Satirical Snapshots Bringing You Whimsy On A Wednesday!
Why Texas?
Many people ask me what it is about this state that keeps me coming back and I’ve never been able to put my finger on exactly what it is. It somehow maintains a frontier spirit, even amidst the corporate faux towns that could be a snapshot of any American city. It has its own kind of heat that is oppressive and unyielding; if you can live here you’re tough enough to stay. It feels independent. It breathes attitude. It smells like freedom. The sky calls you to keep travelling into its vastness and hours later, you’re still in Texas. When the sun goes down the humidity rages along with the rattling insects and mysterious chirps as life fights on.
But most of all, it’s the Dalek.
People here call this a tower but I call him the Houston Dalek – He who protects inhabitants from evil whilst they slumber.
I Clearly Need Saving From Myself
And then there are the old-fashioned southern manners that take me back to an old Western movie. Being respected and treated like a lady wherever I go has turned me into an old-school western heroine that needs saving and protecting. Doors held open, lift doors braced as you leave or enter, always allowed to go first, collected from vehicles, standing up when you excuse yourself from a situation and being spoken to like a queen. I love it. It encourages me to embrace my sexuality and feel like a proper woman. I want to wear my high heels more and my girlie lipstick. I want to brush my hair, wear pretty dresses and smile sweetly.
I cannot fathom why any woman abhors this kind of behaviour from a red-blooded male.
It makes me sick when I go home and it stops. I stand at doors sulking like a petulant narcissist.
The only problem is I have now lost all upper body strength and if I had to open the emergency door to a plane I’m not the person you wanna be relying on.
I went to the gym in my apartment complex the other day and couldn’t move the chest press. Three times I moved the weight down. Nada.
It must be broken.
I eventually moved it to the lowest weight which I believe was “5” ounces and broke out in a sweat after two pushes. Total embarrassment.
I even failed to open the door to the bar! A valet had to rush and help me as I railed against it to get to my lemon drop martini.
“There you go, ma’am,” he said as he opened the door easily with just a forefinger.
Don’t bat your eyes at anyone when you’re wearing roller lash super curling and lifting mascara. It makes your eyes stick together.
Talking of Eyes Forward…
Once I got inside the bar, just underneath the Dalek, I sat watching how well people interacted with each other.
Not.
Everybody bar me and a chap to my left sat staring at their phones blissfully unaware of what was going on around them. I find it infuriating. It makes me want to do something obnoxious to see if anyone notices. Which is so unlike me.
The only virtually addicted people I would like to meet are the ones on my Wi-Fi list below.
Anyway, the chap next to me asked for a drink in an English accent which distracted me. It’s so easily noticeable over here because it sounds really odd and stuck up.
“What are you doing in Texas?” I asked a little fiercely like the state belonged to me.
“It speaks to my spiritual soul.”
There’s always one smart arse that can sum up what you want to say in one sentence and you can bet your life it’s going to be English. But hey, that’s not the way I party with words.
Talking of Rock and Roll…
I got taken out. Yes, believe it or not, people are brave enough to do this over here. I like this hardcore spirit. I was asked if I’d like to watch a country and western singer out in a place called Crockett. Music to my ears in more ways than one because I love visiting these little old Texan towns. I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.
It took two hours to get to this awesome place. That’s four hours travelling. I could be in the furthest Greek island from England in that time. It totally blows me away how far Americans are prepared to travel to go out and why they need great big growling trucks to do so.
On the way back I was asked if I wanted a Sonic.
My normal reaction is to say yes to everything but I’ve learnt that Americans can have a mean streak.
Example:
“Jules, you ever had catfish?”
“No.”
“Here, try this. You’ll love it!”
“Ok!”
“Why has it got a big bone in the middle? That’s not a fish bone.”
“Because it’s a toads leg! BWAHAHAHAHA!”
“Your card is marked, pal.”
Not knowing what a Sonic was, I refused. It could have been a hedgehog.
“But you have to! It’s an American tradition!”
“Yeah, so is eating grits. Nuff said.”
Turns out that it’s a fast food joint so I said to get me whatever the tradition was expecting a burger like normal people would eat.
No.
Fries and a chocolate milkshake.
“You have to dip your fries in the milkshake.”
“Do I look stupid?”
*crickets*
“It’s tradition.”
“No, It’s mental.”
I tried it. Never again. Whatever possessed someone to make this a tradition or delicacy is beyond me. A country full of the finest of foods where starving is impossible and you dip your fries in a milkshake?
Talking of Mission Impossible…
I went to my first Drive-In Movie. This has been on my American bucket list for ages. I was so excited and felt like I should dress up like Olivia Newton-John or something.
However, skin-tight trousers might prove difficult if you want to nip to the loo. Did they even have loos? Who knows? Maybe you have to pee in the field like you do at deer hunting camp?
“What time does it start?” I asked.
“Dusk.”
What is this, ranch speak?
I can only describe the experience as like going camping but with a big telly.
There are people with chairs and blankets and cool boxes. There are burgers and candy floss and popcorn. There’s beer in my handbag.
My only criticism is that you can’t keep the air con on so I was sweating more than Tom Cruise mid mad stunt. Other than that, I absolutely loved it and want to go again! Naked.
Talking of Raw Meat…
The best place I’ve had it is at “The Taste of Texas”
I had to be taken out back where they cunningly had a little butchers shop (first one I’ve ever seen in America) to pick my meat.
“How do you like your meat, Ma’am?”
“Full blooded, firm and mouth wateringly orgasmic.”
“Would you like to feel this package?”
“Oh yes, don’t mind if I do.”
“I think the veins running through this are lean and strong. Would you like me to mark it as yours?”
“Have it unwrapped and bring it to my table, sir!”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Now that’s what I’m talkin’ bout, Merrica! I’ve steaked my claim!
