you can find me in st. louis

"I sleep fourteen floors over one of the lamest cities in America."

This thought has crossed my mind more than once since moving to St. Louis. Several times really. Granted, I love the snow days; but over the course of my six months here, I've realized how lackluster this town is. Sure, we have Nelly and Chingy and the Worlds Series Champions. What could cancel out such pop culture awesomeness? The harsh reality of living in the Midwest.

Allow me to highlight some experiences I've had on Missouri roadways to paint a better picture:
#1. The speed limit on most major highways averages 55 mph. Anyone from the South (and Texas, for you geographic sticklers) knows this is just unacceptable.
#2. Drivers brake for no apparent reason. At first, I thought it was because they saw a police car...but no, they just slow down.
#3. Within three weeks of moving here, I got a speeding ticket for going 73 in a 55. Fair enough. But then, I had to wait 2 hours in the rain to pay it off.
#4. While driving through Forest Park, a cop pulled up next to me and rolled down his window. He informed me that the speed limit in the park is 25 mph. I was going 30. Then, he added an extraneous "Take it easy out there."

And's that just the driving. The food is a whole 'nother issue.

While we do have some pretty good restaurants, I've been missing some classic eateries found in Dallas that were necessary staples for my ever-changing palate. First of all, when I'm feeling healthy, there is no Cafe Express, Central Market, or Corner Bakery to get my light sandwich and salad fix. There's only Panera, which they have dubbed St. Louis Bread Co. Whatever, tomayto/tomahto, it still costs me $10 to feel skinny.
Second, for my hangover fix, there is no Whataburger. I do not know how I have survived this long without a #6 combo meal with extra gravy. There's also no Burger House, which means no special seasoning that will make your car smell like an armpit but will also stop the vodka from oozing out of your pores. And the kicker? No Sonic or Chik-fil-a within 5 miles of me. W-T-F??
Third, there is no Tex-Mex. I think they're going for MO-Mex here...which must be Spanish for "sucks" because the queso is all wrong and the margaritas have next to no tequila in them. To top it off, we have such pizza establishments as Imo's Pizza. Now, my MO cousins and all of my students swear Imo's is the best stuff ever. Yet, with a product like Provel cheese... I'm still kinda iffy. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Provel_cheese

But maybe I'm bitching too much. After all this complaining, my mind got to thinking that maybe St. Louis wasn't so bad after all. Maybe the problem lies in the fact that I know nothing about the history of the "Gateway to the West." So I have decided to do a little research to find some "Show Me State" fun facts.

Fun Fact #1: At the 1904 World's Fair, Dr Pepper (my favorite soda ever!) was introduced. Also, Richard Blechyden served tea with ice and invented iced tea. At the same World's Fair, the ice cream cone was invented! An ice cream vendor ran out of paper cups and asked a waffle vendor to help by rolling up waffles to hold ice cream.

Fun Fact #2: Missouri ties with Tennessee for the most neighborly state in the union, bordered by 8 states. That just means we're even more land-locked than I thought.

Fun Fact #3: The state animal is the mule. I wasn't shocked. Most of my kids are jackasses. (ha!)

Fun Fact #4: In 1865, Missouri became the first slave state to free its slaves. Interesting, considering the discrimination/segregation still going on in the education system...

Fun Fact #5: The Anheuser-Busch Brewery is the largest beer-producing plant in the nation. Hot.

Okay, okay...so I guess at the end of the day, St. Louis isn't really that bad. Maybe what makes a city is the people you find around you. While I'm surrounded by motivated, selfless people in TFA, they can also be severely lame sometimes. I miss a solid Thursday night throwdown, followed by an even better Friday morning recap. My roommate here doesn't listen to Avril to let me know she's upset. Instead, she yells expletives into her cellphone and then falls silent for the rest of the night. I have yet to meet a girl who likes to bust a move in the middle of a bar as much as we do. I keep laughing when I think about the stage...or the Slip In. It's just a different breed in Missouri.

That must be it then. Dallas is a great city, but it was the people that made it the hands-down, most hedonisitically wonderful city this side of the Mississippi. (ok...maybe second to Vegas.)

