browsing

i went to a store about 15 minutes ago. just to browse. this is so hard for me. not because i must buy things or i have some kind of strange addiction to superfluous spending. it is hard for me for the same reason that i can't go to yard sales or small boutiques. i can't deal with the awkward moment of walking out without making a purchase. i feel guilty. especially at yard sales, but it is slowly spreading to regular stores too. i have always been this way. when i was much younger i had to buy some piece of crap something everywhere i went because the discomfort was more than i could handle. now i can escape purchase-free, but i spend at least 10 minutes strategizing my escape. i know that store clerks and garage owners likely don't take my rejection of their inventory personally, but i can't help but feel that walking away without making a purchase is like saying, "none of your crappy shit is good enough for me! have a nice day!" it is so hard to navigate my way toward the exit without that uncomfortable "thank you!" from a clerk. "thank you!" thank me for what? thank me for nothing, that's what. it is downright impossible to escape a garage sale. i can linger for an hour trying to figure out how to get away without hearing "thanks for stopping by!" i hate that!! why don't they just say "thanks for coming here and looking at all of the crap that we have collected and treasured for years and thinking that it all sucks too much for you!" i can honestly spend hours trying to find something that someone i know might have some use for. eventually i just look for items that might make excellent gag gifts. when i find myself in the yard of someone with an obvious affection for items of a particular religious persuasion, i am all about it. no guilt here, i buy up every glow in the dark cross and godly sexuality book i can get my sinning little paws on. i love that shit. and my circle of friends has quite a collection by the end of each summer. but those garage sales that only have tattered plaid button shirts, rib-rubbing lee jeans and home interiors brand wall sconces present a bigger problem. at real stores i plot my escape by watching the clerks and dashing out the door when they have their backs to me. at yard sales, this type of behavior tends to inspire suspicion. i know that it should be obvious that if i am not interested in dropping 35 cents for a coffee mug that reads "i {heart} Seattle" then i am also not very likely to steal said mug. but i can't help but wonder... if a strange young woman with desperation and guilt in her eyes is standing in a garage for 45 minutes, shifty and nervous, that is weird enough. if that same young woman darts down the street into the safe zone (the safe zone being anywhere outside of audible range when someone shouts "thanks for stopping!") within seconds of the moment that the money-keeper in the teal stretchy pants steps into the house to refill her glass of crystal light, isn't there something questionable about that. so that escape method is out of the question. thus i have a large collection of christian paraphernalia, several unused cheap beer steins and some mystery novels that don't appeal to me in the least. and a couple of my male friends have some very lovely sparkly bikinis that i encourage them to wear every time we use our friends' hot tub.

tivo

i am sure that i have never mentioned before just how much i love tivo. love love love. after several years with almost no television whatsoever, i have learned to appreciate and also how to negotiate television preferences. there are currently so many options that i need a system to decide what and how much i can allow into my world. here are a few rules:

1. there can be no weak or annoying characters. this rule eliminates law and order:CI, an otherwise desirable program.

2. laughter must come genuinely, no laughing because i am supposed to. under this rule, that 70's show makes the cut, scrubs is out.

3. at least one character must be controversial--doing something or making a statement that is provocative. this rule welcomes HUFF and the L-word with open arms.

4. educational (if not provocative. best if both.) enter discovery and national geographic channels.

5. i have to acknowledge a sincere but shameful fondness for freakishness. hello discovery health channel.

6. i will allow gruesome crime scenes to be entertainment as long as they are also socio-historical in nature and presentation. hence my addiction to courtv.

7. pranks and hidden cameras are almost always perfect entertainment. however, the humor factor must supercede the discomfort factor or it is just agony. thus, girls behaving badly is on the tivo list, spying on myself has been booted.

8. finally, any show, no matter how stupid or predictable that has previously been excluded from the list as indicated by the rules will automatically be accepted when and if mariska hargitay or hank azaria guests or stars.

life lessons of a 30-something barista

soon i will be 31 years old. and i am a part-time barista. it is a great way to spend a few hours a week and a fantastic classroom for the sociologist in me. there are a few things i have learned by being an observant barista...

