Whole Foods? Wholly Useless.

The scene: Mary, bewildered in a sea of homeopathic remedies.
Whole Foods Employee: "Can I help you find something?"
M: "I'm looking for the equivalent to ibuprofen."
WFE: "Umm... we don't really sell anything like that."
M: "How about a general pain med?"
WFE: "...no."
M: "Cramps?"
WFE: "Well... we sell flax seed oil."
M: "Nevermind."

A friend, indeed.

via phone...
M: Hey, where are you?
R: Walkin' the dog.
M: Ok. I'm at your apartment.
R: Well, I should be home in about 10 minutes.
M: It's cool--the door was open, so I came in and poured myself some coffee and got a snack and used your internet, and then it occured to me that I should call and make sure you weren't abducted.
R: That's great... could you maybe put some laundry in...?

What, exactly.

I have mixed feelings about the work of Mary Oliver. Sometimes it gets a little "be one with the Buddha" and I feel the same way I feel in yoga classes when they start "om"ing: Hey wait, we were stretching and it was all good, what's with this new age crap?, because obviously I don't know how to be idle; I'm useless if not occupied. Yet something in this poem has always resonated with me, especially around birthdays. So here goes.

from "The Summer Day"

...I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Forever Young

A Public Service Announcement:

It is with profound regret that we must announce the cancellation of the celebration of Mary's birth, and the subsequent cessation of all aging and rituals thereafter. Please to return all gifts and congratulatory notices at earliest convenience.

All comments and inquiries may be addressed elsewhere.

-mgmt

Self-indulgent

In less than a week, I will be here:


Doing this:
1 Galveston, Texas 4:00 PM
2 At Sea
3 Costa Maya (Mahahual), Mexico 10:00 AM 7:00 PM
4 Belize City, Belize 8:00 AM 6:00 PM
5 Playa del Carmen, Mexico 8:00 AM 6:00 PM
6 Cozumel, Mexico 7:00 AM 5:00 PM
7 At Sea
8 Galveston, Texas 7:00 AM

Drinking these:


Don't look at me like that. I've earned it.

Yarr!n

I recently befriended a tag-team of graffiti knitters known as "Knitta!" or "Knitta, please," profiled in the Houston Press.

Today, this message:

"Many, many of you have professed the desire to start bombing your respective hoods with your own knitted tags, inspired by Knitta! We love it. We love and appreciate all of the enthusiasm and support pouring in from all over the globe. This is really exciting and keeps us smilin'!

Well, my fellow knitta's and I have sat and discussed the possibility of Knitta factions in other cities, while still being able to maintain a distinct point of origin here in H-Town and specific Knitta-isms that we hold dear. Here's what we've decided:

There's no monopoly on knitting or graffiti. Anyone, anywhere, can do these things. We've only elevated a new trend of combining those two activities and given ourselves street names. This is definitely open to the public. We'd love to see other people tagging with knitted items! We think that'd be great!

Here's the sticky part though... We'd like for you to tag under your own unique crew name and individual tags. We'd rather reserve the name "Knitta" and the phrase "Knitta, Please" for ourselves. That's our crew and our motto. Just like graffiti crews everywhere, they all paint, but they all have different names. I think it would be amazing to see different "crews" popping up all over the world, installing little knitted hugs across their cities. Now, when you get "discovered" and start getting press, it'd be great if you threw a wink and a nod in our direction for the inspiration. I think that's fair. We'll nod right back, in the form of posting tag photos and letters you send to us on our website (as soon as we actually go live!). We can even have a list of crew names and locations, complete with photos, on a page - just like graffiti sites.

I hope you understand about the name issue. We think that's the best way possible for this to take off globally (as it should!) and maintain our roots. Cool? Cool.

Now get to knittin'!

L, AKrylik (Knitta Crew)"

I don't really have any desire for knit-tagging (since it currently takes me eight months to complete a scarf) but I approve of this trend. I also approve of the recent upsurge of smart, sassy "Yar!" graffiti:



...photographed here by Michael.

Yep. My city is cooler than yours.

"Do you go to the cat scratch club?"

So, my nails are totally buffed from attempting to model proper behavior, but Zuleika just does not GET the scratchy box:



She'd rather scratch on this:

Can you blame her?

We're both feeling particularly cat-like these days and prone to sudden fits or bouts of intense moping. Watch out, world.

Book Purge

Moving is a great excuse to get rid of crap you don't really need, and most of it joyously: Goodbye misshapen umbrella, half-full bottles of shampoo and lotion, twin-sized Wal-mart comforter from Freshman year of college--you shan't be coming with me!

