Dagny's Empire

That's all she wrote

2008-11-08T07:30:00.000-08:00

There are times that I have questioned this all over the past year. I just don't have it in me anymore. Really. There's nothing left to share with the world at large. I delve into my brain, my heart for something new and there's -- nothing. Perhaps one day this will all return in some new incarnation but for now I'm content in walking away. (I wouldn't hold my breath waiting, though.) So much so that I wrote this post a week ago. I take that back. I wrote the first version of this back in September when I thought that my stepmother would die within a couple of weeks. I think it's the longest that I have let something marinate. And it still feels right. So much so that I have also spent the past week paring down my subscriptions in my blog reader as well. Baby steps. But this? This has to end.

Thank you for coming along for the ride. It's been real. And sometimes it was even fun.

Peace.

Off the couch for now

2008-11-01T19:40:00.000-07:00

So many thoughts in my head. Where to start? I am the queen of stream of consciousness though so let's just let it flow.

First of all, thank you to everyone for your comments. I just don't have the energy to respond to them individually like I usually do. Hell. Most of the day I thought that I did not have the energy to even write another post -- ever. But now I've remembered how writing it all down helps me to find my way back.

My stepmother's death was not unexpected. It's just that there is nothing that can ever prepare you for that moment. And I'm still hurting sooo much from the loss of my aunt. I mean it's only been a little over three months.

My other aunt told me this morning that the hospice folks have arranged for grief counseling for the family. She has signed my dad up. She insisted that I needed to go as well. I told her that I'd call the folks at Thrive on Monday. I mean I did already check into the whole thing back in May.

Mostly I'm trying to make sense of why I hurt so much. My stepmother and I had a rocky relationship most of the time. But it was getting better in recent years. And she's been a part of my life since I was 9.

But mostly I think that my pain comes from my father. I started grieving for her months ago. He's just starting. And he is in so much pain. He keeps saying that he's worried about me but I'm sure I'm more worried about him than he is about me. He's one of those guys who needs to have someone there. He doesn't have the nomadic soul that I do.

This evening was filled with phone calls to his best friend and his cousin. We're approaching the holiday season. Holidays in the past were at my dad's house. I think he needs to be somewhere else this year. We all do.

I called my mom earlier in the day to let her know. After she spoke with my dad, she called me. She said that my dad kept going on about how I was now his closest living relative. (For those of y'all new around here, I am an only child.) My mom told me that I need to get up to Sacramento immediately. It was pouring rain here all day though. I just couldn't pull it together enough to drive up there today. Perhaps tomorrow.

And my dad's in-laws are putting the pressure on. They want a Catholic service even though it's been years since my stepmother has set foot in a Catholic church.

Huh. Guess I was wrong. Most of the day I kept thinking that this is how this would all end -- the blog I mean. Because most of the day I kept thinking that I had nothing left in me. Nothing to write that is. I guess I still do.

Oh, and the weight loss has been going along swimmingly. Just not fast enough. I still can't fit into any of my black dresses. I think I'll be going out shopping for a body shaper in the next couple of days. That's easier than going shopping for a new dress.

And Fluffycat and Zombie Mom? We're still on for next Saturday. Even if I have to drive like a demon from Salinas. Because I think I'm going to need that night out by then.

But now I'm going to resume my fetal position on the couch.

It's done

2008-11-01T11:29:00.001-07:00

My stepmother passed away early this morning.

I know I've done something like this before...

2008-11-01T08:30:00.000-07:00

but I figured it wouldn't hurt to revisit it.

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Midland "You have a Midland accent" is just another way of saying "you don't have an accent." You probably are from the Midland (Pennsylvania, southern Ohio, southern Indiana, southern Illinois, and Missouri) but then for all we know you could be from Florida or Charleston or one of those big southern cities like Atlanta or Dallas. You have a good voice for TV and radio.
The West
Boston
North Central
The South
The Inland North
Philadelphia
The Northeast
What American accent do you have? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

I've always thought that I don't really have an accent. Makes mimicry that much easier.

And don't forget about the contest. The deadline for entries is 11:59 PM PST Thursday, November 6.

More iPhone fun

2008-10-31T07:00:00.000-07:00

So after spending those bucks on all the photo applications for my iPhone I decided to take them on a test run. As I pointed out to Marty, you can use these applications to take photos or to edit existing photos on your device.

I needed some other entertainment while watching TV over the weekend. Natasha was nearby, looking oh so cute. Voila! End of boredom. This is the original photo taken.

First I opened CameraBag. CameraBag simulates the styles of photos taken by various cameras. I settled on 1974 for this one.

