"The Suite"

While there are plenty of contrary opinions out there around the world, as an American, I feel that I have many reasons to be proud of this country. Of course it's not perfect; I'd even go so far as to guess that no country is. Part of what makes a country great is the refusal to accept complacency - to strive for better. One of the areas in which I think that the U.S. generally gets it right is its laws regarding access for the disabled. Ramps, elevators, parking spaces . . . we've got them. As we should.

But American women don't seem to agree about the proper etiquette concerning one of our accommodations for the disabled, a little place my friend Colleen likes to call "The Suite." The Suite is your standard disabled-friendly bathroom stall, the one that is extra roomy, has a bar along the wall, and sometimes even has its own private sink (the real score). How do I know about all of these features? Because I have visited the Suite many times. (I have even visited the Johnny-on-the-Spot Suite, which is certainly not ideal, but still better than the alternative.)

Sometimes, however, I hear other women talk about the Suite like it's off-limits to the fully-abled - at all times. Do they really believe this? And if so, is it true? Maybe I am a bad person for taking advantage of the extra benefits the Suite has to offer. But then, I am not sure I am in the wrong here. If there were someone with a disability standing behind me in line for the restroom and the Suite suddenly became available, of course, OF COURSE, I'd allow said person to move in front of me and use the Suite. But in general, it's not like a parking space. I'm not planning to occupy the Suite all day. And sometimes, the Suite is the only one available.

When you've gotta go, you've gotta go.

Fooling Ourselves

Hey everyone! It's officially turkey day on the East Coast (here in Del Rio, we're still shy approximately five minutes)! I could blog about how I spent all day making pies, but I won't. It was pretty anticlimactic (although, I confess that I did have a little taste of my friend Brenda's famous pumpkin bars just to make sure I didn't screw them up (I didn't - and yum!)). Instead, I thought of the perfect blog topic the other night: why do we fool ourselves?

I'm sure we're all guilty of the occasional white lie every now and then. (Frankly, I don't think I could be friends with someone who didn't engage in this practice once in awhile. It's just human nature and a useful resource for sparing feelings.) But what I really don't get is when we try to trick ourselves into believing something. Don't we know ourselves well enough by this point in life? How could we fall for such a thing?

A simple example of this is my constant need to rationalize what I eat. Oh, food regrets - those are the worst. So, in an effort to assuage the guilt I feel after gorging on some snack or sweet, I'll often try to convince myself that I didn't have a full serving or that it didn't have any calories as the package says because it's Sunday or something. Do I buy these ridiculous excuses? No, not really. But I continue to do it, time and time again.

The ultimate attempt to fool myself, though, is when I insist that I am not, I am NOT falling asleep. Here's what I mean: Often, when I'm snuggled up on the couch at night watching the boob tube, I'll start to doze off. But I'm not willing to throw in the towel yet. Oh no. I will finish, MUST finish whatever pointless thing I'm watching. So here's my genius plan: I will simply rest my eyes for a little while, but not to worry - I will still be able to follow the story, sporting event, what-have-you, by LISTENING.

Has this strategy ever worked? Nope. Not even once. Not when my brother and I stayed up late while we were in high school watching "Zapped Again" (which Scott Baio was evidently too good for) on one of the cheap local cable channels. Not during my first three attempts at getting all of the way through the movie "Fletch" (great movie, but it was like some kind of weird curse - sometime after Fletch told them to "put it on the Underhill's tab," the sandman would pay me a visit). Not when I watched my Ti-Fauxed episode of "Samantha Who?" from the other night. (I would start the episode, fall asleep about five minutes in, wake up at some point after the credits and, INCREDIBLY, try to get through it again - with the same master plan.)

The point? I'm not fooling anyone. But you can't blame me for trying.

Who Says Nothing Happens in Del Rio?

Okay, I admit it. I've said that. Many times. When one of the approximately two decent restaurants in town is dead at prime time on a Saturday night, this necessarily causes me to question what on earth people are doing in Del Rio. (Incidentally, Chili's is always hopping; no, I do not consider that one of the select two, although, relative to its competition from iHop to Pizza Hut, it's certainly passable.)

I've voiced my concern several times to my friends in far sexier places (New York, D.C., Dallas, Austin), and I have to tell you - I love my friends. In times of waning excitement, it's nice to know that my peeps are looking out for me. Case in point: I received a flood of e-mails from my preferentially-located pals yesterday with the following (or a very similar) headline:

‘Bachelor’ winner arrested for unruliness; Mary Delgado was arrested after refusing to leave a Texas bar

http://www.austin360.com/news/content/shared-gen/ap/TV/People_Bachelor_Winner_Arrest.html

"Where could this Texas bar be?" I hear you ask. Well, that's the interesting part. Yes, you can probably gather from the context that, indeed, baby-obsessed Bachelor Bob runner-up and Bachelor Byron winner Mary Delgado was arrested for causing a ruckus at some establishment in Del Rio. Of course, the articles I reviewed fail to mention which bar, which I think is a little fishy. I need to know these things, as I'm clearly missing all of the action in this town. If I had to guess, I would say it was probably the bar in the lakeside "resort" purportedly owned by Byron Velvick, the famed pro bass fisherman (note: I use the term "resort" very loosely). Maybe they got into some kind of heated argument over the lack of spice in the queso.

