Series schmeries

So that whole "proud series on Texas Rantings"? I know y'all were looking forward to each installment and have been holding your breath since I first said it'd be a continuing feature...but allow me to sum up.

People in Texas are slow. They walk slow. They talk slow. They drive slow. They move slow. And because I am not a slow mover, talker, driver, or slow at much of anything else, I find Texans in my way very often.

Now, I have nothing but time, true. What would I be doing if I wasn't waiting AN HOUR AND FIFTEEN MINUTES at the pharmacy? Watching tv or yelling at the computer for not having any new job postings? Re-reading the entire Harry Potter series? You know what, pharmacy "workers"? It's none of your business what I have that's soooooo important. The point is that I should have control of that 75 minute block of my life. Not you. So get off your duff, acknowledge that you have a customer at the window, and give me my prescription. It's RIGHT THERE. It's FILLED. GIVE IT TO ME OR I WILL JUMP THE COUNTER AND GET IT MYSELF.

And then I'll, um, pat you on the back and say "thank you, have a nice day." I am in Texas, after all.

Traffic jam

Yesterday I was wandering the restaurant portion of the Riverwalk, chilling with the Memorial Day crowds and deciding whether to buy a necklace at the craft fair. The Riverwalk is generally wide enough for three or four people across, and people were wandering both directions. Until I came on a crowd, all heading the same direction as me, but walking slower than a three legged turtle. Generally I 'm an "excuse me" and cut around people kind of girl, but there must have been 20 people in the crowd and that's more "excuse me"s and "coming on your left"s than I felt would be Texan of me. Don't want to be rude, now.

So I walked behind this crowd, getting more and more impatient because we were barely moving, it was very hot, and the CVS where I was heading to buy Sparkling Green Tea (strawberry kiwi flavor) was RIGHT THERE, if only the crowd would pick up the pace. But if anything we started slowing down, and soon I was walking forward two steps, then hopping in place three, just to give the people in front of me time to get out of the way so I could move forward one more step.

We came to a place where the sidewalk widened for a few feet, and the crowd started rushing, breaking both directions and zipping towards the other side.

And I saw the problem.

The log jam was caused by a couple, two people with the BIGGEST ASSES I HAVE EVER SEEN. They weren't morbidly obese in the faces and upper bodies, but their butts were big enough for THREE seats on Southwestern. They'd blocked up the Riverwalk so badly that no one could slide by them. And when people got the chance, they rushed and pushed and zipped around the couple so they could walk faster on the other side. The crowd practically pushed the couple into the river in the need to go faster. It was rude and crazy.

I felt like I was back in DC for a minute. Le sigh.

I love Texas!

Okay, maybe I'm not quite at "I love Texas" yet, but I definitely love shrimp. Definitely. So yesterday when I was at Central Market and there was a big sign saying "Sale! Peel and Eat Shrimp! $7.99/pound!" I did a little dance up to the fish counter.

"Hey, dude, which shrimp is the sale shrimp?"

"Um....this one." The Fish Dude points to some grey, uncooked shrimp. Darn.

"Oh. How much is the cooked shrimp?"

"$13.99 a pound."

"Oh." I think for a minute about not having a job. "So, this raw shrimp, I just steam it or something?"

Fish Dude comes close to the counter. From there he looks me up and down: my fuzzy ponytail, my "Reading is Sexy" t-shirt, my cart full of cocktail sauce and lemons. I try to look like I know how to cook shrimp and was just fooling. He doesn't buy it.

Fish Dude sighs and looks around. There's no one else at the counter to commiserate with him. I think woefully about my cocktail sauce and shrimp dreams, so bright a moment ago. He sighs again and puts his hands on the counter. "I can steam it for you."

"Really?" I'm shocked.

"Really. Give me 15 minutes."

"Yay! Thanks! I'm so...." He's turned his back and is chopping a large fish to bits.

But 15 minutes later, when I pick up my cooked-but-still-cheap shrimp, he gives me a wink. Texans are SO NICE, man.

A compromise suiting no one

Running with a regular bottle of water wasn't working for me, so I bought a little bottle that clips to my shorts. Only, my shorts are from Target and don't have the tightest elastic, so that bottle bounced all over, and after ten steps I couldn't stand the motion and had to jog holding the bottle in my hand. Ends up that it's at least more comfortable than holding a regular water bottle, though it gets just as slippery when I'm sweaty. Plus, it's getting hotter every day, so that little 5 ounce bottle won't be enough in another week or two.

So I need to follow Lisa's advice and just go ahead and buy a water belt. And since the distances I currently run aren't worthy of the belt, I'm registering for a half marathon.

My logic isn't backwards. You're backwards.

Bouncing off the walls

OMG, I can't believe I haven't written about one of the Most Exciting Things In Texas! Y'all are going to be so mad at me for not telling you this before - here in San Antonio they have Diet Cherry Coke! Not Cherry Coke Zero, they have the real, original, first and only diet soda I could stand for many, many years, Diet Cherry Coke. I haven't been able to get Diet Cherry Coke in DC for a dog's age. They also have Cherry Coke Zero at the H-E-B, but I kicked that impostor to the curb months ago and am reveling in my artificially sweet nirvana.