For my second edit of the original photo, I used Picoli to add a sepia tone.

This last image is courtesy of Photogene. I adjusted the color levels and added a frame. If I was into making my own lolcats, I could even add dialog balloons with this app.

I think the 1972 courtesy of CameraBag is my favorite of the bunch.

Oh, and Natasha would like to wish y'all a safe and happy Halloween -- or Samhain as we call it over in our place.

Update: Thanks to a suggestion from Fluffycat, the contest is on. That's right. I am willing to part with one of my bags of Halloween Circus Animals. (I don't really need them anyway.)

"How do I get my hands on a bag of that yumminess?" you ask. Simple. Come up with a caption for Ms. Natasha. She will be selecting the winner. Because it's her world after all.

New to me

2008-10-30T07:15:00.000-07:00

This whole weight loss thing? Fairly new to me. And the idea of my losing weight right now? Well, I think that Jade and some of my coworkers summed it up best. "Why?" Actually it was that look that my "favorite pest" gave me as he walked into the midst of my conversation with a couple of female coworkers about weight loss yesterday. He looked me up and down several times like I had completely lost my mind.

Why? Because as I said previously, I camouflage exceedingly well. I haven't worn anything truly fitted since my mother asked me earlier this year when her grandchild was due. Because my build is from my dad's side of the family. And we gain the majority of our weight around the middle. Nowhere else.

My dad's older sister who has been staying with him since early September understands. The other day she announced to me that since she has been in California, she has gained 15 pounds. This aunt has always been the reminder to me of what can happen. She's probably about a size 12 or 14 these days -- thanks mostly to her midsection. Nowadays she doesn't wear dresses much but I remember when she still did. You'd see a size 12 dress hanging over some size 4 legs. And her legs seemed so tiny compared to the rest of her. I told my mother back then that I had no problem with gaining weight; I just wanted it to be proportionate. And since I know that it would not be, I vowed to fight it every step of the way.

My dad would be the tallest one in the first photo. Check out the gut. That's what I have been hiding under the loose clothing. And if you're saying to yourself, "That's not that bad," look at the lower part of the photo. Check out his legs. Do those legs go with the rest of him? I say not. Oh, and the other end of the photo? One brother hiding his gut behind another brother. And that brother, the one in blue, is the one I hope to be like. Because he is so chill. He goes through life without anything upsetting him. Except the death of his younger sister back in July. It was the only time I saw him lose it. I use this as a point of reference for folks. If my uncle who is so Zen loses it, then what do you expect from me? Reminds me that once I've pared down the stack of books to read, I really must get around to The Art of War.

But let's talk about the second photo now. The photo in which my dad kind of hides his gut with proper clothing selection. The one that makes me scream, "Why can't my stomach look like that now?" Because the photo was taken only eight years ago. And at this point in my life that feels like yesterday. Yes, in my mind I'd love to be that size again but I am now settling on five pounds heavier than that.

That said, I've never really had to try to lose weight. I mean I've tried to lose weight in the past, and was pretty successful at it, but I didn't need to back then. That was just my twisted mind at work. The mind that told me that at 5'10" and 120 pounds that I was fat. OK. Back then I had a modeling agent tell me that I could stand to lose about five pounds or so. When I was 21, I managed to get down to 110 pounds. As I pointed out in comments the other day, I'm currently somewhere between 135 and 140. So those of y'all who have met me try to imagine that. Because even though I was told that I was really thin in some of those photos I posted on my birthday, I wasn't that skinny.

Yesterday I remembered all of this. I have an obsessive personality. This is why I don't own a scale. If I did, I'd weigh myself at least twice a day. So years ago I gave up owning a scale and started to rely upon how my clothes felt, how I felt -- without the definition of a number.

I've been eating over these last few months because the other end of the spectrum is still frightening to me. I realized in wanting to drop ten pounds or so, this obsessive part of me has now kicked in. I am completely addicted to Calorie Count. Before I eat something, I now enter it into my food log to see what the calorie impact will be. (This is how I was able to substitute a cup of yogurt for some goat cheese yesterday.) I look each morning to see what the calorie count from the previous day was and tear it apart to see where I can eat less.

The first day of the log, Monday, I ate about 1700 calories. For Tuesday I was able to drop it down to 1500. Yesterday was a 1250 day. Yesterday was also the first day during which I actually felt hungry for a bit. But I'm good at ignoring that voice. Because until I started playing around with some of the other foods in my diet, I was starting to think that I would have to give up meat to reach that calorie level.

