Musings and Ponderings of Jeanine The Great

Wednesday Night

2009-02-12T11:46:00.000-08:00

Because Michael is in San Antonio at TMEA this week, I am reporting on Wednesday Night. We played it "straight" this week, missing Toby, Ruben and Michael - but we did add some new girls - Welcome to Leigh and Laura! The two ladies each brought lovely and delicious cakes for dessert....I have half an Itlain Cream Cake in my fridge...thanks very much! Cynthia brought the goodies for a salad which I composed and tossed with a quick rosemary and whole grain mustard vinaigrette. Everyone got a kick out of watching me toss the salad....dirrrrrty girls. Ryan brought THREE (3) loaves of garlic bread which, without Toby and Michael present, went a very long way. We've still got the extra loaf that T&M would have finished off themselves...Maybe for next week? Brittany surprised us all by preparing a lovely (if a little too mild)crawfish etouffe' over white rice. Our first Cajun Wednesday Night. Well done and Thank You to Britt. This was a great wine week, as well. Adrian stole my heart with a bottle of Cotes du Rhone and Laura went with the wine girls' advice at Whole Foods and brought a Malbec from Argentina. Cynthia was impressed. I brought the Natura Organic Merlot which was quite nice, surprisingly full for a merlot. The HobNob Pinot Noir didn't impress (insert Mike's comment: "it never does")but the Lambic Framboise Adrian prodcued served as a delightful aperitif. As it was a relatively straight week, we had the Duke basketball game on the telly rather than the usual American Idol or Top Chef. I say BOO to this, as I'm sure the gays...I mean the guys, would. Nevertheless, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. The food was satisfying, the wine was perfect and the company was, as always, an absolute joy and reprieve from the drudgery of the week. Next week: FRIED CHICKEN A LA MICHAEL FERIS. Laura is already campaigning for the potato dish.

Who's Period Is It?

2009-02-09T09:43:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I went to a fabulous house warming party with Mike where we met several friends and had a really fun, albeit relatively sober, time. We were all in varying stages of over-consumptive recovery from the night before. I over-consumed at a gay piano bar, mostly alone, embibbing on Absolute martinis purchased for me by the fabulous Margeaux Lane, one of the many cross-dressers I've encountered of late. She regaled me with tales of Vietnam, and other such hijinks in her pre-tranny days. Then rushed off to meet her daughter, who was celebrating her birthday, at a straight bar on Main.
I mentioned to the small group sitting around a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries that I had just started my period, needed chocolate, something of that nature....Mike looks up as casually as can be and states, "yes, I know". Wait, how does he know I got my period this week? There's really very little proof that he would ever see of my monthly visitor and I rarely discuss it with him. The fact that I mentioned it at a party was something of a fluke and really only stated for comedic affect. He went on to explain that a few months ago he entered some info on me, the day I started my period (another random time I discussed it with him....) and now the website "shoots" him an email a couple of days before I get my period each month. I don't even know when it's coming and my roomate gets an email??? And honestly, why does he need to know? It this so that he can be sure there's chocolate and sour candy in the house? Or so that when I bitch him out for no good reason he knows where I'm coming from? (this rarely happens!) Or maybe so he'll know the least opportune times to plan a pool party or a camping trip where bears may be present...I don't have a clue, he probably did it for the sake of the joke, if I know him....but still, I feel betrayed.

Dreaming...again

2009-01-29T13:44:00.000-08:00

I miss him. I know it's wrong and weak but I miss my friend, my partner-in-crime, maybe I miss the drama a little too...or maybe it's just the attention. I definitely miss the love. I had a dream about him last night. He came to me, said he can't live without me (isn't it egotistical beyond belief that we want someone to say that to us??) and that he's done all the things he can to get his life to the point where there is room for me. Of course, this was always my contention; there was simply no room in his life for me. The things he would have to do to make room for me...well...I'm not sure anyone is worth all that. As great as we got along, as much passion as we felt for each other, it was asking to much to expect our love to make up for all the sacrifice we would both be making to be together in any real way. Does that mean it was doomed from the beginning? Probably. But I, for one, completely refused to accept that until five months ago. Since then I've emailed once. Told him happy birthday, told him I was sorry for the hurt I caused and that I had truly loved him. It's amazing that one dream, one measly dream wherein he told me all the things I waited two years to hear, can take me right back to where I was a year ago. Torn to shreds inside, my heart wrenched, my stomach in knots. I woke up with tears in my eyes. Everytime I've thought of him today I've had to quickly wipe the tears away from my cheek, hoping no one saw. Nothing worse than a crying waitress...It is true what they say about memory; the bad melts away and you are left with the heart-wrenchingly wonderful times you shared, the love and the laughter. And so, I'm led to wonder where my feelings for him stand. I know some part of my heart will always belong to him, just as Gerry will always have his part. It is, of course, no coincidence that this dream happened the day after the mysterious phone call from G Mfg. I saw the number on my phone and prepared myself to hear his voice. I don't know who it was calling...but of course my mind raced back to him...So, was the dream simply prompted by the mystery call that made me think of him? It is always a shock to discover, through my dreams, these deep feelings and desires. As though I had no idea they were there, lurking quietly just below the surface. It's easy to live day to day in my life as it is now, with new faces, new friends, new surroundings...I can pretend those feelings are buried far deeper than they actually are. But the truth is, I miss him.

I GOT A TATTOO

2008-11-23T19:32:00.000-08:00

I've been planning this tattoo for nearly two years. When I got divorced, it took some time to get my maiden name back and when I did I was very excited - I've always thought my full name "Sarah Jaynes" is excellent, and others have too, my friend Sharon told me it's my famous name, like the kind of name managers and agents make up for less fortunate starlettes with names like Jenny Adams or Mary Jones...or worse. Giving up my rad maiden name wasn't so bad, because I loved the guy and he had a cool Irish last name that also sounded good: "Sarah Sheridan". But getting my name back meant alot for me. It felt like I got to start over, let the short falied marriage be a thing of the past and move on as I had been, only with a little more experience under my belt. It also made me feel very connected to my family again, something I felt I had lost during my marriage. In what I saw as a wonderful gesture of solidarity, my big brother texted his congratulations and suggested the three of us (little brother included) get Jaynes tattoos. In his usually funny way, he said I could have one that says "Jaynes Addiction" he could get "Alice in Jaynes" and michael could get something else. I loved the idea and suggested we go with something more subtle, like we could all get a "J" in the location of our choosing. Well, this weekend I got mine. I went with a simple lower-case "j" in a sort of antique typewriter font (because I'm a reader and a writer) on my left wrist. Now I'll always be Sarah Jaynes, even if I do take another mans' name some day...

Democracy, it feels good.

2008-11-05T05:41:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that I paid alot less attention to this years' presidential race than I should have - up until Sarah Palin came into play. I imagine I'm not alone in this, and her grand entrance into the forefront of popular culture no doubt helped seal the proverbial deal for many like me who thought they knew who they would vote for but hadn't paid enough attention to say anything intelligent...yet. As I sat in the booth at Baby Barnaby's with my younger brother, having our farewell meal before he left for grad school in Ohio, our attention turned to the televisions on the wall. We saw a young woman standing on the dais next to McCain and both began reading the subtitles. Eventually the sound came up, as everyone in the place was rapt by what was unfolding...had McCain trotted out some woman as his running mate simply to supplant the Dem female recently thrust from the race? To simply pick off the voters looking to plant their hope with a woman politician...any woman? Had he so underestimated the American public? Had he really just insulted all women thus? Yes, it turns out, he had. I was actually appalled and angry. I couldn't believe he had chosen this Governor from Alaska (Sarah who?)as his runningmate when he could have gone with any number of better-known, better-equipped persons. I began to check into things a bit more closely and became fearful of a USA run by the two
uber-Republicans. I also began looking into Obama, knowing he would be my only choice. I was impressed by what I saw, and trusted his demeanor and his candour.

I've never experienced an election like this one. Yes, it is history-making, but what strikes me as I write this morning after election day is with what fervor the voting public showed up on this one. The historically high early voting numbers, the heated converations I've walked into, the way joining in has made me feel...We really had a chance to do something this time, and we made our voices heard. The race was very close, which intimates just how divided we can be as a nation - regarding all manner of issues and values. But the pendulum has swung and we are ready, as a nation, for something different, something better.

It also strikes me that the rest of the world has involved themselves so much with this election. When is the last time you followed the Harold Trib online to watch a French presidential election? Did you know that Great Britain elected a Labor Party politician last year as Prime Minister? Do you even care? Why was this election so important to the rest of the world? And why was the McCain/Palin ticket so distressing to them? America has contented herself with sitting over here on our continent, politically isolationist until oil comes into play, or some other vendetta needs to be satisfied, at which point we pull the old bull-in-the-china-cabinet trick...we have made ourselves into a bunch of hicks with no realistic sense of our role in the bigger picture. It is time that we realize who and what we are in relation to the rest of this world, as business, culture and yes, even politics, become more and more homogenous and less and less an issue of "pure" nationalism. This is a world economy (check out the Euro exchange rate right now. do you think we are the only ones feeling the credit crunch? nuh-uh) and we truly live in a global community. I think the rest of the world recognized Obama's understanding of this fact, and what is more, saw very clearly - as we all did - that old Maverick Palin who has rarely travelled outside the continental USA (probably didn't want to miss hockey practice) would not be the person to bring our nation up to that standard. We all know the old America myth: We are the greatest nation, we are rugged individualists, we are capable of living on this planet without the help or influence of any other nation, capitalism is God, God is country, country is family. Wake up!! I think last night we showed that many of us have woken up...this is not your Grandpa's USA. Maybe that's a shame, maybe its just the face progress wears. Whatever your opinion on the evolution (pun intended) of America, the fact is we are a different place than the USA of June Cleaver. I'm relieved to know that the majority of this country gets it. Progress...progress.

BAREBACK THE VOTE

2008-11-04T06:38:00.001-08:00

Busy Week

2008-10-26T20:03:00.001-07:00

I haven't posted anything in awhile - been pretty effing busy for the last week or so - midterms, work, studying, cyrano de bergerac, sarah bereilles, david sedaris, Muffin Kilpatrick...today I loafed around with roomie Mike and Toby. We had brunch, watched Good Will Hunting, Had a pumpkin patch photo shoot in the dining room, surrounded by 6 pumpkins and other such accoutrements of fall, finalized plans for the costume party on saturday, cooked and ate dinner (on my patio - lovely) and then carved pumpkins. It was a really busy day...one which was supposed ot be composed of nothing but studying french for my midterm tomorrow...which I'm still not doing...slacker, roust about, last-minute-dotcommer. Bleh.

the pumpkins look great though :)

Happy Columbus Day....Whatever that means...

2008-10-13T06:20:00.001-07:00

Mea Culpa

2008-10-10T21:59:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last few weeks thinking a lot about myself, my choices over the last couple of years, why I've done what I've done, how I can learn from my misakes and, in general, what it all means.

I realize that, although it is a rather large and difficult task, this is very significant. The choices I make going forward will be informed by my past victories and failures but I have the choice now to forge my path, and to make my own destiny, in many ways. I have spent the last two years struggling to merely survive, to keep my head above water anyway I knew how. This did not serve me well and actually led to more pain in the long run; simply put, I didn't want to deal with who I was becoming, and I didn't want the stress and heartache that comes with inner reflection. Furthermore, I felt that I had been through enough and deserved a break. I didn't have to, I had been damaged and I needed to keep hiding out in my grumpy cave. I deserved that. I now understang that being minutely self-aware will help me in choosing the right life for myself, the right kind of life, filled with healthy relationships that edify my soul and spirit and allow me to enjoy this life of mine, as it is truly all I have.

