Remember back in the day when we used A/S/L to say hello on the internet. (I had a whole paragraph about the phenomena of AOL chat rooms, but you were there, so you remember. Unless this is my parents reading this and then I hope to God you weren’t there and you have no idea what I’m writing about) I’ll more on…
Fun fact! When Alexander Graham Bell wanted the standard greeting for the telephone to be Ahoy, but then Edison changed it to Hello. Boring Edison!
2Birds1Blog wrote the other day that once we went to college the standard greeting became Name/Hometown/Major. This was so true. Every class, every party, every social outing started with the exact same introductions. Every now and then you would professor who thought it would be cute to have you tell everyone your brand of Shampoo or something interesting about you, but all those questions were just fluff. Everyone judged and was judged by how they answered Name/Hometown/Major. Carlos/El Paso/Latin American Studies… yeah could you be anymore stereotypical? (Haha Latin American Studies, there was a major even more pathetic than mine.)
This brings up a very awkward situation for me. For my entire life, ever since I can remember, I’ve had a very hard time answering the question, “Where are you from?” I was a military brat and not really from anywhere, but if you say you’re not from anywhere people give you this look like, “Ah, were you an orphan with no family and no love in your childhood…?” What? No. I have two wonderful parents, who are still married, and even if I was an orphan don’t they live in orphanages in like cities, so wouldn’t they be from that city? My parents are both from Texas. My dad was born and raised in Dallas and the surrounding suburbs. My mom moved around a lot growing up, but she always claimed Texas as home, so I considered her a Texan as well.
For as long as I can remember I told everyone that I was from Texas. Had I ever actually lived there, no. I told my friends and random people on the street, but I always thought I was sort of lying because really I lived in England or Rhode Island. I can remember being in Edinburgh, Scotland for Thanksgiving one of the years we lived in England the second time. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade and we stopped to watch a street performer. He pulled me out of the crowd to be a part of his performance. I already felt awkward because I didn’t like strangers growing up and what did I know? This guy could have been a freak or a child molester, but because he was on the street doing magic or something my parents just let him take me by the hand and lead me away.
Creepy Street Performer: “What is your name little girl?”
Me: (trying not to look him in the eye) “Lemon Lady.”
Creepy Street Performer: “Wow, Lemon Lady what a beautiful name!”
Me: “Thank you. Pleasedontstabme.”
Creepy Street Performer: “What was that kiddo? I didn’t hear.”
Me: “Nothing…”
Creepy Street Performer: “Well Lemon Lady, where are you from”
Now I don’t know if this is a standard question of creepy street performers or if he just asked me because I clearly didn’t have a Scottish or British or Irish or Welsh accent, but I remember first being weirded out by his nosiness. Who was this guy and why did he need to know where I lived? More importantly now he and all the people who had gathered around were staring at me because I was taking a long time to answer what should have been a simple question. Where was I from? That morning I had woken up in a hotel with an awesome indoor swimming pool. I could be from that hotel, but I couldn’t remember the name. My house with all my things and my dog was in England, but I don’t claim to be British (even though I was born there). My parents were from Texas, but that was just a place where we went on vacation every now and then. Which one do I pick? What do I say? The hotel has an indoor pool, but my house in England has my Barbie collection. But if I tell this guy where I live in England he might come and break in and murder my whole family, and Texas is where Grandma and Grandpa got me those way cool red cowboy boots…
Me: “I’m from Texas.”
Yeah, I went with the cool boots and hopefully a far away enough place where Creepy here could never find me.
Creepy Street Performer: “Wow Lemon Lady!!! You came all the way from Texas to see my act? That’s amazing!”
Me: “Um, yeah?”
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Clarksville! (we used to be black, but now we're just gay for Satan)
Clarksville
As many of you know, Boyfriend and I recently moved to a new home in Clarksville. I thought I would write a nice post about my new neighborhood.
This is Clarksville…
These are Clarksville’s original residents...
(Okay so these aren't the exact slaves that lived on my street, but you get the idea...)
