Friday, April 27, 2007

Say what!?

As I was starting to pack everything I own up for yet another move, I found a couple old journals I had kept in high school. I flipped through and read one of them a little bit, and it was pretty funny to read the dumb things I thought when I was 15. A lot of it was about some boy, or not getting along with Emily, or some boy, or random band events, or some boy... Anyway, there's a little bit in it at the very end about Jack (including a delightful little rant about the rules). This was what I wrote in that journal the other night after I read through it.

It's hard to believe that I wrote all those things, and that the last thing I wrote was 4 years ago. As diaries usually do, I imagine, this one elicited many feelings of "Ha! I remember that!" "I learned something from that," or, most often, "What was I thinking!?"

It's funny to read my view on relationships at 16. Wasn't I just the all-knowing queen? Even funnier are the commentaries on my "terrible, frustrating" parents. I never thought of myself as a terribly difficult teenager - my parents and I got along for the most part, but reading these accounts remind me that, like any teenager, I had my difficult moments as well (more than I documented here, I'm sure).

One such profound oment of difficulty came at the end of my teenage years - yes, this is the entry just before this one written almost exactly 4 years ago, when Jack and I had noticed each other and my parences noticed that we had noticed each other. It's funny to read my speculation of their reasoning behind the rules: "to exert their power over us," "to keep me from running off and marrying him" (I sure showed them, didn't I?), "being unreasonable."

Like any kid, I'm not going to do everything my parents did raising me. But as I get older, the list of things I'll "never do to my kid like they did" gets shorter. Looking back, I can see the reasoning behind some of the Jack-and-Mandy rules more clearly; even the one that angered me most - "We trust the two of you, but you still can't be alone together because it looks bad to others."

What a cop out, I would think. If you trust us, give us the freedom we deserve. But as I witness shady situations (unlike ours but perhaps having the same shady apperance as ours once did), I understand more and more why it says in Romans 14 that:

"20 Don’t tear apart the work of God over what you eat. Remember, all foods are acceptable, but it is wrong to eat something if it makes another person stumble. 21 It is better not to eat meat or drink wine or do anything else if it might cause another believer to stumble. 22 You may believe there’s nothing wrong with what you are doing, but keep it between yourself and God. Blessed are those who don’t feel guilty for doing something they have decided is right. 23 But if you have doubts about whether or not you should eat something, you are sinning if you go ahead and do it. For you are not following your convictions. If you do anything you believe is not right, you are sinning."

I guess my parents weren't quite as dumb as I thought they were.

As for the personal relationship with Jack, it went from wanting to hold hands and watch a movie, to, well, holding hands and watching movies. I look at the ring on my finger without any doubts that God placed this man in my life to be my husband - a husband I know will provide for me, love me with all the strength he can muster, take care of me, and nurture a family with me all the days of his life. We are a perfect match (no, not the same "perfect" that I called Antonio years ago in this very book - sorry Antonio) - the kind of match that works despite the jagged pieces. We always find a way to fit together.

Finally as I look at my clock, which says 3:15 a.m. and think about everything I need to do at work in 6 hours, I reflect on some of the things that stayed the same since I started this book. A recurring theme (good attitude toward her day-to-day or not) is Emily - my friend, my maid of honor. Despite all the ways we're different she's still the first person I call when I'm frustrated with Jack, which, as strange as it may sound, is a pretty good measure of friendship. Trust me - anyone who always picks up the phone and agrees with me has a special place in my heart.

As for when i'm not frustrated with him, well, she's a close second, because, as God planned it, Jack has become my best friend these days. What a 4 years it has been.

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

The little things are big to me

I was walking out of Reed McDonald today on my way to work, when suddenly I saw something that completely made my day: 4 guys were digging up the ugly spring-semester flowers in the mini-garden next to the Chemistry Building and putting the hibiscus bushes that live there in the summer and fall back. These bushes are perhaps the single greatest thing about the A&M campus. Hibiscus plants only flower for one day, so when I had hibiscus flowers in my garden, it was like a little gift, because it didn’t always happen. These bushes, however, are so big that there are always a lot of big, red hibiscuses (hibisci?), completely open, on them. I smile every time I see them.

I’m the type, you see, to think the little things are big.

It makes my day when I get an unexpected letter or card from a friend in the mail, or even an e-mail in my box or a facebook message on my wall.