After Gerry asked me for a divorce, I went through a difficult period which ended about a month ago. The early stages consisted of me knowingly self-destructing for a pre-determined period of time - kind of like the way they burn parts of huge forests out west in order to later control the wild fires that would otherwise ravage the unsuspecting wilderness. I figured that I should indulge myself a little (to say the least) to allow myself the proper grieving time, to try and approach things intelligently and with some modicum of maturity and to head off any ridiculous behaviour at the pass. I gave myself 60 days to go on a cigarette and champagne diet and generally do whatever the newly single, once again wild, and utterly shattered Sarah wanted to do. I literally drank champagne and smoked cigarettes rather than eating dinner. I wasn't hungry anyway... I flirted with alcoholism. I allowed myself to enter into an incredibly exciting and passionate relationship with someone who was wholly inappropriate for me: co-worker, married (although unhappily by his own admission). The passion was intense, the excitement was an incredibly effective distraction from the pain and confusion of being so let down, and the affection and attention were so generously and genuinely bestowed that I just went with it. I made the choice to do so. Later it was too late to turn back, and un-doing that pinnacle decision was impossible. I no longer had the choice; the hearts' wheels were in motion and there was no going back. Friends have asked if I realized the irony of what I was doing; I was dumped and hurt by my husband and now I was assisting another man in hurting his wife. I'd have to be a fool not to have seen the irony; of course I did. I suppose to them it seemed likely that I wanted to get some sort of payback for my own pain by ruining someone else's world in a similar way...I don't believe I am capable of being that sinister and such draconian meneuverings are a bit too melodramatic...and anyway, it's just not that simple. In the beginning I didn't allow myself to think about her, and that seemed to be enough. I thought about me and him, I thought about how much I was starting to care for him and how bad that was for both of us. I told him "I'm going to ruin you", only half joking. I though about how great we were together, physically, and how much we made each other laugh...I hated when he left my little apartment to go home to the suburbs but usually I would get dressed and go out myself, sometimes I even had dates. I tried to keep myself balanced in the "he's not my man, I'm free so I have to keep living my life. Do not love this guy" melee of my mind. It worked for awhile. And then it didn't. The naughty sexual tryst I was supposed to be conducting as a rebound relationship was turning into way more than either he or I had bargained for. But, as I mentioned earlier, by then it was too late. We were already way too connected to just cut our losses and walk away unscathed. Additionally, we worked together. So anytime we did decide to "just be friends" the temptation was so strong and so close that it simply never worked. The temptation and the desire. There is no way to blame either of us over the other on this front. He and I were entrenched up to our necks and neither of us helped the other get out by sacrificing ourselves. We drew one another further in at every turn. For that we are both guily, selfish cowards. But at the time it didn't look that way; it was actually flattering that he simply couldn't leave me alone. I thought "look how much he loves me!!".

From July 06 until February 08, I was faithful to someone I loved dearly but who was not mine. I chose to do that. I knew for some time that we were both on a sinking ship but could not abandon it. I knew in my soul and my guts that he would never be mine. Part of me was satisfied with having what part of him I did have, but I always questioned...I always wondered...is he telling me the truth about his life with her? Is he honestly no longer in love with her? Is he spending more time with her than he admits to? I never really had him. So when he came to me last Christmas to tell me that he was thinking of asking her if he could move home, it was the blow I had always felt was just around the corner. And I chose to continue living a life like that, loving someone who had that amount of power over me, whom I had given that power to. I don't know why I did. I mean, I loved him like an insane person. That's why. But how did I get to the place that I would accept that kind of love? There were alot of things between us that made sense to me or to us but, when I tried explaining them to my friends or family, the response was usually an appalled gasp followed shortly by the "oh, you poor stupid girl" look....and I felt stupid. I felt like I was making choices that were bad for me, but I simply could not find the strength to change the way we were doing things. I couldn't and I didn't even want to. I WANTED him, and I took him however I could get him. In this way, I loved him far more than I ever loved Gerry. I actually felt at times that losing him, losing what little life we had together would be the end of me and I was terrified to go through that. So I did all I could to smooth over any fears he ever had about me, to allow any little white lies he may have told, to tell my own little lies for fear of the truth upsetting him and pushing him closer to her....the stress of maintaining that aspect of our relationship was incalculable. And yet, I still preferred that to not having him at all.

When he persevered with his decision to move back home (for the kids, of course, was the explanation I was given and believed 100%. I knew he loved me more than he loved her and that I loved him more than she did...so it made sense in my head) my heart was shattered, I felt like I had put myself in a position to once again be the one thing in a man's life that is expendable. I felt expendable. It was as though everything in his life was working but the part that included me (which is probably true!) so the time had come to kick his little fling with Sarah to the curb. I was filled with anger at being so ill-used. I blamed him for everything and refused to allow the nagging thoughts of self-blame and accountability to break through at all and justified every action I had ever taken through the lens of the fucked-up relationship we had been trying so hard to legitimize in illegitimate terms. I dated other people, I slept with other people. I was hardly on speaking terms with him during alot of this time; some weeks I'd soften and he'd tell me he hadn't moved home yet...we'd end up at my place, having torrid make-up sex and crying in each other's arms, begging to be forgiven, pretending that this little life we were leading within the walls of my bedroom could be sustainable for a little while longer. Then he'd tell me she made him soup when he was sick, or he'd casually mention some family event that she accompanied him to...and I'd go back to hating him....or trying. Some of those times, I wanted to hate him so much, I wanted to hurt him so badly and I wanted to get over him so desperately that I would end up fooling around with some guy just to feel like I was free. I bartered in the lowest kind of economy and sought my freedom using cheap, easy physical currency because the payoff was fast. See? I am desirable to men other than you. I don't need you to deign to love me. I can find plenty of other men to do what you do to me. The problem was, of course, that I couldn't. What he gave me was deep and my attempts at finding something comparable were knee-jerk reactions to his behaviour anyway, so I knew better than to imagine that things worked that way...I do not regret the choices I made, because I was grasping at straws. Am I accountable for the actions I took? Of course I am. Fully responsible. However, I know that the choices I made were motivated by deep-seated emotions which were indicative of the deeply flawed foundations upon which our relationship was built. I wish sometimes that I had sought my true and deeper freedom and not settled for the fleeting and insufficient freedom I found in lashing out sexually. The results are not the same as if I had broken through spiritually and emotionally. That freedom would have made a difference.

When I think about the nature of our relationship in retrospect, I see things differently. I see him differently. I said things to him out of anger and hurt and the sting of rejection that I sometimes wish I had not said. Then again, I often held back things in an attempt to keep from hurting him, things that I could have really stung him with, things that popped into my head and I instantly muffled...fucked up, I know, and completely backward...but that's the way things were with us alot of the time. See, my position in the relationship was that of victim, the one who was being played, the other woman who didn't know what was really happening in his life and had no right to know...I had already been so hurt by Gerry that the role of victim fit me like an old pair of Chucks so I wore it right into my new relationship. But tonight, I'm taking it off. I chose to stay where I did. I thought it was out of love, but something in me knows it also had to do with fear, with needing his love, his acceptance. This person told me I was amazing when the person I loved most in the world had cast me aside; I couldn't lose his acceptance. And then I had to go and fuck up and be human and make choices that hurt him within the insane confines of an insane pseudo-relationship. Mea Culpa, already. I admit both guilt and defeat. And I'm walking away admitting that I gave as good as I got.

There's a John Mayer song that kills me. He talks about slow-dancing in a burning room. My friend once told me that this relationship was dying a long, slow death. She was right. It took two years, countless break-ups and make-ups and hurts and joys and anger and confusion and rejection until, at last, the final cords were broken. In his heart, my actions did it. In my heart, it was his harsh and cruel words and absolute inability to understand me at all and how difficult the relationship had been for me, when I've spent so much of my own time crying for his sorrows and troubles wrought by our love. And when the ugly words were through he poured salt in the wounds. He kicked me while I was down a couple of times. He's one of those tough guys you just don't cross, and when you do, God help you because he's washed his hands of you. That last time, I saw him clearly, and it didn't look the way I'd remembered seeing it. And it was easier to let go, and just walk away. It hurts differently now, but the last bit of good he did me (we did each other alot of good and alot of bad in the two years, I think) was calling me a coward. He said a couple of things that I needed to hear; as my mom would probably say, he held up a mirror that I needed to look in. And this time, I could see. I had enough distance to actually see into his mirror. What I didn't like in him is precisely what I don't like in me.

This time of reflection has been very good for me. I needed to soften, I needed to stop allowing myself to wallow in the victim role. I thougth I was giving myself 2 months to be self-indulgent and self-destructive. I guess, in the end it ended up taking 2 years. But I'm finally ready to start my life again, to be the Sarah I was, but better.

Some more e-cards

2008-09-29T17:54:00.000-07:00

The Irish

2008-09-29T05:25:00.000-07:00

I had a dream about him last night...which I hate. He mentioned he'd be moving back to Ireland very soon with someone. I asked him who and if they were the reason we split up. He said her name is Carla, the'd been together for a couple of years and that work had relocated both of them to Ireland. Finally, I shouted, after two years you give me a solid reason for why you wanted a divorce. Finally.

Of course, there's no way for me to know if there is any truth in it, and there's every liklihood that it's just my subconcious still trying to come to grips with what happened...I wish I could see this dream as a release valve for all the things I've felt over the last two years, all the not knowing, all the questions from old friends "so...what happened?", a way for me to stop questioning myself and my actions and let go of what I sometimes perceive as my own failure, and more often as some tragedy perpetrated against me by the man I loved enough to marry. But the truth is, there is no "big reveal" coming. In real life, sometimes things just end and you never get the wrap-up, loose ends dangle and continue to fray, and a heart is cauterized by time and tears only. Would it even change how I've felt if I were handed some big piece to the puzzle? What would happen? Chances are good that I'd allow even more bitterness in, I'd question myself even more and I'd rethink everything about our life together instead of remembering the good times for what they were and trusting that, at some point, we were in love.

The irony is that I've made choices over the last two years that have been self-destructive as well as damaging to others, I've acted from a place of bitterness and as a victim. I've become someone I've always told myself I'd never be, and I wallowed in it, sometimes in ways others could see, more often in my private world. I've spent alot of time thinking in the weeks since the hurrication, as my friend calls it, when we all suddenly had lots of time to think and do little else without power. I've recongnized some things about my character that were not there before. My dad told me as soon as he found out about my impending divorce "I just don't want this to change you, becaiuse you are so sweet and so good". But it did change me, and it has taken me this long to recognize it. There are good things that have come from this change, of course, and I will hold on to those things...but something has to change in me, and I cannot wait for the wrap-up from The Irish to give me the answers I need or the tools with which to make that change. This one's all me, and what better time to begin that at the start of my 27th year?

Birthday Day Gift from Ike

2008-09-27T11:05:00.000-07:00

Thursday night we went out to Sammy's for dancing and general birthday-related revelry. It was alot of fun and loads of my peeps made it out. Props to those of you who made it ;) Lovies times ten.

I was unsure if we were still under curfew (midnight) and was sincerely hoping that we would be able to stay out late for my birthday. I'm not sure if the curfew was actually lifted, but Sammy's did remain open until 2 AM. My friend drove me home around 1AM when I was ready to head out (intoxication complete) taking a rather unusual route, perhaps to avoid the interstate and open access by the police. We pulled up to an intersection where he made a left turn without coming to a complete stop. Of course this neighborhood was still dark therefore we did not know that there was a stop light there.....all the same, the officer pulled us over (I thought my friend had to pee or something, I was oblivious) and asked "What are you folks doing out so late?"....he definitely got a ticket for running a non-functioning stop light but the officer said he would spare him the curfew fine....guess the curfew was still on afterall...

Damn!

Birthday Gift

2008-09-25T14:20:00.001-07:00

The Universe sent me my birthday gift at 3 PM today. As I was leaving the restaurant, after a particularly rough shift, two young women with three babies walked in. They both had Chola lips. Just when I thought I'd never see you again, pretty Chola girl, in you walk....into my life....Hallelujah.

Chola Lips - All Quiet on the Pinche Front

2008-09-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

So, I went to Tampico's yesterday on Main to get a Raspa (gringos read: Sno Cone). I've been on the search for a snow cone for about two years. I have scoured the Timbergrove, Garden Oaks, Heights area a few times, once even going as far as 45 on Shepherd and all in between in some very scary neighborhoods, without any success whatsoever. I usually end up settling for a slushie from Sonic. Not the same....just not the same. A few months ago, Mike told me that he had found a little snow cone stand on the outskirts of the Heights (actually bordering on the Fulton Street side of town....yikes) but before I got too excited he pointed out that it was not exactly like the kind of snow cone stand we grew up with in Kingwood. For a start, most of the flavors were difficult to pronounce and nearly impossible to conjure, in terms of actual taste. What does Tamarindo or Chamoy actually taste like? Part of me is desperate to know, but the whiter side of my sensibilities tell me just to walk away and head to sonic for a grape slushie.