That’s right kids! My neighborhood used to be the plantation and slave quarters of Governor Elisha M Pease. (Yes, girly name. I know.) Interesting facts about Elisha.. (Manners and a respect for Texas Governors would say I should call him Governor Pease, but Elisha just rolls off the tongue and for some reason I have yet to spell Governor correct. Why are there two Rs???).. Anyway, Elisha was from Enfield, Massachusetts. Enfield Rd is the northern border of Clarksville. He was the fifth and the thirteenth governor of our great state. And he owned a large plantation in West Austin! After the Civil War and after Elisha’s slaves were emancipated he set aside a large area of land for his newly freed “employees” to live so they would keep working for him. In 1871 Charles Clark, a freeman, established the African American community of Clarksville. It was the first freeman’s town west of the Mississippi. You can still see Charles’ home on West 10th street. Wow! Austin is such a progressive city!
Yeah… not so much…
In the early 1900s the city of Austin decided that the Black residents of Clarksville had it too good.
“Look you guys, this is prime real-estate, and the white people are beginning to feel cramped downtown, and we’re going to have to start getting these streets ready for the hipster invasion in about 80 years… so… well… you’ve got to go. Like now.”
That was pretty much how the notice to the Black community started. It finished like this,
“YOU ARE FOREVER BANNED TO THE EASTSIDE!!! Oh, you don’t want to move? Well we’re just going to cut off your water, you will never get electricity, and I hope you like dirt roads…”
Most of the community moved, but a few stayed and used kerosene lamps and got their water from Town Lake (now Lady Bird Lake) until the 1970s.
Guess who didn’t want to live in an old black neighborhood. White people! So in the 1950s the immigrants moved in. Anthony Colanetta opened Anthony’s Laundry. (Which is still there and has been a savor since the washer has been broken at my place. Thanks Anthony!) He also leased the place next door to Hylton Nau. I have already written about my love for Nau Pharmacy’s and their breakfast tacos, but the whole place is super awesome. Chocolate Malts and Shakes, funky toys, and the best candy counter in town! In 1979 Craig Weller and Mark Skyles open Clarksville Natural Grocery. As small grocery story which actually isn’t crazy overpriced. A year later they teamed up with John Macky and opened the first Whole Foods. Whole Food and its national offices are within walking distance of Clarksville and my new home.
(Inside Nau's Pharmacy)
(Whole Foods on 6th and Lamar)
The population is a little different now. Over priced student apartments line Enfield because of the very popular UT bus route that drives that road. Hippies still live in the small houses covered in ivy with beads hanging on the porch. Doctors, Lawyers, and their Mercedes driving wives tore down the other small homes to build large homes in all different types of architecture. Almost every home has a cat that lazily sleep on the fount step in the evening, and a dog they walk in the morning.
Clarksville was just recently voted One of the Great Neighborhoods in America because of the history and it’s people who want to keep it local. I agree. I love walking to Nau’s on a Sunday morning to sit in the diner and read the paper and magazines while listening to the local chatter. I can’t wait to take “future dog owned by myself and boyfriend” to the dog park across 10th street. We walk to Cheepos to buy used DVDs and video games. Our cactus friends are getting repotted and new soil this weekend with goods from Shedd Nursery. Boyfriend and I take a walk usually every night and here are some photos from our walk yesterday.
(motitos from the original Z Tajas in Clarksville)
("Art" outside Cheepos)
(The Castle... did I tell you we have a Castle...)
(The downtown view from the top of the hill.)
more to come soon...
As many of you know, Boyfriend and I recently moved to a new home in Clarksville. I thought I would write a nice post about my new neighborhood.
This is Clarksville…
These are Clarksville’s original residents...
(Okay so these aren't the exact slaves that lived on my street, but you get the idea...)
That’s right kids! My neighborhood used to be the plantation and slave quarters of Governor Elisha M Pease. (Yes, girly name. I know.) Interesting facts about Elisha.. (Manners and a respect for Texas Governors would say I should call him Governor Pease, but Elisha just rolls off the tongue and for some reason I have yet to spell Governor correct. Why are there two Rs???).. Anyway, Elisha was from Enfield, Massachusetts. Enfield Rd is the northern border of Clarksville. He was the fifth and the thirteenth governor of our great state. And he owned a large plantation in West Austin! After the Civil War and after Elisha’s slaves were emancipated he set aside a large area of land for his newly freed “employees” to live so they would keep working for him. In 1871 Charles Clark, a freeman, established the African American community of Clarksville. It was the first freeman’s town west of the Mississippi. You can still see Charles’ home on West 10th street. Wow! Austin is such a progressive city!
