Insane Clown Posse

I love it when people my age jump around and act like fools, so I was thrilled when my BFF, Charlotte,told me that her boytoy could hook us up with free tickets to the Insane Clown Posse concert at the Warehouse on 12/6. Although it was a school night, I thought it was well worth losing a few hours of sleep for.
I got on the internet Sunday night to listen to the ICP Christmas cd. OMG!!! It was the most disgusting thing I had ever heard. I couldn't wait for the concert. This was going to be epic.
As I walked up to the Warehouse to find Juggalette Charlotte, I came close to getting puked on by a rabid, wheelchair-bound ICP fan. Fast thinking saved me from sporting vomit soaked jeans, but my luck wouldn't last. I saw a line full of insane clowns and decided to talk to a few. The first dedicated fans I interviewed were Candace and Gary from Louisiana. They had even driven to Florida last year for an ICP throwdown. They were a lovely couple, and I hope they survived the melee. As I spied a rowdy, drunken group to talk to, a gang of juggalos ran past us, spraying coke/bourbon/? all over us. Better than puke...I guess. Everyone was having a high 'ol time when Boytoy Jay took me inside for the bloodbath. By the time Juggalette Charlotte arrived, the party was in overdrive. I've never seen so many saggy pants in my life. We downed some drinks and tried to blend in.
The opening act looked and sounded like they would probably eat a litter of kittens for Sunday dinner, but Charlotte and I had a good laugh over them and the audience in general.The later it got, the more scared I got. What's a middle-aged school teacher doing in a place like this? I was obviously not in the spirit of the evening, so I got another drink. I attempted to look as high as the rest of the fans, but since I was able to stand upright I knew that wouldn't work. My BFF and I threw our hands in the air and acted as stupid as we could. No one bothered us and all was well.

Jay and Charlotte left to get something to eat, and I had to fend for myself. ICP finally came on stage and the crowd went ape-shit. I kept waiting on the sound of gun fire, but the fans were too drugged-out to bust a cap in anything. I longed for a shower and had seen enough for one night, so I bolted for the exit and prayed I'd make it out alive. On my drive home, I sent Charlotte a text that I had left. About 30 minutes later, that juggalo sent me a text saying that ICP had just gotten on stage and it truly was INSANE! Hahaha-I have no idea who I was watching but it was enough craziness for me. From now on I'll stick to riding the bus. It's safer!

Born To Be Wild

I haven't had a good blog since Buffalo, so I thought the Lone Star Motorcycle Rally in Galveston would make for interesting fodder. Since I don't own a motorcycle, my Jeep sufficed for the journey to biker land. I'm thankful I went while the sun was still high in the sky, because a billion drunken bikers would be too much for me to experience after dark.
My first stop was the NRA tent, where they were running special rally discounts on memberships. Sign me up! Not only did I get a year's membership for a mere $25, I got to pick from a hat, t-shirt or knife for my membership gift. It took me about one second to decide on the kick-ass NRA knife. This will come in handy on my future bus rides. Armed and happy, I continued my walk through the vendors. I stopped to talk to Bill from West Virginia. He was selling custom made hammocks. Every biker deserves a siesta after a long day of beer brawls and blood-lettings. Go to www.wiskybilt.com to get yours today. After many sightings of beautiful bikes and biker outfits, I stopped to talk to Bob of  Howling Helmets in California. He and his dad make custom helmets topped with various dead animals/roadkill. For a mere $2, I had my picture taken wearing a dead fox helmet. There were plenty of varmints to choose from, so email Bob at ajnbob13@aol.com today to order yours. April of Cheeky Chaps was kind enough to model some handmade, styling chaps for me. People are so friendly here. Nothing says happiness like cold beer at noon on a Sunday.  The later it got, the more toothless grins I received from biker prison dudes. I thought Gatorfest had some toothless people, but Lone Star Rally was running a tight second place in the missing teeth race. Still, bikers are so nice that a person could overlook the lack of enamel with these road hogs. While shopping in the Sons of Anarchy tent, I overheard some ex-cons reminiscing about their days as hired killers in Cali. Holy shit! What is a little school marm like myself doing in a place like this? In order to blend in, I bought some skull license plate holders, and nodded my head like I could relate to their Life in the Big House memories, then ran as fast as I could, with NRA knife in hand ,back to the family friendly booths off of The Strand. I think it's time to head back to Houston.

I talked to some more easy riders, and was surprised that these bikers came from all over the USA to party in Galveston. It was truly a sight to behold. I'll go back next year...with reinforcements.

Buffalo: Go Big, or Go Home!

