I didn't see a point in having him at all. He didn’t seem to fit in anywhere. If when you are examining the pieces of your life, the characters and bits that surround you, doesn't everyone and everything deserve an active role? And if they are actively participating, as each character in your scene should, shouldn't they add to your plot? If above the fireplace, hangs a rifle, by the end of the play that rifle needs to be shot. Why then, do we hold onto those that do not contribute anything to the storyline? One could say that their mere being suggests some sort of role, or else why would you even mention them? The fact that they are being considered at all must mean something. What it means, I'm afraid, is that they only exist on your surface, so why be there at all?
That was when I decided. What was the point in having him there at all? His meager role was so bit, that to just remove his reference wouldn't be a jolt to the flow of things in the least. In fact, it wasn’t a role at all, at least not anymore. Once removed, any thought of him would dissolve, as if he had never been here to begin with. That thought made me smile, the sheer power of the dissolve tactic. It was that simple. I did not wish harm, or ill will. It was not bitterness or spite that fueled this clean slate. It was his uselessness. His vast mediocrity that lent nothing was what frayed my nerves, and I must admit, the occasional glance at him, the slip of memory, left only blankness; no feeling whatsoever. This nothingness devastated me, for vanity’s sake alone. I must feel, must conjure up some response to outside stimuli or what is the point of being alive?
It is something I had never given much thought to. The process of taking things in, them having some sort of affect on you, you respond. Obvious course of events that I’d taken for granted. But these steps hadn’t been followed with him. If you eat a bland sandwich, and are hungry, the lack of taste is overlooked, as it is serving a far greater purpose. Yes, we’d all like to devour deliciousness in every meal, but sometimes the end result surpasses the minute details of such things as flavor. However, if you are not in search of nourishment, do not look for this substance to put a stomp to your hunger, why does it brush your lips, leaving no savoring whatsoever? Why would you go through the motions of something with no taste? I always have an answer or maybe have just stumbled upon one now. Why would I? I would not. That which finds it’s way to my plate remains there out of an active decision I made. If it does not contribute to my fulfillment, comfort, enjoyment it will not be eaten.
The disposal act sounds harsh when put so bluntly. I do not discard without thought, casting aside all that does not suite me at first glance. Oh, quite the contrary. Overturning until dizziness ensues leads me to such conclusions. The decision is not a hasty one, but lessens in time as each situation presents itself. I am learning, although do not think I will ever have an immunity to being immune. The nerve endings have worn and re-grown; singed once shame on me, singed twice, let it devour. It’s experience that has moved me forward, for that which has been has made me. But it is a nugget center, a Tootsie Pop of a way to live. Where is that owl, who will one, two, three me? Have you ever had someone tell you something about yourself that you already knew, but it just sounded odd when it fell in your ears? As if their perception of your reality had escaped even you? When you hear how people have picked up on what you’ve been so carefully laying down, it’s an odd feeling. It’s as if a secret of yours that you’ve not kept to yourself, has been told to someone new. It’s unnerving, scary and exhilarating all wrapped up into one single revelation about yourself, told by someone else. Although, it’s not really a revelation if you’ve already revealed it. It’s just away from me, is all.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
Rest Area ____ miles
One of my best girlfriends recently met an amazing guy. He’s incredibly intelligent, went to a notable college and actually reads (in a day and age where People and Star are considered literature, I’d say she’s hit the mother load) . Gainfully employed as head engineer on an environmental energy project, I’d say the man is fully equipped with shit togetherness. And he’s foreign, so the accent completely works (believe her undergarments dropped the second he opened his mouth). But to all the American lads out there, no need to fret. You don’t need an accent to drop drawers, just need to have all the rest. The accent just puts the sweet, sweet deliciously sexy icing on our fabulous cake. So to speak.
So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.
I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.
You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.
So, this foreign fellow happens to be amazing. Makes her laugh, can hold his drink (which to run in our circle, unfortunately, can be a deal breaker; can’t hang, can’t hang out with me), does interesting things, has a worldly view, surrounds himself with friends that are just as pleasing as him. He sounds great, and having met him a few times, can say with confidence, is. Problem? Cause there always seems to be one, right? He happens to be 5 hours away, with a full itinerary preceding the completion of his energy project that includes Latin America and possibly a move home to Ireland. Figures. Realizing the logistics wouldn’t work and the effort wasn’t being put forth, it ended and both persons went their separate ways. Filling up two more bar stools in the single scene.
I’m not sure what to think about the whole thing. In all honesty, what are the chances of you bumping into someone who has the criteria on your checklist, in your own backyard? Are we only limited to what’s within reach? Long distance isn’t that bad, right? Guess that would depend on how happy you are with your surroundings. People say that they’d move mountains to find the right thing or person or outfit. And I firmly believe in Life being a verb, so things will not just fall into your neighborhood, effortlessly (and you really shouldn’t bring your sex home if he happens to live next door…borrowing milk could get awkward if things go sour). What I do know stems from my experience with such things and while I’d never claim to be the wisest around, I am pretty levelheaded. Can call a Spade a Spade, although I try to name them differently, with nothing but pure hope to blame. Admit when I’ve done all I could do and walk. Without (much) looking back.
You don’t need to be a genius to figure out when someone has ‘Caution’ written all over them. It’s just easier to tell your friend than to have to tell yourself. It’s nice to think you want to give them a shot because your instincts could be wrong, or you just never know. Which by all means is an amazing way to Live…and frankly the only way I know how to. You do never know. But the signs are usually there. There are rumble strips to keep you in check, blatantly, and quite annoyingly, keeping you from becoming too comfortable in the rest areas. Thing that I don’t fully understand, is after all of these cautionary clues and foresight, why do some have such a hard time veering away from the jarring rumble strip, steering yourself back onto the road, and getting the hell out of dodge? Detours happen, but not to have the sense to realize driving this slow, or in these conditions isn’t working for you, to not try to find an alternate escape route? Life is too short to drive too slow on a gravel road that may lead to nothing.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Take two Asprin and don’t call them in the morning
The power of the written word is said to be extremely potent. When you see that statement, be it an insult, a compliment, an accusation, when it is staring you in black and white, it hits differently then it would be if said, I think. You get to chew it, let it fill your brain slowly, oozing in, get a second to process it. Then it coats you, seeps into your marrow and lies, maybe permanently. It’s powerful stuff. So powerful in fact, it’s absence, the nothingness that stretches oceans between you and that person who withholds the glorious ink, well, the non-responsive black and white devastates. The nothing; more powerful than a dismissive or hurtful note. It’s infuriating. And also extremely effective. Why is it that when we think of hurting someone, or wanting them to be hurt by our actions, or lack there of, do we finalize on spite? Most times only driving ourselves mad. The passive aggressive action of inaction always sends me reeling, not only because I have mastered and been dominated by it, but because it remains to be the silliest, inefficient use of our time, yet somehow always works.
