Sidewalk Sore: Another Beastly Morning

Well, after a bit of a break, I'm back. I have to say, I should have warned you about the previous post. You can expect those sort of posts out of me every once in a while. We will refer to them as "Ryan's Corner." I imagine a fair amount of you will know what that refers to. For those that don't, at my old house in Austin I had a backyard. And in the corner of that backyard, I had a hammock. And in that hammock I spent time pondering my own questions and trying my best to answer those of others.  It was a place to be alone with my thoughts and a place to give whatever advice I could to others. That is the sort of ramblings you can expect from "Ryan's Corner," so stay tuned for the next one (they will most likely come late at night when I am having difficulty sleeping). 

Now, onto another story for your entertainment. This one may read somewhat short due to my lack of a clear memory of the entire event, but what brought me to the most entertaining part of the night is of no real importance. While I still lived in Austin, the glorious ATX, it was always bittersweet to see a friend leave the city and progress to a new stage in life. One friend in particular decided to go out with a bang. She threw a "Keep Austin Weird" themed party to celebrate her departure. That was a great night. My brother, a friend, and I dressed as hipsters and my parents even made an appearance since they were in the 512 that weekend. Our outfits were quite hilarious, although I was dubbed Chester the Molester for the night, due mostly to the style of glasses I chose to wear and the ridiculous staches we were sporting:

Well, after the photo-op and some pregaming, we all went out... that is except for our friend who was leaving Austin; the one for whom the event was thrown. She was unable to decipher between her pregaming and her gaming, an important lesson that one would expect a 4 year UT veteran to have mastered. Regardless, she never made it out of the apartment. So, after a long and fun night, we had to set ourselves on repeat for the following night when our friend would actually be able to join us. We first met at the apartment from the night before to once again get our game faces on, and of course for another attempt at some PB&J acrobatics. 

A preview from the first night:

What happened next, I'm not exactly sure, but I do know it involved a cab ride to Dirty 6th and our fair share of drank. But that is not the important part of this post. It is the events that took place once we returned from the bars of 6th Street in which hilarity ensues. I am not sure exactly what happened, but I had decided to crash on the couch at my friend's. Being a smoker, I had the urge to go to the stair well to indulge my yearning for nicotine one more time before bed. My friend was looking awfully tired in the living room, and since her door locked automatically I asked to borrow her key while stepping outside to the stairwell to ensure my re-entry into the apartment. She insisted that such a thing was not necessary and that there was no way she would fall asleep in the time it took for one cig. In my state of mind, I believed her and stepped outside, allowing the door to close and lock behind me. Several minutes later, I knocked on the door to have her let me back in. There was no answer. So I knocked... and knocked... and knocked even louder. I then began to call, only to hear her ringing phone from the other side of the door. It was in that moment that I realized her assurance that she would not stray to her sleep had been compromised. She had fallen asleep. So I called and knocked hoping to wake her, but it was to no avail. Cold and in only my socks, jeans, and a button up shirt armed with nothing but my cheap flip phone and the last few sticks of my Marlboro Blend 27s, I slumped against the door, exhausted and ready to close my eyes for the night. And that is exactly what I did.

I woke up the next morning to my friend shaking me out of my sleep. I had slept on the sidewalk just outside the front door to her apartment. As I awoke to her frenzied voice and jilting shakes, I realized there was meaning in her urgency. You see, her parents were coming that morning to pack up her room and move her out of the apartment, and they had just woken her up with a phone call saying they had parked and were on their way upstairs. After desperately searching the apartment for my static body, she realized what had happened and ran to prevent what could have been a very awkward morning for me. After she informed me of her parents' arrival, I ran into the apartment, quickly put on my shoes and found a mirror to see just how bad I looked; I already knew that I had Dorito Face. Dorito Face is something you get after a long and late night out, after some drank and no shower before bed. It is especially prevalent in those who slumber on sidewalks. You can check yourself for Dorito Face by rubbing your face with your fingers and then smelling them. If it was a crazy enough night, your fingers will then smell like Nacho Cheese Doritos, and not from eating chips... that is in fact what the face smells like: Nacho Cheese Doritos. After doing my best to straighten myself out, I walked back into the living room to greet her parents (I had previously been recruited to help with the move). With their looks of confusion towards my presentation, we began the move. It was then that I explained that I had crashed at their daughter's the night before. HA, if they only knew I was sleeping on the sidewalk in front of her door just minutes before they knocked on it!