I love an underdog, so it makes sense that I would love Buffalo, New York. I traveled north to a convention on 9/29, and ended up getting a first-class education. When I arrived in the big Buff, it was overcast and about 60 degrees. I checked into the Hyatt, and proceeded to walk down Pearl street to the Pearl St. Brewery. Whenever I travel, of course, I map out the bus/rail/walking routes to all the cool beer joints. Google Earth never quite prepares me for the scary sites I'm about to see. Everything looks pristine from the heavens. Flashback! 1970, downtown Memphis, TN. My walk was through a bombed-out war zone. So sad that I needed some drinks. At the Brewery, my delightful barmaid, Carmen, told me that whatever you do in Buffalo, go big, or go home. At that moment, I fell in love with this tough city.  After I was thoroughly hydrated, I walked back to my hotel along scary-ass Main Street. A couple of blocks into my walk, I spotted a vandal carving something into a tree. A strange man wielding a knife in the second poorest city in the USA...looks like a party, so I stopped to question this criminal. He was Dave the Painter, and he was carving the name of his youngest daughter, Jena, into a sycamore tree. I asked him a stupid question like WHY??? and he said it was like she was there, but wasn't there. These Buffalo natives speak in strange, little snippets, but I told Dave he rocked so he asked me if I wanted my name carved in the tree. HELL YES! Who needs children to achieve immortality when Buffalo Dave can etch your name into a living, breathing part of a city? As I continued my drunken stroll down Main St., I was blessed to meet Buffalo hobo natives, One-Legged, Retarded Jimmy and Mentally Ill Mike. They begged me for $$$ and told me that they loved Buffalo, so I gave this dynamic duo a fiver and took their pictures for my blog. This city just gets better and better.

 Dave the Painter

 One-Legged Jimmy

 Hobo Mike

The next evening I hit a couple of touristy bars and was not impressed, so I asked my Buffalo native bartenders at the Hyatt where I should go for drinks and maybe a tattoo. Richard and Jen highly recommended Elmwood Avenue and Cowpok Tattoos.  So, the next afternoon, after a crack-dealing city bus ride to and fro Niagara Falls, I hopped the #20 bus to Elmwood. I grabbed a beer and some chips for my late lunch, and proceeded to window shop along the avenue as I hunted for Cowpok Tattoos. Once there, Buffalo Donny said he could certainly sear a really righteous buffalo into my lower leg. Sounds good. Once I got back to my hotel, I looked at Donny's masterpiece. It looked more like a chicken wing than a buffalo to me.That's ok since Buffalo is the birthplace of chicken wings. Since then I've been told it looks like a flower, furry squirrel and a pile of dirt. Whatever, because it's the journey, and not necessarily the outcome ,that makes life worth living. And, like they say in The Queen City, go big, or go home!

Texas Gatorfest

Thanks to my Aggie friend, Ashley, I decided to drive out to Anahuac today to partake in the festivities of Gatorfest. Ashley said she thought I should venture out to hell's half acre to see what all the hype was about. Never listen to a pregnant woman. I'm convinced that the fetus just sucks the ability to think rationally out of the mother's brain. I'm lucky to be alive.
It was about 150 degrees, with little shade in sight, when I arrived at the Texas Gatorfest. I was dying of thirst, and felling dizzy, so I decided that an airboat ride would cure me. What a blast! That's the only way to travel on water. On to find a cool drink. I decided to try some alligator nachos with a gallon of water. Now that's the rub. Feeling refreshed, I was drawn to a tent with lots of knives and a couple of sparsely-toothed men. Mike was from Brenham,  and Dan was from Bell County. Mike makes knives out of stone and deer antlers. They were very knowledgeable about primitive weaponry, so I asked Mike if I could put him on my blog. He said he didn't know what that was, but he was certain he didn't have one. After much explanation, and help from semi-computer literate Dan, Mike said, sure, put him on this blog thing. Wait a minute, Obama's not on my blog, is he? I assured Mike that the federales really weren't interested in my blog, yet, so he was safe. On to the Gulf Coast NRA tent. They were selling $5 raffle tickets to win one of three exciting gun packages. The one I bought a ticket for was the home invasion package. My eye was drawn to this bad-ass shotgun that looked like a machine gun. I can't even remember what other firearm was included in this package because I was so enamored with the assault shotgun. Hope I win!
Time for the Great Texas Gator Roundup. I couldn't decide if the old fossil doing the announcing was cajun, or if I was just losing my hearing, but I could barely understand a word he said. But who needs commentary for this stuff. There was a parade of trucks that would drive up to the scales, stop, then the gator killers would jump out and heave their bounty onto the ground from the truck beds. The announcer kept incoherently yapping as the swamp people would show off their kills. What family fun for a Sunday! These people rocked. I want to go on a gator murderfest soon. I think I'll be an Ice Road Trucker during the winter, and a Gator Cowgirl during the summer. Note to self: lose some teeth soon.

