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Last week I was in California

by on March 4, 2012, in Apple, happy happy joy joy, life etc., travel

And it was AMAZING. I’d never been before, but I was lucky enough to get to go for a conference at which my company was exhibiting. I flew out a couple days early to spend the weekend exploring on my own.

I stayed in San Jose, rented a car and spent Saturday afternoon at the Computer History Museum and that evening with my cousin Christina and her family. Sunday I drove up to San Francisco and tooled around Haight-Ashbury, the Golden Gate Bridge and Muir Woods.

Monday morning, before returning the rental car, I drove up to Cupertino and visited my Mecca—Apple headquarters. It sounds so silly, but I almost teared up when I saw the 1 Infinite Loop sign. I wanted to punch (out of jealousy) and hug (out of love for their work) each employee I saw going into the buildings. Oh, and I spent about half of my mortgage payment at the Company Store.

The rest of the week was spent working the company booth with two of my co-workers, and as boring as that might sound to some people I had a lot of fun.

I want to come back here and write more about my whole experience so I don’t forget it because it was an amazing time, but I still need to cull through all of the photos I took. Isn’t it funny how vacation photos were once a torture device used on friends and family members, but now thanks to the Internet they’re almost expected?

I won’t be offended if you don’t look through them. But they’re going up, eventually. I don’t want to think back in a few years and not be able to remember how lucky I felt to be in the part of a state I’d wanted to visit my entire life. I missed Ian and the cats a ton, but damn: It was a really, really great trip.

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And once again, life gets in the way

by on April 18, 2011, in blogging, but in our house we never get bored, Internet, life etc., travel

I know nobody cares, but it bothers me when I’m bad about blogging. Because ultimately I’m keeping this record of my life for myself, as selfish as that sounds, so that in 10 or 20 or 30 or 40 years I can look back and see what I was up to at a certain moment in my life. And laugh at myself, undoubtedly.

So I was going to recap my New Orleans trip and talk all about how awesome the train was, at least for the first couple of hours, and how I liked walking back through the cars as the train was moving, getting jostled from side to side and seeing the world fly by me out the windows the most. And I was going to tell funny and scandalous stories about the times my friends and I had while in New Orleans, starting with how Ian and our friend John started drinking about 8 a.m. on the way down there, and how by the time we got to the train station in Birmingham John had consumed seven beers and a 4Loko and was yelling out the car window as we drove through the ghetto to find a parking lot.

And I was going to detail how excited I was to be in New Orleans and run into an old, old friend of mine—like, someone I was BFFs with all through elementary school—made possible by checking into a bar on Facebook, of all things. And I was going to recount the fun we had at the St. Patrick’s Day parade that night—old friends, current friends, and new friends all celebrating together—and then how Ian got lost for a short period of time and once again Google Maps and GPS on my iPhone saved the day.

But time has passed, and some stories are better recounted in person, told time after time in bars and at cookouts instead of immortalized by the pen of the Internet. Some things are best held close by the people who experienced them, and not everything has to be validated by blog entry or tweet or Facebook update.

But mainly I’m just lazy.

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Back from New Orleans

by on March 21, 2011, in happy happy joy joy, jump aboard the crazy train, travel

Whew. Ian and I just got back from a St. Patrick’s Day trip down to New Orleans (we were there last Wednesday thru this Saturday), and I have a ton of pictures and stories—some of which will never see the light of the Internet. I will get to posting the ones that are appropriate for public consumption shortly, but I just wanted to check in and announce that unlike last June, this time New Orleans did not kick my ass. It was a non-stop party for three days, but I more than survived and am back feeling refreshed, if not a little nostalgic for the hilarity that ensued.

Stay tuned.

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Nov. 13 | Fire tree

by on November 14, 2010, in life etc., photography, Project365, travel

Nov. 13 | Fire tree

Ian and I camped at Henry Horton this weekend, and Saturday was gorgeous. Though a lot of the leaves had already fallen to the ground, there was still plenty of fall color above us, and as we ambled through the trees we frequently found ourselves in pockets of vibrancy.

Because of our previous troubles trying to make a fire out of wood purchased from nearby roadstands, this time we brought our own wood with us—purchased the night before at Food Lion, of all places, but we knew it had been stored indoors and would be dry. And it was. Combined with a huge pile of cut-down tree limbs we discovered not far from our campsite, we had the most badass fire I think we’ve ever had. It raged strong through the evening, even when the rain spat on it a couple of times.

