THIS CIRCUS WE LIVE IN

I never watch the news.

It's depressing and usually boring... or so I thought.

Tonight I heard pieces of the news between hands of Monopoly, and these are the things that have been happening in San Antonio.

1. A siamese cat is cut in half with a saw. (Accompanied by a visual of the top half of his furry bod.)

2. What was thought to be part of a human corpse found in a trash can actually identified as a large squid.

3. A taser-wielding grandma robs a Subway.

PS: Just in case you were wondering, I got Boardwalk.

FOUND NOTE #2

Here's a gem I found at Burnet Middle School--

Weekly Warm Ups:
MONDAY (blank)

TUESDAY (blank)

WEDNESDAY
Tech makes life easier. Computers have changed the way we lived. in what ways has the computer made life better. for working.

THURSDAY
Snoop Dogg likes chicken wings

FRIDAY (blank)

CRAIGSLIST AD: 1,325 POPE HATS

1,325 Pope Hats

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Date: 2009-07-07, 3:17PM MST

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Because of this terrible economy, I'm having to shut down my business. I have OVER 1300 Pope hats (replicas) that I REALLY need to get rid of. The pope hats came from China and are a little too small for most adult heads and are also irritating to the skin, so you would need to have long hair or wear a smaller hat underneath (just like the REAL POPE). Dogs do not like to wear these pope hats, but maybe a large cat or maybe a nice dog would wear one. My dogs will not but they are not very nice and always hate being dressed up like for Halloween when we tried to dress them up like batman but they became very very agitated and bit a neighbors kid. I will lock the dogs up when you come get all of these pope hats.

My wife is a devout catholic and she finds the presence of all of these pope hats all over the house to be blasphemous. I have pope hats in every closet, pope hats under the sing, pope hats full of other pope hats. She will not stop talking to me about getting rid of the pope hats and has started lighting candles all over the house for my soul but these pope hats are extremely flammable so its a problem in my house (there are pope hats everywhere)

I payed 10x what I'm asking for when I bought these pope hats. I still think there is a market for them maybe when the economy turns around. Act NOW! Don't miss this great deal! I have 1,325 total (I counted this morning). 3 of them have some dog bites and one of them is burnt to a crisp, but you can take that one or leave it. Bring 2-3 strong friends.

I'M IN LOVE WITH A JACKRABBIT

So my parents rented a lakehouse in Lago Vista for a month. We also rented a golf cart to take us from the house to the pool/marina. One night, after relaxing in the thermal grotto, my sisters and I rode around on the trails and saw 3 pairs of jackrabbits on what we like to call "bunny date night." After that, we were obsessed.

We would take the golf cart out at night to rabbit hunt. Often we would catch a glimpse of a cotton ball tail scurrying off, but it was never satisfying. We wanted more bunnies. The late night searches were endless.

On the night of my 23rd birthday, on the way home from a party in a castle, my friends and I drove past a stunning jackrabbit. He sat up straight, regal, head held high with his huge ears elegantly perked, one foot bent in a casual manner. He was perched dangerously close to the edge of the road. The driver zoomed by him without touching the brakes, and the rabbit didn't even twitch.

I might've thought he was a statue, but I swear I made eye contact with him, and although his gaze was rather stoic, I detected some warmth. It was like he was mad at me for cheating on the lakehouse with some other place, or he had been waiting for me to come out on the golf cart searching for him and I never showed. The most amazing thing about him was the bone structure of his face. He had high, pronounced cheekbones and a dignified snout. He was really handsome. I went out looking, but I never saw him again. It's strange, but I fell for a jackrabbit.

APOLLO AND THE MIDNIGHT BAKERY

In Ortigia there lives a man known by his many admirers as Apollo (or, on occasion, Hercules). By day we would see him building a platform next to "lo scoglio," a huge rock where the locals go per prendere il sole. By night he lounged in bars, always positioned in a prominent spot from which he could watch and be watched.

One night, the hissable Andrea suggests we drop by Sanrocco (a bar which is straight out of Grease, only with designer bags and lavender pants instead of leather jackets and poodle skirts) to hopefully catch a glimpse of Apollo. We are about to head home when she spots his muscly shoulders over the crowd. He is dancing with some other Italian men, and when we creep by for a closer look, the men whisk Andrea into their dance circle. After a few minutes, she emerges from the crowd, panting, with a red rose hanging from her mouth.

