Panic at Whaley Central

When anything exciting/tragic happens amongst the Whaley Clan, what follows next is two days of calling, texting, and reiterating what everyone already knows among five separate phones.

Tuesday night at work, I got bored and checked my phone to find a text from Mom: Maura is about to pierce her lip and I'm on a bus home from Dallas. STOP HER!

Next text from Mom: Too late.

Goody. My seventeen year old sister, who has to go back to high school next fall, has taken it upon herself to let a friend pierce her lip (a "summer piercing," if you will) with what might not have been a clean needle, and if taken out, will reveal a gaping hole in her face. Awesome.

So after taking my confusion and frustration out on my poor mother, of course I have to text Maura's friends to get the scoop, and then text older sister to fill her in on the situation.

Alyssa: Wait. What?

Day two, I am giddy with anticipation to call Dad up and hear his side of the story. How will he react to this? What clever sort of punishment will he come up with for our younger sister's nonchalant behavior? When I can't get ahold of him at his taxidermy shop, I call Alyssa to hear the story. Alyssa tells me...

Dad said, "Well, it's your lip!"

WHAAAATTTT!!!??? Where was the blood shed? Where was the anger from Dad and the fear that should have been Maura's? Where was the Dad that I grew up with? If Alyssa or I would have come home with a stud in our lip, Dad would have surely been so angry, he would have not been able to speak; getting so enraged with fury he would have stumbled over his words, standing in the middle of the room, stumbling physically as well, hands gesturing fervently, saliva and bits of snuff flying, and once he found the words, would only take breaks from the speech to retrieve his spit-cup and get a breath of regroup in order to continue the reaming.

Alyssa and I both concluded that this new Dad and his reaction was a disappointment. But while Dad's new approach is a let down to Alyss and I, he does have a point. It's Maura's own stupid lip and she can do with it whatever she wants. Dad might have become a little lax over the twenty-seven years of child rearing, but he's still got it.

Here's to Dads everywhere for putting up with seventeen year olds and their what-have-yous.

Mowa de lawn

I don't work out. I would love nothing more than to work out; the idea in itself is fabulous. Why wouldn't I want to work up a sweat and lose a couple of pounds? I just can't bring myself to put on running shoes and do anything about anything.

There are a few things that I do to keep myself in semi-decent shape: pouring two pitchers at once behind the bar, sweeping the drive with a vigor that can only be compared to extreme anger, running my mouth, and mowing the lawn. Quickly. Quickly, but with great care. And I don't know what it is about a woman mowing the lawn that drives men to ogling, but they do. Ogle. Driving by my house at a turtle's pace, hanging out the window, sometimes three or four of them grouped together like wild dogs, ogling anything and everything with breasts and a lawn mower.

I guess.

What is it about this activity that is so awe-inspiring to men? Passers-by on foot stop to ask me if I'll do theirs next; beer in one hand, tiny lap dog leashed on the other, laughing, "hur hur hur." Or stop to offer up advice from across the street: "you gotta lift the blade off that grass and it'll start right back up agin!" Thanks.

Of course, it might be the get-up I chose for this chore. Every good lawn maintenance person knows that jeans are ideal for push-mowing, but given the ridiculous heat that Texas provides, one must improvise. My choice ensemble consists of the smallest track shorts in the world, accompanied by tall football socks, tank top, and doo-rag.

Roommate, watching me dress from the doorway: "Um, where are you going?"

Me, putting on shades: "To mow. The lawn."

I just wish my push mower had a cup holder. Or rather, this lovely redneck to push me along with his four wheeler, so it would be like I had my own riding mower. But then, I wouldn't get much exercise.

Adventures in Austin

Finally went out to Buda/Driftwood area to the Salt Lick. Apparently this is some kind of rite of passage in Austin. You tell people you've never been and they're all: "YOU'VE NEVER BEEN TO SALT LICK!? OMG!" And when you get back into town and tell people you finally went, they're all, "County Line is better."