The weather was perfect, if even a couple of degrees warmer than necessary, but cooled off considerably when it started raining in the middle of the night and kept on through the morning. We were pretty cold when we peeled ourselves out of the tent at 7 a.m., but a buffet breakfast at the park inn redeemed any ill will the rain brought in.

And now we’re back home, lounging and football-watching, with the cats chasing each other and the laundry running, and I’m procrastinating on doing my homework like a champion.

You know, a pretty typical Sunday around here.

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II.

by on October 8, 2010, in around town, but in our house we never get bored, life etc., travel

II.

This past weekend, Ian and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary by heading up to Big Ridge State Park for a little tent camping. We initially had intended to camp for two nights, but rain moved in on Sunday morning and we were afraid we wouldn’t be able to find any dry firewood for that evening. That, and camping in the rain just plain sucks balls.

So instead, we hiked about five miles through some very wooded (and VERY steep at times—whoever selects the trails’ difficulty levels needs to stop trying to impress someone) and very gorgeous trails, and then packed up our campsite and headed out.

A side note: I love camping and can generally handle the accompanying bugs in their natural habitat much better than I could, say, my house, but I had a run-in with a stickbug in the bath house that still has my skin crawling. That thing just should not exist in nature; it’s a goddamn alien if I’ve ever seen one. I’m also convinced that it stole my Nashville flood t-shirt that I was carrying to the bath house to change into that morning. As soon as I saw that abortion of nature’s beauty and stifled a scream, I noticed my t-shirt—that I had carried maybe 100 yards IN MY HANDS—was missing. Coincidence? Or EVIL FUCKING STICKBUG THAT WILL EAT YOUR BRAINS? You decide. I scoured the path from our campsite to the bath house at least three times and no shirt was ever found. RIP, comfy Nashville flood t-shirt.

On the way home, Ian indulged me and we drove local highways instead of the interstate most of the way home. There’s something calming and humanizing about driving through teeny tiny towns in the middle of nowhere, and I’ll choose a highway over the interstate pretty much any chance I get. Especially since roughly 500 miles of my life are spent on interstate asphalt each week.

Our actual anniversary was Monday, and we celebrated by hanging around the house with the cats and grilling out that night. Tuesday we tailgated the MTSU Blackout Game on campus with some friends, leaving us with Wednesday to recover and mentally prepare for heading back to work on Thursday.

And you know, I thought I was a genius, scheduling my vacation so that when I went back to work I’d only have two days before the next weekend, but let me tell you: These two days have dragged on like weeks. TGIF for sure, but I just want to go back to the woods.

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About that nose piercing

by on June 18, 2010, in jump aboard the crazy train, travel

As I alluded to in a previous entry, I woke up on Saturday, May 29, in a Hampton Inn in Mt. Pleasant, Texas, and decided I wanted to get my nose pierced while Ian and I were in Austin visiting Summer and Cole.

I honestly don’t know where this came from; I’ve never really had the desire to have it pierced before. I had my eyebrow and my navel pierced for a while when I was younger, and I have a tattoo, but I’m not really the “let’s get shit pierced!” kind of person. Although this is probably because I work in a professional setting and there are only so many appropriate places I can pierce and still keep my job.

So I don’t know; maybe I was delirious at the thought of having nine full days of vacation ahead of me, maybe it was the freedom and expansiveness I felt on the open road we were traveling in east Texas. Or maybe it is a manifestation of the whole “I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks” point of liberation everyone told me I would arrive at after I turned 30.

Either way, on Memorial Day after hitting Juan in a Million for breakfast, Summer and I found ourselves looking up reviews on Yelp for piercers in Austin. She found only positive reviews for a man named Pineapple at Shaman Modifications, so I called him up and asked if I could come in that day. He said he could see me in 30 minutes, so I batted down some last minute nerves and we took off for the shop.

The shop itself was very clean, even the front room, which was encouraging. Pineapple, a large dude with every visible part of his body either tattooed or embedded with some sort of metal, was awesome. He was soft-spoken, calming and immediately asked if I had any questions. He helped me pick out which piece of jewelry would fit me best, explained that there hadn’t been a significance to what side was pierced since the 80s (HA!), and then led Summer and I to a room in the back where I would get pierced.

The room reminded me a little of a doctor’s office—very sterile and cold, with lots of gloves and containers of stuff like needles, gauze, rubbing alcohol, etc.—except there were pictures of kanjis hanging and a large mirror spanning almost the entirety of one wall.

