Our Lady of East Austin and the Downtown Aztecs

December 12th is the Feast Day of Our Lady of Guadalupe. You probably already knew that, but I had to learn the hard way.

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning to the sound of horns and some soft drumming.

I decided to see what was amiss.

When I opened the front door, I saw a group of around 15 people holding flashlights, horns, small drums, and tambourines. They formed a slow procession that surrounded a man shuffling along the street on his knees, using a couple of yoga mats for cushioning. Once he had shuffled the length of one yoga mat, one of his buddies brought the rear yoga mat to the front.

I retreated back inside and groggily Googled “Austin parade knees dawn why.” Eventually I learned that the Catholic church down the street has a large Mexican congregation, and that this morning marked the anniversary of the day the Virgin Mary appeared to an Aztec man on a hill in Mexico and told him she needed him to build her a church. This particularly Mexican version of the Virgin Mary came to be known as Our Lady of Guadalupe (OLG)®.

I returned to bed.

A few hours later, a much larger, noisier procession appeared. Most of the performers wore Aztec costumes. The musicians played wild Aztec jazz.

More Dancing

For the rest of the afternoon I saw people headed for the church, many of them carrying bouquets of flowers and pictures of OLG.

“EXCUSE ME! CAN I TAKE YOUR PHOTO?” I hollered at this mother-daughter duo as they scuttled to catch up with the rest of the parade.

Our Lady of Guadalupe

In Austin, you can see evidence everywhere of the strong ties between the Aztec people and OLG.

On Cesar Chavez there is a popular business called Leal’s Tires. According to Yelp, they quickly and efficiently patch tires.

Leal’s owners pay tribute to the Aztecs and hot Aztec maidens with the murals on the sides of their building.

I’m not a fan of the body language on display here. Mostly because I’m not a fan of the fucking patriarchy, even if it puts on a feather headdress and disguises itself as a marginalized indigenous people.

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On all fours? Really, Moctezuma?

I’m sure there’s a lot about the Aztecs that we can all still appreciate. Stepped pyramids? Give em to me. Ritualized heart removal? Can’t get enough.

But based on this one mural they seem like macho dicks.

Directly across the street you can visit a liquor store called East 1st Grocery. Emblazoned on the side of the building is Our Lady, looking on pityingly at the tire store Aztecs, as if to say “U think ur hot but ur not.”

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All of the stories of OLG that I read online seemed flat and colorless. In the mist of a sleep-deprived daydream, I suddenly remembered where I had first heard of her.

A certain little storytelling dog named Wishbone covered the legend of OLG in the mid 90s.

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Wishbone played Juan Diego, the Aztec man that bumped into OLG on Tepeyac Hill. Tepeyac Hill is significant because it has served as the location of an Aztec temple before the Spanish smashed it to bits. OLG told Juan Diego that she needed a church in that same spot. She spoke to him in the Aztec language of Nahuatl, so Juan Diego would get that she was down with the cause. Continue reading

Pickle School with the Austin Learnshop

Earlier this year I joined a hippy work space collective. I’ve been freelancing for two years now, and working from home breeds madness. Going to cafes is expensive, and I have a medical condition where I need to be coldly ignoring lots of people before I can do any work.

As an added perk, sometimes my office holds events for its members. Last month I attended Austin Learnshop‘s pickling workshop. I currently live in a household that is at the whim of a kombucha scobie, so pickling seemed like something I could probably incorporate into my lifestyle.

The class was led by a young pickle entrepreneur named Sheena, of Sheena’s Pickles Facebook Page fame.

Sheena’s Pickles: A Brief History

Sheena got into pickling right before one “broke-ass Christmas.” She spread pickled cheer throughout the land, and forever after her pickles were in high demand. Sheena’s fridge is continually packed with pickles, and the hordes of wailing pickle-gobblers are never far from her door.

She also makes jams.

“Any questions?” she asked before we began. Some Paranoid Patty asked about botulism. Sheena explained that botulism only forms at very high temperatures. You only need those kinds of temps for canning – jarring doesn’t get hot enough for that kind of freak funk to form.

Pickle Ingredients

At each table the picklers had an array of flavoring agents at our disposal. Sheena warned us to go easy with the jalapeño: “I don’t want you all shitting fire.”

Sheena passed out latex gloves and warned the gentlemen in the room about the dangers of mixing spicy peppers and penises. Women also put on gloves, who knows why.

