Adventures of Austin Girl and Fat Bastard

Kazakhstan Chronicles - Diary of a 2-Week Ex-Pat

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 16:55:00 +0000

Atyrau - Day One

I visited a camel farm approximately 15 kilometers from Dostyk Village in Atyrau, Kazakhstan where I stayed during my vacation. I will explain Dostyk in another entry. Most people just can't hop on a plane and vacation in Atyrau. First, you have to be invited by the government and have lots of paperwork or you will be turned away at the airport.

There were 600-700 camels roaming the desert. Zaru is an 85-year-old camel herder. She owns 120 of the 600-700 camels. She milks (I believe) all of the camels twice a day and has been doing this since she was 12. Her hands are like bricks. Her skin showed deep canal-like lines. She cries. And, the sun's rays have branded her tears within those deep lines, a permanent reminder of the harsh life and cruel heat. I didn't get to meet her on this day. But, was shown a beautiful mosaic picture that my step-daughter's husband created from photos he had taken. I wanted to meet her and think everyone who visits Atyrau must. In fact, it should be listed on some kind of tour guide.

One interesting photo-op that stood out on the camel farm was an ancient cemetery. We took photos and had a picnic.

The ex-pats who work for TengizChevroil live comfortably in nice homes at Dostyk, which is a secured gated compound. Residents have drivers. During my visit, I had a polite man named Zhanboolat drive me and my family to the camel farm. He spoke some English, but mostly Russian. He tried to teach me Russian, and I tried to teach him English.

Zhanboolat has been a driver since 1999. I knew this because he wrote the number '1999' in the sand with a stick. He wore a smile and a gold tooth. My first Russian word he taught me was 'choo-choo' meaning 'train' as he pointed to a train moving slow in the distance. It was hauling oil from the TengizChevroil field.

Then, a camel spit on me.

America’s Most Wanted Recipes by Ron Douglas

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Tue, 15 Sep 2009 07:13:00 +0000

Written by Austin Girl

On Monday, September 14th, I wandered anxiously through Ron Douglas’s book “America’s Most Wanted Recipes” by Simon & Schuster searching for a fast food “copycat” recipe to make and blog about. The requirements were simple -- the recipe could only have a maximum of four ingredients and the fast food joint had to be in close proximity of my house. Luckily for me, Ron Douglas knew there would be someone like me out there who shudders at the sight of chicken bouillon powder and a floured cutting board.

I located my recipe on page 81: Dairy Queen Heath Blizzard. Who doesn’t like a DQ Blizzard on a “it’s-hotter-than-Megan-Fox-lighting-her-tongue” Texas day? The recipe called for two Heath candy bars (frozen), ½ cup milk, one quart vanilla ice cream and two teaspoons fudge topping. I used Marble Slab’s Sweet Cream for my vanilla ice cream. Fortunately for me, the recipe offered candy bar substitutes. I had four Butterfinger bars left over from a weekend cry fest, and they were about to meet their destiny.

The directions were shockingly uncomplicated. Place all the ingredients in a blender and blend until mixture becomes creamy. Pretending to be Hannah Montana lip-syncing, I held a spatula like a microphone, dancing gaily to Donna Summer’s disco song, “I Feel Love.” After the song was over, I poured the dreamy dessert in a glass goblet and delicately stuffed two Butterfinger bars as garnishment. (see photo).

I dumped the Dairy Queen’s Butterfinger Blizzard in a hand-painted Lolita leopard wine glass. Then, I phoned my neighbors and told them to get their fannies over pronto. John, a film student at the University of Texas and Kim, a lawyer, were the taste samplers. My hands became clammy as I pushed the real Dairy Queen version in front of John. Kim looked on with excitement and reminded me that our neighborhood was placed on water restriction. I nodded and smiled widely as I handed her Ron Douglas’s version.

Then, I had John and Kim switch and try the other one. With a Butterfinger in his mouth, John gave Ron Douglas’ Blizzard a thumb’s up. Kim enthusiastically agreed as she answered her cell phone. Elated, I hugged them both and scurried them to the front door. As I shoveled the remaining Ron Douglas’ Blizzard down my throat, I realized this Texas girl could cook!

