You Gotta Be Cool

I went to private schools all my life. Until high school. But from ECI {Early Childhood One} at Cassidy in Oklahoma City to Holland Hall in Tulsa where I wrote my first play in the first grade, to All Saints, where I threw a fit when I moved to Fort Worth and said I would NOT go to school in a trailer park and cried for days about not going to FWCD {Fort Worth Country Day}, I was scared to enter the foray of public high school.

All Saints only went to the eighth grade until it was time for us to embark on high school, and all the cool kids transferred to Arlington Heights, so clearly I was too. And I was terrified. Was I going to get raped in the hallways? Beaten in the parking lot? To say I stressed about it would be the understatement of my life.

Two weeks before me and all my friends were making the change my best friend and mentor told myself and my other four best friends in order to “be cool” at Heights and make the right impression we had to start drinking and smoking.

Seemed legit.

So we gathered together at my friend Sarah’s house and she broke into her parents liquor cabinet. She poured one shot of something brown and 6 of us shared it. It was disgusting.

Then the queen bee told me I was to take Sarah’s parents suburban and drive to 7-11 and buy cigarettes. I was 14. I’m not sure why I was chosen to break the law, but I did as I was told. Queen Bee {QB} put me in a body suit where my boobs were hanging out and instructed me to purchase Marlboro lights. The six of us piled in the Suburban and I drove us to 7-11.

I got the cigarettes and we went back to Sarah’s to continue are ‘cool’ training.

QB instructed us on how to inhale {Bill Clinton should have taken her course} and we went through the pack learning. Four of the six of us puked.

Finally, we were ready for high school.

So many rules.

You had to park in the West parking lot as the East was for losers. A cool upper class man had to drive you to and from school. You had to smoke at lunch, and you had to act like you drank every weekend.

We were instructed to take a stuffed animal and cut the bottom open. Take out some stuffing and this is where we would keep our cigarettes at home.

The plan was flawless.

High school was a success.

And started me on several bad habits that would last me until my forties.

I’m just now starting to regret feeling the need to be cool and not care what others think. To be true to my authentic self. Talk about a work in progress. A lifetime of work…

Moving Forward

It’s no secret if you read this blog that I am divorced. If not, surprise! I am. Forever I felt guilty about it but I was able to truly let that go yesterday.

You see, one of my best friends is going through a divorce. And here’s the thing about divorce… it takes two to make a relationship fail. Period. People fall in love and then it takes a whole lot of mother effing work to keep that going. Most people, at least half, fail at it. And it’s not because of one thing. No, it’s not.

It’s not like someday you wake up, have one fight, and go, that’s it. It’s over. No my friends, it takes years. Years of being miserable and finally having the courage to walk away.

Yes. Courage. It takes a lot of balls to admit you made a mistake and walk away. Especially if there are children involved.

I was heartbroken when my friend told me she was getting a divorce. I know how bad it sucks. I know the guilt. I know the pain you feel for being the one who has the balls to say, look, this isn’t working and I’m done.

That takes balls my friends. Huge mother effing balls. And I am proud of anyone who does it.

So I have been picking my friend up off the floor. I have been listening to her cry. I have assured her she made the right decision because she did. For her, for her husband and for her kids. Yes. She wants her husband to be happy. She wishes him no ill will. She wants her kids to be happy. To not grow up in a house with control issues. I applaud her. I have been there. Oh… how I have been there.

Yesterday we were texting as we do all day everyday and I said, “Hey, call me.”

It’s not uncommon for us to spend hours a day on the phone.

She called me in tears. She was having to go to her storage unit that her husband had packed and sort through things. I knew oh too well the emotional drain, and even though I had my kids I said, please let me come help you.

When we arrived, kids in tow, she was bawling. The kind of bawling where you can’t move. I wrapped my arms around her and held her as she shook. She’s lost 30 lbs. she did not need to lose, and while yes, she looks great, she is so not great. She is struggling. She can’t keep food down. She also teaches fitness classes for a living and knows she is unhealthy. She looks sick if you really know her. She looks bad.

The storage unit had trash in it. Yes, trash was moved and stored for her to go through. My 9-year-old said, mom, why is there trash here? Is she going through a divorce like you and dad did?

“Yes baby she is,” I replied.

Luke said, “Mom, why did you and dad get divorced?”

He’s never ask me that question. He was five when I filed.