*the pleasantry of a smile and chipper greeting is often not returned
*people with nametags always act as though they are in a hurry
*those who order while talking on their cell phones also yell their order at the live barista
*it is not immediately obvious to everyone that service providers are human beings
*midwesterners will complain about loud music, but not about loud customers
*many many people believe themselves and their coffee preferences to be memorable
*gas station "cappuccino" machines have created a lot of confusion for people
*no one under the age of 67 will admit to not knowing about espresso drinks. many will drink something that reminds them of skunk spray before admitting that they did not know what they were ordering.
*breve drinks have dropped dramatically in popularity since the untimely death of dr. atkins.
*on a busy afternoon 7 high school students will inevitably enter the store and order 7 smoothies. they will order them one at a time. every time.
*many people get angry when they learn that the barista has not actually tasted all 60 syrup flavors. their anger mounts upon learning that the barista does not like coffee syrups.
*it is difficult to refrain from laughing when a customer believes the flavor syrups to be fancy liqueurs.
*the service sector provides a great opportunity to practice a wide variety of characters/personalities/moods. no one notices.
*a fair number of mature women are not afraid to tell younger women when they ought to be ashamed of themselves. this is usually in reference to low-rise jeans or visible tattoos. it is especially likely when low-rise jeans make visible an otherwise modestly concealed tattoo.
*most women act ashamed when they agree to have whipped cream on their beverage.
*most men act as though it is a stupid question. duh whipped cream.
*children can eat several cupsful of whipped cream and i like to encourage this kind of thing.
*skim-milkers feel very strongly about this preference.
*none of above-named notice when 2% is accidentally substituted.
*most people have to stumble over their more complicated orders (i.e. 16 ounce single shot half-skim half-2% decaf latte with 1/2 shot of sugar-free coconut and 1/2 shot of sugar-free almond steamed to 160 no foam double-cupped.) but they fully expect that their barista should grasp the entire concept in one shot.
*espresso shots have gone from frilly metro status to full participants in machismo culture in less than 5 years.
*people either love shortbread or hate it. there are no fence-riders on this issue.
*it is impossible for human beings to simply state a distaste for something. there must be a nose-scrunching and head-shaking gesture to accompany the words.
*most people are either too polite to complain about anything or too socially inept to know how to do so with grace.
*caffeine addiction is nothing to fuck around with.

feet

i have a significant sensitivity to odors. i tried for years to numb this affliction with thousands of newports, but contrary to what you've been told, my sense of smell did not get dulled by smoking. if it had i would still smoke 2 packs a day. on the contrary, i could then and still can smell EVERYTHING and most of the time that just sucks. sometimes it sucks in a way that requires phrases like "do you have those motion sickness bag thingys?

it was the last day of the semester. the women's center and the black women's caucus were hosting a fantastic party to celebrate successes and to wave a loving bon voyage to those of us who were leaving for a while. in hindsight, i see that the party was also a very effective method of getting a lot of people really fucked up. this was the night that some classmates and i invented "topless sockless pool". a game which is not unlike standard pool, but one participates on a team of three or four and all 6-8 players are standing on the edges of the table and kicking at the cue ball with the big toe of their decidedly dominant foot. one is only allowed to step onto the playing surface during her turn and must otherwise remain balanced on the edge. due to the growing number of empty merlot bottles, we declared permission for anyone who needed to do so to grab onto the gigantic wrought iron light fixture that hung conveniently over our heads. it felt like a dangerous place to be, dangling from a chandelier-type thing, but in reality it was the safest we were all night. this was the kind of illumination device an ape could swing from.

my two bottles of wine were of a decent quality and i felt light and liberated by the end of the night. the end of the night turned out to be just a few short hours before the beginning of the morning, and in this case, a three hour flight. the taxi ride was a treat, but no kamikaze cab could compare to the experience that awaited me.