Operation Munchies

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 20 Jul 2009 02:07:00 +0000

Popeye's Chicken is predicting record profits as legalization of medical marijuana has now reached 13 states.

"We're building over 250 locations within stumbling distance of the marijuana distribution centers in a project called 'Operation Munchies' rendering our company literally recession proof," said CEO Carl McLamb.

Customer reactions have been overwhelming. "It really cut down on the commute, plus, what was I saying?" said one customer who wanted to remain anonymous. "I used to have to drive like a really long way to satisfy my munchies. That really sucked. Hey, you gonna eat that?" said another customer, who forgot his name.

(this is comedic pastiche and in no way should be taken seriously.)

CANDY LOVE

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 17:11:00 +0000

Registration Number : 1357537

CANDY LOVE
by
Austin Girl

PROLOGUE

Rookie in a Red Raincoat

You can tell a true cowboy by the type of horse that he rides.
- Cowboy Proverb

1973. THE YEAR OF DISCO: Afro wigs, platform heels and strobe lights. I had to be different. I was still in the ‘60s with my beehive hair, cowboy boots and Wolsey tights. At twenty-eight, I was the first female rookie agent for the FBI in D.C. and let me tell you: when you’re a sassy cowgirl from West Texas who handles a Thompson Machine Gun better than her male counterparts, you can bet life at the Bureau ain’t easy.

In one day, I managed to obtain, from a semi-trailer bust, a crate of 100 extremely valuable first-edition Playboy Magazines, a raise, a pink slip, and a contract on my life. The magazines were a gift from my irresistible chauvinist boss, Jack Justice, for saving his life. The pink slip was for receiving the raise and the contract on my head was for the Playboys. But, I negotiated to get my job back, promising Jack I’d go undercover at Disco Disco Casino in Vegas and nab its owner, Cupcake, a rotten midget-mobster. I told him I’d be the slimy midget’s personal discotheque instructor without getting myself killed and tossed in a dumpster-shaped coffin. Only problem: I couldn’t dance to save my life-not then, not now. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

DIARY OF A VAMPIRE

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 17:46:00 +0000

by

Austin Girl

“Dear Diary: His name was Jon. Jon without an ‘h.’ But, she called him Jonny. Jonny sounded like a sweet nickname a silly, young girl would give her high school sweetheart. She didn’t tell him her real name, so Jonny made one up for her. He called her Destiny – like meeting her was ‘his Destiny.’ They met online. She blogged. She wrote a fictional blog. It was pink. Pink background. Pink fonts. Jonny hated pink. He said so in an e-mail to her. ‘Hi. Pink, huh? I hate pink.’”

But, Destiny’s language captivated Jonny. The seductive way she wove the tapestry of her words. Her stories lured him into a deep sensual fantasy. Jonny visited her blog every day. He couldn’t escape.

Her body. Destiny’s body. Cheeks, collarbone, neckline, breasts. Jonny became obsessed. His lips kissing each delicious part, deep, deeper. He could smell her scent from half-way around the world. God, he wanted to know her. He wanted to have her. He wanted to possess her. He wondered, did she like boats? Sailing? He forgave her for the pink.

“I am a Vampire buried at sea, even the waves could not have awaken me. Your scent sends me to the shore. Your scent sends me sailing into uncharted territory. Your scent sends me searching for you with no map. I demand you accompany me to my castle on the other side of this world,” Jonny wrote her. Destiny thought he sounded kind of cute. She had never corresponded with a guy pretending to be a Vampire. She wrote him back. “We’re alone on a creaking wooden ship, two-thousand miles from shore. You are holding me captive at sea.”

(to be continued...)

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #5

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 23:46:00 +0000

CONFESSION #5: Fat Bastards are stuck in the 80s. They are love-struck dogs hopelessly obsessed with donning Ray Ban’s and watching “Risky Business” in their white boxers. This warped obsession occurs when the parents have left for the evening and they have nothing better to do but raid the refrigerator and piss on momma’s brand-new carpet.