Yesterday, we finally went. After my lunch shift, Mike and I went to a place near our house for Pho, then headed over to Montrose for Mani/Pedis in anticipation of my birthday. While relaxing in the best vibrating chairs on this planet and having our tootsies clipped and sloughed to perfection, I decided it was time to make the pilgrimage to the pinche Sno Cone stand. When we arrived, prospects looked fairly good. The stand itself looks just like any other snow cone shack one might see, with the exception on the clientele hanging out front: all adults, all mexican. I love this about my neighborhood. Like I've said before, it feels like a different country sometimes. We made our way up to the line (rather long for 5 PM on a Tuesday); I was still in my styrofoam slippers from the nail salon. Que Classy!! We began reading the list of flavors, my eyes settling upon the always-popular Pina Colada. I always get this flavor. Every single time. With cream. Or, as I told Laura, the sno cone stand girl, CON CREMA!

This place was actually more along the lines of a concession stand, as Mike pointed out, since they offered pickles and nachos, sodas and aguas frescas. Then I noticed the corn. Wow. The two vatos in front of me took so long because they must have ordered fifteen things between them. When I saw the mountains of roasted corn topped with mayonesa, chile, queso fresco....mmmm...I wanted one. What a wonderful, wonderful world those guys live in.

But what I had really hoped to encounter while at Tampico was CHOLA LIPSTICK. Alas, I did not find a sinlge Chola made up for the raspa outing. All of these ladies were keeping it classy in tight cutoff jean shorts and little t-shirts. Bummer. Maybe next time, when I go back for some of that corn....

The pina colada sno cone, con crema, was miraculous. Mike hated it, saying something about the weird Mexican cream on the top...which was really just Eagle Brand sweetened condensed milk...Oh well, maybe Tamarindo would suit him better. There's always next time.

Baby!!!

2008-09-22T12:41:00.000-07:00

Addison is a couple weeks old now and she's so cute! I love her. Just look....don't you love her too?

Some More Post-Ike Pics

2008-09-21T08:24:00.000-07:00

This looks like a bridge over a city bayou or a small river running through Houston. In fact, it is the Studemont/Montrose bridge over Allen Parkway, a four lane road leading out of downtown to ease the cluster-fuck of not-so-out-of-town commuters. This standing water (probably 8 feet?) is the result of the rain storm we got the night after Ike, that rude joke of Mother Nature, which made a bad situation much worse.

This is an up-rooted tree on Studemont near a friends' apartment. I love how the blanket of grass is sort of gently lifted where the tree is upturned. This has been a VERY common sight. Loads of gorgeous old trees as well as the young ones recently planted in regentrifying areas of town.

And now, the piece de resistence:

This picture was taken very close to my apartment, on TC Jester near I10. There are a couple of awesome features to this picture:

1. This is not someone's home. This is not even a business, as far as I can tell. It is simply a thrown-together mash up of corrugated siding with a couple of holes cut out for "windows". What's lurking inside that the owner is so desperate to protect? Now that the storm has torn off some of the structure, you can see in and there is nothing in there but old pieces of sheetrock, asbestos, ceiling tiles, broken siding and other refuse.

2. There is no apparent shooter lurking nearby, or even inside the building. I don't know, maybe he's got a sniper trained on the building, hiding out across the street at the Buger Inn.

3. As if the message "You loot, I shoot" were not powerful enough, the sad face below should really drive the idea home.

Stirring images from the field.

Why Hurricanes Suck

2008-09-18T06:16:00.000-07:00

1. Loss of power = loss of air conditioning

2. Refridgerator not staying cool = food spoiling

3. Power lines down due to sustained winds of 75-ish miles an hour = a very dark and scary city

4. After a hurricane, people drive like fools - to wit: Had one guy driving head-on towards me, after dark on a one-way street, All stop lights become 4-way stops, this is very annoying (some people have been drivers for years and still don't know how to tell when it is their turn to go)

5. Sleeping on friends couches is only fun when you are too drunk to drive home. Not when your home is too tore up to go back to. Also, sleeping in the same cramped room with strangers is just weird.

6. Not being able to work when every shift matters to your finances

7. Not being able to spend all the free time you've suddenly been handed studying because you have no internet, you have no privacy or quiet and you have very little ability to concentrate on anything other than "Let's take another ride by the house to see if we have power yet"

8. People have come to the end of their patience quotient on this thing. Nerves are frayed. It gets ugly

9. It's amazing how important structure and schedule are to human beings. Without it, alcoholics end up drinking again, depression comes back ten-fold... Discombobulation has a seriously weird affect on people.

10. If my cell reception and service don't get back to normal soon, I'm going to lose it.

11. I'm just about over this imposed curfew

AND--> the worst part is that all of these issues, in light of people actually dying, homes destroyed and an entire city nearly leveled (Galveston, of course), are not really all that bad. I'm a jerk for complaining because I got power back on Tuesday. Many of my friends and co-workers are still in the dark and guess what? The cool front is O-V-E-R.

Walking the Property

2008-09-12T23:39:00.000-07:00

We just walked the property for the fourth time. This time in the rain. Mike decided we should crank the AC way down in case we lose power. That way the apartment will stay cooler longer. Smart boy. So it is as 50 degrees right now. Totally ridic. It was raining as we walked; we were hoping to get a good wind gust to hold up our bodies. It was decent but I was too worried about the transformers nearby and the likelihood of them blowing to really enjoy it. When we came back in we found ourselves cold and scared....what a night

We Still Have Power

2008-09-12T20:35:00.000-07:00

For now, at least.

Mike and I have walked around the apartment property a few times to feel the wind gusts, I set around candles and matches, filled my bath tub with water (for toilette, if necessary!! yikes!) and we're just keeping our eyes glued to the tele to see what's happening. Looks like we shouldn't have too much of an issue with flooding - city officials have just done a press conference to tell us why, on one hand we should not be worried and, on the other hand, we should take this very seriously....things are about to get bad. Okay. Thank you for the completely contradictory reports, city officials.

No worries though. Mike has red bulls, I have a cold pot of coffee from this afternoon that I'm still working on. We're going to stay up through the eye, which should move over us in the next three or four hours. We've checked in with our other homies; everyone is drunk and fascinated. If I've still got power, I'll let you know about the pre-hurricane eye wall conditions!

Come Mierda, Ike

2008-09-12T16:49:00.000-07:00

We went for a neighborhood hurricane ride and here is what we found:

Empire Cafe - What's Love Got To Do With It?

Montrose: BB's Cajun Restaurant - (Come Mierda is Spanish for EAT SHIT. Even the kitchen guys got into the fun!)

NOTICE THE MISPELLING OF "HURRICANE" = HURRICAINE

Here is a house we passed in The Heights...We Like Ike/Ike Take a Hike

National Weather Service Issues Unprecendented Warning...

2008-09-12T14:31:00.000-07:00

TO GALVESTON RESIDENTS: EVACUATE OR "FACE CERTAIN DEATH"

How Dramatic!!!

"It's Important to Stay Hydrated During a Hurricane"

2008-09-12T14:07:00.000-07:00

In an effort to keep my loyal readers abreast of what's really happening to us here in Houston with regard to Hurricane Ike, I've decided to post some blogs as long as I've got internet and...obviously...electricity.

Here's the first debris that we've seen here at The Retreat:

We've got a Bayou very close by and, although Roomie Mike seems to think my concerns are unfounded and ridiculous, it does flood regularly and, with a storm surge of 20 feet coming up this evening and pushing ALL water up towards us, I am a bit worried about being stuck here, having no power (no AC!) and maybe having the water shut off....with these possibilities at hand, we've stocked up and plan to fill our tubs in a few hours. Although I've been to four different places, I've been unable to find any ice...so we may not have the coldest cocktails in hand come tomorrow, but I'm sure we'll persevere.
My only concern now is that Mike and I might accidently eat through all of our Hurricane food before the hurricane actually hits....said food consists mostly of Cheeto's, brownies, burgers, booze and leftover spaghetti. More soon; we're taking a Pre-Hurricane drive to see how many people wave to us as we pass them...people become very neighborly in a Hurricane...peace for now

I've a Hurricane In Me...

2008-09-11T06:53:00.000-07:00

Roomie Mike is tracking this storm with ferocity...not out of concern for our well-being, rather in order to determine what time we should start the Hurricane Party. He called this morning to make sure I stop by the grocery store today...not for water and batteries, but for food...because we are going to stay here and watch this thing happen.... Here's the most recent picture of the now-famous Cone of Uncertainty....I love how ominous that sounds....It's gonna be a big one...

Le Chef Menteur

2008-09-07T20:34:00.000-07:00

I've worn with grace the cloak of lies that you gave to me,
And what is worse is my unflagging complicity.

I might have understood the truth that you've revealed in guarded transparency,
but the truth is, a woman will only see what she wants to see.

We have followed this path on seperate planes,
and you've walked with her, too, as you've mapped out your game.

You accused me of fallacy, of mistreating my man
But that betrayal was played by your own hand.

As I consider the ways I've attempted to love,
I can only now see what damage I've done.

My trust was freely given, likewise my heart
but you never played fair; for that, I'm relieved we now part.

What was in me will never be again. The damage is complete
You've destroyed my faith, you've made my love obsolete.

I blame you for that, and will never forget
But the foolishness of my heart leaves me heavy with regret.

So stay away from me, don't dare come through my door.
You are banished from my mind and not welcome anymore.

The love I had for you was perfect and pure,
but you ruined it with lies and finally, tonight, I'm sure.

Nina Simone - This Song is Titled "Funkier Than A Mosquito's Tweeter" And Is So, So Good.

2008-09-07T19:19:00.000-07:00

You're nothing but a dirty, dirty old man
You do your thinking with a one track mind
Keep talkin' about heaven glory but
On your face is a different story
Clean up your rap your story's getting dusty
Wash out your mouth
Your lies are getting rusty
Can't believe nothing you say
'Cause I'm around and I see what you do
You know you're funkier than a mosquito's tweeter

You gotta mouth like a herd of boll weevils
Same old game, same old thing
You never changed
Always rappin 'bout the same old thing
I got something to tell ya
I got something to tell you baby
But you ain't hip to baby
Blowin' minds is a thing of the past
You blew your chance that's why you never last
You want to be a graduate mother
But in reality you're just another brother

You think you slick but could
Stand a lot of greasing
The things you do ain't never really pleasin'
Can't believe nothin' you say
'Cause I'm around and I see what you do
You know you funkier than a mosquito's tweeter
You got a mouth like a herd of boll weevils
Same old game, same old thing
Always rappin 'bout the same old thing

You beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful, beautiful
You put yourself upon a big stool
Nothin' worse than an educated fool
Talkin' sex is your favorite conversation
But peace and love is a famous generation
What's in your head has really started showing
Your conversation gettin' kinda boring

Can't believe nothin' you say
'Cause I'm around and I see what you do
You know you funkier than a mosquito's tweeter
You got a mouth like a herd of boll weevils
Same old game, same old game
Same old thing you never change
Same old game, same old thing
Always rappin' 'bout the same old thing

Some more E-Cards

2008-09-04T07:02:00.000-07:00

<------- seriously, this guy Levi gets to chill in the White House with his 17 year old baby mama? Does anyone else think this is bonkers?

Yay Football Season!!!

This Is Paris

2008-09-04T06:43:00.001-07:00

I am a big fan of children's literature. I adore the simplicity of the phrasing employed for young readers, I love the illustrations (especially old fashioned ones like in the Madeleine books and Curious George) and I appreciate the lessons they teach. Anyone who knows me very well at all, knows of my affinity for children's literature. I have a small collection of my own, some of which were actually mine when I was a child (I have 8 small Beatrix Potter books - mostly the Peter Rabbit stories) which I am very proud of.

I found This is Paris over the weekend and absolutely love it. It is genius! It's a children's guide to the city - who would have imagined!? This author also wrote This is London and This is New York. Unfortunately, Miroslav Sausek passed away in the 80's (this book was first published in the fifties) but his legacy of quaint introductions to some of the greatest cities in the world to young readers lives on. His illustrations are funny and very stylized. His depiction of Parisians is stereotypical and somewhat ridiculous, but still completely accurate. His text is very simple but gives an interesting bit of history along with pointing our various important monuments in Paris. It is a lovely little book and I can't wait to share it with my kiddos - bragging all the while "mommy used to live here!".

