Pixie Dust


All We Ever Do Is Eat

Midway through the weekend, I realized that all we do when people come to town is eat. Well, that’s not true. Apparently we drink a lot too.

This weekend, we entertained the multigenerational troika of my sister (Booh), my mom (Crazy Mamasita), and my niece (Surfer Girl).

Back when she was married, Booh used to hate Austin and all of my “hippie hole in the wall dives.” Now that she’s free again she loves all the hidden dark places of Austin and comes to visit all the time. Strike that; she comes to visit all the time because her new non-beaufriend is located here…but we’ll let that slide for now.

Crazy Mamasita usually pulls into town with a truck full of groceries and random gifts, which once included an oversized book about kittens. She’s nearing 70-years-old and can barely sip a margarita before she’s dancing with shovels and telling dirty jokes.

Seven years ago, Surfer Girl visited Texas and we took her to play miniature golf. She was ten. Now she’s all growed up and works in a surf shop in Hawaii…and sharing a glass of wine with her mom on high school graduation day suggested that Surfer Girl liked to get her drink on. What?

The booze pushing started Friday evening at Maria Maria, where Crazy Mamasita pushed her margarita to Surfer Girl saying, “you drinky” and then freaked out when I told her she would go to jail for boozing up a minor. We didn’t last for the live music that evening; Booh and Non-Beaufriend stopped for whiskey and cigarettes on the way home and Surfer Girl and I caught the end of Pride and Prejudice on TV. Crazy Mamasita passed out on the couch.

Pancho and I vowed that Saturday would be a better day of entertainment for Surfer Girl. Auditorium Shores was blazing hot and our guests had never heard of Stevie Ray Vaughn, so I took them on a drive-by tour of UT campus on our way to the Korean grocery store. ‘Cuz what every teenage girl wants to see in a new town is how well-stocked the Korean grocery is, right?

After two sips of her hibiscus margarita at Vivo, Crazy Mamasita went to work preparing a full Korean feast…bulgalbi, bi bim bap, and fresh kimchi. Oh my. My house still smells of charred bulgalbi (Korean BBQ ribs) and kimchi.

Sunday was our day of redemption. A quick jaunt to Lockhart for Smitty’s BBQ gave Surfer Girl the true Texas BBQ experience…and a send-off celebration with big-as-your-face cupcakes on SoCo ended the weekend just right.



Santa’s Joint
December 25, 2004, 10:49 am
Filed under: family | Tags: , , , , , ,

Christmas this year was all about change, with a mixture of laughter and tears that left me slightly unsatisfied, yet happy and fat.

For the first time in at least a decade, we didn’t spend Christmas Eve at my dad & stepmom’s house opening Santa gifts. In Christmases of old, we sisters would make the trek to our parents’ house in the burbs to indulge in a feast of cold cut sandwiches and open the crazy gifts delivered early by the jolly fat man.

Every year, Santa brings us little individual packages containing the same gifts for each of us that have to be unwrapped by all at the same time. The ritual goes something like this:

“Let’s open the Kleenex!” calls out Disney, my step-sister who interns for Mickey in Orlando. We all dig through the stack of gifts to find the little rectangular package and tear it open to confirm that yes, indeed, it is Kleenex. Next come the calendars, then socks, then underwear…of course, we get great gifts too, but it’s the Santa gifts that provide entertainment for the whole family.

This year, Elvis (my boyfriend) got to participate for the first time…and brought his own brand of entertainment to the family. Early into the Santa process, I realized that Elvis needed to experience Santa before he could ever truly be part of the family. So I dug a small item out of the pile and handed it to him. He examined the tiny tissue-wrapped trinket with confusion, laughed and asked, “What is it? A joint?”

Leave it to my boyfriend to make a drug reference about the Santa Chapstick at his first Christmas with my family. No, really Dad, he’s not a pothead…just a drunk.Another big change–Mom and Dad celebrated the holidays with us at the same gathering for the first time since they divorced almost 20 years ago. My sister hosted us at her new house out in the boonies north of Frisco (who knew there were any homesteads that far north). It wasn’t too bad…just a little competition between the moms to see who could tell more stories about Dad and boss everyone around the most.
For the most part, it was a relatively bloodless holiday.

It also happens that Disney shares her birthday with Jesus Cristo, so the evening portions of our holiday celebrations are typically spent devouring strawberry cake (yes, pink cake and pink frosting) despite the 4 helpings of holiday potluck and samplings of all 6 pies just a few hours before.

This year, the excitement was not so much the number of candles on her cake, but more about the tiny little matchbook used to light the candles. At first glance, it seemed innocent enough…but the slogan “Any jail, any bail” really caught my eye. We opened the matchbook (because you have to open a matchbook with a slogan like that) and found a poem on the inside that detailed the journey of needles, pills and booze on “THE ROAD TO HELL.” Not bad for a family gathering…makes you kinda wonder who brought that one into the house and why they had it in the first place.