Jennifer Plesko

This past weekend, we made our annual trek to the Guadalupe River. It’s a longer drive now that we’re in Dallas. Even though it’s technically supposed to be an extra 90 miles or so, I35 is the worst interstate in the history of interstates, so it took us five hours instead of three and a half or four. I suppose it didn’t help that ROT Rally was going on, so every biker in the continental United States was headed to Austin. And we hit Austin right at 5:00 pm on a Friday too. Awesome.

But we eventually got to Gruene and found the condo, and our spirits lifted. Best condo ever. It was brand new, had a flat screen TV in every bedroom, had an awesome view of the river, and it was in a great location just a few doors down from Gruene Hall.

One thing I love about that area of Texas is that there is music everywhere. It’s such a big part of the culture. Even when you’re floating down the river, there are people with radio coolers blasting music along the way.

Our first night there, hubby made friends with some random people in the elevator as he is wont to do. They in turn invited all of us to come down to the patio where they were cooking out and having a jam session. So there we were enjoying our own impromptu concert complete with vocals, three guitars and a set of bongos. Does that happen other places?

The second night, we made our mandatory trip to Grist Mill and enjoyed some more great live music in the biergarten. After dinner, most of our group went to the Randy Rogers Band concert that they’d paid $30 a pop for. No offense to the Randy Rogers Band, but they’re not worth $60 to me. So hubby and I decided we’d go to Gruene Hall instead. But we didn’t make it that far. He was so tired he was falling asleep at the table, so we just walked back to the condo and crashed. I gotta say it was nice. Especially when you’re nursing the world’s worst sunburn and all you want to do is wallow naked in a vat of aloe vera gel.

On the drive home, we decided to stop in Austin. We both used to live there, and we wanted to have lunch at one of our old haunts. We decided on Threadgill’s. They just so happened to be having a gospel brunch that day, so we got to enjoy some crazy awesome rockabilly/rhythm & blues gospel music while we ate.

Seriously, these guys were good.

By the time we got close to DFW, it was getting close to dinner, so hubby asked if I was up for driving to Fort Worth instead of Dallas to try Love Shack. We’d been talking about going there for months, but we never feel like driving to the Stockyards once we’re in Dallas. We gave it a try, and it turned out that there was live music playing at Love Shack too. Live music at two meals. How awesome.

At one point, I overhead a northern tourist say of the Stockyards “This is better than DisneyWorld! DisneyWorld is all fake but this stuff is real!” I didn’t have the heart to tell him that to call the Stockyards “real” is a bit of a stretch. But if there were going to be tourists at Love Shack, I was glad that singer was there to give them a taste of authentic Texas music. He didn’t have gel or highlights in his hair and wasn’t wearing a $200 Robert Graham shirt. He was in a t-shirt and bermuda shorts, just strumming on his guitar, singing songs by Charlie Robison, Willie Nelson, and Robert Earl Keen. That’s why I like Texas music. It’s not as prepackaged as many of the Nashville artists are today.

Does this look like a country band to you?

But then, that’s a whole other post.

I had a fun, light-hearted post all planned out and it got totally derailed. I’ll have to save it for later.

You see, I read a lot of news for my job, and this popped up on The New York Times Web site this afternoon and got me all fired up. Excuse me while I step up onto this soapbox.

If there is one thing I absolutely cannot tolerate, one thing that takes me from zero to psychotic in 2.5 seconds, it’s someone abusing someone who is defenseless. Women who leave their newborns in dumpsters…drunk uncles who molest their little nieces…men who drug their dates and rape them…people who abuse animals…and this.

Both of my grandmothers had Alzheimer’s, and I’m convinced it’s one of the most atrocious diseases there is. It robs you of everything: who you are, your personality, your relationships, all the things that can make illness bearable. You’re a prisoner of your own mind. You’re frustrated, scared, and confused and you can’t even communicate. So when I would see things go missing from my grandmother’s room, evidence of neglect, or hear her talked down to, it would ignite something in me.

That is why this article got to me, and I hope it gets to you too.