They. What do they know.

They talk a lot. -Pulp Fiction.

So friend Amanda and I head out there; BYOB and BBQ in the country, how could this get any better? How could it get any worse?

Texas State Graduation. That's how. One hundred thousand people later, we found a parking spot and made our way through the sea of Bearcats to the hostess stand where the poor girl tells us that we're probably going to be in line for the rest of our lives.

To Go BBQ it is! Waiting in line to place our order, we meet some nice bikers from the city and share some of our beers with them. Slowly the graduates began to disperse, preceded by family and tons of gifts; one guy Amanda spots is carrying a huge plasma screen monitor for his MacBook. "Wow," she says, "that's a pretty good haul for graduation!" Then sees another graduate, carrying a pop-up version of Dr. Seuss' Oh The Places You'll Go!

Amanda, "Wow, she didn't come out as well."

The ambiance was magnificent: beautiful evening outside, the meal was terrific (biker friend: "these girls aren't vegetarians"), and peacocks singing in the background. I don't know if any of you have actually heard a peacock "sing," but I wouldn't call it singing so much as yelling. So, strike that, peacocks were yelling in the background. Altogether made for a really nice night. So nice that I decided to break out the camera and snap a few memorable shots.

My camera has been in some form of Mandarin (or Wingdings for all I know) ever since some jackass got ahold of it at some bar and decided to make my photographic life a misery. Back to me, a year later, and it has some strange (foreign) message on the display (due to some other drunken jackass, no doubt). A message that as much as I try to know Mandarin, can NOT decipher. "That's it," I tell Amanda. "I'm going to put this thing back into English."

Now: BYOB, BBQ, and determination. Which apparently is a recipe for success. But only after I manage to turn camera into black and white, which actually made for some really great photos.

Amanda and me. Post face-stuffing.

Some of the graduates had a little too much fun.

Back in Austin, we meet up with some friends for Rocky Horror Picture Show at the Alamo Drafthouse. If you've never seen RHPS (which I have not) or ever been to the Alamo's reenactment/singalong, you have to get a big red lipsticked "V" for Virgin on your forehead. Have to, you don't have to do anything. In fact, I opted "no V for me," despite my friend's upheavals. Screw that, I know how hard lipstick is to get off.

I really had no idea of what to expect. I had heard this was THE Cult Classic and I knew it was a musical, thats it. I did NOT know that it was going to be a gay pride parade of insanity. One of the more eye-opening experiences of my life. Talk about a following, too. These actors are dedicated, to say the least. I think there was only one point throughout the movie that I was uncomfortable, and thats indebted to my conservative upbringing. While I missed out on a lot of the film due to super-fans yelling out the tag lines and ad-libbing, what I did catch was hilarious and I can't wait to watch it again, maybe this time in the comfort of my own home and where water can't be thrown on me.

Clinton and Cory, who were brave enough to admit their first timedness, had to get up in front and pledge their virginity with one hand on nethers.

Clinton, getting camera shy?

Participating in some gay activities. Pretty good stuff.

How's this for irony? Clinton and I just recently broke up (yes, he's "Dumbass") and were asked to participate in the wedding scene. I am right at home. Thanks, One Act Play.

Thanks, Austin.

Living Single... Remember that show?

While I am good at being a pretty badass girlfriend, I also enjoy the crap out of being single. Most times, I get all bent out of shape when people come up in my space and wreak havoc on my house; i.e.: Hurricane Kerley. The Kerley's come in for a day or two and what happens in the next twenty-four or so hours can only be described as complete chaos. Bella destroying everything in her path, with little disregard of early edition books, Kerley posted up on the couch, drinking all the beer in my fridge (and not recycling), and Alyssa rearranging the furniture in my room to accommodate her preening. And me, beside myself with anal retentive disorder. Alyssa often times has to remind me that this is life and I need to calm my ass down. So it goes. *

And when I start dating someone new, its hard for me to remember that I am not the only person on this planet and that its okay if he leaves his glass on my coffee table and leaves without putting it away, or if he leaves a jacket behind one day. These things are commonplace and this is real life.