“Well Luke, mom and dad use to love each other a lot. And then we fell out of love. We started fighting all the time and it wasn’t good for you and Cole to see that.”

“I remember,” Luke said.

That hit me hard.

“We didn’t want you to grow up in that environment, so we divorced and now dad and I are really good friends and we like each other a lot. You know that don’t you?”

Luke shook his head yes and said, “That makes sense. I’m glad you did that.”

My guilt vanished in an instant. Poof. Now it was time to pay it forward and help my friend.

Luke and Cole were the best kids for five hours as my friend and another friend who came to join us sorted through her married life. We laughed. We cried. We picked her up off the floor. We called the husband an asshole when we found a large box of poison on top of several boxes. Why the hell had he packed poison and not told his wife it was in there. It said DO NOT TOUCH in big bold letters and how on earth were we supposed to see that in a storage until piled sky high?

I got angry.

I was livid.

I still am.

How dare he do that? Was there a rat problem in the unit? Possibly. But if so you tell your wife where it is, you don’t hide it on top of several boxes in the middle of the unit for her to pick up.

Luke took his phone and began filming. He filmed the unit all on his own, he filmed the trash. He filmed the chaos. And at the end he turned the camera on himself and said…

“Don’t be a jerk to your husband or wife, or whoever, or you will end up like this.”

It broke every adult heart there.

My 9-year-old knows better than a 40 year-old-man. And that’s sad.

If you are going through a divorce, realize this… No matter how much of a martyr you think you are in the situation, you need to take a real hard look at the role you played in the break up of the marriage.

And just in case this needed to be stated… if you put poison in a storage unit, tell your wife. If it had been myself, I would have called the cops, cause that’s some bull fucking shit. And I’m pissed.


Robb Kidd

As a child, I grew up loving music. My parents were not huge music people, in fact, after our record player they didn’t own anything to play music on until they recently bought an Alexa.

But my grandmother loved music. She use to want me to be a country western star, specifically, the next Crystal Gayle. My parents did like Kenny Rogers and Kenny Logins and I can remember my mom playing “the Gambler” every year as we decorated the Christmas tree.

My uncle, Mr. S. Jones, on the other hand, really loved music. Throughout my life he would tell me to look up this band or that band, his all time favorite {I know because I ask at Thanksgiving} being the Beatles. I told him during the holiday how I had met Jack White a couple of times and we discussed his music, my uncle is a HUGE Jack White fan.

When I was eight I got turned on to Simon and Garfunkle and listened to their greatest hits non stop until I was 12. I wore that tape out. Still one of my favorite groups. After that my uncle introduced me to the Doors, the Beatles, Jefferson Airplane, Pink Floyd, Led Zepplin, the list is endless. I’ve always loved classic rock because of him.

Flash forward to this time in my life. Yes, I go to Austin a lot, and no, I don’t live there. If it wasn’t for my kids splitting time with their father we would be there. And yes, when I don’t have my kids I am frequently found on South Congress at Cboys.

That’s where Robb Kidd comes in to play. I first became aware of Robb through Golden Dawn Arkestra, one of my favorite psychedelic bands. Robb drums for Golden Dawn {you can catch them at Barracuda in Austin on NYE}. After I saw him in Golden Dawn I realized he is one of Austin’s most celebrated drummers, and rightfully so. The Kidd, pun intended, is loaded with talent. And passion.

He plays with so many bands I don’t even know who all they are. If someone needs a drummer they call up Robb. He plays with Matt Hubbard, another favorite of mine, on Wednesday’s at Cboy’s followed by the oh so awesome Greyhounds featuring Anthony Ferrell, this guy… plays the keys, WHILE playing the bass with his left hand and sings all at once. Yeah. Take that in. His partner is Andrew Trubes and drummer David “Snizz” Robinson, although Snizz has a “real” job and doesn’t tour with them {unfortunately for everyone}.

Robb is seriously one of the most talented drummers I have ever seen. The sticks fly when he plays and I don’t think I have ever seen him miss a beat. Like, ever. Last night he was playing in Dallas with someone, Erika Wennerstrom, and my friend Kelly Cranz who does merch for all the cool kids {look her up if you need a merch girl} let me know he was playing. I had messaged her asking if she wanted to go to Gary Clark Jr. who was playing up here last night.

She said she was gigging for Kidd and did I want to come with her. My usual response when Kelly ask if I want to go with her is “hell yeah.” She’s awesome to see music with because like myself, she doesn’t drink, so we hang out drinking coffee or ginger beer or sugar free Red Bull.