But there you have it. I guess I have to go eat my words now.

Information That Would Have Been Nice To Know . . . Yesterday

Cat's officially out of the bag. I've got a bun in the oven. I'm a first timer, so it's super exciting for me (even more so for my husband who got all choked up when he saw the swag I got at an "OB Orientation" class at the Air Force Base - I thought that dads couldn't care less about burp cloths and onesies - evidently, I was wrong). So, as a first timer, I immediately went out and bought the latest "What to Expect When You're Expecting" (which, thankfully, no longer features the picture of that matronly lady in a rocking chair on the cover), and a few very generous friends sent me some other helpful books. So rock on - I was equipped with all of the information needed to navigate my nine month journey. Right? Wrong.

Now, for those of you mothers out there, you remember the food aversions and cravings. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any true morning sickness, but the very thought of certain foods made me want to ralph (case in point: broccoli - still can't do it). Naturally, this led me to crave some very tame foods, a sharp contrast to my eclectic tastes in food. And yet, I couldn't just eat bread every day. The baby needed some protein. So guess what I turned to? Cold cuts.

But oh wait - - After dining on tasty turkey and club sandwiches for a good three weeks (but not every day), a friend tells me that she was told NOT to eat cold cuts. Did I see this in any of the pregnancy books I read? Nope. But all it took was one google search, and I confirmed my fear. Deli meats are off limits unless you first heat them to steaming in a microwave (and yeah - no thanks). So deli meats are out. That might have been nice to know . . .

So I was sitting in the waiting room this afternoon for my latest doctor visit, and I decided to peruse one of the mom-to-be magazines. There was this section with letters from readers about the things they did before they knew they weren't supposed to. One woman wrote about her daily deli sandwiches, and I thought to myself, "Wow, that stinks - every day? At least my slip only happened a few times a month." And then I kept reading until I read, "I was craving Greek salads . . ." Oh no! I have been jonesing for Greek salads for three weeks now, and I have been making them at home, complete with feta cheese. Yup, feta is a no-no. As Adam Sandler would say, that is information that would have been nice to know YESTERDAY!

Thankfully, the baby seems to be all right with these minor slip-ups, as he gave me a little high five wave during my ultrasound today.

Night of the Living Puffy

Apparently, Halloween is the second most decorated holiday (behind Christmas, of course). I didn't really notice this in D.C., probably because most of us in our compact townhouses simply didn't have the kind of yard that easily accommodates a faux grave yard or a collection of creepy scarecrows. That kind of decorating takes space.

In my new town of Del Rio, Texas, however, I've seen several houses that seem to take this idea of Halloween decorating seriously. Tombstones, cobwebs, skeletons, spiders, the works. But you know what else has made a rock star showing this year? Halloween-themed puffies.

For those of you not familiar with this technical term, "puffies" are those inflatable yard characters that became popular around Christmas a number of years ago. They started with oversized Santas and Frosties and escalated to rotating snow globes. "Puffies" is the term of endearment given to these characters by my mom, who became a little violent as we passed by a particularly tacky row of houses on the way back from my brother's house one Christmas eve and blurted out, "I can't stand those puffies!!"

I do see her point. The kinds of Christmas decorations I like are the more traditional ones: pretty wreaths and lights on the trees, maybe a few ribbons here and there - not a scene that looks straight out of a North Pole-themed episode of "SpongeBob SquarePants." The worst of the lot, in my opinion, is the Christmas tree puffy, especially in my hometown - in MICHIGAN - where there are evergreens-a-plenty. Really? It never occurred to these people to just string a few lights on the pine trees already in their front yards?

I have to say, though, I am actually enjoying the Halloween puffies. I guess I never considered Halloween decorating to be a big tradition, so it is kind of a nice treat to drive down Main Street and see that house with the sitting scarecrow with a pumpkin head that rotates 360 degrees. He's pretty cool. And I smile every time I see those Casper-like ghosts coming out of a jack-o-lantern.

Puffies - I have to hand it to you. I never thought I'd see the day . . .

Flying the Friendly Skies

This past weekend, my husband and I went to Vermont for a wedding. It was the perfect time to get away, as Vermont gave us a promised taste of fall (my favorite season), which Texas lacks (I'm not even singling Del Rio out this time - Austin presented the same void).