And, Fat Bastards’ dreams are always the same. Instead of going home, they dream of sneaking to their neighbors’. They ring the doorbell, but nobody answers. The door opens. The shower is running, so they wobble upstairs to check things out. Then, they will see the bitch.

So passionate with the ‘Love on a Real Train’ scene, Fat Bastards actually refer to themselves as ‘Joel’ and fantasize about Rebecca De Mornay, Porches and Guido the Killer Pimp. Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #4

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 23:44:00 +0000

CONFESSION #4: Fat Bastards write poetry. They enjoy squatting and squirting out a “big one” on their neighbor’s freshly-cut manicured lawn while jotting down a ‘love poem’ about dating, doo doo and doggie bones. “Wuv and paws. Oh, how I wuv your paws they are so dirty. Come closer and let me lick them. Wuv and paws.”Fat Bastards know that with the most romantic poem, they too can rendezvous in Hound Hotel playing footsies with Ms. Frenchie Poodle aka Bitch. Rolling around on dirty blanket and drooling in poodle fur turns Fat Bastards on.Fat Bastards write poetry during every shit session. There’s nothing else to do but wait. Wait and think. They think about the dachshund that barked at them for no reason down at the mailbox. The dachshund that wore blue and white skimpy sleeveless tee: ‘My Dog Can Beat Up Paris Hilton’s Dog.’Fat Bastards are lovers. And, dang good ones. They have big ‘tails.’ This is mandatory. They are ladies’ dog. Sexy and desirable. Fat Bastards wear glow-in-the-dark buttons during their evening walks that blink, “I binged my next-door neighbor’s bitch.” Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: #3

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 18:15:00 +0000

CONFESSION #3: Fat Bastards sniff panties. Fat Bastards were bred for hunting desirable, attractive scents and are considered expert sniff hounds. Because they have a keen sense of smell, Fat Bastards can easily sniff out thongs, bikinis, boxers, cheekies and hiphuggers. When it comes to underwear, Fat Bastards generally do not play favorites. They will devour cotton or lace. Color and size are never an issue. Fat Bastards are unique animals. These particular hounds do not run with the pack. If other dogs are around a Fat Bastard, the conversation usually centers on the panty collection. “Check out my new hot pink Chantilly lace boxers. They’re so ass slimming. And, I got them on sale.” Fat Bastards are leaders, not followers. Scrawny runts desire to be like them. Why? Cuz, Fat Bastards rule!

Souled - The Movie

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Thu, 08 Jan 2009 19:54:00 +0000

by Carrie Crain
Movie Website: http://www.souled-themovie.blogspot.com

"Souled" melds the emotional ruin of "American Beauty" with the gutsy, true-life zeal of "Erin Brockovich" and the Faustian choices of "It Could Happen to You" in a Texas-size tale of redemption.

Jenny Wood, an unfulfilled and repressed wife in present-day Austin, auctions her soul on eBay to the Devil. Seller's remorse hits when near-death experiences follow, and Jenny races to locate the anonymous buyer and regain her soul.

In morphing from plain-Jane conservative to soul-less vamp after her eBay gambit, Jenny is hounded by the media, berated by the public and forced into a desperate race for survival.

Austin Girl & Fat Bastard's Top Ten Twitter List for 2008

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Tue, 23 Dec 2008 22:19:00 +0000

Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules helped compile the list along with @austingirl. Austin Girl & Fat Bastard adore each Twitter for various reasons. If you didn’t make the list, please direct anger at Fat Bastard. Austin Girl still loves you!

#10. @AlohaArleen – http://www.AlohaArleen.com because she is the Twitter Goddess of the Internet and enjoys Austin Girl’s humor & writing.

#9. @mtgibson – because he didn’t think cleaning the fridge would get Austin Girl’s fire lit.

#8. @fishdogs – http://www.fishdogs.com because he said Fat Bastard is awesome and gave Austin Girl Tweetadvice… “Branding is like writing, keep editing and remove anything not essential to the message.”