(Don’t be naive. In case we wanted to touch penises later.)

We were free to paint our pickle canvases in shades of carrot, green bean, okra, and zucchini. Johnson’s Backyard Garden, an organic farm in Austin, provided all of the vegetables.

Eli, one of my co-workers, sank into a deep depression once he learned that there was no cucumber. He looked at his zucchini, betrayed. “This isn’t cucumber?”

I sharply reminded him that Sheena had specifically announced cucumbers weren’t in season. “Weren’t you paying attention?”

Another woman at our pickling table was more compassionate. Mary kept handing Eli odds and ends to add to his jar, in hopes of cheering him up.

There there. Have a carrot.

Pickle Pout

He pouted for the duration of the class.

“I thought we were making REAL pickles.”

Eventually someone pointed out that Eli’s vegetables were too short for his jar, which increased his sorrows by tenfold.

(I stuffed my jar perfectly. Everyone noticed.)

Dry Jar

For my veggies I tossed in mostly carrots and green beans, along with a couple of okra. Then I threw in some zucchini, so as to not hurt the zucchini’s feelings. I also chucked in a couple of sprigs of fresh dill, slam-dunked a small clove of garlic from the 3-point line, and catapulted in a few hearty pinches of seasoning using a tiny, medieval trebuchet.


For those of you all who thought pickling was just taking a nap while your cucumbers soak in vinegar: You think you grown, but you ain’t.

There is an arsenal of special pickling tools. Continue reading

Vegans of YouTube, Part 2, Falafel Reloaded: Poetry, Massacres, and Beyonce

By popular demand, I’ve decided to write an update to my WILDLY CLICKED-UPON post covering the ins-and-outs of vegan youtube drama. I’ve gotten a lot of positive feedback from people already aware of the vegan vitriol on YouTube.

Others have brought to my attention the fact that this is a topic that many struggle to care about. Here’s why you should waste some time on this. Because of the internet, in only a few short years vegan YouTubers have created the number of warring factions and level of infighting that used to take even really bad bitches decades to pull together. Commenter etudooventolevou put it best, referring to these YouTube channels as a “bizarre, deconstructed reality show.”

Vegans with the most abrasive, intense personalities get the most attention. Some of them truly believe that plant-based diets will help turn this global warming choo-choo around, so they take to YouTube to spread the good word and save us all from the end of days. When you think that your personal eating habits are helping to save the planet, it tends to go to your head.

About me: I’m not a nutritionist, and I have zero input on the reasonableness of these diets. My only mission is to give you a peep into the wild world of online vegans.

Fully Raw Kristina’s Fully Raw Slam Poetry Special

My WordPress stats tell me a lot of people have come to my blog because they googled the phrase “Is fully raw kristina a fake bitch?” It turns out this is a question on A LOT of people’s minds. So many people, in fact, that The Fully Rawness herself decided to put out this video.

Am I Fake? Kristina ventures to offer an answer through her first-ever beat poetry slam sesh. In this #fullyraw poem, she finally proved once and for all just how sincere she truly is.

Based on the lyrics, it turns out that she sincerely does believe that she is God’s fruity messiah, shooting down from heaven on a rainbow of papayas, mangos, raspberries, figs, and a bunch of other organic produce you can’t afford.

Just because I am happy doesn’t mean I don’t experience dark moments. That I haven’t been hurt or shamed or broken. Being happy doesn’t mean that I am a fake or a plastic, or that I am inexperienced, or dumb or any less fantastic.

It just means that I have chosen to shine my light through the darkness. I’ve chosen to shine brighter than any obstacle placed before me, because I know that I am incredible human being.

Before I saw this video, I had been toying with the idea that maybe I had judged Kristina too harshly. Living in Austin, I meet a lot of transplants from California, and I’ve notices that they all want to trick you into believing that they are deeply simple. “Color makes me happy!” they’re fond of saying. “I just want to be a good person,” they’ll tell you, with a straight face.

After I studied the lines of her poem, I put aside all doubt. At one point she utters the words “Self-hate can only be destroyed with self-appreciate.” I’ve crunched the numbers and only a complete sociopath would force a rhyme that hard. She goes on to say:

“I run in fields of bluebells and wildflowers. I fall in love with me all over again. I give hugs and bring color into my life…Inspiring you brings me joy.”