Fast forward a few hours. It's 3:30 am. The Grease bar has closed for the night, and Apollo and his men lead us through tiny winding alleys. They've promised to take us to the famous yet elusive midnight bakery. After about 10 minutes of walking (this island is tiny), I'm convinced that our bodies are going to be used from some obscure Greco-Roman sacrifice ritual. We walk into a dark entryway and are relieved to smell things baking. There are a few men working, unloading fresh loaves of bread from the massive ovens. The owner of the bakery grabs one of the loaves and with what seems like one quick movement slices it open and slathers hot Nutella on it.

The night ended with us sitting in an alley, joking around with Apollo and his men, eating delicious giant Nutella sandwiches. After that night, we saw him very rarely, usually riding through town on his Vespa, but we will always remember that one mystical night with the legend, our night with Apollo.

FOUND NOTE #1

When searching around in my attic, I found this note: super drama, and the UT post-it is priceless.

The text:

"I have some things to ask you
They'll probably strike a nerve
with you but I still
need to know
What were you thinking when
you said you loved him
I'm sure you wosn't(?) it you
just like yo mean it now."

ONE NIGHT STAND DOVE

Last night when Matt finished working for Zingo, I was still up writing, and he's like, "Guess what I found in the park today?"

To explain, this said park is downtown-- one where the hobos sleep at night. (I refuse to disclose the exact location in case it might cause the place to lose it's magic). Matt has gone there several times to kill time while waiting for rides and has always discovered something amazing.

Tonight he says that by the hobo bench there was a dove. As he walked closer and closer to the bench to lay down, the bird didn't budge. Then he reached down to the dove, and it climbed on his hand and he pet it for a while. That's his story anyway.

So I'm like, "asgj!k@$%!, a DOVE?" Yes, apparently it was a real live feathery holy peaceful loving cute-as-fuck dove.

I'm shocked that he didn't call the president or something, like "I deserve a Nobel Prize, I'm cuddling a wild dove." Instead he nonchalantly mentions it to me hours after the fact.

So I plead, "Take me to your dove... and Whataburger sounds good too." We head off to see the elusive bird, and walk into the dimly lit park of all strangeness and mystery. Matt's walking around by the fountain like, "Nope... I don't see it... Oh wait! Here it is. Exactly where I left it." Then he picks it up triumphantly, "See!"

The dove hops off his hand and waddles around on the grass, trudging through sprinklers, and we follow it blissfully, taking turns holding it and petting it. We want to take it home but decide to let it be for the night and come check on it in the morning.

The next day on the way to the park, we pull over on South 1st to get a cardboard box lying in front on Somnio's to put the dove in. An employee is in front of the store talking to Leslie, and when I ask if I can take the box, Leslie turns around and says, "Your boyfriend can have this box!" as he smacks his own ass.

Everything was going so right, but when we got to the park, the dove was no where. I miss Walter so much already. Walter. His name was Walter.

"GETTING RETARDED" IN SICILY

Whilst abroad, there seems to always be that one tourist, or group of tourists, that reminds me why we Americans have the reputation that we do. That group here happens to be from Texas, studying at the same University as my group. When I meet people they say, "Ohhh, you're from Texas." And I quickly clarify, "Not with that group." 

About a week ago I was at a bar with several other girls, and he stumbled up, wearing kaki pants and a light blue polo with the collar popped. 

"How's it goin'?" he bellowed. 

"Is this the first bar y'all have been to tonight?... That sucks! This is like our third one! We've been taking so many shots. It's my birthday. LET'S GET RETARDED!"

He goes on to explain that he's turning 25, so he's getting drunk to forget how "old" he is, to which Lauren responds calmly. "I'm 25." Now people at tables near us are listening in, and they laugh uncontrollably at the exchange. 

Realizing that his efforts are lost after that comment, he leaves saying, "We're gonna have a party at my apartment after this... Well, get drunk for me."

In his defense, this was one of the most quoted conversations of the trip to date. He is like our mascot, in a way. We're always thrilled to see him strolling the picturesque streets of Ortigia, standing out like a true Texan. We pride ourselves on blending in much more, but I'm sure we're just as bad in our own way: a pack of foreign photographers ravaging the town, making the same photographs as everyone else, claiming them as something of our own. 

But at least we're not, you know, getting retarded.

THE JUNGLE IS NOT OBSCENE

VAMPIRES MOSTLY

Last night I went to my friend Willie's house to watch Robo Vampires in the tiki lounge area of the warehouse he lives in.