Kidd absolutely mother effing killed it last night. I was blown away. The last song they did was Paint it Black by the Stones.

I have been in a Stones mode for the last three or four months now. Their essential list is usually playing in my car {if not Lady Gaga is}. I go through phases and right now those two are who I am listening too. Miss You by the Stones is my favorite, and Paint it Black is up there. It use to be my favorite but Miss You is edging it out at the moment. Honky Tonk Woman ranks third or fourth.

Here is Kidd and Erika absolutely slaying Paint it Black. Enjoy!

Dylan Bishop

I frequently turn my nose up at Fort Worth musicians. I’ve been called a music snob and I wear that title proudly. But there are always exceptions to everything. The Toadies. Leon Bridges. And most recently, Dylan Bishop.

A month or so ago one of the musicians I use to see called me wanting to know where I was.

“In Austin. Where are you?,” I inquired.

“I’m in Fort Worth with Dylan Bishop and we need a place to stay.”

“Well you know where I live. I don’t know Dylan, but I instantly trust him more than you. Go ahead,” I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone.

I had been hearing about Dylan for a few months. “The boy from Fort Worth.” And I knew he must me good because all my musician friends were endorsing the youngin. He’s all of twenty and plays the blues.

Last week I walk in to my home away from home in Austin, Cboys Heart and Soul to see the best gig on a Monday, Charlie Jones and his band Jonesin.

There are eight drummers in Austin who I think are phenomenal, and Jones is high on that list. The other seven are David “Snizz” Robinson, John Speice IV, Robb Kidd, JJ Johnson, Johnny Radelat of Gary Clark Jr., Chris Trafton, and Alex Marrero, who is also a very talented singer and fronts Adrian Quesada’s Brown Sabbath, a Cumbria style cover band that Ozzy has declared “Fucking brilliant.”

Side note… if you don’t know who Adrian Quesada is, then you don’t know music. Texas Monthly did a write up not long ago about the seven degrees of Adrian. And said “He has either written, produced, or been in a band with anyone who is anyone in music today.” And that’s the truth. He is a Grammy winner and absolutely brilliant. Some of his current projects are Groupo Fantasma, Brownout, Brown Sabbath, Ecnocentrics, Spanish Gold, and most recently The Black Pumas featuring himself and Eric Burton. An overnight success for someone who definitely had overnight success coming after decades in the business. Back to my story…

I was thrilled to learn Dylan Bishop was opening for Jonesin and he did not disappoint. I was floored by his talent.

When he got off stage I went up to introduce myself.

“Dylan Bishop?,” it was more a statement then a question.

“Yes,” he grinned and tucked his hair behind his ear as he turned around.

“I’m Alexis. I believe you stayed at my house with Pope a month or so ago?”

His grin widened. “Yes! Thank you so much! Chad and I wrote songs at your kitchen counter.”

“YOU wrote songs at MY kitchen counter?” My mouth dropped open in awe. “Are you fucking serious?!”

He assured me he was serious. And I told him I immediately felt responsible for the success of his next album.

And I do. When he blows up, which he’s already doing, remember my kitchen. Clearly his source of inspiration.

That was a great Monday. Meeting Dylan. Hanging out with Charlie, Russell Lee, Jimmie Graves, Paul Hernandez, my girl Heather, swimming until 5 am playing chicken and having swim races. Russell killed the races, finishing before most got to the halfway mark.

Eric Burton of The Black Pumas was there and kept telling me my eyes had a light that shown brightly in them and that my dimples were gorgeous. My ego was bigger than Pope’s when i left Cboys to head next door to Misty’s to go swimming.

If you are in Austin you should check out Jonesin on Monday nights at Cboy’s. It’s the Monday night that feels like a weekend. Hilary York is the place to be at Cboy’s on Sunday nights. Her voice gives me the chills and her guitar playing and stage presence are something you cannot ignore. Jimmie Vaughn plays there most Friday and Saturday nights. Dylan recently scored a coveted residency and has the Tuesday slot, and The Matt Hubbard Trio opens for The Greyhounds on Wednesdays.

You’ll never be disappointed at Cboy’s. It’s where the musicians go to hang out and local and national celebrities are frequently called on stage to jam. You’re welcome.

Here’s another reason to go see Dylan. Not exactly hard on the eyes.