They say out of sight, out of mind, but when something weighs so heavily on your mind, and then disappears, or is absent for some time, simply not there, that’s all you seem to think about. Obsession isn’t that far fetched. Coming from the most nonchalant person ever, this omission may come as a shock. But as a recent experience has led me to believe otherwise, it does seem feasible to me, on some levels. Stalking is never ok. Excessively repeat dialing and/or texting also remains in the things-never-to-do category. Unless there is a response, which due to the fact that obsession in what we’re discussing, usually a response is the one thing lacking, leave it alone if it doesn’t come home. But, how do we cut this poison out? This malignant growth that doesn’t have a choice but to magnify if we do not hack it out? Over-analyzing may be stereotyped as a chick thing, but I’ve come to realize (and observe), it’s a sickness that every person I know has. There are different stages of this illness, some easily controlled by one’s own rational, a quick ‘ok, enough,’ other’s so crippling, once you’ve come down with a case of it, you may find yourself in need of not only a swift kick in the head, but professional help. I find myself, most of the time, on the boarder of stage 1 and a not so healthy stage 2. So, what to do when this disease catches you? Nip it in the bud, at the head, so it does not consume. Here are some helpful tips:
1. If you find yourself coming up with scenarios that any normal person may define as excuses, you have over-rationalized a simple situation. It’s time to either confront or walk.
2. When out, pretending to not think about it, do not keep checking your phone. Not only does this deem you a hypocrite, you are fueling the fire you’ve claimed to put out. Leave your mobile at home. You’d be surprised at how freeing it can be.
3. When you say you’re done, truly be done. There is nothing so annoying as having to listen to anything proceeding the line, “ok, this is the last thing I’m going to say about it…” In keeping true to your word, you should stop there.
4. Make peace with yourself. Whatever has had such a hold on you, whether it be a spat, a relationship, a boss, a stalkee, you have rubbed the topic raw, exposed every possible angle and are left with the shreds. Time has come to hold your hand out the window and release.
Not all situations work themselves out. Anyone who has lived 5 minutes in the real world should realize this. Often times though, whatever the outcome of such scenarios, the ends justifies the means. Even if at the time, it doesn’t seem as much. You loosing sleep over something will not, however, make the inevitable happen any sooner. Overanalyzing things actually, when put in those terms, is quite narcissistic. Thinking you have a hand in, more often times than not, someone else’s decision? When you truly look at the topic at hand in this light, you…oh man.
They say out of sight, out of mind, but when something weighs so heavily on your mind, and then disappears, or is absent for some time, simply not there, that’s all you seem to think about. Obsession isn’t that far fetched. Coming from the most nonchalant person ever, this omission may come as a shock. But as a recent experience has led me to believe otherwise, it does seem feasible to me, on some levels. Stalking is never ok. Excessively repeat dialing and/or texting also remains in the things-never-to-do category. Unless there is a response, which due to the fact that obsession in what we’re discussing, usually a response is the one thing lacking, leave it alone if it doesn’t come home. But, how do we cut this poison out? This malignant growth that doesn’t have a choice but to magnify if we do not hack it out? Over-analyzing may be stereotyped as a chick thing, but I’ve come to realize (and observe), it’s a sickness that every person I know has. There are different stages of this illness, some easily controlled by one’s own rational, a quick ‘ok, enough,’ other’s so crippling, once you’ve come down with a case of it, you may find yourself in need of not only a swift kick in the head, but professional help. I find myself, most of the time, on the boarder of stage 1 and a not so healthy stage 2. So, what to do when this disease catches you? Nip it in the bud, at the head, so it does not consume. Here are some helpful tips:
1. If you find yourself coming up with scenarios that any normal person may define as excuses, you have over-rationalized a simple situation. It’s time to either confront or walk.
2. When out, pretending to not think about it, do not keep checking your phone. Not only does this deem you a hypocrite, you are fueling the fire you’ve claimed to put out. Leave your mobile at home. You’d be surprised at how freeing it can be.
3. When you say you’re done, truly be done. There is nothing so annoying as having to listen to anything proceeding the line, “ok, this is the last thing I’m going to say about it…” In keeping true to your word, you should stop there.
4. Make peace with yourself. Whatever has had such a hold on you, whether it be a spat, a relationship, a boss, a stalkee, you have rubbed the topic raw, exposed every possible angle and are left with the shreds. Time has come to hold your hand out the window and release.
Not all situations work themselves out. Anyone who has lived 5 minutes in the real world should realize this. Often times though, whatever the outcome of such scenarios, the ends justifies the means. Even if at the time, it doesn’t seem as much. You loosing sleep over something will not, however, make the inevitable happen any sooner. Overanalyzing things actually, when put in those terms, is quite narcissistic. Thinking you have a hand in, more often times than not, someone else’s decision? When you truly look at the topic at hand in this light, you…oh man.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Miami
I’ve recently spent some time in Miami, a place where many a childhood memory was made. A place I recognize by smell, touch, sound. The moment you step off the plane, the air hits you, warmth creeps into your pores and you know you are somewhere the sun has kissed. Sweet envelopes the air, in bursts that hit your whole being, knocking the Eastern senses out cold. Each time it hits, nostalgia follows, a flow of the past washes over me and I feel at home. This place, this here, the sounds and aromas of this tropical spot cover me completely, each time.
What has brought me South all of these years, to vacation, be with the heat, feel at peace with sun-kissed surroundings? Family. Which in my opinion should bring you to the ends of the earth if necessary, so if it happens to land you in a place where sunshine reins, palms wave in the breeze, you are very lucky. This luck has been with me for years, and has brought me here, to my Aunt’s year in and year out. And this year, I feel as though my adulthood has followed, allowing me to put words to what traveling here conjures. What being here means and has meant. When I was young, this feeling is all I remember. Feeling ‘right’ the moment I arrived and the calm I left with. Joy was this destination of my youth, but was never described; it just was in this place. Now I know. The physical location isn’t the only thing that draws me here, keeps Miami close to my heart. The people who habitat here, along with the people that make the journey with me, those are what spark with me. Family.
It may just be the one consistent thing there is. No matter how inconsistent the relationship may be; they are linked to you, bonded by ties greater than anything material. It is where you gather strength, where you turn for comfort, to reconnect, regroup after the world has reared its ugly head. A port in the storm, where you can dry your weary bones. Miami, although I didn’t realize until much later in life, is that haven for me, and having just left, I still feel my insides glowing with warmth.
The above description of my family suites them very well. The people who have raised me are my touchstone and continue to be so. I know how lucky I am to think this and to have had the experience that led me to this conclusion. Miami has been just one of my havens. The heat of this spot has allowed imagination to take hold. Here, fire-breathing dragons roam free, allowing ankles to pass unharmed. Animals and people dine equally under this roof; chairs are pulled out for ladies, runts and cats with six toes. Family gathers under shadows of palms, with sand beneath them, and stories surrounding them. Sun filters down, scorching skin and awakening memories.
Luck has found me and has given me this port. I’ve always had it, just a plane ride away. Leaving here this last time, having almost reached adulthood, childhood memories around each corner, I feel refreshed by the splash of familiar. And I have woken each morning since, and as I think about it, for as long as I can remember, and known how lucky I am to be surrounded by the heat of family.