Yeah… not so much…
In the early 1900s the city of Austin decided that the Black residents of Clarksville had it too good.
“Look you guys, this is prime real-estate, and the white people are beginning to feel cramped downtown, and we’re going to have to start getting these streets ready for the hipster invasion in about 80 years… so… well… you’ve got to go. Like now.”
That was pretty much how the notice to the Black community started. It finished like this,
“YOU ARE FOREVER BANNED TO THE EASTSIDE!!! Oh, you don’t want to move? Well we’re just going to cut off your water, you will never get electricity, and I hope you like dirt roads…”
Most of the community moved, but a few stayed and used kerosene lamps and got their water from Town Lake (now Lady Bird Lake) until the 1970s.
Guess who didn’t want to live in an old black neighborhood. White people! So in the 1950s the immigrants moved in. Anthony Colanetta opened Anthony’s Laundry. (Which is still there and has been a savor since the washer has been broken at my place. Thanks Anthony!) He also leased the place next door to Hylton Nau. I have already written about my love for Nau Pharmacy’s and their breakfast tacos, but the whole place is super awesome. Chocolate Malts and Shakes, funky toys, and the best candy counter in town! In 1979 Craig Weller and Mark Skyles open Clarksville Natural Grocery. As small grocery story which actually isn’t crazy overpriced. A year later they teamed up with John Macky and opened the first Whole Foods. Whole Food and its national offices are within walking distance of Clarksville and my new home.
(Inside Nau's Pharmacy)
(Whole Foods on 6th and Lamar)
The population is a little different now. Over priced student apartments line Enfield because of the very popular UT bus route that drives that road. Hippies still live in the small houses covered in ivy with beads hanging on the porch. Doctors, Lawyers, and their Mercedes driving wives tore down the other small homes to build large homes in all different types of architecture. Almost every home has a cat that lazily sleep on the fount step in the evening, and a dog they walk in the morning.
Clarksville was just recently voted One of the Great Neighborhoods in America because of the history and it’s people who want to keep it local. I agree. I love walking to Nau’s on a Sunday morning to sit in the diner and read the paper and magazines while listening to the local chatter. I can’t wait to take “future dog owned by myself and boyfriend” to the dog park across 10th street. We walk to Cheepos to buy used DVDs and video games. Our cactus friends are getting repotted and new soil this weekend with goods from Shedd Nursery. Boyfriend and I take a walk usually every night and here are some photos from our walk yesterday.
(motitos from the original Z Tajas in Clarksville)
("Art" outside Cheepos)
(The Castle... did I tell you we have a Castle...)
(The downtown view from the top of the hill.)
more to come soon...
Friday, July 16, 2010
This Would Never Happen on House Hunters...
True Story...
I just moved into a new house. I could write blog after blog about moving. I'm 25 years old and I've moved 14 times. That means that during my quarter of a century on this planet I have averaged a move to a new home once every 1.8 years.
Moving... sucks.
That being said, the one part about moving I like is looking at place after place and then finally finding that perfect home.
Looking for houses... fun.
This is a true story about looking for a perfect new home for boyfriend and I. Now boyfriend, as much as I love him and he is a wonderful person, I kinda want to punch him 80% of the time during the whole moving process. Luckily, just over four years ago LSU Friend came into my life. Our friendship revolves around alcohol, swimming holes, and moving. She has always been there for me during my moves, and I think I have been there for her as well. This is the story of LSU friend and I looking the perfect apartment in Terrytown.
List of Things Boyfriend and I wanted in a New Home
1. Central Austin (to us this means 78704 on the Mopac side, Clarksville, or Terrytown)
2. Large dog friendly (we want to get a Great Dane)
3. Character (we want a cute house)
4. At least 700 sq ft
5. Washer/Dryer
6. Yard
This whole crazy affair started because I saw a promising ad on Craigslist for a one bedroom on Enfield in out price range, big dogs good. I called. I introduced myself and Craigslist Guy says, "Yeah we can totally check out that apartment you saw on line, but I just found out that this other place came availiable today and it's the best place in Terrytown for the money." In fact Craigslist Guy says this at least two more times during the four minute phone call. "The best place." "You'll love it." "They never become available." So on and so on. LSU Friend and I excitedly get in the car and meet him that afternoon.