Losing it All

Sometimes you have to lose everything to gain anything. In the past two years I lost a six figure income job, a fiance, and recently I have put my house on the market, lost my job waiting tables, got in a major car wreck, and broke my phone.

I had held it all together pretty well, but one day a couple of weeks ago I sat down and started bawling. I had a major fight with my parents and I had decided I didn’t care if I was homeless, that whatever happened to me I could handle it.

“You can’t be serious,” a friend had said to me.

“Oh yes I am,” I replied. “I’ve already looked into shelters. I can move into the Union Gospel Mission and they allow children up to the age of 12, which gives me two and a half years to figure it out.”

My friend looked speechless.

It was at the moment of surrendering everything that things began to look up.

The easiest thing was replacing my phone. Next I got my car situation figured out and got a new car. Well, new to me. I’m still waiting to sell my house, but I have an apartment to move into, and I move September 11th. I finished real estate school and I take my test this week. I also got a job working for the real estate agent who is selling my house. I am going to be her assistant, and since she doesn’t work with buyers, she is giving me all the people who are referred to her as such. I also got a job at H&G Supply that I start on Wednesday.

I also started writing a book. Something that was in me for a long time, but I finally took the plunge.

Sometimes surrendering to your higher power and being willing to do absolutely anything is what it takes. It’s what it took for me and instantly things began falling into place.

I’ve been seeing the most adorable man who is 10 years younger than I am and a total freak about commitment, which is okay with me because I haven’t the faintest idea what I want. I’ve been a serial dater the last year or so, but there was just something different about this one.

For one, he has a good job. He’s a counselor for troubled youth, and that just makes my heart melt. He truly wants to make a difference in the world, something that resonates with me.

And he has a good head on his shoulders, which is also something new for me. Normally I date musicians who like the smell of cocaine a little too much.

He challenges me, which is something I also haven’t had in any of my recent relationships, not that we are calling this a relationship, but I did get the counselor to admit we are dating. Ha! I’m not letting him take that back either.

After being through pure hell the past two years, things are on the up and up. And something that I have gained is gratitude. I am absolutely, 100 percent grateful for everything I have in my life. I make gratitude list and almost daily try to think of what I can do to get out of my head and help someone else. This is something that was recommended to be for almost a year, but I naturally fight things that would benefit me and this was no exception.

If you are going through a rough patch, this is my advice… Realize this is a season, and this too shall pass. Happiness nor sadness last forever, it’s just not possible. Be grateful for what you have. Write it down. If you don’t think you have anything to be grateful for here are some things you might be overlooking…

Do you have a roof over your head? Do you have enough food to eat? Do you have clothing? If the answer to these questions is ‘yes’ you have something to be grateful for. Get out of your head. Smile at those around you. Figure out a way to serve others. It will get you out of your head space and make you feel better. If it doesn’t work right away keep doing it. It took me a hot minute, or six months, but it finally worked. And I’m not looking back.


When your life is in the gutter why not try to uplift your spirits with a Phish show? Some people in the fellowship I am in were going and I thought it would be great to go see some live music with people I knew were going to be sober.

My friend and I arrived in Austin and met up with our sober friends and went to lunch. We were all really excited about the show and talking about being in the Pit {right up front} for the show.

After lunch we went back to meet up with more sober friends and get ready for the show. We wanted to be there early and check out the Shakedown. A strip where Phisheads meet to sell t-shirts and get together and hang out before the show starts.

We make our way into the venue and claim our spots right in front of the stage. My friend had driven some of his friends from college to the venue because they were drinking and we wanted them to be safe.

The show was amazing. They played for three and a half hours. After the show and everyone was dropped off safe and sound we headed back to Fort Worth my friend had to work the next day and I had a lot of stuff to get done.

The stories we got from the guys that stayed in Austin were of Epic proportion. I had never heard such crazyness. The closest thing I had ever heard to this kind of story was the Steve Poltz drug bust. If you haven’t heard that crazy tale you should google it.

Apparently… when we dropped the drinking friends off they Ubered out to continue the party. The girl, let’s call her Kate, had a story that was out of a movie. I didn’t think this stuff happened in real life.

She had gone to my favorite bar Cboy’s and met up with some other friends who had attended the show. She got separated from her husband and her phone was dead.

“How on earth did you get separated?!” I inquired on the phone the next day in disbelief.