The other fun on Calorie Count is that they have a quiz to discover what kind of eater you are. Shocker. Apparently I am an emotional eater. Yes, I have an emotional connection with food. It's just that in years past, I would get upset and not eat. Thus the rapid weight loss.

All this week, I kept thinking that the idea of calorie control was foreign to me. Last night it dawned on me that it wasn't. At least since I was in high school, my mother has tried out a number of diets. When she was given choices, she would hand the reading material over to me. My job? Plan a week of meals that stuck to the guidelines yet gave her some variety. I realized that this is why it was so easy for me to know what I needed to eat during this week. I thought it was all new to me when in fact I'm an old hat.

So yes, I honestly believe in my mind that I need to drop a few pounds. I just need to be aware when my old habits start to come back -- the ones that told me that being skinny were worth any cost. Or I could just go out and invest in a body shaper and say, "Screw it all."

Oh and on a different note, since I'm up early enough to see those few moments during which MTV actually plays videos, I must admit that I am kind of addicted to this one. (Sorry. Would have embedded it if I could have.) "You say I'm crazy. I've got your crazy." Or "Lollipop. Must mistake me for a sucker."

I was told that I could listen to the radio at a reasonable volume

2008-10-29T07:00:00.000-07:00

Isn't it a thing of beauty? I think it is. If I ever leave my job, it's coming with me. Even if it doesn't work all that great.

My company occupies two locations. Currently these locations are across the street from one another. At first the bulk of my location was to be moving to the East Bay. And the other location, home of my former department? There was not enough office space to accommodate all of the folks who were supposed to be staying in San Francisco. So they were going to do a build out. In preparation for that, everyone became combined in one location.

This meant cleaning out of unused cubicles. That's how I came across this gem. When my former supervisor pulled it out of formerly unused drawer, I instantly claimed it as mine.

And of course, once we were all under one roof, the plan changed. Now we're all moving to the East Bay. In a matter of weeks. Woohoo!

I'm starting to think that perhaps I should start dating again, or something. Because should one be this excited over office supplies?

More changes

2008-10-28T07:00:00.000-07:00

That seems to be the theme of this year. I'm OK with the positive ones. And a lot of the positive has come out of the negative.

Now I'm sure that some of y'all have been scratching your heads wondering why you have not seen any dresses here. Because I've only looked at dresses online. Because I'm not sure what size I need at this time.

And it's been mostly that last one. Since my aunt's death I've put on at least five pounds. Zombie Mom will tell you that for someone my size that is a huge amount. So much so that over the last couple of weeks, the sweats I wear when hanging out at home are no longer comfortable. And in answer to Fluffycat who I know is thinking, "But I never see this weight she bemoans," I spent many years of my life wanting to be a designer. I am well versed in camouflaging flaws.

So yeah, I know that I am at the low end of normal. We've discussed this before. The thing is that this is not where my comfort is. Why? Because I know exactly where those five pounds are -- around my middle looking like a spare tire. And there's the health thing to consider. Because apparently folks with subcutaneous fat around their middle are more prone to diabetes. Kind of like my dad. Who is a diabetic. The man is 6'1" and weighs around 175. But he has a gut -- slighter now that his diabetes is under control. And part of hanging out with my dad on Saturday was asking him to test my blood sugar. I am proud to say that post-meal, it was a mere 92. Which fits into the idea that a doctor told me years ago -- that I'm borderline hypoglycemic.

But the layer of fat gnaws at me. I know that I should exercise more. But then I started looking at my eating habits as well. These last few months? I've been doing a great deal of emotional eating, for the first time ever in my life. Scratch that. I've done it before but just not for such a prolonged period of time.

In my mind I'd like to drop about ten pounds. In reality what I want is to drop a few inches from my waist. If I keep going at my current pace, my waist and bust measurements will be the same. Because while everything else spreads, the boobage does not. And that so is not cool.

The last time that I was still happy with my body was in 2002. So I started examining what was different then than from now. My average daily caloric intake was a great deal less than it is now. I also ate three meals a day plus healthy snacks. And so while I have a freezer full of food, I went out grocery shopping this weekend.

The idea is that I will start eating three meals a day once more -- ones high in fiber and fruits and veggies. Also higher in protein than carbs. Carbs should preferably be whole grain. That photo above? Monday night's dinner. At first I thought that would not be filling enough and that I might have to supplement it with a salad. I had forgotten how starting off one's day with oatmeal can be rather filling. I only ate half of the steak as well. The yogurt that was supposed to be a part of breakfast and the apple I had for a snack? Those became dessert because I just didn't have room for them during the day.