But I would rather no one be in my space, wrecking things and not cleaning them up. I would rather be by myself, dancing around the house in my wife beater and unders to "Dirty Diana," and I would rather never have to go to the store in order to provide sustenance for my guests. As we speak, the only things in the fridge that belong to me are a tub of butter, ketchup, two Miller Lites and four leftover chicken McNuggets.

* I love when the Kerley's come to visit me.

announcement. Announcement.

seeing as i consider myself a writer and would love nothing more than to write for the rest of my life and get paid to do it, i have decided that i am going to start capitalizing my letters and trying to punctuate correctly. and maybe even reread and edit my posts before posting.

Starting now.

Thanks and Hook 'em.

I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!

so i had a pretty good weekend...

sunday i awake to no gold ring on my finger. and not the kind of ring that my granny wishes i would get, the one with the university of texas tower on it. i never take this bad boy off, except to sleep. but when i am at someone else's house (reagan and amy's), i usually keep it on during slumber. it takes me a while to realize i don't know where it is, and panic ensues. about as much panic as one can concoct while suffering from a tremendous hangover. jim beam is no friend of mine.

so reagan seems surprisingly dull and relaxed about the whole situation, claiming that she'll find it. eventually. comforting! i have to leave san antonio sans class ring.

meanwhile, one of my dear friends is chewing my ass out (via text, of course) about some silly (he obviously didn't find it that silly) work drama. drama, that i might add, i caused and then fled the city of austin.

texts from sunday: ok dude, i get it. i messed up bad. i'm really sorry. please stop text yelling at me. you're being an ass.

friend: oh you think i'm being an ass!? well based on your recent actions, your evaluation of character means very, very little to me.

i stopped responding after that. what can you say when your evaluation of character has been called out. not much...

sunday night, get home to austin (yes, i was texting and driving) and boyfriend, or for this little story, let's just call him "dumbass," calls me at one a.m. to tell me he thinks "we shouldn't do this anymore."

super! i think that whoever calls you at one o'clock in the morning should stop doing whatever he or she is doing too.

so dumbass goes on to tell me everything i already know about our relationship, and then i politely agree, it is time to go separate ways, and go to bed. only after, of course, i got in my last words with an angry text. something to the effect of: i'm going to make you miserable, you sorry sack of shit. don't quote me on that, though, i might be remembering it wrong.

dumbass is a friend of mine, we've seen each other since and we, hopefully, will continue to be friends. he is leaving the country so it was bound to happen sooner than later. i just really had a huge scene in mind. one where i suddenly pick a huge fight over nothing and scream, "get out of my life! i hate you!" and he leaves for south america, but only after i have driven to the airport in the utmost dramatic fashion to catch him in the terminal before his flight to tell him goodbye and send him off correctly.

when your boyfriend leaves the country, i think its time you start seeing other people.

its just, wow, i hate being a victim. i realize this blog is all about me being a victim, but its pretty rare that i feel sorry for myself. didn't you always hate when you couldn't do something right and someone said, "just do the best you can."

"just do the best you can" is like a victim's war cry. so pathetic.

thousands of pathetic victims are marching along somewhere with their pathetic leader, crying, "WE'RE DOING THE BEST WE CAN!!!"

i'll be there?

i'm what you might call a pleaser, someone who goes out of her way to make people happy, and might happen to make too many promises i can't keep along the way. its a plague, really; to be a peace maker, a people pleaser. it sucks. most days. like this weekend. i had so many things planned for one stinking weekend that i could NOT DO THEM ALL AT ONCE. alyssa says i need a planner. this may be true, since friday i was honestly trying to simultaneously be at an austin city limits taping while being at a housewarming party in san antonio. two very different cities. and all the while trying to see my little sister who was in town at the hyatt across the river.