What has brought me South all of these years, to vacation, be with the heat, feel at peace with sun-kissed surroundings? Family. Which in my opinion should bring you to the ends of the earth if necessary, so if it happens to land you in a place where sunshine reins, palms wave in the breeze, you are very lucky. This luck has been with me for years, and has brought me here, to my Aunt’s year in and year out. And this year, I feel as though my adulthood has followed, allowing me to put words to what traveling here conjures. What being here means and has meant. When I was young, this feeling is all I remember. Feeling ‘right’ the moment I arrived and the calm I left with. Joy was this destination of my youth, but was never described; it just was in this place. Now I know. The physical location isn’t the only thing that draws me here, keeps Miami close to my heart. The people who habitat here, along with the people that make the journey with me, those are what spark with me. Family.
It may just be the one consistent thing there is. No matter how inconsistent the relationship may be; they are linked to you, bonded by ties greater than anything material. It is where you gather strength, where you turn for comfort, to reconnect, regroup after the world has reared its ugly head. A port in the storm, where you can dry your weary bones. Miami, although I didn’t realize until much later in life, is that haven for me, and having just left, I still feel my insides glowing with warmth.
The above description of my family suites them very well. The people who have raised me are my touchstone and continue to be so. I know how lucky I am to think this and to have had the experience that led me to this conclusion. Miami has been just one of my havens. The heat of this spot has allowed imagination to take hold. Here, fire-breathing dragons roam free, allowing ankles to pass unharmed. Animals and people dine equally under this roof; chairs are pulled out for ladies, runts and cats with six toes. Family gathers under shadows of palms, with sand beneath them, and stories surrounding them. Sun filters down, scorching skin and awakening memories.
Luck has found me and has given me this port. I’ve always had it, just a plane ride away. Leaving here this last time, having almost reached adulthood, childhood memories around each corner, I feel refreshed by the splash of familiar. And I have woken each morning since, and as I think about it, for as long as I can remember, and known how lucky I am to be surrounded by the heat of family.
Friday, March 28, 2008
“It doesn’t mean that much to me, to mean that much to you.” –Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
I’ve found that recent relationships have given me reason to loose faith in the male gender. Not completely, and it’s a fleeting loss (oxy-moron?), my freakishly heightened optimism will eventually kick back on, so this is only a temporary glitch, of this I am sure. It doesn’t mean, however, it hasn’t absorbed into my conscious, subconscious, marrow. This saddens me greatly, for extending the benefit of the doubt happens to be my forte, a quality I admire in myself as much as others and I’ve observed in few. I am one of the lucky ones. But, with this extension comes the risk of being walked across, pushed inconsiderately aside, for people begin to think another chance lies beyond, and another, and another…
Any intelligent person would see this as a nasty pattern, one that should be nipped in the bud immediately. The expression Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice shame on me, comes to mind. But, this sounds like the bitter woman’s mantra, and while I am a woman, bitter is an adjective I would never use to describe myself. I’ve found too many times mistakes are often just that, miscalculations or miscommunications that simply get lost in translation. It happens, and it will. I’m not unrealistic, nor unforgiving. Human nature is imperfect; therein lays the beauty of people. How would we know what we are capable of if not pushed? If not forced to choose between an easy dismissal and compassion? As you may have already guessed, the latter happens to be a weakness and I often find I am alone with that as a companion. Which, often provides better company, I must admit, than the alternative; having the wool pulled over your eyes by someone who you thought was incapable of being anything but considerate.
So, what has shaken my beliefs, made me seriously ponder the credit I (time and time again, I must embarrassingly admit) keep sprinkling on unworthy, unappreciative, unresponsive candidates? The answer is in the question. Doling out myself, my kindness to those who continue to take it, without reciprocation.
Chances do in fact grow on my tree…and they have been plucked time and time again by too greedy of hands. I have realized that while bitterness is not becoming, hesitation can be and in my case, should be exercised at times. Go with your gut. This phrase has been thrown at me by my, “no one will ever be good enough for you” mother. While her reasoning may be askew (someone, somewhere will indeed be good enough, as they will have captivated and appreciated me enough to keep me with them), I have found that her advice to instinctually follow that little voice inside your head (and stomach), usually winds up being what follows the, “I should have…”
If you ever feel as though you’re talking yourself into someone, listing on hand the bones they have thrown to your starved pallet of forgiveness, you must remember that, if it seemed too easy for them to dismiss your hurt feelings, they probably weren't ever considered.
Any intelligent person would see this as a nasty pattern, one that should be nipped in the bud immediately. The expression Fool me once, shame on you, Fool me twice shame on me, comes to mind. But, this sounds like the bitter woman’s mantra, and while I am a woman, bitter is an adjective I would never use to describe myself. I’ve found too many times mistakes are often just that, miscalculations or miscommunications that simply get lost in translation. It happens, and it will. I’m not unrealistic, nor unforgiving. Human nature is imperfect; therein lays the beauty of people. How would we know what we are capable of if not pushed? If not forced to choose between an easy dismissal and compassion? As you may have already guessed, the latter happens to be a weakness and I often find I am alone with that as a companion. Which, often provides better company, I must admit, than the alternative; having the wool pulled over your eyes by someone who you thought was incapable of being anything but considerate.
So, what has shaken my beliefs, made me seriously ponder the credit I (time and time again, I must embarrassingly admit) keep sprinkling on unworthy, unappreciative, unresponsive candidates? The answer is in the question. Doling out myself, my kindness to those who continue to take it, without reciprocation.
Chances do in fact grow on my tree…and they have been plucked time and time again by too greedy of hands. I have realized that while bitterness is not becoming, hesitation can be and in my case, should be exercised at times. Go with your gut. This phrase has been thrown at me by my, “no one will ever be good enough for you” mother. While her reasoning may be askew (someone, somewhere will indeed be good enough, as they will have captivated and appreciated me enough to keep me with them), I have found that her advice to instinctually follow that little voice inside your head (and stomach), usually winds up being what follows the, “I should have…”
If you ever feel as though you’re talking yourself into someone, listing on hand the bones they have thrown to your starved pallet of forgiveness, you must remember that, if it seemed too easy for them to dismiss your hurt feelings, they probably weren't ever considered.
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
"I'd like to think I'm the mess you'd wear with pride." Band of Horses
Trista
She hadn’t even brushed her teeth that morning, and now, as she boarded the plane home, she regretted it more than the poor soul who leaned in too close. The alarm had sounded at 6:30am and Carrie, her brother’s wife, had cheerfully entered her room after the first buzz. What the fuck, she thought. Had she been camping out all night, sleeping by the door, only to spring into action at the first sound of someone’s hard start?