Here's my challenge to all you bishes: Come to the Lou and corrupt this city, you debaucherous vixens. (or else I'm gonna die.)

Is he into me? Am I into him? Should I shave my head?--A girl has a right to be confused.

I have a crush. Like a big one. Which isn't shocking, because about 96% of the time I have one--and they are usually pretty outrageous and exaggerated. There was the writer/political scientist/sax player, the "machine gun" lover, the future-pilot, the guy that did the pointing-at-you-with-gun-hands thing, the beatles-wannabe-drummer (oh yeah).

For those of you who have had the underwhelming pleasure of meeting these of-the-moment heart throbs, you know that about 96% of the time, they are less-than-worthy. The life span of an it-guy can be season-long or last the duration of a night at homebar (and of course, late night). But one thing's for sure girl's will pour a lot into these crushes--blood, sweat and tears.

BLOOD (measured in teaspoons)

There will be no anecdotal writing in this section. If you know, you know. If not, it's way worse than you can imagine.

SWEAT (measured in buckets)

Every bish has their it-boy routine. If they are long-termers, chances are you've gotten into some kind of weightloss regime, consisting of a poor attempt at south beach phase one and a daily visit to the treadmill and/or elipitical machines. Signs boasting the phrase "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" are again posted around the room, and some might even reinstate their "chew-and-spit" technique on all foods over 100 calories. Even the skinny bishes might cut down on their Burger House-runs and late night Whata.

TEARS (measured in # of new jeans/purses/earrings/hairstyles girl buys)

It's all fun and games until you are driving around with the bishes (those who can stomach it); Avril's "Slipped Away" screaming from your speakers and your hot tears melting your white chocolate mouse as they pour into your half-empty cup o' TCBY (pronounced Tick-bee). This can last an afternoon, or an entire month (depending on the tolerance of fellow bishes and the intensity of the it-guy's true suckage).

Truly sane girls should want to minimize the excretion (that word is terribly inappropriate) of blood/sweat/tears wasted on guys with little potential. In effort to figure out the male species, many gals (and especially those that find themselves thousands of miles away from their bishes) will turn to the self-help section at their local b&n. So with a steamy grande sugar-free vanilla soy latte in hand, I hit the shelves looking for answers. Is this new it-guy worth it?


STOP #1: HE'S JUST NOT THAT INTO YOU


If I could figure out whether or not he likes me that could help determine whether he is worth the blood/sweat/tears part. If he's into me--work thrice as hard on sweat part. If not--go straight to track 12 on Avril, do not pass go.

After a solid month of light flirting and casual interaction I get as far as Chapter One before I decide this book is entirely stupid and not worth my time, or my 10% discount---besides, I have a worn copy at home somewhere, I had flipped through during the last few seriously-serious crushes.

"Chapter One: he's just not that into you if he's not asking you out
Because if he likes you, trust me, he will ask you out

Many women have said to me, "Greg, men run the world." Wow. That makes us sound pretty capable. So tell me, why would you think we could be incapable of something as simple as picking up the phone and asking you out? You seem to think at times that we're "too shy" or we "just got out of something." Let me remind you: Men find it very satisfying to get what they want. (Particularly after a difficult day of running the world.) If we want you, we will find you. If you don't think you gave him enough time to notice you, take the time it took you to notice him and divide it by half."

STOP #2: BE HONEST--YOU'RE NOT THAT IN TO HIM EITHER


Ready to eat some man---because seriously what do they know about my crush, maybe he is just effing shy---I turn to another guy who asks the right question:

"Are You Really into Him?"

Well, I am kind of skeptical of this text because I'm pretty sure I am 96% into this guy, but I decided to read a little:

"Men are jerks. We don't call when we say we will. We lie. We cheat on our wives and our girlfriends. We leave the toilet seat up, and we engage in a host of clichéd behaviors that modern dating guides lay out in obvious terms so you can move on with your lives. Yes, some men are jerks. But you know that because you've dated us. And you're smart enough to know that when a guy doesn't call you, it means he's not that into you."

Er, can't a guy just be shy?!?!...