I love picking up my phone when Jack calls and hearing him excitedly tell me some good news he’s been dying to tell me all day, like that he moved up in the Top 10, or that the Cowboys won by a hair, or that he got an encouraging letter from one of his students’ parents.

I love getting that hot pocket out of the microwave after I forgot about it just long enough for it to cool down to the right temperature.

I love seeing “sweet gumballs” on the ground, because it reminds me of Jack, and how he and my mom argued about whether or not the tree in front of our house is, in fact, a sweet gumball tree (it is, by the way – thank you, google).

I love looking at the shelf in my office and seeing my stapler, because my friend Margarette at work found an extra one and gave it to me to use, and now I don’t have to get up to staple something.

I love the rare moments like last night, when Jack wants to do something girly like look at wedding dresses and bridesmaids dresses online with me over the phone and talk about our wedding (don’t worry, Jack’s friends, he couldn’t tolerate it very long).

I get so excited about Thursdays, even though they’re long with classes, because that’s the day my friend Paris comes over and we eat dinner and watch Grey’s Anatomy and The Office together.

I enjoy watching Jack get all excited about seeing his buddies from the corps again, and I love to watch them visit and act stupid together, like they’ve never been apart. I also love being a part of the B-Co ‘01 wives and girlfriends group.

I love the moment just after I go to bed when my little dog, Maggie jumps up and cuddles up to me so I’ll pet her right before she jumps off the bed to go to her own, and how excited she is when she’s on her way back to the apartment from the patch of grass where she goes to the bathroom, because she knows she’s about to get a treat.

I love splurging on that not-supposed-to-be-drinking-this-because-it’s-not-very-good-for-me, way-too-expensive cup of Starbucks White Chocolate Mocha, especially when it’s with Brittany after a wonderful dinner.

I love it when people offer to let me hold their baby when I don’t know them very well and I feel weird about asking but really want to.

I love beautiful days when I have time to sit outside, or take Maggie for a walk, or on the best ones, spend time outside with Jack.

I love hearing my friend Natalie's laugh while we’re scrapbooking and I’m teasing about her lactose-intolerant, dyslectic, always-sick-or-hurt, ADD, can’t-decide-what-she-wants-to-be-when-she-grows-up, life.

I love going to Sunday school and church with Jack, and when I can’t, hearing him talk excitedly about what he learned in church that day afterward.

The moral of the story: the next time you’re doing a little something nice for someone and you think they might not notice, think again. People like me notice, and to them, those little things are big.

Saturday, April 14, 2007

I'm marrying a WINNER!!

Jack always calls me his "lucky charm" at tournaments, but after how he did at the Southlake tournament today without me I'm not so sure... He came home with:

1st in Weapons!
1st in Sparring!

The first in weapons keeps him in the top 10 (meaning top 10 in the world in his division for weapons), which means he will likely be competing for NATIONAL CHAMP at world championships this year!

Congratulations, my dear! I'm so proud to be the girl you chose!!

From: The Mister Hornbuckle

Date: Monday, April 16, 2007
Time: 06:27 PM


Like father like son!!

Thursday, April 5, 2007


It’s been brought to my attention (I’m not going to mention any names, but it was by the person I’m marrying) that I’m writing about topics. I will try to incorporate the Jack in for this entry. I will point out, however, that if someone wants Jack in, he should write something from Jack’s point of view or about Jack. I will gladly publish it…

There’s a thin little scar on my upper lip that’s barely visible unless you look really hard for it. It’s from where my brother hit me with a toy truck when we were little. I see that scar and think of him.

There’s a scar in the middle of my forehead on my hairline. It’s from where my mom accidentally burned my forehead with a curling iron when she was curling my bangs when I was little. She felt terrible about that, but I see that scar and think of her.

There’s a scar on my left inner wrist. It’s from Emily’s fingernail in middle school. I can’t even remember what we were doing when that happened but I remember the cut from her nail in her upstairs living area/game room. I see that scar and think of her.

There are ridges in my left thumb nail. If I buff them down, my nail is thin and breaks easily. If I leave them, the nail doesn’t look very girly. However, my dad has the same ridges in his left thumb, so when I see it, I think of him and smile despite the trouble it causes.