About twenty miles outside of Dallas, there is a little bar & grill that has intrigued us for awhile now. It’s a small concrete building with no windows, and honestly, it looks like a seedy strip club. But no matter what time of day we drive by, it’s always crowded. Since we like to discover new restaurants, we decided to give it a try on our way back to Dallas on Sunday. Once we were ten miles away, Hubby called to see what the prices were like. When they said that they have a burger and fries special for $3.25, we said “sold!”

We walked in the front door and found ourselves standing in a hallway with a door on our left and a door on our right. Neither was labeled, only covered in concert posters, so we didn’t know which one to try. We opted for the one on the right and wandered into a very dark, very smoky pool hall. As we hovered by the door, Hubby’s OCD started kicking in and he said “Do we want to eat food in here?” Just then, a bartender with a ratty ponytail, lots of tattoos, and a cigarette in her hand yelled, “Come on in! If you’re scared of us now, it ain’t gonna get any better.” Hell of an advertisement. We told her we were there to eat, and she directed us to the room around the corner. It had a juke box, another bar, a pool table, a vending machine, and more bartenders with tattoos. There were beer bottles being stored under the pool table, water stains on the ceiling, and, oddly enough, a big beautiful plasma TV showing Titanic. I eyed the barstool I was about to sit on in my thin jersey dress and prayed that I wasn’t about to get the clap.

Questionable bar

A waitress with an enormous fairy tattooed on her cleavage came over to take our order. I ordered water to drink. Hubby, with his OCD now in full effect, decided he had no choice but to order a beer because it was served in a bottle and he couldn’t bring himself to drink out of a glass in a place like this. He also regretted that we had sat in a spot where we could see straight into the kitchen.

Shady kitchen

When we finally got our burgers, as promised, they were very good. Although I noticed that hubby, who normally eats his fries first and then his burger like I do, had barely touched his fries and stuck with the burger the whole time. He sheepishly admitted that he didn’t want to eat with his bare hands (the burger had a wrapper). And once he had the burger in his hand, he was afraid to put it down. It was kind of like being there with Howard Hughes.

Beer under the pool table

But as out of place as we felt, it was a great place for people watching. Uncle Jesse was seated at the bar. The kid from Deliverance was playing video poker in the next room. Blue from the movie Old School was having dinner by the pool table. Larry the Cable Guy was standing by the jukebox playing John Conlee, Merle Haggard, and Hank III in heavy rotation.  And I’m pretty sure I’d seen just about every other fellow patron on an episode of Cops at some point.

It was quite an atmosphere: friendly and casual, but dark and shady. Which might explain why we initially thought it was a strip club. We’ve decided not to go back.

Well, I’ve had more than one person upset with me today for neglecting my blog. It’s a good problem to have, I suppose. But here’s the thing, y’all. I was trying to spare you all my surliness. I’ve been stressed out, impatient, snippy and basically walking around with “screw you” written across my forehead. And who wants to hear from that person?

This guy at work dared to commit one of my pet peeves today by walking by my cube and saying “Why aren’t you smiling?” Why aren’t I smiling? Do you sit and stare at your computer with a goofy grin on your face all day? Maybe I’m not smiling because people keep walking by and asking me lame questions. See? You haven’t missed much.

So why have I been such a ray of sunshine lately? I guess one of the biggest reasons is that we’ve finally finished the house and put it on the market. And we got an offer the same day. I should be happy, right? This is what I’ve wanted for three years.

I am happy. But now, a whole new set of questions come up. There’s another 9 months on the lease of this tiny apartment. Where am I going to put three bedrooms and two bathrooms worth of stuff? What about the dogs? Where do we go from here? I should know by now that God’s got all of that under control, but I have a short memory, I guess.

So until everything gets sorted out, I guess I’ll just try not to scowl so much and enjoy my summer

Recently, we got a menu on our door from a new local Chinese restaurant. It had been sitting on the counter for about a week, and I hadn’t paid much attention to it. But for some reason, after I came home from the gym last night, I was thinking about Chinese food. So I started flipping through the menu. All the standards were there … kung pao chicken, teriyaki, orange beef, General Tso’s, etc.

