My Recent Company Sponsored Adventures

On Sunday I walked out the door to go to the airport announcing my one goal to Jon, "I'm going to Texas to get a black cowboy hat." Indeed, I did. We'll get there. This installation was with the kid my age, and again we had a blast. It started with the scariest plane ride of my life.

At 30,000 feet, just before we were about to start our final descent, the captain came on and told us we were going to have a "little turbulence," and then turned off the cabin lights and probably had a good laugh with his copilot. Almost immediately the plane dropped in the air and jerked back up, dispersing garbage all over the cabin. I only got about half a sentence of "I'm glad I wasn't peeing in the...." when the shaking began. This shaking was of British Nanny magnitude. Relentless, bone jarring shaking in all three dimensions. It felt like we were astronauts riding this plane back into the atmosphere. I don't know how many minutes I was white-knuckling my armrest for, but it was long enough for my pit stains to connect in both the front and back, and my forearm to cramp up. And trust me... it's well exercised. The businessman across the aisle from me was in the duck-and-cover position, which was appropriate for our touchdown.

So there we were rocketing towards the runway in a 40 mph crosswind when the back wheels touched down and the screaming began. Surprisingly it wasn't coming from me, because I was deep in repentance and negotiation with God. The plane began skidding wildly down the runway from side to side under full brake, until the screaming died and the pilot announced, "We made it." I have been on a LOT of planes, but this was by far the scariest trip. Thank you, Southwest, for giving me what I paid for.

We landed, rented a car, and found a hotel. In case you didn't know, you can haggle down rates. My coworker Chris is a master negotiator and could furnish a house from a yard sale with a single quarter.

Lady at Holiday Inn: "Ok it's $109 a night."

Chris: "How about $89."

Lady: "Fine."

Chris: "Ok... how about $79."

Lady: *sigh* "Ok. Not a dollar less."

We headed downtown to pay homage to the Alamo and drink beer.

Ready for a history lesson? Some Texan way back in the day pissed off the Mexicans. Santa Anna brought an army the size of my high school to siege the US Army at the Alamo, which was twice the size of my frat. Before the fighting began, Santa Anna let all of the women and children out of the Alamo, probably so his army could whistle and accost them with sexual gestures as has been the tradition ever since. The fighting began, and we lost. Sam Houston eventually brought more troops and we kicked their asses all the way back across the Rio Grande, which they have been swimming back across ever since. Years later our countries reached a truce by exchanging their cheap, unauthorized labor for our leftover cars and garbage.

Tuesday was another picnic in the hot Texas sun slaving away with some middle aged network engineers who were the worst labor we could have hoped for. I learned my crane signals to tell the operator how what to do with the satellite dish, and believe it or not... the crane sign for "boom down, winch up" was strikingly similar to a move I know called the "reverse southpaw."

Our crane operator was pretty cool and told us where to go out the next night. It was a bar called "Cowboy's." So we roll over there and get in the parking lot to see:

Perfect.

Then I remembered I was in Texas and if this place WAS a gay bar, it would be a pile of smoldering rubble. Doused in cowboy urine. We went in and it was AWESOME. We started straight off with the shots and beers, and I walked up and started snapping pictures of the live cover bands. The first act was this girl named Kristy Lee. She had this hot crimped porn hair and looked extremely fertile. She was also a damn good country singer.

People were dancing on the bar, and after $60 worth of shots, Chris and I were about to climb on up.

Then we realized they were all doing a country line dance that neither of us knew how to do.

Another singer came on singing more country, and it was at this point I realized it was about time for one of my classic alcohol induced impulse buys. That's right, they sold black cowboy hats at the bar.

I swiped the credit card and strutted around the bar sticking out like a sore thumb. I started calling our waitress (below) M'am and working the phrase "The great state of Texas" into every sentence I could figure out how to. I also demanded she wear my hat in a picture and at the end of the night, when I was blacked out and shortly before I drove back to the hotel, I sat her down and told her that she was the love of my life, and any guy would be lucky to have her... bla bla bla.

That was just a warm up.

Look at that hottie. Pink's not bad either.

Stumbling around the dance hall for more chances to embarrass myself, I found the goldmine. Well I didn't really find it, I commanded it to halt, come back, and take a picture with me. The crimped haired siren had been prowling the dance floor, and after the picture I told her she would definitely get signed one day, and offered to buy her a drink.

She told me she was signed with Arista Records and was 20.

I offered to buy her a drink again.

Still, I wasn't done for the night. With all of my embarrassment failsafes down, I fired up the old laptop and went to town on instant messenger once I got back to the hotel room. There's no better way to finish off a Wednesday night than to confess your love to to a few women at 5 AM their time. Maybe a few men too; look at that cowboy hat. One ticket to Brokeback Mountain please.