Texas Postcards #1

Hi everyone! We went for a walk in the rain and I took some pictures. Here's some old-timey mood music to listen to while you scroll through my postcards from Texas. Click play and enjoy.

 

Just out of the blue, it started to rain the other day. We loved it. Miles, on the other hand, did not love it. He just sat on the couch and stared out the window. Maybe the raindrops were bringing up some painful memories of a lost bone or something. I don't know. I asked him about it, but he refused to talk. I guess we all have our secrets.

The sunflowers were a little worse for wear after the winds played with them. But, I didn't mind. And neither did they, I think.

We walked over this bridge and I had my mom hold the umbrella over me so my phone wouldn't get wet. I have a thing for bridges.

This is what I saw when I looked off the side of the bridge:

Before I came to Dallas, I pictured it in shades of yellow and brown. I was wrong.

This is a historical house down the block from where we live. The people who currently live there put up a plaque by the white picket fence, telling about the house. It's more than a hundred years old. The house, not the plaque. I would have taken a picture of the plaque, but there were people milling about the front yard and I didn't want to seem like a creepy stalker.

A different view of the same house. I also have a thing for old buildings. I imagine all the stories that were lived out in them.

This is another old house right across the street from the first one.

This one, I did get a picture of the plaque. I just had to because the information was so cool. In that neighborhood, I'm probably now known as the crazy lady who takes pictures in the rain. I can live with that.

A couple of miles from our house, there's a frozen custard place that we always see when we're driving around on our errands. And, every time, we say, "What's frozen custard? We should go check it out." So, on this day, we walked to it.

I'd never had frozen custard before, but I just knew that it would be good. And I was right. People, hear me. If you ever have the opportunity to indulge in this gift from the creamy sugar gods, do not hesitate. Dive right in and ask questions later. The menu was extensive and I only had $8 in my pocket, but the sweet young lady behind the counter made it work for us. Mom got a small cup of the chocolate/vanilla combo, and I made my own (not very creative, but divinely delicious) combo: vanilla/chocolate custard, fresh strawberries and hot fudge, crowned with frothy whipped cream and sprinkled with the salty crunch of peanuts. As you can see, my giganto treat dwarfs my mom's reasonably sized dessert. Next time, I'm getting a small.

If you've spent any time with my mom, you know that she doesn't eat junk food. None. Zero. I think that she has a secret plan to outlive everyone born in the 20th century.  And she kept protesting that she really didn't want any frozen custard. But, you know what? She ate that sucker up FAST! You can see how deeply she was traumatized by the experience.

Hope you enjoyed coming along on our little outing. See you next time!

Getting Settled

I am obsessed with the Texan sky! It is forever changing and it fascinates me to no end.

I got a job!

I was driving down one of the main streets here and I saw a sign for a music school. So, I naturally committed a couple of traffic crimes (dear law enforcement officer - just kidding, I never commit triffic crimes, I swear), pulled into the parking lot and ran in. Then I realized that I was inappropriately dressed in a rumpled mini skirt and t-shirt that had its better days behind it. Way behind. But it was too late to back out, so I just decided to go for it and let the cookie crumble as it may. Long story short, I sent in my resume, had a meeting/interview and was hired. Yayy! I've also applied for a couple of other things, and I'll keep you posted on those as developments arise.

We took a walk in the park and found this serene lake. The mosquitos that feasted on our flesh? Not so serene. 

My mom found the perfect house!

It's within walking distance from her friend Don. (Those of you who know who he is know that they are inseparable. If you don't know Don, don't worry about it.) We are in fervent negotiations with the current owner, who is trying to renege on a repair that was promised upon the offering of the house. Fortunately, we have the best real estate agents ever to walk the earth (seriously, these two precious people have repeatedly gone above and beyond the call of duty), so I'm sure it will all work out. Once we have the keys, I'll post pictures. Keep your fingers crossed for a speedy and positive outcome!

Here's another view of the park, just in case you are like me and love to see water and trees.

I found an apartment!

