You Know You're a Texan When...

You are certain it is just too far to walk two and a half blocks to the convenience store around the corner--so you drive instead.

Alone Star

Since I moved south, I've found myself surrounded by a stream of friendly faces.

They say that Texans by nature are an affable bunch, but I didn't really understand how true it was until the relocation. Everywhere you go, people are anxious to chat.

At the video store, other patrons feel compelled to share their opinions of the movie title you and your friend are evaluating.

In the wine shop, others aren't afraid to needle you for attempting to carry one more bottle than you can actually hold.

At the bar, other girls who see you sitting alone with a cocktail feel comfortable reaching out to invite you into their conversations.

And the friendly demeanor follows you in any direction you go. Heading south down to Austin, we found sandwich shop workers who were anxious to help guide you in selecting the perfect ingredients for a delectable sandwich. Stopping over in Louisville, we found cab drivers who were so eager to serve as impromptu tour guides that we left with a paper full of restaurant suggestions and points of interest.

Friendly talk, it seems, is the standard currency.

The weird thing is that for all that talk, it's still difficult to convert it into more meaningful dialogue--the kind that can be the start of a real conversation, sowing the seeds for some kind of friendship. Banter? Of course. Idle chit chat? Definitely. Flirting? Maybe, depending on the mood. Making new friends? A harder connection to make.

I haven't yet figured out how to bridge it. When is it appropriate to try to make a friend--without seeming completely desperate? Are there limits to friendly exchanges?

After living in DC for so long, and then having a ready-made network at graduate school, it's like I've forgotten how to meet new people. And I realize that part of it is just part of getting older, too. In talking with some of my former school colleagues, I'm seeing that many of them are experiencing the same strange discomfort of plugging into a new job, a new city, and a new circle much harder to navigate than it used to be back in our college years and early-20s exuberance.

And then there's the challenge of trying to ensure that as you're searching for this new circle, you don't forget the old one. My good friend T back in DC sent around a link to a column in the Washington Post that hit the nail on the head:

You collect friends throughout your life who cross over into the category of family. The circle grows. You change, or you move, or you have kids, and a new circle forms. It doesn't replace the old one. It's just another one. This keeps happening. Plus, if you're lucky, you have your actual family -- which grows to include nieces, nephews, in-laws. How are you supposed to maintain all of these relationships? Most of your days are filled with neighbors -- co-workers and kids' teachers and coaches -- all those people you are busy being polite to. How do you find the time to keep up with the people who matter most when the people who simply matter fill your days?

I would even take it one step past that--When most of the people who simply matter are no where near you, how do you find a way to make things matter again? How do you move forward without forgetting to look backward?

I suppose being in a friendly place is a good first step. And keeping the phone and computer handy is a solid second. For the rest... I'll have to keep you posted.

Mmm Mmm Good

It's the quintessential corporate perk--the vendor lunch.

Since starting work at the end of January, I have had the opportunity to sit in on at least five vendor lunches. And these aren't just one- or two-person lunches, they are full-on feasts with my entire team, plus several reps from the hosting vendor. I have to say I don't look back and miss my nonprofit days.

In any case, today the visiting reps took us to Fogo de Chao--the well known churrascaria joint. I had heard about these restaurants but never actually been to one, so it was definitely a treat. For those who have never been, here's a quick rundown of how it works.

There are no menus. You come in to the restaurant, they put you at a table. If you wish, you can go help yourself to the ginormous salad bar--choosing from fresh greens, grilled and pickled miracle-grown veggies, and prepared cold salads.

Then you sit at the table. In front of you sits what looks like a coaster. But it's not a coaster, it's your feeding indicator. One side red, the other green. When you're ready to sample entrees, you flip it to the green. Then attractive Brazilian men bearing huge skewers of meat (from beef to chicken to lamb to pork) walk up to you, offering you samples. If you agree, they slough a hunk off onto your plate.

Once you have had enough, simply turn your feeding indicator to red. Stop.

The problem is it's hard to balance trying what you've already taken with monitoring what's still coming around and trying to have table conversation without being offered more meat every minute. So you turn your card to red, to eat what's on your plate. And while you're red, they come around with the sweet, delicious ribs you really wanted--and now you've missed them.

And as my boss pointed out, it's really hard to decide when you're finished. Even with a full belly, resisting the smell of the meat as it walks from table to table takes great self-discipline.

Did I mention it's a lot of meat? It's not exactly a place I would recommend for a business lunch. It was particularly difficult to go back to the office and try to work after consuming so much protein. I don't know how Atkins dieters do it.