When she’s not inspiring you and running through fields of wildflowers, she is allegedly threatening legal action against Rawvana, another vegan youtuber who who made a recipe video for watermelon salsa that is “confusingly similar” to Kristina’s watermelon gazpacho recipe.


Take this information with a grain of salt, since it comes from her arch-enemy, Harley Johnstone, more commonly known by his YouTube username “Durian Rider.”

But their beef is old news. Durian Rider and his partner have moved on to fresh meat.

Freelee Banana Girl and Durian Rider vs. Bikini Body 

Freelee the Banana Girl and Durian Rider are, forgive me, the TOP BANANAS :):):) of the vegan YouTube world. This Australian couple spends a lot of time being infuriated with the flabby, nutritionally imbalanced bodies of other YouTubers.

Freelee’s channel started attracting a lot of attention when she posted a video of herself eating 51 bananas in a single day, for her health.

Freelee relies on a lot of basic bitch keywords. She uses clickbait titles and makes sure to stuff her videos with pictures of newly fat celebrities to ensure her shit has some tight SEO. She has a lot of videos with titles like “Sexy fruitarian girl dancing in underwear.”

She caused a stir most recently with her now-infamous “What Do YOU Think?” video.

You shouldn’t have the choice to be vegan or not, she argues. The planet is almost over, and your pepperoni pizza should instantly qualify you for the guillotine.

Freelee’s endless wrath has resulted in a bit of a sticky wicket, which is an Australian term meaning anti-defamation lawsuit. Kayla Itsines, a trainer who wrote the 12-week Bikini Body Training Guide, threatened to sue the banana eater. Freelee and Durian Rider made several videos stating Itsines’ instructions encouraged starvation. To avoid a lawsuit, Freelee and Durian Rider agreed to stop making videos about Itsines and settled out of court.

Freelee and Durian Rider’s supporters gathered outside the courthouse, chanting the Freelee’s catchphrase “Carb the fuck up,” as the famous fruitarians went to reckon with the Bikini Body.

It stands to reason that more than one person had the following thought: “When I see my favorite person who eats the bananas on the internet for a living in trouble, I’m ready to take time out of my day to show support for her banana lifestyle. Bananas, banana people, bananas forever.”

Kayla. Freelee. You’re both super skinny. Can we leave it at that?

Vegan Gains 

Vegan Gains is the biggest phenomenon to sweep the vegan YouTube community. He is a boy wonder when it comes to incensed vegan indignation.

He also has the testosterone-fueled angst of youth, and a nearly impenetrable Canadian accent. He punctuates his videos with screen caps of scientific studies and cutaways to horrifying scenes of animal slaughter.

Vegan Gains is best known for his series “Worst of the Fitness Industry,” wherein he lampoons popular Youtube fitness gurus for their “bro-science” and promotion of meat, eggs, and protein powders as a nutritional basis for building muscle.

Like so many young men I’ve learned to avoid, he claims to worship logic above all else. If only everyone else could pull their heads out of their poop chutes and start using a little more LOGIC. Speaking of which, watch Vegan Gains rip these two assholes a twin pair of new assholes.

“Here we have two people who fail to understand the big bang theory, which I even as a 5-year-old child could understand thanks to Bill Nye the Science Guy.”

Vegan Gains is deeply impressed by his own intellect, so much so that you might mistake him for not being fun at a party.

Here is some footage from his birthday:

But don’t you see? He’s trying to save the world! Cows are dying, the glaciers are melting, and people are eating the wrong kind of burritos! It’ll all be worth it in the end.

His rage has expanded to include YouTube personalities outside of body building, including Trisha Paytas, aka blndsundoll4mj. Paytas is best known for being a plus-sized porn personality. She has spearheaded national discourse about lady fat. Is it good? Do we like it? Does it belong on our asses? She gives a resounding “Yes!”

Especially in this music video (DON’T WATCH THIS, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES): Continue reading

There’s This Thing Called the George W. Bush Museum and Libary

Recently, a friend’s wedding compelled me to visit the exact opposite of Austin.

Dallas is famous for its slick exterior and a distinctly southern tendency for being basic.

People in Dallas are…how can I put this delicately. The kind of people who would eat at a Cheesecake Factory. If you read Yelp reviews of restaurants Dallas you’ll notice that food quality takes a backseat to metrics like server smiles per second (S.S.P.S.), and speed. Speed is so important that you’ll find a lot of reviewers take the time to break down their experiences into minute-by-minute increments.

