I hear that phrase way too often. I think in a previous incarnation or life, I was a Formula 1 racer. That guy that hated being considerate in traffic, or in a super market, that was me, years ago. That guy that fumes, “Next time I have to go to Louisiana, I’m taking the long way around Houston!”
Earlier this year, I was in a part of the state that I thought was made just for me. I know, it wasn’t, but my inner narcissist would tell you, indeed, it was. I’m not saying that I adore Crockett, or I love the land around Bryan and College Station, or that Hill Country between San Antonio and DFW isn’t where I can find sanctuary for my inner bonfire of rage. I’m just saying when I need to relax, I often make it to there to chill out and relax.
By relax, I mean, drive there and pretty much, not stop the car. Just zoom around along the main thoroughfares and act like an Italian in his sports car. I guess there are some stereotypes which do make it along the decades. The only thing I’m missing is the hot young blonde Parisian that is supposed to be traveling with me. That or the Schnauzer.
I really enjoy those parts of my new home state. It’s a great little place next to a great little place next to a great little place that makes wonderful pork sandwiches or bacon-wrapped jalapeño poppers. It’s the small things in life that make you not want to commit yourself to the actual task of murdering people around you. Although I watched the movie, God Bless America…and I had to say that I have had dreams and fantasies of ripping Kanye West apart like a pit bull against a sheep while Kim watched and stupidly cheered the bloodshed, no matter who was bleeding. When I decide to go, I might be out like Frank.
So I’m enjoying life and everything is sunshine and roses and I shit rainbows and even my old friends from the liberal literary world are accepting me as a leading satirist on the right…
So two months ago, we headed back to Jourdanton and I realized just how much I can’t stand South Texas. Well, we didn’t go far. Kenedy, Karnes City, those places, they aren’t exactly civilization, either. I’m not one for one-horse towns and sadly I keep getting routed to these places that Anthony Bourdain would tell you are hell.
I tried, people, I tried to like some of the restaurants here. I think that I should just get a stack of Marie Calendar dishes for the freezer and be happy we have a half-Wally World here. Finding somewhere to eat that didn’t have ass-quality service, that would be nice. I don’t mean that the waitress has to have gigantic breasts trying to smother us all at the table. I mean she has to check up on us every five to ten minutes to see how we are doing and how quick she wants her tip.
It’s not rocket science.
And I know that the people that are working and living in South Texas, act primarily like poor rich kids, who have never had a challenge a day in their life that they couldn’t buy the solution to the puzzle. I get it. This area is filled with assholes and douchebags. I also read the word, Douchebag, as ‘single father’.
I shouldn’t have to wait longer than five minutes for an ice-cold beer in a mug. Unless I’m at PJ’s and I see their amateur brewing equipment off to the side, I’m not expecting the waitress to know much about beers and why it took her so damn long to return to my table. I expect a lot.
Like the challenge for a woman to wait to be married for the birth of her second child. I ask too much, down here, it seems. It’s like asking for a little more Parm for your nachos, people just look at you like you’re from another planet or something…