Diary

The road to College Station and back was paved with good intentions

Ay Carambe. Muchas fiestas this weekend.

See how those four semesters of college-level Spanish are the gift that keeps giving?

Despite my best efforts I have only made it through half of the Fiesta so far.

Ayudame.

That means help me in Spanish. I actually learned that from “Go Diego Go”, not Spanish class.

But if I haven’t made it to your fiesta, I will. And I’ll also announce the winner of the new blog header around noon central time.

The main reason that I haven’t made it through all the fiestas yet is because Gulley and I loaded up the kids on Saturday morning and headed to College Station to take in a little Aggie baseball.

Caroline had been so excited for this trip that I truly thought her head was going to explode by Friday night and it would have been so tragic that after days of repeatedly asking, “IS TODAY SATURDAY? ARE WE LEAVING TODAY? CAN WE LEAVE TODAY?”, that she would have missed the trip due to head explosion.

It’s about a three hour drive from San Antonio to College Station if you make the drive without any children in the car. For us, it took about the same amount of time it took the Ingalls’ family to make it across the Northwestern plains in the dead of winter as they fought wolves, Indians, and the bitter cold.

At the halfway point we stopped at McDonalds so the kids could use the bathroom and order a Happy Meal so they could all have a free toy and eat a combined half a Chicken McNugget and four paper cups filled with ketchup.

Gulley and I decided we couldn’t stomach another meal at McDonalds. We are grown women. We needed something a little more sophisticated, a little more refined.

We made a run for the border.

Which for us is a true delicacy because Taco Bells are next to non-existent when you live in San Antonio, TX, home to over eight hundred and fifty-two Mexican restaurants.

In spite of the easy access to some of the best Mexican food in the world, Gulley and I still crave Taco Bell from time to time. Which just goes to show you can take the girl out of East Texas, but you can’t take the East Texas out of the girl.

We finally arrived at Gulley’s mama’s house with just enough time to change clothes and head to Olsen Field for the game.

Will really wasn’t up for the photo op. He’s a complex fellow and needs his space.

Poor Will. Why can’t we all just leave him alone?

He sent us a clear signal that he wanted to distance himself from the pack when he insisted he sit in a booth behind us at McDonalds, not with us. Because the age of three is filled with emotional turmoil. He needed a few moments alone to journal his thoughts on the side of his Happy Meal bag.

Anyway, once we arrived at Olsen, we bought about $150 worth of cotton candy, popcorn and snowcones and settled into our seats. For about five minutes. And then someone had to go to the bathroom.

But in between the trips to the bathroom, we saw a few fights on the field, three coaches get ejected, and an OU team that liked to meet on the pitcher’s mound and talk more than any other team I have ever seen. At one point Gulley yelled, “Take it to Starbucks, Ladies. We’re here to play some baseball.”

Because we are delicate flowers at sporting events.

In the end all that chit-chatting didn’t pay off because we completely demolished them.

It was a good night.

Until the kids realized they were exhausted and then muchas meltdowns ensued.

But Gulley told me to quit crying and get Caroline in her pajamas and put her to bed.

The next morning, we woke up to a veritable carbohydrate heaven consisting of Shipley’s donuts and kolaches courtesy of Honey and Big.

And just like that, it was time to turn around for the long drive home.

I would tell y’all about it, but I don’t like to use profanity.

All I can say is if our drive was any indication of what Ma and Pa Ingalls went through then I wouldn’t have been surprised if The Little House books contained this phrase, “…and then Pa kicked us out of the wagon, left us on the prairie and said ‘Good Luck’.”
And so I’ve been reduced to this

Well since I already admitted to watching Beverly Hills 90210 on Saturday morning, I’d say it’s a safe bet that our weekend didn’t really involve anything that would qualify as exciting.

Basically it was a whole lot of nothing. But I’m not complaining because other than having nothing to write about, non-eventful weekends aren’t a bad thing.

I know y’all will be relieved to know that P was able to save his cellular phone. It’s not quite the phone it used to be, but it’s functional and that’s all that matters. I find it fascinating that his phone was fully submerged in a bucket of water and survived, while I once had a phone that was ruined because I let Caroline teethe on it when she was a baby. Maybe it was the mixture of drool and Gerber teething biscuits that did it in.

It also warmed my heart to know there are many fellow 90210 fans out there. I feel an extra bond knowing we all share a love of a show with some of the best acting and writing in the history of television. I mean when Brenda found out about Dylan and Kelly, I felt her pain even as I sat and ate Double Chocolate Milanos in my dorm room.

And when Donna and David finally got married? I wept real tears. Even though I was twenty-six years old and should have known better.

