Also

I have broken out in hives on my face. It doesn't get better than hives on your face, let me tell you.

When life gives you lemons...

I would have traveled around in my happy little Saturn until the end of its days, had the brain surgeon not rear-ended me that fateful rainy day. People always say that everything is bigger in Texas, and it's kind of true. While the rest of the nation downsizes their cars in an attempt to fight rising fuel prices, and to attempt "environmental responsibility" Texas forges on with innumerable gigantic vehicles all over the place. I wasn't hit by a gigantic vehicle, I was hit by a Lexus. A Lexus with a license plate that says "BRAIN." I'd seen this car before, and I have seen it since. Turns out its driver is, not surprisingly, a brain surgeon. Turns out that he also "didn't expect me to turn right away" (into my driveway with my blinker on for a MORE than adequate time beforehand).

In the end, my car was totaled and I had to get another one. I ended up with a 1994 Isuzu Rodeo, which I've enjoyed because it is my first "big car." Also because it's called a Rodeo. Doesn't that sound like a rollicking good time? I sure had a good time at only rodeo I've attended (at the Angola Prison). This car has served me very well, even though I have suffered through a broken air conditioner for nearly two years. I've always thought that my Texas experience would be much better with air conditioning in the car. A friend of a friend at work (whose name is Lovemore which I think is wonderful! But once when we couldn't remember what it was I suggested "Lovegood?" which Drake promptly corrected "LoveWELL, Alta.") anyway, Lovemore fixed my AC! I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's ice-cold, but it is certainly pleasant.

So now I'm waiting in the Lobby of the Pear Tree Inn in San Antonio. Drake and I had to extend our weekend after the car overheated Saturday night. It went like this:

I was shopping, and it wouldn't start. I had noticed that the oil light went on on my way to the shopping center, so I thought I'd set out to find some oil. I looked around the parking lot and ascertained that there was no gas station in the vicinity. As I was glancing around the parking lot, I noticed two men sitting in a truck with sunglasses on. They were slightly conspicuous... windows down, both in shades, sitting facing forward absolutely silent. I walked slowly by the passenger side window, and peered in to see if they seemed friendly one glanced over after I lingered slightly over-long-- "Hi m'aam" and faced forward again. I noticed they were cops, so I asked "Excuse me, do either of you know where I might get a quart of oil?" they looked at each other quietly and I could tell they were communicating with their eyes as to whether or not to talk to me. Finally the driver (he had lots of tattoos) turned to me and said "You're in luck, m'aam because I happen to know a very nice irishman who can help you." This response was enough to encourage me. I felt assured that even if my car didn't start that night, I would at least come away with a good story.

By the way, I never saw these men. That's what I'm supposed to say. They were on some sort of stake out. I thought that seemed like a fun adventure, and I did feel like I was a part of it. They got out of the car to help me out, and to wait for the irishman who was coming over with the oil. I got to hear all kinds of cop-talk about "perps" and such. They were pretty fun, and though I felt like I was unfairly taking them from their stake-out, I was very glad for their help. The irishman was a security officer from Ireland, a great guy and we talked a bit about my irish heritage and about NYC, where he lived for 10 years as an actor. One of the cops bet him that my car would need 6 quarts of oil with the caveat that they would not be "betting in shillings and tuppence like last time."

So here we sit. Apparently, timing belts and thermostats and water pumps can't be found on Sundays, so we extended our trip. Fortunately, the car will be ready at 5pm, which will be just in time for horrible traffic all the way back to Dallas. We will be stopping in West for Kolaches, but other than that who knows what will happen. Drake saw a tumbleweed on the way down here. I'm hoping for a sighting.