i am not, nor was i then, much of a drinker. one small glass of wine at a time went down with the hors d'oerves and various cheeses until i had comsumed far more than i ever should have. it was all quite innocent, you see. but this is not the kind of behavior, regardless of volitional degree, that the body quickly forgives. particularly the stomach part of the body. i got on my plane, grateful to not have vomited on any strangers at the airport and hoping i could just fall asleep and be home and healed when i awakened. i sat in my window seat and concentrated on swallowing determinedly. i needed more than anything at this moment to avoid surrendering last night's festivities onto the back of someone else's head. true, it would be an hysterical story for others to tell a few years down the road, but it seemed a disagreeable method of introduction at the time. soon after taking my seat, my temporary neighbor found her way to the seat next to me. she seemed pleasant enough. appeared to be friendly and had fabulous hair. the plane was hot and stuffy, as planes are, and this did not reduce the acidic burning in my throat. knowing that i would soon be able to smell other people's hair did not give me a lot of hope for my continued control over esophogeal eruption. i tried not to focus on my full awareness that once the door was sealed, all of the air i would take into my lungs would be recycled from my flightmates' respiratory systems. including sneeze by-product. breathing on an airplane always makes me feel like i might as well wrap my mouth around some strangers nose and draw the air directly from their humid lung cavity. today i would have to push this thought far far away from my consciousness.
so as i sat borrowing oxygen and CO2 from the people around me i noticed the feet of my new neighbor. you know how sometimes you can see a pair of feet and just know that they have a severe odor problem if not carefully maintained? i began to worry immediately that these feet had not been well maintained. partly because there was a casualness to the whole package that suggested a lack of priority regarding soap and deodorizing products and partly because the feet were smashed into fake birkenstocks. the kind you buy at payless that are constructed out of what seems to be the recycled sandals of drifters who finally gave them up because they were so saturated with foot secretions they didn't even dry in the sun anymore. the sole was made of cork; a material that has no business trying to be involved in the fashion or garment industry under any circumstances. i worried more when i discovered the permanent divets in the sides of the woman's feet caused by the straps of the birkenstinks. this can't be comfortable, i thought to myself. she routinely takes those shoes off to offer relief to her overworked little feet.
have you ever smelled satan's breath? i think it would be roses next to the horror that was excreted by this woman's feet. and she knew it. i know this because the already colossal stench of foot juice had been veiled by something that had to be sold in a container that had the words "imposter" and "compare to" somewhere on it. if there is a smell worse than sweaty feet wrapped in cork and cheap leather, it is sweaty feet, cork, leather and an aerosol spray that doesn't smell good even when sprayed lightly across the concave abdomen of a supermodel, as it was in the commercials in 1991. how i managed to not throw up on that flight will forever remain a mystery to me. but i will recall forever the panic that enveloped my entire existence. and i will always remember the venomous hostility i held for the woman with the smelly feet. i hated her. i couldn't stop myself from thinking of evil, mean things to say to her. i wanted to push her out of the plane. and i really really really wanted her to put her shoes back on. but she didn't. i curled my body into a fetal configuration, tucked my nose into my knees, swallowed hard every time my mouth began to water in that foreshadowing way, and repeated to myself over and over: i will get through this minute without asking for a barf bag. i will get through this minute... but mostly i hoped that terrible things would happen to this stench-pot and maybe even her family.

binge

i have been experiencing a very strong desire to shop lately. this is a bit out of character and a bit more alarming. i am passing it off as a need for spring/summer clothing because my wardrobe quite yearns for a hint of coordination and flair. unfortunately, shopping without money is just as difficult as it sounds, i am learning. i go to stores. all the time. i find adorable coordinating sets of shorts and capris and sporty little tank tops that i feel i simply must have. but i usually leave with only the fantasy of white sling-back sandals to wear with the mesh warm-up capris and matching track jacket. none of these things will be mine. it's a bit like attempting to have a late-night binge on apples and carrot sticks. or trying to go on a weekend bender with only a four-pack of bartles and james. the compulsion is there, the motives are complicated but honest, but the effect lacks sincerity.

so i binge on the clearance rack, which is a lot like eating a midday meal at an all-your-stomach-can-contain-without-killing-you buffet. it looks like a wide variety at first, but you soon recognize that everything looks (smells, tastes) the same and none of it is actually attractive but you eat/buy it because it's there and you can. so i now own a number of shirts that i bought for approximately 4 to 6 dollars because everyone else appropriately determined that they were inadequate garments. this is exactly how i feel when i settle for iceberg lettuce and ranch dressing at a crusty diner somewhere between here and minneapolis. these people play pretty fast and loose with words like "mixed" and "green". or when i agree to a busch light at a party because it suggests a lack of gratitude when you bring your own beer after reading an invitation that says: "beer and soda will be provided." well, around here it would probably read "beer and pop will be provided."

perhaps i just really want to eat and drink and shop a lot. this may be how i celebrate spring. i have never considered it before, but an all-inclusive binge is very likely how i have always reacted to the strain of new growth and recurring disappointment. no, that's not it exactly. maybe the tendency has been a pattern but the object of my desires certainly changes. i did survive one particular spring solely by the sustenance that tanqueray and grapefruit juice have to offer. (i want really badly to justify that behavior. but it was a very bad idea and one that i won't repeat.) and there were a few times in my adolescence that milky ways and curly fries provided the emotional support i needed to drag me into summer. but all of that was a long time ago. now i write and window shop. compulsively, i admit. but the improvement is obvious, right?