Speaking of bad T.V., I have another confession to make. But before I do, let me just say that I blame the writers for being on strike. Actually that’s not true, I don’t blame the writers. I blame the hotshots who won’t give in to their demands. GIVE THEM WHAT THEY WANT. WE NEED TELEVISION. I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IS GOING ON AT DUNDER-MIFFLIN. HOW IS THE BEET FARM? HOW IS MOSE?

I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m desperate. How desperate you may ask? (and even if you don’t care, I’m about to tell you)

Desperate enough that I found myself watching the U.S. MEN’S Figure Skating Championships last night.

(Hangs head in shame and humiliation)

I wasn’t going to watch. I vowed the first time I flipped by it on the T.V. that I wouldn’t watch. Then I made a crucial error. I stopped on NBC while I folded some laundry and it sucked me into the vortex that is male figure skating.

Actually, Bob Costas sucked me in. He was discussing the huge rivalry between boy skater #1 and boy skater #2. Apparently there is a lot of trash talking that goes on and from that moment on all I could do was continue folding Caroline’s shirts while pondering what figure skating trash talk sounds like between two men.

“Dude, my mama does a better triple toe loop than you.”

“Nice sequined rose on your costume. Did you get it from your sister?”

And that’s about all I could imagine. Really I imagined more but I’ll spare you the details. Maybe I’m just holding on to some lingering issues with the male figure skating “sport” because we tried to get P on the circuit for years and he never made it.

Oh I kid. P only tried to get on the male figure skating circuit for one year and then gave it up for his love of hunting and watching Ultimate Fighting.

Anyway, the competition last night was very intense. It seems that boy skater #2 beat boy skater #1 last year to become the new champion. There was much on the line according to Bob Costas and y’all know he is never one to overdramatize anything.

It came down to the final skate. Boy #2 was in the lead and it was time for Boy #1. He was amazing and he even did the quadruple whatever, which he’d never done in competition. I was on the edge of the couch and even stopped folding shirts for a half-millisecond.

Then, it was time for the judges to release their scores. THEY ENDED UP WITH THE EXACT SAME SCORE DOWN TO A TENTH OF A POINT. However, boy #2 won because he had a higher score in the free skate competition and I guess that’s written in some rule book somewhere.

The tying scores were UNPRECEDENTED. Scott Hamilton and Bob Costas were in shock and awe and made pointless analogies about the odds of this happening. According to them, people will be talking about this FOR YEARS.

Who are these people? I don’t believe I know them.

You know who I know? Michael Scott, Jim, Pam, Dwight Schrute. Please WRITERS and EXECUTIVES, let’s all make nice and get some better T.V. going and SOON.

Between 90210 and men’s ice skating, I’ve forgotten what well-written drama looks like.

Well, except for the ongoing all new episodes of Friday Night Lights. But that’s a whole other subject.
I’d rather not remember this Alamo Bowl

This is where I could talk about my frustration in watching the Aggies drive 98 yards down the field, only to be stopped on 4th and 1 while Jovorskie Lane stood on the sidelines and watched us run the option.

But, instead, I will focus on pleasant, happy thoughts like bunnies, rainbows, and boxes full of puppies.

And, most pleasing of all, the fact that every single one of my Christmas decorations are packed up and back in the attic.

Oh, and that the Fran era is officially over.

And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
I wonder how many Tums Mack Brown has had to take today?

Two years in a row.

I have to say this for Coach Fran, he went out with style.
I am but an optimistic fool

< Several of y'all have emailed to ask what I thought about last night's episode of The Bachelor. I wasn't going to talk about it because my feelings for The Bachelor are similar to how you feel when you keep telling your friends you're going to break up with a loser boyfriend but instead keep going back to him. Not that I'd know anything about that. I've just heard that some girls in their late teens are guilty of that kind of behavior. So here's the real question. Has The Bachelor ever really been a great show? No. No it hasn't. But it sucks me in every season with scenes from the upcoming season of girls falling down stairs, being driven off in ambulances, catfights, and the voice of Host Chris Harrison saying "This season is the most dramatic season yet". And because I'm a trusting fool, I can't turn away. Darn you Chris Harrison. Darn you and your empty promises. It's the same reason I watched ER for the first 34 years it was on. The NBC promo would come on and let me know that "this week's episode will have everyone in America talking" and I'd fall for it hook, line, and sinker. I mean I couldn't stand the thought of being the loneliest person in America while everyone around me bonded over Dr. Romano being crushed by a helicopter. Anyway, The Bachelor let me down once again last night. It was ABC editing at its finest, leading us all to believe that we were about to see a real love story play out on national television. LIARS. HUGE LIARS. I had high hopes for Brad Womack. I thought he was different. He seemed a little less polished than previous bachelors and I found it endearing that every line he spoke sounded as if he were reading cue cards. But, as the ending became obvious, I realized we were seeing the reason why a good-looking, 35 year old Texas boy is still single. I believe he has some commitment issues. And that last scene of him sitting on that random platform with a single tear streaming down his face as he held that engagement ring? I think it was a bad call by ABC. The last scene should have been Jenni and DeAnna sitting together eating out of a huge tub of Ben & Jerry's talking about how they can do so much better. Now THAT would be some good T.V. However, all this said, I'll still be tuning in to After The Rose later tonight. I realize I have a sickness.
Words don’t do this justice either