Basically the movie's about some people trying to ship cocaine in coffins but the corpses react with the coke, becoming cracked out vampires that can only hop like bunnies for some reason.

I kept falling asleep during it, and the only thing weirder than the actual movie is random scenes of it viewed in half-sleep delirium state.

The next morning: woke up to rain & hail, went back to sleep. Woke an hour later to scorching sun.

Saw a vampire biking by-- not a robo cocaine one.

Court's on a plane to Italy. I ate prosciutto in her honor.

TALENT

Today was the talent show at the middle school where I work, and I'm still amazed that 2 of the 9 acts were the dance to stanky leg.

SEGWAYS

I'm waiting on these three people at lunch. They're about in their late 20s and really laid back. They say it is one of the girls' birthdays, so I suggest they have a drink since the cocktails are awesome.

The guy says with a smirk, "I'm not sure if we should. We're going on a segway tour later."

I can't tell if he's serious or not. No one laughs, they just all smile, perhaps ashamedly.

So I say, "Aren't those things basically impossible to crash?"

He says, "Maybe so, but we probably shouldn't push our luck."

FIXING THE ICE HOUSE

This fine afternoon I was eating leftover sushi on my front porch while my roommate and her girl read books. We were all startled when a brightly dressed hobo with a walking stick hollered at us: "Can I borrow a dollar?" 

He seemed annoyed when my roommate and I told him we didn't have any money, and he felt he needed to justify his request. "My debit card stopped working." Disdainfully he added, "You really need to fix that ice house," in reference to the old igloo-like chiminea in our yard. 

Our ice house is just fine, thank you. 

THINGS WE SAID TODAY

I'm talking to a lady sitting alone in the restaurant where I work. She gets a call and says, "Hmmm. 759-.... This number sounds familiar." She picks it up and when I return she says, "It was my ex-husband."

At the middle school, a group of kids come over to my board game table. I ask them what they're going to play, and they say they're going to LARP. I say, "how are you going to LARP inside? I thought that was an outside thing with costumes and fake weapons." One of the boys says, "We'll just talk like this...." (insert Shakespearean voice) "Will you be the eagle or the lion?"

LIL' BOOTS

GOOD FRIDAY

Today we went to see the passion play in Milam Park, San Antonio.

Babies were hoisted on shoulders.

Some women covered their heads.

Others talked on cell phones.

All I could think of was the patients at Santa Rosa who, looking down from their hospital rooms, saw Jesus being beaten in the plaza while the crowd yelled "Matale, Matale." 

A BRIEF TRIP HOME

Court and I come home for a day to find that my mom has installed a pull-up bar in the doorway of the guest bedroom. "This is how we're going to get ripped!" she says, but none of us can do a pull-up.

We go to see a re-enactment of the crucifixion downtown, and it ends up being hilarious. Afterward we debate if Jesus was wearing a wig, and I'm sure he was because his hair looked like it belonged to Farah Fawcett or a go-go dancer.

We agree that San Antonio never gets it right.

We eat at Mi Tierra. We go see the Danville retrospective exhibit at Blue Star. We look for shoes at Nordstrom Rack.

We have an Easter egg hunt, and in my eggs I find $18, a Cadbury egg, and a wind-up owl.

My mom cracks up and says, "At this funeral last week..." She tells us how the man next to her "sounded like a cartoon dog" when he sang the hymns, and she almost lost it during the service.

We go see a dinner play of the works of Shakespeare abridged into an hour and a half. The comedy trio drags me out of my chair to play Ophelia, and my family lets me hang out to dry. I embarrass myself.

SURPRISE

When I was leaving my lunch shift, the stairwell to the parking garage smelled like fresh, tropical pineapple-- a confusing yet pleasant surprise.

At the middle school, we attempted to raffle off an absurdly huge chocolate bunny in a wicker basket. We called out numbers in vain, and by the time we announced a number someone could claim, one of the students had stolen the prize. I laughed about it in the back of the cafeteria as my boss preaches into a microphone, "Whoever took that bunny needs to give it back!"

FORTUNE COOKIE

Good work, good life, good love, good-bye oppression.

Sometimes fortune cookies can be so profound. 

PICK-UP LINE: 3

I'm leaving work, and this dude in a jumpsuit is washing windows with a soapy rag attached to a long pole.

He says, "How you doin' today?"

I say, "Good. How are you?"

