Month in Review

I’ve moved my blog to WordPress (http://lgalaviz.wordpress.com) because I like the way the comment sections are set up, but now I feel bad abandoning my old Blogger blog. (Sorry, I didn't tell you Oscar, it would have been good to mention.) Is anyone still here reading this besides Oscar? If you are here, it is not because I have abandoned you and moved on. Okay, I have moved on, but I want you to come with me. Here is summary of what you are missing over at WordPress.

Milkshakes from the Past

Ashton Kutcher was being witty with me at McDonald’s and offered me milkshakes from the past. I was too preoccupied by obtaining McGriddles to take him up on it. There is also a nice t-shirt available for those of you who would like to avoid perfect strangers offering you milkshakes.

How to Survive a Year

This is a very helpful guide for surviving an entire year. I know you probably think you have been surviving the years already, but you can survive so much more efficiently using my simple guidelines.

Ants on a Branch

This is the post where I am slightly drunk and trying to win an argument with Andreas Heinakroon of heinakroon.com by yelling out obscure statements like “Ants on a Branch” without bothering to explain them. I think I win.

Enjoy a life of crime, or scientific achievement, whichever

On further reflection, I have been spending a lot of blog posts trying to win arguments with Andreas Heinakroon. Did you know that scientific achievement and crime are both motivated by sex? Andreas fails to agree with me on the finer points of this. He thinks I am over-simplifying the matter. What he doesn’t know that I am purposefully doing this to win an argument. If you can’t win by distorting facts, it is hardly worth the effort.

Why Girls Rule and Boys Drool

Again, this post is part of an argument with Andreas Heinakroon. This time, my argument is firmly backed by science and also @whoremonger's brilliant statement that both proves I win, and also uses the term, “not in a million years jack wagon.”

How to Win at Christmas

If you haven't already won at Christmas, it is a little late to worry about it now. Especially you, Oscar, with your "Bah F*cking Humbug" ornament. Oh wait, I gave that to you. Never mind.

One last quick thing before I go, onions could be killing you, or saving your life. Just thought you should know.

My Story of Texas

The concept of Texas has come up a lot lately, much in part to Lahikmajoe’s Non-Tea Blog. I have to say that I am most impressed with @lucysfootball and her take on the Texas culture and what outsiders may think of it. Let me take a moment to say that Lucy’s Football Blog slant on this topic is actually way funnier than mine, so now is your chance to bail.

Oh... you are still here. Great.

I have chosen to take this opportunity to consider what being a Texan means to me. You see, my family is perhaps one of the last of the stereotypical Texans. Despite my sarcastic and liberal demeanor, I am a direct link to rural Texas and what it means to be a real cowboy.

I grew up spending a lot of time out in the country with my grandmother. My grandmother was a tough woman. She grew vegetables in her garden, and pickled her own beets and cucumbers. Her house had no central air or heat and the television only got about three channels and that was on a good day. The phone was a party line. You knew by the pattern of rings if the call was yours. If you picked it up and there was someone talking, you were supposed to put the handset down quietly. Sometimes I would take a minute or two to listen in, but always found the conversation excruciatingly boring.

When “Nan-Mamma,” as we called her, needed to do laundry or pick up supplies, we went to 'into town' (population 6,000) to the laundromat and the “Dixie Winn.” I don’t think that particular brand of grocery store is still around, but if it were, the proper name of it would be pronounced, “Winn Dixie.” You wouldn’t dare tell that to my grandmother. That woman had a sharp tongue and a quick hand. The best plan was always to lay low. 

My mother currently works part-time in the office of a cattle auction. The people in that office love to make fun of the city folk who come in and do silly things. This makes it extremely fun to embarrass my mother when visiting her at work. I usually have someone ask for her to come out and speak with me about “buying the cow outside with the brown eyes.” It is like our code actually.

My dad was once a farmer/rancher. The farming part grew hay for the cattle. I remember seeing the hay balers and bright green John Deere tractors and combines, sitting powerfully still under the corrugated metal roof of the shed. At the time, I was impressed at their size as I had metal drawf-sized counter parts as toys at home. As an adult, I am astounded by the scope of the mechanical what-not that had to be properly greased and maintained. My dad has a knack for keeping things working. I have a AAA card.