"But despite your intelligence, you've begun to operate on his terms. And who can blame you? Go on enough bad dates and your hopes of finding love are sure to diminish. You start to make adjustments, taking a realistic and pragmatic approach. You begin to settle. You know that frogs don't turn into princes, so you lower your standards enough until it gets difficult to tell the two apart. Whether out of good old-fashioned horniness, social pressure [combined with the perception that there are no good men left], or simply the dismal dating disappointments you continually face, you've lowered your standards — perhaps without even realizing it. But in doing so, you've forgotten that while he may be showing you that he's not that into you, the truth is you were never really that into him in the first place. Be honest. You were with him while you were waiting for something better to come along. He wasn't that great to begin with but he was better than nothing. Or was he?"

Unfortunately, I kind of place this guy on the "this is what I've been waiting for" shelf.

STOP #3-418

After glancing through several other books teaching me the proper way to stroke his arm or how to have sex like a man, I realized I didn't really give a damn. I like this guy. I like the pace things are going. The next time someone tells me I have to call him and ask him out I would really like to spit on them. I would like to be free from analyzing whether he romantically rubbed my back or if it was more like friendly touching. I want to care less that the Queen Bee of St. Auggie (please, not a title I'd be proud of) hates my guts and wants to jump him. I don't even want to care that I text messaged him this weekend and he didn't respond. But I can't.

I'm into him. Like really into him. And if he's not into me I'm afraid the tears phase might be lengthy---like pull-a-Britney-Shears-lengthy.

Ghost Babies

Three USC film students traveled to Africa and uncovered a story they could not ignore. What they found both disgusted and inspired them.

Imagine living in fear of being abducted by the rebel army.
Imagine praying that today you will not be forced to become a Soldier.
Now imagine that you are seven years old.

Nearly 50,000 Ugandan children suffer like this every day. There are currently over 250,000 child soldiers across the world.

Invisible Children began as a small documentary. Today, it has sparked a movement to include over 2 million people.

See the documentary that has been shown in the halls of Congress and the United Nations, moved 80,000 young people to rally last year alone and inspired a culture of activism and philanthropy among a generation known for neither.

Discover the unseen. www.Invisiblechildren.com

.

Literally, Peace Out.

Snow Day

Isn't it amazing how a simple snow storm can reverse your maturity by 15 years? Earlier today, I found myself galavanting through what looked like an arctic blast. I was jumping into snow banks, throwing snow balls, and yelling and laughing my head off. And when I came back to being 23, I realized I was in the parking lot of my school with my co-workers.

What is it about inclement weather that makes us naturally act like a little kid? Walking in a summer shower. Puddle jumping. Snowball fights. I mean, what's the draw? I know that after the fun is over, I'll just end up looking like wet dog (and maybe smelling like them). Yet, I can't keep myself from wanting to run outside anytime I see rain or snow.

Inclement weather also seems to make me braver/less safe. I just got in from "night sledding." After speeding down a hill over and over, we decided to build a ramp out of snow to see if we could fly over the frozen hay bales protecting us from sliding across the frozen pond in front of us. We succeeded, and almost fell into the pond, but it was awesome.

Even now, I'm anxiously awaiting school to be cancelled tomorrow so I can go sledding again. It probably won't happen, but it's still fun to think about it. Cross your fingers.

Born-again virgin seeks different type of stimulation

Really, it's sad. A year ago I would have laughed at you if you told me I would find myself giddy over one night of conversation with people my age--no keg stands in sight.

I have officially embraced my status as a young professional. I now do galas. Discuss interior design. Exchange cards. Mix and mingle. Join service organizations. And shake hands like a pro.

Now, I just have to figure out a way to move out of my house.

Let me start off by saying that I think my "blog name" is completely inadequate for this outlet, and if someone knows how to change it to something with a little more pizzazz, let me know.

Alright, so I know the whole complaining about airports is probably very passe in the blog world, but this is the first mention of it on "non-sense," so I'm feeling pioneering. On Monday, I ventured to Lambert Airport to head out to Dallas to go do some recruiting. My flight left at 8:55. I left the apartment at 8:00. You know I was never good with punctuality. I had checked in online, so all I needed to do was check my bag and get through security. But after I had gotten rid of my bag, I swiveled around only to see a line that zig-zagged through all of the roped-off lanes and past the ticket counters...it was the most ridiculous line I have ever seen at an airport.