“Morning, T,it’s a beautiful day, and I thought we could all sit down for popovers before you left, how did you sleep by the way, we need a new mattress, and Mathew ordered one two weeks ago, I keep meaning to call and check up, but anyway, oh, I had to tell you, that I turned the computer the den on if you’d liketocheckyourflight,although it’sabeautifulday…”
As she droned on and on, Trist slowly sat up, still bewildered anyone could, A. talk that F-in fast; B. had that much friggin energy in the morning, cause come on and; C. she couldn’t think of a third reason cause it was too flippin early! Anytime her sister-in-law spoke, the words seemed to run together in her head, so by the end of her run-on sentence, all she could do was say, Huh? Trist knew Carrie thought she was on drugs, and that made her smile. Last time she ingested anything other than booze had happened almost a year ago and she had almost passed out. The drink did her just fine.
“So?” Carrie stood in front of the bed, completely dressed, looking ridiculously hip for 6:30 am on a Sunday and all Trist wanted to do was go to sleep (well, she first wanted to punch Carrie in the head, but then snuggle under the covers).
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m kinda a slow mover in the morning. That early bird catches the worm, yeah, never got it.” As she attempted a somewhat lame joke, Carrie fluttered around the room, opening the curtains, picking up Trist’s dirty clothes that would just get wadded into a ball when she packed them, which she would if the sunshine spreading, energizer bunny on crack sister-in-law would get out. Trist cursed herself for staying out all night, although thanked whoever was up in that big sky, for having slipped in this morning, unannounced.
When Carrie started making her bed while she was still in it, she finally decided to get up, sarcastically mumbled something about needing to use the lav (apparently Carrie was British while discussing urination), and ducked into the hall where she nearly rammed into her 6’2 brother. How the hell did they end up with each other, she wondered.
In college, Matt had been the “It” guy on campus. Trist had gone to visit once and couldn’t believe the fan following. He had been popular in high school, an athletic guy, dabbling in many of the team sports, but nothing would compare to his collegiate status. Guys wanted to either be him or beat the shit out of him, although rarely the latter, he was just so friggin cool. And girls, oh the girls dropped their panties at his hello. Trist hadn’t believed it, but sure as shit got proof that her brother had some power over the ladies. Upon arrival at a frat party her brother’s brothers had thrown, Trist overheard a tiny brunette tell her big brother how she hadn’t wore anything under her skirt, so if he wanted to follow her, she’d be in the coat closet.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” she had asked, after the little dormitory slut had pranced off.
Ever so coolly sipping his beer, he acted as though he hadn’t even heard the chick, grabbed his sister in a headlock, and simply stated, “Let’s get you shlitzed.”
Recalling this, as her now married older brother looked at her to make sure she hadn’t killed herself on his chest, Trist shook her head.
“What?” Matt asked, grabbing his ankle and stretching his quads.
His athleticism had followed him into adulthood, a feat she was truly in awe of. Most of the married people she knew had let their guts grow over their belts, settling for defeat as if to say, what’s the point, it’s over. That, she vowed, no matter how tired in the morning she was, would never happen to her. Although, a 6am run would never friggin happen.
Marriage would not be her trip to fat farm, in fat, why walk down the isle at all? She had never got it. Always seemed like such an ending.
“Um, can you tell your wife I have an eye boogie that needs wiping, think she may have a monogrammed tissue lyin around.” She always tried to joke around with him, but ever since he had settled down with Clean B, his humor had died a slow death. Another minus to marriage.
“Wow, someone woke up on the bitch side of the bed.” Matt, more chipper than herself, yet not as ADD as his wife, finished stretching his other leg, mimed a boxing fight with Trist, while she stood rolling her eyes, and bounded upstairs. Go getters, Trist thought with a bitter, yet envious sigh. She looked back at Carrie, who was humming a tune and fluffing the sleep encrusted pillows, then turned the corner. Finally in the bathroom, alone, she de-pajamed, turned on the shower, and let the hot water rinse away her visit and his skin. She couldn’t wait to board that plane.
Benny
They had promised to wake him up by 7:30am as he had a 9:15 flight that he HAD to catch or he’d be fired, and the airport was almost an hour away. His friends were dicks, but damn they knew how to throw him a going away party. The visit had been short, swung by grandmas’, his Uncle Al and Aunt Pats’, and a few of his cousins who were still around the area (most were either in the military, in jail, or MIA, which was probably a good thing).
Mom had also gotten a visit from him, although that had been the most uncomfortable situation ever. That was on his mind as he woke up on the floor, beer bottles stuffed with cigarettes all around him. Not even wanting to look at the clock, he tried to sit up, only to realize something pinned his arm o the floor. Oh shit, he thought, rolling his head over to one side. Oh my God, it wasn’t her. As pieces of the night started pushing themselves together, he realized he had lost another chance. Fuck.
“Dude, you need to visit more often, you dick,” Jay had always been poetic with words, using dick in every other sentence. It could express his anger, his love, his confusion, hell, his boredom with just about anything. Words weren’t his thing and Benny knew this, so didn’t bust his balls. But the kid would rob Mother Theresa if you asked him to.
“I know man, just trying to get my shit together, ya know? Work is a bitch, but I have bills to pay, and dude, you can always visit me. It’s a plane ride away, just like it is for me, dumb ass.”
He had had this conversation numerous times with all his boys, who always asked him if and when he was moving back, why the hell he had left in the first place, then always ending with the ‘are you too good for us?’ question. The last one usually got asked after several beers, shots, hits. He could see it coming, however, never liked to answer it.
“Get the fuck outta here, dick. We’re all back here, you wanna see us, here we are. Ya don’t, well, you’re a dick. “ Jay laughed and punched him in the shoulder, then headed toward the kitchen, no doubt to grab another beer.
Benny did miss this place; having tried to forget it just hadn’t worked. Every time he rode down Lucas avenue he got that familiar feeling, where memories, good and bad, bubble up and ya can’t seem to calm your stomach. He loved and hated it and had tried to come to terms with it when he left. Alone, in his new city, away from these streets, everything was good. He could reinvent himself and he had, although each and every trip home usually threw old habits into his new routine. The anticipation and anxiety of these streets always shook him, so when a homecoming crept closer, the clumsier and more careless he got. A week before this trip, his mid had been so clogged he missed two meetings with clients, causing him to lose a potentially huge sale and have his boss’ boss made aware of his mishap. Yeah, sitting on thoughts of home never sat well with him.
“Hey man, is everything ok?” His buddy Jim had popped his head into his cubicle after his scolding from the Uppers about his missed meetings. Jim had been his first real friend in this new city and they hung out a bunch, happy hours, ball games, company outings. Jim was his wingman here. Although he had kept him at a distance only noticeable to Benny (as certain information about his past wasn’t discussed), Jim and him were tight. Even tag teamed the ladies now and again, double dating when they happened to meet someone.
What a good guy, Ben thought as he shifted his gaze away from Jim’s concerned face. His generic screen saver popped on, floating fish in a sea of coral. He had never been scuba diving. He looked back at Jim. What was it about him that always attracted the good people? He tried to stay to himself, not seem interested in participation, but that always seemed to land him next to the nicest friggin soul in the joint, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer or if he ever needed to talk…It’s not as if he was anti-social, not at all, just involvement led to questions and questions led to scraping the scab off his protective layer. Not usually his scene, although with Jim it had been a bit different. Jim hadn’t pushed, hadn’t made too many personal innuendos or pried too deep into anything. And the same lack of detail had been paid on Benny’s end. They were two guys, just hangin out and just the act of being in close proximity to each other was enough. Ben figured Jim had had the same philosophy of past lives, possibly cause he had left one to start anew as well; leave em’ in the past and keep on movin.
