The best thing I saw today happened in the parking lot of Dan's Hamburgers in South Austin. I was sitting in my car at the stoplight watching an elderly couple walk out to their car. They walked up to a huge Ford F150, the old beat-up kind you expect to see kicking up dust on a farm road. At the car, the elderly man walked around to the passenger side with the small, frail woman, opened the door, and reached inside for an old Coca-Cola crate, the kind that used to hold glass bottles. He set it on the ground for the woman to use as a step and then helped her into the car. It was such a sweet moment to witness, and probably just another car ride for them.
Is summer really almost over?
Well, in Austin, it's not
really over for about another month, but STILL. The fact that August is ending today is kind of shocking to me. Come to think of it, this summer has been about nothing but moving (work and home) so I am quite glad that it's wrapping up. Not mention the fact that fall is my favorite season. Bring on Daylight Savings Time, crunchy leaves, pretty scarves, and stealing Brad's socks to wear around the house.
I think a few months ago I mentioned that Brad and I decided to get rid of our cable TV. What actually happened (don't you love how I never followed up on this before?) was that Brad took our digital cable box back, and the next time we turned on the TV we still magically had extended basic cable. We thought we were being (unintenionally) sneaky and getting cable for free, until our mofo bill showed up the next month, and we were still paying $45 a month for it. After that, we never discussed getting rid of cable again until we moved. As you can imagine, my addicition to reality TV went crazy, and I saw every episode of Newlyweds, Joe Schmo 2, and Road Rules. So much for weaning ourselves from the boob tube, right?
Then Brad and I decided to move, and we found the (ghetto) apartment that offered free cable with the rent. Secretly, I rejoiced. So did Brad. (Yes, I know what Brad secretly does, why do you ask?) (Just kidding, babe, of course I don't. I just like to presume I know what you are thinking. That's the relationship issue I'm currently working on, remember? Kisses.) Once we moved into the new (non-ghetto) apartment, we had the choice to make - pay to get cable installed, or rough it with local access and a big ugly antennae?
Our checking account made that decision for us, and I've been trying to get used to the idea of NO MTV for the last week and a half. In an interesting twist of fate, it turns out that we can only get FOX with the antennae. To recap, we went from 400+ channels to 72 channels to ... one channel. Not a good channel, unless you love The Simpsons and That 70s Show enough to watch every episode 40 times.
It's good for me, I know. My TV addiciton, especially since Brad is gone most nights and I don't live at the bar anymore, was kind of alarming. Really. Do I want to be the kind of person who knows the lineup for all the major primetime channels for each weeknight, and also TLC, Bravo, MTV, E!, Comedy Central, and Discovery? No. At least not in public, right? It just happens so easily. First you sit down to chill out with The Golden Girls, the next thing you know you're planning your evening around The Bachelor and reading People magazine to see if you won the bet about how soon Jesse and that boring girl would call it splits, with a Photoshopped tear literally splitting them in two on the cover.
After a week of this Fox-nonsense, I've finally learned to turn the TV off instead of cursing when I have to look at Ashton Kutcher. Getting used to cooking and wandering around the house without some TV background noise was the first step. Unpacking our music was the second. I did go a little Blockbuster crazy this weekend (I actually rented Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen and felt no shame), but at least I'm not watching the reruns of the Ashlee Simpson Show AGAIN.
Finally, FINALLY, we wised up to NetFlix. I signed up last night, and I'm expecting the first shipment of Six Feet Under DVDs tomorrow. Netflix, my new addiciton. I don't even feel guilty.
I've mentioned before that are several key things in this world that I hate but have no choice about. In no particular order, those things include putting on socks and shoes in the morning, when I notice my toes touching, stopping to get gas for my car, and grocery shopping in certain environments. By "certain environments", I mean any environment that involves overcrowded aisles and rusty shopping carts.
For the longest time, Brad and I have been driving out of our way to shop at a certain Randalls here in Austin. The floors are shiny. The aisles are huge. There is a health food section that could rival the grocery aisles at the small health food stores I worked at in Lubbock. We are on a first name basis with both the deli counter lady ("Two pounds chicken, every week!") and our favorite grumpy checkout lady who bitches to us every week about how she didn't get her break. The produce aisles have an automated misting system complete with sound effects that sound like a thunderstorm. Best of all, we know where everything is.
Now that we're in the new place, there's a Randalls located conveniently a few blocks away. Sure, the store isn't as nice as the
other Randalls, but it's so close, so it would only make sense to start shopping there. On Sunday Brad and I ventured to the nearby Randalls to stock up. Big mistake. Big. Huge!
The first clue: upon entering, we couldn't find the shopping carts. Brad had to go outside to find one, and came back with a rusty, icky one (the best of the bunch.) Creatures of habit, we headed over to the deli counter, and were greeted by a woman who I assume has Tourettes, or else a really, really bad attitude. Brad asked for two pounds of chicken thinly sliced. The woman was a terrible judge of quantity and left the slicer after every third slice to weigh the bundle. She'd throw the slices on the scale, see that it only weighed one ounce more than the last time she weighed it, shake her head vigorously and mutter under her breath on her way back to the slicer. This happened fifteen times or so, all the while Brad and I are doing that thing where you avoid eye contact so that you don't bust out laughing.
After that, we made it all the over to the dairy section before encountering the next obstacle - a clusterfrack of carts, kids, and those really annoying people who get in front of you with their cart, bump you without acknowledging it, and then stop right in the middle of the aisle, assuming that you have nothing better to do that day then stare at their back. GAH. Brad took control of the cart at that point, I think he saw the glazed look in my eye signaling the start of Bumper Cart War.
Once we escaped the Dairy Debacle, I turned to Brad with a I-am-about-to-lose-it sigh, to which he responded, "Never again. Never. I promise."
"Thank God," I replied, "Because you're about to have to take me to the Emergency Room. To get this pen dislodged from my right eye." I always reference sticking things in my eye when I'm really aggravated. Don't ask me why.
The final straw broke when I got a sudden case of (stress-induced) hiccups. The aisles were so small that I turned around at one point into a woman, holding a baby, who was standing well within my legal allotment of personal space. I was so surprised that I uncontrollably hiccupped right in the baby's ear, prompting the baby to wail uncontrollably and me to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Clean up, aisle three.
We'll never,
ever set foot in that Randalls again, even if it is five miles closer than OUR Randalls. I miss the raining produce too much.
Lucy loves you |
