Friday, November 20, 2009

Shared: Lost man drives nine hours to get newspaper

Been there. Upside, he did ask for directions. Eventually.

Lost man drives nine hours to get newspaper

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Not Everything’s Big in Texas: Learning the 2 Step in Houston

With a lit cigarette affixed to the corner of his mouth, he perched on his stool, his legs barely reaching the top rung. He punched the keys on the register and I handed the little person my $5. Knowing what I know about geographical stereotypes, I wondered who let him into Texas.

I followed my cousins into Red River, a slice of authentic Texan nightlife. The twang of country music reverberated around the barn-like venue. A large pole or support beam was in the center of a circular dance floor. The DJ, a man contributing to this, was in a small room high above the two-steppin’ epicenter. A fair amount of people were doing the two step as my cousins sang along from our booth overlooking the floor. With my eyes locked-in on the couples’ feet, I tried to figure out the steps. Some couples spun around quickly, while others mixed in turns and variations. Why is it whenever you’re trying to learn a dance you never see anyone doing the basic?

“Look at that cowboy,” my cousin Emily admiringly remarked while pointing. A tall man with a hat was warming up by dancing around the floor by himself. My cousins also pointed out the other good dancers and I did my best to lift their steps. By this time the dance hall was full-up. I reckon a good 250-300, including some pretty young women that I didn’t ask to dance. It’s the Andrew way.

Emily touted the dirt cheap price of booze at the north Houston hot spot. With credit card in hand, I headed to one of the three bars with her boyfriend. When we returned with a club soda, rum and coke, Bud light and 7&7 (I’ll let you guess which was mine), she asked me the total. She seemed befuddled when I told her the total was $9.50. Coming from Chicago, where I recently spent more than that on one drink in Viagra Triangle—not my scene, I discovered—u was elated.

As our drinks were running low, a waitress walked by asking if we needed another round. Her work attire consisted of the following: jeans and a white button down shirt. She opted to only use two of the buttons near her navel. This exposed what most would deem an ample chest region. Her bright pink push-up bra distracted me from her face. Not sure if she had one. The consensus at the table was D’s. I applaud this girl for the truly creative part of her uniform. Like many of you, I often misplace my pen leaving me sans writing utensil and unable to take down a girl’s number at a club or strike up a game of Tic Tac Toe with strangers on the bus. This girl—I didn’t find a name tag—came up with a solution. Nestle the pen in between your boobs. Brilliant. I tried unsuccessfully when I returned home. I was curious if I paid by credit card where I’d have to swipe.

After she left and I was able to blink again, Emily took me on the floor for a quick lesson. The two step is a lie. It’s really five. Once I got past this, we were steppin’ our way to a cup on Dancing With the Stars. I avoided bumping into anyone for fear of being shot. We returned to our booth and I resumed playing the crowd-pleasing game of “Where’s that waitress?” Later I danced with my cousin Amanda before we all got on the floor for the Cupid Shuffle line dance. I didn’t get a chance to bid adieu to our cocktail waitress.