“Man, I’ve just got a lot on my mind buddy, but thanks. Just feel like a real shit about missing those meetings, but, guess nothing but time will tell now.”
Benny hated these clichés…nothing but time will tell? No shit, that’s what time did. Revealed, uncovered, sometimes even decided for you. It was these kinds of comments, clip phrases so to speak, that allowed a lone soul like Benny to move away from a potentially awkward personal revelation. This day had been cursed from the start, and looking at the 4:15 time, he figured it was better to call it a day than drag on for another 45 minutes. What could they do, fire him for leaving after that ass ripping? He got up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, patted Jim on the shoulder and told him he’d see him after his trip. He had declined Jim’s extremely generous offer at a ride to the airport the next morning. The train ride in was needed to gather his thoughts, and as Benny got in his car at the end of the day before his homecoming, thoughts of her came into his head. The car started, he shook her out, and pulled out of his parking space. It was going to be a long trip.
She hadn’t even brushed her teeth that morning, and now, as she boarded the plane home, she regretted it more than the poor soul who leaned in too close. The alarm had sounded at 6:30am and Carrie, her brother’s wife, had cheerfully entered her room after the first buzz. What the fuck, she thought. Had she been camping out all night, sleeping by the door, only to spring into action at the first sound of someone’s hard start?
“Morning, T,it’s a beautiful day, and I thought we could all sit down for popovers before you left, how did you sleep by the way, we need a new mattress, and Mathew ordered one two weeks ago, I keep meaning to call and check up, but anyway, oh, I had to tell you, that I turned the computer the den on if you’d liketocheckyourflight,although it’sabeautifulday…”
As she droned on and on, Trist slowly sat up, still bewildered anyone could, A. talk that F-in fast; B. had that much friggin energy in the morning, cause come on and; C. she couldn’t think of a third reason cause it was too flippin early! Anytime her sister-in-law spoke, the words seemed to run together in her head, so by the end of her run-on sentence, all she could do was say, Huh? Trist knew Carrie thought she was on drugs, and that made her smile. Last time she ingested anything other than booze had happened almost a year ago and she had almost passed out. The drink did her just fine.
“So?” Carrie stood in front of the bed, completely dressed, looking ridiculously hip for 6:30 am on a Sunday and all Trist wanted to do was go to sleep (well, she first wanted to punch Carrie in the head, but then snuggle under the covers).
“Umm, I’m sorry, I’m kinda a slow mover in the morning. That early bird catches the worm, yeah, never got it.” As she attempted a somewhat lame joke, Carrie fluttered around the room, opening the curtains, picking up Trist’s dirty clothes that would just get wadded into a ball when she packed them, which she would if the sunshine spreading, energizer bunny on crack sister-in-law would get out. Trist cursed herself for staying out all night, although thanked whoever was up in that big sky, for having slipped in this morning, unannounced.
When Carrie started making her bed while she was still in it, she finally decided to get up, sarcastically mumbled something about needing to use the lav (apparently Carrie was British while discussing urination), and ducked into the hall where she nearly rammed into her 6’2 brother. How the hell did they end up with each other, she wondered.
In college, Matt had been the “It” guy on campus. Trist had gone to visit once and couldn’t believe the fan following. He had been popular in high school, an athletic guy, dabbling in many of the team sports, but nothing would compare to his collegiate status. Guys wanted to either be him or beat the shit out of him, although rarely the latter, he was just so friggin cool. And girls, oh the girls dropped their panties at his hello. Trist hadn’t believed it, but sure as shit got proof that her brother had some power over the ladies. Upon arrival at a frat party her brother’s brothers had thrown, Trist overheard a tiny brunette tell her big brother how she hadn’t wore anything under her skirt, so if he wanted to follow her, she’d be in the coat closet.
“You’ve got to be kidding?” she had asked, after the little dormitory slut had pranced off.
Ever so coolly sipping his beer, he acted as though he hadn’t even heard the chick, grabbed his sister in a headlock, and simply stated, “Let’s get you shlitzed.”
Recalling this, as her now married older brother looked at her to make sure she hadn’t killed herself on his chest, Trist shook her head.
“What?” Matt asked, grabbing his ankle and stretching his quads.
His athleticism had followed him into adulthood, a feat she was truly in awe of. Most of the married people she knew had let their guts grow over their belts, settling for defeat as if to say, what’s the point, it’s over. That, she vowed, no matter how tired in the morning she was, would never happen to her. Although, a 6am run would never friggin happen.
Marriage would not be her trip to fat farm, in fat, why walk down the isle at all? She had never got it. Always seemed like such an ending.
“Um, can you tell your wife I have an eye boogie that needs wiping, think she may have a monogrammed tissue lyin around.” She always tried to joke around with him, but ever since he had settled down with Clean B, his humor had died a slow death. Another minus to marriage.
“Wow, someone woke up on the bitch side of the bed.” Matt, more chipper than herself, yet not as ADD as his wife, finished stretching his other leg, mimed a boxing fight with Trist, while she stood rolling her eyes, and bounded upstairs. Go getters, Trist thought with a bitter, yet envious sigh. She looked back at Carrie, who was humming a tune and fluffing the sleep encrusted pillows, then turned the corner. Finally in the bathroom, alone, she de-pajamed, turned on the shower, and let the hot water rinse away her visit and his skin. She couldn’t wait to board that plane.
Benny
They had promised to wake him up by 7:30am as he had a 9:15 flight that he HAD to catch or he’d be fired, and the airport was almost an hour away. His friends were dicks, but damn they knew how to throw him a going away party. The visit had been short, swung by grandmas’, his Uncle Al and Aunt Pats’, and a few of his cousins who were still around the area (most were either in the military, in jail, or MIA, which was probably a good thing).
Mom had also gotten a visit from him, although that had been the most uncomfortable situation ever. That was on his mind as he woke up on the floor, beer bottles stuffed with cigarettes all around him. Not even wanting to look at the clock, he tried to sit up, only to realize something pinned his arm o the floor. Oh shit, he thought, rolling his head over to one side. Oh my God, it wasn’t her. As pieces of the night started pushing themselves together, he realized he had lost another chance. Fuck.
“Dude, you need to visit more often, you dick,” Jay had always been poetic with words, using dick in every other sentence. It could express his anger, his love, his confusion, hell, his boredom with just about anything. Words weren’t his thing and Benny knew this, so didn’t bust his balls. But the kid would rob Mother Theresa if you asked him to.
“I know man, just trying to get my shit together, ya know? Work is a bitch, but I have bills to pay, and dude, you can always visit me. It’s a plane ride away, just like it is for me, dumb ass.”
He had had this conversation numerous times with all his boys, who always asked him if and when he was moving back, why the hell he had left in the first place, then always ending with the ‘are you too good for us?’ question. The last one usually got asked after several beers, shots, hits. He could see it coming, however, never liked to answer it.