#7. @lordlikely – http://lordlikely.co.uk because he is astonishing and always wants to buy Austin Girl’s drinks.

#6. @rippleon – http://www.ripplecentral.com because he makes a difference & gave Austin Girl advice on her Fat Bastard book: “Self-publish. Stay in control of content and make more money.”

#5. @VegasBill – http://www.finehomeslv.com because he is “Mr. Vegas.” And, he warned Austin Girl of ‘space cadets.’

#4. @luge – http://www.thepitandthependulumdvd.com because he e-mailed Austin Girl film budget links in French and his short animation film won like 5 awards.

#3. @DenisCampbell – http://www.vadimuspost.com because he educated Austin Girl with the Dutch word ‘sterkte’ meaning strength & the UK term ‘fluffing’, which is euphemism for (farting).

#2. @TourDeTweets – http://www.tourdetweets.blogspot.com because he allowed Austin Girl’s ‘Buddy the Beagle’ aka Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules decrypt a Lance Armstrong tweet. Fat Bastard’s decryption is vital to Lance Twitter followers. Fat Bastard hopes to one day save the world with his decoding of encrypted messages.

#1. @lancearmstrong – http://www.livestrong.org because Lance is an Austin superhero who possesses a special golden lasso like Wonder Woman and who can ride a bike faster than Fat Bastard @fatbastardrules can take a potty break or woof down a pig's ear.

FAT BASTARD MOUSE PAD GIVEAWAY

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 15:17:00 +0000

Tweet about Fat Bastard between now & Dec 18. Austin Girl will toss in a black ceramic dog dish with the word 'BASTARD' painted in white, all the names who have tweeted. Then, Fat Bastard will carefully paw out the winning name. Austin Girl will announce the winner on Twitter. Winner should DM Austin Girl with a mailing address for shipping.

Austin Girl's Top Ten possible tweets:

1. Fat Bastard rules
2. Fat Bastard's gas will save Antarctica
3. Fat Bastard suckered punched Insult the Comic Puppet at Trump Plaza in Vegas
4. Fat Bastard fired from Dominoes for woofing down their all-meat pizza
5. Fat Bastard ran away with Paris Hilton's bitch
6. Fat Bastard works as a refrigerator repair dog
7. Fat Bastard the Beagle should be on the Fat Bastard wine label
8. Fat Bastard warns Fat Bastard wines: "Put my face on your wine label."
9. Fat Bastard has his own Facebook fan page!
10. I love Austin Girl's Fat Bastard
* Or you may inject your own humor, comedy, originality
The more you Tweet, the more chances you will win the one-of-a-kind Fat Bastard mouse pad from Austin Girl

Please drink responsibility while tweeting. Good luck!
www.twitter.com/austingirl

Duct Tape Saved Austin Girl's Relationship

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 14:33:00 +0000

Last night, the temperatures plummeted to an irritating 51 degrees. In Texas, this is damn cold. Yes, I'm a predictable whimp who craves hot chocolate during *wicked winter months. Noting I was out of cocoa, I sluggishly poured into my favorite tight jeans and artfully arranged my French beret on top of my blonde hair. The beret was red like my coat. This is not a coincidence.

I struggled inside my SUV. I struggled because it was an irritating 51 degrees and the vehicle was cold, kind of like my love life. I drove eight miles north, meandering on a narrow country road. A buck dodged in front of me. I slammed on the break, pushing my palm on the horn. "Effin' *mating season!" I arrived at Barnes and Noble Bookstore, home of flirty geriatrics and out-of-shape mommies armed with baby strollers. B & N makes the best hot chocolate. I ordered mine with an extra delicate cloud of whipped cream on top.

With cocoa in hand, I curiously strolled the relationship book isle. A baldheaded dude in an obnoxious orange 'Keep Austin Weird' T-shirt eyed me. He smelled of cologne and too much. He stunk. We exchanged glares, then he darted to the cookbook isle, leaving me alone in the love/romance isle. This isle is where losers go seeking out knowledge to either enhance or just land a friggin' love life.

