Sweet Doris

There's this lady. Her name is Doris. She's the first person I met here in FW. She has colored my whole view of the people here.

Doris runs a local coffee shop just south of downtown, in a developing neighborhood. It's called Gallery Art Cafe, kind of a catch-all coffee shop for diners, art patrons and bums like me looking for a place to do work with free Wi-Fi.

Doris co-owns the joint and works the register. The first time I came in, I told her I may make some strange requests because I was a recent Austin transplant and I wasn't sure of the small differences that might exist between coffee shops here and there (which was a nice way of saying that I figured a Fort Worth coffee shop might be unrefined and lacking in choices...I'm such a snob). I told her I wanted tea. "Hot tea?" she asked. I told her yes, and she said that I looked like a hot tea girl. I took that as a compliment, being that I'm a snob and all.

So Doris let me pick out my teabag and even let me have two for the price of one. A little later, she sat down at my table with me and asked me all about myself. I've never met a coffee shop owner - much less an employee - so sweet and genuinely interested in people.

Now, a week and three visits later, Doris has my self-designed business card and says she will do what she can to help me find a good job. I promised that if I got a freelance gig writing for the business publication here I would profile the Gallery Art Cafe. She hugged me.

Sweet Doris. Sweet Catholic Doris. I hope they make more like her around here.

A Love/Wait Relationship

New template (not that the change will be at all noticeable or memorable to anyone but me...but it's a personal mile marker), new times. I'm just finishing out my first week in Fort Worth, Texas. I'd like to say I moved here, bought a new house, started a great job and am accruing a ton of friends. But I'd be lying. In fact, I live with my parents, telecommute from a coffee shop and am utterly thrilled to have conversation with people outside my bloodline.

What is most curious to me thus far is that people here have a recurring tire issue: nails and screws. My mom has recently had two screws in her tires, my dad has had one, and I just overheard a mother of two at this coffee shop talking about how last week, she got two nails in her tires. In a time and place where the most involved interaction involves ordering tea, I just think, what, with all I've been hearing about this issue, it must be widespread. And I want to get to the bottom of it. That's all.

My overall impression here is that people are extremely nice and eager to help. I met a chiropractor, for example, who put me in touch with the owner of an advertising agency, who gave me all sorts of helpful information. Doris the coffee shop owner even sat down at my table with me to chat. It's kind of amazing.

But in true form, the most truly tiresome part of being here is my family. Yesterday, my plan was:

Wake up.
Mow.
Work out.
Go swimming at my aunt's.

What really happened was:

Wake up.
Wait for my mother to wake up at 10:30.
Mow.
Wait for my mother to get ready to work out (which consists of an hour's preparation: One must mold the hair and apply the makeup to gauge the intensity of the workout, which, if certain intensity is reached, is marked by sweaty, matted hair and melted face paint).
Wait for my sister to wake up her husband.
Wait for said husband to get out of the bathroom.
Run to order business cards in the meantime.
Drive half a mile and turn around because there's - yes - a screw in the tire.
Drive myself to the gym.
Mostly socialize with sister and husband.
Drive an hour to aunt's and swim. Finally.
Go home (well, you know). Feed the monkey on my back called: Scrabulous.

And yes, waiting does bother me a GREAT deal, but like I told my mom yesterday, I like being bothered by my family, because it means I have a family. And if nothing else, I'm loving that.

Now, to get that job.