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The Young One, Prince of silliness and high jinx, is not the only jokester in our house.

He has me to contend with.

The other night, we had a laugh-off. How this works in simple terms is that we try to out-funny each other.

I was on a roll.

I’m not sure if it was the delirium from the sweltering ninety degree weather or the sweet intoxication from the Zinfandel, but I delivered a line of sarcastic assaults that got the kid cackling. And snorting. And hyper-ventilating. Then coughing. And choking. Until suddenly- he barfed.

The Young One threw up into my tropical garden.

Which, of course, got me laughing.

After he finished wiping his mouth, he scolded, “Izzy! You just kept going and going. You wouldn’t stop!”

I smiled victoriously. “How does it feel, Young One? How does it feel?”

He had no comeback. He knew I’d won.

Moral of the story: You don’t enter a laugh-off lightly in our house. Someone’s going down– right into the Mexican feather grass.

Weird is the word in Texas.

Transplants from the Bay Area, The Husband and I were super psyched to participate in the Keep Austin Weird 5k and Festival this past weekend where locals run in ridiculously “weird” attire to the beat of local bands (well, not everyone as evidenced by our hum-drum outfits left).

Had I participated, I might have mimicked a pixie of a woman in metallic blue tights and a hot pink tutu. It wasn’t the weirdest outfit out there, but it appealed to my flashy Tinker bell side. What can I say? She sparkled.

In many ways, this is Austin’s version of the Bay To Breakers. Except for one distinct difference: there was no prancing and dancing in the fog. We ran like slugs in upper ninety degree heat. I have now fully grasped the term: Hotter Than Hell.

But, the beer and the Texadelphia cheese steaks at the end of the 3.1 miles almost made me forget my wheezing breath and disgusting butt sweat. That is, until Austin’s resident cross-dresser– Leslie-- passed by in a tuxedo g-string and a cowboy hat.

Keep Austin Weird- Amen.

Photos courtesy of Dieter VonSchramm

The Husband and I had the pleasure of hosting a couple of my NY colleagues last week. They were in Austin for 24 short hours. Aside from doing business, they had only one request…

May we please sample the exotic local dish the Texans call “queso.”

When I first moved to Austin, I too, was fascinated by this unofficial state food (think cheese fondue with a jalapeño sting) and lacked an understanding of its gastronomical power. It took no time at all for us to get educated, and hooked. Today, The Husband and I consume our annual share of the dish and were happy to oblige our out-of-town guests.

The Husband driving the ladies to our favorite taco bar.

My NY Colleagues in the backseat of my vintage Mercedes.

Hot Cheese. Delicious.

Izzy and crew prepare to dive in.

As predicted, my sophisticated big city girls couldn’t get enough.

One more fresh lime margarita, please.

“That sounds disgusting,” is what my NY pals said when I told them about the popularity of The Avocado Margarita served up by the pitcher to hot and thirsty Austinites.

I was in NY on business a month ago and I was gushing about what an eclectic and creatively-inspired town Austin is. I talked about the growing art scene, the polite clash of politics, the cowboy-couture fashion and the savory mix of cross-cultural food.

They feigned mild enthusiasm, but what they really wanted to know more about was “an avocado margarita– really?”

Think, smooth and creamy…

So, when I spotted “Hot Summer Cocktails,” the cover story in today’s Austin American Statesman XL section, I laughed out loud. Yes- really. An avocado margarita! I wasn’t making it up.

Check it out…

“In addition to killer cochinita pibil and tamales as big as your mama’s forearm, Curra’s south (they’re still looking for a location to relocate the old Burnet Road spot) is famous for a drink that, when first mentioned, evokes this reaction: “A what margarita?” Co-owner Jorge Garcia and his brother Marco, who’s currently introducing Nashvillians to the avocado margarita at the Curra’s there, came up with the drink about a decade ago while they were fooling around with fresh fruit margaritas for the summertime. Well, they thought, avocado is a fruit…and the rest was cocktail history. Garcia blended one, looked at it and said, “Avocado is no good without cilantro.” So a little bit of that goes in, too. Garcia says he had to give a few away before the thing caught on, but now Curra’s is renowned for them. Thick, smooth and creamy like buttah, the drink is probably not for everybody, but life’s too short not to try one.”

As it turns out, my NY colleagues will be arriving in Austin tomorrow for 24 hours of business. Just enough time to down a pitcher or two.