The second toe on my left foot is slightly bent sideways from having been broken. While in the flirting stage with Jack, I playfully kicked at him while I was barefoot. Being the big strong black belt he was, he blocked reflexively, breaking that and quite possibly the next toe. He felt terrible but in reality it was probably my fault (there, I admitted it was my fault now. Don’t expect me to do it again). I see that toe and think of him.

There’s a scar on my left calf where a stupid little Chihuahua bit me when I was out walking my neighbors’ dog, Hunny. I used to dogsit Hunny when she was a puppy and I was in middle school, and I went on to babysit their two little girls and fall completely in love with their entire family. I see that scar and think of them.

I think God gives us scars for a reason. Sometimes they’re from when we learn something, like my forehead scar. Sometimes they’re from others just being mean, like my leg scar, or perhaps an accident, like my upper lip scar and toe. Sometimes it’s an innate gift, like my thumb ridges.
Others have scars because of me too – probably more people than I know of.

Aubree has a scar on her forehead from the first time she ever broke skin. I was babysitting her at the time of the accident. She was spinning around and around to some music, happy as could be, when suddenly she fell and hit her forehead on the corner of her open drawer. I’d like to think she’ll see that and think of me.

Jack has a scar on his knee from the ACL surgery. After his surgery and before he could get around on his own, he stayed on my parents’ couch for a few weeks while I took care of him. I would even get up in the middle of the night when he called my room’s line to make him sandwiches and change his ice (his appetite was all messed up because of the medicine he was taking, so he wouldn’t eat all day and then all of the sudden he would wake up starving). He told me that this time, despite the incredibly difficult recovery, was one of his best memories. I’m probably not the only person he thinks of when he sees his scar, and perhaps he doesn’t think of me at all, but I’d like to think that he does.

These will not be our last scars. As I transition into my new life with Jack, I know more are coming. I pray that they will not be as deep as some we’ve seen others get, but I look forward to learning from all of them, and hopefully smiling about them later.

For Colin Joseph Zeitler: August 17, 2004 – April 4, 2005 – Not forgotten

From: Shane


I swear if I get another chance I'll hit you in the face with another truck.

Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Speaking of Impulse...

Most of you already know that Dad and I went on a cruise to Cozumel on a whim last weekend (if you didn’t, you should check out the pictures at Here are a few of the highlights.

The decision was made to go on a cruise the Tuesday evening that same week. There was a $350 per person cost for a super-duper nice ocean view room, and Dad was paying if I wanted to go. What kind of person passes that up?

I e-mailed my boss about it for time off, but unfortunately he didn’t get an answer back in time. It was Wednesday and the fare was gone.

As I talked to Dad about it, it was clear that both of us were bummed about it. Finally, dad said, “If we went on the current fare, [which is $450 per person for an inside, matchbox-sized room], it would be about $1,000 for both of us. Would you rather I spend $1,000 for the cruise or add $500 to your wedding budget, which would you choose?”

Sorry folks, but if I get $500 extra for the wedding, it’s just going toward feeding you a little nicer dinner, and I don’t care quite that much if you’re excited about the food. I told him I wanted the cruise more.

Apparently that was one of those magic questions parents sometimes ask - you know the ones; they mean something but you don’t know it until you answer – like when your dad asks you if you and your “friend” Jack kiss after he’s already seen you kissing? That kind of question. This answer, as opposed to the answer I gave to the kissing question, was the right one. It’s the answer he was looking for. He booked the cruise.

Now let’s take a quick break here to acknowledge that I’m spoiled. Don’t lie, you were already thinking it. Especially you, Shane. You were thinking “Dad didn’t take me on a cruise before I got married.” That leads you to think that I’m his/their favorite. You would be right. I do not deny the fact that I’m spoiled, but I also want to point out that I do not expect to always be spoiled in this manner (Jack breathes a sigh of relief). It’s just a nice surprise when it happens.

Day 1 (Thursday, March 22) – You don’t get to go

Apparently booking a cruise the day before causes all sorts of clerical problems for the worker bees in Galveston. Dad and I spent about an hour at the front desk with a confused old man telling us “no, your reservation doesn’t exist – you’re not on the manifest” over and over. Finally, after we got all the kinks ironed out and we were on the boat and on our way to Galveston.