After completing the move, my friend's parents were kind enough to thank me by inviting me to eat lunch with them at Pappasito's. They did however request that I douse myself in Febreze before accompanying them for fajitas; a request I was happy to accommodate. Even I could smell an odor over my Dorito Face: BO. After lunch, we said our goodbyes, and I quickly made my way back to my own apartment; back to my own bed. Ah, it was a wonderful feeling to lay my sidewalk sore body down on a softer surface; and for that day, I forgot that my mattress was an old and worn hunk of metal and fabric, caring only that it was not a rough and cold piece of concrete.

The Road Home: The First "Ryan's Corner"

Well, it's another night my friends. After closing down the local watering hole, AKA Tony's, I indulged myself with a little Mario Cart at a buddy's house. It was a chill night, but a good one none the less. After parting ways for the night with my bud, I began the occasionally long, but mostly great-tune-listening trek back to Myra. Tonight was no exception. I took the long way back to afford myself some additional tuneage. As I approached my destination that is Patty's driveway, my IPod was wrapping up a wonderful song:

 

As the track ended I sat in the front seat of my Toyota, and I decided to take a step out and ponder while listening to the coyotes singing their nightly chorus in the background. My first thought was about how much I love this song, but at the same time what and oxymoron the exact same thought was. You see, one of the repeated verses of the song states, "forget about my home, forget about my home." This is something I could never do. No matter where I may be, I could never forget about my home because it has always been such a wonderful place and a huge part of my life. As I stood in my driveway in the 22 degree weather smoking just one more Marlboro Blend 27 cig, my mind began to wonder, and a few more oxymorons came to mind. One in particular has been marinating in my mind for about a week now. One weekday night last week, I went driving around with some friends. On our little drive, which as you should know by now implies a backroad, we came across a field that took me back a number of year to my Senior year of high school. It brought to mind a memory from that time that involved both the same field and one of the very friends that was with me in the vehicle. Years ago, we had been partaking in the exact same form of entertainment. While in this field in my before mentioned friend's truck, his transmission suddenly went haywire. Now to those in the truck, it may not have been such a surprise coming from Old Red. You see, the only gear we could seem to use was that of the reverse variety. Far from town and with little cell phone service (I had only had a cell phone for about a year at the time), we did what we had to and drove in reverse from the pond damn in the field and back to my friend's family's farm house. Now being in that field again, near that same pond damn, I was helpless to my memory of the night that had occurred years before. As I thought about that night, another oxymoron came to mind:

Even when you feel like you are stuck in reverse, you can still reach your destination.

And this thought brought to mind the prophetic scripture that adorns a magnet on my mom's fridge that came as a gift from my GB. It reads:

"If you don't know where you are going... you'll end up someplace else." 

Now I know that some people may take this as a warning that you better have a good idea of where you're going, but I took it as saying that it doesn't really matter. If you don't know where you're going, you don't know where you will end up, and to me that spells a little adventure. You don't have to have life planned out, because the best parts are the ones you never expected; the ones that deviate from the plan. What a perfect token for present times. I feel like so many people I have spoken to lately feel lost. They may not have that life plan, and it's okay not to have such a thing. Who knows what life can lead to. It is the action of allowing ourselves the opportunity to be a little lost that will ultimately lead us to the next stage, the next adventure, the next chapter in what we all deserve to have: a long and exciting life. 

So as I look at the clock and realize I should be asleep (that and the fact that this post pretends to be coming from years of knowledge and actual life experience... ha ha), before I tear into what promises to be some amazing vegetable beef soup, I say let's seize the opportunity to be a little lost. The unknown promises to hold some unforgettable adventures and some amazing opportunities. Instead of looking to where the path we travel should or may lead, why not take a pause to seize the moment in which we stand.

And on a final note, I am not sure where the earnest tone came from tonight but I promise to post a much more entertaining memory tomorrow or the day after. I already have one in mind. And finally, I have always been a huge fan of green beans, but I must confess that I feel they do not belong in soup of any kind.