We went to the Continental Gallery, and there was a jazz band playing and I got kicked out for being to loud. My husband wanted to stay so I said I’d just walk to Cboy’s and we’d meet up later. I walked out of the bar and a creepy guy started following me, so I ran across the street to the Austin Motel to ask them to call me a cab because I realized my phone was dead and they wouldn’t let me back upstairs to tell my husband.

When she got across the street the lobby was locked and the creepy guy was now right behind her. I ask if she could borrow his phone and he kept trying to get her to go swimming. He said if she went swimming with him he would let her use his phone. Drunk and desperate she agreed.

The pool was closed as it was nearing 2 a.m. They had climbed the fence to get in. Luckily the security guard saw what happened and ran to get them out of the pool. She ran to him and grabbed him and ask him to call her a cab.

He took her to the lobby and locked the crazy guy out. He called a cab and she took it back to Cboy’s where she knew some other friends of hers were. When the cab pulled up her friend was outside with 7 others who had been to the show. He told her to get in the cab with them and he’d eventually get her back to her husband.

when they arrived at his place She ask if she could plug in her phone to charge it. She was immediately uncomfortable when she got back to his ranch in South Austin because she said everyone there was doing cocaine and there seemed to be mounds of the white powder everywhere. The guy plugged her phone in and after a few minutes she became even more frustrated because it wasn’t charging. She was trapped.

The “friend” told her not to worry because they were about to “have some fun” and hop on an ATV that sat nine people and go four wheeling. She really had no option at that point but was quickly sobering up.

She got on the ATV with 7 guys and sped off on the property. She said they approached a thicket on part of the property that had a locked gate. One of the guys jumped off and unlocked it. She said they went for about another mile and there was another locked gate. They went through five locked gates total and she was getting more and more nervous.

After they went through the fifth gate they pulled into a clearing and everyone began jumping out of the ATV and reluctantly she did too. There was a huge open barn in the clearing. The friend flipped a few switches and she said the entire place lit up. He plugged in his bluetooth and cranked up some music. And busted out the coke.

“Here I am trapped in south Austin, on a ranch, in the middle of nowhere with six guys I don’t know and a bunch of cocaine. It was pretty terrifying and I kept asking to get back to my husband. I wanted no part of this situation.”

“I’ll bet,” I replied. “Jesus, it sounds like a fucking nightmare.”

“It gets worse.”

“Worse how in the fuck does it get worse?”

She continues the story. There was one guy I latched onto because he seemed normal and wasn’t doing blow. He was a father who had met my friend at the show. He had flown in from Denver and needed to catch a flight at 9 am back to Denver. She kept asking him to help her get back to the house and get an Uber back to her husband.

Then that guy looked over and spotted several brick type looking things wrapped in plastic wrap.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say those look like kilos of cocaine.”

She looked over too, and her heart immediately began racing.

“Is that what those are?!” She counted 16 wrapped bundles. Then she recognized one of the other guys they were with as a “huge cocaine dealer in the Widespread Panic community.” She kept talking saying her stomach was in such knots she started throwing up. I just wanted to get back to my husband.

She convinces the “normal guy” to get her friend back to the house. Her phone was still dead. She started crying.

The normal guy said something along the lines of, hey, I have a plane to catch in a couple hours and need to get the hell out of here too. Here, I’ll call an Uber right now. He did and she said it took another full hour for the Uber to arrive. They Ubered back to his hotel and then he plugged in this credit card information and sent her back to where she was staying.

When she arrived at the place she was staying she realized she didn’t have the four digit code to get in the place. Luckily they were staying across the street from the Driskell and it was now 5:30 am, when some people were getting up for work. She walked in the hotel and there was a nice looking older gentleman on his phone. She ask if she could borrow the phone and she called her husband.

She got the code and did the walk of shame back across the street to unlock the gate into the place she was staying.

Naturally, her husband was not to thrilled he had lost contact with her for seven hours.

I can’t imagine that conversation went well, but damn. She was lucky to be alive.

You Might Have a Drinking Problem If…

I remember one morning my best college friend and I had woken up hung over. I’m pretty sure I skipped a test. And work. And sunlight that day. And anything other than Diet Coke and Wheat Thins.

The night before we had been at a fraternity party and the cops came, presumably to bust up our fun. My friend and I were in the back yard with about two hundred other college students and standing right in front of the cops.

The cops decided to be pretty cool and told everyone they had sixty seconds to put down whatever they were drinking and leave the party.

My friend and I both had unopened beers.

I remember my friend saying “Sixty seconds? We could drink two beers!”