I'm sure it won't surprise you to learn that getting from Del Rio, Texas to Burlington, Vermont is no easy task. No direct flights, that's for sure. Try two connections (i.e., three legs). Good times! Amazingly enough, Del Rio has an airport. Three flights to Houston a day. Just Houston.

So Shawn and I decided to take advantage of the fact that Del Rio has an airport by booking our flights on Continental (for which Houston is a hub). On the way there, it was Del Rio - Houston - Cleveland - Burlington. And you know what? I have to say that Continental is kind of awesome. I recalled flying Continental several times when I lived in Austin, and I never had any issues with that airline. But what Continental offers now, in comparison to other carriers, is seriously impressive. Shawn and I EACH got to check one bag free of charge. And get this - our soft drinks on each of our legs were free, AND we got a lunch on the long leg! It was just a little turkey sub, but still - it was food. And did I mention it was free?

Compare to U.S. Airways, which I flew just a few weeks ago out of San Antonio (keep in mind, this is the same airline on which I foolishly forked over extra money to fly first class at the last minute, only to be served Sun Chips). Oh yes, I handed over the $15 to check my tiny bag. And then I learned (through posters throughout the terminal) that U.S. Airways is NOW offering beverages on its flights starting at $1. Starting at $1? Seems impressive, huh? Oh wait - you mean, $1 for beverages that used to be free? Yes. $1 for a coffee or tea. But if you want water, sorry - that will cost you double.

Hey - I understand that times are tight and that airlines are starting to charge for things that used to be complimentary. But seeing those posters just pissed me off. Hey U.S. Airways - here's a tip: why don't you just admit that you've hit hard times and just tell us that you're sorry you have to charge now? Instead of the "Beverages starting at $1!" like it's some kind of great bargain, why not just put up posters that say this:

"We're sorry to tell you that the soft drinks that used to be complimentary on our flights are now $1 and up. We know it sucks, but we are just trying to stay afloat so that we can afford to get you to your destination. Thank you for flying U.S. Airways."

Or how about this action? At LEAST offer us a glass of water on the flight, for God's sake. Are times really that rough?

A Kiosk Does Not A Coffee Shop Make

Dear Friends -

I am afraid the Del Rio situation is more dire than I initially feared. You have heard me rant about the lack of my favorite chain establishments. No Target - that was bad. No Starbucks - absolutely devastating, particularly since I have practically lived at Starbucks in San Antonio for the last four months (I have even hit several different Starbucks in a single day, as I try not to make a habit out of eating both breakfast and lunch at the same place). I tried to convince myself that being inundated with Starbucks in San Antonio would be enough to carry me through the upcoming Starbucks drought. And anyway, it is true that Starbucks was not quite as enticing this summer, without its Orange Mocha Frappuccino and all (Mint Mocha Chip Frap instead? Isn't that, like, a Christmas drink? I don't get the summer debut). I told myself that surely there were some good local places. I can adapt.

Last week, I went in search of the local places. It began with a search on my iPhone for WiFi locations, as we did not yet have internet at our house. This was much more difficult than I could have possibly imagined. I managed to find only a couple of places that had it. Aside from the T-Mobile store itself, the list was strictly limited to hotels. What did this mean for me? Squatting at the Ramada for four hours. I felt like a damn stowaway, hiding out in their upstairs sitting room at the little desk there. I kept waiting for someone to call me out on the fact that I was not a guest (although I did enjoy their breakfast buffet for two days in a row, just in case I was questioned). I escaped unscathed, but I still felt a little sneaky. Unlike theater hopping in high school, my stealthiness did not come accompanied by the glow of "getting away with it." Instead, I just felt . . . well, sad.

But I was not giving up. I had read months before on a chat site during my internet search of whether a Starbucks would ever make its way to Del Rio that there was some place in the town called "Coffee Now." It's simple. It gets the point across. Local is very often just as good, if not better than the big corporate giant. I was optimistic, especially since the poster had poo-pooed Starbucks and said he was a "loyal Coffee Now patron." So I looked up Coffee Now in Google, found the address, and began my search. Funny thing, though - I went back and forth on the street it was supposed to be on a few times, craning my neck to look at every strip mall I saw. Nope. No Coffee Now. Luckily, the listing I found had a phone number. So I called. You never know how long these things stay in business. A cheerful young woman answered right away. Phew! I asked for the cross streets.

And then I went back along the same road. And then it occurred to me why Coffee Now had escaped my notice. It wasn't a store front. It was a damn kiosk, like those Kodak photo labs in the 80's. There wasn't a seat in sight, not even a couple of folding camping chairs in the parking lot. Instead of Coffee Now, for me this realization was more like "Serenity Now!!!"

Welcome to my nightmare.