granola

i guess i'll start peeing on my garden. i have heard from a number of sources that peeing on/around one's garden tends to aid in keeping unwanted visitors away. unwanted visitors like rodents and bugs. a world with fewer bugs and rodents is an improved world in my book. besides i like the idea of being someone who pees in her garden. it seems so granola-dyke. i am totally not granola, but i do have a few characteristics of the granola type. for example, i eat soy-based and organic foods, i run around my yard naked and only occasionally shave the hairs on my body that are socially determined to be excessive. for these things i win granola points. for peeing in my garden i will get a lot of bonus points. however, i do wear some mascara and i kind of love lip gloss. i also insist on tampons rather than relying on a tiny toilet plunger to collect the tissue shed by my uterine lining. so i lose a lot of granola points. but i will still be a groovy chick for peeing outside in my garden. as long as i don't do it in front of people who aren't ready for that kind of thing. i wonder how many of my friends i could convince to pee in my garden. probably all of them.
all this talk of granola chicks makes me want to go back to the michigan womyn's music festival (see November 2005). it's a lot of body (and facial) hair and garbanzo beans at the MWMF. i bet a lot of garden pee-ers too. they probably don't even serve any produce that hasn't been peed on by at least 30 lesbians.
what am i even talking about? this is weird. i think i better stop now before i start to develop body odor that must be masked by a strong dose of essential patchouli. for the record... my garden only has flowers in it. no vegetables.

#@%$#*&

i don't know why i gave this post that particular title...i have never been afraid to just say FUCK when something pisses me off.

i was just writing a relatively lengthy post about the movie "walk the line" and other sort of related topics. suddenly, my posting page disappeared. now i am pissed. everything i had written is gone and i just don't have it in me to try to re-create it. so here's the jist:
*i liked the movie
*reese witherspoon's performance was impressive in spite of her rambling flightiness after the oscars
*i continually found myself giving compliments to joaquin phoenix (i.e. who knew joaquin phoenix was such a great actor? i didn't know joaquin phoenix could sing. wow, joaquin phoenix is pretty hot.) lots of compliments even though i really thought his performance was a bit contrived and awkward at times although overall quite impressive. i realized after about 2 hours that i just really like to say "joaquin phoenix". sounds cool. it's like the perfect name.
*now i have to go through a johnny cash phase. i have always liked jc, but i often forget that. now i have to get him on the ipod and sing my heart out about folsom prison and burning rings.

the e-world is definitely shrinking

i was tracked down today. accidentally, of course. by a woman from my hometown with whom i worked in 1998-99. i have wondered since i started this absurd little thing how long it would take for someone i know to find it without assistance. i am just incredibly grateful it wasn't my brother. i don't think he would appreciate his portrayal...
anyway, the blogworld is closing in on me and i think it is a good thing. now i find myself wondering: who else might find me? what might they not know about me that they wouldn't want to learn here? then i remember that this whole damn thing is full of incriminating and potentially damaging gut-wrenching truth and that's just the way i have chosen to be. so i guess random strangers, old friends and blog-crossings will all find out much more information about me than any of them ever wanted to know and i think it's a little bit funny. i just wish i could see all the faces when this is happening.

water

ahhh...... the smell of springtime in the midwest! and the subtle sounds of nature along the river...

i wander out of my house to greet the stale stench of moldy fields and sun-baked sludge. squish squish through the sloppy ground and i come to the edge of the river. 100 yards from the bank of the same river. the flooded fields have become home to a dozen beautiful white swans which i have never before spotted in the area. they may be as confused and dumb-founded as i feel. wood ducks and mallard couples skim the surface of the misplaced river water, delighted in the extra surface area on which to frolick and play. overhead i hear the sounds of random other newly-returned avian life conversing with each other about the new topography of the region. the song of one seasonal bird brings back a sting in my chest that drops me out of the moment and sends me to a place that floated away nine years ago. commonly known as the "helicopter", this flying beauty brings with it flashes of the war zone that was 1997 and i stand frozen straining to remember who and what i am today and what i was doing out here in the first place. my feet are damp and cold, my nasal passages are full of mold spores and my real identity is erased for the moment. i have to close my eyes to shake the overwhelming sense of terror and loss. i try to think of 2006 but i am locked. tree tops are barely standing strong and peeking out from the surface of the water. housetops try to stand as a resiliant marker, identifying the location of a warm and safe home, but the rooftops swell and warp under the pressure. others have been forced to give up entirely and succumb to the strength of the mighty river. they uproot and land in the yards of neighbors a few blocks over. traffic signs in a few locations are tall enough to stand as a mockery of themselves. "STOP". not likely. 100-year-old buildings absorb the filth of a sewer system that has long since given up the fight. the fight is futile and we know it. the water eventually recedes, taking with it the evidence of life and history of thousands of people. and we are left with little but stuck images of the tops of things peeking out, staking their geographical claim in a city that might one day heal.

ahhhh spring. i think the next step is the tourists driving slowly and asking random mourners, "where is the really bad damage?" i can't answer a question like that and i want to punch them. the really bad damage comes when voyeurs stroll by to shock themselves with the devastation that belongs to people they don't even know. the really bad damage comes back with the next river that overflows its banks and races through parks and neighborhoods looking for a place to settle. the really bad damage seems to linger. and i had no idea that the damage hadn't been repaired.