Opportunity knocks

I think Drake knows that I mean well. One time, he came home from work--REALLY tired. The kind of tired where you can barely keep your eyes open to brush your teeth. I wasn't tired, hadn't worked as long a day as he had, and I felt kind of guilty about it, frankly. Being the good and sweet wife that I am, I thought I'd try to cheer him. I am nothing if not a purveyor of good cheer! However....all I could see was that it was my perfect opportunity to pants him. I am constantly trying to accomplish this, the perfect pants-ing, and he knows it and thereby is always on guard. Before the perfect pants-ing, I was always trying to stick my finger in my mouth whenever he yawned, or to do the whole "oh! you spilled something on your shirt!" then hit his nose with my finger... OR the *point* "what's that?" and then when he looks steal a particularly crispy french fry or other such delectable morsel from his plate (I still do this one. He is a patient, patient man.)

In any case, I saw my moment and I approached. "Oh, my poor Drake, you had such a long day" I say... then promptly and TOTALLY unexpectedly making my move. Naturally, being the victor in this situation I was filled with glee! What a perfect pants-ing! He never saw it coming! Drake was not as gleeful. Actually, he didn't even laugh. He turned to face me toothbrush hanging from his mouth agog. stone cold. He waited while I (writhing in mirth) calmed myself and said "I just came home from a 12 hour day and I'm exhausted. What could possibly make you think that I would think it was appropriate or funny to pants me."

This is the fundamental difference between us. It serves no reasonable purpose to ask why I think things are funny or appropriate. This is not a matter of reason. This is a matter of the heart. Of my romantic, butcher-florist loving, perfect-opportunity-for-pantsing-seeking heart.

We are beginning to understand one another, my Drake and I. He understands to look the other way when I point at something over his shoulder, but that if he eats one of MY fries, I'll probably cry. And he understands that sometimes, I've got to pants him at inappropriate moments because they are the perfect moments. Never in public though. girl-scouts honor (I was never a girl-scout, but I am honorable) Also never wet willies. never wet.

Is it cliche for a gay florist to moonlight in the Meat Department?

My Drake came home yesterday from far-away North Dakota! I stopped at the Tom Thumb (I still find it funny that there is a very respectable grocery store named "Tom Thumb." What is it with these Southerners and their "Piggly-Wigglies" and "Tom Thumbs?" Where I'm from we have the Price Chopper. Now that's a grocery store. The Price SLAYER!! the Price DESTROYER!! that's what I'm talkin about. We don't buy our groceries from friendly little fairy-tale characters and wood nymphs! We buy them from vicious murderers of prices.... ARGH!!)

So anyway I stopped on the way to the airport at the "Thumbellina" for to get my love a red red rose. It was late-ish, so they called some guy over from the Meat Department to help me in the floral department. I was apprehensive until I met him and, of course, immediately perceived his fabulousness. His fabulousness in spite of his blood-smeared smock. We first determined whether I wanted it tight or loose, which I only found hilarious in retrospect, though he seemed immediately aware of having mis-spoken and quickly pointed out a tight rose versus a loose one. I am, in fact, blissfully unaware of most sexual innuendo unless it is followed by a nudging elbow to the ribs accompanied by raised eye-brows and a sly "ehh? ehhhh.....?" That or a "that's what she said."

We went on to choose a "ribbon treatment" even though I thought it wasn't necessary. He showed me his method for tissue wrapping single flowers and bunches (still blood-smeared, mind you) and pushed me towards a complimentary accent ribbon in a varying color or width. I politely protested, feeling like the sweet, simple gesture of a single red rose might, perhaps, be lost in the tissue and tulle and ribbon treatment. He insisted, though, and who am I to argue? I am certainly NOT one to argue with a butcher/florist.

I was 20 minutes late at the airport. I had anticipated waiting in the bustling baggage carousel area with my single red rose (which, incidentally, matched my new red patent leather flats). I never end up able to recreate the perfect lovely scenarios which I create in my imagination.... instead I found Drake at the baggage carousel and snuck up behind him, worked my way around his right side, pretended to be a stranger and then played the slow-invasion-of personal-space game. I'm quite romantic in my head. In practice, it doesn't come out *exactly* how I planned, but I always mean well.

Moving

How many times do normal people move within a ten year period? Not military people, just normal people my age. Today, ladies and gentleman, at the Dantzler circus I shall attempt to count the number of times and places I've have moved since I left home 10 years ago.

