. I wasn’t really great at it. Sorry if I spilled water on you or forgot your drink order. My boyfriend can attest that I am the ultimate klutz. Not the best gig for me. Tomorrow I have an interview at a relatively new start-up Web site whose mission is to bring together great minds. Kind of like a smarter version of YouTube.com. I wonder if I end up hired and the veil is lifted, if my mind will change about being great. I remember disappointing my ex when I told him that it’s the interns and underpaid writers who put together some of his favorite magazine articles and packages. Knowing that it wasn’t someone “great” somehow saddened him.

Me? I’ve worked with great men who have been publicly famous but privately insecure and those who have had all the confidence but no glory. I’ve never had the chance to work with someone in the middle of that Venn Diagram. Maybe I’ll meet that person tomorrow or maybe I’m holding an impossible standard for myself and others to achieve greatness.

Posted on October 12th, 2009 by admin
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As some of you know, I’ve taken a waiter position to pay the bills. Now I’m a little late to the food service game (most people did their time in high school or college), but from where I stand (on the other side of the table), dining rules have changed.

1) Customary tipping is 20 percent. If you think they did a just OK job, it’s still 20 percent. Remember how your parents used to pay 10 cents for a coke but now you pay 75 cents? And how they used to walk three miles in the snow to school but you drove your BMW? Yeah, it’s like that. Pay up.

2) Being compared to Meg Ryan while doing the “Oh” scene in a restaurant is always a good thing. Being compared to Meg Ryan after ordering a chopped salad but cut the olives, tomatoes, capers, peppers, balsamic dressing on the side, and chopped extra fine is your waiter’s way of saying to your companion, “I am so sorry you’re dating a difficult bitch. Here’s my number on your check because you know said bitch will make you pay. I get off at 11 and want everything on the side.”

3) Don’t ask if we took a bite of your meal while wrapping it up for you. Last we checked, you had herpes from kissing that stripper who married you for your money and we don’t want any.

4) Waiting tables is a job like any other. You know that boss who everyone hates because he doesn’t have an ounce of understanding and his only call in life is to make yours miserable by pointing out your mistakes? Yeah, don’t be him. Take an extra second to look around the restaurant. Is every table full? Maybe that’s why you don’t have your bread, which by the way, is not your waiter’s job to get you. We’re busy. I’m not suggesting to sit there breadless but biting your waiter’s head off might make her ignore you even more because she’ll write you off as those tables who live in 1950 and tip 10-15 percent.

5) A recession happened, so newsflash: we are not all actors and models. Those people still have their jobs.

6) When your child orders sushi for the table, we’re thinking, “future douchebag.”

7) If No. 6 is a teenager, “douchebag.”

8 ) Yes, (F you, Anthony Bourdain) the fish is fresh. I went out and caught it from the Hudson with my bare hands this morning, so I could find the perfect spot to dump your badly mutilated body.

9) Like Chris Rock has said, they put the pretty people up front. You don’t want to see the chef. Take our word for it. We cannot substitute the swordfish for a halibut no matter how many different ways you whine.

10) Don’t ask for the manager. They started out as waiters. While they may comp your dessert tonight, you just bought yourself a lifetime ticket to the worst table in the restaurant.

Posted on August 12th, 2009 by admin
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When I left New York, my friends asked if I would ever come back. It’s an honest question since most New Yorkers secretly admit that they want out but are too proud to admit it. Those square patches of grass that sit behind your house? Yeah, we want those. And those twin machines that magically make your clothes smell like flowers even after being doused in eight cans of beer at a Fratellis concert? Yeah, those are nice too. And that orange ball in the sky that hurts your eyes when you look into it? We’ve never seen it but we’ve heard it’s quite warm. New Yorkers would never say that they value these things because there’s the nagging feeling of “Well, you just couldn’t hack it, could you?” If you grew a thicker skin, you could make it. Sometimes I want to unearth Frank Sinatra and kick his ass for coining the phrase, “If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere.” As my buddy Scott says, bullshit.

The reason why I came back to New York is not for the city at all. It’s for the people. Insert collective “awww” here. Only here–by proxy of a trip to New Hampshire–can I meet new people and immediately start a discussion about our favorite NPR djs. Most people don’t know what that acronym stands for. Only here can I freak out about renting a car for Fourth of July weekend and a friend has an uncorked bottle of red in my hands in under 10 seconds. Thanks Jess, by the way. And only here can I crash on a friend’s couch while he plays poker in Vegas for two months.

Is New York the center of culture? Nah, get your heads out of the sand. Tokyo is on to the next thing by the time we’ve caught on and we’re wearing Parisians’ hand-me-downs. But what makes New York great is not the culture but the people it attracts. I bet less than 1 percent of people living from Manhattan are from here. They all traveled here for the same reason: achievement. And four or 10 years later, they’ll all leave for different reasons: a new job, to start a family, more space, cheaper rent, travel.

So I’m back, and we’ll see how this round goes. I’m still unemployed and homeless but I found a nice guy to date, so that’s on the up. Like Jon and I said in South America, if all else fails, I can always bartend in Australia. Liam and Rob, get your couch ready.

Posted on July 1st, 2009 by admin
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Being home reminded me of a few things, mainly Steel Magnolias and Gilmore Girls. Here are a few videos for your weekend:

This is basically my sister and me:

And this is just for fun because I miss the show:

This will be my upcoming weekend with the family:

Posted on June 12th, 2009 by admin
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I’m back in the United States, and what’s the first thing I get in my inbox? A video about a job in Brazil! Man, this guy has it rough…

Posted on June 5th, 2009 by admin
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