He replies, "You sure look good."

Ummm... You look good too?

QUOTES FROM HALCYON

So at Halcyon, there’s some guy in a fake tuxedo t-shirt sitting near me. The girls on either side of him yell instead of talk, and they’re all dressed up in skirts and heels.

First they’re talking about where to get sushi, and I can tell they’re picky eaters. One won’t eat tuna, one won’t eat anything raw, one only orders a certain sushi roll... Boring!

Later on, I hear the tuxedo guy say, “When there’s bottles flowing at Pangaea, I’m not drinking.”

One of the girls shrieks about the bank account her parents still feed money into: “My dad’s like ‘$200 at Nordstroms!?,’ and I’m like, ‘Dad, I have to buy some things.’”

A SPECIFIC SOUTHBY ENCOUNTER

After I get off work at 4:00pm, I want a margarita. Music week is just beginning, so we stroll the streets rather than racing from one event to another (which we’ll be doing for the next few days).

“The one and only” Matt Smith finds a listing online for free margaritas and appetizers very near on West 6th, so we go.

We arrive at Ranch 616, and a waitress with glazed eyes greets us saying, “Are you here for the Kitchen sisters?” We say yes. “Let me get you some margaritas,” she replies.

The patio holds no more than 40 people, and none of them are under the age of 50. We take the only open table, and the cracked out waitress floats over and plants frozen mango margaritas in front of us after calling us “two beauties.”

Soon plates of food start floating around-- shrimp shish kabobs, grilled goat meat, feta taquitos, fried oysters... Pretty much heaven. We ravage the platters every time they come by, grabbing sloppy handfuls of free goodness.

A few people our age show up and ask to join our table since everyone else looks like our grandparents. We inhale margaritas and almost get kicked out because one of our new friends is belligerent.

We never have less than two drinks in front of us, and after we leave, none of our friends can catch up with our level of drunk at 7:00pm.

Miss you, SXSW.

SXSCOTTISHFOLD

SXSW IS THE NEW CHRISTMAS

If you are over the age of 21 and live in Austin, you have probably experienced the magic of SXSW. Hoards of celebrities and out-of-towners always make things more interesting, and the endless party options make for epic mistakes. Free music, free food, free booze everywhere. It’s the cheapest, drunkest week of the year.

I had free BBQ at Latitude one day. Free Lonestar at Emo’s Annex for breakfast. Free Vodka and tea at the highly destructive Pure Volume. Free quesadillas and whiskey at the Parish. Free SoCo at Fader Fort. Free Mellow Mushroom pizza, cookies, Svedka, and Sullivan’s steak (!@#sfhb) at a poolside party. Not to mention bands were playing the entire time (even if they were fake Matchbox 20).

Now I’m offended when I go out. I order something, and I’m like, “This drink is how much? Three dollars? Who do you think you are?” I feel like holding up my arm covered in crappy paper wristbands and glaring at them like, “Don’t these mean anything to you?” Now I’m appalled when the bartender won’t give me two cups filled to the rim with vodka. I’m like, “What’s the problem? Oh, what? There are rules here all of a sudden?”

I have been badly spoiled. But now the gift giving is over, and I sit sour-faced and disdainful of prices and fees.

TERRORIST FLIES

I've never claimed to know a lot about flies, but something strange has been going on. The same two flies have been terrorizing me for the past few days.

When I try to read or write, they perch nearby and stare at me. They always try to land on me when I’m getting read for work. They basically try to spoon with me when I go to sleep, but they don’t want to cuddle with me-- they just want to rub their fly bodies all over me for their own strange enjoyment. Also, one of them growled at me.

Since the person I’m dating seems to be in cahoots with the flies, I called in Courtney. She is a professional fly killer. When she worked in the kitchen at a camp one summer, she killed 500 flies.

She has annihilated two flies in one swat and has even taken out a fly with a hammer. Anything in her hand is a lethal weapon for flies, and I swear, flies from all over the world tremble when her name is mentioned.

Not these bastards. These flies were confident. When Court came at them, they started dive-bombing her, but she got them. She hit one so hard that it got stuck in a hole of the fly swatter.

Don't come around here, flies. Courtney will be waiting.

THE HILL

ITALIAN LUGGAGE CARRIERS

When our train arrived in Prague, we took a cab to the Castle Steps Hotel. The cab got in a minor wreck on the way there and let us out a few blocks from our destination. Those few blocks happened to be up a steep hill on a bumpy cobblestone street.

