Fuck you, Austinist.
This is long.
Several weeks ago I attended a friend’s birthday party at a local karaoke bar. When the waitress came around to take my order, I asked her if they had "blasters", to which she replied, "where are you from? ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t from around here". Apparently the correct term in Austin is "Jager bomb" and not blaster. When I first had a blaster it was at Andy’s basement in Denton while visiting a friend. I again had some at Catbirds in Houston which I believe also called them blasters. If you didn’t know already, I was born and raised in Dallas, and even though some of my friends say it’s debatable whether Dallas is actually part of Texas, I do believe that it resides within the state’s borders, thereby making me a Texan for whatever it’s worth. I ended up ordering the $8 Jager bomb from our server and enjoying it (even though it was pre-dropped, which annoyed me). Blasters are the world’s most perfect alcoholic beverage. You have your energy drink and your liquor, two steps above what I imagine the fictional "Buzz Beer" would have been. Energized and drunk. It’s every red-blooded American’s dream state of being.
I might as well address what happened yesterday and clear up how I feel (and felt) about it. To start, I know I do a lot of friendly (and not-so-friendly) heckling on here about all sorts of things. I’m also aware that my tongue-in-cheek remarks can be taken incorrectly and I’m usually prepared to take some jibes because of them. For example, when I decided to express my amazement at the blog-pushing the Rox Populi girl does on the Chronicle’s site and how her blog leaves quite a bit to be desired (even for a so-called political blog) and she followed my link back here to get her two-cents in. That was funny. In that case, maybe she was the one taking what I said without the grain of salt of me being random anonymous doesn’t-really-matter livejournaler girl, and she decided to retaliate by commenting on how ridiculous my subject matters are. Well, sure, if you want to compare a blog that pushes its advertising on a popular local website with mine, an obvious mixture of attempts-to-be-funny and holding-back-my-coldplay-contempt, then I can see where you might get that idea. It was ridiculous, at any rate.
What happened came from my jokingly-made comment P.s. FUCK YOU, Austinist!, which somehow caught the attention of their staff. I could have easily said P.s. Eat a DICK, Austinist! or P.s. Turn down your COLDPLAY, Austinist!, or P.s. Go read your SELBY JR., Austinist!, which probably wouldn’t have received as much attention, but would have been just as effective and relevant in my eyes. The comments made yesterday, both by me and (supposedly) the Austinist were different than the aforementioned situation, at least to me. I wasn’t bothered by the jibe (though, at the time, I couldn’t tell if it was really a friendly jibe or a comment about my choice of early-to-mid-90s-pop-hit-love-confession subjects), but later, when I received further commentary, I felt the implications of the comments were less poking and more jabbing. As I was mentioning in the very entry that started this debacle, I’m really quite passionate about my online writing, as silly as that sounds. It’s one of those things that I look forward to everyday and some other people look forward to as well. The blow-to-the-ego was from what I took as "having a quick laugh at my expense" portion of the comments, which made me feel not only as the butt of a group’s joke, but also foolish for my former consideration of writing possibilities. The kids commenting strike me as the type who would read criticism about themselves and shrug it off, proclaiming, "she’s just jealous" and "she just needs to get out more", and then turn back to their Apple laptop at their table at Epoch.
The emotional part of it was probably because I just came home from seeing the shrink and talking about my dead mother for an hour, and so as far as the overreaction and defensiveness part, I am sorry. I’m not sorry for being a little upset about it, though, as ultimately it came off as a dead-end barrier to something I’ve been aspiring to for quite some time now. Whether I created that barrier myself or not is still up for debate, but I still feel it’s there, and the disappointment of it all was what weighed heaviest on my reaction. Being a fan of the Austinist for a while made me yearn to be some quippy writer in some hip online ‘zine who writes things like "my secret job is being a pirate-ninja" and "I liked Iron and Wine before they existed" under my profile.
After some thought about this, I’m pretty certain where the group effort came from and I’m pretty confident I know who the initiator was. I’m not upset about the letdown anymore, as someone pointed out to me yesterday-being turned down by a hipster publication is just like getting an error message on MySpace. In this day and age, I’d rather not be a member of a club that wouldn’t have me. One man’s journal entry is another man’s cheap joke, after all.
I’m glad I decided to venture out last night. I probably told Lauren that she has a "very punchable face" at least 5 times throughout the course of the evening. The surprising addition of my beautiful roommate later on was awesome and I’m glad Lauren and I kinda-sorta almost beat the boys at pool. The only things missing were Carl doing the Cabbage Patch (next time, Carl?) and the ability to make it a late night instead of heading home early to "get some sleep" before work.
I am, by far, the most difficult person you will ever have the pleasure to read. If I were kind and agreeable I wouldn’t be the Erin Parr-tiest person you know, and we would all surely be saddened by that.
The Wednesday (Billy Dee) Williams:
1. Do you consider yourself to have a very punchable face? If not, name at least one person who you feel does have a punchable face. If possible, give reasons as to why their face is punchable and cite sources if necessary. (Points off for lack of originality such as using GWB or Hitler)
2. Is it okay to care?
3. Do you own a television? If you said "no", why are you lying?
4. Do you think the band name "CSS" is funnier when you call them "cascading style sheets"? Why or why not?
5. So are they blasters or are they Jager bombs?
6. Did you spot all of the times I was being sarcastic and satirical in this entry? Really? Good!
7. But really, no, really, honestly-do you think I’m an asshole retarded pansy now because you’ve been witness to my actual caring about something that means something to me? Discuss.