Because I read Yelp reviews to unwind in the evenings, I have a pretty good idea of the ideal Dallas dining experience. It is as follows:

7:05: Arrived at casual dining facility wearing cowboy boots, the same up-do I wore to my high school prom, and full makeup. I look extremely awesome, and there are no non-white people in this restaurant to make me question myself.

7:06: My smiling, blonde-haired ex-cheerleader of a waitress has stuffed my body in a well-oiled SeatingLuge™ and shot me into the nearest dining booth. Piping Hot Queso Dip™ is waiting.

7:07: “Can I get you anything to drink?” the waitress asks, producing frozen margaritas from under her skirt before I can answer.

7:07: I order Beef Tex-Mex™, Chicken Tex-Mex™, Shrimp Tex-Mex™, and a cheescake.

7:10: Food arrives and I leave to eat it in my car.

The day after the Dallas nuptials, my wedding buddies and I had an afternoon to kill.

“Where should we go?” I asked the post-wedding brunch bunch. “Where can someone find any respite from boredom in this twisted Oz of shopping mall dystopia?”

“Go to the Perot Natural History Museum!” said all of the Dallas locals.

“Let’s go to the George Bush Museum,” I strongly suggested, once everyone else was out of earshot.

My travel companions agreed, based on this reasoning: The George Bush Museum and Library is a thing that can only exist in Dallas. Also, it has 4-and-a-half stars on Yelp.




But before you get too excited, no, this is not a museum where you can see the self-portraits of George W. Bush in the shower. Those didn’t even get a mention.

In the museum’s orientation room we got a run-down on the basic premise of George Bush.

“Baseball Value Principles are the Principle Reasons for my Texas Values,” he said, spread out over 20-ish minutes.


Here is what happened during his presidency, according to the movie we watched.

1. In light of 9/11, did what he knew he had to do: PLAY BALL!

2. Taught the children to read (even the dumb ones).

3. Loved Laura Bush and only Laura Bush forever and ever, amen.

4. Went to Africa to tell AIDS what he thought of it (fuckin sucks).

After the movie ended and the lights went up, my friend surveyed the crowded theater and whispered, “Do you think these people are actually Republicans?”

Judging by their heart-shaped hair clips and 100-year-old bodies, it wasn’t out of the question.

We got to see displays of all the gifts people have given George W. Bush over the years. This stuffed lion from Tanzania was given to George W. Bush by President Jakaya Kikwete.

George W. Bush is singularly ungrateful for this stuffed lion. He never uses it.


Then there was this.


The display of G-Dog and the Homeboys: Father Greg Boyle and the Gangs of East Los Angeles by Celeste Fremon (with a forward by Tom Brocaw) came with no explanation.

Exhibits about the highlights of George W. Bush’s presidency exist in a vacuum, with no hint of how it all shook it out. No Child Left Behind and the Patriot Act are rolled out like tracks from a greatest hits compilation.


I hadn’t considered that this museum would make me relive footage of 9-11. I also had to live through this poem for the first time.


Dear Mrs. Bush,

I am writing acrostic poem to share my thoughts about the distruction in N.Y.









Justin Wood

I’m not bringing up the poem to shit on Justin (but “Justin.” Ew.) I just want to point out that there HAD to have been something better in that sack of mail, and no one was willing to put in the effort to find it. And that’s lazy. Almost as lazy as beginning and ending your acrostic poem with the same word, Justin.

The George W. Bush Museum wants you to know that combatting terrorism is, in fact, exactly like playing a video game. And you can do it, too!


Point n’ click! Fate, decided!

All you need is confidence and a good index finger.


TAP LEFT! TAP RIGHT! Well, that’s Afghanistan dealt with. Lunch? Cheesecake Factory?

But the best part was the Decision Points Room.

In the Decision Points Room, you are the decider. Continue reading


I went to an art gallery opening recently, expressly for the purpose of manufacturing blog material.

It’s that or a post called “Top 3 Suspicious Baked Goods Left Outside My House.”

But now that you mentioned it. Something is definitely up.

First came the muffins. One January night I came home to find these stray muffs loitering beneath the street light, at the bus stop.

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In the morning, an unknown vagrant made off with the muffins, leaving all but five.

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Five muffins, aka one muffin for each of the points on the pentagram.


Weeks later, I found a baguette in the same spot.

The baguette points directly toward the fire hydrant, which is there in case of flames.

The flames of a flaming pentagram.