1. (1996) To Skidmore. Howe Rounds- moved in with Michelle in our palacial freshman dorm room.
***I won't count moving back home for the summer. We'll be here all day.****

2. (1997) To my sophmore year dorm-the Tower! What a great move that was. So happy because there was an elevator, and because I was an LS1 tutor I didn't have to move to Moore downtown. What a lucky girl I was.

3. (1998) To Paris! that was a heck of a move, and I remember that I didn't pack until the night before. Ah, to be young again.

4. (1998) To my Junior year dorm. Palamountain? what the heck was the name of that place? Ashley, you lived there. Do you remember?

5. (1999) To the Cabaret Troupe house

6. (1999) Back to Palamountain the next day. I was a big chicken. Ash- yet again, saving the day by helping me move there and back again... ha ha

7. (1999) To Brooklyn for the summer. Spent some time at the twin towers, since that's where Scott (who I was helping move and get organized etc.) worked. I remember looking up until I got dizzy cause I couldn't see the top. I get dizzy in general. Life is overwhelming.

8. (1999) To our senior year apartment. That was such a great place. A carriage house in good old Saratoga Springs. I left my foil ball in the loft of that place. It disappeared between when I left and when Ashley moved in the next fall. I can't imagine that it went to such a lofty place as the previous foil ball which, when it disappeared from my childhood home one day showed up at the Easter pageant as the rock in front of Jesus' tomb.

9. (2000) To Rochester! with Amy. I had no furniture and drove everything I had across the state in my 87 Civic hatchback. (a.k.a. Adobe the Clay Car).

10. (2002) Upstairs in Rochester! This was my first (and only) apartment all by myself (but upstairs from Ali and Kevin). The people who were there over the summer left all sorts of wonderful surprises, including several large tomato plants.

11. (2002, 03, 04, 05) to Ohio Light Opera. I'll only count this once, since usually I had an apartment that I maintained during the summer... usually....

12. (2004) to NYC. I remember driving the truck away from Rochester and crying and crying. You see, this is a year after Drake entered the picture and ruined all of my wonderful plans of living in NYC with Ashley forever. I was still psyched about moving, but it got so complicated! Falling in love with a southern boy would prove to expand this list almost exponentially. I think it may have ended here if it weren't for him. At least until Ashley kicked me out ;)

13. (2004) Moving Drake out. I include this because it was such a horrible freak show, and hands down remains the worst moving experience of my life. We were both in Ohio (which I will only count once, even though I was there 4 times) he couldn't get away to move so I, being the lovely girlfriend that I was volunteered to do it for him. When I arrived, I found that his subletter was using his framed Rigoletto reprint to prop up the window, in addition to having strewn leg wax and kitty litter all over the 20 square feet that was his studio apartment. I will go no further with this story. This is one of the *very* few instances in my life where I became physically angry. I called this girl, found her parents numbers and called them, then called everyone on every bill that she left in the house until I tracked her down. I said relatively nasty things.

14. (2004) To Shreveport. I drove from NYC to Shreveport, stopping only in Memphis to see Graceland. I ended up on a tour group with about 25 Japanese ladies. I think that might be the only way to see Graceland....
When I got out of the car in Shreveport, I literally cried. The air was so hot and heavy that I cried.

15. (2005) To Austin. After another summer in Ohio, I moved in with Drake to finish my DMA at UT. We lived on Jollyville Road, which still cracks me up. Doesn't it make it seem like we're in Santa Land or something? The apartment was great, but snug for 2 and we got married and decided to move in to a new place that was "ours"...

16. (2006) Down the street. This has been a great place, we live on the Greenbelt, so often there several deer outside our patio in the morning. We really enjoyed living here in the fall right after we got married, but Drake got the job in Iowa and it hasn't been a whole lot of fun being here by myself. It's supposed to be "our" house! so I'm packing up and leaving a little early- moving everything into storage until we figure out what comes next.

17. (2007) ????

Faster Faster KILL KILL KILL!!