There were relationship books on how to be a better bitch and how to be a better lover. I suppose I could be a bitch in bed, maybe that would land me a love life. I thought about it for a few moments before moving on to the next book entitled: 'When Duct Tape Just Isn't Enough.' My eyes lit up like a horny, geek boy watching porn for the first time. Wow, duct tape improves the romance? I asked myself, as I reached for the book with semiconsciousness excitement. I nervously looked around for that baldheaded dude. I did not want him catching me reading about duct tape. Gawd, how gross, I thought, thumbing through the unexpected love manual.

This so-called romance book written by Popular Mechanics for quick fixes for everyday disasters was misfiled in the love/relationship isle. Disappointed, I squeezed the book back on the shelf between sex and marriage, and trudged out the door. I sipped on my hot chocolate, it was cold.

* Freeze-your-ass-and-tits-off cold.
*Horny Texas bucks chasing after Bambi on narrow country roads.

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: CONFESSION #2

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 14:59:00 +0000

CONFESSION #2: Fat Bastards fart. Like most overweight mixed breeds born with a fat ass and an obsession for dog shit and Dominos all-meat pizza, they are combustible and extremely gaseous. Their asses contain high-levels of methane and sulphur gases. According to experts at Chevron, a Fat Bastard’s gas can heat up to 15,000 homes across the United States. And, Chevron has pledged two billion dollars to further develop a top-secret invention called the ‘Fat Bastard’s Anal High-Pressure High-Volume Linear Osmosis Conversion Valve.’ There is an assumption that if pet owners change their Fat Bastard’s diet to say, organic, the ozone layer may be saved. But, this is false. Fat Bastards are cunning and savvy. When their owners are preoccupied, entertaining guests, cleaning house or yapping on their cell phones, Fat Bastards sneak into the kitchen, open the refrigerator and help-themselves to the “goods.” This is their modus operandi.

- Austin Girl

CONFESSIONS OF A FAT BASTARD: CONFESSION #1

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 00:49:00 +0000

CONFESSION #1: Fat Bastards eat shit. It doesn’t matter if the hot feces is theirs or another bitches. They love waste matter. Enjoy the taste & the smell. Fat Bastards can tolerate it. Why? Cuz, they are drooling wicked badasses who hump Victoria’s Secrets big-ass pink and white polka dot dogs. When you’re a Fat Bastard like Austin Girl’s Buddy the Beagle, you can chomp down, inhale shit and no one is gonna mess with ya.

- Austin Girl

5 Things You Don't Know About Austin Girl

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 20:05:00 +0000

1. I once rode a bull for 7 seconds;

2. I have a black belt in karate;

3. I trained at Quantico;

4. I busted a post from 2 feet away with a Buffalo Rifle at age 4;

5. I speak Russian and Mandarin.

* Disclaimer: Austin Girl is a fictitious character in my novel. This is her background folks. Not mine. One of my newer girlfriends called me, "Oh, hey, I didn't know you were FBI." I answered her back, "Yeah, ya know, in my spare time."

Austin Girl Disrupts Obama Election

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 21:49:00 +0000

Fat Bastard Sneaks a Snickers

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Tue, 14 Oct 2008 15:28:00 +0000

In the spirit of Halloween, here is a short "true" story about my Beagle named Fat Bastard:

Last Halloween. I can't forget. I won't forget. Kind of like when someone sucks the delicious creamy center out of your Twinkie -- you just don't forget.

It was late. And, I was late for a costume party. Bouncing downstairs to the living room, I greeted my lazy Beagle named Buddy a.k.a. "Fat Bastard" that was lounging on the leather sofa chewing on his toy cigar. I kissed him on the snout. Turning, I grabbed a miniature Snickers from the ceramic pumpkin bowl on the coffee table, unwrapped it and popped it in my mouth. Buddy glared. The bowl overflowed with Halloween candy purchased from Target: Snickers and Milky Way miniatures.