If I can stick with this for a month or so, then I should be able to wear the majority of my existing wardrobe with no problem. And by this time I will have come up with a plan to increase my activity level on a consistent basis.

Because yeah, even us skinny chicks have body image issues.

Cross one off the list

2008-10-26T12:55:00.000-07:00

Friday night I was going to head up to Sacramento. But after a long day at work and this yumminess from Poulet, I felt the need for a power nap. Unfortunately my nap ended up being much longer than I had planned so I didn't head out until early Saturday morning.

After visiting with my stepmother (While conscious and somewhat alert, she had great difficulty opening her eyes.), I headed over to Old Sac with my dad and his older sister for lunch. I don't think I've been there since I was 18 or so. Definitely not since when my stepbrother was killed in the area. Oh yeah. There was that one party at the railroad museum but we usually don't head into the area much these days.

My cousin, one of the birthday girls, stated upon our arrival at the restaurant, "But I thought we were going to see a boat." We explained to her that we were on the boat. The look of utter awe on her face -- priceless. She then kept telling anyone who asked that she is now four. Ummmm. Not til next year, honey.

Some more visiting with my dad and aunt after lunch during which I learned that my aunt has once more extended her stay. (She was supposed to be leaving on Friday.) Thank goodness.

Back in September I made three lists of trips I wanted to take -- day trips, weekend trips and trips requiring more time than a single weekend. And so I ended Saturday with being able to cross one of those items off the list.

I had mentioned to Fluffycat some of the items on my list back then. Turns out that one was in her area -- and she had never been as well. She then realized that the place was probably doing something special for Halloween. And so that's how we ended up at the Winchester Mystery House for their flashlight tour.

Of course, no conversation about that place is complete without a discussion of eccentricity. As I pointed out to Fluffycat, one usually has a great deal of money in order to be categorized as being "eccentric" or "quirky." No money? Then you're just downright crazy.

Yes, I know the photos are a bit dark. It was flashlight tour, remember? And I'm too lazy right now to do anything about the lighting. But I will tell y'all this. There were many beautiful features in the house along with the ~~crazy~~ eccentricity.

And speaking of flashlights, we got to keep our souvenir flashlights. I bet you're jealous, aren't you?

The tour dumps you off into the gift shop. Actually you start there as well. Fluffycat commented on how many of the gifts seemed to be alcohol related. (I seem to recall that she has promised me a set of the lovely pink wine glasses as a gift. I promised her a set of the Reagan and Bush pens.) You know what goes perfectly with alcohol? Firearms.

So we headed over to the firearm museum. Where there were plenty of rifles.

But there were revolvers as well. See that beauty on the lower right? Ladies, small enough to fit in the smallest of clutch bags. Fluffycat commented that it didn't look like it could do much damage but then we agreed it was probably more a way to say, "You're annoying me. Go away."

Yes, my day was quite full but also quite enjoyable. The only question is where next. But not today. Today is filled with exciting things like laundry and grocery shopping.

Hubby

2008-10-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, I used to post a quiz every Saturday. Perhaps it's time to bring that back. I found this one over at Cursing Mama's. Enjoy.

Your result for The Harry Potter Husband Test...

Mrs. Weasley Twin

Your perfect HP man is Fred and/or George Weasley.

Laughter is important to you. You want a guy who's never boring, who can always put a smile on your face, and who can pull the best of pranks and never get caught. Or possibly two such guys. Because let's face it, they're pretty much a two-fer. You get one, you get both. Even if one of them's only a friend, he'll still be around so much you'll feel like you're married to him, too. Sure, they may not seem like the most mature guys in the world, in a traditional sense, but just ask them about their business plan. When they drive you nuts by relentlessly testing their latest inventions on you, you can console youself with that huge stack of cash and dragon-leather jacket. Besides, you know you're powerless against those stereo smiles.

Take The Harry Potter Husband Test at HelloQuizzy

iPhone addict

2008-10-24T00:20:00.000-07:00

When I first got my iPhone, I told myself that I would be content with downloading just the free app's. Then something happened that made me pay for one. Slippery slope. Next thing you know, I was downloading all of the recommended photo app's -- recommended on the site iPhone Atlas. And they were right. These app's totally kick butt.

But right now I'm addicted to Photoboard. Natasha asked why she is not the subject. I mentioned her Greta Garbo tendencies. I think she's onboard now. Boris is thinking that he should go on a diet after being confronted with images of a more svelte him.