We made small talk while Pineapple began his preparations, but then he made sure to explain every single step of the sterilization process. He told me to stop him at any time if I had any questions, and I mentioned that I was glad he was so serious about sterilizing the instruments since my husband had requested I didn’t return with Hepatitis C. Pineapple laughed, and said that was an unusual request but a good one.

Every single thing he touched (with freshly gloved hands the entire time—before and after the items were sterilized) that would touch my skin he sterilized, explaining to me what he was doing and how the sterilization would work. He put everything into a tray that then went inside of an autoclave machine, which would take six to seven minutes to complete the sterilization process. We went up front to complete my paperwork while the tools were sterilizing, and he explained the six rules of taking care of my piercing:

  1. 1. Don’t listen to your friends.
  2. 2. Don’t touch it.
  3. 3. Don’t touch it.
  4. 4. Don’t touch it.
  5. 5. Don’t touch it.
  6. 6. Don’t touch it.

He recommended some soap called Dr. Bronner’s for me to use only if the piercing got dirty (no more than once or twice a month), but otherwise instructed me to never get it wet and rinse it with distilled water if it did (like when I get out of the shower). His motto is basically “Your body knows the best way to heal itself, so leave that shit alone and let it do its job.” Got it.

The actual piercing went quickly, which I had anticipated from having two other body parts pierced in the past. Pineapple cleaned my nose, inside and outside, with rubbing alcohol, and had me lay down on the table and begin taking deep breaths in and blowing out. He explained every step he would take (but also assured me he would tell me everything he was doing as he was doing it). I laid down on the table and noticed a sign affixed on the ceiling that said something to the effect of “Just keep breathing, everything will be ok.” I made a mental note to remember that in my every day life.

And then it just… happened. He had me take a couple of deep breaths, and told me to blow out my third breath very slowly and he would push the needle through. It felt like I was being pinched, and then it was over. He instructed me to turn my head to the right and witness him putting the needle in the Sharps container, and then told me I could sit up but not to stand for a few seconds.

A single tear fell out of my right eye, as is expected with anything involving the nose, but I wouldn’t say that it hurt. It stung for maybe a minute and I was aware that there was a titanium rod through my nostril, but I never felt what I would call pain for maybe more than the couple of seconds it took for him to pierce the skin.

And then we were done! Summer and I headed over to Target to pick up some distilled water, gauze pads and a nasal aspirator bulb (for me to squirt the distilled water onto the piercing), and then over to Central Market to find the Dr. Bronner’s soap, and then back to her house.

I do need to point out that I am SO FREAKING GLAD Summer was there with me. I was trying my hardest not to be nervous, and it helped so much to have someone else there to make sure everything was kosher, take pictures and be available to pick my ass up off the floor in case I fainted.

Pineapple warned that depending on my body and how healthy it is, it could take anywhere from 30 to 90 days to heal so I needed to be careful and follow the six rules for that entire time period. It’s really not that hard to take care of—at first I was washing my face outside of the shower, but I’ve gotten used to the piercing’s location now so I just make sure to not wash that area and then rinse it and pat it dry with the gauze when I get out of the shower. I had one day of “holy shit how do I get this caked-up snot off the inside of the piercing??!” but a few Q-tips and a carefully maneuvered toothpick took care of that. TMI? Sorry.

Every once in a while I can feel the piercing (mainly when I wake up in the morning or right after I rinse and dry it), but for the most part it seems to be healing nicely, as far as I can tell.

I’m a little worried that I don’t quite understand how the bar works (he showed me some kind of bendy thing that fits into the titanium bar and holds it together with tension, and then explained that the gem on the end can be changed without having to remove the bar), but I don’t plan on changing it out any time soon. So I guess I’m good as long as I don’t somehow sneeze it out.

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June 14 | How New Orleans tried to kill us

by on June 15, 2010, in life etc., photography, Project365, travel

June 14 | How New Orleans tried to kill us

$5 beer vs. $7 beer. 16 ounces vs. 32 ounces.

WHY WOULD YOU NOT CHOOSE THE $7 BEER?!

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Vacation part two: New Orleans 1, Ian and Megan 0

by on June 13, 2010, in jump aboard the crazy train, life etc., travel

First, know this: New Orleans kicked our asses. Stomped. Into the ground. Big time.

We left Austin Wednesday morning and drove straight to New Orleans, stopping just briefly a couple of times along the way. We arrived right at nightfall, and driving across Lake Ponchartrain, surrounded by those trees with no leaves on them and no other cars in sight, I was a bit creeped out.