I left for the party and returned home past midnight. I turned on the lights, tossed my coat and purse on a table and walked in the living room. Buddy was snoozing on the sofa as if nothing had happened. The candy bowl was empty. Fat Bastard had woofed down an entire package of miniatures. Well, I immediately phoned my 24-hour veterinary clinic. The young vet tech asked how much my Beagle weighed and how much the big dork ate. I told her. She then said softly, "Give him a tablespoon of hydrogen peroxide."

"Won't that make him sick?" I asked.

"He will throw up," she said. "Better put him in the shower with a bucket."

So, this is what I did. It took about half an hour before Fat Bastard coughed up the chocolates along with the wrappers.

Happy Halloween

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Ghost Hotel

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Sun, 21 Sep 2008 04:13:00 +0000

A Novella by Austin Girl © 2008

Word Count = 1020

Chapter One
The Assignment

Monday morning. Early. Dawn. Unusually foggy. Austin Girl meandered down a dusty, asphalt road in Austin, Texas in her gray Jeep Wrangler. The young, ambitious neophyte reporter for the Daily Dirt Magazine had been personally requested to interview the recluse owner of the infamous Ghost Hotel.

Austin Girl had been at the Daily Dirt less than three months. Her mundane assignments consisted mainly of writing about local black-tie events thrown by elderly philanthropists who have too much money and too little personality. Her stories were hidden in the back of the magazine between a full-page liposuction ad and the Keeping Austin Weird Guide. But, as luck would have it or as some say fate, she had been sought out and personally requested to write the cover story about the owner of the nostalgic Ghost Hotel – Mr. Ceedy.

Mr. Ceedy had recently lost his wife of twenty-five years in a small-engine plane crash. No one survived.

Austin Girl maneuvered her vehicle into the deserted parking lot. She quickly noticed both Avgas and Jet A fuel as she passed the FBO—The Fixed Based Operator. Her heart raced when she realized both piston and private jet aircraft could land on the five-thousand-foot runway. She loved planes. As a teenager, she flew with her dad on weekends; receiving lessons on take offs and landings.

Situated behind the old, abandoned rodeo fairgrounds—just two miles south of Main Street off of Highway Sixteen, the Ghost Hotel had Austin Girl believing she had descended back in time. The anxious reporter excitedly grabbed her interview gear—a small green notebook, two ballpoint pens and her antiquated digital camera—and dashed inside the WWII, aviation and South Pacific-style hotel lobby. Oh yeah, Austin Girl thought. She’d gone back in time all right—to the 1940s. The air was balmy with big band sounds, and staring back at her from the wall was a vintage looking “Uncle Sam” poster that read: GHOST HOTEL WANTS YOU.

Strolling around with wonderment in her eyes, she noticed an authentic old-time switchboard phone sheltered behind the guest check-in desk. A skinny young man with big teeth and cropped hair gave her an unwelcoming glance. “Mr. Ceedy is expecting you,” he grumbled. His words stopped Austin Girl in her tracks. How did he know who she was? “He’s in the Officer’s Club.” The man pointed to a dark, narrow corridor, never looking up from his papers. Austin Girl looked at his name badge. It read ‘Dick.’ She felt insulted. Dick didn’t have to be so unfriendly. “Thanks, Dick,” she said sarcastically. Rolling her baby blue eyes, she slung her oversized canvas bag over her shoulder sauntering off in the direction of the dark, narrow corridor.

Austin Girl scanned the dark lobby with its mahogany wood trimmed-paneling, towering palm trees, bomber-jacket leather chairs and walls splashed with an army-fatigue green. She stopped in front of a smoked-stained oval mirror by the stairwell and thought she saw a frightened woman in her thirties staring back at her in 1940s attire—peep toe platforms and all. The woman had blond hair wrapped in a sleek Victory roll. Her face looked utterly familiar. Wow. My imagination is un-tethered, she thought to herself.  

Austin Girl tore away from the mirror. She was eager to interview Mr. Ceedy. She made a list of questions to ask the man responsible for this enchanting portal to the past.