As Usual, Kitty Says It Best

2008-09-03T13:10:00.000-07:00

New Baby - Addison

2008-09-02T20:07:00.000-07:00

I held this angel for nearly an hour this evening; she was 12 hours old. My cousin Jennifer and her husband Todd were in The Woodlands, having evactuated for Gustav, when Addie decided she was ready for this world.

I can't express adequately what spending time with this new baby and my family has stirred in me...things have been brewing for sometime, of course. I'm ready to live in the realm of babies and family and marriage and love and sharing and life...yes, of course I'm living now, and my life is great. It's the combined emotion of having recently closed one very emotionally charged chapter of my life and leapt into this new one that has left me feeling rather empty. Please do not misunderstand me, reader. I am not suddenly and accutely aware of my internal clock tick-tick-ticking away. I've been aware of that for quite some time. Had things with my ex husband worked out differently, we would probably be working on starting our own family right about now. And I can't say with any certainty that I would have been ready under those particular circumstances. But, oddly, I feel ready now. With no reason to feel ready, having just left my full time job with benefits, having just ended a relationship with a man I loved dearly, with no new relationship as yet on the horizon, and still a year away from my degree and any hope of a suitable career...and yet, I know what I want. And I am certain that when I have met that wonderful man who is, no doubt, just around the corner, I will know very quickly that I am ready for all of the things that I thought, at various times in my life, I never wanted. I certainly have, in the not so distant past, thought that I never wanted to be married again. I simply didn't trust myself or the institution of marriage or any particular man enough to imagine that it would be good for me ever again. Oh, divorce is such a bitter thing. And I've wondered in the past if children would be a good idea, I imagined myself to be far too impatient to make a decent mother and, frankly, enjoyed my single selfish life far too much. The relationship I mentioned above will not be moving forward because of family and children and the fact that these things are far too important and valuable and fulfilling to disrupt, even for a really really good thing. It is difficult to have recently come to this understanding, and to know that I do not have these things. To understand why my little life, as I'm living it now is valuable only to me. I'm sure alot of this is pure emotion, but there is a very painful truth underlying what I'm feeling. And the reality is that I want this life, and have prepared myself for it with two men so far in my life...I mean really prepared emotionally and mentally for the reality of changing my life to attach myself with another person in very real and deep ways, and have been let down, disappointed, let off the hook....when I had come to the point that all I wanted was to be on the hook. So now, I must continue forging ahead on the path I've chosen in order to better myself, so that when the timing is right for me, I will be ready. I have been deceived by timing before, thinking things were right, thinking that time was finally on my side...not so, it would seem...not yet, anyway. Meanwhile, I've got lots of love for this baby, and for my family and friends, and for myself. And that simply must be enough.

Brisket Weekend, The Third

2008-08-29T07:11:00.000-07:00

Thank God for Labor Day weekend. After this week, I need a treat. I've worked everyday, and will work saturday as well, and dealt with myriad administrative issues at U of H, which is always par for the course at any university. There is no simple way to do things properly. They love giving us the run-around, and we have to oblige because if we don't get that degree, we'll be worthless citizens...or at least that's what they'd have us believe. Needless to say, this headache that's been building for the past 24 hours is now at full force and I'm just about to the end of my patience, which there was never much of to begin with.

Therefore, a brisket weekend is much needed, especially since it is a long weekend and we'll have an extra day of brisket eating delight. I'm not sure who is supplying the brisket this time. I think Mike is going to do a good old oven brisket (I think they always turn out just as good). We have not even discussed what foods we are going to prepare with out brisket, as we usually do. I'm sure we'll do the traditional brisket baked potato and probably chopped beef sandwiches with the bottle of Rudy's sauce we've got in the fridge, lying in wait. We've done brisket tacos and brisket omelets, and there is always a picnic involving brisket sandwiches. I wonder what we'll do this time? I think brisket quesadillas sound pretty fierce. Maybe I'll whip up some incredible sides and we'll eat it the traditional way. The great thing about brisket weekend is hardly the meat, though. It's the no-stop fun, friends over, hanging out. It's about the picnic where we do cheesy things like throw horseshoes and fly kites and eat funyons. I think this weekend is going to involve a brisket weekend pool party (perhaps in lieu of the picnic? I hope not!!), the first ever. As long as hurricane Gustavo doesn't ruin our fun with crappy weather.

Have a happy Labor Day, hope you are doing something even half as awesome as Brisket Weekend.

First Day of School

2008-08-25T06:57:00.000-07:00

Class starts today. I'm sitting here on the couch, half watching Anthony Bourdain downing palm wine in Ghana, waiting for ten o'clock. I will have three classes today, then off to work to wait tables at Cava this evening. I'm excited for my fresh start, but also a bit nervous. My extreme failure last semester weighs heavily on my shoulders now and causes me to wonder if I am indeed even capable of doing what I must to finish this particular chapter of my life. In every sense. I'm not sure if it's the fear of not being able to actually do it or if it is the fear of the unknown waiting for me on the next pages...I have a vague plan, and certainly goals and dreams, in place for my life after college. And most of the time, I am desperate to get there, degree in hand, done, finished, over. But there are a lot of other things I feel that I'm saying goodbye to in this particular season. It's not something I can quite put my finger on, but I feel that when I quit my safe corporate job I made a decision so bold that things will never be the same for me. I jumped off the cliff again, something I've not done in a long time. It's something I need to do regularly to feel like I'm doing justice to this life, to feel that I'm showing up to this game. I trust that I will land on my feet if only because I always have in the past. Today is a big day in a season of big days, one after the other...and I have a feeling that the big days are just going to keep coming.

Mrs. Gerry Sheridan

2008-08-22T06:48:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my wedding anniversary. Four years ago, I married Gerry The Irish. It's funny, it never even crossed my mind until I spoke to my God mother who gently reminded me what day it was. By then, I was already at the wine shop. It was 8 PM; I had most of the day over and a nice meal and bottle of vino to share with the roommate were the only thing between me and my bed. If I hadn't been cut early at the restaurant, I probably would have gotten through the entire day without thinking about it...

I work downtown and I park my car in this great $3 lot that happens to be right next door to the location where my wedding and reception were held. I rarely give the old building more than a moments' notice and never grow nostalgic about it anymore.

It's so strange to me that your life can change so drastically. When I look back, it seems that it happened suddenly, as if everything turned on a dime and all at once he was out, my new love was in, my day-to-day activity held no memory of our life together...that is, of course, not the case. I had to guard my mind from thoughts of him constantly in the beginning. The pain of our failed marriage hurt so sharply that sometimes I had to flee my physical surroundings in order to gain my composure, as if by running into the bathroom I could escape the thoughts. The last two years have been rough as hell. The emotional roller-coaster that I've lived has left me breathless with delight, joy, passion and love and has also, at times, left me broken, messy, dying, burning, aching and raging. It's alot for one girl.

My marriage to Gerry was short-lived, less than two years. We've been divorced now as long as we were married...longer actually. My life has moved on in wonderful ways and I am living the way I want. I love my life, my friends, my family...I didn't believe him at the time, and wanted to spit in his face for saying it, but I am better off without him. I hope he is well, wherever he is these days, but I'm so thankful that I'm not stuck with him for a husband...

Happy anniversary, babe.

Man vs Wild

2008-08-21T06:50:00.001-07:00

I don't know what it is about Bear Grylls: he's not particularly great looking, he's a bit thinner than I usually like, but the way he dominates the wilderness in his show Man vs. Wild absolutely does it for me. I'm a sucker for a guy who can change my oil, retile the bathroom or fix the roof. I can't help it, I love it. I want to reward such efforts with large, carb-loaded home cooked meals and loaf after loaf of banana bread...not to mention the more intimate rewards that spring to mind...

The thing about Bear is that I don't need to know how to avoid trench foot, how to escape a sink hole in the Everglades or how to most effectively jump out of a helicopter to land in the ocean off the coast of Sumatra. Frankly, I could do without watching him eat all the grotesque things he's happy to eat. But for the last several weeks, my roommate and I have been recording his show on our DVR. I watch his episodes over and over, enchanted by his willingness to dive into freezing water (naked, no doubt) in the Alaskan wild, free dive for sea cucumber on a deserted island near Thailand, climb a stand of mangrove trees 120 feet up to get a better look around or drink his own urine from a snake skin wrapped around his neck as he tramps across the Mexican desert.

In a culture where men are increasingly more willing to get manicures, use hair product and shop for $200 jeans, it's nice to watch a simple man do what men used to do...maybe I'm being naiive, maybe I'm being really, prohibitively old fashioned. I just want to be honest. His ability to survive in the absolute wilderness, without hair gel or 800 thread count sheets on his sleep number bed turns me on. It makes me feel good. I want a Bear Grylls man. I want a man who can fix things and knows what kinds of snakes are poisonous and how to build a fire in the woods (without lighter fluid, please). The bottom line is that I want a man who can protect me. Do I need protection? Not really. I take pretty good care of myself, I'm smart and could learn all of the things Bear knows if I wanted to...upper-body strength not withstanding, it's possible that I could do all the things he can do....but it's so much fun to watch him do it, to stay at camp and wait for him to come back with food to sustain me. It's good to be Queen.

My Name Is Sarah, I'll be "Taking Care" of You Today

2008-08-16T08:54:00.000-07:00

I made it through my first week as a proper waitress. I spent the previous two weeks working my corporate job during the day and training for my waitress job in the evenings. That was pretty tough, but I made it through. I assumed this week would be easier (since I'd only be working one job), but I was mistaken. Perhaps its the last two weeks compounded with the difficulty of working double shifts on my feet for nearly 8 hours straight....whatever the reason, I came home from my lunch shift yesterday so much more tired than I have been in a long, long time. I took my menu test this week on Wednesday after the lunch shift. Since I am a complete neurotic, I called my boss an hour after I left to see if he had graded my test yet. He told me I did better than most and that he would put me on the floor the next day. Yay Money!!!!

Thursday was a double, so I knew going in that it would be a difficult day. I wore my cleanest black pants and button down, long sleeve shirt and went in with a great attitude. The thing is, it is so hot and muggy in Houston that as soon as I get there (in my pants, double socks, orthopedic shoes, undershirt) I have to move tables and umbrellas to the patio. It's hot...waaaaahhhh!!!! So, I sweat. So much, in fact, that one of the girls I work with asked me on Monday "Do you have a really high metabolism? No? Well, at least your body is constantly purging toxins with all that sweating you're doing!". Quelle embarrassment. So, I start the day before we even open sweating like a Mexican lawn care specialist. My hair begins to curl up, my bangs flip out and look ridiculous, sweat actually rolls down my scalp and drips off my head, down my face, etc etc. As you can imagine, it only gets worse when the tables begin filling up and I start running around taking orders, running food, clearing plates...The worst part is not the embarrassment of being a sweaty woman. I've dealt with it since I was in high school. I'm rarely embarrassed anymore, especially not by a little sweat. It's the havoc being wreaked on my skin due to the constant sweating and the heat. My skin looks a mess. I need a special cream for my flaky, rough, zitty skin. I wonder if there is a product I can get - a special waitress formula...

Jeff gave me the front two tables on Thursday and, as luck would have it, the very first table sat in my section. I did a great job with them, was personable, sweet and professional. When they left to go to the afternoon Astros game, I picked up the check and...wait for it....didn't leave a tip. Nothing.

I can't really say anything else about it. For the rest of the day, every time I looked at the offending credit card slip, I just had to laugh.

When Jeff sent me off to take a break before dinner, I was so tired I wanted to die. My feet were sore, my legs were tired, my body was just completely worn out. I had a bite to eat and watched an episode of Man vs Wild so that Bear Grylls could lift my spirits by taking off his shirt and diving into an icy stream somewhere in the Alaskan wilderness. I went back up to the resto at 5 and began helping set up tables for the several big tops we had coming in that evening. Jeff gave me one 8 top. When the table of all women arrived, I knew immediately that they were lesbians. One even had a summer-weight flannel shirt on with a man hair cut. No lie. I figured I could do one of two things: I could be very nondescript, there to serve then get out of the way. Or I could schmooze the ladies, flirt a little, try to amp up the old tipperoo.... Of course, I flirted. I asked the girls where they were headed that evening, as they were in for dinner fairly early. Turns out (I couldn't make this up) they were on their way to the Melissa Etheridge show...