Several weeks ago I attended a friend’s birthday party at a local karaoke bar. When the waitress came around to take my order, I asked her if they had "blasters", to which she replied, "where are you from? ‘Cause it sure as hell ain’t from around here". Apparently the correct term in Austin is "Jager bomb" and not blaster. When I first had a blaster it was at Andy’s basement in Denton while visiting a friend. I again had some at Catbirds in Houston which I believe also called them blasters. If you didn’t know already, I was born and raised in Dallas, and even though some of my friends say it’s debatable whether Dallas is actually part of Texas, I do believe that it resides within the state’s borders, thereby making me a Texan for whatever it’s worth. I ended up ordering the $8 Jager bomb from our server and enjoying it (even though it was pre-dropped, which annoyed me). Blasters are the world’s most perfect alcoholic beverage. You have your energy drink and your liquor, two steps above what I imagine the fictional "Buzz Beer" would have been. Energized and drunk. It’s every red-blooded American’s dream state of being.
I might as well address what happened yesterday and clear up how I feel (and felt) about it. To start, I know I do a lot of friendly (and not-so-friendly) heckling on here about all sorts of things. I’m also aware that my tongue-in-cheek remarks can be taken incorrectly and I’m usually prepared to take some jibes because of them. For example, when I decided to express my amazement at the blog-pushing the Rox Populi girl does on the Chronicle’s site and how her blog leaves quite a bit to be desired (even for a so-called political blog) and she followed my link back here to get her two-cents in. That was funny. In that case, maybe she was the one taking what I said without the grain of salt of me being random anonymous doesn’t-really-matter livejournaler girl, and she decided to retaliate by commenting on how ridiculous my subject matters are. Well, sure, if you want to compare a blog that pushes its advertising on a popular local website with mine, an obvious mixture of attempts-to-be-funny and holding-back-my-coldplay-contempt, then I can see where you might get that idea. It was ridiculous, at any rate.
What happened came from my jokingly-made comment P.s. FUCK YOU, Austinist!, which somehow caught the attention of their staff. I could have easily said P.s. Eat a DICK, Austinist! or P.s. Turn down your COLDPLAY, Austinist!, or P.s. Go read your SELBY JR., Austinist!, which probably wouldn’t have received as much attention, but would have been just as effective and relevant in my eyes. The comments made yesterday, both by me and (supposedly) the Austinist were different than the aforementioned situation, at least to me. I wasn’t bothered by the jibe (though, at the time, I couldn’t tell if it was really a friendly jibe or a comment about my choice of early-to-mid-90s-pop-hit-love-confession subjects), but later, when I received further commentary, I felt the implications of the comments were less poking and more jabbing. As I was mentioning in the very entry that started this debacle, I’m really quite passionate about my online writing, as silly as that sounds. It’s one of those things that I look forward to everyday and some other people look forward to as well. The blow-to-the-ego was from what I took as "having a quick laugh at my expense" portion of the comments, which made me feel not only as the butt of a group’s joke, but also foolish for my former consideration of writing possibilities. The kids commenting strike me as the type who would read criticism about themselves and shrug it off, proclaiming, "she’s just jealous" and "she just needs to get out more", and then turn back to their Apple laptop at their table at Epoch.
The emotional part of it was probably because I just came home from seeing the shrink and talking about my dead mother for an hour, and so as far as the overreaction and defensiveness part, I am sorry. I’m not sorry for being a little upset about it, though, as ultimately it came off as a dead-end barrier to something I’ve been aspiring to for quite some time now. Whether I created that barrier myself or not is still up for debate, but I still feel it’s there, and the disappointment of it all was what weighed heaviest on my reaction. Being a fan of the Austinist for a while made me yearn to be some quippy writer in some hip online ‘zine who writes things like "my secret job is being a pirate-ninja" and "I liked Iron and Wine before they existed" under my profile.
After some thought about this, I’m pretty certain where the group effort came from and I’m pretty confident I know who the initiator was. I’m not upset about the letdown anymore, as someone pointed out to me yesterday-being turned down by a hipster publication is just like getting an error message on MySpace. In this day and age, I’d rather not be a member of a club that wouldn’t have me. One man’s journal entry is another man’s cheap joke, after all.
I’m glad I decided to venture out last night. I probably told Lauren that she has a "very punchable face" at least 5 times throughout the course of the evening. The surprising addition of my beautiful roommate later on was awesome and I’m glad Lauren and I kinda-sorta almost beat the boys at pool. The only things missing were Carl doing the Cabbage Patch (next time, Carl?) and the ability to make it a late night instead of heading home early to "get some sleep" before work.
I am, by far, the most difficult person you will ever have the pleasure to read. If I were kind and agreeable I wouldn’t be the Erin Parr-tiest person you know, and we would all surely be saddened by that.
The Wednesday (Billy Dee) Williams:
1. Do you consider yourself to have a very punchable face? If not, name at least one person who you feel does have a punchable face. If possible, give reasons as to why their face is punchable and cite sources if necessary. (Points off for lack of originality such as using GWB or Hitler)
2. Is it okay to care?
3. Do you own a television? If you said "no", why are you lying?
4. Do you think the band name "CSS" is funnier when you call them "cascading style sheets"? Why or why not?
5. So are they blasters or are they Jager bombs?
6. Did you spot all of the times I was being sarcastic and satirical in this entry? Really? Good!
7. But really, no, really, honestly-do you think I’m an asshole retarded pansy now because you’ve been witness to my actual caring about something that means something to me? Discuss.