A Wedding, A Beastly Morning, and the Beauty of the Backroad

So earlier this month, two of my high school classmates, Ryan and Megan, took their leap into marriage. After years of dating they have tied the knot and said, “I do” to a life together. It was a great wedding, full of friends, dancing, fun, and of course, some drank. It was a wedding that their friends and family had been anxiously awaiting… and I must say the wedding was well worth the wait. What a fun night it was, and a great celebration of the newlyweds. Each Muenster wedding I attend, I find the true skill involved in avoiding the hazards of a beer slicked dance floor, that and the value of some comfortable shoes. 

 

 After many a brew at the wedding as well as at the after party at the local watering hole Tony’s, I was ready for bed. I would not realize which bed that meant until the next morning. I awoke around 10 am to a phone call from my mom. After taking a minute to absorb my surroundings, I realized I could answer her burning question of where I was. I awoke in the bed of what I am sure were the finest linens, colored pink and zebra stripe. I then realized the walls were also pink, the only choice when designing a room around pink and zebra sheets for a little girl. I then walked to the front door and realized where I was. I had slept in a girl’s bedroom in Saint Jo, the town to the west of Muenster, and… it was snowing. Needless to say, I was confused. Now as a disclaimer, I must say that the girl whose room I was in was not there. She spent the night at grandma’s house that night. I feel the need not to divulge the events that took place to bring me to such a place, but the short version is some friends needed a car to get back home, so I allowed them to drive my car home with me as a passenger. After waking everyone up, we headed east out of Saint Jo, a drive that provided lots of laughter and some very loosely pieced together memories of the night before. It was quite the morning.

Later that day, I decided I needed to take full advantage of the freshly fallen snow and met up with two of my good friends to ride around and take it all in on the notorious backroads that lie to the north of Muenster. To those who may not be familiar, that is what we do in Muenster. We grab some friends, perhaps some drank, a great playlist on the IPod, and a vehicle and head north on the gravel roads of Cooke County. Almost anyone you speak to in Muenster has taken advantage of these gravel roads and the amazing views they afford their travelers. It was a great day for a day road, and we were not the only ones with such a great idea as we passed many notable cars on our drive. Snow on the ground and snowscapes beyond every hill were the perfect setting for some great conversation and of course some sing-along to our favorite tunes. 

It was on that road with my friends that I re-discovered my affinity for the back road. Leaving all worries behind as you pass the city limit sign with only one obligation: stopping on the side of the road periodically to allow the passengers to relieve themselves. I could not have imagined a better way to appreciate the snow, other than being a young kid building a massive snowman and indulging in snowball fights. We were however able to get a peak into the latter. We were very entertained and surprised when we were ambushed on one road by a handful of kids armed with snowballs. As I looked to my left at the kids popping up from behind rocks and hurling snowballs towards my car, I was taken by surprise by the sound of a loud thump to my right. A rogue kid armed with a massive snowball hit his target, my passenger side window. That little event provided us all with some chuckles. As the daylight dwindled and the roads grew slightly icy, we indulged our appetites by eating some deer chili at another friend’s house in the Ville. Props to the chef. While there, I honed my skills in the extremely competitive sport of Foosball. Thanks to plenty of fierce competition, I have actually surprised others and myself by becoming much better. I always seem to surprise myself with my skills for mediocre sports, and thank God for that… ha ha. I never really was the sporty kind. After some good times in the garage and a handful of matches, we noticed the time and headed back to the Ster to call it a night. It was quite a long day, but very fun and a perfect end to the weekend.

That my friends is how you enjoy the snow in Muenster, that is the beauty of the backroad.

So it begins... or did it already?