My dad took me with him to the auction barn on the days he sold or bought cattle. I would play quietly with whatever toys I had brought along as he made his bids or watched his cows being sold. I distinctly remember the aggressive chant of the auctioneer, the sound of the cattle, and the faint smell of manure in the background. It is the same auction my mother works at today. Nothing has changed much, expect that my adult eyes see it as smaller than I remember.

My dad always drove a white Ford truck. When one gave out he bought another one just like it… one white Ford pickup after the other. I remember riding in the back of those trucks as my dad called 'the cow out to feed.' I asked him once if I could have a cow. He gave one each to both my brother and me. Although, I suspect he picked them out at random. It is just as well as I couldn’t tell one cow from the other anyway.

My parents had a double freezer and when we needed meat, they would “take a cow to slaughter.” We had every part of cow in that freezer. My dad would scramble the brains with eggs, telling my brother and I that it would make us smarter. I don’t know how eating cow brain could make you any smarter. Even if eating the brain could somehow transfer the brain of a cow into yours, the only skill you would gain is how to lick a block of salt and chew your cud. It just doesn’t pencil out.

I remember trips to the feed store. Of course, my memory is that of a young child. I remember the earthy, malty smell of the feed, but mainly I remember the bubble gum machine. There were two sections to the machine, and each took a penny.  One section contained tiny little square pieces of candy-coated gum, while the other had small round colorful balls. It was always a dilemma because the ball section only pushed out one piece of gum. The other section, if you turned the handle just right, would push out two or three. So, according to my childhood memories, the important takeaway from this is that Texas has gum. Don’t let them tell you any different.

My dad doesn’t have a ranch anymore. My parents own their own rental apartments now, and have long since sold their land in the country. My dad still drives a truck, but instead of baling wire for hay, the truck bed is cluttered with paint cans and sections of cabinet for apartment upkeep. He wears a cowboy hat, but only outside in the sun, because hats for real cowboys are for function, not for nightclubs. He doesn’t own a pair of dress shoes or sneakers. Instead, he has two pairs of boots, one pair for everyday, and one for Sunday.

So, that is my story of Texas. And now, with great pride, I would like you all to meet a real cowboy:

Me and my Dad. 

How to Plan for a Road Trip

This blog is in transition and currently has no point to it whatsoever. If you are looking for the Self-Help T-Shirt Catalog, I moved it to WordPress. So you should click here. If someone is trying to make you leave your house to go on a road trip and you don't want to stop what you are doing, then keep reading.

This past week was Thanksgiving, and we were visiting my husband's family. It was that awkward day after Thanksgiving when the large dinner is sitting in the refrigerator, and guests are sitting around the house. We had just had breakfast, and my sister-in-law's boyfriend's mom said that they were going to drive over to her brother's or cousin's house for a visit. Somehow, like a row of dominoes crashing one into the other, this turned into the opportunity for a road trip. 

Looking back on that moment, as we were poised on the edge of a road trip to go sit in someone’s house, I realize that my family can be very difficult to move when we are not motivated. I really don’t want to go sit in someone’s house. Sitting in someone’s house is the most boring thing in the world. Especially when it is mid-morning after breakfast. There will be no food, and it is way too early for drinks. That means there will literally be nothing to do but sit. I felt incredibility unmotivated to sit but had already vowed to be pleasant during the holiday, so I gathered some things I thought my son and I would require.

Steps to ready for a road trip I don’t want to take are extremely detailed. First, there will be a long discussion about where we are driving, in what direction, and details on how long the trip will take. Then, we will have another discussion about what entertainment devices should be packed. Please be aware that all devices (iPad, iPod, NintendoDS, Kindle and laptop) will be packed regardless of the discussion outcome. Also finding all the devices scattered around the house will take longer than usual, as I will be checking Twitter or my blog comments instead of looking for them. We will need to pack a cooler of drinks to avoid possible dehydration. Once we are finally in the van, I will need to dash out of it at least twice for last minute items such as sunglasses or chargers for all the devices.

Steps to get ready for a trip we do want to take are a little simpler. After my mother-in-law announced that we did NOT have to go to shopping at the River Walk, but could instead take a trip to Natural Bridge Caverns, my son and I made it to the van in thirty seconds flat. Then, we looked at each other... wondering what was taking everyone so long. 