Strike Number One: Craigslist Guy is an apartment locator. I hate apartment locators. I don't have luck with them. They only take you to large complexes. They don't listen. They just want you to live where they can get the best pay. I just have absolutely no patients for them. Blah... I turn to LSU girl and give her the dagger "somehow this is all your fault" eyes, but she is already stepping out of the car and extending her hand.
Strike Number Two: OMFG!!!! I just realized we are at the small complex off Enfield and Exposition where my friend Ford lives. This is where Ford sleeps, eats, bathes, and... I don't know... knits when he isn't at his job. What does Ford do??? He's a freaking realtor and apartment locator because evidently my life is turning into a crappy sitcom!!! Laugh track in all. Now, not only did I not call him and let him know I was moving because I think his profession is kinda shitty. Not only did I go behind his back and use some random Craigslist Guy to find me a home. I'm going to end up living here and it will all come out that I'm a bad friend and a horrible person. I am thinking this because honestly I have already decided that we will live here. Why? Because Craigslist Guy has assured me that it's the greatest place in God's whole Terrytown Kingdom.
Strike Number Three: Apartment Manager is wearing jort cut offs. (And not ironically.)
Dispite my annoyance with Craigslist Guy, my guilt that Ford will walk around the corner at any moment and catch me cheating on him with another apartment locator, and the jort situation, LSU friend and I are still excited to see the place. It's in the corner and we all walk past a very cute little pool and courtyard on our way to go see it. While we are walking Apartment Manager is telling me that the girl who lives their just put in her notice of vacancy that morning. She is breaking the lease to buy a house and I am told numerous time by Craigslist Guy and Apartment Manager that it is my lucky day and this place will be gone by tomorrow. AWESOME!!! I'm so excited to see it. LSU friend is excited. We are all on agreement this must me my lucky day. By now we have safely walked the 50 feet past the pool and made it to the "this is the best day of your life, you're going to crap yourself when you see this, it's kinda like you won the lottery, you're welcome from God" apartment.
Door opens.
5 seconds later: We all step in and allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness because all the blinds and curtains are pulled shut.
10 seconds later: Craigslist guy finally finds the light, which only illuminates a small standing lamp in the far corner. It's still very dim in "the most bad ass apartment ever", but we are starting to see again.
11 seconds later: "What is that?" I ask in the general direction of Apartment Manager while I point to a large pile of... something in the middle of the living room floor.
14 seconds later: "Is it dog food?" Craigslist Guy inquires, ear brows raising.
15 seconds later: "Um, more did that dog have an accendent? A very large accident? And where is the dog then?" I'm starting to get a little creeped out.
20 seconds later: We all move towards the mystery pile.
22 seconds later: "Oh My God! I'm going to throw up!!!" LSU Friend screams and runs out the door.
23 seconds later: Craigslist Guy turns to make sure LSU Friend is okay, and I finally get close enough to see what exactly is making up this platter size pile in the middle of this girl's apartment.
Cockroaches. Dead Cockroaches. All swept together in a nice neat pile in the middle of the living room floor. Estimation 70 to 80 dead cockroaches.
yeah...
70 TO 80 DEAD COCKROACHES!!!!!!!
Now, I don't exactly think I'm a squeamish girl. I like to fish, and when I fish I hook and unhook anything I catch. My freshmen year of college I let my then boyfriend keep his pet snakes in my house and I actually grew very fond of them. Having the snakes meant I also kept dead mice and rats in my freezer. I can handle some icky things and situations.
I CANNOT HANDLE 70 TO 80 DEAD COCKROACHES!!!!
Supposedly I walked around the rest of the apartment. I remember not wanting to open any closet doors in the bedroom, and once I got into the kitchen and I saw the 3 live cockroaches trapped at the bottom of a clear glass pitcher I was done. Took one last look at the pile of roaches (because at that point it was kinda like a train wreck that I couldn't look away from) and walked out the door.