“Get the fuck outta here, dick. We’re all back here, you wanna see us, here we are. Ya don’t, well, you’re a dick. “ Jay laughed and punched him in the shoulder, then headed toward the kitchen, no doubt to grab another beer.
Benny did miss this place; having tried to forget it just hadn’t worked. Every time he rode down Lucas avenue he got that familiar feeling, where memories, good and bad, bubble up and ya can’t seem to calm your stomach. He loved and hated it and had tried to come to terms with it when he left. Alone, in his new city, away from these streets, everything was good. He could reinvent himself and he had, although each and every trip home usually threw old habits into his new routine. The anticipation and anxiety of these streets always shook him, so when a homecoming crept closer, the clumsier and more careless he got. A week before this trip, his mid had been so clogged he missed two meetings with clients, causing him to lose a potentially huge sale and have his boss’ boss made aware of his mishap. Yeah, sitting on thoughts of home never sat well with him.
“Hey man, is everything ok?” His buddy Jim had popped his head into his cubicle after his scolding from the Uppers about his missed meetings. Jim had been his first real friend in this new city and they hung out a bunch, happy hours, ball games, company outings. Jim was his wingman here. Although he had kept him at a distance only noticeable to Benny (as certain information about his past wasn’t discussed), Jim and him were tight. Even tag teamed the ladies now and again, double dating when they happened to meet someone.
What a good guy, Ben thought as he shifted his gaze away from Jim’s concerned face. His generic screen saver popped on, floating fish in a sea of coral. He had never been scuba diving. He looked back at Jim. What was it about him that always attracted the good people? He tried to stay to himself, not seem interested in participation, but that always seemed to land him next to the nicest friggin soul in the joint, asking him if he wanted to grab a beer or if he ever needed to talk…It’s not as if he was anti-social, not at all, just involvement led to questions and questions led to scraping the scab off his protective layer. Not usually his scene, although with Jim it had been a bit different. Jim hadn’t pushed, hadn’t made too many personal innuendos or pried too deep into anything. And the same lack of detail had been paid on Benny’s end. They were two guys, just hangin out and just the act of being in close proximity to each other was enough. Ben figured Jim had had the same philosophy of past lives, possibly cause he had left one to start anew as well; leave em’ in the past and keep on movin.
“Man, I’ve just got a lot on my mind buddy, but thanks. Just feel like a real shit about missing those meetings, but, guess nothing but time will tell now.”
Benny hated these clichés…nothing but time will tell? No shit, that’s what time did. Revealed, uncovered, sometimes even decided for you. It was these kinds of comments, clip phrases so to speak, that allowed a lone soul like Benny to move away from a potentially awkward personal revelation. This day had been cursed from the start, and looking at the 4:15 time, he figured it was better to call it a day than drag on for another 45 minutes. What could they do, fire him for leaving after that ass ripping? He got up from his seat, grabbing his jacket, patted Jim on the shoulder and told him he’d see him after his trip. He had declined Jim’s extremely generous offer at a ride to the airport the next morning. The train ride in was needed to gather his thoughts, and as Benny got in his car at the end of the day before his homecoming, thoughts of her came into his head. The car started, he shook her out, and pulled out of his parking space. It was going to be a long trip.
Pencil Me In
People are always asking me what’s on my agenda, how does my schedule look, what’s coming up. Now, I say people as though I think everyone cares what my days and nights consist of, and that is not the case. I know most people do not; I’m not that egotistical (although, I am kind of a big deal). A very, very small fish in an ocean, I do not pretend to be more important than I actually am, although do lead an unusually stuffed life. Here’s how I think of it; most people are curious by nature, wanting to explore and question that which they do not understand. Well, being on the move gives me a certain something, not sure what, but whatever it is, not everyone has it. This could be a good or bad thing, depending on who you ask. My neighbor, Joe, born and raised in Roxborough (the neighborhood I live in), shakes his head each time he sees me.
“They still chargin you rent here, Cate? Where ya been? Where ya off to now? We never hear ya”
First of all, he always acts as though I’m doing something wrong by vacating the neighborhood without proper clearance. And I’ve never heard of not being able to hear your neighbor being a bad thing. I live above a couple who just had a baby, and let’s just say, I’ve not heard so much as a coo from this thing, and I sure ain’t complaining. But, Joe’s a good guy and his line of questioning is always met with my shit eating grin. I play the blonde, I don’t know, I’ve been busy card and try to explain as little as possible (enough just to get his eyebrows to stop jamming into the top of his head) and put the key into my door (which apparently is dusty from lack of entry).
This neighbor, king of my street, mayor of Freeland Ave, knows everyone by name, job title, vehicle and family tree. Living in one place all your life affords you the luxury of really getting to know your neighbors, and there isn’t a damn thing wrong with it. People with these backgrounds though, in my experience, just don’t understand the on-the-go lifestyle. Why would you ever want to leave the lovely burrough of Rox? Well, there are a million reasons in my book…life awaits and no better time life the present (or in my case, the next six months…yeah, I’m a planner).
So, why and how the hell did I get this way? Well, number one, genetics. Those who’ve met my momma know she’s hardly ever home. High school parties thrown in her absence may ring a bell. (Yeah, I almost got sent out of the country by queen B for some of those, but damn they were good times.) Plus, she’s pretty much the energizer bunny on crack, so GO is the only mode she knows. Being reared by a woman of her speed set the tone for my future pace. Although I wasn’t always this plan oriented, I do take after her fast track as of late. She once told me, in response to someone asking if she was scared to fly, “I’d rather die doing something, than doing nothing.” Says it all.
Another reason, or reasons I should say, I’m always out and about, has nothing to do with me and I cannot be held responsible for; my friends. These crazy kids are, 1. All over the country, and road trips are what we do; 2. Are hilarious, just ask anyone. Ok, maybe not anyone, but we think we’re pretty funny; 3. Into kicking the cat and doing what they do. Wherever we go, we have a blast and usually end up killing it.
So, nobody gonna take my pride, nobody gonna hold me down, on no, I gotta keep on movin. You want me, you better get me to look in my planner (which is always with me, I’m insane with plans, I wasn’t kidding) and make me pencil you in. Next few weeks are fillin up fast. Next up, may be movin on up…(Hunting dwellings tonight in Conshy with Queen B, gotta get out of paying the city wage tax man!), Thursday’s affair-Irish visits Philly (Gnocchi babies are delicious), Friday, I'm the chef, so taste this (Wash it down with Main Street), Saturday’s tasty Delaware affair (private wine pairing with the energizer bunny and friends). Until next week, get out there.
“They still chargin you rent here, Cate? Where ya been? Where ya off to now? We never hear ya”
First of all, he always acts as though I’m doing something wrong by vacating the neighborhood without proper clearance. And I’ve never heard of not being able to hear your neighbor being a bad thing. I live above a couple who just had a baby, and let’s just say, I’ve not heard so much as a coo from this thing, and I sure ain’t complaining. But, Joe’s a good guy and his line of questioning is always met with my shit eating grin. I play the blonde, I don’t know, I’ve been busy card and try to explain as little as possible (enough just to get his eyebrows to stop jamming into the top of his head) and put the key into my door (which apparently is dusty from lack of entry).
