My Night as a Groupie

I think enough time has elapsed that law enforcement will no longer come chasing after me if I share this story, so I'm going to tell it to you all. However, if the police drag me off to jail for evading parking garage payment, I will have to delete this post. Enjoy reading while I'm breathing the fresh air of freedom.

Remember when I told you about how I am incapable of functioning in the presence of a celebrity? Apparently that is only in reference to people who I think are actually talented or legit A-list celebs. Weird and non-talented D-list celebs do not apply. The night I met Tyler Hilton and made a fool of myself, I also met Josiah Leming and made a fool of him. Mwahahahahaha.

Upon arriving at the Palladium in Dallas that night, I decide that I am going to meet Tyler Hilton. No, I'm not just going to meet him. I am going to meet him and we are going to become best friends. Then somewhere down the road Ty (we'll be on a nickname basis, obviously) is going to fall madly in love with me and write dozens of love songs about our perfect relationship. To make this happen I realize I can't just be another girl in the line of meet-and-greets he has to endure. My plan: get in with the band. Genius, right?

Shortly thereafter, I rework my plan to be: get in with the band and/or the opening acts. Perfect. This is a definite slam dunk.


A plea for fall

Dear Texas,

I really do love you. I love your friendly people. I love your shopping. I love your rodeos, your cowboys, your use of the word "yall." I love your immediate cancellation of school if there is a 10 percent chance of snow in next week's forecast. I love your super-sized football stadiums. I love your Mexican food and your margaritas. I love your concerts. I love your TCU horned frogs. I love your Central Market. I love a lot of things about you, Texas.

I would love you even more if you had one thing: the season between summer and winter. 

It's called FALL.

Or autumn. Which ever you prefer.

Heard of it? It doesn't appear that you have, because since I moved to Texas I have not seen even a hint of said season. Here's how fall is supposed to work: temperatures are supposed to cool down, leaves on trees are supposed to change colors and I'm supposed to curl up outside with a blanket and mug of hot apple cider. And while all this is going on, I'm supposed to be wearing tights, boots and scarves.

Instead, what do you do to me? You continue to pound me with sweat-inducing days. You give me false hope for a day (or even a few hours) that it might be time to get out my fall wardrobe, then you turn on the heat again. I am then forced to peel off my much-anticipated sweater and scarf. Then I look in the mirror and my humidity-sensitive frizzball hair has once again erupted.

Don't even get me started on your shameful fall foliage. Texas, you should be showing me hues of yellow, red and orange. What do I see instead? Green, green everywhere. I love the color green, but I'm over it. The trees have been green since March. Let's move on.

I know it's only a matter of time until I'm freezing and begging for these warm days to return, but right now I want fall. I need fall. Please, Texas, help a girl out. I know you've never experienced it before, but I think you'd really enjoy this lovely season. Give it a try. I'd appreciate it oh-so-much.


P.S. Here is what fall looks like, in case you need some inspiration. Please note the leaves, scarves, general festive-ness and smiles that fall weather brings to my face.


Wardrobe Malfunction

The year was 2004. I was 15 years old. As per usual, I was not even slightly interested in the football game going on but insisted that the adults call me into the room for every commercial break. I watched the halftime show because my future husband, Justin Timberlake, was set to perform. The only person who shared my interest in the show was Ricky, but really he was only half-heartedly watching. Until...dun dun duuuuuuuun...the wardrobe malfunction.

I stared blankly at the screen for a few seconds then had the following conversation with myself in my head
 "What the...was that...no...shame on your for thinking..."
(Make eye contact with father and look away)
"...I think it was..."
Then I broke the silence
Becky: "Did you just see...?"
Ricky: "Uh, yeah. Yeah I did."
Becky: (to other people in the room) "Did you guys just see that?"
General consensus from everyone else in the room who wasn't paying attention: "See what?"
Becky: (turning back to Ricky) "I didn't imagine that, right?"
Ricky: "No, I don't think so. No."
Silence between Ricky and I followed as everyone else in the room continued ignorantly chattering. I wasn't 100% sure that Janet Jackson had flashed me until the next morning when it was all over the news.

I'm sure all of you can agree with me that the JJ incident was no "wardrobe malfunction." You don't decorate your body parts with little trinkets unless you're planning on showing those trinkets off, either to a special someone or to the entire world in the case of Ms. Jackson.

This long lead-in is actually leading somewhere. Yesterday I had a Janet Jackson moment, and it reminded me that I have had consistent Janet Jackson moments for the past year and a half due to one article of clothing.

Before I move forward, I'd like to clarify that my moments are not completely JJ-esque because my flashing is always unintentional. This is a legitimate case of wardrobe malfunction. The culprits: windy gusts combined with a cheap skirt. I can tell you from personal experience, those two things do not mix well.

I bought my super cute but super cheap (the $10 price tag should have warned me that it was trouble) skirt in Sydney where the wind blows like this:

The skirt's inaugural journey was a St. Patrick's Day cocktail cruise with two of my friends who were visiting from Tulsa. Present on the boat were about thirty people between the ages of 50 and 99...and three 21-year-olds. We already stood out, and within three minutes of our relaxing cruise I had already drawn even more attention to us.

