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As an Austin resident, it’s literally impossible to ignore the music-festival hype, including this weekend’s ACL. But as a perpetual intern, it’s equally impossible to finance said music festivals and honestly, I’d really rather spend my money on Taco Deli anyway. The following is a limerick about my stance on Austin City Limits. It is partially driven by bitterness, obviously, but I still mostly mean the line about weird facial hairs.

ACL, what’s your big deal?

To afford you, I’d have to lie, cheat and steal. 

American revolutionary-style beards,

So many mumbled lyrics too-strongly revered,

To be honest, you’re just an ordeal.

This weekend, I’ll eat candy and sleep in instead

The thought of the traffic fills me with dread

Far too many tourists in denim and vests

Crowding my timelines like social media pests

We get it, you’re hip, enough said.

Reposted from Austinist.

I’m always early. I automatically assume it will take me 45 minutes to get anywhere, and since I rarely venture more than a mile away from my bed, I’m extremely punctual. This can be inconvenient, but for the most part it gives me some time to play Candy Crush and dread the upcoming social interaction.

I’m not a tardy person, which is why when I miss the bus three times in two days, I know I’m not to blame. CapMetro obviously believes that two minutes early is actually three minutes late, and on more than one occasion I have literally sprinted down 45th Street, arms flailing, in an attempt to catch a bus that clearly has no plans on stopping for me.

Three times in two days isn’t a coincidence, y’all. Three times in two days is personal. And to address these egregious attacks on my schedule and well-being, I’ve written CapMetro a few haikus. Maybe my poetic whining will slow the busses down, or maybe it'll just clog up the Internet. Either way, here they are.

Why, CapMetro, why?

Watch me run like a damn fool,

But then pull away.

Stick to your schedule

Always two minutes early

Leaves me a tad late.

Heading to campus

Should not be so traumatic

Bag bouncing, I run.

Originally published on the The Austinist