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Occult symbols aside, I guess it’s not to hard to piece together what happened. People arrive at the bus stop with their carb snacks, only to have the fascist bus driver tell them that Austin city buses no longer allow gluten.

But I dare you to explain what my roommate found in the bushes.

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Pruning back a Turk’s cap bush, Erin uncovered a bag of moldy bagels.

In order for them to reach the side of the house, someone had to have hurled the bagels from the sidewalk.

It’s a full bag of bagels, i.e. a bag of bagels that had its whole life in front of it.

We’ve got the body, but not the motive. Someone thinks they can make a fool of ME, Detective Chief Superintendent Impudence. We’ll see.

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Your days are numbered, bread bandit.

“Come Over Here and Touch this Rock” was a Museum of Human Achievement production, so I knew it was worth the trip. The Museum of Human Achievement is a society of human-shaped warlock moles that emerge into a warehouse a couple of times per month to hold up a mirror to the farce of modern life.

This is the secret warehouse where their events take place. I would tell you where it is, but you didn’t ask, which I take personally.

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I can’t be sure, but I’m pretty sure this little pile of rocks on the floor was the main event.

But there’s a good chance I’m reading too much into the title of the exhibit. I didn’t see anyone touching the rocks, or being encouraged to touch the rocks by the artist.

Judging by the events that followed, the rocks were not the point. Far from it.

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There was a collection of thirty or so paintings, with titles like “Navajo Brainwave Water Slide,” “Chachi Loves Droni,” and “Is This My Brain or a Toupe, and Why is It So Small?”

Some were large.

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Some were small.

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But what got the most attention were the shards of glass jutting from between the floorboards.

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Most of the shards were purposefully placed right in front of the paintings, in especially juicy locations for catching people unawares.

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In all fairness, we had all been warned.

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This is the enticing artist’s statement that I received via e-mail, because I am one of the few people in the world with enough moxie to join the Museum of Human Achievement’s mailing list. Continue reading

Machu Pizza: Don’t Bother. (And other tales from Trip Advisor.)

I’ve been writing copy for a travel agency. If you are calling yourself a professional copywriter, it is essential to avoid saying things like:

“The Oxford dictionary defines Machu Picchu as ‘A fortified Inca town in the Andes Mountains in Peru that the invading Spaniards never found.’ But there is so much more to it than that.”

(Do not ever do this, even if you are in the 8th grade.)

So I spend a lot of time on TripAdvisor, skimming reviews for the highlights and pitfalls of visiting monuments and ruins. It’s good for inspiration, but not adjectives. Everyone describes old places as “magical,” and rates them based on how much “magic” they found to smuggle away in their cavities, to snort up whenever they’re having a slow day at the office.

Machu Picchu, it turns out, is TripAdvisor’s top-rated attraction.


And yet, I noticed a few visitors rated it as “terrible.”

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People leave bad online reviews for bad reasons. The line was too long, the weather was bad, it was more expensive than Applebee’s, and they didn’t know that was possible. If there is any kind of exchange of money for goods and services, someone will leave a bad review.

The reviewer in question had to reschedule their visit because someone in their party had a headache. They were unable to get a refund for their entrance ticket, prompting the reviewer to say that “…people here are willing to rip off their ancestors.”

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I located an Incan ancestor for comment.

Seen here being like, “Fuck, you guys.”


(This is the mummy of an Incan girl sacrificed in her early teens, probably to ensure a good crop. Archeologists overwhelmingly give this mummy 5 stars for its freeze-dried tissue, and ambiance.)

This particular reviewer describes Machu Picchu as something “nature provided,” as if the Andes just rolled over one day and pooped it out.

I know what you’re wondering. Histories and mysteries are all very well, but how were Machu Picchu’s nom noms?

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For being on top of a mountain in Peru, Machu Picchu has surprisingly terrible pizza, “that has horrible tasting llama cheese on it.”

It turns out the Machu Picchu staff will “do ANYTHING for money.” Even sell you a pizza, like greedy prostitutes, who sell pizza.

After the llama cheese pizza, their next point is that “THE HUMANITY IS LOST HERE.” In all fairness, cheese quality is a good litmus test for overall humanity. My house? Great cheese. Chernobyl? Cheese is fucked, probably.

Btw, Chernobyl gets really great reviews.

Chernobyl is Great

This made me wonder what other famous monuments fucking sucked.