its hard trying to please everyone. i say, "sure, i would love to do that on wednesday! i'll be there!" then turn around, "wednesday? um... sure! i'd love to make it!"

maura asks me, "why, brynnan? why do you do it? its so easy. just say, 'no, i can't do that, i already have plans. sorry.' " but its too difficult for me to let someone down like that. i actually WANT to do all these things, without causing disappointment for someone else. someone who wants me at their event, or wants to see me and spend time with me. how flattering that people want to be around me! but instead of telling the truth about the matter, i lie and say i can make it, no problem, then get my ass chewed out when i don't make it to where i said i was going.

call me a flake. call me inconsiderate. i call me, a pleaser.

so next time some poor bastard like myself is just trying to please you or someone else and ends up acting whimsy and foolish, remember that he or she is probably just in dire need of a weekly planner. and some gumption.

cinco de mayo

so cinco de mayo came out pretty well. i woke up this morning and thought, "oh man! what am i going to do for cinco de mayo?!" and its already seis de mayo...so...i guess i had fun?

no, seriously. it was a good time. mexican beer, mexican shots, mexican outfit, mexican slurs...

cuartro de mayo was pretty fun too. mikey and i drove around my neighborhood while he threw those little ball poppers of gunpowder at innocent passers-by.

more to come this weekend; reagan and amy are having a house warming party. crawdads and a keg, sure to be fun.

childhood saga, one of many parts.

there are poignant moments from my young lifetime that i have carried with me and recollected many times. just the other day i was telling older sister about one of these pivotal moments in life that now i realize, defines part of who i am.

in kindergarten, we read a wonderful little book entitled "whose mouse are you?"

the narrator asks the little mouse where his family has gone and why he is "nobody's mouse" and he goes on to tell the reader that his mom is trapped in a cage, his dad trapped in the cat, sister ran away, etc, etc. my memory is a little hazy on this (this was twenty years ago) but as i remember, he up and decides to take some initiative and free his mother from the cage, shake his father out of the cat, find his sister and bring her back (word for word, i think. maybe i'm not so hazy after all), etc, etc.

mrs. boatwright, after reading us this lovely story, asked us to illustrate our own version, assigning each of us one page to draw and then later, putting them all together and have our very own (plagiarized) book.

i was assigned the drawing of mouse shaking his dad out of the cat. the hardest page in the freaking book. mouse is shaking cat so violently, there are actually three cats, like how one would illustrate a drunk looking at a cat. three cats.

i know now, and after mom told me later, that teacher gave me this page because she knew i was a good little artist and i could handle it. how little she knew of my obsession with perfection. and how little she knew that this moment in time would stand out in my memory for the rest of my life.

going in to the project, i was positive. this was going to be a stinking walk in the park. hey, i've got the book right in front of me, all i have to do it copy it onto my paper, right?

wrong.

what followed was a compilation of erasures, holes in paper from erasures, tears on stupid cat drawing, and hate. hate for mrs. stupid boatwright for making a poor little girl like myself take on such a dreadful assignment. i could not wait until i got home at 3:30 to tell my dad how mrs. boatwright had treated me like a common factory worker and how my self-worth had been played on so easily.

the drawing had now turned into a massive wreck and resembled how a drunk person would draw a cat if a mouse were shaking it. an utter and complete failure in my mind. i turned it into my teacher, tears welling in my eyes, and disappointment all over my sad little face.

she was awestruck. or at least simulated how an awestruck kindergarten teacher is supposed to react when she knows a child has put her heart and soul into something and feels it has come out wrong. i don't remember much after that, except mom telling me i needn't erase so much because it makes holes in the paper, but i probably came out on top of that terrible situation. especially now when brady tells me he remembers the drawing too and how impressed he was that i could make something like that.

were these people looking at the same drawing?! maybe i didn't ruin it as accurately as i thought i did. who knows.

i do know that when my dad was in first grade, that he had to be sent home for a week because of anxiety issues due to homework. a child? with anxiety issues?

weird.