There have been plenty of instances in the past where I have been that bitchy girl at the bar. Truth is I felt invincible: I knew I was cute, I already had a man, and didn’t want or need any other guy to approach me. We’re talking evil glares, rolling eyes, obvious walk-aways, the whole shebang. Yep, a total bitch.

About a year ago I changed my attitude. I was out for my friend’s bachelorette party and this older guy (probably in his early 40s) took a liking to me. We engaged in conversation for about 45 minutes and he ended up buying me a drink. Was he a creeper? Maybe, but really he was just a lonely guy who wanted to talk to a pretty girl. My friends were appalled that I chatted with him for so long and “lead him on.”  But that’s not the way I took it at all. I was just being friendly to a guy who needed a friend.

My Aunt T shared a story with me this week that made me happy I took the time to talk to that guy at the bar…here’s the story in her words:

Friday night D, UR & I went up to La Palapa to listen to the band. The music is Motown-like & a lot of people on the dance floor. I mentioned to D there were (4) 30 something girls dancing together. No gay vibe. So I told him he should ask them if they would like to dance. He walked up to the dance floor right when the song was over. I saw him ask them if they would like to dance. They just looked at him as if he just got dropped from the freak truck & walked away without even a no thank you. His expression of embarrassment & hurt could be seen all over the place. My heart fell to the floor. I wanted to go up to the antisocial little carbon copies & rip their hair out. I know we are not obligated to dance when we wish not to, but to just completely dis someone without dialog is totally without social grace. It was a long walk back to the bar for D. He really was effected by the rejection. It really does take courage to ask someone to dance. Social grace is a part of the fiber to our society & without it the world is stone cold. One day, statistics show, one of those carbon copies will be divorced & may just feel like dancing, remember who you walked away from without even a no thank you. Feel the long trip back to your seat.

Most people would be excited to have a new house. I, on the other hand, find it to be a huge pain - the cleaning, the painting, the constant trips to Home Depot. So what does the girl who doesn’t want to grow up do to celebrate the adult deed of buying a house? She hosts a bitchin rager. It was short of amazing; everything I ever wanted for the first bash at the new pad. And I will share it the best way I know how…through pictures.

It all starts with a BIH velvet jesus.

And what do you do with a velvet jesus? You put it on the mantle and pose for pictures in front of it.

And what's better than posing alone in front of velvet jesus? Having the whole crew pose in front of velvet jesus.

Multiple times.

And what's better than post-win chest bumps...

And booty shots...

And doggy kisses...

And fuckin with people when they're passed out...

And sawing things...

And best friends? Nothin!

And best friends. What an AMAZING night!

You know you live in the country when…

1. You can’t get any of your friends to come see you because it’s “too far”
2. You watch your cat playing with a field mouse in the yard for like a half hour…and even take pictures
3. You have a bonfire on a random Tuesday night and burn up all your old paperwork. Who needs to recycle when you can burn?
4. On your way to work you see more confederate flags than american flags
5. You are guaranteed at least one car decked out with nascar decals on the road
6. Local fun is jumping in the foam pit at the zone, making fun of/gossiping about people, and hitting up the cabin cause if you’re lucky they’ll serve you after 2am
7. You don’t have to lock your house or the car (but you do anyway cause you’re paranoid and you grew up in the city)
8. You don’t close your blinds in the back of your house – no one can see you anyway
9. In order to have a cool job you have to drive over an hour to work
10. The top 3 professions of your neighbors: contractor, hair dresser, unemployed

Over dinner one night last week a friend shared a story that completely floored me.

At a club in Chicago she and her friend noticed a dude dressed in a floor-length coat and cane; he looked like a total pimp. As a novelty at the bar, they want to take a picture with him on their way out. Without the girls noticing,  he put his arms around them during the picture and snatched the friend’s wallet right out of her purse. The girls got in a cab to go to a different bar when the friend realized her wallet was missing. With a stolen ID and no cash they decided to head home to check her online bank statement. From the time they got home until 6am they watched the thief rack up her visa card. The last transaction was at the not-so-safe hotel in South Chicago. “I have to go get my wallet back,” the friend said, “It’s Prada!”