I was close enough to shout out my time concern to woman behind the counter. She told me the line was moving quickly, but, for some reason, I thought she was just trying to appease me. The line was moving, not quickly, but it was moving. By the time I got past the ticket signer and into a security lane, it was about 8:40. I took a breath and tried positively talking to myself (all in my head, of course) about how much can happen in 15 minutes. A quarter of Grey's Anatomy happens in 15 minutes. My students can finish an assignment in 15 minutes. We know what else can happen in 15 minutes (maybe less), but let's be prudent.

I move up to put my stuff in a bin and wouldn't you know...NO BINS. In a frustrated huff, I just started tearing off my two coats, suit jacket, and heels; and I even unpacked my laptop. No sooner had I done this than a security guard yells over that I need to put all of my belongings in a bin. I turned to look at him and gave him a nice combination of a 'no shit'/teacher stare before telling him that "there are NO bins for me to put my belongings IN." The man yelled to one of his cronies that they needed more bins in lane 1. A little man walked over, as if he had something better to do than replenish the bins in lane 1, and hands me a single bin. ONE BIN. Now, anyone who has travelled in the last 5 years would know that one bin is just not gonna cut it. I mean, the dipshit in front of me took THREE bins. THREE! That's the minimum if you're carrying a carry-on, jacket, and laptop. I scoffed at the pure absurdity of this single bin, and glanced down at my watch. 8:48. Damn it. No time. So I just piled everything on top of my laptop and moved it down the lane.

"Ma'am, you cannot have all of your belongin'gs in one bin."
"I know this, but you only gave me ONE BIN."
"Listen lady, I'm just trying to do my job" [hands me another bin]
"I'm just trying to do my job too, and I can't do that job if I miss this flight that leaves in 5 minutes!" [stuffs belongings into second bin]

I hurriedly walked through the metal detector, beep free, and anxiously awaited my bins. Wouldn't you know it...that wench behind the scanner yelled for a bag check. You have GOT TO BE KIDDING ME. I looked at my watch. 8:52. Sweet Jesus.

The rubber-gloved woman before me was delicately moving aside the personal effects of my purse, only to pull out a very small bottle of Germ-X. The same Germ-X, ironically, that Southwest was giving out at Christmas. Even after she found this stowaway liquid, she continued to search my bag. Never in my life have I ever spoken to a stranger this way, but this was too much. I yelled at her to take the "fucking Germ-X and let me get to my flight!!" Shocked, she handed me my purse. I snatched it out of her grubby paw, and took off down the corridor in my 3 inch heels.

I did make it (so I guess the ticket counter lady wasn't totally wrong), but I made it at 8:54. Seriously. Thank God for Southwest being so lax with its boarding policy. Ok, moral of this story, get to the airport on time. If that's not an option, for goodness sake, get yourself three bins.

it was monday today.

okay so i guess i will write on this thing. btw, i am very new to the blog thing, so don't make fun of me.

okay, so today was monday and after the incredibly wonderful weekend i had in dallas with the usual suspects enormo, espi, party n, and butler, it was hard to come back to the wonderfulness that is law school. i know everyone says how wonderful austin is, but frankly it has not charmed me yet. forgive me if i don't like white boys (or girls for that matter) who have dread locks. call me old fashioned.

so i was not having the best of days (had already cried by noon - big surprise) until i got to my torts class. my torts professor is pretty much awesome. he's a teeny 70 year old man who basically knows everything and has written everything there is to know about tort law (i.e. negligence, intentional infliction of emotional distress, battery etc.) he's sharp, witty, funny and is one of those people you know will live to be 120. so today we walk in, and he's got a guitar out. he then proceeds to sing and play for us 2 songs he's written about torts. one was to a jerry jeff walker tune and one was to hank williams. and there were definitely repeated references to lone star beer.

so basically, professor robertson made my day! i hope ya'll thought it was as cute as i did! miss you girls and can't wait to hear the craziness that i know goes on in ya'lls lives!