This neighbor, king of my street, mayor of Freeland Ave, knows everyone by name, job title, vehicle and family tree. Living in one place all your life affords you the luxury of really getting to know your neighbors, and there isn’t a damn thing wrong with it. People with these backgrounds though, in my experience, just don’t understand the on-the-go lifestyle. Why would you ever want to leave the lovely burrough of Rox? Well, there are a million reasons in my book…life awaits and no better time life the present (or in my case, the next six months…yeah, I’m a planner).
So, why and how the hell did I get this way? Well, number one, genetics. Those who’ve met my momma know she’s hardly ever home. High school parties thrown in her absence may ring a bell. (Yeah, I almost got sent out of the country by queen B for some of those, but damn they were good times.) Plus, she’s pretty much the energizer bunny on crack, so GO is the only mode she knows. Being reared by a woman of her speed set the tone for my future pace. Although I wasn’t always this plan oriented, I do take after her fast track as of late. She once told me, in response to someone asking if she was scared to fly, “I’d rather die doing something, than doing nothing.” Says it all.
Another reason, or reasons I should say, I’m always out and about, has nothing to do with me and I cannot be held responsible for; my friends. These crazy kids are, 1. All over the country, and road trips are what we do; 2. Are hilarious, just ask anyone. Ok, maybe not anyone, but we think we’re pretty funny; 3. Into kicking the cat and doing what they do. Wherever we go, we have a blast and usually end up killing it.
So, nobody gonna take my pride, nobody gonna hold me down, on no, I gotta keep on movin. You want me, you better get me to look in my planner (which is always with me, I’m insane with plans, I wasn’t kidding) and make me pencil you in. Next few weeks are fillin up fast. Next up, may be movin on up…(Hunting dwellings tonight in Conshy with Queen B, gotta get out of paying the city wage tax man!), Thursday’s affair-Irish visits Philly (Gnocchi babies are delicious), Friday, I'm the chef, so taste this (Wash it down with Main Street), Saturday’s tasty Delaware affair (private wine pairing with the energizer bunny and friends). Until next week, get out there.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Categorizing the Meat Section
I’ve been single for quite some time, by choice often, and sometimes by default or lack of takers. And yes, I have also been unfortunate (or fortunate in hindsight) to have had my heart broken. So, needless to say, I’ve been in the dating game awhile. From my years of dating, ditching, sidestepping and stalking (not on my end, mind you, I’m a lady!), I’ve come away with some very unusual tidbits that I wish to explore. Here goes…
In my experience, it’s best to take away with you the positive of any given situation, learn what you can, and either walk away gracefully and sometimes even run (stalkers require a sprinting away from…you know who you are and if you’re reading this, stop texting me!!). Bitterness never becomes anyone, no matter what the circumstances are. Now, that does not mean a dish session about the level or lack of maturity that ex-significant other should not occur over a glass of wine with your girlfriends. This is how we purge, recharge and get back on the horse. It’s necessary and often quite therapeutic. But, I feel that to understand the opposite sex, you need to categorize the meat, so to speak, so you can be prepared for the next entree that comes along. Organization is key when deciding the likelihood and probability of a positive meal. And sometimes nothing but time will tell, but this way, at least you can say you had an active choice in the matter. Or pretend you did.
To start categorizing, you have to begin with a clean plate. Preconceived notions and high expectations are a tell tale sign that you’re setting yourself up to fail. Projecting huge standards when you first order not only frightens your potential dish, but makes you anxious, especially if you’re not pleasantly surprised by what eventually gets put in front of you. Not to say you shouldn’t have standards of a quality meal. Everyone has things they can and cannot stomach, and you shouldn’t waver. Just because it’s something you’ve never tried, doesn’t mean you should belly up. If you’re willing to settle for grade F, so be it, but don’t compare it to Ruth's Chris, as you’ll definitely be disappointed. So, before you move on, clear the decks and dishes of any past meals you’ve not quite digested. It’s time for a new course, so have your palette clean.
Next, you must know the ingredients you are working with. For instance, if you start off with something that is bland, do not except it to magically spice up because you have entered the kitchen. You won’t suddenly wake up one day, having gone to bed with celery, and open your eyes to Cajun gumbo. People don’t magically change, no matter how masterful of a chef you are. And you shouldn’t expect them to. Sometimes you should just work with what you’ve got, or pack up your utensils and dine elsewhere. Having said that, you need to know what tastes good to you, what you crave, what will satisfy your taste-buds. All I’m saying is, if you’re in the mood for a filet mignon, don’t settle for a burger. Not to say snacking on something you’re not necessarily hungry for can’t be fun…hell, sometimes we eat for other reasons then hunger. But, if you’re looking for a main course, choose wisely and make sure it has the right seasoning. And garnish, for that matter. Because once ordered, to return it to the kitchen can be a disaster.
Another thing you must be on the look out for when delving into a new dish happens only after you’ve ordered. The undercooked dish. When first perusing the menu, you may find something that truly gets your mouth watering. You’re inspired even, cause you’ve been dining regularly for years and rarely found such a scrumptious delight. While reading the description, your mouth waters, you’re envisioning how tasty it will be, how fulfilled you’ll be once eaten. You order, and wait, munching on the appetizers they feed you to satisfy beforehand. These snacks often make you hungrier for the main course though, so don’t be fooled. Be cautious of how much you ingest before the real meal…it may give you a false sense of fulfillment. And when your main course is finally served, and you delve in, only to realize it’s not been cooked long enough, well, there’s no bigger disappointment. Sometimes meals aren’t meant to be served yet, and you’ve just interrupted the marinating process. Not only are you trying to gnaw on something raw, you’ll inevitably leave hungry. I suggest you send it back to the kitchen and order something else, or get the check. If it ain’t ready to be eaten, send it out to pasture.
Lastly, don’t ever, ever fake fullness. If the meal hasn’t satisfied, you should either never order it again, or try to talk to the chef about beefing up the portion. If you choose the latter, pick your words wisely, as chefs can be edgy about what they’ve prepared and may ask you not to dine again. IF that is the case, you must be ok with it, because that restaurant isn’t for you if your suggestions aren’t taken seriously. Everyone could use improvement, and unless you're just flat out picky, then compromise shouldn’t be unattainable. However, if upon re-visitation, you still leave hungry, I suggest you will loose much weight, and pride, if you continue to dine there. You ultimately know what will fill you, so why settle for a meager meal?
I hope I’ve shed some light on the dining process of dating…a metaphor I find highly effective and in my experience, extremely accurate. The cliché of a meat market really isn’t the point. It’s the do’s and don’ts of fine, and sometimes not so fine, dinning. Restaurants come and go, and you should try as many as it takes until you find the perfect main course. Order wisely, don’t be scared to try new things, and above all, be confident enough in yourself to send it back to the kitchen if it’s not working for you. Bon appetite.