And we both opened our beers and chugged them.

I’m not sure how we didn’t get arrested, but we didn’t that night.

Another night, I had decided I had had too much to drink, and the responsible thing to do was walk home with my favorite frat boy crush to where I lived right by campus. Which was a garage apartment. I might add, although not relevant to the story, this was during a time where there was a TCU {Texas Christian University} rapist on the loose and if my garage apartment had to be described by the Three Little Pig standards, my place would have been the first to have been blown down.

The AC units were held in by very sturdy card board. And boys were very quick to want to walk you home during this time. Especially in the shack I lived in. I’d like to take a moment to thank the boys, especially the one’s who all lived in Jim Squires house. I was walked home more times by those guys than I could ever begin to count. Sorry I broke your porch swing that one night. Who knew you weren’t supposed to swing that high? My bad. Whatever happened to Jim Squires? Do you still have a band? Note to self… must google and search social media when I finish typing. Does Byron still play stand up bass? Did Josh ever become a geologist. Are y’all still friends with Will Sykes, and is he still hot? So much research to do…

Back to the story.

I was walking home with my SAE {which everyone knows stands for Same-Assholes-Everywhere} crush, and I started to get sick. Like, violently ill. And lo and behold, who shows up but the TCU popo. They get out of the Jeep Cherokee and begin asking if I’m intoxicated.

“No. She just ate something that didn’t agree with her,” the SAE rationally said.

I continued to puke and the officer said it smelled like alcohol and he would have to drive us both to where we lived separately. I became livid.


More rational Same Asshole Everywhere is trying to pull my arms and whisper to me he’ll just drive back over, to which I start my tyraid again.

“Can you even stop us? We’re on a public street.”

Then the officer informed me I was actually two feet on the TCU campus, and if I had puked two feet away they wouldn’t have jurisdiction. This enraged me even more.


SAE boy and I ended up in alcohol and drug awareness classes together because of my always on point mouth.

I stand by what I said though. Walking was much safer. At least when we finished our classes we walked to The Pub. And I didn’t get sick walking home again. And if I did, I made sure to puke in the middle of the public street.

The Homeless Girl

Yesterday I was waiting tables and a homeless pregnant lady walked in and ask for a glass of ice water. I went to the back to get her one and brought it out to her and handed it to her. I was thinking she probably wanted to get out of the heat, so I hadn’t brought it in a to go cup. Then thinking she probably wanted the cup, I ask if she wanted one to go.

She replied, “Yes please.” And I scurried to the back to fill one of our very tiny to go glasses.

I brought it back out and handed it to her and she thanked me over and over.

I told her it seriously wasn’t a big deal, and that I hoped she had a blessed day.

She left and one of my tables called me over.

“That was the nicest thing,” the father said to me.

I looked puzzled. “Getting her water?”

“No, the way you treated her. You were so kind,” he replied.

“Well everyone deserves kindness, and to be treated with dignity and respect. I mean… that could be me, and I’d want someone to be nice to me.”

And lord, that’s the truth. If I don’t sell my house soon it may be me out on the street. And someone better be nice enough to give me a glass of damn water, even if I’m not pregnant.

It doesn’t cost anything to be kind. And the benefits are everlasting.

Gary Clark Jr.

Cboy’s Heart and Soul is one of my favorite places to see music in Austin. And Monday night is one the best nights there. Charlie Jones heads up Jonesin, and you can’t help but want to get on the dance floor and shake a tail feather. He is usually accompanied by Odis Hill on Bass, Paul Walker on guitar, and James Bullard on guitar, but the list of guests he has is endless.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting with another regular, Hilary York, who plays Sunday nights, when she motions she is going to talk to someone at the bar. I turn around and my mouth drops open.

“Is that who I think it is?”


She gets up and walks over to local and national legend, Gary Clark Jr., who is just sitting at the bar listening to his old band. Charlie was his original drummer and James was his original bass player.

Hilary chats for a minute and saunters off to go dance. I needed another Topo Chico, so I walk up to the bar next to where he is sitting.

The following conversation transpires:

GCJ: “Hey, do you want me to scoot down and make room for you?”

Me: “Oh no, I don’t want to bother you. But… there is something you could do for me.”

GCJ: “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

Me: “You could get up and play a couple of songs.”

GCJ: {Laughs} “Oh could I?

Me: “It would, like, make my life. I drove down here from Fort Worth today and I listened to you and Leon Bridges the whole way here.”