After we checked into the W in the French Quarter (which was an awesome place to stay, as W hotels always are), we headed across the street to Gordon Biersch Brewery to grab dinner and some beers. I actually just realized that place is a chain; at the time I thought it was a local joint. Either way, the food was really good and so was the beer.

On our way back to the hotel we made a run through Harrah’s Casino, as it was right next to our hotel and the restaurant, too (seriously everything was all right there—perfect location), to check it out.

The next day was when it all started. We walked the block or two over to Riverwalk and had 32-oz beers for lunch with a side of a small amount of food. And then we had some more beers at The Crazy Lobster. After that we crashed in the room for an hour or so, and because we were already drunk we decided it would be a good idea to head down to Bourbon Street. At like 6 p.m.

Y’all, it’s taken me several days to be able to recap this part of the trip because I couldn’t really think about it without feeling nauseated. We got so drunk so fast. Bourbon Street was great, but it kicked the living shit out of us. We hit up a couple of bars (one where we met this Australian dude who said I didn’t look a day over 23—god bless him) and then settled at this place called Rita’s, where we ran into a guy who had served us beer a couple bars before that.

He decided since we bought beer from him earlier he’d buy us a couple, which he did—I think. I know he bought us some shots. We shot the shit with him for a while, and he invited us to some other bar where he was headed with his girlfriend and her friend but we declined.

After that, we don’t remember much. I remember texting with Summer, I vaguely remember getting up and leaving and stumbling through the streets holding Ian up (or dragging him with me, I’m not sure). The next thing I remember we were back at the hotel, I was starving and eating my aged gouda I’d gotten in Austin like it was a sandwich, then I was ordering a pizza, then I was throwing up said aged gouda. Then I passed out on the bed. When I woke up in the morning I was happy to see Ian had peeled himself off the bathroom floor and had made it to the bed, too.

Neither of us remembered walking back to the hotel, but when I turned on my phone I discovered Google Maps directions routing us from the last bar we were at back to the hotel. So thanks, trusty iPhone and Google Maps, for getting us back safely. It’s nice to know that even in a questionable condition I can operate technology.

We spent the entire next day in the bed trying not to die. No sightseeing, no Mother’s, no beignets, no haunted brewery tour, nothing. Just laying in the bed watching the Scripps National Spelling Bee and trying to psych ourselves up enough to walk to the corner market for Powerade. The hangover lasted two days. Two. Fucking. Days.

The entire drive home we cursed New Orleans, incredulous that two people with a good tolerance for booze could get so messed up so quickly. We wondered if Abita (the beer we drank the most) had a higher alcohol content than most other beer. We wondered why we didn’t eat again before going out that night, or while we were out, or why we at least didn’t eat more for lunch. We wondered if we were drugged.

But then last week at work one of my bosses was asking how the trip to New Orleans went, and as I sheepishly admitted that it about killed us, he started smiling and nodding his head. “I don’t know anyone who hasn’t gotten completely wrecked their first time to New Orleans,” he told me. Apparently getting drunk in New Orleans is unlike getting drunk anywhere else. Apparently, it takes practice to party in New Orleans.

This made me feel better. And, oddly enough, ready to take on the city again. It beat us this time, but next time we will be prepared. We will conquer New Orleans.

But we’re staying the hell off Bourbon Street.

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Vacation part one: Holy crap Austin was fun

by on June 10, 2010, in jump aboard the crazy train, life etc., travel

(Hey that rhymed!)

Just over two weeks ago, Ian and I packed up 10 days worth of crap into our suitcases, shuttled Evil Twin to the vet for boarding (since he’s got the diabeetis and needs his insulin shots), loaded the other cats up with food and water (don’t worry, Ian’s mom came by several times to check on them) and hit the road for what would turn out to be one bad-ass vacation involving visiting our friends Summer and Cole in Austin and then destroying our livers in New Orleans.

We drove as long as we could on Friday, and finally stopped in Mt. Pleasant, Texas, to stay the night in a really nice, new Hampton Inn. We got up Saturday morning to drive the rest of the day to Austin (this was also the morning I woke up with the bright idea that I should get my nose pierced while in Austin). We were going to stop in Dallas but got hung up in traffic, and instead opted to stop briefly for lunch in Temple at a brewery whose name now escapes me but was really, really good. Also? Frontage roads in Texas are confusing as hell but very handy once you get the hang of them.