We groaned about how heavy our bags were and talked about how in Italy, a group of pretty girls would never have to carry their luggage. Right on cue, a tall, handsome guy with a Euro mullet snatches my suitcase from my hands and says, “Hello. What’s your name?”

He was part of an Italian soccer team, and within seconds, we were surrounded by a flock of jersey-wearing men, and no one was carrying their own bag anymore.

KONTROLL

A MEAL IN BUDAPEST

When we were staying in a fancy hotel on the main street, Vaci Utca, we would walk down into the grungy subway station in the morning and buy croissants from a dimly lit stand called Princess.

Breakfast for 5 for a couple bucks.

PRAYER TO CHILI'S

Dear Chili's,

Please bless us with an awesome blossom and prepare our hearts for electric lemonades.

Amen.

SUNDAY MORNING

Wake up; Regret drinking obscene amount of jug wine
Check Missed Connections on Craigslist just in case
Finish remaining vanilla soy milk
Make sure pet tarantula is still alive
Feed crickets to feed to tarantula
Clear massive pile of clothes on my bedroom floor
Do about 15 crunches; Lay on ground
Eat leftover breakfast taco
Scavenge for unwanted food belonging to roommates
Briefly contemplate going to Kite Festival
Cut hair a little
Do some ballet to "Pussy Got Ya Hooked;" Pull muscle in leg
Take even-longer-than-usual shower
Read poetry for meeting; Attempt to write paper
Somehow manage to burn chunky chicken noodle soup

TOO HOT

TALL TALES

When I was a kid, I would yell when I saw a daddy long legs or a cockroach. My dad would come in the room and say, “What are you screaming about? That little bug? Where I grew up in Colombia, those were THIS big.”

He would hold his hands four feet apart, and I would envision a dog-sized daddy long legs creeping on my ceiling and a kitten-eating cockroach under my bed.

Over time I convinced myself that those colossal creatures didn’t exist. I laughed at my dad and his tall tales. For a short, naïve while I wasn’t even afraid of bugs.

When I was in high school, the Discovery Channel ruined my life with their 2-hour special on siafu ants. Texas fire ants sucked enough. Now I would have to think about endless chains of big ants destroying everything in their path from trees to people.

Recently I decided that I shouldn’t be afraid of siafu ants. I’m not planning on visiting Africa or tropical Asia anytime too soon, so they can’t tear me to shreds yet...

Then I was informed of something even worse-- the bullet ant. Of course they’re bigger than siafu ants. When they sting you, it feels like you’ve been shot, and the pain lasts for 24 hours.

Guess where they live? Colombia. My dad is taking my family there in 5 months, and I’ll probably get stung in the eye by a bullet ant for ever doubting his stories.

STALKED BY MEATLOAF

It all started with some meatloaf muffins at Wheatsville. Sounds gross, right? They looked disgusting. Even an old lady next to me agreed, and I thought old ladies worshiped meatloaf.

Then I started noticing meatloaf on menus here or there... No reason to panic.

There was stuffed meatloaf on the menu at Freddie's Place, and I'm thinking "Okay meatloaf, you're taking it a little far now."

Yesterday when I went to lunch with my sister, the only special was meatloaf. I like to think I'm frugal, so I usually go for specials. The prices on all the other menu items were absurd, but I didn't want to let meatloaf win.

Today I was at work, and the TV was blaring some show on meatloaf. I was hungover and the adjectives being used made me want to vom.

I'm thinking, "Damnit, meatloaf, what do you want from me? Why are you following me? I used to have neutral feelings for you. I've even defended you when others said you were vile. Now you're really pushing your luck."

If I find a chuck of meatloaf sitting on my bed later, I'm going to punch it in the face.

RUNNING WITH A BUTTERFLY

Today I went for a run. It was sunny out. I was glad I wasn't working. I had a good Siouxie and the Banshees song on my iPod.

All of a sudden a butterfly flies up alongside me and flutters next to me as I run. We had a pretty good stretch together before he flew off to meet his other friends or get some premium nectar or do whatever butterflies do.

Point is, I ran with a butterfly today.

YEAR OF THE BITCH

CLOUDS

Tonight a friend and I took a midnight walk with my twin so she could take pictures peering through people’s windows. We were like stalkers or peeping tom(etta)s.

When we looked up, we noticed that the clouds were racing at a strangely fast pace and they seemed as close as kites.