Then I saw they had a section called “Diet Favorites.” Awesome, I thought. I can do this without gaining back all the calories I just burned. But then I got a look at what was under that category …

I can’t decide if this is some sick joke, or if they just didn’t know what “Diet Favorites” is supposed to mean.

I’m what most people would consider a “grown-up.” I’ve got a mortgage (and a rent payment), I pay taxes, I go to Home Depot, I have a subscription to Southern Living, I go to bed before 11:00. But no matter how old I get, there are still times when a girl needs her dad.

For instance, a couple of weeks ago, hubby had torn down the aviary in our backyard. (The former owner was a falconer, which always makes me think of this) but he didn’t have time to haul the debris to the curb. So when I was there alone that weekend, I decided I would do it.

I started taking the lattice piece by piece off the pile and carrying it to the front yard. I got down to the bottom piece and saw this brown pile sitting in the middle of the lattice. At first I thought it was a massive dog turd, so I picked up the edge of the lattice and tried to knock it off. That’s when I noticed the turd had eyes. It was snake.

I tried not to wet myself as I slowly set the lattice back down to the ground. *sigh* I always run into disgusting creatures when hubby is out of town. I couldn’t tell if it was dead or not. He wasn’t moving, and I had taken about 20 layers of junk off the top of him before I knew he was there, and he hadn’t budged the whole time. I noticed one of my dog’s tennis balls next to my foot, so I threw it. It bounced right next to him before landing halfway across the yard. He still didn’t budge, so assuming he was dead, I went to the garage and got a shovel to try to remove him. When I slid the shovel underneath him, he slowly began to slither and slip between the holes in the lattice. My heart leaped out of my mouth and landed on the grass.

No matter how much I hate snakes, I knew killing one would scar me for life. Plus I’d probably do it wrong. That’s when I got on the horn and called my dad.

He was over in about five minutes, and I led him to the back yard to show him the hideous thing. The snake hadn’t completely crawled under the lattice, so he was kind of half on, half off. This was one freaking lazy snake. I mean, what else could I have done to this thing? It was like trying to rouse a teenager for school.

Ever the Eagle Scout, dad walked up and knelt close to it. “Ooh, my goodness he’s pretty! That looks like a bullnose snake.” Then he went all Crocodile Hunter on me and PICKED IT UP BY THE TAIL and proceeded to give me a biology lesson.

“See how he flattens himself out like that? He does that to make himself look bigger when he’s mad. It makes him look like a cobra. Wow look how long he is!”

I expected the next word out of his mouth to be “Crikey!”

I pinned myself against the fence as Dad walked across the yard to the street holding out the four-foot-long snake at arm’s length, which was writhing and thrashing and seriously pissed. He dropped the snake in the back of the truck as if it were a piece of rope, said “See ya later, sweetie”, and drove off to a field to let it go free.

I don’t think he’ll ever get tired of me calling him to come exterminate for me, but he could at least act a little less non-chalant so I don’t feel like a total goober.

“Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?”

Making that 200 mile drive straight down I-45 every few weeks for the last year or so can be cumbersome. But when it’s spring, and the sky is cornflower blue, and the hills are bright green dotted with the occasional patch of bluebonnets, the drive becomes more of a chance to unwind. I pull back the moonroof, turn up the stereo, load Robert Earl Keen in all six spots on my 6 disc changer, and listen to him sing about people and places I know in that distinct way in which he conveys so much with so little.

At this point, I can tell how much time is left on the drive by which song I’m on.

When I’m close to Ennis, I’m hearing:

The first of the month
Brings back the notion
Of a big round white dance hall
and a cool summer night
Red cherry faces set black shoes in motion
to the oom pa pa rhythm of a German delight

By the time I get to Fairfield, he’s singing:

There’s an alley in Acuna
Right next to a night club
That’s never been paved
And is hip-deep in chug holes
It sort of trails into
What once was a river
But now is a ditch
That smells just like sewage
And there in the alley
We’re drinking Vampiras
And smoking Delicados
With Jaime and Umberto

And when I’m on the last leg somewhere around Normangee, I hear him singing about my hometown:

This old porch is a steamin’ greasy plate of enchiladas
With lots of cheese and onions and guacamole salad
You can get them at the LaSalle Hotel in old downtown
With iced tea and a waitress who will smile every time…yes she will
I left a quarter tip on my ten dollar bill

It’s just another one of those simple experiences that feels uniquely like home to me.

