Diamonds and gasoline.

This is my grandmother in her garden, in front of her blooming apple tree. As she ages, seems to look more and more like Betty White by the day. And trust me, she's just as sassy. Grandma's great at dropping knowledge on you, as Grandma's should be. She can be a tad aggressive about it sometimes, but as I told her this past weekend, she's earned her soapbox. And she loves her soapbox. Grandma tells me I need to lose weight and start going to church. She also hates health care reform. This is a pretty typical Grandma position.

So, I spent my first weekend of unemployment hanging out with her, learning all about conservative wisdom. And West Texas. By the time I roll up on day 2 of my typical stays in Pampa, Texas, I'm pretty ready to leave. I mean, come on. It's west Texas. It smells like poop and diesel. But I've come to learn that I actually quite enjoy the bleakness of it all. There's a lot of beauty in being reminded you're so small. I told Chelsey that it takes a tough person to fall in love with the Midwest. As much as I love New Mexico, I've come to realize and embrace that Texas, that godforsaken state to the right (and now, to my left), is in my blood. I might not be that tough, but I'm genetically inclined for it.

Photos:





Also, I've got a major case of playoff fever.

And the only cure is more Broingtons.

An Oklahoma City team will be participating in its first professional playoff event next week and I'm quite excited. I'll be logging onto ticketmaster on Friday at 10:00 on the dot to try and get tickets, along with the rest of the state. No one seems to be giving the Thunder any kind of chance at winning against the Lakers, but I say don't count them out just yet. Oklahoma's never had a problem being an underdog.

Pets or meat.

First off, custom slaughtering.



TEXAS.

Secondly, Tucumcari might the sleepiest town in the world. I looked down the street on a Friday night at 10:00 and every house was dark.

My main reason for going out to Tucumcari was to drive my dad to Pampa so he could get his Camaro, which he trusts no one else to drive. We did jazz on Thursday and stopped at the awesome Cadillac Ranch on the way there. PICTUREZ.






Holla! Jazz hands! (For the record, I had to crop my dad’s thumb out of the top of that.)

Other than that excursion, I hung out, small town style, and practiced that whole “big sister” thing, a role I’ve found myself really into. It’s nice to take your little sisters to the dinosaur museum and your little brother to the one screen movie theater.

ON THAT NOTE… me and Chase went to a 7:00 movie on a Friday night. Okay, in Raton, that was like Chaos Central. Literally, hundreds of children breaking stuff, making out, and pulling hair. Me and Chase were the youngest people there, in fact, probably the only people under 50 in the room. So, watching Bourne with old people is funny; the crowd had no reaction, whatsoever, until the very end, when one dude started clapping lightly, realized no one else was going to, and stopped.

Speaking of funny… Mclovin, you’re my one and only.


Here’s a few samples of me trying desperately to rip off Terrence Moore.


Also, it wasn’t that difficult to make Tucumcari look post-apocalyptic.


And I would like a grain silo.



GOOD NEWS. I get to care for a Rufus and a Lucy next week, which means I'll be Burque for a whole lotta nights! BAD NEWS. I'm bartending Fall Crawl. :(

I've been really anxious and overly emotional these past few weeks. Not quite sure what's up, probably some kind of alignment issue, but I cry whenever there's anything emotional AT ALL on TV. That includes the Disney Channel. (???) Going to Tucumcari was nice and relaxing, it felt like I banished a lot of that. But, nope. It followed me.

Anyone wanna go drink with me in Moriaty on Friday night? I'll either get raped or shanked. Maybe both. Come see!