You can call me Al.

I recently started calling my husband Carl. Not because it’s his name, of course, more because I feel like it. It kind of sounds like the first syllable of his name, I guess, but that’s not why either. I don’t call him Carl at any (ahem) critical moments, mostly for everyday stuff and especially if I’m mock-angry at him (I do a lot of mock-angry because he likes to tell off-color and not-funny jokes). He doesn’t particularly seem to mind. Although he has been threatening to start calling me “Carla” or “Jennifer”. (Those names aren’t mine, either.)

I don’t know why I do this. I went through a pretty strong “Lucas” phase, where the name Lucas became more of a term of endearment than anyone’s actual name. I called my cat Lucas, I called my nieces Lucas, but I never called my then-boyfriend Lucas. Lucas has kind of faded out, only for “Carl” to rear its (his?) persistent head. And I only call Carl Carl. It’s not an all-around term of endearment.

I half justify it by saying it’s only fair becasue he calls me “doll”. I’m clearly not a doll. I’m a real human girl (woman?). My dad used to call me doll when he was alive. Which was fine. And my mother called me “muñeca” sort of jokingly, because she’s not really the endearment kind and because she speaks Spanish. Carl’s been calling me doll since started dating. To which I protest. Not because I want him to stop, necessarily, but because what am I supposed to do? Agree? “Yes, you’re absolutely right, sugarpants, I AM a doll.” No way. Which brings me to the name of this blog. Albeit circuitously.

The truth is, I don’t call him Carl in retaliation, either. I just like to. And he has apparently accepted this completely. He’s in California for a week and he just signed an I-love-and-miss-you email to me as “Carl”.

Is that weird?

Texas pride?

Pretty much everyone knows what the shape of the state of Texas looks like, right? I don’t think I’m being state-centric when I assume that it’s a fairly recognizable outline. It’s a tough shape to get right freehand, but most people do it justice.

I just love this hand drawn sign. I think they were going for the “official” look. It’s like they just gave up halfway through! I can just imagine them saying to themselves, “Yeah, it kinda goes like this here, I think.”

Houston means that I’m one day closer to you…

My best friend, B, and I went on her work trip to Houston this weekend. Houston is where I was born and lived until I was 13. It’s still one giant strip mall. It’s incredible that Houston can be so relatively close to Austin and be SO. MUCH. UGLIER. However, we ate at fancy restaurants and drank fancy drinks and met cool people, so as to ameliorate the pain.

On the way into Houston, we noticed that B had a low tire, so we pulled into a gas station to air it up. I seems the last time she had her tires rotated, they put the hubcap over the valve, making it nearly impossible to get the gauge or the hose onto it properly. After that frustration, we checked into our hotel and fell asleep only to be woken up at 3:30 AM by a freakin’ fire alarm! A false fire alarm, of course, but still nerve-wracking. We didn’t get any sleep that night.

We breakfasted at an old-fashioned diner the next morning,where I met B’s friend, an amazingly awesome PR guy in Houston. He was very sweet and funny and cute (and gay, shut up, I’m married), so we had a grand old time at breakfast. We ran errands, checked email and shopped and then had lunch at the kind of place where they not only put your napkin in your lap when you sit down, they pick it up when you go to the bathroom and fold it and scoot your chair back in. FANCY! We talked bidness with B’s Houston rep and made plans to have dinner at yet another chichi eatery.

The next day was a little more low profile. We went to a sports bar (yechhh) and then to Goode’s Armadillo Palace to see a friend play. That felt a little more like Austin, albeit way over accessorized. They had saddles all over the room, and all manner of “Texas” stuff hanging from the walls and ceiling. The tables were even covered in (faux) cowhide! But the show was great, and I had a cosmo and a martini, so.

Oh, I forgot that right before we met up at Armadillo Palace, we stopped by a very cool bar called Marfreless. You have to know it to find it, there’s no sign and the door is very nondescript. B knows the owner. He wasn’t there but made sure we were taken care of by one of the bartenders. She was great and by the time I had sipped the last of my amazing Appletini, we were swapping recipes and she had given us one for okra and tomoatoes. You can’t beat that kind of down to earth coolness, especially at the best martini bar in the city.

We tooled out of Houston Sunday, after inhaling a Beck’s Prime burger (thank God we don’t have that in Austin). On the way home, B and I talked to our respective boys. She’s dating my husband’s best friend which is both weird! and cool! She and I jokingly told my husband that I expected flowers if he really missed me, and then completely forgot about it. When I got home, guess what? He really did get me beautiful flowers!

I think I’ll keep him.

Bull honky

Oh, also I rode the bull at the party I worked last night. Stayed on for 1:18.

Yee-haw!

Captain Dork

OK, so my job is in a “creative” work environment. (Read: not only can you wear jeans and t-shirts to work, but some people don’t wear SHOES.) The people that work here have a similarly relaxed attitude toward cleanliness. So, the powers that be came up with a “creative” solution to the problem of the shared kitchen.

Everyone who works here gets assigned to “Kitchen Captain” duty for a week in the rotation of the year. The KC has to run the dishwasher, take out the trash, and generally keep the kitchen clean. It’s a good idea in theory, but in practice, not so much. I guess it’s the price you pay for being able to say “fuck” out loud at work.

This is my week to be KC, and I pride myself on not being too aloof to actually do it. (Some people just ignore it and act like they don’t know the kitchen exists.) Unfortunately, this is my week and I’m both going out of town today and I had to leave work early to work nighttime events the past couple of days. I’ve been keeping up with it OK, but I walk in today to a kitchen full of dishes and glasses everywhere. It amazes me that people think they have license to just leave crap all over the place like this is their house.

In sum, I just did dishes. AT WORK. Because the stupid fucking dishwasher doesn’t even work, so the dishes I put in last night were still dirty. Fucking stupid entitled slobs. Fucking stupid Kitchen Captain.

Bulls ‘n’ vodka

Pretty exhausted after working my regular day job, then working a party event last night after work. It was a sorta ridiculous party for a major computer corporation. I wo-manned the mechanical bull. No shit. I kinda thought I was too old to whore myself out for event work, but clearly the money beckons (cha-ching!). And I’m doing it again tonight. Woot.

My husband, C, was so sweet when I got home late last night and did my laundry for me (go ahead, barf). But seriously, especially once you’re married, it’s the little things that make you appreciate how great life can be. Because it’s not all roses. Sometimes we fight about stuff as inconsequential and stupid as the dishes (um, last weekend). So, it’s nice to remember why you got together in the first place. Also, it’s really weird to say “husband” and it makes me feel old. We’ve only been married three months!

I’m about to hit the road and head to Houston (!). Yes, Houston, the city that no one in their right mind would choose to visit. I’m going with my good girlfriend, B. It should be fun, even though it’s a work trip for her and I’m tagging along because she hates going there by herself. She works in the liquor industry, which is vicious for a woman at the best of times. I’ll try to ease the burden by staying in a nice hotel and eating and drinking on the company’s dime. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. So, if I have to inhale excellent food and gulp vodka all weekend, so be it. I’m up for the challenge!

Hi, Interweb.

Well, I’ve gone and done it. Being as I am ridiculously obsessed wth blogs myself, I’ve finally created one. I like it. So far.