How a Fireman Saved Me From a Mexican Street Festival

My best fried Carrie celebrated her 29th birthday last night. Woohoo! She is awesome even though she is way more adventurous, fun, and younger than me (though, fiscally she is older, but I act older). She decided to celebrate her party on a rooftop bar downtown.

1. I don't go out after 5pm.
2. I don't go to bars.
3. I don't do downtown (except for the occasional Sunday matinee movie or Cowtown Marathon).

Being as she is my best friend and I wanted to celebrate with her, I had Daddy put the baby to bed and went out to party, address in hand without a clue where I was going.

I found the place rather quickly, but parking was atrocious. They are doing construction downtown, it is farther than my Sundance Square comfort zone, and there was some kind of even at the convention center. After 25 minutes (no joking) of driving around, I realized I had two options: park slightly closer and walk through wandering hookers and drug dealers or park in Sundance and walk the 9 blocks to the bar. I chose the later.

Immediately regretting my choice of cute high heels, I start zig-zagging down streets. I choose to walk next to the Bass Hall because the Cliburn is in town. People who go to the Cliburn don't mug single girls holding red gift boxes with can openers in them. But I get to a fence on one street and there is a small opening in the side. I just need to cross main street and I'll be there, so I pop on through. As I walk through I turn south and walk another block, but realize I've entered some excitement. The further south I walk, the louder the accordion music gets. I look around and see "Fiesta Party Supplies" vendor, a bounce houses, a churro cart, and vans from every Tejano station in the metroplex with music blasting. Another group is selling Spanish rap albums, a table is set up selling t-shirts with Spanish phrases in Gothic script, and a troop of flamenco dancers is running like they are trying to get someone on time. There were many families, but I was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. A lone white girl had somehow snuck into a Cinco de Mayo street festival.

As a started to panic, I realized that at each block, the street was blocked off with rented fencing - none of which had a gap like I had entered. In fact, reflecting, I realize there were people who were guarding the gap I had entered into, but I guess they thought I was working there or something. Why else would a lone gringo in an orange t-shirt want into a go to a Latin street festival? So panicking, I can't get out, and I'm afraid I'm going to get in trouble for breaking into the event. After three blocks of trying every street and seeing that it kept going to the convention center - deathly afraid I would have to walk down the to convention center and wander around there for an exit - I see my knight in shining Fort Worth Fire Department truck.

With desperation in my voice I tell the officer, "I somehow wandered in here and can't get out. Where is an exit?" To which he coyly replies, "We don't know how to get out either. It closes at 10pm, so I figure they'll start letting people out then." We talked a little more and sensing my panic, he offers to walk me to the end of the side street and move the fence for me to get out onto Houston street. Ahhh...sweet freedom.

But still, being on my own, and being the overly cautious ninny I am, I decided that 9 blocks back to my car in the dark (even avoiding the street festival) was a big no-no. So I stayed at the party for all of maybe 45 minutes before heading back to the car.

It was safe the whole way in the dusk and there were throngs of fat old women with toddlers, Asian tourists, and teens in Abercrombie that had been dropped off for the evening.

Back home in time to watch Jon & Kate Plus 8 and get to bed by 9:30 on a holiday night and I got to wish my best friend happy birthday in my own lame way.

A Retrospective of the Week in Pictures

Today, Claire had to get a new swimsuit, complete with infant floatie, sunscreen, swim diaper, and free baby beach ball. The beach ball is her favorite thing ever. It was, of course, free with the purchase of the diapers. That makes her favorite toys of all time: an empty pepsi box, a free beach ball, mom's dirty yard flip flops, and a pacifier (backwards).

I think she rocks the rash guard swimsuit. It is adorable on and protect her from more sun.


I got her a classic swimsuit too. She liked wearing it while rummaging through her dirty laundry. You can see she is testing it for waterproofness with her drool.

The back has a little cut-out which is adorable, but stupid. The swim diaper is going to show. And if you don't have a swim diaper it won't be cute when crypto is floating in your pool.
Earlier this morning I needed to make breakfast while Brad was showering. Bean was rambunctious, so I pulled out her old play mat she is too old for. She loved pushing it around the kitchen and crunching it. Best part? The plastic bag just wipes down with a spritz of Green Spray and a paper towel. How ironic is it that I use paper towels and organic biodegradable cleaners?