And then there is the crap which really should get retired, but you keep around move after move because you can't bear to get rid of it--which is why I'm still holding onto Things Fall Apart (appropriately, being held together with a rubber band) and a copy of The Blind Assassin that's been read umpteen times, lent to everyone I know, and chewed-on by an overexcited chihuahua.

In fact, most of my books fall into this "egregiously-used" category; that, plus the books I've "rescued" from other people's moves (!!) because they would have been thrown out. Surely I had good intentions at the time, but Guide to Texas Politics: you have been moved three times now and never once read.

This time around: Operation Show No Mercy.

Old Dog, New Tricks

M: "Baby, it's cold in here. I'm turning the fan down." [pulls fan chain once]
R: "No, see, this will be better...." [pulls chain twice]
M: "It was on medium! You just put it back on high! Why do you have to mess with everything I touch?"
R: [pulls fan chain three times]
M: "You didn't have to turn it OFF! I just wanted it on low!"
R: "Shhhh."
M: "Arrrgh."
R: "No, look." [Stops the fan with a finger, flips a switch, puts fan on medium.]
R: "See, now it will push the warm air down."
M: "No..."
R: "Yes. Feel it?"
M: "I don't believe you."
M: "You're making this up."
R: "No I'm not, you're supposed to reverse the fan in winter."
M: "Fans are reversible?"
R: "Yes!"
M: "No..."
R: "Yes."
M: "Explain the physics, please."
R: "See, the curved part of the blade can push air down if it goes this way, or up if it goes this way."
M: "I have never in my life reversed a fan."
R: "Well, you learn something new every day."
M: "Reversible fans. I'll be damned."

Nice Chatting with You... Not.

A wise person once advised me, in a break-up situation, not to speak or have contact with one's former beloved for at least a year.

I can understand the wisdom behind the idea: Out of sight, out of mind; time heals all wounds; absence makes the heart grow fond--err... nevermind the last one.

For me it's always been hard to stop communication, especially with the invention of cell phones and the resulting "drunk dial" or, more accurately, "drunk text" (even MORE dangerous). I'm a second-guesser and what-if?-er by nature, which does not lend itself to clean breakups. Plus I romanticize everything after the fact. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I really, really suck at being an ex-girlfriend.

After a certain spiraling climatic crash of self-induced ex-boyfriend mayhem this year (which none of you knew about, but I am now confessing), I grew sick of it; sick to my stomach, and out of rope with which to pull and be pulled around. I no longer craved the secret late-night phone calls and visits; nor did I desire affirmation from a past lover that I was still attractive and intelligent and lovable.

I had reached the absolute lowest point--that ground zero of dating where the only way to go is up; and the only way to get there is on your own. It was a slow and exhausting liberation.

And from there, it was easier to stop speaking than I thought it would be.

And much harder to start up again.

Love[seat]sick

This weekend I went to Austin with Richard so he could get more work done on his tattoo. Since dating Richard, whose "half-sleeve" is still a work in progress, I have learned that there are two distinct variations of tattoo pain: 1. the "feels like a cat is scratching you, HARD" fleshy pain, and 2. the elbow/ ankle/joint "bone rattling" pain. This weekend he experienced both, and I experienced neither.

In case anyone's concerned that I missed out on an opportunity to do something drastic, I did hit an important "adult" landmark: that of Purchasing Furniture Of Value (Not From IKEA). I'd love to say I was an excellent barterer, but anyone who knows me could have predicted that there was no way I'd leave the city without the fire-engine-red leather loveseat and matching chair and ottoman. (This is the closest approximation google images could come up with--but mine has cleaner lines and less puffiness. I hate puffy couches.)

I followed the important bargain-hunters advice of "don't worry how you're going to get it home" and we shoved half my purchase (chair and ottoman) in Richard's SUV. The couch is waiting until January 15, when I'll be in Austin again for work and we'll pick it up on the return trip.

"What's the big deal?" you say. "It's just a couch."

For all the apartments and rooms I've lived in, for all the mattresses I've slept on and dressers I've assembled (some with a little help from some wood glue and my friends), the tables and chairs I've salvaged from garage sales and consignment shops, I have never purchased any piece of furniture that:

1. I loved; or
2. I planned to keep around and in good condition for an extended period of time.

I'm trying to explain this landmark event and my newfound love for a shapely leather silhouette to my mother on the phone, and she says, "Does Kitty know not to scratch the leather?"
M: "She gets one free swipe and then I'm having her declawed."
Mom: "Ok."
M: "Cats don't like leather, do they?"
Mom: "Are you kidding? Cats LOVE leather."
M: "Mine won't."
Mom: "...Ok."
M: "I'll buy her a kitty condo. Three stories of carpet-covered amusement. I love this couch."
Mom: "I know."

In other landmark news, this is my first Texas Christmas.
Bring me glad tidings of good cheer.

