Baby Vultures

I stumbled upon the book "Julie and Julia" at the Pflugerville Library the other day and couldn't resist the urge to pick it up. I don't know if it was my subconscious wanting to become a better chef (it was somehow mixed in with the cookbooks) or a jump start for my fingers to start blogging again. With the mix of both of those, I went grocery shopping with a new energy (who has the time/energy to grocery shop! Yuck.) and also found myself staring at the blank entries of my blog page. Who really reads this crap anyways?

Julie, in her book, states that blogs are really quite silly. It's like techno version of Jane Eyre. She probably wrote diary entry after diary entry, praying that no one would find what she had written. Now, we sit on our laptops or iPads (still a disgusting word) and HOPE that someone might stumble upon our entries that are nothing but lengthy status updates on life.

I will say that there are some blogs that keep the reader informed. Those friends that are getting married and want to keep you up to date on their latest registery escapades or others who just had their first baby and want to plague me with disgustingly cute baby photos. Both of which are far from what this blog has turned into. I have scratched some kind of theme and just went with the fact that I write these words more so for myself and no one else. Now, if someone happens to across these words and finds themselves in a hoot or holler, I won't be disappointed. Everyday I come across something new, strange and never, ever coincidental.

This blog needs to get me through this trying time of looking for that perfect job in the big, bad state of Texas. I still don't know where I stand with Texas. Sure, I like it. The weather makes me question if I should be out here with no sunscreen on. Cacti have become my new favorite plant, or they always have been my favorite, I was just unaware. Still on the hunt for my own cactus...and of course, a jay oh bee. And until I find this perfect job, I am starving myself on internet. Yes, you heard me right. I am taking away the one thing that connects me with the rest of the world. Going into total isolation. Eh, not total isolation. I still have my trusty blackberry and the local Starbucks to feed my internet and new-found caffeine addiction. You would be amazed to find how nice/annoying it is to live with out the internet at your fingertips (well, on my laptop at least) at every waking and non-waking moment of the day. I can finally read books again, cook delicious meals and...write this blog? Okay, well those aren't too many things to be envious of, but I am sure I can come up with much more at a later date.

Today I went for my first 10 mile run since, well, the last time I ran 10 miles. That must of been about 4 months ago. Training for a half marathon by yourself isn't the most rewarding experience. It seems to induce talking to ones self, singing songs out loud (when your lungs allow) and falling into a deep trance around mile seven. This is the only way to get through 1 hour and 30 minutes of running. Today's adventure led me through tails of puppies, dead end trails and a forest full of baby vultures.

The puppies, I don't really have to explain. There are puppies here, puppies there. Puppies are simply everywhere. Dr. Suess could of done a little better at that rhyme, but that is how it is. When the weather gets nice the cute couples and their new puppies come frolicking out on the trail. Shoving their cute faces into the grass and looking up at me for an expected pat on the head. I love puppies. I really really do. But this just feels like everyone is doing this to boost their ego and make me MAD. Of course I want a puppy and I don't have the means nor time to get one right now, so I have to make do with looking at how happy everyone else is. I bet they have great jobs too. I'm a little bitter.

Got stuck on a dead end to a wonderful trail I found. Since I was not about to turn around and make two, one mile loops around the parking lot, I decided to venture out into the road and make do. Here was the roads name: "Hairy Man Road". I probably would of doubled over in laughter if I would have known this at the time. Instead I found out four hours later as my GPS led me on a guided tour of the pain I had just endured. In bold letters it read: Hairy Man Road. The easy question is: what kind of name is that? Then you go deeper and think, who was this named after? Or was someone on the transportation board really really drunk and thought this would just be hilarious. All I can do is shake my head and never go back there again.

Onto the best part of my day: baby vultures. Or maybe I should just talk about birds in general. Here is something to think about, for those who live in the midwest, or northern part of the world: birds migrate south. Duh. It wasn't something I really thought about when I also migrated south in the dead of a St. Louis winter. The first few weeks here I could NOT understand the massive flocks of birds on every street lamp, tree or power line. Now...duh. They are everywhere. Birds, I can handle. But the gross amount of vultures here is just petrifying. I shiver when I think of their wrinkly, Sherpa puppy necks. Every morning there is some road kill on our street, soon followed by the elder vulture who snacks on it's insides all day long. (Shiver now). One vulture is creepy, yet avoided. 30 baby vultures is not even a scenario you should have to imagine. Don't think cute, smaller vultures...just think of vultures with shorter darker necks. So, of course, during my seventh mile through the tree tunnels of Brushy Creek, I look up to see a bird stretching its wings to soar away. My first thought is, sweet! I love nature! Then I mistakenly look into the trees above and see the masses. They just stared at me. In my haste, I squealed and picked up the pace.

My body hurts and I want to take a nap. I think I will do just that.

Crazed Cacti

Texas is hot. I am sure everyone already knows that, but I am starting to realize the reality of just how hot it is. It is only January and I have found that I can run in sleeveless shirts and shorts. Is this normal? Sure, everyone makes fun of the fact that Texas thinks so highly of itself, being it's own country and all. But I think I might just believe it. How can NYC be 6 degrees and in here it is 60? Crazed Cacti are what does it.

I have finally found an indescribable apartment to live in, in the land of Pflugerville. And yes, that is a "PF". They use these two letters in every way possible. Pflugerville Pfall Pfestival is just one of the many examples I will give. Sure, it seems silly and ridiculous but I will accept that over the alternate spelling of dolphin...dolpfin. Now they are just messing with the English language and I don't know how much of that I can tolerate. I don't care for the small town, but it is quaint and growing. The Starbucks is my friend and so is the double bolt on my apartment door. Maybe that will preempt you for the journey I took through the back roads of Pflugerville.

I mapped out a new route for my 5 mile run. This lollipop route seemed easy enough, looping through side streets and main roads to lead me back to my apartment. As I made my way along the first street, the houses became dingier and spaced out. The first landmark was a "hall" in which people rented out to get married or host special occasions. All I could make out was one plastic-covered tent in the middle of the field.

I started to cross over this small rusted bridge, but second guessed myself. The last thing I needed was to destroy a bridge and die in a creek bed. Three guys came out of the woods next me, as I was making this decision, with shovels and hammers. They headed towards an open field, making glances in my direction. Let's assume: grave diggers?

I made it about 2 miles out until I was followed by a Mexican boy on a bike. I use boy lightly. His short stature masked his age of 25 or 30. His small legs were able to keep up with me for a short time, while he blatantly turned to stare at me. His creepy ways were put to an end when a cop car strolled by at an alarmingly slow pace. I lost him in a neighborhood.

Another group of hoodlums were ahead, playing in a sewer. I have never seen so many young pimps in my life.

After another mile of just wanting to get home, a PT cruiser came speeding by, pushing me to the uneven sidewalk. I caught up to it at a small deserted parking lot, that of course, I had to pass through. A shady fella got out with a paper bag in his hand. He quickly hid his sketchy face and sunk back into the cruiser, only to speed away again.

I thought my adventure must be over, but I always seem to be wrong. As I headed into my last mile, an ice cream truck (in the middle of January) turned onto my deserted street. The same jingle was played for 10 minutes. As hard as I tried to get rid of this nuisance, I had no luck.

Finally able to turn down a street, I ran into two hooligans, who upon seeing me, started digging in their pockets. I was ready for anything, knife, gun, cell phone. As I picked up my pace, I didn't dare turn around. I sprinted the last .3 mile and didn't stop until the second dead bolt was locked.

So much for relaxing during my run.