Outside Apartment Manager was bright red and apologizing profusely, in between shaking his head in disbalief. Craigslist Guy is telling me over and over again how he has never heard of anyone living here having a bug problem. LSU Friend is looking green. And me? Honestly I'm trying to keep from laughing. There is no way in hell I'm living here, but I'm trying to put myself in Apartment Manager's shoes and I do feel bad for him. He shouldn't have shown me the place without inspecting it first. I know he was thinking, "This is the last time I do a favor for Craigslist Guy". My cheeks are burning because I don't want to make the scene anymore awkward by laughing.
Then this happens...
Apartment Manager: "Hey Ed!" Gesturing for some older tenant who was checking his mail to come over. "Ed. Do you have a bug problem?"
Ed: "Bug problem?"
Apartment Manager: "Yeah, do see roaches in your place."
Ed: "Yeah sure. I see 'em all the time."
Me: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!" (I just couldn't hold it in.)
As LSU Friend and I left, never to return again, she looked at me and said, "If you live here I will never step foot into your place." My mind was made up right there. LSU Friend is responsible for at least half the the alcohol I consume and probably 20% responsible for me getting shit face drunk. There is no way I'm loosing LSU friend.
"I'll keep looking."
P.S. No, we never found out why someone would sweep 70 to 80 dead cockroaches into a pile in the middle of the living room floor and not pick them up. It's one of life's little mysteries.
P.S.S. Boyfriend and I have being living in a nice little duplex for about a month now in Clarksville. I have yet to see one bug, dead or alive, in the house. (Knock on wood.)
I just moved into a new house. I could write blog after blog about moving. I'm 25 years old and I've moved 14 times. That means that during my quarter of a century on this planet I have averaged a move to a new home once every 1.8 years.
Moving... sucks.
That being said, the one part about moving I like is looking at place after place and then finally finding that perfect home.
Looking for houses... fun.
This is a true story about looking for a perfect new home for boyfriend and I. Now boyfriend, as much as I love him and he is a wonderful person, I kinda want to punch him 80% of the time during the whole moving process. Luckily, just over four years ago LSU Friend came into my life. Our friendship revolves around alcohol, swimming holes, and moving. She has always been there for me during my moves, and I think I have been there for her as well. This is the story of LSU friend and I looking the perfect apartment in Terrytown.
List of Things Boyfriend and I wanted in a New Home
1. Central Austin (to us this means 78704 on the Mopac side, Clarksville, or Terrytown)
2. Large dog friendly (we want to get a Great Dane)
3. Character (we want a cute house)
4. At least 700 sq ft
5. Washer/Dryer
6. Yard
This whole crazy affair started because I saw a promising ad on Craigslist for a one bedroom on Enfield in out price range, big dogs good. I called. I introduced myself and Craigslist Guy says, "Yeah we can totally check out that apartment you saw on line, but I just found out that this other place came availiable today and it's the best place in Terrytown for the money." In fact Craigslist Guy says this at least two more times during the four minute phone call. "The best place." "You'll love it." "They never become available." So on and so on. LSU Friend and I excitedly get in the car and meet him that afternoon.
Strike Number One: Craigslist Guy is an apartment locator. I hate apartment locators. I don't have luck with them. They only take you to large complexes. They don't listen. They just want you to live where they can get the best pay. I just have absolutely no patients for them. Blah... I turn to LSU girl and give her the dagger "somehow this is all your fault" eyes, but she is already stepping out of the car and extending her hand.
Strike Number Two: OMFG!!!! I just realized we are at the small complex off Enfield and Exposition where my friend Ford lives. This is where Ford sleeps, eats, bathes, and... I don't know... knits when he isn't at his job. What does Ford do??? He's a freaking realtor and apartment locator because evidently my life is turning into a crappy sitcom!!! Laugh track in all. Now, not only did I not call him and let him know I was moving because I think his profession is kinda shitty. Not only did I go behind his back and use some random Craigslist Guy to find me a home. I'm going to end up living here and it will all come out that I'm a bad friend and a horrible person. I am thinking this because honestly I have already decided that we will live here. Why? Because Craigslist Guy has assured me that it's the greatest place in God's whole Terrytown Kingdom.
Strike Number Three: Apartment Manager is wearing jort cut offs. (And not ironically.)
