Adventures of The Yellow Peril

OXYMORON MORON

I managed to lock myself out of the house today with the TV on and corn boiling on the stove. 

I managed to lock myself out of the house today without my cell phone or shoes.

I traipsed around the garage for about fifteen minutes, cursing my stupidity and trying to find a way back in.  I bent a paper clip on the lock, Inspector Gadget-style, and discovered that I am terrible at picking locks.

I finally left the garage, remembering that a spare key was available up the street at a neighbor's house.  I couldn't remember which neighbor it was, and since I didn't have my cell phone, calling was out of the question.  Again, I was also not wearing shoes and didn't want the entire neighborhood to know that the hick from South Carolina had done gone locked herself out of the effing house for the second time since moving in.

By minute 18, I was standing in front of the house, wondering why anyone would have security rivaling a lockdown at the NSA.  I dropped the F-bomb, loudly and twice.

Then, I remembered that earlier that day, I'd left the front door unlocked.  I'd figured that I'd leave the house to take out the trash and go for a walk, and because the number of locks on this house truly baffles me, I'd done it deliberately to avoid such a situation.  How I managed to forget this minor detail for 21 minutes now escapes me.  I scampered up to the front door, held my breath, turned the knob, and ... voila.  The corn was drying out in the pot, but otherwise still salvagable.  The TV was blaring "My Super Sweet Sixteen," which would have been mildly embarrassing, had I actually needed the neighbors' spare.  I don't need the entire street to know that I have the cultural tastes of a preteen.

In conclusion, I am an idiot.  The only comfort I have is that in 27 years, I have become an idiot with built-in safeguards. 

At least I think.

NEVER AGAIN, ETHIOPIAN

I've had Ethiopian food for the second time in two weeks. 

I've also come to the conclusion that I don't like Ethiopian food.  The spongy bread weirds me out too much.  Also, I can't stop making inappropriate jokes about it.

What bothers me even more is that I have yet to have a really, really quality meal in this city.  JH warned me about this, but I didn't listen.  I was convinced that, by sheer population size, there was fantastic food to be had all over the place.  In the past week, I've had $50 sushi that tasted like rubber, a chicken marsala dish that kind of tasted like the back of an airplane seat, and -- the most egregious offense -- a chicken parmesan sandwich made with -- wait for it -- Diced.  Grilled. Chicken.  Breading on a chicken parm is the glue which holds the entire sandwich -- nay, civiliation -- intact.  Oh, if Hog Island could see me now, I'd be ashamed.  So very ashamed.

The inevitable conclusion of all of these horrendous meals is that it's time to start cooking.  I love catching up with all of my friends, but for reals, I don't like to wake up the next morning from some god awful meal feeling like death.  I miss Whole Foods.  They have them here, but it's not the same.  I miss Central Market.  God, I miss Polvo's (this fantastic Mexican restaurant in Austin that stole my heart two years ago and has yet to give it back).  I didn't even get to say goodbye.  The problem is, I think I'm finally going to have to go through the basement and unpack my kitchen boxes, and I hate unpacking.  Especially when I just have to move again in September (long story about that, but if you know of anyone that's renting out a 2 BR apartment for September with parking and doesn't smell like cat pee, give us a holla).

In other news, I ran possibly the dorkiest 10K on Saturday ever with J and a new Iowa kid that I managed to bully into running with us.  Afterwards, we drank bloody marys and watched the World Cup, and then later that evening I met up with Kanye and Pooky and various other significant others for dinner.  Don't even make me talk about the food at dinner.  I'm too traumatized on the inside. 

CLEANING OUT THE 'FRIDGE

What do you do with 6 slices of stale bread, 2 mushy bananas, and a handful of dried Ranier cherries?

Why, turn it into a bread pudding, of course. 

I am a golden god.

HIT ME AGAIN

We're running another 10K on Saturday.  With 4,000 other legal professionals.  It starts and finishes at a harbor.

Insert lawyers-at-the-bottom-of-the-river joke here.

GENIE IN A BOTTLE

I'm going to start off by telling you that, as I sat in traffic on Tuesday, I thought to myself, "Man, if I had three wishes right now, one of them would be to hear Nick Lachey's 'What's Left of Me.'"  Not my proudest moment, I know.  In fact, it's usually one of those things you'd just keep to yourself.