We learned an important lesson about muster today – you don’t actually have to go. When they announce it, just stay in your room and be very quiet. Someone will come knock on your door. Remain quiet. Hang out there for a little while and you can avoid the life-jackets and people gridlock of muster. This works even better if you still aren’t actually on the manifest. Important lesson learned.

People Pong

There are 2 ping-pong tables set up in the breezeway between the Solarium (inside pool area much like a greenhouse) and the outer deck. In between the tables is where people have to walk if they want to get from one place to the other.

The rules of people pong are simple. The goal is to hit someone with the ping pong ball, preferably making it look like an accident. Before you gasp and tell us we’re horrible, keep in mind that it’s not possible to hit a ping pong ball hard enough to actually hurt someone, and most of the time people don’t even feel the ball hit. Also, it’s quite windy, so the game is harder than you might think. ½ point is given for hitting one of the people playing next to you on accident only. 1 point is given for hitting a regular person, 2 points is given for hitting a baby, and a whopping 3 points is given for hitting someone in a wheelchair. A game ends at 3 points, so obviously you really want to find somebody in a wheelchair.

Dad won that round of people pong (by a hair – it was 2 ½ to 3), but I look forward a rematch. I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

Day 2 (Friday, March 23) – Dad learns about sunscreen

After lying on the pool deck for about 2 hours in the sun, Dad had quite an interesting sunburn on his arm. I had put SPF 15 on that morning (no pre-mature aging or skin cancer for me!) but had missed one spot on my chest, so got burned there an nowhere else.

We also learned that pool chairs are always taken, but not really by humans. People would come put a towel on a chair and then leave for 4 or 5 hours. Dad and I decided it would be fun to go pick up all the towels and take them to the dirty towel place.

Day 3 (Saturday, March 24) – Como se dice “get out of our all-inclusive resort” en espanol?

After taking a picture in front of the boat (in which I asked a stranger “will you take a picture of me and this old guy? He makes me look so good that I couldn’t pass this opportunity up.”), Dad and I walked around for quite a while looking for a locker by the beach to put our stuff in so we could go snorkel. We figured we would find such a locker in or around one of the hotels on the beach. At one point, we found an open door to a beach area in some alleyway, so we went inside.

“This one’s nice,” we observed. There’s a swim-up bar, food places, fancy chairs, volleyball with a ref (who has a whistle and everything), and the soft sand you don’t find anywhere else on that coast after the hurricane pummeled the beaches.

After a few minutes of walking around, we realized this was some kind of all-inclusive resort and we weren’t going to be able to get out of this place without going in the way we came in. As we walked back to the beach from the courtyard area, one of the employees asked us where our wrist-bands were.

“We don’t have one,” my dad replies truthfully. “We’re leaving today so we didn’t need it.” Also true. We walk past him back through the pools, bars, food, and fancy chairs to find our exit.
This makes the guy a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t do anything, probably because you can’t get the food/alcohol/in on the volleyball game without your wristband.

When we finally found a locker and got in the water, we found some spiny black anemone thingies, which Dad said would really hurt you if you touch them (as I was caught in the current that was pushing me toward them), and I saw a barracuda right before I landed myself right in the middle of a huge school of silver amberjack fishes. It was pretty cool.

On our way back to the boat, we got the solder guys holding the big scary rifles to take our picture by the boat. I wanted to hold one of the rifles in the picture, but I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t have liked that request.

Day 4 (Sunday, March 25) – Ashton Kutcher comes to visit

On our way back to Galveston, the captain announced that we were being diverted to the coast of New Orleans, where the coast guard would pick up an emergency medical patient. Although they wouldn’t let us on the deck or in the lounge above the deck where the helicopter deck was (so that if the helicopter crashed into the boat, nobody would get hurt - go figure), we found a place inside where we could see the helicopter drop down its coast guard guy and basket and then bring the guy back up. We found out later this was a 17-year-old kid with appendicitis. That couldn’t have been fun. Except the ride. That would have been fun.

Day 5 (Monday, March 26) – Back in Galveston

Despite the diversion, we were back in Galveston on time. We learned an important lesson about leaving early – if you just carry your suitcases on an off the boat it makes for a much easier and more enjoyable experience. That way, you can also get up at 8 instead of 7. No colors, no waiting. Just walk off the boat.