Close your eyes and picture Stonehenge.

Open your eyes and look at this picture of Stonehenge.


Think about the fucking name, “Stonehenge.”

Then read the title of this review.

Just Rocks

According to this reviewer, Stonehenge is “The definition of a tourist trap.” The Oxford Dictionary defines tourist traps as “Anything built by druids to track the movement of the sun, that also turns out to suck.”

Just as reviews for restaurants take into account atmosphere, you can’t expect tourists to put on blinders when it comes to crumbling monuments.


This is not a review of the Great Wall, the reviewer clarifies, but a review of a bad smell he smelled because of his trip to the Great Wall. Continue reading

5 East Austin Secrets You Should Know (#5 Will Make You Shit the Bed!)

My title today is carefully crafted clickbait, inspired by my deep and abiding love of weather.com. Their weather report comes surrounded by delicious headlines such as “9 Secrets No One Told You About.” (And because I write for the web, it behooves me to demonstrate my unflinchingly desperate SEO tactics.)

Real talk: Here are 5 things I’ve encountered in Austin, that I don’t think you’ll find in your town, the TGI Friday’s capital of the midwest, or wherever.

1. Life-Affirming Baristas

Take me in your arms, Cuvee Coffee!

This lovely spot wants its customers to come to sip coffee, and nothing more. A sign on the door informs customers that they won’t find Wi-Fi here. So immediately I knew I wasn’t welcome, which I liked. As a freelance writer / annoying person, I typically scope out the Wi-Fi password immediately, and duck under tables to look for outlets. This is before I order my first (and only) small-sized dwinky-dwink.

“Can I have an iced coffee?”

“Do you want it nitrogenated?”

“Come again?”

“It’s like a Guinness.” He poured me a sample from a faucet made for draft beer. A dense head of foam formed on the coffee.

If someone gives me a free sample, I feel intense pressure to love whatever it is enormously. More pressure than I ever felt to pick a degree or pay back loans. I pursed my lips and cooed after my first sip. “Oooh, yes, I’ll have one of these please.” And if you think the snifter-shaped glass had a positive impact on my mood, you’re starting to understand women.

“Can I pour cream in it?” I asked the barista. Please, monsieur! Tell me if I’m doing it wrong! Make me as smart as you are! What? All I wanted was for the barista to love me like a daughter. Teacher’s Pet 4 Life.

“Sure,” he responded, “we don’t tell people how to live.”

Outside, in the sunshine, the light of God’s truth washed over me. This iced coffee was good. But maybe I look stupid drinking it.

Who do you think you are

2. Bicycle Repair Shop Cafes

Fast outside

One fine day I went into Fast Folks, my favorite bicycle repair shop / coffee bar that serves vegan tacos. Specifically, the repulsively named but delectable Vegan Nom tacos. Only something wasn’t quite right, Miss Clavelle. Fast Folks hadn’t had a delivery from The Vegan Nom taco truck.

Madam Fast Folks had no explanation. They had stopped making their deliveries, without explanation. But would I like a vegan muffin?

No, I only eat muffins with meat in them. Then I stomped out the door, and went home to scream into a pillow.

Now where the FUCK am I supposed to eat sprout tacos?

I know you’re thinking, “When your grandmother was your age, she had several children to take care of, and feared God’s wrath occasionally.” Spare me the history lesson, Debbie.

I perked up when I saw this ad for artichoke water.


I bought some as soon as I spied a bottle. It tastes like honey, and mild mint tea. Ain’t bad, but the sips-per-penny ratio does not merit the absurd price point.

(“Price point:” Better than saying “price?” 10 out of 10 retail managers in collars too tight for their neck fat say “Yes!”)

It left a sweet taste in my mouth and a question on my mind.


Think about how smart you would feel if you had, at some point around 2008, bought stock in coconut. With the way things are going, in 5 years everyone will be rubbing artichoke cream all over their food and bodies. I would invest, but I’m broke from spending ALL MY MONEY ON ARTISANAL WATERS.

3. General Stores for MY Generation

When I first moved to Austin, I decided I would only drink hip fluids. 40% of my living expenses were coconut water. Compounding the problem, I often found myself near Quickie Pickie, a general store for modern youth.

Quick Pick

Vanilla ice cream? No. Small batch sweet potato ice cream? Up to your vulva!

When I am hungover (and I am a turducken of wrath, coma, and puke steam), I find that the only thing that brings me around Continue reading