It reminded me of when Court and I hiked the Inca Trail. Day 3 of the journey, we climbed through the cloud forest. Stair by stair we pulled through white mist, and that night, we slept above the clouds.

"The clouds didn't look like cotton. They didn't even look like clouds." --Townes Van Zandt

TRUE LIFE: OCEANS

I work at a middle school now. We are asking the kids trivia questions in exchange for apple juice. No one can name the 7 continents or 5 oceans of the world.

When someone guesses, “The Mediterranean?” another kid says, “Isn’t that a rock?”

Episode 2. MTV’s True Life: No one in this school knows what the Mediterranean is.

I'M SORRY

I'm sorry I made you smell like fish.

I was just hungry, you know? I though I'd fry some salmon. I'm sorry I used all the butter while I was doing it.

Sorry I filled the house with smoke. Who knew fish skin burns?

I'm sorry my fish was half-undercooked and half burnt and I'm sorry I spilled most of the lemon pepper seasoning on it. I'm also sorry that I probably won't clean the frying pan.

I'll never cook again.

RECEIPT OF THE BEAST

On this sunny, fine day, I go to Fresh Plus to get a kombucha to curb my hunger during work. As I’m paying the cashier says, “Oh no!” I think my card is declined, but then he says, “Your total is the mark of the beast.”

I look at the receipt, and sure enough... $6.66. “We’re big into numerology here,” he jokes. “I hope nothing bad happens to you.”

He hands me the receipt, and I say thank you and ensure him that I’ll dispose of it immediately. “Yes,” he replies. “Burn it!”

Then I continue my day as an accomplice to the Antichrist.

INFANT BOTULISM

Infants under the age of 1 should not be fed honey, or they might be poisoned with infant botulism, which causes their muscles to go limp and sometimes makes them unable to breathe. Too bad honey is delicious. Take that, babies!

Hillary: 2, Babies: 0

BURRITO TRASH BABY

I’m on the phone with my little sis, and she tells me she saw a newspaper story that went like this:

Police found an infant in the trashcan at a local Wal-mart. Upon further inspection, they discovered it was a burrito.

This proves two things.

1) Burritos are so delicious that people would assume that a baby was thrown away before suspecting that someone would discard a whole burrito.

2) Babies are gross.
I mean, something that is a look-alike for a smushy old burrito in a trashcan can’t possibly be cute.

Hillary: 1, Babies: 0

BITCHES DO

TRUE LIFE: GARGOYLES

Court & I find ourselves on a bus with our little sister, Emily, and her all-girl Catholic school’s soccer team.

We hear a clip of a conversation: “Seriously, I like don’t even know what a gargoyle is.”

Emily interjects that these girls had this same conversation last week, which was resolved when another girl offered a completely incorrect definition of a gargoyle.

Emily tries to intervene: “Wait. That’s not what a gargoyle is...” But ear-piercing volumes of gossip drown out any intelligent word.

Episode 1. MTV’s True Life: No one on this bus knows what a gargoyle is.

SMASH MOUTH

Really?

PRESENTS FROM THE CATS

Tomorrow is my mom’s 50th. My twin & I go home to celebrate, and when we arrive, we are met by our little sister and a dead bird on its back on the kitchen counter. It’s a little sparrow still in perfect condition, perched as if it had instantaneously frozen and fallen off a tree branch.

My little sister said she found it in the cats' bed outside and didn’t know what to do with it. “Don’t you think it will upset Madre?” I ask. My sisters agree it will, but then we get distracted.

Our mom enters with a bag full of gifts from a day of teaching two-year-olds. She gasps when she sees the sparrow. We tell her it probably just had a heart attack, even though Em found it in the cats' bed.

Madre strokes the lifeless feathers, and Courtney jokes that Emily wants to dress it up and play with it. Em says, “No! I wanted to put it in a jar... with...”

Me: Formaldehyde?
Court: Resin?

My mom interjects, “Take it outside and bury it! Stop prolonging its...”

Me: Its what? (it’s already dead)
Court: Journey down the River Styx?

Madre: Bury it, Emily! You can’t dress it up and play with it.

SHOPPING LIST

IMAGINARY SNOW DAY

Today I call my mom. She says, “Brrr, it’s cold,” and I tell her how I’ve changed outfits 3 times already to keep up with the impending and unbearable coldness. At that she says that it’s supposed to freeze tonight and flood tomorrow, followed by the frantic statement, “I’m going to HEB right now to buy toilet paper!”