Another thing we learned about avoiding waiting is that you should walk to your car instead of trying to take the shuttle. The parking lot is only about 2 blocks away and it’s well worth it. You beat the other cars out and there’s no waiting for that either.Anyway, it was a great trip all in all and I enjoyed the quality time with my dad and the resulting tan. I plan on taking a similar cruise next fall with all my girlfriends as a bachelorette party. If you are female and interested in going, let me know.

Anyway, thanks, Dad!

Monday, April 2, 2007

Jesus is in my heart... and my phone

I was scrolling through my contacts in my phone the other day and came across an odd person to be in my cell.

Name: Jesus
Phone number: 45366368084644656268646136468686846161356

The only logical explanation for this is that my brother got a hold of myphone the last time he was in town – probably Christmas break. I know hehad it for sure because there are pictures of the floor, his nose, thedog’s butt, etc. in my picture folder. I e-mailed him today and asked himabout it, and he had this to say:

“That's his land line; he's very reluctant to give out his cell.Long distance depends on which spiritual plans you have.”

When I told Paris about this, she said “You should keep Jesus in your phone. And in your heart.”

That I will, Paris. That I will.

Impulse and Ice Cream

8:20 p.m. – While wrapping up dinner with my friend (and bridesmaid) Brittany tonight, and we discussed where we wanted to go sit and continue our visit, for we don’t visit nearly enough.

“Starbucks?” I suggest.

“No,” Brittany says, “how about the new coffee place by Ben and Jerry’s, and then we can get ice cream too!”

“Ice cream… hm. That’s nice. But you can get a pint of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream at Kroger for $2.50, or you can get a scoop of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream at the Ben and Jerry’s store for $2.50,” I point out.

This observation leads to a discussion about the expensive ice cream shops in town and reminiscence of Braums, whose service was always abysmal but ice cream was always tasty and fairly priced.

This reminiscence leads to a rant about College Station’s lack of Braums, and how the nearest Braums is in Corsicana (2 hours away from here).

This rant leads to a crazy thought – Let’s drive to Corsicana and get ice cream at Braums! But wait, we don’t do that kind of thing… that would be dumb. After all, the cheapness of Braums ice cream is voided by the fact that you have to buy a tank of gas for $25 to get there and back. That, my friends, is an expensive ice cream cone. Ben and Jerry’s and Cold Stone don’t even dare charging that kind of money.

“Why not?” I ask. “We’re college students. Don’t college do stupid, impulsive stuff? Like drive 4 hours for ice cream?”

Yes. Yes they do. Being such college students (who, I might add, don’t generally do stupid things and decided it’s high time to start), we decided to hit the road and get our Braums ice cream.

After a few quick phone calls to our phone-a-friend contacts (thank you Paris and Jack), we had an address and phone number to the Coriscana Braums. (Although Jack’s side of that conversation went something like this: “You’re doing WHAT?... Why?... Ice cream?...” At some point in this confused questioning I said “yes Jack, I know it’s impractical to drive 4 hours for ice cream. Where’s the nearest Braums?”

Brittany calls the ice cream shop and asks them about their hours. If they close at 10, we can’t make it in time. Brittany does the “woohoo” face and the “yes” fist. 11 p.m. close time it is. Let’s hit the road. We’re getting some ice cream.

8:45 p.m. – We’re exiting Hwy 6 onto 190 and giggling like idiots.
“We’re not even drunk,” Brittany says. “Don’t drunk people do stupid stuff like this?”

Agreeing with Brittany, I pop a top on a cold beer and take a swig as I put on my right turn signal and pull up to the intersection. (Just kidding, kids. Don’t drink and drive.)

9 p.m. – We name off more than 6 ice cream shops located in College Station.

9:35 p.m. – Brittany and I decide that I should hold auditions for all my bridesmaid positions. There will be a talent portion, a pageant portion (where they will show me how good they will look in the dress), a speech (or toast, if you will), and a dancing portion (where they’ll show me they won’t look terrible on the dance floor). It’s a perfect system – “Sorry, Jane. The judges have spoken. Your toast just didn’t cut it.”

9:50 p.m. – I share my amazing invention idea of a prescription clock radio – a clock radio with a prescription in its glass cover to match the prescription of the person in bed trying to read it without their contact lenses.