But then -- but then -- it came on the radio not 5 seconds later.  This development, of course, led me to the logical conclusion that I only have 2 wishes left.  Whoever my genie is, he decided at the absolute worst moment that Tuesday was the day my wishes would begin.  God. Damn. It.

So, ever since then, I've been careful.  I haven't wished for a lot of things that I usually otherwise would, like the ceviche at Cafe Citron to not taste like lime-marinated ass, or that I could be seven feet tall so I could reach that bottle of Grey Goose.  I'll probably use one of my wishes on passing the bar without having to try very hard, seeing as my study habits currently consist mostly of eating really fattening foods and drinking excessively.  They say that the fear of failing the bar prompts you to study like you've never studied before, but for some reason right now the only thing I have going for me is the irresistible urge to go out and sear some ahi tuna or cover my face in the caramel sauce on the French toast at Logan Tavern.

I'm not sure what the last wish would be.  Most likely, it would involve money.  I know, it's incredibly tacky and generic, but hey, as you've clearly seen from the above discussion, a girl's gotta eat.  If I had some sort of system where I had a "minor" wish, like something I could just wish for without having to actually spend one of my two remaining wishes, it would be to have a week like I've just had.  Guys, I had no idea that when I moved here, there'd be some of the best people from Austin here, too.  It's like when the cast of "Friends" went to London.  Same great people, new location, and ample opportunity to mock the British.

For example, tonight I drank caprinhas on J's rooftop and ate Ethiopian food with WG and J.  Sidenote: combined with JH, having J here makes me feel like I have actual family here.  Of course, I had to refrain from making the obvious jokes ("Do they even have food in Ethiopia?"  "What am I getting there?  Beans and tepid water?").  I didn't want to go to hell any faster than I already am, you know.  It turns out that I'm a big fan of the cuisine.  I'm convinced that there's even better Ethiopian food to be had, so I'm going to go to trusty Google to figure that out in the next few days.  I like the concept of eating without silverware, off of one gi-mongous plate lined with spongy bread that everyone else shares with you.  I think I might start doing that all the time.  Except instead of one big plate for everyone, it will just be one big plate...for me.  And spongy bread is great for absorbing sauces, which makes it an excellent medium for me to be carrying around in my day bag.  You know, just in case I run into some mole, or curry, or, gosh, I don't know, some sauce I haven't even heard of yet.

In other news, the Iowa kids are turning out to be good fun, and it's been great hanging out with high school friends again in addition to the Texas people.  I saw a truly horrendous movie this week, "Keeping Up With The Steins."  If you really hate someone that you can't get rid of, buy them a ticket to the movie.  I promise you they'll get the point and leave you alone.  I mean, seriously, you know it's a bad movie when Neil Diamond shows up at the end to sing his rendition of "Hava Nagila," and you get excited.  Even the sight of Jeremy Piven's abs didn't do enough to save this movie, and he has surprisingly good abs. 

And lastly, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to pass the bar.  See above.

DONE AND DONE

So I graduated.  And I'm here now, after driving 1500+ miles.  Here are some highlights:

- I sped through all of Arkansas with promises from my dad of being able to eat Rendezvous barbecue in Memphis, TN.  We pulled into Memphis around 6, found our way to the best dry-rub ribs in the world, only to discover that Rendezvous is closed on Sundays.  And Mondays, thus killing Plan B (staying overnight in Memphis and eating ribs for breakfast).  The Peabody Hotel concierge recommended Blues City Cafe as an acceptable substitute.  The preparation of the ribs -- meat falling off the bone, piping hot -- was fine.  The sauce was, in a word, terrible.  Sticky sweet.  I came to eat ribs, not dessert.

- I fell.  Outside the Metro.  Hard.  So hard, in fact, that I bloodied my left knee, my right shoulder, tore my thumbnail, and scratched my face.  So hard that I stopped two cars full of people, asking the dreaded question, "Are you okay?"  So hard that a woman in her early 60s helped me up, telling me I should be more careful. To answer your question, no.  I'm so not okay.  I'm covered in blood and scratches, and the last vestiges of my dignity left when you decided to stop your car.  Thank you.