Yo slut

2008-10-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

It all started in eighth grade. I cannot recall what exactly I said, but Jade responded with, "You are such a slut." I told her that if I was a slut, then she was a bitch. And thus our nicknames for one another were born. (Now before you get all in a tizzy, let me point out that I was the girl who could count how many dates she had in high school on one hand.)

I remember party hopping one Friday night my junior year of college. I was hanging on the balcony when I saw Jade and her roommate walking past.

"Yo bitch!"

"Hey slut! What's up?"

"Cool party. You should head on up."

While she was heading up to the party, one of the guys standing near me asked if he could use the nicknames.

"Have you known us since you were seven? Nope? Then you'd probably get your ass kicked for using them."

I guess when we graduated from college, we decided that we were too grownup to continue using the names. La Nicoya and I are known to start a phone conversation with, "Hey hooker. What's up?" though.

Where is this all leading, you ask? Well, Hilly was kind enough to share this item from Miss Britt. So thinking about Halloween costumes got me thinking about all of this.

Halloween is one of my fave holidays. The past few years, things have gotten a little crazy on the party scene, though, and it has become one of those holidays that I spend at home.

When I first started college, I discovered that it was perfectly acceptable to dress slutty on Halloween. Hell that first Halloween, a group of my friends went as a pimp and his hookers. Of course, over time slutty just became my everyday look. Halloween was slutty with a theme.

I used to sew quite a bit. That means that I generally made my own costumes. It started with the slutty angel. I made the French maid costume out of gold polka-dotted white satin. Add wings and a halo with gold sequin trim and a pair of white fishnets with white pumps. Yep, all kinds of sparkly sluttiness. I wore it to the Castro. There was a guy there wearing nothing but a g-string. I kid you not. I felt like I had too many clothes on.

Other past favorites were the slutty Bo Peep and the slutty Red Riding Hood. I like costumes with accessories. The Red Riding Hood basket? Stocked with candy, tequila and condoms. I'm starting to think that I stopped dressing up for Halloween because I got stuck on which fairytale character to do next.

On a final note, I have always been cool with slutty but skank? May I remind you of those oh so great words of Jade's. "It's OK to look like a ho. Just don't look like a tacky one."

I'm not going to give you a post now...

2008-10-21T23:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight I had a long conversation with one of my mother's younger sisters. Up until this conversation, I thought I had nothing to say. The difference of one conversation.

My aunt has been actively campaigning for Obama. (We won't mention my other aunt. She thinks that Dubya walks on water. As such, she is a McCain supporter. From what I gather, abortion is a huge issue for her. Just as it was when she chose to have one. Before she was saved.) Many of our conversations center around politics. My aunt said that my mother might need to get a room ready for her in Mexico. Just in case.

We also talked about our individual relationships to my mom. My aunt laughed hysterically when I told her about the events on Sunday. Why? "It's not just me." We then spoke about the things I had thought that I had told her earlier -- the things that would prove it was not just her. We all fall under my mother's wrath. Until the day upon which my mother realizes that she too could benefit from therapy. But I'm not holding my breath for that realization.

And so yeah, I'm a little stressed out right now. My thoughts are jumbled. I switch from my aunt's death to my stepmother's impending death to the racist crap that some members of the Republican party are pulling. (I said "some members." That does not mean all Republicans.)

And I sit here broken-hearted in too many ways to count. I mourn for my family and my country. And at times, right now, I am ready to be done with both.

Ha!

2008-10-20T15:45:00.000-07:00

Eat your hearts out, beyotches! That's right. I have four bags. But two of them are going to the Zombie household.

And then it all went downhill

2008-10-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

Eggs Louie

This weekend was in many ways supposed to be a mom weekend. Right now a whole weekend of my mother can be rather trying. I spent days trying to get myself ready for it all emotionally. I failed.

Yesterday was not originally supposed to be about my mom. I had hoped to go to Sacramento. But my mom has always been jealous of my stepmother. She would never understand how I could cancel out on doing something that I had previously promised that I would do for her so that I could go see my stepmother. And more importantly, to see my dad. Because in the past when I have had to cancel out on my mom, I get to hear her say in a petulant voice, "But you promised..."

I had planned on taking care of all of my mom's crap last weekend. Thing is that I wasn't feeling well last weekend. I tried to explain this to my mother when I showed up. Her response was, "Have you felt this way for days? Well, you showed up to work and you didn't complain to them so I don't want to hear it." She then offered to take me to Thrive! but I told her that I wasn't sick enough for a doctor's; I just needed bed rest. She basically told me to suck it up. The second time we got into this conversation, I walked and went back home to bed. But I felt bad about not taking care of her whole list so I went back yesterday.