Avocado margarita: best enjoyed at Curra’s, 614 E. Oltorf St.

Story and photo courtesy of The Austin American Statesman

For Father’s Day, I thought it would be interesting to ask my stepdad of nearly thirty years about being a stepparent. He and my mother got together when I was nine when my mom and dad were still together, in effect breaking up my safe and simple family unit that consisted of me, mom and dad. If it sounds sad, it was, but I never blamed him– I didn’t see him as “the bad guy”, but as the man my mom fell in love with. And because I was so in love with her, I decided to give the guy a chance.

I quickly integrated the following words into my vocabulary: affair, separation and the big-D: Divorce. Other kids in the third grade had divorced parents, and while I never thought it would happen to our little threesome, it did and I remember thinking, just go with it, don’t be scared, this is just one of those things that happens. I wasn’t the type of kid that got angry and hostile, screaming things like, “You’re not my father!” I was quiet and calm. In fact, I’ve always been secretly proud of how well I handed it, but after years of therapy I’ve uncovered this: I have attachment issues. Big surprise, there.

I didn’t see him as “the bad guy”, but as the man my mom fell in love with.

My stepdad came with two daughters, Gigi and Piper, who became my big and younger sisters practically overnight. By the time I was ten, we’d all moved in together and I split my time schlepping between our house on the east end of town and my dad’s new house up north. Because I already had a “dad,” my new step kept his distance and now, three decades later, he explains himself to me.

“Your mother told me today you want to talk about step parenting…I was real worried about the ramifications of the whole thing and that included the impact it would have on you. My kids, (Piper especially), were solid proof of the difficulties marriage failures have on kids. When my First Wife and I were preparing to separate I worried about the kids and she said: Oh, don’t worry. Kids are resilient. That’s a lot of crap, and Piper was the perfect example.

So, when the time came to figure out what to do about [your mother and I getting together,] I was concerned…your dad called me, I think that is how it was, and said we should talk. We agreed to meet that afternoon at a bar on Fourth Street between Mendocino and the Mall…I got there early and had a double scotch. Your dad arrived and we talked. It was amazingly civil. Your dad, I think, asked what I was up to. I told him I’d fallen in love with his wife. I told him I was sorry but it was just true. I understood the difficulties this was causing you, that my personal experience with divorce and kids made me an expert, and that I would never try to do anything to get between him and you. He was pretty damn decent about the whole thing. He didn’t know where this was going and thought, perhaps, [your mother] would get over this lark with me and your household would be restored. We parted without anger. We didn’t shake hands. But he didn’t deck me. I thought that was nice. He had every right to.

I felt guilty about causing, or helping to cause, this separation from your father.

Well, the household was not restored and you know the rest. After a year, we all moved in together on Shortt Road and a year later [your mother] and I got married.

Step parenting was difficult. Not that you were difficult. You were not. And I wasn’t a jerk, at least I don’t think I was. But our relationship was a long simmer. I felt guilty about causing, or helping to cause, this separation from your father when you were with us and from your mother when you were with [your dad.] I avoided situations where I would have to “discipline.” Actually, I don’t think I ever played that role with you. I was afraid to and didn’t think I really had the standing to assume that role. You were not my blood kid and I helped cause the split and somehow I think I felt that precluded me from certain parental rights and obligations and duties. I ducked it. Left it to your mom. My dealings with you were in the context of my dealings with all three kids. There was safety in that.

Some months after we moved to Shortt Road, your mother asked me if I shouldn’t try to be more obviously close to you, to act more like a father. I said no. I said you had a father, and I was a step father and that it was going to take a long time for you and me to reach an accommodation and to get to know, understand, trust, like and maybe even love each other. I was not going to force anything. I felt that would have been artificial and phony. So, I didn’t do that and instead I’ve been on this long courtship. I think I made some breakthroughs with you over the years, and I think we’ve become pretty close. I am one of your leading champions.”

And as it turns out, I’ve become one of his. As a stepmom, I think I’ve followed suit in many ways. I haven’t pushed things with The Tall One and The Young One– sometimes I think I’m taking it too slow, but the nine-year-old in me remembers what it was like to have two sets of parents and the struggle that can develop over dividing loyalties. I appreciate what my stepdad did. By respecting my space, he respected my father and that grew into my strong respect for him.

For two people trying to keep safe distance, we’ve grown close– whether we were trying to or not.