I Heart Concrete!

Dear B-Reader,

You might not know this about me, but I love improving my local community, especially my neighborhood, Linkwood. Currently, I sit on the board of our neighborhood civic club, and am the liaison between the board and the beautification committee. Lots of work. Lots of rewards.

If you, B-Reader, live or work in Houston, you are going to be delighted with the news that I share below from the town hall meeting I attended this week. Please read on to be totally thrilled!

South Braeswood Boulevard from Stella Link to Kirby Drive is going to be completely reconstructed! Finally! This is a well-traveled road by many Houstonians and visitors to the Medical Center, Reliant Stadium, and the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo. It is also the major street that forms the northern border of my neighborhood.

The project will begin in just a few days, on September 7, 2010, and is scheduled to end by January 15, 2012. It is a $5.5million dollar undertaking by the City of Houston. Long overdue...it has been over 50 years since South Braeswood has been completely repaired!

A few fun facts about the project:

• 1,000 truck loads of supplies


• 1,300 truck loads of concrete


• 171 trees to replanted (150 gallon size, 15 feet in height)


• 500 day project divided into seven phases

I am so excited that I can barely type straight...or maybe I'm reliving the bumps on the street from my drive home...

New Toy, it's Christmas in August

Dear B-Reader,

I am pleased to announce that I am one of the first Houston Realtors(r) to have the latest electronic device for opening Supra lock boxes on the homes that we show. The Houston Association of Realtors released, yesterday evening, the first ever key fob for the iPhone. Of course, yours truly set-out today to purchase my very own copy.

See, B-Reader, I NEED this new toy. Not only does it appease my need for electronic gadgets, it satisfies my inner urge to be the best and provide the best service to my clients.

My previous Supra key was a totally boring, run-of-the-mill, cumbersome umbilical cord. I would have to plug the key, a 3inches-by-4inches device, into a power adapter to charge every day. Like many 1990 model power adapters, it was bulky and took up the space of more than two outlets. The surge protector that I would plug the power adapter into, and then plug the key into, was located on the floor of my office, next to my desk. It was out-of-sight, out-of-mind.

Now, you know me, B-Reader, I am totally on the ball. Some might call me a perfectionist. Others might refer to me as anal. However, I do have a (I will only admit to one at a time) fault: if something is not typed in my Outlook calendar, written down in my notes, or an ingrained part of my normal routine, I will sometimes forget to do it. This situation is exactly what would happen with my old key. I would schedule a real estate showing, charge my key so that it would have all the battery life needed to show multiple houses to my client, print out my buyer's notes and agent notes for each property, program the route into my Garmin, confirm appointments, and hop into my little VW Bug Convertible. And forget the key! I am embarrassed to admit to you that twice I have made it all the way to the first property on my showing list, met the client, walked to the door, and realized then and there that I had no key.

Never again, my friend! My key is my iPhone. Trust me, I won't leave work or home without it.

Who Wears Short Shorts?

Dear B-Reader,

I get it. It's hot in Houston right about this time of year. Many of us are sporting shorter outfits in an effort to withstand this intolerable heat. But come on, man! Be a man and wear some properly-fitting pants!

By 12noon today my eyes were severely traumatized by the vision of two separate gentlemen trotting about the 610 Loop area of Houston in improper attire. Below is an account of the crimes committed against humanity.

The first one was witnessed in a prestigious Texas Medical Center professional building. In disgustingly short khaki shorts, Dr. Hot Crossed Buns strutted a purposeful walk that screamed, "I'm a doctor. Get out of my way! I'm late to my 9:00AM tee time." And as if the shorts were not enough to draw negative attention to him, he, a doctor who should know better, was entirely too tan for any human being. Dr. Hot Crossed Buns, I'm betting that you don't have a teenage daughter at home -- because if you did, and if she saw your overly tanned pair of buns in those Daisy Dukes, I am certain she would have demanded that you march upstairs and change into something respectable before leaving the house.

The second crime scene was at an unassuming corner Starbucks in Rice Village nearby my office. On your drive home down Kirby Drive this evening, look out for the chalk print impression of this second fashion victim -- Agent Growth Spurt. Agent Growth Spurt hopped out of his pristine white insurance company car. In a great rush to infuse himself with his caffeine fix, he jogged across the parking lot, long jumped through the drive through lane, and spun into the side door of the java establishment. You would have thought the pavement was coated with a thick blanket of sticky, black tar. It could have been, and he would have been prepared to not get his freshly laundered pants dirty. "Why?" you ask me, B-Reader. Because his khaki chinos were two sizes too short in the length. He reminded me of a little kid whose parents have been unable to make it to the department store between growth spurts. Or maybe he washed the chinos in hot water and dried them out in the afternoon sun? Regardless, Agent Growth Spurt, you are a professional, obviously out and about between professional appointments. You should dress like a professional and not like a 12-year-old boy.

Now, I must end my ranting here. I have a 4:00 Fashion Police Committee Meeting to host. What ever shall I wear?

H-town to G-town, Baby

Dear B-Reader,

Last week, my parents, siblings and their spouses, and Jeff and I vacationed in Houston's southern version of The Hamptons, Galveston Island. OK, OK, it is a stretch to liken Galveston to the posh east coast getaway destination, but isn't what you love about me my ability to embellish?

One of the things I love about Jeff is his ability to sit back and relax in high-style. Nothing too stuffy, just good, clean, simple luxury. A step above the ordinary. And Galveston is the perfect locale for such a good ol' boy meets Renaissance man.

Jeff and I pulled on our polos and starched shorts, sported sunglasses and sun-kissed/aloe slathered faces, and hopped into my VW Beetle Convertible. Top down. Wind blowing. Vampire Weekend blasting through the speakers. Cruising down the Seawall. Parking on the Strand. Looking for the "little seafood-Mexican food place" that L.D.E. recommended.

This place was little. It had seafood. It had Mexican food. But it was so much more than a little seafood-Mexican food place.

Rudy and Paco's. Fifteen tables covered with white linen table cloths, black cloth napkins (my favorite because unlike their white alternative, the black napkins do not leave lint on dark clothing), personal wine lockers lining the walls, art deco vibe. Patrons decked out in the latest casual sports clothing -- the style that says I have taste and class, but I value comfort. Superb waitstaff who each carry one dish, prepare to serve one guest, wait for the other staff to bring the individual meals, then serve all guests at the same table in unison. What a gorgeous culinary production. And the food is to die for delicious. Do yourself a favor and order the daily special tostada.

Oh, and there really is a Paco. He is there, seated at the bar, positioned so that he is able to greet every person patronizing his fine establishment. Paco oozes old school charm, referring to new customers, cute young women, and old friends as "Baby."

Ever since college, for a reason I can't recall, I have called Jeff "Paco" as a pet name. I think now that he has met the real Paco, live and in concert, he has upped his game a bit. Bring it. I just adore a man with that extra something special.

* Yours truly and her Paco in Galveston.