Time Flies

I’ve been writing this blog for a little over two years. I had no idea so much time had passed. Twenty-five months and one day, to be exact.

Originally, I started it as a way to improve my writing. I think I’ve actually digressed.


Reminder: Note to Self

“Do NOT watch sentimental chic flick after a very long week of travel and homesickness. No good can come of it.”

Also, ever noticed that Jack Black plays Jack Black in every single film in which he is cast. Some days it works: see here and here. Some days not so much.

So I Lied

On Sunday, I said I’d write about JCS en Espanol “tomorrow.” Well, tomorrow has come and gone several times, and no update about our evening at the theater. And you’ll just have to wait a little longer.

That thing I do, you know. . . work. It is taking up all my time and energy. And I’ll write when I can catch my breath. Which may mean sometime in October. Or maybe not. I’ll write about our most excellent weekend soon.

Until then, consider this:

Tonight I landed in the smallest airport I’ve ever seen in my life. I watched the guy unload my checked baggage onto the single, tiny baggage carousel in the whole, tiny airport. The baggage claim area also served as the gate, terminal, rental car counter, and waiting area. There were two planes at the airport, both of which were 9 row turbo-props. That’s a total of 36 passengers MAX for each plan. I might actually be in Kansas this time. It’s definitely remote enough.

Red Letter Day

So after the cruel and unusal air travel delays of Friday, Handsome made Saturday a day worth waiting for.

He picked me up at the airport at 1pm, and we didn’t make it home till after 1am. And it was an absolutely perfect day. We started with lunch on Lake Austin. Then, he took me shopping for jeans and shoes. You ladies know what that means – hours of patiently waiting. What a sweet man.

My advise to all the curvy women I know: shop for jeans at Nordstrom’s. The sales woman understood exactly what I was looking for in a jean and brought me six pairs that ALL fit perfectly. I picked out my two favorites, but how often do you find someone (other than your best friend) who can take a look at your figure and and hand you not one, but SIX pairs of jeans that all work.

But the best part of all: SINGLE DIGIT on the label, ladies! What a confidence boost.

After the shopping was completed, I changed into my new jeans and blouse in the ladies restroom, and we went out. Out to the theater. To Jesucristo Superestrella. More about that one tomorrow. But for now . . . WOW!

Right now, I have to get ready to go down to San Antonio for a concert. Is this a great weekend or what?

The Joys of Air Travel

Every flight I’ve taken into Austin for the past, oh I don’t know, six months or so, has been delayed. Usually it’s only a couple hours at the most. This time it’s such a significant delay that I won’t make it home until tomorrow afternoon instead of tonight.

Stupid thunderstorms in Denver. Grrrr!!!

Update: This is me spending the night at a hotel in Denver. Instead of at home in Austin in my own bed. I know I am totally whining, but I wanna go home! Wah!

Oregon Is a Strange Place

So, I thought it was odd that you can’t pump your own gas in Oregon, but it gets even better:

Yesterday, I paid $2 for a ferry to take me across 50 feet of water. I kid you not. 50 feet! In Texas, we have free ferries to take a hundred cars at a time across miles of open waterways already clogged with other ships.

And, I visited a private boarding school based upon the teachings of Scientology. It is housed in a 1930’s art deco building originally built as a Catholic Noviate. Tell me that isn’t unsettling.

Also, it’s 65 degrees out and foggy. In August. Unreal.

Shakes Head and Sighs

So I’m sitting in a booth having dinner when Michael Jackson’s Beat It starts playing over the satellite radio. Across the room, a booth-full of teenagers (half my age, by the way) goes nuts laughing at the “retro” tune. (!) They know every word. So do I.


I notice through my meal that they maintain an endless stream of inane conversation. And I wonder, was I like that? One of those effervescent, giggling teenage girls? And the still small voice says, “yep.”


Only, I was at a small-town Whataburger, instead of a Red Robin in a west-coast metropolis.