Yesterday was also combined as a movie outing. We went to see The Secret Life of Bees. I read the book years ago and had forgotten just how many sad moments there were in the story. I probably spent at least half the movie in some sort of tears. But at least I didn't walk away from it saying to myself, "This is such a letdown from the book." I think overall it stayed pretty true to the book. My mom was slightly peeved with me for not warning her how sad the story is. My response was, "But I brought you extra napkins from the snack bar."

This morning I got up at what is ass crack of dawn for me on a Sunday -- 9 AM. Why? Because Zombie Mom was running the Nike half-marathon in San Francisco. There was no way possible that I could be up early enough to cheer her on at the various points along the race but I knew that I could meet her and the rest of the Zombie family for brunch after the race. Also meeting her at the finish line would have meant that I would have to drive. Today my car could not move. More about that later.

The photo above is of my brunch selection over at Stacks in Hayes Valley. Not only did I get up at ass crack of dawn, but I did some walking as well. I was about to include the walk to the Berkeley BART station but that's only four blocks away -- in case you potential stalkers are interested. Fastest way to Hayes Valley on PT? Get off BART at Civic Center and hoof it the rest of the way. I did this without the aid of caffeine.

Seeing Zombie Mom flashing her Tiffany's bling? Hello? You get a pendant from Tiffany's for completing? Almost enough to get my lazy ass up and running. Key word here is "almost." Because while I love that little blue box, there are limits.

But most importantly, I got to see my favorite parts of the Zombie family -- the Commander and Lala. (Sorry about that Zombie Mom.) Because I have come to realize that through all of the crap over the last few months, those two are a large part of what has kept me tethered in the here and now. I love them because I realize that if I had kids, they would be like them. I also don't have kids because I realize that they would be just like them.

Then it was time to head back to Berkeley. I met this wonderful gay couple from Austin at the BART station in San Francisco. We helped this woman navigate her way through the system. Once we were finally on a Richmond train, I told them that I had been fascinated by Austin for years. A friend from undergrad -- OK. So he was a major crush -- had ended up there. He told me at the time that Austin was like Berkeley in the middle of Texas. The couple told me that in Austin, they always like to compare themselves to San Francisco but that Berkeley was probably the more apt comparison. They also bemoaned the gentrification of Austin. It's driving all the quirkiness out of the city. And that offbeat kind of vibe? That's what makes cities like Berkeley and Austin what they are.

So I stepped off the train to start part two of the mom weekend. Because today was The Spice of Life Festival. I have never missed this festival since moving to Berkeley. The first year, I attended it alone. Every year since then, my mother has been in attendance. Not that I necessarily wanted her to be.

My mother's worst traits come out at street fairs. "They want how much for this item? The food is crap. The music is crap." But I have heard this every year so in some ways I was prepared.

I met my mother at the BART station and we began our trek. I kept waiting for her to tell me how much she hates my hair worn in this way but then I remembered she had already told me that last weekend. It's all about tearing me down. Don't say that to her though. She will tell you how she had been nothing but supportive of me. And in some ways, she has been.

So we started our way through the fair. The food was overpriced. The Obama t-shirt, at $20, was overpriced. This after she complained about the long walk from the downtown Berkeley BART station to the fair. (Number one. I live north of the BART station but I met her there. Number two. The walk from the start of the fair was no more than seven blocks. My mother is just a suburbanite who just needs to suck it up.)

We finally found food that was a value in my mom's eyes. She then started to mention that it would be nice to sit down. I found her a table and then said that I was off to search for food for myself. Specifically potato puffs from Gregoire. After checking the last few stands that I had not previously, I headed to Gregoire. Right after I placed my order, I realized that perhaps there was a slight fiasco. But my mother was more than a block away enjoying her food so I stayed. And I waited. Once I had potato puffs in hand, I headed to a stand for the lemonade my mother had requested.

Upon returning to the table, my mother was nowhere to be seen. She is also too cheap to carry a cellphone. (Actually she's too cheap for a lot of things but is really big on telling you about how poor she is.) So I sat down at the table to wait for her return. In between, I called Zombie Mom. I just knew that my mother would be pissed off with me when she returned. I was right.