I talked to many people about all the different areas of Dallas (this city is HUGE!) that might hold possibilities for me, did some googling, a lot of driving, and I found an apartment complex in a lovely area that was reasonably priced (for what it offered - definitely not cheap, though by LA standards, it's a steal). I've passed all the checks and balances that the paper pushers need to complete and am told that I have the apartment. There's just one technicality. They need some written confirmation from my previous home manager that I really am as perfect as I seem. The problem? He is practically impossible to understand, especially over the phone. You see, he moved to the States from Scotland sometime around 1857, give or take a year, but still manages to sound like a drunk William Wallace. (If you're seeing a big question mark here, William Wallace = Mel Gibson as Braveheart.) Anyway, he's got a very thick accent. So, when the Dallas leasing ladies call him, they can't understand a word he's saying and, apparently, have been getting his email address wrong. He, in turn, thinks that he has done everything he can to be cooperative and that the ladies are simply not doing their job. ANYWAAAAYYYY - I stepped in to play the role of the goodwill ambassador between the two worlds and in the next couple of days, all the kinks should be worked out. I will be moving in mid-August and will then post pictures and tell you more about the neighborhood.

We found this restaurant while walking around Frisco. It smelled good! But, we didn't go in. I don't know why, don't ask me. That chicken on top goes around and around.

Yes, it is hot here!

Ok, there's no way around it. It's hot. And humid. But, you know what? We are definitely loving the humidity. Who would have thought? It's a lot easier for me to breathe this air than the dry air in LA and it just feels softer on the skin. Everywhere we go, there's air conditioning, so it's really not uncomfortable at all. And, when I walk the dogs at 10 pm and my iPhone tells me that it's ninety-something degrees, I love it. It feels like I'm vacationing in the tropics. To each her own.

The heat makes it possible for us to swim late into the night. It's heavenly.

We are still living out of boxes. 

Because we haven't yet moved into our own homes, we can't unpack. This makes it really hard to function and do work (I'm still teaching via Skype and doing some other stuff) and have a life (not to mention, keep the house neat, which I've just given up on at this point) when the things you need are not only unavailable, but completely hidden away in boxes that all look alike. So, I've decided that what I need to do is unpack everything, organize and re-pack. Definitely not looking forward to that, but the alternative is even less appealing.

This is our street, for now.

 People are very pleasant here.

I know, I know, I've written about that before, but it bears repeating. I'm just floored by how people go out of their way to be kind. I had a phone conversation with an insurance agent in Simi Valley yesterday, and the difference in manner and attitude was jarring. I guess it didn't take long for me to get acclimated to people being gracious, and that phone call was an unpleasant reminder of a different kind of life.

Remember when I said that I was obsessed with the sky? 

Rabbits!

The bunnies roam my neighborhood like they own the streets. I think they're adorable! My neighbor does not think they are adorable. He is angry at them because they tear up his yard. A baby bunny ran into our garage the other night and I fell in love with him (her? how can you tell?). I wanted to pick it up so badly! It would have definitely fit into the palm of my hand, it was that tiny. But, I didn't know off the top of my head whether or not rabbits carry disease, so I decided to be content with just snapping a few pics. Then, I kind of shoo'd it so it would run back out into the night, because it gets stifling hot in the garage and I didn't want it to die.

Tiny bunny!

Well, that's it for now. I'm looking forward to exploring all the cool things Dallas has going on, and I will definitely share them with you in videos, pictures and words. Let me know if there's anything in particular you want to know about or see. 

And now, for the gratuitous chihuahua pics: (you knew these were coming, right?)

Elvis wonders when we're going home.

Vito longs for his next treat.

Miles practices being adorable. (Miles haters - you hush. You just haven't yet learned to appreciate him in all his complicated glory.)

Dolce suffers. As usual.

Dear Walmart, It's Not Me, It's You

(Everything you are about to read is true. Names have been omitted to protect the powerless.)

After driving for three days with only quick stops to get some sleep, we finally roll into Frisco, Texas. It feels great to stretch our legs a bit and walk into the place we'll call home for the next month or so. What doesn't feel so great? The thought of having to sleep on the floor until our furniture arrives sometime in the next week.

You might be wondering why I didn't plan ahead and bring something to sleep on so I wouldn't have to make an eleventh hour run to a store in a strange city. And, you'd be right in your wondering.