Oh the fucking irony.

They were actually not bad. I managed to get them to commit to an appetizer platter for the table which, for lesbians, is quite a feat. Of course, they couldn't agree on a bottle of wine, so I ran around grabbing beers, cosmos and glasses of Beringer white zinfandel...They all wanted seperate bills - well, technically they were all in couples, so I split the check four ways and the butchies gave me their credit cards. They tipped nicely and Jeff asked if I'd like to go home after that table. I think he felt bad for me, after the Astro's table that afternoon, then the Lessies....it wasn't the best first day ever....but it can only get better, right?

Hope springs eternal!!

Better to have loved and lost?

2008-08-11T13:01:00.000-07:00

As I look through the photos taken over the last two years I realize just how much my life has been measured by my relationship with him. The surprise birthday party he threw for me: 8-0's theme, not actually a surprise, 26 years old. The Valentine's Day tulips he brought to the office. He had to carry them up the back stairwell in order to avoid our bosses seeing them: 6 red tulips, fully blooming, with a red plastic stick, a heart on the end reading 'for my valentine'. The trip I took to Europe last fall. We called him on his 32nd birthday from a payphone in Amsterdam's Red Light District. We sang on his voicemail and were accosted by drunken hooligans directly thereafter. The morning picture I took of my bare thigh, white sheets crumpled around, Saturday morning sunlight streaming through the one window in my tiny bedroom, my cat curled up at the foot of the bed. I took that picture for him, turned on by the thought of how excited he would get when he saw it. These memories, captured in picture, frozen in my mind, evoke so much pain, and still more happiness. The grief of losing him, the sadness of missing him, the loneliness in knowing that our goodbye in the early morning hours saturday might very well be the forever kind...All of this rushes over me and comes and goes like stifling heat hit by a cool breeze. The breeze is welcome but only seems to make the suffering of the heat worse in it's absence. Which is better? Having the breeze for that beautiful moment? Is the happiness, the sweetness and purity of these memories worth the felt pain of his absence? Usually the answer is a resounding "Yes!".

Although he and I lived separate lives in most ways throughout our two year love affair, he is in every picture, he is in the atmosphere, he is in the smile on my face or the glitter in my eyes. And when I think about where I've been and what I've done during this time, I seem to measure it all by the role he played in my story - by where he and I stood at that moment. My love for him has always been the all-encompassing kind. So, although I lived my life as I needed and wanted, knowing that he was never actually mine, he was always on the tip of my tongue, at the front of my thoughts, first in line. I've yet to shake away that intensity. My soul is connected to his because of the rawness of our love. What he looks like on paper has nothing to do with who he is in our moments alone, spent lying face-to-face, whispering everything that is in our soul, rarely holding back anything. For two people as proud and stubborn as we both are, there have never been walls between us. Even now, when we've both spent the last six months trying to build barriers between one another to protect our hearts...One word from him and my defenses are shattered; one look from me and his heart melts and his stubborness is softened. Yet two hearts so equally matched are not together. With no reason to hope, my heart is alight with expectancy, with tempered anticipation. My desire to love him and only him forever emboldens my heart to allow hope to flood back in and to keep me warm in these late hours...until faith and hope are rewarded with love, passion, friendship, arms wrapped around me, lips kissing my lips, eyes gazing into mine, rapt by the sheer magnitude of our combined love.

No Longer a Corporate Schill

2008-08-10T09:20:00.000-07:00

Friday was my last day at Goodman as an HR Associate. I am both terrified and thrilled to be jumping off this cliff and changing my course so drastically. While I wait for the parachute to open, you can find me in the U of H library, home studying or at Cava Bistro, pouring wine and flogging escargots. Vive les changes et vive la vie!

Chola Lipstick: Update

2008-08-08T14:58:00.001-07:00

In Response to Mike's Cyclops Kitty

2008-08-08T14:57:00.000-07:00

I give you: Face-Off Kitty

Hope Springs Eternal...or so they say

2008-08-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, as I re-read my journals, I see how far I've come and the ways in which I've grown. Other times I read my words with a feeling of sadness, knowing that in many ways the girl I was is gone...Is it the circumstances of my life that have caused the change or my own forgetting..merely losing myself in the minutae of life as I live it now? The Paris years are so far behind me now yet, I feel that I can close my eyes and transport my mind to the rooms I lived in, to the arms of the people I loved. While I may not know the streets of the city like the back of my hand, the boulevards of my mind are as vibrant right now, in this unexpected moment, as they have ever been. The paths I've walked do not fade, though memories are often said to...

I've lived a thousand lives since the days when I drew every breath for my city of light. Yet all roads have led me to this moment. I don't spend enough time recognizing how much I still live the life I often miss and grow nostalgic for. My heart, while it was first opened wide in Paris, remains full - of love, hope, joy, passion...the things I once believed only possible there. I've loved and lost a million times, it seems...Though I'm only a young woman, I feel so distant from the girl who first filled the pages of these journals. In my life with Gerry, The Irish, I believed - I hoped - that I had found a home. When that hope was stripped away, I was left with nothing but myself. This stubborn, wild girl searching for a heart to match mine. His heart was no match for me...I believe he went as far with me as his sad, broken soul would allow. And then it was over. And as much as my heart broke, it did not shatter; I lie here tonight with a heart so full of love, of passion, so full of hope for the great life that is now and future...My friend once wrote "Hope, you painful friend..."But I do not feel pain tonight. I feel love. My journey with him has taken such a twisted path that I don't know how to trust my feet to keep walking it. It seems however, for now, that I don't need my feet. I can float for another mile or two, wightless from the love I know he has for me, and the love I have for him. I believe each love is one hundred percent unique. At least that has been my experience. This is why it is not ridiculous for me to say "I've never felt like this before" and know that this is my greatest love yet. There is no need, no place in fact, for a pros/cons list. What is filling my heart now will not allow any answer other than "yes, yes, YES! I will be your woman forever - come what may".

Wes Anderson: My New Favorite Genius

2008-08-03T09:00:00.001-07:00

I am a NetFlixer. Last month I received The Darjeeling Limited in the familiar red envelope and could not wait to carve out 2 hours to watch it. Bearing in mind that most Wes Anderson films I've seen I have really, really liked, I imagined it would be excellent. The thing is, lots of people don't really like Wes Anderson movies...or maybe I should say they don't get them or they get them, they just don't think his sensibilities are particularly funny or witty or clever or whatever it is they assume he is trying to be. I can understand that because sometimes I think the same thing about Jim Jarmusch. I watched Broken Flowers and Dead Man and could hardly keep my eyes open....I didn't think they were good films.. there. I said it. However, I know loads of people who love his dark, brooding and (let's face it) outlandishly bizarre films. (To my defense may I just add that one of my favorite films, maybe in the top 10 All-Timers, is Night on Earth, a very funny Jim Jarmusch film that i suggest anyone reading this should add to their queue poste haste. Ditto Coffee and Cigarettes.) I feel a bit silly admitting this because I wanted to be clever and intellectuelle enough to "get them". But I didn't. What is lacking in Jim Jarmusch's films, which Wes Anderson really delivers, is a sense of whimsy. Bizarre and outlandish are fine. Great, even. But (and I'm being very American in saying this) sarcasm and cynicism do not count as a sense of humor unless tempered with a bit of light-heartedness. Perhaps these two filmmakers are not even comparable. Apples to oranges, you might be saying, and that's fine. Fair enough.

What I love about Wes Anderson's movies is the way in which he really creates a sense of place. When you are watching one of his films, you are really and truly transported to the world he has created. His characters are in sync, they all comfortably exists in his odd-ball alternate universe to the point that the viewer feels that they are missing something, sort of the way you feel when you go to Europe for the first time. It's still planet Earth, but they understand it in a way that is slightly askew from the way we understand it. For example, in Life Aquatic, everyone is aware of the Zissou Foundation and the explorers club and the Zissou films. They grew up with him, sort of the way we all grew up with Captain Kangaroo. So we understand, sort of. His universe is exclusive, but not unattainable. I can say this of every film of his that I've seen. Bottle Rocket, for instance: the land between the couple of houses in the suburbs and the motel is familiar yet strange. And although his films are, on the surface, really rather bizarre, his characters are very warm. The relationship that develops between Steve Zissou and Ned is actually rather heartwarming, even though we are aware that Steve is exploiting Ned in several rather hilarious ways. The human interaction is often surprising when set amidst the outlandish marginal characters in his films and the strange situations his lead characters find themselves in. The stark contrast makes the emotion unexpected yet, ultimately, very believable.

As a cinema fan, I often think of my life in terms of film. What kind of music would be on the soundtrack? Who would play my mother in the film adaptation of my life? Would it be filmed on a sound stage or on-location? And, perhaps most importantly, who would direct the film version of my life? My life as I live it, and as I perceive it, is a Wes Anderson film. The emotions are genuine, the characters are often surprisingly authentic, the scenario I end up in are bizarre, outlandish (but only just) and the reality is that shit is just absurdly funny.

I can think of no greater compliment than to ask "Wes Anderson, will you direct the film version of my life?". I can only hope he'd find as much humor in my daily life as I do....I have a feeling he would.

New Baby in the Family

2008-08-01T09:16:00.000-07:00

This is Robert Ethan. He's named for my Uncle Bobby, a great man who died a couple of years ago. This is the son of Nicholas, my second cousin who I grew up with . Nicholas is Uncle Bobby's first grandson. Congrats Nick. He is perfection.

Presidential Options

2008-07-31T11:02:00.001-07:00

The Long-Awaited, Much-Anticipated Demise of Crocs Footwear

2008-07-28T12:26:00.001-07:00

Not unlike untold millions around the world, I hate Crocs footwear, and all Crocs knockoffs. I understand very well the idea of comfort, function over form, etc. What I cannot abide is something this ugly, this lazy, this tacky and (let's face it) completely ridiculous, becoming an international fashion phenomenon. For me, the problem began when these "shoes" moved out of the realm of gardening, fishing and maybe housework, and into the realm of dinners at Chili's and trips to the movie theater. Here's the worst part, for me: Baby Crocs, the teeny-tiny ones made for one and two year olds, so they can wear the same ugly footwear as their tacky, tacky parents. Anything that looks the same for mom, dad, 13 year old son, and baby are not right. Not right in the way those Anne Geddes babies dressed as cabbages circa 1994 were not right. Not right like cyclops kitty is NOT RIGHT. So, I was so terribly happy to discover a Reuters article proclaiming that Crocs has recently seen a huge downturn in their profits. Despite their attempts to make all sorts of shoes other than their trademark sling-back clog (think rubber mary janes, flipflops and penny loafers - Jesus, yes. Penny loafers - in every color of the rainbow) things have not been looking good and Wall Street is resonding. Big time. Hopefully the myriad Crock knockoffs, easily found at a mall kiosk near you, have eaten into their profit margin, along with the decent fashion sense of millions of us who have made it our mission to denounce, detest and generally black ball anyone associated with the shoes since their appearance on the international arena in 2002.

There's a website for those of us Croc haters

ihatecrocs.com

Check it out. Let's continue to demolish Crocs Corporation, one clog at a time.

