The past few days have been unexpectedly busy. Tuesday morning I went out to the curb to retrieve the emptied trash cans, only to discover that the rear window of my car had been shot out. Welcome to Houston, indeed. It seems that vandalism is quite rampant in this upper middle-class surburban haven I am to learn to call home. Vandalism that, moreover, tends to be of the destructive sort. Stealing mail (a handy little federal offense), trenching yards, knocking down mailboxes, shooting out windows with the pellet gun your doting parents gave you for Christmas.... I'm telling you, it's loads of fun down here.
So yesterday I had to get the window replaced (fortunately just BEFORE the rains came through yesterday evening), a feat that was vastly complicated by the absence of my father's van, which was already at the garage to have work done on the struts and various things. Somehow-- with the help of one of my sisters-- we managed to get my mother to school, my father to the lab across town, and me to both drop off and pick up my car. And we even picked up the van in the evening.
Kristin and I went to Biraporretti's Tuesday night to watch the game with the OU Club of Houston. We gave up by halftime, and I didn't see any of the rest of the debacle. Boomer Sooner. We did not get carded for our drinks (a tart gin gimlet and a smooth Nutty Irishman (Bailey's and Frangelico on the rocks)), so I still don't know about the usefulness of my temporary license. (Though it did pass muster under the scrutiny of the deputy who came to file a report on my shattered car window.)
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