Allow me to explain. I drove from LA to Dallas in a Mazda Protege with my mom, 4 chihuahuas, 3 violins, two iMacs, a million bottles of water, a fold-out foam mattress from Costco, and enough clothes, toiletries and food to last us through the drive and then several days in our new home until the movers arrive with the rest of our stuff. So, I did think ahead, but there really was no more room to fit anything else in my little car.

But I digress.

I drop off my mom and the dogs at the house and make a beeline to the nearest Walmart to see what they have in the way of foam mats, something similar to what I brought with me from LA.

Sorry, Walmart haters, I always thought of Walmart as old faithful. I could find what I need, not be price gouged and get through the check out line pretty quickly.  I say "I thought" because, well, you'll see.

I walk the aisles and find nothing appropriate. I mean nothing. I'm ready to drop from exhaustion and starting to make friends with the prospect of spending that night on the floor. I'm planning to try my luck at Costco the next day. But then I see the camping department. Ah, the light at the end of the tunnel! There, I find several shelves full of air beds! Never having owned an air bed, I choose the only one that has a name I recognize - Coleman. Unfortunately, more decisions need to be made - what size of bed, what thickness? Should I buy one with a pump included ? If not, which brand of pump to get? At this point, I am mucho overwhelmedo. I hadn't bargained for this.

The longer I think about it, the more convinced I become that buying an air bed is a spectacular idea. Maybe the best idea I've ever had. I mean, literally DOZENS of California friends have promised to visit (you know who you are and you better come!), An air bed will be just the thing that will take my hosting to the next level, a step beyond normal hosting, if you will. I'm gonna go all out. Well, as all out as I am willing to go on a glorified pool floaty.

With great satisfaction, I select the Coleman queen size, double thick mattress with a soft flocking and an included electric pump! It does briefly occur to me that I am about to spend $75 (plus tax!) on a length of plastic and a tiny motorized air filler-upper. But then I reason with myself, as I am often wont to do.

"Look, how often are you going to buy an air bed? You should get a nice one that your guests will enjoy for years to come!"

My gaze drifts to the middle distance and I have visions of myself waking up to the sun shining, the birds singing and the beaming smiles of my grateful friends. They say, "Dallas Doll, that air mattress gave me the best night of sleep I've ever had! It was like floating on the wings of angels!" And I nod graciously as I reply, "I chose the best with you in mind."

I arrive back at the house like a triumphant hunter back from the kill.

"Did you find a foam mat?" mom asks.

"Even better!" I tell her.

I unbox the bed and fill 'er up. It's as easy as 1-2-3. Add a nice, soft sheet, and we have a bed fit for a, well, a queen. I offer it to my mom and take the foam mat.

The next morning, I wake up to see her lying practically on the floor. The bed had lost a bit of air overnight. And, by "a bit", I mean, nearly all. I read the enclosed literature and learn that the air bed is likely to expand over the course of a few hours, and will only APPEAR to be losing air. Fair enough.

The next night, I pump that baby full of air. I feel sure that the plastic has done all the stretching it's going to do.

I am wrong.

I find my mom on the floor again. And she won't stop complaining about her rough night of fighting the mattress. The third night, I give the foam mat to my mom, pump yet more air into the Coleman and lie down on it. I wake up some time in the middle of the night to find myself trapped between two walls of plastic rising up on either side of me. It's like the parting of the Red Sea. This air bed thing definitely isn't going as planned.

So, I roll up the bed, try to fit it as well as I can into the box and put it in my trunk. It takes me a few days to get back to Walmart. When I finally make it, it's on a day that my mom and I are driving around, taking care of the million details that have to be attended to when you move your life halfway across the country. I leave her sitting in the car and tell her that I'll be back in a few minutes.

The words "famous last words" come to mind.

I explain to the lady at the returns desk that the mattress simply refuses to hold enough air to make it a viable bed. She looks at the receipt I hand her and says, "When did you buy it?" I resist the urge to tell her that she holds the information right in her very own hands. Instead, I say, "about a week ago." She looks at the date on the receipt and starts counting on her fingers. Yes, she does. "Ok," she says, "you're under the 15 day limit."

Fifteen days? Really? I thought I had at least a month, but ok, no problem. I've got a receipt, I'm within the required time frame and I have a defective product.