In my experience, it’s best to take away with you the positive of any given situation, learn what you can, and either walk away gracefully and sometimes even run (stalkers require a sprinting away from…you know who you are and if you’re reading this, stop texting me!!). Bitterness never becomes anyone, no matter what the circumstances are. Now, that does not mean a dish session about the level or lack of maturity that ex-significant other should not occur over a glass of wine with your girlfriends. This is how we purge, recharge and get back on the horse. It’s necessary and often quite therapeutic. But, I feel that to understand the opposite sex, you need to categorize the meat, so to speak, so you can be prepared for the next entree that comes along. Organization is key when deciding the likelihood and probability of a positive meal. And sometimes nothing but time will tell, but this way, at least you can say you had an active choice in the matter. Or pretend you did.
To start categorizing, you have to begin with a clean plate. Preconceived notions and high expectations are a tell tale sign that you’re setting yourself up to fail. Projecting huge standards when you first order not only frightens your potential dish, but makes you anxious, especially if you’re not pleasantly surprised by what eventually gets put in front of you. Not to say you shouldn’t have standards of a quality meal. Everyone has things they can and cannot stomach, and you shouldn’t waver. Just because it’s something you’ve never tried, doesn’t mean you should belly up. If you’re willing to settle for grade F, so be it, but don’t compare it to Ruth's Chris, as you’ll definitely be disappointed. So, before you move on, clear the decks and dishes of any past meals you’ve not quite digested. It’s time for a new course, so have your palette clean.
Next, you must know the ingredients you are working with. For instance, if you start off with something that is bland, do not except it to magically spice up because you have entered the kitchen. You won’t suddenly wake up one day, having gone to bed with celery, and open your eyes to Cajun gumbo. People don’t magically change, no matter how masterful of a chef you are. And you shouldn’t expect them to. Sometimes you should just work with what you’ve got, or pack up your utensils and dine elsewhere. Having said that, you need to know what tastes good to you, what you crave, what will satisfy your taste-buds. All I’m saying is, if you’re in the mood for a filet mignon, don’t settle for a burger. Not to say snacking on something you’re not necessarily hungry for can’t be fun…hell, sometimes we eat for other reasons then hunger. But, if you’re looking for a main course, choose wisely and make sure it has the right seasoning. And garnish, for that matter. Because once ordered, to return it to the kitchen can be a disaster.
Another thing you must be on the look out for when delving into a new dish happens only after you’ve ordered. The undercooked dish. When first perusing the menu, you may find something that truly gets your mouth watering. You’re inspired even, cause you’ve been dining regularly for years and rarely found such a scrumptious delight. While reading the description, your mouth waters, you’re envisioning how tasty it will be, how fulfilled you’ll be once eaten. You order, and wait, munching on the appetizers they feed you to satisfy beforehand. These snacks often make you hungrier for the main course though, so don’t be fooled. Be cautious of how much you ingest before the real meal…it may give you a false sense of fulfillment. And when your main course is finally served, and you delve in, only to realize it’s not been cooked long enough, well, there’s no bigger disappointment. Sometimes meals aren’t meant to be served yet, and you’ve just interrupted the marinating process. Not only are you trying to gnaw on something raw, you’ll inevitably leave hungry. I suggest you send it back to the kitchen and order something else, or get the check. If it ain’t ready to be eaten, send it out to pasture.
Lastly, don’t ever, ever fake fullness. If the meal hasn’t satisfied, you should either never order it again, or try to talk to the chef about beefing up the portion. If you choose the latter, pick your words wisely, as chefs can be edgy about what they’ve prepared and may ask you not to dine again. IF that is the case, you must be ok with it, because that restaurant isn’t for you if your suggestions aren’t taken seriously. Everyone could use improvement, and unless you're just flat out picky, then compromise shouldn’t be unattainable. However, if upon re-visitation, you still leave hungry, I suggest you will loose much weight, and pride, if you continue to dine there. You ultimately know what will fill you, so why settle for a meager meal?
I hope I’ve shed some light on the dining process of dating…a metaphor I find highly effective and in my experience, extremely accurate. The cliché of a meat market really isn’t the point. It’s the do’s and don’ts of fine, and sometimes not so fine, dinning. Restaurants come and go, and you should try as many as it takes until you find the perfect main course. Order wisely, don’t be scared to try new things, and above all, be confident enough in yourself to send it back to the kitchen if it’s not working for you. Bon appetite.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Traveling Became Her
The suitcase lay half full on her bedroom floor, stuffed with her past trips and not quite full of her future. Why unpack? Traveling wasn’t a destination, but a constant, she needed it to propel her. Her bag lay agape, its tongue flapped open as if saying, “where to next?” Where to indeed. Sitting still didn’t sit well with her, didn’t fit her nature, and she became anxious when she stood still. How did she get here? Thinking back, she tried to pinpoint the exact date in time planning had consumed. They say you learn what you live, so maybe the lifestyle in which she was reared had turned her into this streak of going, going, gone. In all honesty, she loved it, and couldn’t imagine herself staying in one place too long. That night though, she found herself in between plans, with nothing consuming her evening, yet the door had just closed with her dusk. It wasn’t as if she feared aloneness, quite the opposite. Friends had always asked if loneliness consumed her, as she lived alone, did things on her own schedule, didn’t have a built in ear waiting to be filled upon key in door. But this was how she had built it. It was an active choice and she believed everyone had this option. Not to say she wasn’t envious of those who needed company, surrounded themselves with others. This want of contact hadn’t ever found her. It was this thought, this melody said perfectly by the Beatles song, Across the Universe, that settled with her that particular evening. “Nothings gonna change my world.” Not an absolute, but a way of life. Letting people in hadn’t ever been a problem. Her enthusiasm in general was coveted by most she came across. With so much to look forward to, so much to fill her days and evenings, she rarely seemed to want. Me thinks thou doth protest too much? Rarely, but still makes you wonder.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Getting the hang of it. Finally.
I’m going to try my hand at writing things down. I’m a writer, or so claim time and time again, hell, it’s what I spent four (and a half, dougggghhhh) years doing in college, so should have been writing all along. Life has gotten in the way. This is an excuse spewed out each time anyone’s asked, “what have you written lately?” Nothing. That’s what my true response should be. It would be the honest thing to say. But, that never crosses my lips. What I do say, to try and pacify the curious bystanders who want nothing more than to see I’ve not been wasting my words, well, I explain, with intricate detail, that I have in fact had no time, constantly on the move, packing my bags, out the door, dressing for the evening, day, week, next location. I’ve never been called out on it, except by the few other writers I’ve had the pleasure of collecting in my menagerie of friends. They call it like they see it, letting the air out of my over inflated tires. Busy shouldn’t be an excuse, but should feed the story and add to the inventory. I am (hopefully) done with the dishing of excuses. Writers write, right? So, I’m going to try and do just that. For myself, for the masses, for no one. And yes, I’m going to bug the crap out of you all to read it. So, you have that to look forward to. Look at me, here I am. Writing. Nothing. But, hey, it’s my first try at an organized collaborative. Give me a break.
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