After I had been at the table for about 15 minutes, my mother showed up. And then screamed out, "Where have you been?" I said, "Getting food -- and your drink." She didn't like the tone of my answer and so said, "I don't need to put up with your sass." In my mind, I thought, "Kiss mine, bitch." Instead I answered with telling her about waiting for her at the table at which I had last seen her. And apparently all my responses were disrespectful, so I said, "I am sorry for not catering to you every second of the day today." (Ummm. I told y'all that I can get real bitchy at times.) And then she said some crap back and I said, "Next time I'll be sure to check in with you beforehand so that you can plan each second of the day." That was me being nice. I had wanted to add, "This is why no one else wants to do anything with you." Which would have been true but really hurtful.

My mother's response was to walk off but not before asking for the phone. I shit you not. Once I got my iPhone, my mother has been bugging me about what I was going to do with my old phone. She kept telling me how I should give it to her. And this is one of the other things that pisses me off as far as my mother is concerned. I get something -- either through my work or my father -- and she feels like she has earned a piece of it all. It is my obligation to share with her -- and no one else. I briefly thought about telling her, "Hell no," as far as the phone is concerned but then I decided that I am the bigger person and gave it to her. (There is still a part of me that thinks that I have "sucker" written on my forehead.) A minute later after storming off, my mother returned to ask if I still would buy the Bed, Bath & Beyond gift cards off of her. I pulled out the cash and took the cards. I then told her that the stuff she wanted me to come to Pacifica tomorrow for? Leave that stuff at her house. I don't need to see my mom anymore this trip.

After my mom left the fair, I was in such a foul mood that I didn't want to be there. I was blocks from home so I went there. And along the walk, I fought back the tears. Because when I'm really mad, I cry. Once home, I started making phone calls. But no one was available. Except for that one person. And so in desperation, I called my dad. Because there was no one else.

And so my dad and I talked about how bad things are with my stepmother. And how he's just dealing. And then we talked about my mother. How she is so obviously lonely. And how that's all about her and not us.

My dad started talking the steps. How we should not care about those things over which we have no power. Instead we should concentrate our energy on those things we can change. And also realizing that we cannot change others.

And this is why I love my father. Even when I know that he is dealing with pain beyond his imagining, he can still find it in himself to point me in the right direction.

Even though my father's words did a great deal, I am still trying to pick myself up form the place in which I was left after my interactions with my mother. Because since walking away from her, I have found myself crying. Thank goodness she's going back to Mexico on Tuesday.

But now she's crawling back in. Just as I was ready to post this, I listened to a voicemail that my mom left. A family friend has had a heart attack and is in the hospital. When will it all end? Because just when I think that I have nothing left it me, something else happens.

When hormones attack

2008-10-16T22:15:00.000-07:00

Fried mozzarella with mixed greens and proscuitto

What have I had from my freezer this week? If you answered, "Ice cubes," then you are quite correct. Nothing else has left the freezer.

At the beginning of the week, it was, "Gee. You really should have more vegetables. Let's stop at the store for salad fixings." So a few days of Cobb salads led me to this place.

This afternoon at work, I had decided to go to Gregoire's. I was going to try out their version of the pork and quince. Then this really small voice in my head said that I should eat was already at home. *grumble, grumble* The hormones said, "Let's look at Epicurious." And gosh, wouldn't you know that one of their featured slide shows was of comfort foods. Evil people.

You know that once the hormones saw the fried cheese it was all over. "Look! It's cheese! And it's breaded and fried!!! Could there be a more perfect food?"

Ummm. Yeah. A small wheel of Camembert placed in an egg white wash and dredged in Parmesan. Then fry that sucker up. Yes, I really used to do this. Throw some chopped scallions on it and slice up a baguette. Luckily I did not think about this until I reached home. Otherwise, the hormones would have been demanding this as well. They're pretty pushy, those hormones.

So the hormones and I headed to Berkeley Bowl when I got off work. And there were no bunches of arugula. None at all. The hormones almost burst into tears right there in the middle of the produce section. I assured them that we would improvise with some mixed greens. They decided that the mixed greens were just fine. They just thought that the arugula bunches would have been cuter. Whatever.

Corn cream soup

And if you know me, you know I like to multitask. Why go into the kitchen unless you're going to have a few pots going? Love this soup. Hated having to go to two different stores to look for dried corn. I also dislike any recipe that says "strain out solids" even though I know that I will like the end results.

Once more the hormones had a say here. It was not enough that there were dairy products involved. Noooo. The hormones said, "We're not really in the mood for shrimp. And look? It says that you can use crab. We'd really like some crab." And I responded, "You idiots. Do you realize that it is not crab season around here?" When we hit the seafood counter in Berkeley Bowl, they ended up winning out. Because not only did Berkeley Bowl have Dungeness crab meat, they had Chesapeake lump meat. And the blue crab meat was half the price of the Dungeness. So I told the hormones they could have a half pound. The guy behind the counter asked if I was making crab cakes. "Nope. Soup." And then the hormones made me go to the meat counter to get a pound of applewood smoked bacon. It took a lot of convincing on my part to convince them that we could not put both the crab and the bacon in the soup.