She can offer me an exchange for the same product, or a different one, provided that it's the same price OR MORE. Coincidentally, my gaze falls on a familiar looking box behind her. It looks familiar because it's the SAME EXACT BED THAT I'M RETURNING. I ask her about this and she says, "No, that one's different." I can see from where I am that it's the same, I'd be willing to bet a million dollars on it. So I ask her to go back there and take a look. With great reluctance, she does. Fast forward a few minutes while she fumbles with the box, until I prompt her to read aloud the item number. It's the same one as on my box. There's a white note stuck to the box she is holding, and I ask her to tell me what it says.

"It's got a hole in it."

Let me get this straight. I just happen to return an air bed that is the SAME ONE as another that is returned to the SAME STORE ON THE SAME DAY? What are the odds?  I point this out to her, and she doesn't think that it's strange at all. She still offers me an exchange. I'm seriously having second thoughts about my great air mattress idea. I'm thinking, these things are cheaply made and obviously don't hold up. Why would I want to get another one? She says to me, "then you should get another brand, but it has to be the same price or more."

I look up at the return policy posted on the wall behind her.

Easy to read, right? Here, let me help you out:

Still no good? Ok, that bottom line reads: 15 days with receipt: blah blah blah, and Air beds.

Ok, so, I have a receipt and it's within 15 days, if you can't return my money, how about a gift card?

"No," she says, "I can only offer you the same or more expensive air bed."

"Where does it say that?" I ask her.

She is silent. Then she comes up with this:

"It's our policy. I have it in a book."

Ok, time out. First of all, when making a purchase, who the hell first walks over to read the return policy posted on a wall that is nowhere near a cash register? And, secondly, that very same return policy states nothing about an exchange only, no refund.

I say this last part to her. She again refers to the book with the policy that employees must adhere to. Unfortunately, she can't find this book. I try to reason with her. I say, "Look, I've kind of lost faith in this whole air bed thing, but I'm super willing to be a good sport, and I will happily take a gift card. Walmart will still keep my money, and I will walk away knowing that I didn't just throw $75 down a hole." Ha! A hole. Now that's ironic. Or is it?

"I can only offer you an exchange for the same air bed or another one that costs more. Or, you can deal directly with the manufacturer."

I ask to speak to a manager.

One arrives and we have an exact replay of the situation I just described. At this point, I'm angry and I just can't let the situation go. I'm trying to fight off the feeling that I've somehow become trapped in a lesser-known Kafka tale.

She calls another woman over, who I learn is a loss prevention specialist. I'm now wondering if they think I'm trying to pull a fast one on them.

The loss prevention specialist, the manager and the customer service lady talk about the situation as though I'm not there, and my interjections are ignored. Did I mention that I'm angry? Still, I'm not yelling at them, just passionately stating my case. I point to the policy on the wall behind them and once again say that it doesn't state anything about an exchange only.

The loss prevention specialist says, "The exchange only policy is posted on the shelf where you got the bed."

No, it isn't. And if it is, it is hidden so well that a casual observer will not see it.

The loss prevention specialist walks away. She apparently has more important matters to attend to. It's now down to the manager and me. We go back and forth for a while more, then the customer service lady presents the magical policy book. And there, they show me, in black and white, why their hands are tied.

She helpfully puts an asterisk and parenthesis around the relevant parts. The secret policy that the unsuspecting customer must adhere to compels a face palm and I silently ask myself how much of my life I am willing to throw away on this issue. Answer? Not a minute more.

Not being familiar with the store, and having been super tired when I had purchased the bed, I ask the manager where I should go to find a replacement. She points this way and that, and then I finally just ask her to take me to it.

She leads me to a part of the store that I know I didn't get my air bed from. I say, "I got mine from the camping supply aisle." "Yeah," she says, "those aren't good. These ones are better."

????????????

We can't find one that is equivalent to the one I returned. I again bring up the absurdity of having a return policy that the customer is unaware of, and finally, she gives.

"You know, I wish they would just stop carrying these things. We keep getting them returned. But, there's nothing I can do. Walmart doesn't get their money back for defective returned air beds, so I can't give you a refund. I wish I could. I'd be mad too, if I were in your place."

Hold up. Walmart doesn't get its money back for defective merchandise that has a history of high returns, yet CONTINUES TO CARRY THE PRODUCT?

Am I supposed to feel sorry for Walmart?