Saturday morning Bean woke up at 4:45 for the morning. Even Diesel was pissed she was awake, but he posed before running away in panic.
The reason she was up at 4:45am? She fell asleep on the floor at 6:45pm the night before. She was adorable and would not wake up. Poor thing. Teething is a bitch and the sitter is weaning her morning nap (which Brad declares she still needs).
Bean has also learned how to "spit" her food. It makes a horrible mess and I have to wash my hair afterwards. Brad asked one day, "Is your acne acting up?" No, it was dried splatters of harvest vegetables with whole wheat pasta.

So how was your weekend?

Free Lunch with Move-in

I love signage. Really love it.

There is a storage facility I drive past every day. It is next to "Massage by Val" which is oddly always packed late at night, but deserted during the day hours. Maybe she isn't the happy ending girl; maybe she is just a vampire massage therapist.

The little storage facility isn't a chain. No, "The Best Little Warehouse in Texas" (I so wish I had made that up) is a gate with a vacant lot and a couple of steel building where you can dump your boyfriend's junk when you get pissed at him, park an RV, or I'm pretty sure they will let you hole up an elderly relative there without calling the police.

A new sign popped up outside the warehouse "Free Lunch with Move-in." Since this isn't a nice, climate controlled U-haul facility, I'm thinking they probably aren't handing out $15 Chipotle gift cards. So what exactly does a free lunch get you? Does Merv, the 2nd shifter, hand you a five? Or does he split off half his egg salad sandwich his wife made and share with you? I'm not sure I really want Merv's egg salad. And where is the logic in offering food when you are leasing a storage unit? Wouldn't "one month free" be a more logical offering. Does my salon offer free balance and rotate of my tires when I get a cut & highlight? No. (Although, I'm thinking that would be a great double errand stop)

I will admit the sign certainly has done its job. It has created interest, but I don't think I'm going to be needing a trashy storage unit any time soon, let alone any food Merv is offering.

The Devil Wears Giraffe Footie Jammies

Teething sucks. It sucks worse for Bean, I know, but it sucks for me too. She's been a real hellion. She is fussy, waking up early (I mean 4:30 - 5:00am early), won't nap, puts everything in her mouth, and hates teethers. Seriously? You will eat a piece of dog food, but won't gnaw on a frozen wash cloth or a cold teething ring? And to make matters worse, she is a naturally extremely active baby (if they made infant Adderall she'd be on it!) so she won't sit in my lap or snuggle on the couch or let me hold and comfort her. She's happy if I lay on the floor while she climbs back and forth over my hips splatting onto her face each time. She climbed the whole flight of stairs yesterday (my hands under her butt the whole time) on her 9 month birthday! I'm telling you, she is active.

So this morning she decided to wake up just before 5am for the morning. She fussed and tried to eat shoes then she fussed when I wouldn't let her climb the back of the couch to get the remote controls. After an hour, fed up, I decided to take her to Walmart. She likes going to the store. I was going to keep Bean in her gifaffe jammies, but I needed a little clean up. Walmart doesn't require much, but I did need a face washing, contacts, and my teeth brushed.

I take Bean back to her room (across from my bathroom) and brush my teeth. I check on her and she is eatting a photo album.

I take the album away from her and she comes into the bathroom to eat a magazine, but I'm cleverly hidden the magazine basket in the bathtub behind the shower curtain. She finds it.
Finally, after finding a rouge contact, I look over and she has picked up a brand new roll of toilet paper and thrown it in the toilet. Perfect.

I took her to Walmart and she liked that, but now we are home again. She just woke up from a 20 minute nap and is in here with me eating the Bowflex. She herd the commercial, "In order to get a Bowflex body, you've got to eat a genuine Bowflex." We are working on her listening skills. So how she is riding in her horsie. She really likes it, and smiled for the camera, but is currently screaming like I have her in that stretching machine from the movie "Bloodsport."

I hope these teeth come in soon.

I'm a Trendsetter

It has been a while. Life has been busy. School has been out-of-control busy. Claire has been sick (no swine flu) and Brad threw out his back. He can't do chores and for a while couldn't lift or hold Bean. That sucked.

I've never been one to set trends, but it seems I have now. I absolutely refuse to iron baby clothes. No way. No how. However, a few pair of her shorts have little cuffs that get all wack-jawed in the wash. So I clamp them into place with my flat iron while I'm doing my hair in the morning. I told this to the sitter. Now she flat irons her kids shorts and the little lettuce edges on tanks that roll. I told my fun group of teacher friends. Now they flatten out that funky collar or pant cuff in the bathroom in the morning.

Sweet. I'm the idol of the lazy.