Olympics

2008-07-28T12:24:00.001-07:00

UPDATE: Chola Lipstick

2008-07-27T17:01:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I encountered chola lipstick in person. Chola Lipstick, sans irony. I live in a great neighborhood. It is on the edge of the barrio...well, it's actually sort of an island surrounded by a barrio ocean and I love it. I can drive a couple of blocks away from my home, surrounded by yuppies driving Volvo SUV's and planting hydrangea in their perfectly manicured yards, in front of their perfectly updated 1940's bungalows, and be in Nuevo Ciudad Juarez, complete with markets selling strange produce and sno-cone stands selling unfamiliar flavors like tamarindo. It's like I get to go to another country. Some people hate that about America, especially Texas, but I love it. So, when I went into the nearby McDonald's (which I had never been in) I was not surprised to hear the young counter girl taking an order in Spanish from a dusty-looking Tejano in tight blue jeans. He ordered two happy meals...nothing for himself...strange, no? Then, having given my order to the girl, I turned around to find myself face to face with chola lipstick. She wore too-tight jeans and a purple camisole, cruchy gelled hair and a gorgeous fat-faced baby on her hip. Her viejo, at least three inches shorter than she, stood close behind her with his hands on her hips, clearly loving every inch of her voluptuous middle. I couldn't believe that in the year 2008 this young mother was actually rockin' chola lips. Her liner was perfect - much better than mine in the picture below - she obviously sharpens her pencil before each and every use to draw that perfectly thin line around the outside of her lips. Inside her lips, she had a simple icy white/pink gloss. She completed her look with thinly drawn-on eyebrows - maybe drawn with the same pencil she used to line her lips, but I couldn't be sure. All I could think was that the perfect baby on her hip, whose face was so ruddy and fat and cute and perfect, might one day follow her mothers' lead and ruin her natural beauty with strange, cartoonish make-up....Viva La Chola Lipstick. The legend continues.

Chola Lipstick

2008-07-25T09:59:00.000-07:00

Do you remember Chola Lipstick? I was always fascinated by this trend. (I think it is still done in some parts of the country....) When I was in Vegas last week-end, before I got too sick to enjoy anything, I hung out with my God mother as she got dressed for dinner. I laid on her bed and played with her make-up like I used to when I was a little girl. I noticed that she had really boring lipstick colors - I mean, really boring, really predictable. Like Dessert Rose and Frosted Pink and Mauve Mystery (there is NOTHING mysterous about mauve). BORING. This is actually very unusual for Nanny Patty; she always had corals and rich reds and even purples sometimes. I picked up a tube of icy, pink neutral lipstick and got a great idea. I found her brown eye pencil and began outlining my lips. My mom walked in and started laughing, asking what I was doing. I continued linning my lips, unflustered, with astonishing accuracy and precision. When I finished that, I filled my lips in with the pink lipstick. I continued the conversation I was engaged in with Chola Lips. I tried to remain serious, but eventually broke out in giggles. My mom and godmother actually thought it looked good. I guess Chola suites me.....who knew.

Darwin's Little Helper

2008-07-25T07:53:00.000-07:00

Considering the heft of my recent blogs, I thought it fitting to lighten up a bit. This was sent to me by a friend and really cracked me up. I want to know more about this mysterious person and his quest for genetic purity in the snack food world.

(This was posted on Roger Ebert's website)

I received this message on the blog, but it obviously fits no known topic. The author is something of a mystery: "R. Crutch," no city, no e-mail. But I felt it necessary to share with you.

RE From R. Crutch:

Whenever I get a package of plain M&Ms, I make it my duty to continue the strength and robustness of the candy as a species. To this end, I hold M&M duels.Taking two candies between my thumb and forefinger, I apply pressure, squeezing them together until one of them breaks and splinters. That is the "loser," and I eat the inferior one immediately. The winner gets to go another round.I have found that, in general, the brown and red M&Ms are tougher, and the newer blue ones are genetically inferior. I have hypothesized that the blue M&Ms as a race cannot survive long in the intense theater of competition that is the modern candy and snack-food world.Occasionally I will get a mutation, a candy that is misshapen, or pointier, or flatter than the rest. Almost invariably this proves to be a weakness, but on very rare occasions it gives the candy extra strength. In this way, the species continues to adapt to its environment.When I reach the end of the pack, I am left with one M&M, the strongest of the herd. Since it would make no sense to eat this one as well, I pack it neatly in an envelope and send it to M&M Mars, A Division of Mars, Inc., Hackettstown, NJ 17840-1503 U.S.A., along with a 3x5 card reading, "Please use this M&M for breeding purposes."This week they wrote back to thank me, and sent me a coupon for a free 1/2 pound bag of plain M&Ms. I consider this "grant money." I have set aside the weekend for a grand tournament. From a field of hundreds, we will discover the True Champion.There can be only one.

Dessert Gallery, Galleria

2008-07-15T09:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went to lunch with roomate Mike. We stuffed ourselves at Ninfa's in record time and, since I had loads of time before I had to be back at the office, we strolled next door to the Dessert Gallery for a coffee and a sweet. My boss orders 15 pound chocolate cakes from there for my birthday. They have always been delicious. However, I was less than unimpressed by my experience yesterday. We were both rather nonplussed, frankly.

Upon investigation of the cold case, we found sweet little cupcakes in the flavors and varieties of their best-selling cakes. This is genius. You can have just the right amount of cake without having to purchase a whole slice or, God prohibit, an entire cake. We decided on one red velvet cupcake, I had a cafe au lait.

We sat down in a quiet corner and were immediately annoyed by the table that was WAY tilted. I mean, this table should have been retired because it was really leany. Mike was bothered bacause the tilty, leany mess prohibited him from comfortably sitting, arms on table, weight distributed between the legs of his chair and the table base. We laughed alot about it. Because it was ridiculous.

I tasted the coffee - it was fine. We unwrapped the sweet little cupcake and, upon closer inspection, I noticed a problem with the icing. They opted for royal icing as opposed to the traditional cream cheese frosting. I don't know why or how this happened, it must have been an oversight or a huge mistake. I refuse to believe that this place is famous for their red velvet cake and they normally, regularly use royal icing on top.

Gross.

Then, as we each took a bite, the cake nearly vanished into crumb-ville. It was dry as the Gobe. I cannot believe I've heard so many great things about a bakery that produces dry red velvet cake frosted in royal icing.

It was terrible.

Maybe because my grandmother made red velvet cake so moist, so delicious and prefect and rich and flavorful that it defied belief (she's probably making red velvet cake for Moses in heaven right now....its that good) I am unable to appreciate any other version. I think it is simply that The Dessert Gallery makes TERRIBLE red velvet cake.

Stick with chocolate when you go.

As I write this, my office mate just brought me a cupcake...guess what? It's frosted in royal icing.

Good grief.

Bastille Day

2008-07-14T15:13:00.000-07:00

In honor of Bastille Day,

I plan to be as pretentious as I always am, with or without a perfect bottle of Cotes du Rhone...even if it is a Chateau Neuf du Pape.

VIVE LA FRANCE!

Lost

2008-07-14T08:41:00.001-07:00

I've lost something precious and beautiful. And it will never be returned to me...not as it was. What it was will never be again. And my heart yearns for a different reality...or to simply curl up and wither away...love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

I know that what is in my heart is not understood by many of the people in my life, and that is okay. Because this entire relationship has been a terribly lonely one...so its end should be lonely too. But I cannot surpress the love I felt, the love I feel. I can't pretend it wasn't real. Because, to me, it was the most genuine thing I've ever known. And the loss of it hurts so terribly that I can hardly breathe.

I've lost my breath over this love many times; I think there have been times I've lost my pulse...my heart has stood still, completely halted in its tracks...my brain ceased to function, only the magnetism between us holding our bodies up...

How does one cope with losing this, this thing I have longed for my whole life, without knowing I've longed for it? This gift, when taken away, is so hurtful, so brutal you almost wish you'd never been given it...almost...almost...

Broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it

And the loss of his love, the loss of possibility really, has broken my heart and crushed me beneath the rubble..for a heart so soft, so tender, the wreckage is surprisingly devastating, so heavy....so hard and cruel

The cruelty is that I've lost the possibility of knowing his love everyday, but I still hold his heart in my hands...and my heart is in his...so from a distance we will carry the others' heart farther and farther away until the connection between us is all but severed...and then, maybe then, I will grow a new heart that has no connection to him. and my old heart, which he holds in his hands a million miles away from me will stop beating, stop bleeding, turn hard and black and wither away to dust...then I will be free from this pain...from this despair and sadness and heavy, heavy heart ache.

How to hasten that moment?

I don't know...I'm lost...I'm lost.

The Master Cleanse Day II

2008-07-09T13:12:00.000-07:00

I QUIT

I bought a salad at 2 PM. I had a monster headache that never went away....I felt weak and scared and cold. So I quit and decided to just eat better. So I had a salad with no cheese, no meat, no croutons, all fresh vegetables. I had one hard-boiled egg on it, yolk removed. A little greek dressing, probably one tablespoon. For dinner, half a burrito bowl, wheat tortilla on the side. Loads of veg. For breakfast, oatmeal - weight control variety with no sugar. For lunch, a Pho bowl with chicken at the Vietnamese place by my old office. So deee-lish. Thanks for that Alfie!

So, I don't feel bad. I tried it and succeeded for 35-ish hours. That shit was ROUGH! And now, I do not feel like gorging myself, I want to keep my appetite small and I want to eat healthy because I forced myself to get back in tune with my body, and it only took several hours of self-imposed starvation! HALLELUJAH!

THE CRUSHER

2008-07-08T10:49:00.000-07:00

This is 32 Ounces of Beer. Not just any beer, it is Milwaukees Best (affectionately known as "The Beast"). I am holding this can, but just barely. It was so heavy that, as soon as my friend snapped the picture, I immediately dropped it back into the tub of ice from whence it came. I don't know why you would want that much beer in one can. Beer goes flat and gets warm so fast, you would have to drink The Crusher in 15 minutes. I mean, let's be honest, if I'm drinking cans of beer at a party, I'm drinking A BEER every 15 - 20 minutes, often leaving some of the warm, flat stuff behind in favor of a fresh, cold can. How the HELL is someone going to manage? And, perhaps more imporatntly, WHY the hell? I think it's the novelty. I have to admit here that when I turned 21 my step dad bought me a tall boy, at my request, to drink with him in the car on the ride home from New Orleans. Why a tall boy? I don't know, somehow a Martini didn't make sense. I'm from Texas (nevermind the fact that I'd just spent a year living in Paris, developing a taste for red wine from the Rhone valley), I had just turned 21, somehow it made sense. But this is on another level. 32 Ounces. I mean, this is nearly a 40 oz. but its a can. It's beyond novelty and IT MAKES NO SENSE TO ME. But I had to have my picture taken with it (there was champagne in the bag, I know you're wondering).

Some E-Cards

2008-07-08T10:45:00.000-07:00

This site cracks me up. They have e-cards you can send to friends via email for just about every occasion. They also have a tab you can click to organize the e-crads by "newest" which makes it nice to check out the new ones and have a little giggle. I save them and send them to people alot...Great stuff

The Master Cleanse

2008-07-08T08:40:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I started the Master Cleanse. I've had several friends do the cleanse many times with great success and last year I thought I was ready to try my hand at it. I bought a sack of lemons, a bottle of pure maple syrup, a jar of cayenne pepper and the small yellow instructional book by Stanley Bourroughs (i think that's his name). When I got home and mixed the first batch of "lemonade" I knew I was not going to do it. The smell of the syrup and the thought of cayenne pepper threw me over the edge. I wanted the results, but dodn't want to fo through the atrocities that this fast really calls for.

This time I really felt ready. In April one of my friends did it for the first time and, although he cheated (alot), he seemd to actually enjoy the process of manually cleansing his colon and intestines. So how bad could it be? I've been thinking about it for months, I've been really out of control with my eating habits and I'm going to Vegas for a wedding in 10 days, so I figured now would be a great time (considering the 10 lb weight drop that is promised). I still had the cayenne and syrup from last time so on Sunday I stopped at the Sig Krog for a bag of lemons. When I got home, Mike helped me make the first batch of lemonade and made a salt water mixture for me to drink - the salt water acts as a top-down diuretic and moved your bowels. Quickly. The point is you stop eating and spend ten days pushin geverything out of your system until your colon is cleansed of everything and your intestines and intestinal lining are clean and free of old particles of god only knows what. So the not eating is imperative and the salt water is imperative....the lemonade provides 500 calories a day to sustain life.
THE SALT WATER IS GHASTLY. It's 32 ozs plus 2 teaspoons of sea salt. I am supposed to drink it as quickly as I can, which for me is not very quickly. It takes me about 7 minutes ot get it all in. My throat tries to close up as soon as the taste of the salt hits my taste buds. Last night I felt sick to my stomach at the very thought of having to do it all over again this morning. Terrible.