I called the hair salon this morning to make an appointment for this weekend. They open at 9:00 am, but they wouldn’t answer the phone until nearly ten. When I finally got someone on the phone, this happened:

Me: Hi I need to make an appointment for Saturday with Brandy.

Apathetic Salon Girl: What’s your last name?

Me: Plesko.

ASG: Jennifer?

Me: Yes.

ASG: Okay got you down. See you tomorrow.

Me: Wait - I said Saturday. Not Friday.

ASG: Okay, see you Saturday.

Me: Wait - what time?

ASG: 12:30. That’s the only time she has.

Me: Okay…

ASG: *click*

Something tells me I should follow up to check on that one.

Lately, hubby has been spending a lot of time at the house we still own in College Station so that he can finish remodeling it and we can finally sell it. Although I don’t see much of him, the idea of having all of my belongings in one place (including my dogs) and not paying for two places to live makes it all seem worthwhile.

Unfortunately, he has had some wicked insomnia recently and last night was no exception. He took his Ambien as usual and waited for it to kick in. But since he has an Amy Winehouse-like tolerance, it sometimes takes a long time for him to fall asleep. That means he’s awake longer in an Ambien-induced stupor. That’s when the craziness begins.

The following are texts I woke up to last night that I’m not sure he remembers sending (Ambien-induced typos included)…

1:51 AM

Him: I should not grout after wine and anbuen

Me: What happened?

1:52 AM

Him: Just saying… I was thing about it… Not gonna… Xbox less destructive

Me: Okay - I was picturing some kind of grout disaster

1:53 AM

Him: Go to sleep

Me: Working on it

1:54 AM

Him: Of was all in my head… Thought “maybe e could do this” decided too anal

1:57 AM

Him: Are wine glasses made with stems so that you don’t need a coaster with then?

Me: I guess

1:59 AM

Him: I went and tanned today. Figured if I was gonna have a belly it should atleast have a pleasing color

Me: I thought about it. Haven’t done it yet

2:01 AM

Him: Gotten qineglasses to reduce cup rings?

Me: You should quit fighting sleep. Your texts are getting less legible

2:03 AM

Him: I’m playing football too – winning

2:05 AM

Him: You should sleep you have to be up early

Me: Well you keep making my phone beep

He stayed awake two and a half hours after this. God help him if he has to be put under anesthesia at some point.

My friend, Ann, was in town for a conference last weekend, so I called my friends Lauren and Amanda to see if we could all get together for dinner. We decided on a restaurant that was BYOB so that we could have some wine without paying for a glass for the price of a bottle. Being the good hostess I am, I asked Ann what kind of wine she’d like so I could pick it up before I went to get her. She’s a blush fan, and I can drink anything, so I figured we could share.

After work, I trucked it across the street to Kroger and headed for the wine section. As I looked at the blush, I realized it wouldn’t be good if it isn’t chilled, and I only had an hour before dinner, so I decided to see if they had any in the refrigerated section. They did - but all they had were the little four packs of white zin in the plastic bottles. Well, usually I try to class it up a little more than that, but we were going to Babe’s Chicken and there are animals on the wall.

As I made my way to the cash register, I noticed a big display with my favorite potato chips. They’re thick-cut and covered in sea salt and they taste freaking awesome when you stuff them in a Lean Cuisine panini (yes, I realize that kind of defeats the purpose). They were on sale, so I snagged a bag of those too.

So I stepped up to the cashier with two four packs of white zin and a party-size bag of potato chips. In front of me was an elderly man buying nothing but candy bars. He looked at my groceries and said “Ooh! Looks like someone is having a party tonight!” So I said “Yeah, we just got new wheels on our house, so we’re doin’ it up tonight!”

Should have included a pack of Virginia Slims to really sell it.