At first I secretly laugh at her overdone sense of planning, but then I realize that we’re almost out of toilet paper in my house as well. “Wouldn’t want to be stranded at home all day without any,” she says. “Oh my god, she’s right,” I think.

My friend and I make an emergency trip to the grocery store, and soon I find myself buying the “essentials” a la Y2K. “In case I get snowed in tomorrow...” This thought precedes my purchase of chips and salsa, squash, ginger root (for tea), brownie mix, and enough chicken and sour cream to make a small feast of chicken paprikash.

I come home and tell my roommate, “Don’t worry about tomorrow-- I have whiskey. When we get snowed in, we can drink Irish coffees and eat brownies.” I know that I’m not leaving the house tomorrow, no matter what the weather. It’s set in my mind that the whole world will be covered in a sheet of ice-- plus, I already have all the supplies.

SHOOT HER

AUSTIN VS. GUAJIRA

So yesterday my dad and I are talking. I’m laughing about how my degree from UT and job experience in several fields can’t even get me hired at a coffee shop in Austin right now.

He says it’s a bad time in the job market, and it was the same way when he graduated. He emigrated from Colombia when he got accepted into UT and earned a degree in engineering, even though he barely spoke English at first.

He tells me that his only job offer upon graduation was from Exxon. That doesn’t sound so bad, but then he explains that they wanted to put him in a region of Colombia called Guajira. He had been there before and knew that it was the kind of place to get yourself killed.

He said that the people who live there walk around almost naked, wearing a sort of smock. They barely have any possessions and live in a hut if they’re lucky, but they all carry machine guns.

They block off whole regions, hired by guerillas to protect secret cocaine factories and airstrips for illegal shipments. My dad said that once, the Colombian government discovered an airfield in Gaujira that could land 747s. The only other airport in Colombia with that capacity was the El Dorado International in Bogota.

I feel a little better about things because at least I’m not dying... or I feel worse... because I’m rotting away in coffee shops rather than dodging bullets in the Colombian desert.

THE CULT CHANNEL

THE FRENCH TOAST CHANNEL

It was hard enough to get dinner after 9pm in Prague, so we spent most our nights watching TV in our hotel room. There was one channel that blew our minds; I still think about it and wonder. It was a cartoon that must’ve aired 24 hours because it was always on. The background was plain, and a brown square that we came to call “the French toast” wandered around mumbling and sometimes singing.

There were no other characters-- just an occasional low, rumbling voice that would talk to the French toast. Sometimes the voice would chant the same word over and over. The French toast seemed terrified whenever this voice spoke.

Maybe the French toast was having a bad trip. He walked around in a trance and sometimes got scared and huddled in the corner of the screen, shaking. Now and then a prop would enter the screen, like a conveyor belt full of evenly spaced teacups. The toast would wonder what these things were and then he might go back to pacing or stare through the screen in silence.

Some friends who were backpacking through Europe visited us in Budapest, and we asked them if they’d seen the French toast channel yet. They scoffed at the idea of a channel dedicated to a piece of toast that barely spoke and never really did anything.

We would say, “Where are you going? Prague? Watch for the French toast channel!” Our last stop before we flew back to the US was Frankfurt, and after watching Predator badly dubbed over with German, we flipped the channel and found ourselves face to face with the French toast. We called our friends and said, “We’ve found the toast channel! It’s here, in Frankfurt!” They laugh and say, “Yeah right, French toast channel... We’ll have to see it to believe it.”

DINNER

A MEAL IN PRAGUE

When my family went to Hungary to visit my father’s homeland, we stopped for a few days in nearby cities. One of the most memorable places was Prague. My first meal was an entire duck and my little sister had an entire fish-- eyes and all. Tourists passing by did double takes at our plates, and at the end of the meal, the pile of bones I had cleaned made me feel like the queen of carnage.

STRANGE SIGHTINGS: EXOTIC BIRDS

Next begin the sightings of exotic birds.

Months ago, I was home for a visit standing in the kitchen with my parents when my mom yells, “there’s a stork in our yard!” We crane our necks looking out the window and see nothing. A minute later, something blue/gray in the backyard catches my eye. We bust out the back door and stand still, face to face with a blue heron. The bird is almost as tall as any of us, and after a few moments of eye contact, it flies away. I can almost feel the repercussion of its massive wings flapping away with its bamboo legs in tow.