For quite some time now, I have been told by several close friends (one in particular) to start a blog. So many of my mornings are spent telling those who will listen of my ridiculous adventures from the night before. The idea all started in April of 2010 after re-living with a friend what may be my most entertaining experience. You see, I am from a small German-Catholic community in North Central Texas. Ah yes, Muenster, Texas is the dot on the map I call home. Technically I grew up in the countryside outside of the town, near a very small community called Myra. I only claim to be Myranian when I have clearly embarrassed myself. Hum um.... but back to Muenster. A town of about 1600 people, give or take a few new families, Muenster is a very tight knit and great community to be a part of. We are very proud of our culture and heritage. As the local businesses like to say, it is where Texas hospitality and German customs meet. From the Germanesque architectural features that line Main Street to the Texas flags and Texan slogans that adorn the monstrous trucks that line Main Street, visitors are fast to learn this facet of Muenster's character. These examples can be found in everyday life in Muenster. However, there is an event that occurs once every year in Muenster that serves as a culmination of all that is Muenster:

Yes... Germanfest!  A three day event that adds traditional German cuisine, a Fun Run, Bicycle Rally, Texas country music, Polka music, and a Semi Trailer (yes a Semi Tralier) of keg beer into the blender of ultimate good times. Since I was a child I have attended Germanfest, with fond memories. But as I realized last Germanfest, in April of 2010, some of the fondest memories I will have of Germanfest are the ones I will never remember. You see, it was only the second Fest for which I was of legal drinking age, and at the request of a close friend of mine, GB, I decided to wear a lederhosen. Now it was not the typical lederhosen often seen at the Fest... you gain free entry when dressed in custom German attire. It was a rental from a costume shop; a rental that would not be returned. It was not a vintage outfit borrowed from the closet of a Great-Uncle or found in the attic of a elder relative. It was a Hansel Halloween costume, but a lederhosen none-the-less. It was this lederhosen and this three day weekend at the Fest that would birth the Bavarian Beast. on the first night of the Fest, things were fairly calm. A great BBQ in a friend's backyard followed by a venture into the park for the Fest. A great night with lots of laughs, but a calm one with respect to the rest of the weekend. Saturday was the day the Beast made his presence known. It started with a visit to Grandma's to pick up the Cousins and change:

Then it was off to meet up with the Fam at the Fest:

As is evident in the pic, I had my fair share of drinks, and it was only early afternoon. But it was Germanfest after-all and I was in a lederhosen. Plus, the patrons of the Fest felt the obligation to give me free beer tickets due to my attire, which it would be disrespectful to refuse. So I drank... and drank... and drank... and soon I had reached the point that my friends from "It's Always Sunny" refer to as the brown out point. Not quite blacked out and still able to piece some images together to form somewhat of a memory. I remember cracking up with the women who work with my mom at her store, Girlfriends Boutique, making some borderline inappropriate comments about the grandma of a classmate and friend of mine, and somehow making it to the dance floor to get my groove on. Then came closing time... and the parts that get really blurry. I was escorted to the house of some family friends by my sister where a happenin party had commenced. My time there was fun, yet has no time frame in my mind. After that, I have only brief moments of clarity. An image of myself at another friend's shop, an image of myself dragging a cooler from my mom's shop on Main Street to the camping/cooking grounds where I helped myself to a brisket and mustard sandwich at another friend's camper (they were all asleep). I then walked back to what I thought was the house party I had been to previsouly only to end up in their neighbors yard where a crowd of younger kids had gathered to drink into the mid hours of the morning. It was here that I reached black out status.

The next morning, around 8 am, I awoke in the bushes that lay in the front of the Dentist's estate. Yes... I somehow passed out in the bushes in front of Bud Graham's (a Dentist in Muenster) house. I was freezing, I was wearing the same clothes I had worn the two previous days, and I was covered in mustard stains from the brisket sandwich, Shiner stains from the obvious plentiful beers I had consumed, and blood stains from the thorns that apparently thrive in the bushes in front of Dentists' houses. Cold, cut, stained and defeated, I called and called until I reached the friend who lived the closest and begged for entry into her house, where I then proceeded to sleep on an all white leather couch, much to the surprise and entertainment of her parents who had no need to turn on the television with breakfast that morning. After getting some much needed rest indoors, I ventured back to the Fest to discover the missing pieces of my collective memory from the weekend, and yes, to have a few beers. It was an insane weekend full of memories I can't even remember, and it was the culmination of several actions and environmental factors that birthed what has become know as the Bavarian Beast: my alter ego; my excuse for my actions that weekend. Thus was born the idea for this blog.