How to be Happy

In The Art of Happiness, the Dalai Lama tells a story about a guy taking a nap in a boat. Suddenly, a bump awakens him. He looks up and sees another boat. He becomes very angry with the person in this boat for deliberately waking him from his nap. When he arises to confront this jerk, he realizes the other boat is empty. When he understands it was only the current pushing the other boat into his, the anger dissolves. That is why I like to think of people as boats.

Popcorn Ceiling

First off, I should tell you that this is no longer the catalog of imaginary t-shirts. If you are looking for the shirts, go to my shiny new WordPress site: The Best Self-Help T-Shirt Catalog Ever. This is now the blog where I will go on about things that are too long for Twitter, and not really appropriate for Facebook. I have been neglecting my FaceBook page, actually. Need to think of something clever to put on there. I am drinking coffee right now. That should do. Hang on a minute...

Okay, I am back. I was thinking this morning that I need do something about the popcorn texture on our ceiling. Often, when my mother-in-law visits, she will complain about popcorn ceilings from the seventies and how awful they are. To her credit, I don't think she realizes that she is sitting in the very living room of a house from the seventies under a ceiling of popcorn that belongs to me. It is a little troubling to me all the same. So, here is my plan.

Step 1.  Win the lottery. I know you are going to tell me that it is nearly impossible for people to win the lottery, but I don't think they are trying hard enough. I should be able to do it in a week or so.

Step 2.  Pay all the decorating people and decorating books and magazines in the entire world to make popcorn ceilings come back in style again. This shouldn't be that hard. They are probably out there looking for the next new thing right now and it may as well be popcorn ceilings.

Step 3.  Pay for my mother-in-law to get a new stylish popcorn ceiling in whatever color she desires. Yes, they will be coming in colors--Bright ones.

And then.... I strike!

Step 4.  Get rid of our popcorn ceiling, go over to her house, and talk about how tacky they are.

Winning! And in ONLY four steps. I am so great today.

I know you are thinking that I should have not wasted my time bribing decorators with the popcorn ceilings. You are probably thinking I could have used all this time and money curing cancer or saving children or something. But this is MY fictional money, and I will spend it how I please. Thank you very much.

Side Note: I just realized that all I have to do is slap a picture of a t-shirt on this and it will be just like my old blog. I think the dual blog thing is giving me an identity crisis.

The Galleria is Evil

The next few posts will be about things I learned on the InterBlogs, and people who deserve their own t-shirts. So, this blog is now a blog for the people who read my blog. Or read blogs that I read while I am writing my blog. Or write blogs that.... anyway, if you are still reading at this point, you must be entangled somehow, so let's get on with it.

My first InterBlog recognition and t-shirt dedication goes to Alura’s CrossWorlds Cafe for the post, “Sorry Lisa, they’re still out of monkeys… “

This clothing line is dedicated to you, Alura, for surviving the Teavana at the Galleria, and also obtaining your $50.00 pound of antioxidant tea. You will be able to fight oxidants for years to come.  At least you actually bought tea while you were there. I bought some sort of leafy substance called a Samurai Mate, which apparently, as Lahikmajoe pointed out in his post, “Don’t tell her it’s not tea,” isn’t even tea! I guess the moral of this story is that you shouldn’t go around buying things just because they have the word Samurai on them. On the other hand, what am I supposed to do a teashop, Lahikmajoe? Go around saying, “Are you SURE this is tea? What about this one? Is this one tea?” That would make me look like an idiot!

Wait. I know what you are thinking, and you are wrong. Demanding to see the Oolong monkeys does NOT make me look like an idiot. That makes me a discerning customer. Plus, they wouldn’t even bring out the monkeys! When I started getting agitated, they were like, “Oh, watch out! An oxidant!” Clever hippies.

I am just now realizing that Teavana never actually explained how to use my pounds of tea to fight the oxidants. Maybe you need lots of tea because you are supposed to be using it as ammunition in some sort of antioxidant weaponry. I should go back there. Maybe if I buy actual tea this time they will let me see the monkeys.

For a blog post that was supposed to be about someone else, this is sure starting to look like one of my typical rants. I blame Lahikmajoe. Back to the point of this whole thing…. Congratulations, Alura, on "investing in your health and well-being". Hope it didn’t set you back too much. Enjoy your t-shirts.