The girls made the split-second decision to go to the hotel to confront the culprit. When they got there they immediately went to the front desk, which happened to look more like a bulletproof shelter than a hotel counter, to ask if a pimp-looking man came though. The woman behind the glass suggested they go back home and forget about the wallet since it was “a poor life choice” to be there. Not ready to give up the girls turned to the cops. While they waited for the cops to come a van with bullet holes down the side and a baby doll hung from the rear view mirror by a noose came driving up. Just as they were about to walk up to the scary van the cops pulled up. Come to find out, the driver – a lady – ended up having the friend’s wallet. She’d already made a fake ID with her own picture using the friend’s driver’s license. The cops took the woman to the police station and asked the “junior detectives” if they wanted to watch the questioning at the police station. They decided to go…the woman received 7 years in jail for identity theft.

Nice work, CH. If I ever get anything stolen at the bar I’ll be sure to give you a call.

Monday evening there was a memorial for my cousin who unexpectedly died last fall while splitting wood with family up north. The city where he lived and worked dedicated the riverwalk to him for all the great things he did for the community. The poem below was read at the end of the service and we all shared a shot of beer in his honor afterward. A perfect tribute for my cousin. Please read on for the poem…and when you’re done, drink a Busch Light and think of GKB.

THE STATION

By Robert J. Hastings (from http://www.thestationessay.com/)

       TUCKED AWAY in our subconscious minds is an idyllic vision in which we see ourselves on a long journey that spans an entire continent. We’re traveling by train and, from the windows, we drink in the passing scenes of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at crossings, of cattle grazing in distant pastures, of smoke pouring from power plants, of row upon row upon row of cotton and corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of city skylines and village halls.

     But uppermost in our conscious minds is our final destination–for at a certain hour and on a given day, our train will finally pull into the Station with bells ringing, flags waving, and bands playing. And once that day comes, so many wonderful dreams will come true. So restlessly, we
pace the aisles and count the miles, peering ahead, waiting, waiting, waiting for the Station.

     “Yes, when we reach the Station, that will be it!” we promise ourselves. “When we’re eighteen. . . win that promotion. . . put the last kid through college. . . buy that 450SL Mercedes-Benz. . . have a nest egg for retirement!”

     From that day on we will all live happily ever after.

     Sooner or later, however, we must realize there is no Station in this life, no one earthly place to arrive at once and for all. The journey is the joy. The Station is an illusion–it constantly outdistances us. Yesterday’s a memory, tomorrow’s a dream. Yesterday belongs to a history, tomorrow belongs to God. Yesterday’s a fading sunset, tomorrow’s a faint sunrise. Only today is there light enough to love and live.

     So, gently close the door on yesterday and throw the key away. It isn’t the burdens of today that drive men mad, but rather regret over yesterday and the fear of tomorrow. Regret and fear are twin thieves who would rob us of today.

     “Relish the moment” is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24, “This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.”

     So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, swim more rivers, climb more mountains, kiss more babies, count more stars. Laugh more and cry less. Go barefoot oftener. Eat more ice cream. Ride more merry-go-rounds. Watch more sunsets. Life must be lived as we go along. The Station will come soon enough.

During a “business” trip to Austin last week my girls and I stumbled across a gem of a bar in the Warehouse District called Peche. It means “to sin.” At first that seemed like an unlikely name for such a posh bar, but after we were there a while I started to understand the innuendo.

Picture this: we walk in – three goofy girls from the mid-west – and get greeted by none other than the owner. He asks us what we prefer to drink (white russians, vodka crans) and quickly says: those are no good, I will make you drinks that are much better! And that he did. One drink had egg whites and nutmeg in it (no joke), the other rare booze and a perfectly sliced apple. Since they make each cocktail to your taste you never have to worry about it not meeting your expectations. Mine, a bit too sweet – we added lime. Perfection.

For once in my life I felt like a true movie star; as if all I needed to complete the dream was a long cigarette, a fabulous gown, and an entourage of beautiful men.

One drink was plenty to start ”feeling it.” We danced back to our hotel looking forward to returning the next night in hopes of experiencing the same great sensations once more before returning to our mundane lives in the real world.