Walmart, a MULTI-BILLION DOLLAR company, is more concerned with keeping my measly $75 (it's not measly to me, these things are relative) than it is with conducting itself with integrity and maintaining good business practices? Walmart is content with losing a loyal customer and HIGHLY VOCAL SUPPORTER (even against the persistent arguments of beloved friends) over a product that its own managers can't get behind?

Again, Walmart haters, bear with me. I was blind, but now I see.

I decide to put us both out of our misery and take a smaller mattress made by a different manufacturer with a higher price tag, and I ask the manager if she will discount the extra three or four dollars so that it's just an even exchange.

"That, I can do," she says, visibly relieved.

So, I take my new mattress, put it in my trunk and there it still sits, unopened and unseen.

Because, of course, if I open it and it is unsatisfactory, I can't return it for a refund. It says so. Right there in the employee policy book.

Hit the Road, Jack

Now that I've been a Dallasite (Dallasino? Dallaser?) for a whole week, I'm ready to throw down some observations.

In no particular order:

A disappointing lack of "big hair". 

Come on, ladies. You KNOW that the rest of the world has expectations - EVERYTHING'S BIGGER IN TEXAS, Y'ALL!

I've seen exactly ONE southern belle with a rat's nest on her head. And I suspect hers was a by-product of some extra-curricular activity. If you know what I mean. And I think you do.

Look, I'm not asking for much. Some back-combing and a few sprits of hair spray. It's the least you can do. I mean, I drove all the way from LA to be here.

99.9% of people I've encountered are ridiculously pleasant and helpful.

You're wondering about that .1%. I was walking through a shopping center parking lot and a woman almost drove her Mercedes into me. I guess her money was burning such a hole in her purse, she was willing to kill people in her rush to put out the fire. So, naturally, I gave her the double palms up, shoulder shrug, "Eh oh" face.

SHE DID IT BACK.

Felt like I was back in LA for a second.

Where's the Texas drawl?

Most people I encounter have no distinguishable accent. There have been three people I've had trouble understanding. And one of them was Indian (7-Eleven not Casino).*

Locusts.

I haven't seen any. But, I am constantly serenaded by what sounds like those rotating sprinklers some people have on their lawns. My neighbor, Dan, informs me that it is the locusts making themselves known.

I'm homesick for a place I've never liked.

You know the long, slow, click-clack climb of a roller coaster cresting its first hill before the big drop? Every time I go on a coaster, it's during that climb that the same thought stream runs through my mind:

"Why am I here? There are literally a million and one other things I can be doing right now, PRODUCTIVE THINGS! But here I sit, strapped to a seat that will be hurtling through the air in a matter of seconds. There is no good reason to be doing this! Terible idea. I'm trapped and there's nothing I can do about it---- Oh myyyyy goooooooooooooooooodddddddddd" and down we go.

Anyone who's spent any time with me has heard me complain about living in LA. Seriously, I know I've annoyed untold numbers of people with my rants, and to them, I humbly apologize. But I noticed something really strange and unexpected. The further I drove away from the city, and then the state, the stronger I felt that roller coaster feeling edging into my awareness. Surprisingly, I wanted to turn the car around and go back home. And now that I've been away for almost two weeks, I feel a nagging sense of attachment and longing for the place that's been my favorite punching bag for most of my life.

Strip malls!

It's a never-ending sea of shopping centers and restaurants. I'm not complaining. I think you can eat at a different establishment every day for the next twenty years and not repeat yourself. I bow before the commerce gods of Dallas.

And, that's it for today folks. Except for these pictures I took over the last several days. Hope you enjoy looking at them.

(warning: dog-heavy pics follow)

*If you're offended by this distinction, blame Christopher Columbus and his laziness in naming the people he found in the new lands. Also, this particular Indian dude told me in the course of our conversation that Armenians are known for selling cars and Indians for running 7-Elevens. So, I guess you can also take up your argument with him.

In Simi, waiting for the movers to, um, move already.

Now that's more my speed!

The chihuahuas rode in the back seat for all 1400 miles.

Trucks and clouds led the way.

Moonscape.

Still life with chihuahuas.

 Night drive.

Rear-view chihuahua.

Denton, Texas.

Frisco welcome.

Temporary home.

The traffic lights are sideways here.