If this shirt actually gets you monkeys, you owe me one.

I wanted some sort of Clint Eastwood saying on this one, like: Do you feel lucky, Oxidants? Well do ya? but for all I know, Oxidants really do feel lucky and it wouldn't work.

A Thanksgiving Post for the Travelers

Several of you felt a little left out during the Thanksgiving Survey because you will be traveling to other locations rather than sponsoring the event yourselves. Since you will not be cooking, you apparently don't need to choose between pork rinds or skewered green beans for your side dishes. So Joshua, pack your kids in the car with the diapers and milk cups, because this post is for you!

For those of you feeling out of the loop, I want you to know that I too will not be cooking during Thanksgiving Dinner. In fact, I will never get to cook for Thanksgiving. You see, I took my own Thanksgiving Survey and answered mostly B.  A Type B cook is someone who doesn’t understand enough about cooking to know the significance of say, baking powder. If baking powder is so important for that batch of cookies, why does the recipe only call for like a teaspoon of it?

Apparently cooking isn’t that logical, because that little dab of baking power is fairly important to the performance of the cookies. And also, if you are trying to make brownies and you have no eggs in your house, there is nothing you can put in brownie mix that will substitute for the eggs. Don’t even try it. As you can probably guess, a lot of times when baking I tend to give up and just eat the batter.

So, being a Type B cook, no one ever lets me do anything in the kitchen during holidays.  I think the problem is that no one has appreciation for the unexpected. Cookies have to rise, and turkeys have to arrive at the table un-charred with absolutely no room for error. Therefore, I will be joining all of you who will get in a car and drive somewhere. Some of us, like Debihen, are driving to see friends. Some, like Elizabeth Francois, will be on the way to the in-laws. Some of you are joyful about it, some of you are apprehensive.

I belong in the crowd of the apprehensive. It has come to my attention recently, that some of you think there is something wrong with me. Not that there is anything wrong with having something wrong with me. Well, I guess there is something wrong, because wrong is the recognized definition of having something wrong. Anyway, I think you see my point. Or not.

This whole thing started out when a friend of mine told me to read an article for people with Asperger’s Syndrome. I was a little put out by the implications of this, but it turned out to be a good article (See How to Establish Rapport in the Workplace). Next, @eldergeek, in a totally unrelated situation, sends me a link so I can test myself for autism. A test which I PASSED by the way. Wait, which way is it if there is nothing wrong with you, to pass, or to not pass? Whichever one it is where there is nothing wrong with me, that is the way it went. Okay? So there is NOTHING wrong with me.

That being said, I think there might be something wrong with me. Take Thanksgiving, for example. These types of holidays usually involve getting together with extended family and hugging. I should point out here, that I don’t like hugging strangers. And by strangers, I am including distant cousins, close cousins, aunts, uncles, in-laws and the elderly. Also, I hate that thing where people greet you by kissing you on the cheek. Kissing on the cheek takes the whole greeting thing way too far. My husband’s family is the kissing on the cheek variety. Some of them even want to even kiss both cheeks, which I definitely consider as overkill. Maybe, if I admit something is wrong with me, I can forgo all of this cheek kissing and live a normal life. Or an abnormal life, whatever it is you do after you admit to having a syndrome.

This should help cut down on the cheek kissing.

Another problem I have is people talking to me. Sometimes I don’t mind when people talk to me. Sometimes people say things like, “I read your blog and it is so funny!” I like talking to those people. However, my relatives never read my blog. Mainly because I hide it from them at all costs. So, they usually say something like, “How is your job going?” And I usually say something like, “Fine.” Then they look at me oddly because now the conversation is at a standstill. I try hard to think of something I can say that will be entertaining without pissing anyone off. Nothing ever comes readily to mind.

Caution: If you throw off the rhythm of the conversation, you risk pushing everyone to the default topic of football.

In an effort to keep the conversation going, I will usually expand upon my previous statement, muttering something like, “Really fine.” The disappointed relative wanders away and I consol myself for this failure with a few gulps of wine. Then, another relative approaches. There is hugging, a couple of face kisses, and finally an animated question to which I can tell they are expecting a compelling answer, “How is your job going?” Sigh.

It’s been a long life already. I should have been an octopus.