I don’t know if this is a sign that I’m out of touch with reality or just that my head is full of snot, but a child dressed in a bear suit just got on my bus and it took me fully forty-five seconds to register that he wasn’t just wearing a bear suit.
In an attempt to feed the cold I’ve come home with, I ordered approximately five times as much Thai food as any human being—or two, in this case—could ever consume. Each order of pad thai was enough for a week; my beef noodle soup was also NOT, apparently, an appetizer. Heh. It’s a good thing I like pad thai and beef noodle soup.
I have been out of town. While away, I:
- Ate at my favorite hamburger place in the whole world
- Ate Tex-Mex (and it was GOOD)
- Saw oodles of good friends, including most of our wedding party
- Picked up some nasty head cold from my cousin (or from his sick kid)
- Bought two new sweaters
- Managed to respond to every important email I got
I’m home now, but exhausted.
For the last two and a half years, Mr. Angst has not been able to check in for flights online. (That post doesn’t explain that it’s definitely Mr. Angst who hasn’t been able to check in online, but we very quickly discovered it’s Mr. Angst who has the problem when I was able to check in online for a flight and he wasn’t.)
If we fly American or Continental or any other airline with reserved seating, this isn’t really a problem. We have to get to the airport a little early so Mr. Angst can check in at the ticket counter (no kiosks for us), but otherwise, it’s just not a big deal. Southwest, though, is different. Since Southwest boards in groups by when you check in, and you can check in online 24 hours in advance, Mr. Angst hasn’t been able to board in Group A for a very long time. (Well, OK, he has, but only by piggybacking on my Group A boarding pass, and only if I was able to check in online. Sometimes, when we’ve bought our tickets together, the whole confirmation number gets locked out and even I can’t check in online. That changed about a year ago—I think Southwest upgraded its online check-in system. But still.) Even worse was if Mr. Angst had to travel alone on Southwest (still the cheapest and most convenient airline for flying back home). He’d get to the airport 3 hours early and still be stuck in Group C.
Last night, I got online to check myself in for our flight tonight. I knew I’d be able to check myself in, since my ticket was purchased separately and had its own confirmation number. At the very least, we knew Mr. Angst would be able to board in Group A with me. We’d still have to get to the airport a little early, though, so he could stand in line at the ticket counter to check in.
On a lark, I decided to go ahead and try his confirmation number, because, hey, why not? And guess what? He could check in. Sometimes, he’s been able to check in on a return flight, presumably because being cleared for the first leg of a flight cleared him for the last leg. But Mr. Angst has not been able to check in online for an originating flight in two and a half years—and now, suddenly, he can.
I sincerely hope this means that his name was purged from whatever list it has been on during a routine update. Current news reports indicate the watch list is growing rather than shrinking. But it appears that, at the very least, it’s shrunk by one in the last few months. And I am SO glad.
I have gotten two horoscopes today that were unsettling. Or would be, if I actually believed in horoscopes.
The first was in Allure magazine, and I don’t remember it exactly, but it was something to the effect of, “Because you lack confidence, you accepted a job for which you are overqualified. Tough luck on you.” The second came from My Yahoo, and says, “Step back from a relationship that has become too combative. You need time apart.”
Horoscopes are usually written to be optimistic, like, “Things may seem wretched now, but adversity makes you stronger! Get through this and things will be rainbows on the other side.” Apparently not for me any more, though. Boo.
People who are not from Texas just don’t get it.
They say, “Well, Chipotle is pretty good, right?” And they say, “Have you tried [pick the good Current City Mexican restaurant]? It’s amazing! You should try it!” And then they rave about how good this or that Mexican place is . . . without ever realizing that It Is Not The Same.
Tex-Mex is Different.
The New York Times, of all publications, though, has saved me from having to explain.
Because queso fundido is NOT the same as chili con queso (or, just queso, where I’m from). Enchiladas suizas? NOT the same. I love queso fresco, but no one in my hometown has ever even so much as thought to drop it on top of beans. And, speaking of beans, as much as I love both black beans and refried black beans, they are most certainly, indubitably, NOT the same as pinto beans simmered all day with bacon and then fried up in lard.
So the next time you think “Taco Bell” when someone says “Tex-Mex,” think of this article. Remember that “Tex-Mex” is its own regional cuisine—the tortillas are mostly flour (though sometimes corn), the cheese is always yellow, and the meat is (almost) always BEEF rather than pork. Sour cream is a condiment, not an ingredient, bell peppers are ONLY (and I mean ONLY) a vessel for a chili relleno (which, by the way, I despise—bell peppers are disgusting), and the sauce? Is always brown. No ranchero sauce, no verde sauce, no suiza. BROWN. GRAVY.