YESTERDAY WAS DAY 1:

I woke up pretty excited about the whole thing. I made the lemonade and poured it into my nalgene to take to work. I poured my seasalt into a plastic baggie and brought an Astro's souvenir plastic beer cup with me - it holds approximately 32 ounces - to make my diuretic colon bath. I'm drinking the lemonade hot out of a mug like tea. It's actually very tasty this way. I proceeded to drink my salt water - which was as gruesome as it had been the night before - at my desk, my co-workers watching, waiting for me to throw it all up in my trash basket. I managed to, for the second time, get it all down with succeess (read: without throwing it all up) and waited for the movement down below which roomate Mike promised would be swift and all-encompassing. It was indeed swift, I made it where I needed to be and experienced the strangest sensation I have ever felt, which I can only say felt like I was peeing out of my butt.

We'll leave it there, because I am laughing out loud at that sentence. It's gross, but hell, we're all humans. Everybody poops.

The day was going great, I had some psychological trouble at lunch because, although my stomach made no indication of hunger, my mind told me it was time to eat....I did not, I made more tea and stayed busy and reminded myself of how cute I intend to look by the pool in Vegas in my new swimsuit. By the end of the day, after 6 or 7 hot cups of lemonade, I was starting to feel strange. I was a bit scattered and when I realized how hard it was for me to focus on anything, I tried to correct myself by focusing really really hard on my computer screen until I had a headache. Not the desired outcome.

When I got home last night, Mike told me he would be making CHILI DOGS for dinner. FUCKING CHILI DOGS. Unfair Unfair Unfair.

He chopped white onion, he grated sharp cheddar, he microwaved the weenies (microwaving produces the most food smell of any kind of cooking method. boiling them would have been better....) he heated the chili, he built his THREE CHILI DOGS then brought them into the living room to devour in front of me. CRUEL. The looked yummy, but I was still not hungry. It really was in my head. I was bored, therefore my brain told me to eat. Scary! I went outside and had a cigarette instead (i know this goes against the ideas of cleansing my system, but I rarely smoke nowadays and its all I have left for the next 9 days, so back off!!). I constantly had to fight off the thought of getting into my car and driving to mission burrito for a burrito bowl. I wanted it so badly. I just made another cup of lemonade and kept my eyes on the telly. We watched S.W.A.T. what a terrible movie. Since my body had done the work it was used to doing on 2000 calories on a mere 500 calories, I was plum worn out. I laid on the floor in the living room and fell asleep at about 8:30 PM. I woke up at 10 and got into bed. First I made a quick stop in the kitchen, grabbed a few pieces of grated cheeses, put them into my mouth, chewed them up, then spit it all out.

I FEEL LIKE I HAVE AN EATING DISORDER.

I overslept this morning. I woke up from a dead sleep at 8:12 am. I called my boss and told him groggily "I'm running late. will be in shortly", grabbed a shower, made my lemonade mixture for the day and ran out of the house. I can't believe I slept that much. I didn't even hear my alarm, which I know I set. I also have a headache.

I drank my saltwater down this morning, this time licking a lemon between each gulp. My throat still tries to close up before the water gets in....I still want a burrito bowl. Badly. But I hear that if I make it past the first 3 days, it gets alot easier. I keep remembering it is all in my head. Tomorrow is when the actual hunger pangs are supposed to start. We'll see how it goes!

BUT I MADE IT THROUGH DAY 1!!!

Magnum

2008-06-30T10:54:00.000-07:00

I spent most of the weekend in Austin for a bachelorette party. It was a great time, and my girlfriend who is getting married seemed to genuinely enjoy herself - which is the important thing. The surprising highlight of the 24 hour party was the male stripper hired to entertain us and humiliate the bride a little bit. There were about 13 of us girls at Beth's sister-in-law's house trying to get drunk enough to handle a stripper at 7 PM (i.e. while it was still light out!). I was the first to mention the fact that watching a naked man dancing in the living room would be pretty heinous when sober. We all did our best to get at least a little buzz going. I will be honest and admit that I was unable to catch a buzz and became increasingly worried about the stripper as the clock neared 7.

When he arrived, he was dressed in tight jeans, work boots, a sleeves-cut-off denim button down shirt and a cowboy hat. Terrible. He handed Liz his CD and proclaimed "Let's get started!". The music came on and began with Garth Brooks crooning "Blame it all on my roots, I showed up in boots and ruined your black tie affair...."

He did a little two-step around the living room with the Bride-to-be and then, as the chorus blasted and really started the party, he pushed her down on her chair and ripped his shirt off. We were laughing so hard it was difficult to breathe. As he took her hands and rubbed it over his chest and made her feel his muscles, Beth's face began to turn red. Beth is a pretty rowdy girl; she is not easy to shock and she doesn't shy away from saying or doing any damn thing she pleases. However, the reality of having paid man grinding on her lap to Garth Brooks was clearly too much for her. We thought she was looked as though she wanted to cry, but she told us later that she was finding it difficult to breathe because she was laughing so hard.

This strippers' patented mix CD segued to Ginuwine's song "Pony" and he kicked off the boots, dropped his drawers, awkwardly put his shoes back on and shoved Beth face down to his crotch. Of course, we were screaming with laughter, Beth was dying and the cameras were going off. He had the g-string, sock thing covering his thing, but the rear was completely exposed and really kind of gross. He put his cowbot hat on Beth and revealed his bald head as he continued to grind all over Beth's lap while flipping his front bits around wildly.

I was hiding in the kitchen with some of the other girls who were completely freaked out, watching across the bar, feeling safe from the monster because we were techincally in another room. Man Meat moved on to the sister of the bride and then the hostess of the party, Beth's sister-in-law. He threw us onto the couch, one by one, and demoralized us all. Every last one of us, some got it twice, in fact. Liz was the best. He picked her up, turned her doggy style, grabbed both of her legs and picked her up, the way kids play wheelbarrow. He proceeded to "pound" her and grind up on her from the back. At one point, I grabbed my camera to snap a picture, he saw me, grabbed Liz by the hair, said "smile!" then looked right at my camera, huge grin on his face.

The funniest part of this whole fiasco is that we had all been to LaBare's at one time or another and knew that there is definitely a market for male srippers - we've seen the middle aged women who grope and ogle and throw singles at these men (or tuck them into their g-strings...whatever). This guy was probably used to having nasty, hard up older ladies all over him, being inappropriate and getting a little too grabby. He did not have that problem with us. I think it was probably the first time he ever had to take every last girls' hands and actually put them on him. We were not interested in grabbing at him or groping. We were willing to sit on the couch for a minute or less and endure (some with eyes squeezed shut as if bungee jumping for the first time) the humiliation of it all. At one point, about 15minutes in, all but two girls were in the kitchen. Everyone had actually LEFT THE ROOM! We thought we were safe but he actually came into the kitchen at that point and started grabbing wrists. I remember thinking "Oh my God, he's actuall in the kitchen?? He can't come in here!" as if there were an invisible forcefield protecting us from him in the kitchen - the hallowed female ground.

I had everyone cracking up because, as he sat me down on the couch and started the whole thing, I rolled my eyes at him and looked as bored as I possibly could. I was embarrassed and nervous but I figured he could smell fear so I played it cool. Angie was laughing so hard at my face, she almost made me laugh...but I held my ground. As he did his work he asked me some of the same question he asked the other girls "what's your name, how old are you, married or single?" I answered his question then, as he shoved my head down toward his crotch, he bit my nexk and said "I can tell you like it rough, don't you?"

OH MY GOD.

First of all, I was shocked that he would say that. Secondly, I though "who told him???".

When he made his way back around the room, giving each girl a little quickie from where they were seated, he grabbed my head and straight-up dick slapped me right across my face. Hard.
Then, because I was sitting with my legs crossed, he leaned me over, grabbed and squeezed my ass a couple of times, mumbled "mmm, yeah" then smacked me on the bottom.

Was this normal? I thought he was paid to be groped, not the other way around. He had a sneaky little way about him...he managed to turn the situation around and actually was rather innappropriate! He asked Melissa her name and age and she said "I'm 17." His response was "you feel 17."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

As I whispered into Liz's ear, asking her if what he said to me was normal, she mentioned that we are way too cute for this, and obviously too young to appreciate it. I agreed and said he would have a much better audience if he had a couple of middle aged cougars to work with. We wondered if our lack of appreciation and obvious flat out disdain for him had pissed him off and made him feel justified in being a bit rough with us. As I pondered this, there was a knock at the door. The music was turned down quickly and the door was slowly opened. To everyone's relief it was just two ladies from next door. They had heard the music and I suppose their midlife crisis spidey sense had kicked in because they showed up with with margaritas in hand, and singles shoved in their cleavage. They were overweight, pushing 60 and already drunker than Cooter Brown, so we let them in and let them work their magic with the stripper. He was clearly much more in his element with these gals who were happy to carefulyy and deliberately place money into his g-string rather than having to throw it at him from across the room (as Danica had done, all the while wearing a look of disgust mixed with terror) for fear of getting too close to him. We were hysterical watching these ladies. They were happier than pigs in shit to have young man meat to grope and ogle.

At this point, the stripper thing lost its charm for me and I retreated to the backyard to smoke a cigarette with the other completely creeped out girl.

In a not-so-surprising twist of party history, Liz and Beth ended up on the couch with him chatting about his failed marriage, his other career in (wait for it) IT, and how much he misses New York.

He is originally from New York and he is playing a cowboy in Texas....precious.

Only at this party would they end up getting his life story. Each time I came back into the house and found him still there on the couch chatting away about his life with my friends, I'd retreat outside aain, asking out loud "why is he still here?". I couldn't even look the guy in the eyes, especially after watching him pick up all the singles from the living room floor as he felt around for his clothes.

Oh, the humanity!

There is a huge difference between watching a male stripper on stage at a club and hiring one to come into your home and dance for you and your friends.

It was weird!!!!

Douchebag at the Pool

2008-06-27T10:37:00.000-07:00

Last weekend the apartment management at the complex where I live hosted a summer kick-off pool party. It was Luau themed (how original). I had been planning to head to the pool at some point on Saturday to get some sun. After two years of being lily white, I've decided to go back to tan Sarah. I'm all about being Dark and Lovely now. So, when we found the invitation taped to the door, I thought great, now I'll have to share the pool with every kid and every shmuck looking for a free hotdog. I decided not to be dissuaded from getting my sun time, so I told my roomate and his boyfirend, who was in town from Austin for the weekend, that we should load up the cooler and have some beers poolside and see if we couldn't get a free month's rent out of the deal - the invite mentioned door prizes, I thought it was a reasonable hope. Mike's response? "Free hotdogs? Yeah, let's do it". So, I went first, to scope out lounge chairs and get some extra time in the sun. I packed the cooler for the guys (cans of Tecate with small sliced limes in a ziplock baggie. I was born to do this), filled my nalgene with ice water, grabbed my latest issue of Travel & Leisure and away I went. When I got to the pool, it wasn't too crowded. The party was due to start in an hour and they were already making preparations; you know, handing out lei's, grilling weenies, setting up the DJ table and staking tiki torches. I was relieved that they managed to find a Pool Penis:

I think it was supposed to be a blow-up totem pole, but the likeness is striking, no?

As 2 PM approached, the pool filled up, Nicki, our leasing agent, came around with raffle tickets for residents, food was set out, and chairs were mostly all taken. The guys showed up with the cooler and we got some food, drank some beer, swam a bit and mingled with Bob and Sue, the mid-life newlyweds who make it their business to frequent the pool and know as many twenty- and thirty-somethings as they can. They are most likely alcoholics, but are generally lovely people. They mentioned that there had been rumors of a grand prize margarita machine. Mike and I became increasingly excited as we considered the repercussions of winning said miracle machine. We would be really, really popular...we wanted that margarita machine - screw free rent!

Of course, one of the best reasons to attend a party such as this (free hotdogs notwithstanding) is to people watch. We watched and commented on several interesting, albeit completely transparent, groups of people we should refer to as our "neighbors". There were the LSU frat guys chewing dip in the pool and pretending the blow-up totem pole was attached to their groin, the Crystal Meth family from apartment 212, complete with jacked teeth and open sores all over their frail, boney bodies, and there was the body builder. This guy was our favorite. We wanted to get in close enough to him to find out if he had a high-pitched voice and anger issues (this guy was juicin', no question). In addition to having no neck and a tiny, pin head, he was nearly ORANGE from too much tanning. He was hilarious, but in that kind of way where it would be hilarious to watch him get hit by a Mack truck, you know? He was rocking out when the DJ played Creed. SHOCKER. This guy was a piece of work, but hey, we have to share this world afterall, so our teasing was really harmless.