Officer’s Club. Ominous.  Austin Girl shook hands with Mr. Ceedy. He sat in a red buttery leather chair sipping a Vodka martini, legs crossed. “I spent three years researching and perfecting the hotel,” Mr. Ceedy said confidently. “I traveled to Europe, studying and buying the vintage lights, mirrors and nostalgic watercolor paintings,” he added. An ordinary-looking female waitress entered and sat a cup of coffee down in front of Austin Girl. She quickly vanished through a creaking wooden door.  

Austin Girl sank into one of the leather-bound chairs next to Mr. Ceedy and relaxed to Tommy Dorsey’s, “Getting Sentimental Over You,” quietly floating away, back to an era when music was music and times were simpler and slower. The revelation hit her. The thing is, she thought, once you enter a portal to the past, at least this particular portal, it seduces. Snapping back into reality, Austin Girl dropped her eyes and wrote feverishly, occasionally sneaking a glance at Mr. Ceedy’s tan, muscular arms. Damn, he was hot, she thought. He wasn’t at all what she had expected for a man twice her age. He was ruggedly handsome in a cowboy sort of way. “I’m a former NASA engineer,” Mr. Ceedy said. “And, a daring, imaginative lover of planes,” Austin Girl quickly added, twisting a few loose strands of her wavy hair.

Uncrossing his lengthy legs, Mr. Ceedy reached for a bottle of Vodka at a side table. “Austin Girl, you’ll find that I stay focused with my visions,” he said. She watched as his thick hands wrapped around the bottle, pouring. “I find respite in the past.” Austin Girl stopped writing and leaned forward with a surprised expression, “Isn’t the past painful?” Mr. Ceedy finished off his drink, ignoring her question. “Ghost Hotel is a romantic voyage,” he grinned. Mr. Ceedy studied Austin Girl’s beautiful face for reaction. “I find that most people enjoy staying in a haunted hotel,” he quipped. “How so?” She inquired. Mr. Ceedy stood. “To find answers. Follow me,” he said.

They ambled through the double-doors from the Officers’ Club. Austin Girl passed by the smoked-stained mirror again and visualized Bacall and Bogart seated at the bar sipping Hangar One Vodka martinis, while behind them at the pool table, with cue sticks in hand, were Chuck Yeager and Bob Hoover—two pilots famous for “pushing the envelope”—swapping stories. Taking the cup of coffee with her, Austin Girl followed Mr. Ceedy outside, where they observed 22 single- and twin-engine planes and one Malibu Mirage Turbo Prop queued up on the tarmac. “My wife, Linda, died in a Malibu,” he said, pointing to a plane. Mr. Ceedy turned to Austin Girl and asked, “Have you ever lost a loved one?” 

**Continuation** 

Blonde Pancakes

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Mon, 01 Sep 2008 02:45:00 +0000

She was blonde. Yeah, that's right. Blonde. Full-time. All-American. She cooked pancakes. Damn. Could that blonde grease a pan. Austin Girl is hunting for her muse... <sigh>

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Fat Bastard

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 23:48:00 +0000

This is Fat Bastard (my Beagle). I blog about the stinker @ http://www.austingirlblog.blogspot.com/.

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Raccoon Hell

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 05:06:00 +0000

Just flew in from Santa Cruz, CA. I saw Shakespeare's "Romeo & Juliet" and "All's Well That Ends Well" in the Redwood forest. Does anyone understand the latter play? It wasn't the playwright's typical tragedy or comedy. OMG! When the sun goes down, temperatures descend faster than Angelina Jolie can adopt another baby. Holy crap it was cold!

There are raccoons in the Redwood forest. Bunches! And, the lil critters never miss a rehearsal -- this is what I was told. They would sit in the outdoor chairs during the day watching the actors practice on stage.

I fell asleep during "All's Well That Ends Well" until an orphaned raccoon rattled a garbage can nearby jolting me from my dream -- a nightmare actually centering on a family of problem raccoons.
The head raccoon forced me to confess to the director that I loved her “All’s Well That Ends Well,” even though I felt the play was unworthy of my attention. I was ordered to watch it again – and again. The torture. The madness. It became apparent to me that I was in hell: Raccoon hell.

