One Napkin?

You know, of the mountain of knowledge and high-handed opinions housed in my big head under my big wig, there are a few things I'm certain of. Hunks and Babes are a given, I was appointed an expert on that many moons ago. What else? Who can forget my Dickdar? That's a gift. What else? Well, I believe vegetarians to be bad in bed. Hear me out...

It's true. There are two kinds of vegetarians: Fat Veggies and Neat Veggies, you can't be both. Fat Veggies are skinny-fat people who walk on the treadmill at the slowest possible speed on a steep incline, hanging on the top handle bar for support as to ensure there isn't a whole lot of actual working-out happening. French fries, fried zuchini, and ranch dressing are all staples in this diet. There's a thin layer of peanut oil on their skin, and their breath is like rancid Lipton tea.

Neat Veggies, on the other hand, are killing the environment with all their mini plastic snack bags filled with baby carrots. Don't you feel like Neat Veggies are scared to use more than one napkin? I don't trust any man who only uses one napkin during a meal. You get your face in that dinner plate and go for it. I want to see the same effort in bed. I actually have a napkin dispenser on my night stand that I stole from Fran's.

Think about it, both are a shit show in bed. Who wants some greasy french fry sliding up and down them messing up their sheets? No one. Who wants some moist towelette motherfucker trying to get all nasty in bed with his soft hands? He just chopped his carrots, now he's brushing his teeth with some chalk toothpaste. No, thank you.

I will say that vegans do not apply to this rule. Vegans are just as dirty in bed as meat-eaters. This is because vegans aren't lazy, and most are a bit wacky. It takes a lot of thought and planning to follow a vegan diet. This same effort is applied in bed. The attention to detail is met, there are plenty of swipes coming from the Fran's napkin dispenser, and home dude has a great attitude. I can dig it.

If I said it once, I've said it a thousand times, give me MEAT. If I can't get meat, then give me a wacky vegan.

This is my introduction to Austin Restaurant Week. Let's eat!

PRIDE 2012

I'm here, I'm queer! Austin Pride is here! Bevo is shitting glitter all over the city this weekend and I love it. Let's dance! Let' face it, we're all pretty queer in one way or another. I love my LGBTAPUI friends (that's lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, asexual, polyamorous, unsure, and intersex). I can identify, and I support you. Check out the events page here. Peaches will be DJing, there's a 5K run tomorrow morning, official festival at Fiesta Gardens, and the parade to boot tomorrow evening. So much attitude, and more drag queens you can shake a stick at.

A note to the organizers of Austin Pride - I'm kind of bummed I wasn't crowned Miss Gay Austin. I feel like I was born for that role. How do I get in on that next year?? I have huge tits, lots of hair, and a smart mouth. Doesn't that count for anything? Call me.

See you at the parade!!

Does This Mean No More Steak?

We're trying something new over here on Miss Austin - sports! We'll be posting a weekly what's what in sports, so check it out. This will not be exclusive to UT Football, we will cover everything from jai alai, to cricket, to bowling. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but there will be a dickton of sports talk.

I don't know about you but I am kind of worried at the thought of our beloved Vince Young Steakhouse going under with the news of his impending bankruptcy. Where will I get my meat?! Where will I go on special occasions? My birthday's shot to shit. Apparently, Vince Young allegedly has gone through his $26 million dollar deal with the Tennessee Titans (after taxes, bitches). The punchline in it all is there are reports he spent huge chunks of change at TGI Friday's (hilarious), Cheesecake Factory (crying), and on complete bullshit like booze (yes!) and travel (ok). No judgement, except for the TGI Friday's and Cheesecake Factory. C'mon. If I ever were to spend $5,000 a week at the Cheesecake Factory, I'd better be fat as fuck. I would want people to know I blew millions on chicken fingers and chocolate turtle cheesecake. Fat as FUCK.

I'm not too worried about Vince, he'll bounce back, get a few more millions, impregnate some ladies, bust out a few more illegitimate kids, eat some cheesecake, and relax in his Houston mansion. What I am worried about is The Steakhouse. Please don't take that away from me, or Austin. It's like an institution, a beacon of hope and promise, an homage to one of the great local success stories. Please don't take it from me.

**I was kidding when I said we were going to do a weekly sports segment. There's no fun in that.

The Mexican Holy Trinity is Complete

Don't you just love when you meet a family member for the first time you never knew existed? Is this just Mexican specific? Ok, it probably is, we have a dickton of relatives scattered about. I know you all know about my charming Uncle Tio and his thoughtful ways, well this past weekend I had the pleasure of meeting a new cousin - thrice removed on my father's side - named, and I am not joking, Petho Mahon. This, unfortunately, is not his given name, his real name is Raul Martinez, some neighborhood kids gave him the nickname. Petho is now 90 years old. Apparently, the tale goes Petho used to wash his dishes in the bathtub with him every night. He would just sit and multitask with his washcloth. Don't act like you haven't done shit like this before. It's kind of like brushing your teeth and combing your hair at the same time. Petho was a little odd, aren't we all?  Because of this, the neighborhood kids came up with this juvenile name, Petho Mahon, to tease him which literally means fart shit. It makes no sense, I know. It's Spanish slang, so don't go using this in real time situations when referring to the after effects of the Tamale House.

Legend has it Petho would sit outside on his porch every night before bathing/doing dishes, eating his mango, drinking a Bud while the neighborhood kids would cruise by on their bikes making fart noises, screaming "Petho Mahon, Petho Mahon" obnoxiously over and over like kids do. My father said Petho was such a sweet man, he would just wave his little mango hand to the little shits causing a stir in the streets, never getting upset. When I met Petho this weekend I told my father we had to bring him to Austin so I could complete the Holy Trinity - Me, Uncle Tio, and Petho Mahon. The three of us are going to drink this town dry, all under $5. Here we are:

 

Miss Motherfuckin' Austin

 

Petho Mahon

Uncle Tio

 

Look for us this weekend on Rainey Street, and in November at Fun Fun Fun Fest.

Bands and Booze, Por Vida

Labor Day weekend was a success! I spent the entire weekend with my buds, got shit-canned drunk and didn't feel the effects of an old lady hangover! That deserve another exclamation point! Lately, I have been feeling the hangover on a whole new level. Two weekends ago, I was so out of my skull with nausea, I forced my brown ass over to CVS, big sunglasses and all, to get some Pedia-Lyte to try to alleviate the tequila bottle that was tormenting my soul (a little melodramatic, I know, but it was fucking terrible, I could've cried). Then, my pal reminded me of the menu of beverages I consumed the previous evening and it all made sense. Fuck.

Anyway, this past Friday I saw The Bronx pay at Red 7, it was a great time. Skip over to my Volcom blog to check out my take on this group of dudes. And, check out my master iPhone photo skills from the show:

Pathetic, I'm aware. In my defense, my SLR camera that I would normally use is still in hospice care after her hard fall during SXSW. Bless her.

On another note, if you play in a local cover band in Austin and you have a show at Headhunters or some shit, and you refuse to talk to the people in the bar before your show because you want to save your voice, well, we can't be friends, we can't even be bar pals. Some dude was walking around the other night pointing at his throat, metaphorically patting all the babes on their heads, whispering a soft "sorry, I can't talk". I blame him for kickstarting my drunk engine. Once shit like that happens, I'm in such a great mood, I can't stop. Comic gold.