Really and Truly?

The time is 6:09 pm. I am sitting in my office finishing up some meeting packets. Every night this week, I have left the office at 7 or 8 pm only to go home (or, more accurately, to the boy's house) and work more.

The phone rings. I consider letting it go, but answer on the off-chance that it's Ryan J. calling to invite me out for a drink (sadly, no can do, as I'm headed off for evening #3 of homework).

It is The President's brother!! On my phone!! We set up a time for him to meet with the executive director and he tells me he's sorry he called so late and I should go home and be with my family.

Really and truly, he told me to leave work. I sense a vast right-wing conspiracy. They want me to leave my work undone and go home and watch reality television that will rot my brain but I WILL NOT SUBMIT! I will work LONGER and HARDER! I will stay until 8! 9! 11! TOMORROW MORNING! TAKE THAT, PRESIDENT'S BROTHER!

I'm still riding my wave of righteousness when my departing co-worker says "Don't stay too late, Mary," and I tell her "Leaving now."

Death by Pepperoncini

I forgot why I enjoy Cafe Express, and it certainly isn't the overpriced salads and sandwiches. It isn't the buzzing "your food is ready" pagers, or the kamizake left turn across four lanes of traffic I had to make to get there from work.

I can sum up my love for Cafe Overpriced in two simple words: FIXINS' BAR. Kalimari olives, big juicy pickles, pepperoncinis bursting with tear-rendering goodness, roasted garlic, capers, banana peppers, chick peas, sun-dried tomatoes; all sizes and shapes of pickled marinaded toppings. For FREE! No joke! Any old joe could walk in from off the street, use the restroom, grab a breadstick and garnish himself silly.

...Although I guess he'd have to get past the four lanes of traffic first.

I h8 NY

Ok, not really.

But I am extremely happy to be home.
I mean, seriously.
Enough with the traveling.
Within hours of my arrival back in Houston--no, minutes!--I received 1. an invitation to lunch; 2. an invitation to be the voice of reason for apt hunting (my advice: look at at least three before you sign a lease); 3. An invitation to go bridesmaid dress shopping; 4. an invitation to bbq. Yes yes, yes, and definitely yes.

Prepping for a super furry busy week. Art crawl this weekend. Newton's law: an object in motion...

Voting, the epilogue, strikes back

An e-mail thread from earlier today:

From: David
Sent: Wednesday, November 09, 2005 10:47 AM
To: Jennifer
Subject: "It lacks any purpose other than to enshrine bigotry in the Texas Constitution."

Nice – this new amendment will allow companies to stop providing domestic partner benefits. Even for straight people. I hate Texas and George Bush. Let’s move somewhere!

http://blog.lgrl.org/archives/2005/09/houston_chronic.html

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Jennifer
To: Ryan
Subject: FW: "It lacks any purpose other than to enshrine bigotry in the Texas Constitution."

Yuck

---------- message ----------
From: Ryan
To: Jennifer, Mary
Date: Wed, 9 Nov 2005 11:04:10 -0800 (PST)
Subject: Re: FW: "It lacks any purpose other than to enshrine bigotry in the Texas Constitution."

i was really really upset about this yesterday.

i went and voted yesterday after work, and it was at the cute little elementary school off Fairview (im still registered in montrose).... it made me realize what a bubble i live in. Most of the fellow voters I saw at the school seemed like really cool sweet caring open minded folk. young and old.

and then N----- called me last night - he had been watching the polls come in.... he said 76% of texans voted FOR prop 2. i couldnt believe how high the numbers are. 76% are complete bigots. its really sad and frustrating. i feel like its the 1950's all over again. sucks to be gay. i feel like i am going to constantly going to have to prove myself for the rest of my life. to my family, strangers i meet, my work, my neighbors, my government. bullshit.

---------- message ----------
From: Mary
To: Ryan
Subject: Re: Re: FW: "It lacks any purpose other than to enshrine bigotry in the Texas Constitution."

I truly believe that 1. education and 2. gay/lesbian rights are our generation's civil rights issues.

It's not easy to live in Texas, but think of how important the work you do at the counseling center and IN YOUR LIFE is to what we can clearly see as an oppressed Texas minority (and by that, i mean the 20% who voted hell no). It would be fabulous to live in San Fran or any other smart liberal city in the country, just like I could have taught at suburban school with high parent involvement, but would I have been able to make as much of an educational impact to those people in that place?

Texas needs you. And me. And Montrose. And it needs people like us to BREED (Hahahaha) or adopt or whatever and bring smart little people into the world. Which is not to say that we can never move away, but I don't think we should feel like we have to.

Or should we all move to San Fran and cut it loose and live on a happy isolated island?