While Ms. Amy was in town visiting, we decided to do some distinctly "Austin" things. We ate lots of Mexican food and we ate lots of BBQ and we went and saw the Texas Roller Girls Roller Derby!!! it was sweet! I think that if I hadn't already knocked out my front tooth once, I would TOTALLY want to try it out. Just FYI-- I would be "trying it out" in an amateur league. These girls are all-pro, and I definitely could not hang.

At this particular roller derby, Austin's "Hell Mary's" were battling Dallas' "Assasination City Special Ops." The Hell Mary's won, but they only played one half of the derby because of a power outage.

Rollerderbies are fun and dangerous. This is on a flat track, people. Which means that when these girls body check each other, one could come flying right into your lap. We sat in the back row because Amy's friend Wendy is pregnant, and we didn't want a rollergirl to accidentally crush her unborn son. There were lots of children there! I think I would have loved this as a child. Though I think I would have been scared when the crowd shouted "Faster Faster Kill Kill Kill."

Everyone in front of us were Special Ops fans and were wearing shirts that said "Don't thump our muff." After some research in the program, I deduced that they were supporting Muff-Thumper (they all have names like this--like cracked-out Bond girls). The t-shirts referred to a website-- helpmichelle.org I thought I'd check it out later--I knew that I'd remember it since her name was Michelle. Like my roomate!
This girl can skate!
She was wrongfully arrested for public intoxication when handing out fliers for their rollerderby and was a victim of horrible police brutality. This is a very upsetting story, and I hope you check it out. There are some links at the bottom of the page where you can send complaints and help her case.

You cannot get away

I never really was one for "school spirit" in the traditional sense. Those faithful readers who attended Worcester Academy with me--you know what I'm talking about. We had mandatory pep-rallies. It was hard to get behind teams made up of relative strangers. Because we were a prep school, we offered a post-graduate year. These basically consisted of really good athletes who already graduated high-school, but who didn't get into their first choice college, or weren't recruited as well as they wanted to be, so they went to prep school to get into a better/more competitive college. This meant our teams were really good! But we didn't know anyone very well. I had school spirit--I loved WA, I'm still their biggest cheerleader AND I know our alma mater and fight song-- "Oskee-wow-wow." Hey. that's what you get when you go to an old-boys' school.

Skidmore, having been an all women's school was also not huge on athletics. A rich alumna endowed the school on the sole premise that when it went co-ed it would never have a football team or a Greek system. Our biggest most winning team was Equestrian. 'nuff said.

Eastman was also difficult to stand behind, athletically.

Texas, on the other hand.....
As many of you know and, even more shockingly, more of you probably don't know, a young man by the name of Vince Young (I LOVE YOU VINCE!) was the Quarterback for the Texas Longhorns the year that I elected to become one myself (a Longhorn, not a quarterback.) That great and shining year ('05) we won the National Championship, and I finally understood school spirit.

***Flashback!*** My first visit to Austin....

me: "Wow, there are a lot of cow faces everywhere."
drake: "You can't be serious. Those are called 'Longhorns'--only the single most
recognizable mascot in college football history."
me: "Well, I just thought they meant Texas."
drake: "They do. That's what the University is called."
me: "That's a little presumptuous, isn't it?"
drake: "This is Texas."

There were other exchanges that I won't organize in the "me: drake:" style. Like when I asked about why all the statues were giving the "hard rock" hand sign, and why the school song was "I've been working on the railroad."

These are things that come with "the cattle worship" (as my mother called it) of being a Longhorn because, after all:
(to the tune of I've Been Working on the Railroad)

The eyes of Texas are upon you,
all the live long day!
The eyes of Texas are upon you,
you cannot get away!
(and now it gets creepier.....)
Do not think you can escape them
At night or early in the morn!
The eyes of Texas are upon you
TILL GABRIEL BLOWS HIS HORN!!!
(This part is in bold, cause everyone yells it and goes crazy and there's an arm motion too (see below) not because it's creepy how Texas will be watching you until the end of time, even when you sleep.)

HOOK 'EM!