"The End"

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Sun, 01 Jun 2008 02:36:00 +0000

I finished. I finished my script... The script that has taken me three years, ten months, two weeks, fifteen days and twenty hours (more or less). Typing the words: 'The End' felt better than a Dairy Queen Butterfinger Blizzard. And, I love those BTW!

Luv and hugs to all my fellow bloggers and friends out in Blog Catalog land. Keep writing everyone! Now, I must concentrate on the 'rewrite.' This is afterall, the 'vomit' draft. (LOL).

Tortilla the Cow

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Fri, 30 May 2008 05:16:00 +0000

Austin Girl wants to save Tortilla from slaughter. I visit this sweet cow on a regular basis. Feed it. Pet it. I want to take Tortilla home. Tortilla lives with two goats named Shiner and Bock and a very tamed unnamed rabbit. They all get along -- one big happy family. Today, the rabbit was sunning next to Shiner. If gas wasn't so high, maybe I could afford to buy Tortilla. I really want the entire clan!

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Texas Posse - Austin Girl Style

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Thu, 29 May 2008 23:10:00 +0000

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Fat Bastard Wins Prickness

austingirlblog@gmail.com (Austin Girl) — Sat, 17 May 2008 06:44:00 +0000

By Austin Girl of the Dirty Dog Daily©

Ballimore, MD—In an effort to convert Fat Bastard to an alternate lifestyle, the seventy-three-pound Beagle was lured to a gay dog infield party at the Preakness hosted by four drunken, horny California Supreme Court Justices with a penchant for gay dogs.

“Twenty gay dog race revelers held down Fat Bastard and tied a rainbow ribbon around his male junk, initiating him into their club,” reported Austin Girl. The gay dog revelers allowed Fat Bastard to take to his paws where he took off running with the Rainbow Riders in hot pursuit.

Fat Bastard entered the track, avoiding his pursuers. A stunned track announcer thinking the Preakness had begun started calling the race of what he assumed was the second jewel of the Triple Crown. Here is the call:

“They’re out of the gate, it’s Fat Bastard in the lead at the quarter pole. In second, Ass Sniffer closes in on Fat Bastard’s tail. In third is Ball Licker positioning himself for a lapping of Ass Sniffer. And, in fourth, Shit Eater looking for the pile. On the back stretch it’s Fat Bastard being goosed along by Ass Sniffer whose nose is firmly implanted in Fat Bastard’s ass. In third, it’s Ball Licker closing in on Ass Sniffer’s nuts. And in fourth, Shit Eater is hunting for the poop. At the three-quarter marker, as they round the final turn, it’s Fat Bastard finding a fourth gear and extracting himself from the nostrils of Ass Sniffer as Ball Licker moves into second. Half a length back in fourth is Shit Eater who’s gaining ground. And in the final stretch, it’s Fat Bastard trying to stay ahead of Ball Licker much to Ball Licker’s enjoyment, as Ball Licker hunts for the neutered Beagle’s nuts. The crowd hears Fat Bastard yell over his shoulder to Ball Licker, ‘they ain’t there dumbass.’ As Ass Sniffer drives Ball Licker to the rail with his fecal-coated snout, Shit Eater seizes the opportunity and moves into second and turns wide avoiding a crash. And, at the wire, it’s Fat Bastard by a rainbow ribbon. Shit Eater taking second with Ball Licker panting into third and Ass Sniffer leads the remaining field. These are gay dogs.”

Seeing the rainbow ribbon around Fat Bastard’s private parts, the announcer proclaimed Fat Bastard the winner of the first Prickness at a track record of two minutes and thirty-six seconds in front of eighteen-thousand screaming fans.

Fat Bastard stumbled to the winner’s circle where a mood-swinging French Poodle named the Governor’s Gal laid a bouquet of prickly pears around Fat Bastard’s neck. She asked Fat Bastard to describe the race. He said, “Ballimore is just like that county sheriff in the play called The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. I’m a country dog come to town. If I stand flat footed, they try and fuck me. And, if I take off running, they bite me in the ass.”