I’m back! I know it’s been more than a week since my last post and you are all anxiously awaiting a new post. You’re probably wondering things like “What was she doing?” and “Where has she been?” (these are to be whispered in Gossip Girl voice.)
The answer is that I’ve been on vacation in Austin, Texas, attending South by Southwest (or SXSW for those of us cool people in the know). It’s a yearly festival in Austin where movies are released, bands are discovered, and hipsters unite for ironic discussions and thrift store sales. It’s huge.
This was definitely my husband’s trip. He loves movies and all things cinema, and I love TV and all things Kardashian. I don’t want to love the Kardashians, but that family is a trainwreck and I can’t look away. Seriously. Bruce Jenner’s face literally looks like a train wreck.
So I decided to go to SXSW with my husband because I’m an amazingly awesome wife, and because I knew Channing Tatum would be there. Don’t judge. Like you would pass up an opportunity to see those abs? Yeah right.
Since I don’t enjoy long movies (or anything with Matthew McConaughey), I decided to attend various documentaries instead of mainstream films. They are shorter than feature films, the lines are shorter, and the people attending them are usually older, so I knew I would feel youthful surrounded by all those AARP cards.
After attending a documentary or two, I remembered how much I love documentaries. I decided to see as many as I could, so I attended several documentaries, or “docs” as us cool people call them. Okay, not so much cool people as just me.
I went from theater to theater, realizing there were many things about the world I had yet to learn; like how many different birds can be found in Central Park, or how Jennifer Love Hewitt still has an acting career.
I also realized my “fashionable orthopedic shoes” were the same shoes worn by a 270 pound woman with a mustache and a cat sweater.
After seeing several docs on Saturday, I decided to catch one more before heading back to the condo for an evening of Doritos, M&Ms and Law and Order reruns. The film I decided to watch was a documentary about the journey of an American school bus to Guatamala, why it went there, and the people whose lives it affected.
Riveting, right? I felt so empowered and knowldgable as I walked to the theater where the film was showing. I knew I was becoming so well cultured, and even felt a little bit like a hipster. Before long I would be playing Atari games and calling everything “rad.”
I got to the theater before the movie started, so I stood in line contemplating my near hipster status and wondering if I would look good in skinny jeans.
Just as I realized I couldn’t be a hipster because my wardrobe lacks t=shirts with superheros from the 80s on them, two men approached the line and stood behind me.
They appeared to be intellectuals, and not overly douchey. I knew we would be standing in line a while, so I struck up a conversation with them.
I also knew I would need to use the restroom soon and didn’t want to lose my place in line. If I had any hope of regaining my coveted spot, I knew I would have to make nice with the people behind me.
The men were both named John and they were fabulous. They lived in New York City in what I can only assume was a fabulous neighborhood where people have brunch that doesn’t consist solely of different flavors of Cocoa Pebbles.
Although why would you want something other than that chocolatey goodness on a Sunday morning?
We chatted about various issues, and I realized we were getting along great. I was totally pulling off the cool hipster vibe, although I was missing the required components of a bandana and an attitude problem.
Either way, I still sounded smart, which made up for the fact that I failed to appreciate just how much deodorant was needed on a hot Texas day. (A lot…you need a lot.)
Once the doors opened, we headed inside to find our seats. Since I was getting along so well with the Johns (and since I couldn’t wait to sit down), I took the nearest seat next to the John duo and continued gabbing with my new friends.
The theater we were in had regular theater seats, but there was a long table that ran the length of the row.
A waitress serves food and drinks during the movie, all of which are placed on the table. This amazing theater and their fried goat cheese may have played a role in which documentaries I viewed.
We ordered our food and drinks and waited for the film to start. Our drinks arrived in what appeared to be 2 Liter glasses filled to the brim. The film began and our food followed shortly thereafter, also in large quantity.
Naturally, I was happy with the big portions, as I was thirsty from chatting, and hungry from being so charming.
After each film at SXSW, there is a Q and A with the director, producer, etc. I wasn’t totally feeling the school bus film (it wasn’t as riveting as it sounded), so as soon as the credits came on, I grabbed my stuff and headed toward the door.
The lights weren’t up yet, and the credits continued to roll. I looked over at my friends the Johns and apologized, but said I needed to go, as I had a very important meeting I needed to get to.
I think they suspected my meeting included a Snuggie and a new episode of 48 Hour Mystery, but they didn’t let on like they knew.
Instead of standing up to let me pass through the area between the seats and the table, they simply pulled their feet back to let me through. That left me about a foot of space to walk through, which would normally be challenging, but in the dark it was near impossible (for this girl at least).
I tried to scoot out of the row, with my butt facing the Johns and my front and purse facing the table. And then it happened. Without warning. My purse knocked over the 2 Liters of water on the table next to John #1. It tipped over and spilled everywhere. The table, the floor, the seat…and worst of all, my pajama jeans.
I looked up, paused, and said the first thing that came to my mind, which was “Yeah, so I totally just did that.”
The Johns were not amused. For people who pretended to be so accepting of others, they were pretty judgmental about the blonde in the pajama jeans and orthopedic shoes who knocked over their water with the purse she got free with a purchase at Dressbarn. Some people are just so snobby.
I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing that would make it more awkward than it already was; I left the cup where it was, where it continued to pump out water like a fire hose, mouthed “I’m sorry” and bolted out of the row and out of the theater.
Once outside, I looked down at my wet pants only to discover the water landed in a not-so-desirable spot on my jeans. Fantastic. Fortunately, I knew how well my pajama jeans launder, so I knew a little water wouldn’t hurt the fabric. My pride, yes? But the fabric? No.
I walked the several blocks to my rental car and headed back to the condo, continuing to replay the incident in my head. I had so many questions. How did I manage to knock the water over? Why didn’t I stay and try to clean it up?
And perhaps most pressing of all…How was I going to find the Johns and get their numbers?