Dispite my annoyance with Craigslist Guy, my guilt that Ford will walk around the corner at any moment and catch me cheating on him with another apartment locator, and the jort situation, LSU friend and I are still excited to see the place. It's in the corner and we all walk past a very cute little pool and courtyard on our way to go see it. While we are walking Apartment Manager is telling me that the girl who lives their just put in her notice of vacancy that morning. She is breaking the lease to buy a house and I am told numerous time by Craigslist Guy and Apartment Manager that it is my lucky day and this place will be gone by tomorrow. AWESOME!!! I'm so excited to see it. LSU friend is excited. We are all on agreement this must me my lucky day. By now we have safely walked the 50 feet past the pool and made it to the "this is the best day of your life, you're going to crap yourself when you see this, it's kinda like you won the lottery, you're welcome from God" apartment.
Door opens.
5 seconds later: We all step in and allow our eyes to adjust to the darkness because all the blinds and curtains are pulled shut.
10 seconds later: Craigslist guy finally finds the light, which only illuminates a small standing lamp in the far corner. It's still very dim in "the most bad ass apartment ever", but we are starting to see again.
11 seconds later: "What is that?" I ask in the general direction of Apartment Manager while I point to a large pile of... something in the middle of the living room floor.
14 seconds later: "Is it dog food?" Craigslist Guy inquires, ear brows raising.
15 seconds later: "Um, more did that dog have an accendent? A very large accident? And where is the dog then?" I'm starting to get a little creeped out.
20 seconds later: We all move towards the mystery pile.
22 seconds later: "Oh My God! I'm going to throw up!!!" LSU Friend screams and runs out the door.
23 seconds later: Craigslist Guy turns to make sure LSU Friend is okay, and I finally get close enough to see what exactly is making up this platter size pile in the middle of this girl's apartment.
Cockroaches. Dead Cockroaches. All swept together in a nice neat pile in the middle of the living room floor. Estimation 70 to 80 dead cockroaches.
yeah...
70 TO 80 DEAD COCKROACHES!!!!!!!
Now, I don't exactly think I'm a squeamish girl. I like to fish, and when I fish I hook and unhook anything I catch. My freshmen year of college I let my then boyfriend keep his pet snakes in my house and I actually grew very fond of them. Having the snakes meant I also kept dead mice and rats in my freezer. I can handle some icky things and situations.
I CANNOT HANDLE 70 TO 80 DEAD COCKROACHES!!!!
Supposedly I walked around the rest of the apartment. I remember not wanting to open any closet doors in the bedroom, and once I got into the kitchen and I saw the 3 live cockroaches trapped at the bottom of a clear glass pitcher I was done. Took one last look at the pile of roaches (because at that point it was kinda like a train wreck that I couldn't look away from) and walked out the door.
Outside Apartment Manager was bright red and apologizing profusely, in between shaking his head in disbalief. Craigslist Guy is telling me over and over again how he has never heard of anyone living here having a bug problem. LSU Friend is looking green. And me? Honestly I'm trying to keep from laughing. There is no way in hell I'm living here, but I'm trying to put myself in Apartment Manager's shoes and I do feel bad for him. He shouldn't have shown me the place without inspecting it first. I know he was thinking, "This is the last time I do a favor for Craigslist Guy". My cheeks are burning because I don't want to make the scene anymore awkward by laughing.
Then this happens...
Apartment Manager: "Hey Ed!" Gesturing for some older tenant who was checking his mail to come over. "Ed. Do you have a bug problem?"
Ed: "Bug problem?"
Apartment Manager: "Yeah, do see roaches in your place."
Ed: "Yeah sure. I see 'em all the time."
Me: "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!" (I just couldn't hold it in.)
As LSU Friend and I left, never to return again, she looked at me and said, "If you live here I will never step foot into your place." My mind was made up right there. LSU Friend is responsible for at least half the the alcohol I consume and probably 20% responsible for me getting shit face drunk. There is no way I'm loosing LSU friend.
"I'll keep looking."
P.S. No, we never found out why someone would sweep 70 to 80 dead cockroaches into a pile in the middle of the living room floor and not pick them up. It's one of life's little mysteries.
P.S.S. Boyfriend and I have being living in a nice little duplex for about a month now in Clarksville. I have yet to see one bug, dead or alive, in the house. (Knock on wood.)
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