10:26 p.m. – We are in Corsicana and lost. So close to Braums – we just know it. However, the stark neighborhoods and dark alleys are looking pretty shady. Put another call into my lifeline Jack, and he’s not happy to hear from us. He helps us out and gets us there with only about 15 minutes to spare. Phew!

10:46 p.m. – As we walk into the Braums, I envision all the delighted employees rushing over to greet us, curious as to why we look like we’ve been driving for a while.

“Did you drive 2 hours just to come have ice cream here because you don’t have a Braums in College Station?” a clean young man in a Braums hat asks.

“Why yes! Yes, we did!” I answer, enthusiastically. Brittany smiles and nods in agreement, and all the Braums employees chatter excitedly about the news.

“All the way from College Station! Just for us!” one exclaims.

“Gee! That makes me feel really warm and fuzzy inside,” another answers.

“I want to work extra-hard to make their visit special now,” says a third.

“This calls for free ice cream for these two ladies! And all the cake cones they can carry out of here after they’re done!” the young man announces. All the employees begin to cheer. A couple of the girls tear up a little and fan themselves.

“You make my job worth coming to,” an employee tells me above the crowd noise, “and my life worth living!”

Instead, we stand in front of the ice cream counter and no one has noticed us for a good 4-5 minutes, looking at a handmade sign that says “no credit cards.” (This prompts us to dig in our pockets, panicked, for a few minutes, excitedly finding a couple dollars in Brittany’s pocket. Whew!) They are yelling and arguing quite unprofessionally instead. You have to have priorities. Ahhh, Braums. Home of the pissed off teenage employee. You were certainly worth the two 2-hour drives.

10:55 p.m. – We are eating our ice cream and a grumpy old lady walks over to the front door, looks at us, and says “I’m locking this door.” I see a bucket full of water and wonder why she just told me she’s “washing this door.”

“Washing the door?” I ask. Brittany laughs.

“LOCKING. I’m LOCKING the door. We’re closed,” she tells me annoyedly, as if talking to a 3 year old.

Brittany and I look at each other. That was a “get the heck out of the store right now so I can go home” if I ever heard it.

“Alright then,” I tell the lady, and take another bite of peanut butter cup ice cream. Darned if I’m going to let her run me out of here now after I drove all the way to Coriscana for this. Oh, no. I will watch you circle me with a mop with your angry eyes and enjoy my hot fudge sundae.

I decide I’m thirsty and get up to ask for a water cup from the counter. As soon as I stand up, another employee, who is sweeping the other side of the room notices and pops to attention.

“We’re CLOSED!!!” she announces rudely. Really? Because I’m pretty sure I’m already inside. Calm down there, Sparky.

The guy who is wrapping up the ice cream containers in plastic trash bags hands me a water cup and she eyes me as I walk over to get my water. That’s right, missy. Got me some water.

11:10 p.m. – We’re headed back to College Station, satisfied with our tasty ice cream and crappy service experience. Good stuff. Thanks, Brittany.

From: Dad
Date: Thursday, April 05, 2007
Time: 08:57 AM


One weekend when I was in college I was out of money and bored. I sold my car a semester earlier (it was that or stop eating) so I had no way to leave, and yet I decided it was time for a break. I hitch hiked to Scottsbluff Nebraska, went to a K-Mart, bought a plastic drop cloth (to protect me from the snow) for just under a buck and a half and slept in a stubble field (that's where the corn stalks have been cut down for you city folks) near the sugar plant. I don't really recall how I got back to Sidney that trip but probably had to hitch hike back to school. I write this because I'm proud that my kids have surpassed me in their college experience. I was impressed when Shane left the county in pursuit of a Slurpee and scared to death (early in the story) that Mandy would have decided to be practical enough to skip the 4 hour road trip. I rejoice that we raised the kids right. I rejoice that God has blessed them with cars so they didn’t have to ride with a stinky guy and listen to him talking about 26 ways to cook squirrel. I pray they will never stop doing things that don’t make any sense because the things that are most reasonable in our lives are seldom good enough to find their way into a blog

From: Shane
Date: Monday, April 02, 2007
Time: 01:21 PM


I left for Houston one night at 10 PM with Lauren and Nathan just to get a real Slurpee from 7-Eleven. There are no 7-Eleven's in Houston, although the internet says that there is one 7-Eleven in Houston. It is a freaking lie. We got back to College Station at 3 AM without any Slurpees. I hate you, Houston.