Everyone loves a dead gator

The Texas sun was taking a toll on me, so it was time to head back to H-town. I'm looking forward to my first gator hunt.  Still awaiting word of my home invasion package delivery. A big thumbs up the Anahuac, the Gator Capitol of Texas!

Beer, Quail and Chapstick

The hardest labor I wanted to do this Labor Day weekend, was hoisting that full glass of beer to my mouth, and clicking the up/down channel button on my tv remote. All the right college football teams won Saturday, so what to do the rest of the holiday? Duh, drink more beer. What better place to do that than at the Galveston Brewfest at Moody Gardens. Since I am a patriotic American, I felt it was my duty to give back to my community by volunteering to be a pourer at Brewfest.

Galveston was beautiful and packed. Got to Brewfest, and was assigned to work the New Belgium table. I've never been a fan of their beer, but I am now! The Houston rep for New Belgium, Andy, was there explaining to the drunks all about the beer. He moved to Houston two weeks ago from Fort Collins, CO, which is the home of New Belgium Beer. Andy was a cool, laid-back guy. I liked him because he made frequent trips around Brewfest to drink from the other breweries that were represented. I poured; Andy drank. Everyone wanted to ride the cool Fat Tire bicycle. Sorry, it's for looks only. By the end of the evening, Andy told anyone that stumbled by to take a ride around Brewfest on it, and they did. I was surprised, and a little dismayed , that no one was taken out by the Fat Tire Gone Wild trips. Andy was handing out New Belgium chapstick as a promotional item, and I was fascinated that drunk people got super excited over that shit. Hotel Galvez was set up next to New Belgium. They were serving the most heavenly quail I've ever had. Mothership Wit beer, quail and chapstick were the belles of the Brewfest ball. By the time Brewfest ended, the volunteers were as inebriated as the paying customers. Jennifer, the sales and catering executive of The Tremont House and Harbor House, was kind enough to hook me up with a room at The Tremont. The po-po was out in full force, so I thought it was best to stay on the island and continue my partying.

It took forever to get from Moody Gardens to The Tremont, but it was well worth the hassle. The Strand was rockin', and so was harborside. Shouldn't these people be at Sunday night church services? Every place was packed, so I strolled back to The Tremont to enjoy the rest of my island vacation at their bar. The bartender looked to be about 16 years of age, and acted it, also. She had the bar tv on Extreme Home Makeovers, and seemed really into it. I was about to tell this idiot that this was a bar, not a sorority house, when she became a genius, and switched stations to Nancy Grace. Never judge a book by it's blondness.

The Tremont House was a fabulous place to stay, but it was time to head back to reality Monday morning. The valet guys at The Tremont were friendly. Jay told me he had turned 21 this summer, and partied down in the Bahamas at Atlantis. To be 21 one again...what am I thinking? At 21, I probably couldn't have fully appreciated the tasty pairing of New Belgium Beer, Hotel Galvez quail and a hearty smear of chapstick.

                                                 

                                                                                                    Andy the New Belgium Dude

 

Leah the Fat Tire Race Winner

Jay the Valet

Senseless in Seattle

It was sad to see Oregon Brewfest end, but my heart was joyous knowing it will be back again next year. With that in mind, I loaded up the rent-a-Volvo and headed to Washington. I felt like I was back in elementary school since George Washington's silhouette is on all the road signs. At first, I panicked thinking I should be writing my A,B,Cs or something, then I realized it was just post-traumatic stress syndrome and calmed down. The drive to Mount Saint Helens set me on edge again. Memories of it blowing it's lid in May, 1980, came rushing back. The drive to the volcano was scary good, but I believe finding a good therapist back in Houston is in order. I certainly see why Seattle has one of the highest suicide rates in the U.S.A. Where's my xanax?
On to Tacoma, land of the beautiful lattes. One thing I noticed about the Northwest is that every latte I got had the most lovely artistic designs on the top of the foam/milk. With an aestetically pleasing latte in hand, I toured Stadium High School, which is where 10 Things I Hate About You was filmed. I raised my cup to toast Heath and Julia, then broke out singing Can't Take Me Eyes Off Of You. That didn't last long. Security had no appreciation of my public singing skills.
Off to Seattle to look for the crew of Grey's Anatomy. No luck spotting them, but great luck finding cold beer. I was blessed with the company of an old friend, Gale Hermandorfer, that I had not seen in 34 years. Good beer and good conversation; what could be better? We were tossing them back at Pike Brewing Company, which had marvelous food and beer. The original Starbucks is only a couple of blocks north of here, so you can get every kind of buzz on in downtown Seattle.

Goodbye Heath

The next day, Gale and I met for round 2 at Harmon Brewery in Tacoma. More fun and laughs ensued. It must have been the elevation because I can't remember the last time I had this much fun, and fun is what my life is all about. It was sad to leave Washington in my rent-a-Volvo but therapy was calling my name. I will be back for round 3 as soon as I get my xanax refilled.

