Fashionable Fridays are all the rage

I was a big brave girl today: I actually wore Matador to work.

Another shot from San Antonio.

It's not that hard to be nice, is it?

I had lots to write about, several things I wanted to tell you. However, someone said something that hurt my feelings and for some reason, all of those things I had planned to say have gone out the window, because I am too busy obsessing over the comment that kicked me in the gut. I gotta grow a thicker skin.

Shot in Reptile Park in San Antonio.

Photographic memory

My last day in San Antonio was spent in classes, while Cynical enjoyed our view, the bed and the television. A quick lunch break was my last chance at Tex-Mex, so we ate at a restaurant we had yet to grace.

Later that afternoon we ventured up the Tower of the Americas, 750 feet into the air, where we watched a beautiful Texas sunset. After trekking back down again and taking one last look at the Alamo, we ate at an incredibly ecclectic and eccentric restaurant, Delores', along the Riverwalk, but left before the belly dancer meandered from table to table.

We spent our Wednesday travelling. . . I thought we'd never grace our door step: two flights, an extensive layover and a long drive home.

Loved San Antonio, loved the Riverwalk, loved the food, loved the scenery, loved getting away.

We're back!

We're back. Lots of good music and gifts in tow. Lots of laundry to do. Lots of stuff cluttering my desk. Lots of photos to post. Lots of cat hair and litter awaiting. Lots of mail to sort through.

Love to travel. Glad to be home.

Geocaching and why I don't remember The Alamo

The party was over for me today as I had to begin attending the actual conference that brought us to San Antonio. However, the fun kept on coming for Cynical.

While I listened to speakers wearing "personality" ties and telling jokes written for them, my beloved got a chance to sleep, surf and just "be".

We met up for a long lunch, some additional Riverwalk exploration and then it was all over: back to boring seminars for me.

Alas, the last speaker shared his or her last comment and I was released. Our afternoon and night included a little fruitless geocaching, an encounter with a very friendly cat, getting caught in the rain, a margarita that literally kicked my novice drinking butt, and a little romantic walk along the walkway.

Tomorrow promises my last chance at Tex-Mex food before we leave, more personality ties, belly-dancing during dinner and maybe, just maybe a trip to the Tower of the Americas.

Remember the Alamo

Good friends. Margaritas. Humidity. The Alamo. Riverboat rides. Tomatillo sauce. Starbucks Hear Music Store. The Riverwalk. Lots of photos. Leisurely walks. Iced coffee. And a good time is being had by all.

Various shots from our trip thus far.

Arrived, slept and ate

After getting up far too early to catch a flight, we arrived in San Antonio yesterday. Not a whole lot to report, as we were much too tired for any touring, so we grabbed lunch along the Riverwalk, made some plans for tomorrow and took a rather long nap before meeting some college friends for dinner. Stayed up much too late catching up and now we're trying to pry our eyes open for a full day of boat rides, the Alamo and maybe even The Needle and local market.

Weather is warm, but muggy.

Margarita count: 3

Leafing on a jet plane, but I know we'll be back again

Bags are packed. Cat and house sitters warned. Knitting tucked away. Batteries charged. Car gassed. Chez Ragged in shambles.

A day of work and meetings stand between us and the road. A night at a hotel stands between us and the jet plane.

We are taking the laptop. We are taking our geocaching equipment. We have lots of reading material. I am taking my knitting. We are within walking distance of the Alamo and on the Riverwalk. Lots to see and lots to do.

Be-leaf that it will all come together

The good news is that I think I am packed. The bad news is that I am certain I am forgetting something. I just can't remember what. I feel certain, however, that it is not an article of clothing because I have managed to cram my closet into my bag.

Boo

Life at Chez Ragged is a bit frazzled at the moment. That's not really news, is it? Maybe it's more of a confession.

The weekend was hectic. The weekend was good. The weekend is over.

On Friday we met my folks for dinner and a play, "The Sugar Bean Sisters", followed by nine packets of pictures from their cruise. (You see, I know I bore people, but it's my heritage. A girl can't escape her heritage.) We came home drenched from torrential downpours, our vision blurred from one too many photos of the Panama Canal and one-liners from the play ringing in our head.

Only at Chez Ragged can you complain of lack of storage, whine over the absence of floor space and then buy a humongous treadmill. So, that's what we spent part of our Saturday doing, deciding where exactly this monstrosity would fit. Well, that, lunch out, watching "Match Point" and sweeping water out of our basement.

The removal of a desk, much deliberation and compromising later, we opted to put it in our overcrowded office. It wasn't until Sunday, however, that we moved it into the room, where it sits idle, only being tested for a brief 5 minute trek to make sure it was indeed receiving power. I fear we have purchased a chaise lounge for the cats.

On Sunday we completed what we'd procrastinated the day before, met up with Cynical's family for lunch and play before picking up our own indoor walking track.

After some good cardio-raking, Cynical began dinner and I went to visit a friend who had recently returned from a trip to Guatemala where she picked her son, the most beautiful little boy since Prince E.

I returned to chicken parmesan and a treadmill in need of assembly. Cynical read the directions, I provided the appropriate sized bolt and washer, we did some tightening and there before us stood The Treadmill and a big, huge empty box. (I suspect the latter would do us more good.)

It wasn't a purchase taken lightly, but I must admit that now I worry that it's taken on a life of its own. I am certain in my sleep I heard "Get off your butt and start walking on me" echo through the vents. I fear I am more afraid of the big black contraption than any mask a trick-or-treater will don.

The rest of the night was a mad dash to get ready for Halloween festivities both at home and at work. You see, I am a bit of a cruise director at my place of employment, our own Julie McCoy. Seems I talked us into a "Grease" them and that left me hunting for white socks, scarves, the soundtrack and other bits of garb to help my co-workers move one step closer to the goal: a big pumpkin of candy, the prize for best-dressed.

Oh. . . and we just realized that we leave for San Antonio at the end of the week. Needless to say there are multiple lists being made, frantic e-mailing going on and anxiety swirling.

(It will all come together, but I suspect that due to our complete lack of preparation, which is relative considering I am a self-diagnosed OCD sufferer, the treadmill will sit unused, unless you count holding my suitcase while I contemplate what one wears to Texas in November.)

A clay pumpkin atop our mantle.