Then the incidents start happening more frequently.

I try to sleep one morning and all I can hear is banging outside. I think it’s construction, but when I look out the window, I see nothing. About 30 minutes later I realize that the sound is very near. I unlock and unbolt the door in my bedroom connecting to a breezeway to find an exotic bird not two feet away, staring me down. It is about a foot tall with a black ring around its neck. Its wings are yellow, and its head is neon orange. It had been banging back and forth between the screen walls for over an hour. We look at each other in silence for a minute, and then it flies away through the screen door that has been open all along.

Soon after, my twin and I are walking home from class. As we pass a big frat house, I point out a large flock of brown birds in the trees. Just then two vibrant orange-ish red birds pop out. They're tiny things, solid colored with beady black eyes. They fly up on a tree branch and peer down at us as we pass.

A couple weeks later I’m walking in Zilker Park. I’m about to cross Lamar when I see three neon green parakeets playing among a flock of crows. My friend laughs and asks how it is that I always sight those kinds of things.

Then I go to San Antonio for Christmas. My mom is driving somewhere with me and I start to tell her about how among some crows I saw... She turns to me and says, “I saw some parrots too.”

CHRISTMAS: PART 2

We go to the movies and eat obscene amounts of popcorn-- the most constant tradition in my family.

My mom gives me a glittery thong.

Then we decide we also need to rent a movie. After much searching for the right one, my dad storms out of the video rental store because they asked him to pay late fees. (the usual).

My sis offers to do the dinner dishes, then hits her leg on the table and pretends to be injured to avoid the task.

Hanson Christmas is playing, and it’s sadly the only Christmas music I think I can bear. My little sister claims that she looks just like Zac Hanson, and simultaneously as my mom insists, “it’s not true,” I shriek, “it’s true!”

We sisters decide that we will dress up as Hanson next Halloween, and my mom informs us that she had the same idea in the heyday of Hanson and admits that my sister is a deadringer.

PICK-UP LINE: 2

Cowboy's Dancehall,
2004

PICK-UP LINE: 1

HEB, 2007

CHRISTMAS: PART 1

My dad’s side of the family is the type that loves Olive Garden, and although we’ve had many dinners with them at the Italian version of Chilis, my parents make us try a different place this year.

Out of nowhere, my grandma says I look like Loreli, a siren who caused ships to wreck into rocks when they were about to cross the German border. My dad informs me that she wants to sing, and she serenades me with a song in German, presumably related to Loreli.

The younger family members come back to our house to play the New York Times caption game and drink wine. My cousin’s spouse insists that my grandma was drunk, and when we mention that she was drinking tea, he says, “Well, she felt my butt on the way out.”

Later my grandma forwards me the Lorelei song with a preface in Hungarian even though I don’t speak the language.

TRASHY FRIDAY NIGHT

STRANGE SIGHTINGS: PRAYING MANTISES

I'm at a bar after the Ratatat show in Austin, and I feel something fall into my hair. I grab at my braided pigtails to pull out what I presume to be a leaf, and stare at the strange object in my hand until my eyes come to focus on its thin, bony arms wrapping around my finger. I drop it on the ground in horror and realize that it’s a huge praying mantis.

Next, I come home to find a praying mantis staring at me on the side of my house. He is leaning back, very regal, wrist bend, claw dangling, judgmental in his gaze. I mention to the friend with me the strangeness of seeing two praying mantises, and he says it’s no big deal.

I’m at a party before Girl Talk, and as I grab an unopened pack of hotdogs, I see a little green speck-- a baby praying mantis-- crawling on the wrapper. He crawls on my arm for a while and spends more time with me than anyone else there.

My friend shows up to my house to help me work on a shotlist for my new film and bears a plastic praying mantis figurine that he said he found in the street in front of my house.

Finally, some friends and I stroll along the few blocks of concentrated Christmas lights in Hyde Park. In the front yard of the last house there is a massive metallic praying mantis, one story tall. His limbs are angular, and his eyes are glowing bulbs. I wait for the king of all mantises to tell me something, but he just gawks at me, so I just walk away, unsure of my role in the mantis community.

THE BEGINNING

We took the name for this blog from the biography of June and Jennifer Gibbons. Speech impediments and petty crimes aside, we have always created strange stories, starting as kids playing with dolls to the films and photos we compose today.

This blog is a sort of journal for these thoughts and a venue for the uncanny connection that is shared by twins.