So now I'm hyper-caffeinated as well as unemployed and self-pitying. This will end well!

Probably not worth it

Twice a week I scoot on up to the doctor for a shot in each arm. So yeah, when I talk about my "allergy shot" I really mean "multiple shots that sting like bees." Four shots a week, and Gigolo doesn't even care. I expect him to show me extra lovin' when I get home with sore arms, but a full half the time he just bites me and goes back to sleep. You'd think I would learn not to wake him up and demand cuddling, but I won't.

When I first started getting the shots, I thought it was weird that they put Scotch Tape over the needle hole. I asked a nurse at another doctor's office if it was weird, and she looked at me like I had a Scotch Tape head and said, "yes, that's very weird." But the nurses at the allergist's put the tape on my arms so matter-of-factly that I stopped thinking much about it, and Ed got used to pulling tape off my arms when he got home at night.

Then, one afternoon I went into the waiting room after my shots and another patient said, "Um, you're bleeding." I looked down and my arm had a drip of blood on it. So I went back to the nurse's station and said, "Hey, I'm bleeding, can I have a Band-Aid?" The nurse was startled. "Oh, I must have missed the injection site." She wiped up the blood with alcohol and put another piece of tape carefully over the needle hole. "Now, the tape may not stick because of the alcohol."

You know what would stick, crazy lady? A BAND-AID. But of course I didn't say that. I said "thank you, ma'am" like a good Texan. And went home with tape on my arms, again.

Octodecimom

This morning along the river there was a female duck with - I counted them twice - eighteen ducklings. No other Mama Duck in sight.

I hope she has a trust fund, or no way are those babies going to college.

You probably don't want to read this.

The last couple of days it's been in the mid-90s by afternoon, and above 80 by the time I get out for my morning run. I've been thinking I need to get myself one of those water belts with all the little bottles evenly weighted around the hips, but I'm first of all, I'm too lazy to actually go buy one, and secondly I don't see myself as such a hard-core runner that I can justify the doofiness of wearing the belt. The belt implies marathons and triathlons; it definitely doesn't say "I'm going to go home and eat ice cream for breakfast." Show me the belt that says that and we'll talk.

So I've been running on my merry dehydrated way, and though I know it's a bad sign to stop sweating when I was singlehandedly raising the level of the San Antonio River a minute before, I've been happy knowing that I don't look like a person who wears a water belt. I was happy until today. About two miles from home with no way to cut the run short, I realized I wasn't going to get home without a water infusion. I was stumbling a little, and though the river was right there I was pretty sure that falling in wasn't going to help my thirst in a way I'd feel good about later. So I pulled my emergency twenty from in back of my iPod (kept there for muggers and spontaneous latte needs) and went into the only non-sitdown restaurant on the Riverwalk. Starbucks. So I'll buy ethically bottled water, good for me.

I grab a bottle of water, drink half of it, and get in line to pay. Only, because this is Texas, the fact that there were three people in line in front of me meant that I waited 20 minutes. Yes, 20 minutes. And I'm not glistening with a ladylike dew. I'm drenched with sweat. The water hits my system and immediately pours back out. People probably assume that I have fallen in the river. I try to leave a courteous space between me and the person in front of me, but someone gets in line behind and stands close. I feel the sweat running down my arms. I'm going to puddle. GROSS! I wish I hadn't opened the bottle, I could have drunk the free water on the counter and been out of here by now. A drop of sweat runs down my ponytail and hits the back of my leg. I'M SO GROSS! I consider tossing my money on the counter and leaving, but I'm unemployed and $20 is too much for a bottle of water if you're unemployed. Or if you're a millionaire, $20 is too much for a bottle of water. I've been meaning to change out the $20 for a $5, why the hell haven't I???

The barista is still ringing up that first person. They're talking about the weather and how much the visitor is going to love San Antonio. She's not going to like it long if she slips in my pool o' sweat! Let me out of here! Move faster! I try to communicate this with my eyes and thoughts, but the barista just gives me a grin. My shirt is suddenly stuck to me with sweat. My socks are wet. AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

I think I must have blacked out from embarrassment, because I made it home. But I'm pretty sure I can never go to that Starbucks again.

Until next time there's a water emergency, at least.

4am

My cell phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hello, who's this?"

"You called me, who are you?"

"Someone from this number just called our male stripper line." (Giggling in the background.)

"What?" I'm trying to wake up and realize it's not an emergency-type middle of the night call.

"Someone from this number just called and talked to one of our male strippers." (More giggling and "shush" sounds.)

"It's the middle of the night. No one from this number was calling anyone."

"Well, ma'am, some of us have lives ..."

I hang up. I can't be bothered to fight with someone who's so amateur at crank calls that she forgets to say "bitch" instead of "ma'am." Texans are way too polite.