We decided to persevere and stay for the whole party to see if our ticket would be drawn for the big prize. By about 3:45 our interest was really waning, we were drunk and out of beer, i was starting to burn and the Meth family decided it was time to get in the pool - which meant my ass was getting O-U-T. The DJ mentioned the final drawing was happening and as he called out the raffle ticket numbers I felt a sickness wash over me: not only had we not won the margarita machine, I realized that I had wasted my time at a pool party hosted by the apartments...dorkasaurus! And we had really bought into it, eating their food, wearing their lei's, pool-dancing to their music...then the final blow of defeat came....as we watched to see who the lucky winner was, I saw Body Builder out of the corner of my eye. I thought "If this douche right here won the margarita machine, I will drown myself". Sure enough, he was the big winner....the huge, orange ape-man won the margarita machine. He's probably using it right now to make a Creatine Protein Shake.

Gross.

Cuz We're Crunk

2008-06-20T13:26:00.000-07:00

Me and Cynthia made grillz on Wednesday night. We wore them for a little while, until they hurt our teeth. Aluminum foil is great for fabricating makeshift grillz, the only drawback is the way they scrape the enamel off one's teeth. It's uncomfortable. But it would be a great last minute holloween costume for your children, if you were too broke to buy a proper costume for them, or perhaps too lazy to make a decent homemade one.

We look awfully tough don't we? I think we should wear our grillz to the Kat Williams show this weekend. That would be fun.

I'm Such A Lip Tease

2008-06-19T14:55:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day of the Victoria's Secret semi-annual sale. I went on my lunch break. Vicki's used to be the classy lingerie shop. The lady with the measuring tape would come into the posh dressing room with you to take your measurements to ensure that you got the correct bra size, etc. It was an upscale establishment. Well, in recent years, it has become more about the glitz and glamour and is more concerned with being modern than with being traditional and classy. That is all fine, I don't mind at all. One of the best bonuses to the new Vicki's Secret marketing philosophy is the addition of cosmetics to their line of wares on offer. Their make-up is really fun and pretty good quality. Today, they had lip glosses and eye liners and cheek stain and nail polish and eye shadow on offer for 75% off normal retail price. This means I got my hands on tubes of lipgloss that cost $1.75 each. It was very exciting. One of the most exciting purchases I made was a lip plumper in a bright pink gloss, called "I'm such a lip tease". It cost me a whopping $3.50. It's one of those glosses that has some chemicals in it to plump your lips and make them tingly. In the picture above, you can see the results. I can feel a difference....what do you think?

Scammy McScamenstein

2008-06-17T14:02:00.000-07:00

Sarah Jaynes Has Been Nominated For Poet Of The Year With An Induction Ceremony In Las Vegas, Nevada!
Dear Sarah,
Your stimulus check from the IRS is probably on its way or maybe you've already received it, and now you're wondering how you should spend this government windfall. With your recent nomination for Poet of the Year 2008, you received an invitation to attend the 2008 International Society of Poets Summer Convention, where you will be formally inducted as an International Poet of Merit and Honored Member of our Society for 2008-2009. Why not use the money from your stimulus check to attend the single largest gathering of poets in history!
The ISP Convention, held in Las Vegas from July 24-27, 2008, is the perfect place to spend your summer vacation. You'll attend limited engagement shows where Tony Danza and The Coasters will perform LIVE. You'll participate in over 20 seminars, readings, rap sessions, and workshops led by the most talented poetry faculty ever assembled. Most importantly, you'll enter the largest poetry contest ever . . . with a Grand Prize of $20,000.00 and a $10,000.00 book publishing contract! With some spending assistance from the government, why not take a chance and turn your rebate check into some big cash! In Vegas, anything can happen!
Just think . . . you will have the opportunity to win one of over 50 cash or gift prizes . . . including a Grand Prize of $20,000.00 cash and a $10,000.00 publishing contract, Second Prize of $7,500.00, Third Prize of $5,000.00, Fourth Prize of $2,500.00, Fifth Prize of $1,000.00, and 18 Runners-Up Prizes of $500.00 each. Plus, we will award an additional five $1,000.00 scholarships to some of today's most talented young poets. We will also present Apple iPods to the runners-up in the Young Poet category, as well as door prizes and tickets to see the best shows in Las Vegas. Over $100,000.00 in prizes and gifts will be given away!
You will also be presented with your very own International Outstanding Achievement in Poetry Crystal Award Trophy. This magnificent work of art (a $300.00 value) is made from imported lead crystal. It is hand-engraved and mounted on a beautiful wood base. This will be the first time that we have bestowed these crystal awards. They have been created by artisans that we have commissioned specially for this year in honor of our 22nd annual convention. This impressive 10-inch tall crystal award is so valuable that we have designed a special carrying case just for you to take it home. This beautiful tribute to your poetic accomplishment will also serve as a lasting memory from this fun-filled weekend!
Don't miss this opportunity, Sarah. Space is limited, and our conventions routinely sell out. For our 2008 ISP Convention and Symposium, we have larger cash prizes, more chances to win, and more spectacular entertainment than ever before. Register now online, or call us at 410-356-2000 ext. 101.
Come join your fellow poets and bring your friends and family to Las Vegas, Nevada, July 24-27, 2008, for an incredible weekend and the poetic event of the year . . .and let Uncle Sam pay part of the bill!
Sincerely,Steven J. MichaelsConvention ChairpersonInternational Society of Poets

I AM LAUGHING OUT LOUD RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!

I SUBMITTED ONE POEM (IT WAS GOOD, I'LL ADMIT) TO THIS SCAMMER WEBSITE AND THE FUN NEVER ENDS!!!! AND WILL SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT TONY DANZA DOES TO BE CONSIDERED A "LIVE PERFORMANCE"? IT'S ALMOST WORTH IT JUST TO FIND OUT!

Sno-Balls and Coca-Cola

2008-06-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

When I was a kid, I used to love it when my mom would buy a packet of sno-balls at the grocery store. She did this very infrequently, just often enough for me to notice the trend, spaced out over the years of my childhood. She would carefully place the packet in the front part of the basket, next to her purse so that, when she paid, she could make sure the cashier gave them right back to her. She would discreetly set them in her purse, then quietly continue making out her check. The sno-balls never made it home. She would load the groceries into the trunk, get settled in the driver's seat, start the ignition and turn the air on, then take the packet out of her purse. Normally, it was just me in the car with her, as my brothers seemed to be disinterested in the gorcery store outings and rarely went past the age of 7 or 8 (when my dad could stand being alone with them for more than 15 minutes). These were my moments with mom. Neither the boys nor my father would know the delight we had just treated ourselves to, the proof would be long gone by the time we made it home! I doubt she would have treated herself to the sno-ball if the boys had been along with us. Afterall, they only came two in a pack, not four. She would take one sno-ball out of the packet, tiny flecks of hot pink coconut crumbling off the sides of the marshmallow goop on top. She would take a bite, still more coconut crumbling from her lips and from the confection itself, this time exposing the dark chocolate cake underneath. After she took that first bite, she would hand the packet to me, giving me the go-ahead to eat the second snack cake. We'd sit in the car for a few minutes enjoying a quiet, shared moment. I didn't realize at the time what this snapshot of indulgence on my mothers' part signified. As I've become a grown-up myself, busy with boring tasks which must be done, overworked and understimulated and generally dulled and worn with the yoke of responsibility, I've come to appreicate very simple pleasures, silly trifles really, that make me smile and remind me that I am an interesting person and am genuinely happy in my heart and in my soul. I do not like sno-balls. I never did, really. I do like coca-cola. I spent so many years drinking Diet Coke that when I finally decided to stop drinking sodas, I vowed that when I really wanted a treat, I'd have a real, honest to God regular Coca-Cola. So, as my mother taught me, I will sometimes pick up a coca-cola while wandering up and down the aisles at my grocery store. I will open it, have a tingly, stinging gulp so tasty, cold and harsh that my eyes water. As I handle the grown-up responsibility of stocking my cupboards with healthy, tasty and affordable foodstuffs, I treat myself to a simple pleasure.

Interestingly, on a recent road trip out west with my mother (we made our way from New Orleans to Las Vegas...it was ridiculous) she returned from one of the many truck stop shops with a small white plastic bag. As she settled into the car, I noticed a sly, almost childlike expression on her face, as if she was getting away with something naughty. I'll be damned if she didn't pull out a packet of sno-balls. "You know, it's hard to find these nowadays" she told me. She took one out, and as tradition dictated, she took the first luxurious bite before handing the packet over to me. Although I didn't want the second sno-ball, I took the packet from her so that she would have her hands free to enjoy this rare treat. When she finished the cake, she noticed I'd not eaten the second one, so she took the packet and sort of folded the now-empty plastic and cardboard up, I suppose intending to keep the second sno-ball fresh (don't these have a shelf-life of, oh I don't know, a hundred years?). I'd seen her do this only a handful of other times. Sometimes she would buy a packet of sno-balls when I wasn't with her. She would eat one, and wrap the second up and leave it somewhere within easy reach, as if willing one of us kids to happen upon it and greedily consume it while her back was turned, so she wouldn't have to. Or maybe she left the second cake sitting out to test herself...I'm honestly not sure. But I've often thought about that second lonely sno-ball, the one that reminded her of her indulgence and shamed her...I wonder why she couldn't just enjoy a simple pleasure on her own. It's as though she needed me to be a part of it with her, inculcating us both in the crime of gluttony, the crime of consuming terrible, sugar-laden faux food, riddled with additives and preservatives. Or maybe she just wanted the one sno-ball. Maybe for her, two sno-balls was one too many.

The Roots, Kanye West and general thoughts about HipHop music

2008-06-16T09:44:00.000-07:00

Why is it that some HipHop music is so intelligent, yet the general public will accept very low-brow music if the beat is half-decent? Why do consumers have such low standards? Listen to the new Roots album "Rising Down" (and, better yet, older stuff like Phrenology). Their beats and melodies are musical and smart and, more importantly to me, their lyrics are clever. They don't rely on played-out, kitchsy expressions about baby-mama drama and Shawdy this and Shawdy that and Superman dat Ho which offers the blissfully unaware consumer something to grab hold of in the hiphop world, in a world of music which they barely understand and don't naturally gravitate to...this kind of schtick panders to the masses of teeny boppers and cougar house wives who want to shake their white behinds to something that doesn't need to have any kind of relevance in their world.

Furthermore, catchy does not necessarily equal quality.

They also do not play into the stereotypes that so many Rap and HipHop "artists" rely upon to sell records. Kanye West does not play into the stereotype he was born to, but because he flouts tradition and what his culture expects of him, and by proxy what the rest of us expect from him, the press go nuts hatin' on this guy, calling foul, bandying about questions of sexual preference (why does this still matter??), and so on. I have great respect for hip hop performers who are taking the genre to a new place, making it more interesting, making it smarter, making it better musically. If we have to put up with some primadonna behavior, that is a price I'm willing to pay. He's talented, I'll let it slide. He is progressive and I like that.

There's the old idea that the wealthiest people in the room will be the ones you least expect, and the ones flossin' probably don't have half of what they want you to think they have. Perhaps the same premise applies. It's the old "Methinks thou doth protest too much"deal. If you rely on ghetto-grooves and the same old chicken-fried, slang slaw mash-ups to keep paying the bills, you aren't challenging yourself to be better and you aren't challenging the consumer to expect better. Keep veling your lack of talent behind the mask of mediocrity. Bark loud.
It seems to me that we must avoid this incestuous cycle which leads, ultimately, to the death of artistic expression. When it is all so dumbed-down there is no longer sincerity or authenticity in the world. It's like the over-arching scope of the "Politically Correct" movement. We are so "PC" these days that few have the guts or creativity to be open about feelings or thoughts or opinions. There is too much fear of reproach.

I know these are merely my thoughts with regard to a certain niche of the music world...and I also recognize that sometimes you just want to have a living room dance party to "Apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur....tha whole club was lookin' at huuuurrr" and not have to think too much about the lyrics....I'm just saying, it's important to recognize quality and support genuine and authentic artistic expression whenever we find it springing forth in this increasingly blase' world.