Dead man in Seattle

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Creepy St. Helens

Keep Portland Weird

Finally, it's time for my summer vacation. I love Portland, Oregon, so I decided to plan my Portland visit around the annual Oregon Brewfest. It's always the last full weekend in July, and this year 78,000 rowdy drunks were in attendance during the four day swigfest. What happens in Oregon, stays in Oregon (and goes on my blog).
I took Metro's Airport Express to IAH and loved it. My bus driver was Joseph, and he's been driving for Metro for over 25 years. He was great. I encourage Houston to hop the bus to the airport next time you leave Space City because Metro is the only way to travel, especially if you have been drinking...
Portland was cool and sunny. I got on the #15 bus to ride to drinks, I mean dinner, and was acosted by The Busdriver from HELL. He screamed at me for not filling my bus- pass out correctly. I was so amazed that anyone screams in Portland, which seems to be Let's Get High City U.S.A., that I rode for 2 blocks then got off. I thanked The Busdriver from HELL for his helpfullness as he continued to yell at me, so I then called him a rude-ass motherfucker and told him he should thank his lucky stars I didn't shank him.

Next morning was the beer brunch and parade where I only talked to shiny, happy people. I loved that the mayor of Portland, Sam What's His Name led the parade of drunks to the waterfront for Brewfest. What a trip! Who doesn't love a parade? Houston needs a brewfest. Everyone was thrilled to be strolling the streets of Portland with beer mugs in hand. Once we got to Brewfest, I was like a kid in a candy store. So many beers, so little time. People came from all over the globe for this experience and it was well worth it. I met many interesting characters, and partook of tons of great brews. I attended Brewfest three days, so I do believe I'm a beer expert now. After Portland, it was time to hit the brewpubs in Tacoma and Seattle. More on that after I've convalesced a couple of days. Remember, when it's time for a beer, like for breakfast or something, think Oregon then drink Oregon!

Thou Shalt Not Covet Beads

What better way to start off the morning of Pride than with a trip to the Kemah farmers market. I road tripped over to Laporte to catch a ride with my friend Charlotte down to Kemah. Hotter than a mofo, but we managed to have more than a few laughs while on this shopping extravaganza. The Ghost of Bob Marley sold us some hippy hats which Charlotte got us the teacher discount for.  My hat and bracelet came to a grand total of $17. I handed the Pride of Jamaica $20, then I had to tell him how much change to give me. Please, kids, stay awake in Math class or this will be you one day. Or... just don't smoke your breakfast before going to work.  We finished the morning with a detailed tour of Laporte. I had no idea there was so much to do there(yawn). Main street was a buzz with Pride fever(not). Still I enjoyed my outing(?) with Charlotte and look forward to our next excursion.
Later I stopped by W2W to be the bead fairy, then off to Empire for an afternoon ,then night, of debauchery. They started my day off with a 2010 Empire Cafe Pride t-shirt and some sort of alcohol filled coffee drink. Wow! 4pm and it's time for a Pride stroll down Westheimer. After my stroll I was back on my Empire bar stool. What to drink now? Tony suggested a dirty martini and I agreed since I like anything with the word dirty in it. Double WOW! I was privileged enough to warrant a seat outside with the Empire Pride crew and their swinging families. Mary, Shannon and Cory all had the coolest moms EVER. Families that Pride together stay together is my motto. Mary's mom, Mary V., told me stories about the Sting concert the night before (thanks a lot Mary). Hopefully I can attend a concert with Mary V. and her friends in the future. Conversing with the Slokars and the Pipers was a great kick-off to Pride.

At 7pm we all had our own Pride parade down Westheimer to Mary's brother Cedomil's place. Croatians certainly know how to have a good time, so after another martini and a shot of tequila it was parade time. My mistake was standing at the street barricade. Stupid Drunken Bead Whore and her boyfriend spent the first 30 minutes of the parade hitting me in the back and head while grabbing at flying beads. At one point I looked at her and said "stupid bitch" and her slurred reply was " what bitch?". I contemplated beating the shit out of this skank but decided that jail was not an option, and Pride promotes peace and understanding, so I backed away from the street and showed my Pride in Cedomil's front yard.
I decided to make my way back to Empire for more martinis. Along the route I stopped to talk to friends, students and parents. Nothing like having a PTA meeting during the Gay Pride Parade. Safely back at Empire with my martinis, Jeff entertained me by reading the Houston Press personals aloud. What's a regular Chinese girl? Is there an irregular one? The martinis were clouding my thinking and the parade was over, so I headed home looking forward to another successful Pride celebration in 2011. See y'all next year!