Peche. If drinking fabulous custom-made drinks at an old school cocktail bar makes me a sinner then send me off to hell! I am counting down the days till I can go back!

A friend of mine (not a friend, really, but a person I just happen to know well) just told me a story I felt the need to share. Beware…manjo alert.

Last week she hung out with a guy friend she has a romantic history with despite the fact that they both date other people. They met up, had a few drinks and hooked up. From the sound of it the “encounter” was pretty hot and steamy. The next morning as they both walked out to their cars – she to go back to her boyfriend, he to his girlfriend – he turned to her and said: “Well, that was fun. I guess I’ll see you later.” Then stuck out his fist and said: ”Pound me.”

All that and he wants to depart with a fist bump? Haha…I just saw you naked…pound, dawg! Funny story (sorry, but it is).

The great Peter La Fleur (aka Vince Vaughn) from the movie Dodgeball once said: “I found that if you have a goal, that you might not reach it. But if you don’t have one, then you are never disappointed. And I gotta tell ya… it feels phenomenal.”

As a bona fide perfectionist and classic overachiever, I have difficulty dealing with the pressure of unreached goals. To remedy that problem I’ve taken on a new personal philosophy over the last year or so. It goes a little something like this:

Set expectations low so I always exceed them and impress myself and others.

Now, this clearly is not my only philosophy. Another important life decision I have made recently involves avoiding becoming an adult at all costs…which can often be difficult when you have a job, a house, and a committed relationship. Regardless, I have said on many occasions that I am only as old as I can pass to the general public. And let’s just say, I look and act extremely young.

I’d like to share a brief text-versation I had last week with J…who clearly shares my fear of getting older and turning into (gag!) an adult.

J: I figure ill be bored enough to get really drunk fri

P: Like u need to be bored to get drunk

J: Got to take advantage my party days are numbered

P: It’s about time you started acting like an adult! Lol

J: I try not to if I can help it

P: My philosophy exactly

                   vs.                             

I’m a self proclaimed America’s Next Top Model addict. It’s true, I love that show. I love the drama. I love the crying, and the backstabbing, and the goofy pictures. I even love Tyra’s cheese (gosh, that could mean a couple different things, couldn’t it?). It’s entertaining to me because these 19 year old girls just don’t know any better, which is what makes the chaos tolerable.

This morning I was flipping through channels and found a show called She’s Got the Look. It’s like Top Model but for old women.

Now, the reason I think this show is a topic of discussion today is because in this episode, one woman broke into tears because (and I quote): “how can someone who takes such pretty pictures be so mean? It’s just not fair!” …and then proceeded to sob uncontrollably. It was ridiculously embarrassing to watch. Come on lady, you’re a grown ass woman. Act like an adult, please (and that’s a lot coming from someone who never wants to grow up, but more about that later).

So any of you out there who actually find this show entertaining, go ahead and take a second to think about what you’re watching. Ladies of She’s Got the Look, please leave the crying and the backstabbing to the teens. It’s just not cute or funny when you do it. “It’s not fair,” you say? Well, it’s not fair we have to watch you carry on about nothing. It’s also not fair that you had to rip off one of the best reality TV shows out there and make it an embarrassing mess and a disgrace to adult women.

Long live Top Model!

Is it ok I find my cousin’s 18 year old friend G totally hot? While sitting around playing games after RJ’s graduation party last Saturday, I couldn’t help but notice this kid. So I’m a wee bit older and have a couple more degrees than him. Who cares?! He’s got some seriously rad muscles that I’d like to touch.

I always knew I’d be a cougar. Not old enough to officially be considered one yet, I prefer to call myself a puma. A cougar-in-training, if you will.

I come by this title honestly though. When I was in high school I hung out with a 15 year old freshman that I totally had a crush on. I was a senior.

The guys in my crew…all younger than me.

Two of my top 5 celebrity crushes (and easily half of my top 10)…all younger than me.

Even my best friend has mentioned before that she’d like to do a hot 18 year old (if it was appropriate, of course).

I don’t know what it is . Do I fantasize about being the older, more experienced one in a relationship? Not really…but it might be kinda fun.

In case of an encounter…use caution.