My initial thought after claiming a prime table near the front of the boat was to go outside and take in the gorgeous view. BAD IDEA. Since I was the first brave soul to venture outside, I was not expecting the huge gust of wind that greeted me upon opening the door. Now I've had skirts flounce in the wind before, but never have I had a skirt blow up over my head and result in temporary blindness due to fabric covering my eyes. That changed on March 17, 2010.


That's what I was feeling as I fell to the ground and battled my skirt down from my face while my onlookers stood by, equally horrified (with the exception of my two friends who were convulsing in laughter). My knee actually started bleeding because I fell to the ground with such force. I don't think I can call it a battle wound. More like a shame wound. And since this all occurred three minutes into the cruise, I had to sail around the harbor for the next two hours with a boat full of people who had seen my panties. When people ask me to name my most embarrassing moment ever, I pinpoint those two hours.

Shame wound
Please note the death grip I have on my skirt in hopes of warding off further incident
I tried to retire the skirt after my harbor cruise debacle, but it's just too cute to go to waste. So I kept wearing it. And I kept having flashing issues. No incidences were of the caliber that I just described, but they were still filled with shame and disgrace. Every time I tempt fate and put on my skirt, it is a calm non-windy morning. Every time I walk outside, the winds gust and I cling to the fabric for dear life. Mother Nature obviously enjoys toying with me.

The most recent occurrence was yesterday at the gas station. I had made it through an entire work day without a flashing hitch. I was congratulating myself on this accomplishment when I remembered that I hadn't closed the little door to my gas tank. So I stepped out of my car and...

BAM. Wind gust.

Luckily I'm somewhat experienced at this point and reacted in time to shield the world behind me (aka rush hour traffic on I-30 and the surrounding access roads) from the horror, but the car driving in front of me got a little show. Fabulous. I checked my gas tank, and the door was closed anyway. Even more fabulous. I scurried into my car and pulled into the car wash to shield myself from the world. And the wind.


Thank goodness fall is just around the corner and I won't be tempted to wear my flasher skirt for at least another eight months. But a warning to you all, if you see me wearing my little flowery skirt please do the following:
1. Ask if I'm wearing shorts underneath it.
2. Run away.


"Welcome to Texas"

At 10:47 a.m. on Tuesday, August 24 I left the office to get my Texas driver's license. (Something I'd been telling HR I was going to do for the past month. I figured it was about time.)

At 3:22 p.m. I returned to work. Ex. Haus. Ted. As I complained about my 3.5 hour wait to the world, the question kept coming back to me:
"Why didn't you go when it first opened or when it closed?" 
Followed by:
"Everyone knows you should expect to wait that long if you go in the middle of the day."
Ahem, I am not everyone. I am an Oklahoman. And we don't do things this way. We complain if we have to wait at the DMV for more than 30 minutes. So no, I did not know to expect such insanity. Rather, I patted myself on the back for thinking ahead and aiming to miss the lunch hour rush. Much to my demise, apparently every hour at the Texas DMV is the lunch hour rush.

My visit to the DMV took place as follows:

11:18...Approach front desk and realize I left my car insurance in the car.
11:20...Return to front desk with car insurance, car registration, birth certificate, social security card and passport.
11:21...Get my ticket, #311, and sit down in the most uncomfortable plastic chair imaginable.
11:23...Send my boss the following picture and tell her my errand could possibly take a little longer than expected.