GCJ: “It would make your life, huh? Well… if it would make your life… I might sound like shit though.”

Me: {laughs} “You? Sound like shit. Right. I bet you’ll just sound awful.”

GCJ: {laughing as well} “I might, I just might. You never know. What’s your name?”

Me: “Me?? Alexis.”

GCJ: “Pleasure to meet you Alexis, you sure you don’t want to sit down?”

Me: “No, no, it’s okay. I’m just getting my drink.”

Walks off without my drink in awe.

Gary did not sound like shit. They sounded amazing. Charlie played a couple of songs with him and then had Russell Lee, another amazing Austin drummer sit in. It was a beautiful evening.

This past Monday Adam, Bob Schneider’s guitar player jumped on stage with Charlie as well as Guy Forsyth, another Austin music legend. JJ Johnson of the Tedeschi Trucks was at the bar listening and chatting up his friends while on a rare tour break.

Catch my favorites if you are in the Austin area:

Sunday: Hilary York, Cboy’s Heart and Soul

Monday: Charlie Jones, Jonesin, Cboy’s Heart and Soul

Tuesday: Ephraim Owens, Continental Gallery

Wednesday: Matt Hubbard Trio followed by the Greyhounds, Cboy’s Heart and Soul

Thursday: Mike Barfield, Barfield the Texas Tyrant, The Continental Club

Friday and Saturday: Josh Perdue, The Lost Counts, The Continental Gallery

You won’t be disappointed, and you never know who might walk in and jump on stage.

I thought you said you were wearing all black…

At TCU {Texas Christian University} I was a professional student. I would have gotten a degree in everything there with the exception of anything science related. I graduated {when my parents threatened to stop paying for my education} with degrees in Criminal Justice and Advertising and Public Relations and minors in Math, Sociology, Religion and Psychology.

When my parents told me I had one semester left to graduate I pulled it together and did it.

I also told my parents I needed one more elective and it had to be going to NYC to intern for the Republican National Convention in 2004.

Out of 700 candidates, I got the best internship. A prestigious internship with the Detroit Free Press, which apparently has/had the best internship program for journalism students. I was pissed.

I wanted to work for MTV Rock the Vote and it said so on my application. I was more interested in Puff Daddy than George Bush.

Upon trying to find my boss in a crowded lobby in the Hilton Hotel on 53rd, we were both on cell phones that were breaking up. I thought she said she was wearing all black.

“That’s my favorite color!” I exclaimed with much enthusiasm. “So sliming.”

Turns out she was behind me. She was black and was wearing a denim skirt and white blouse. She snaps her phone together and looks at me with disgust.

It was not a good first impression.

She had my resume in her hand and said, “It says hear you wanted to work for MTV?” I nod my head up and down.

“Do you know anything about politics? Do you even know how to write?”

I said I knew who George Bush was, and I had been told I was a pretty talented writer.

I ended up with three bylines and a photo credit that week.

I met Larry King, Tim Russert, who called me “lil red”, Wolf Blitzer, Rudy Guliani, George Bush, Laura Bush, Dick Cheney, Anderson Cooper, the list is endless.

The night before the last night of the convention my boss took me out until 5 am. We had four bottles of champagne between the two of us. She told me I needed to change my clothes and meet her at her room in 15 minutes.

I informed her I might die if I did that, and she said if I wanted to be in this business, to get use to it.

I went upstairs and puked several times and threw clothes on.

She was eating powdered donuts in the cab and I had to open the door and start puking. I still hate the smell of a powdered donut.

We get to our work station in Madison Square Gardens and she sends me to cover a story.

It was a fat man and I could barely see and my body was dripping in sweat.

In what seemed like seconds the fat man stopped talking and I looked at my notepad. I had drawn a heart. Hmph.

I went back to the table and Allison ask me if we needed to write a story.

“Nope.” I replied with confidence.

“He didn’t say anything important?”


Allison looks at me questioningly and I said I had better get on the floor to see what was going on in the convention room of Madison Square Gardens.

When I got home to Fort Worth that evening and turned on the news Peter Jennings face appeared to announce the “Person of the Week.” Someone he was calling the Architect of the Republican Convention.

And low and behold, a picture of the fat man came on the screen.

Karl Rove.

My jaw dropped.

Oh Fuck.

Needless to say my career in news did not take off.

Hey, if it had been Puff Daddy I would have known who the hell he was.