- I made friends with some kids from Iowa.  I like hearty Midwestern folk, and they were sitting behind me in my bar review class.  It's not sexy, but it works. 

- I've discovered that this city may be too serious for me.  Case in point: I went to the Memorial Day concert last night, hoping for hoopla about how awesome the USA is.  I was all ready to get my pom on cheering for all things America.  Apparently, Memorial Day here is not that kind of rodeo.  First of all, we couldn't even get to the Iowa friends because security blocked people off walking from one side of grassy knoll to the other.  Therefore, in order to reach our new friends, we had to leave the concert, go around behind the stage, and then re-enter (and get re-cleared through security) in order to get to get where we were going.  Then, once we were in, I found that I had to whisper to speak.  At an outdoor concert.  Why?  Because the jumbotron was showing a video montage about fallen heroes in Iraq.  In all honesty, it was moving.  However, there was one, fleeting, totally insensitive, Seinfeldian part of me that thought, "I left the Laguna Beach marathon on MTV for this?"

- I overheard two people arguing outside the Metro and couldn't decide whether to linger around to hear how the argument would play out or to run for my bloody life.  Here's a snippet: "I'LL TELL YOU SOMETHING ABOUT CRACK.  HE DIDN'T GET KILLED FOR NO CRACK, HE DONE GOT HIMSELF SHOT FOR SOMETHING ELSE."  Two thoughts.  First of all, if you can tell someone else about crack, and someone you know got shot over something besides that, why are you yelling about it in a public place?  Sir, I think you need to get thee to a safe house.  Secondly, is it unsafe, or just inappropriate, for me to be pretending to read this map and texting on my Razr?  Am I a target or an innocent, curious bystander?

- Went to have Moroccan food with Pooky, Pooky's roommate, and my dad.  Throughout dinner, I couldn't decide what was more surreal: my father having dinner with two gay men after dropping "Brokeback" references all weekend ("You know what X's family situation is like?  That scene in Brokeback when the dad takes Ennis to see the guys who'd been beaten up.") or the belly dancer who kept on making uncomfortable suggestive eye contact with our entire table. 

- I keep setting aside things as I unpack them, saying, "Oh, I'll put this here, where I won't forget where it is."  Then I forget where it is.  Right now, I'm looking for copies of my driving records in GA and SC and also the cable that connects my digital camera to my computer.  I have three years' worth of photos to upload, people! 

- I met JH's sweet little grandmother, who is appropriately titled.  A one hour lunch with JH, his brother, and grandmother was probably among the cutest interactions I've seen ever between  people.  The ten-minute conversation about who likes tomatoes was the highlight ("Do you like tomatoes?"  "He likes tomatoes."  "Why won't he eat my tomatoes then?"  "He likes tomatoes, he just doesn't want to eat your tomatoes."  "Eat the tomatoes.").

Okay, I think that's it.  I promise to update more, mainly because underlying all of the things that have been happening to me is bar review, which is just so horrific to even think about that I'm going to procrastinate by posting.  And also cooking.  Maybe I'll even learn how to make cheese.

NOTE TO SELF

Never, ever drink Jager bombs and $1 Tecate and then make my friends drive me to the 'Bana and then pass out while eating beef quesadillas on my bed.

Also, do not wave arms wildly while screaming T's name in the street, causing alarm to other friends who then search the sreets for her.

K?  Thanks.

I FEEL YOU, MAN

I finally found something I have in common with Puerto Rico.  I may have a salary come September, but until then, I wish I knew how to survive on bologna and cereal.

Sadly, I can't live without forme d'ambert and fig spread.  Or crusty bread.  Or seared foie gras. 

WHY MY LIFE IS WEIRD

Text message conversation, 1:45 AM:

Sender (JH): HEB is sold out of good yeast. :-(

Me: Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Sender (JH): That hurts.

Me: No it doesn't.

Sender (JH): I am staring at the shelf like it's a website waiting to refresh.  Alas, I guess that's not how grocery stores work.

Me: Did you ask someone to look in the back?

And scene.

SOULMATE

I was hoping it'd be Steve Buscemi or someone like that, but this will have to do.  I'm no pants, too.