So after we went to our dinner thing on Friday night, we met up with our friend Jamie. She lives in College Station and her boys had an 8 a.m. soccer game the next morning, but she met us anyway. And despite my warnings, she had a new hairstyle with bangs.

However, she doesn’t have my unfortunate cowlick issues, so it totally works for her.

We caught up with Jamie until the waitstaff at Ninfa’s began to sweep under our table to let us know they had better things to do than bring us corn tortillas.

Whatever.

We finally took the not-so-subtle hint and left the restaurant. Jamie headed home, but Gulley and I decided it was our duty to explore some Texas A&M landmarks such as The Dixie Chicken. Granted, we were a little overdressed, but we figured we’d also be the oldest people there so what difference would it make.

And this won’t mean anything to any of y’all that aren’t Aggies, but Northgate is completely different. I mean it has paved parking and parking meters. And even a parking garage. It’s come a long way from a couple of mud lots behind The Chicken.

We walked up to the entrance, optimistically hoping to have to show our ID’s, and the guy working the door looked at us and said, “Y’all are good, I don’t need to see ID”.

Thank you. Thank you very much.

A hint of uncertainty would have been nice.

Once we walked in we saw that everything was EXACTLY the same. The smell, the smoke, the old guy passed out while sitting upright. It’s as if time had stood still.

We walked through just to absorb the ambience that is exactly what you’d expect from a place called The Dixie Chicken. And, we ended up meeting the ESPN crew who were in town to cover the game. One member of the crew was a girl who had recently graduated from University of Kentucky.

We discussed how they had stolen our basketball coach, Billy Gillispie, from us and also her ambitions to marry him and become the mother of his children. She asked us when we graduated from A&M and we countered by asking how old she thought we were.

She took a long, deep breath and said, “Please don’t be offended, but I’m going to say 27”.

Gulley and I were thrilled, until we realized that when you’re 22 you cannot even conceive of an age as high as 35 or 36. I mean, do people even live that long?

And if they do, they certainly don’t do anything other than lug their 18 kids around in a minivan and watch “Matlock”.

We decided it was probably time for us to head home and walked back to the car. We had parked in one of the new lots and put enough change in the parking meter for an hour. I was worried we were pushing the limits of our hour.

Now, I need to give y’all a little history about me.

While I was a student at A&M, parking was a mess. It was like survival of the fittest just to find a spot to park every day.

And yes, I could have taken the shuttle bus, but if you honestly think I’d take public transportation then you haven’t been reading the blog for very long.

Since I was always running late, I usually just had to park wherever I could find a space. Staff parking. Twenty minute parking. University President parking. Wherever.

Let’s just say I might still owe Texas A&M several hundred dollars in parking tickets, unless there is some kind of statute of limitations. I had a complicated relationship with UPD, otherwise known as University Police Department. They were my arch nemesis.

Well, other than the Whataburger taquitos that singlehandedly caused me to gain 20 extra pounds my sophomore year.

The point is that due to my constant parking issues with UPD, I am very sensitive to parking tickets and expired meters.

So, Gulley and I are walking back to the car when I see a policeman standing in the vicinity of my vehicle. I immediately lose my mind and start racing over there to let him know “HERE I AM! PLEASE DON’T GIVE ME A TICKET!”

As Gulley and I round the corner, we get the full view of the policeman that I think is about to give me a ticket.

I’m not sure if it was the mirrored sunglasses or the shorts that gave away the fact that he was, in fact, not UPD, but rather a fraternity boy dressed up for Halloween.

But I’m pretty sure it was the shorts.

They seemed to lack the professional, I’m a University Policeman vibe.

Although the belt and the gun were a nice touch.

Needless to say, Gulley and I collapsed into hysterical laughter. I mean doubled over, can’t breathe laughter. And as soon as we recovered we asked his girlfriend to take a picture of us with him.

As she took the picture we told them that we were former students back for a reunion and the game. The girl squealed “OMIGOSH, y’all are SO CUTE. What are y’all? Like 27?”

I said, “No, we’re 36.”

And I’m not exaggerating when I say she recoiled in horror.

I think she was afraid we’d escaped from the nursing home.