11:28...Hear mumblings of people who have been waiting for over two hours. Become slightly concerned.
11:29...Begin writing a letter to one of my Australian friends.
11:33...Try to sneakily watch the Spanish version of "The Three Little Pigs" that is entertaining the kid in front of me on his mother's phone. (I was unsuccessful.)
11:38...Begin texting complaints to my friends.
11:57...Lady stands up with her grandma and says:
 "I'm from California and I've never seen it this bad. Waiting over two hours is ridiculous. We're out of here. If we come back at 4:56 before you close you have to serve us, right? We'll see you then."
11:58...Exit Cali lady and Gma.
12:03...Finish letter to my Australian friend. Proceed to twiddle my thumbs.
12:07...Smoker #1 sits down next to me. I hold my breath.
12:07:37...I start to turn blue from lack of oxygen and lean forward to try to find fresh air that doesn't have Smoker #1's scent attached to it.
12:08...Smoker #2 joins Smoker #1. They talk about Facebook.
S1: Hey dude, how many Facebook friends do you have?
S2: Aw man, I don't know.
S1: Well Sally has over 400.
S2: 400? No f***ing way.
S1: I'll be lucky if I can get 400 friends by Christmas.
12:09...I. Can't. Breathe. Plus, I'm getting really anxious and starting to sweat.
12:38...Decide to call my mother during her lunch break, giving me an excuse to leave the vicinity of Smokers 1 and 2.
12:42...Front desk lady tells me "I know it's crowded honey, but you can't stand there."
12:43...Find new seat away from smokers.
12:56...Begin writing a letter to my sister.
1:16...Overhear a man on the phone yelling at what I assume was some sort of government agency.
"I'm here with my Los Angeles ID, my New York passport, and several dozen other taxpayers. WHAT IS GOING ON?!"
1:16:23 Angry man leaves the building to yell at whatever poor soul is on the other end of the phone.
1:18...First number called in the 300s! Hooray for 306! Only 5 more numbers until it's my turn! I feel a glimmer of hope.
1:33...Another angry lady stands up and yells:
"If you think I'm going to sit here for over two hours wasting my whole day here...I've got better things to do with my time! This is STUPID!"
1:33:27...Angry lady sits back down and mumbles "stupid, stupid, stupid" under her breath repeatedly.
1:43...Angry lady asks if she can speak to a supervisor. Apparently the supervisor is trying to expedite the process by working behind a computer to sign people up for driver's licenses. Angry lady says she'll wait.
1:44...There is a line of five people waiting to speak to the supervisor.
1:53...Angry lady's angry husband bursts through the door and proceeds to berate front desk lady.
1:55...Exit angry lady and husband.
1:58...Finish letter to my sister. More thumb twiddling follows.
2:12...Sweet, nice, understanding Becky is gone. I've been here for 3 hours and it's time to start complaining. (But I plan on being a much nicer complainer than angry lady)
2:13...Approach front desk lady and ask her what's up with the 300s (which I've figured out is the category of numbers for people who have an out-of-state license) getting no love. Front desk lady doesn't know.
2:14...Front desk lady "goes to talk to her supervisor" but I witness her walk to the back, stand there, talk to no one and return to her desk without speaking to me or acknowledging my existence.
2:16...California girl, who is apparently #310, complains to front desk lady.
2:17...Cali girl and I hover next to the front desk hoping for some sort of positive progress while complaining about how our home states would never allow such madness.
2:23...Ask to speak to the supervisor. Learn that the supervisor is outside testing the driving skills of 16-year olds. Translation: there is no one supervising the shenanigans taking place inside the DMV, and therefore no one for me to complain to.
2:34...Front desk lady takes pity on our souls and calls someone to tell them to call us next.
2:37...310 is called and Cali girl leaves me.
2:39...The heavens open up and I hear the magical words I've been waiting to hear for three and a half hours:
"Number 311 to window three."
Finally reaching the other side of the wall that I've been dying to see behind for more than three hours feels very Wizard of Oz-esque. Only instead of looking behind the curtain to discover that it's nothing but a little man pushing buttons and turning knobs, I look behind the wall and find that it's nothing but five people seated behind a long counter typing on computers and making copies.

No matter. This is the home stretch. I've finally made it to the end of my DMV yellow brick road! (Excuse me as I continue my cheesy metaphor.) 13 minutes later at 2:52...I'm outta there.

The last words my friend behind the counter said to me as I was leaving?
"Welcome to Texas."
Gee, thanks so much. My new license expires in 2017 and I'm already dreading renewing it. Despite all of this, I'm choosing to see past my DMV incident since I really do love Texas. It's just that...

I still (and always will) love Oklahoma a little bit more.


No pictures, please

The other day, as I often tend to do, I was taking a nice walk down Australia memory lane. I usually look at Becca's pictures from our 5 months abroad more than mine because her photography skills completely eclipse mine. Please see the following photos as evidence to this claim:


While most of her photos are outstanding, there are a number of Becca's Aussie pics that have been tainted. What could possibly tarnish the beautiful images she put to film? One thing: Becky's awkwardness.

You see, I don't really know how to handle pictures by myself. I feel lost, out of place, silly, and a combination of emotions that result in...photos of me looking ridiculous and awkward. Apparently there is some uniformity to my awkwardness, because I counted 6 difference faces I make in solo pictures. They all differ depending on my mood and the situation, but they do provide a glimpse into what you can expect if you try to freeze me in a moment in time by myself. The faces are as follows:

1. The "you're taking this picture against my will and I'm not happy about it" face

2. The "I don't know what to do so I'm just going to pretend like I don't know you're taking a picture and avoid eye contact" face

3. The "I'm uncomfortable so I'm going to act overly excited by throwing my arms up in the air and/or give a thumbs up paired with a goofy open-mouthed grin" face

4. The "Becca is making me pose like this" face

5. The "I'm too delirious and exhausted so I can't stop you from taking a picture right now" face

6. The "I'm going to try to strike a cute pose, but it's going to end up looking really silly instead" face

All the awkwardness above is just from one 5-month period. Becca kept taking pictures. And I kept supplying ridiculousness. Have I improved at solo pics since Australia? No. Case and point: Becca's birthday party earlier this month...

For all of you who are keeping track, that's face #2: The "I don't know what to do so I'm just going to pretend like I don't know you're taking a picture and avoid eye contact" face

Someone, please, I'm begging you, get in the picture with me.

Save me from myself.