We got to Austin Saturday evening around 5:30, and after getting acquainted with Summer and Cole’s animal family, headed out to eat dinner and get drunk at the Flying Saucer* there. One of their Twitter friends ended up dropping by (“Twitter-stalking,” as she called it) and we had a hilariously raunchy conversation that ended with Ian yelling “Stop fucking gay guys!” in the parking lot. I don’t think she was offended.

The next day they took us out on their boat at Lake Travis, and despite being mildly hungover, I’m happy to report that I did not vomit. Even at my best I am horribly prone to motion sickness (I honestly can’t believe I survived riding in the backseat of Cole’s truck all that time), and waves have proven especially offensive. Oh, and get this: I actually wore a bathing suit—IN FRONT OF OTHER PEOPLE—and swam in the lake. The last time I remember being in a bathing suit in public was 2003, and that was in Spain where nobody knew me. So thanks to Summer and Cole for not making fun of me. For that and for when I got sunburned ON MY FACE.

Later that night they took us to the legendary Salt Lick, which I had been to on my last visit but Ian wanted to check out. The meat pit did not disappoint, though I ordered their vegetable plate. (I think this is where I’m supposed to confess that despite my staunch vegetarianism since August of last year, I did actually taste a tiny sliver of the brisket that Ian ordered. Don’t worry, it did not convince me to return to the world of meat-eaters.)

The next day, Memorial Day, we hit Juan in a Million for breakfast (well, early lunch), where we each got the famous handshake from Juan! He was nice and gentlemanly with Summer and I, but I could hear the slaps when he shook the fire out of Ian and Cole’s hands. Awesome.

Sometime that afternoon I decided it was time to get a titanium rod shoved through my right nostril, so Summer and I looked up piercers on Yelp and quickly discovered Pineapple at Shaman Modifications was the man to do just that. Actually, this whole experience deserves its own blog post, so hold that thought.

Monday night was the Barenaked Ladies concert at Bass Concert Hall, which I didn’t realize until right before the event was actually on the UT campus. Ian and Cole dropped Summer and I off and then went to go do guy stuff (I don’t know what they did—drank beer and talked about boobs?) while Summer and I got our asses rocked off by BNL. Holy crap, our seats were AMAZING. The opening act, Serena Ryder, was really great, but BNL fucking rules. This was probably my favorite of the three BNL shows I’ve seen this year based on the energy of the crowd and BNL’s performance, with Louisville coming in a very close second. The fact that I was in fucking Austin, Texas, one of the most awesome towns in the country, helped push it over the top.

The next day we just kind of tooled around town, stopping to eat some pizza and grab some cupcakes. That night we had dinner and watched Iron Man 2 at the Alamo Drafthouse, which, if you’re not familiar with it, is the best concept for a movie theater I’ve ever seen. They have a full menu and a crapload of beer (and maybe wine and liquor, too?), and you write your order down on a piece of paper and stick it in this metal bar in front of you, and the server comes by, grabs it and then brings you back what you wanted. It’s all done very quietly and with minimal interruption to the movie and the other people around you. We need one in Nashville. Now.

Wednesday we said our goodbyes (and tremendous thanks!) to Summer and Cole and headed south again toward New Orleans, stopping at this little Czech bakery somewhere in bumfuck Texas where I discovered Lay’s Limón chips. Hand to god, best chips on the planet. But of course, for some reason, despite having tons of Hispanics in Nashville nobody wants to carry their goddamn fence-jumping job-stealing Spanish-language potato chips. So now I have to order them from mexgrocer.com. I hope the money goes straight to helping people sneak in the U.S. illegally. JUST KIDDING.

I was naive in thinking I could recap the entire 10-day vacation in one post, so you’re just going to have to wait for Part two: How New Orleans fucked us. I know you’ve got bated breath.


*Our original plan was to hit as many of the Flying Saucer locations as we could, since many of them are located in East Texas, but we ended up not having enough time for that. We did manage to hit three, though: Memphis (Cordova), Austin and Houston. Let me go ahead and advise that you never go to the Flying Saucer in Houston. We waited almost 15 minutes for anyone to even notice us, and were there probably over an hour just to eat two pretzels and two beers. Lame.

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Some numbers

by on June 8, 2010, in jump aboard the crazy train, travel

Nine days
2100 miles
42 mpg
Five states
Nine major cities: Nashville, Memphis, Little Rock, Dallas, Austin, Houston, Baton Rouge, New Orleans, Birmingham
A lot of roadkill: 19 armadillos, 2 alligators, 2 dogs (and 1 kitten but I don’t want to think about that)

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