So now the hormones are quite content. For today. And please don't mention to them that I forgot to take the chives out of the fridge for the soup. Please. I fear them more than I fear Natasha.

The kitchen is sort of closed

2008-10-14T21:20:00.000-07:00

No new food here for some time. I need to work my way through the things I have accumulated in the freezer over the last couple of weeks.

I tried to put this off on Monday by heading to Poulet for the Basque chicken. Alas, they were closed due to the holiday. How dare they?

But this was the sight I caught on my way home so I guess the outing was worthwhile.

And now I'm going to go out on a limb. There is a post that I actually meant to publish today about privilege. But then I decided that I'd probably catch a lot of crap for it and I'm really not in the mood.* The thoughts started a couple of weeks ago when folks were reacting to the Tim Rice piece that was being circulated via email. I noticed that while many of the folks who wrote posts about the piece understood it, there were quite a few commenters out there who just didn't. And yeah, I got pissed off. So instead of that post, I ask you to click on the link. I ask you to re-read the section on "The Persistence of White Privilege." Notice what Zetzer says about achieving change? It's about open dialogue. Hmmm. I vaguely remember saying something about that in the past year or so.

Also pay special attention to the section about wealth. This Wikipedia explanation is pretty on-point, although I do question the deletion of the stuff on housing. OK. So it's clearly discriminatory behavior. And I guess the link would be that it is due to privilege that realtors feel comfortable in engaging in this kind of behavior. Also I highly suggest that you check out the References and Suggested Reading at the bottom of the page. Perhaps after reading this you can understand why slavery enters the conversation so often. If a group of people are denied ownership, then there is no way that they can acquire wealth. And guess what? Most standardized tests do not measure a student's knowledge of a subject but the wealth of their parents. Yep, there is a direct correlation between wealth of parents and how a child performs on a standardized test. Now apply that fact to what we know about wealth distribution in this country.

Read a good portion of this and then you can have a conversation with me about what privilege is. Because this is a topic upon which I feel like Heather does about politics. I have spent way too many academic hours engrossed in this topic and it used to be part of my professional life. As a result, I may know more than other folks because I have read a lot of the writings in the area. So all I ask of y'all is that if you're going to write about a topic such as this, do your research first. Don't just base it on the one thing that you have read. Do the research.

Hell. My mother sent me an anti-McCain email tonight. I don't believe I have ever said on this blog how I plan to vote but I think I have made my political leanings pretty clear. While the email was compelling, I felt the need to do some fact-checking. What I found was that the alleged source of the email denied ever writing it. And so I did not forward it. If I do not have supporting evidence that something is true, then I will not pass it along. I think it's called having principles. And then I emailed my mother the details of the questionable provenance.

Oh dear. I just realized that I have written that post after all so I may as just keep going. This was really supposed to be about telling you to check this post out. But whatever.

So how did I become such an uppity bitch? My father's paternal grandfather somehow got his hands on 500 acres in Alabama. We still haven't figured that one out. My grandfather bought out his siblings upon their father's death and expanded the farm to almost 1800 acres during my grandfather's lifetime. It gave him the ability to send all ten of his children to college, if they wanted to go. All this while year after year, he took the tests to prove his fitness to vote -- and passed them every time -- only to be told that he could not vote. (It is for this reason that I vote in every election.) So yes, my family has wealth but a lot of my folks don't.

I have a small retirement fund. I rent an apartment. These are not necessarily signs of wealth. Of course, when certain family members die, I will suddenly find myself quite wealthy. I'm just not now. And so I can feel for folks who aren't. The folks on my mother's side? Far from wealthy. Many of them are just getting by. And this is why I can understand.

I just think that if we can't have these conversations, then we are fucked as a society. And if that's the case, then I'm out of here. I've already told my mother to get my room ready at the house in Mexico (Much easier to enter than Canada if you are fleeing. Or so I've been told.) because I might just have to move there. And you know that things have to be pretty bad here if I would seriously consider living under the same roof with my mother once more.

So let your indignant comments fly. Because the rule on my blog is that everyone can be heard. Except the spammers. Those are the only comments I delete. Because if we're going to have a conversation, then we all need to be heard. But the spammers don't count because they are clearly not a part of the conversation. And they're a rarity around here. I think I've only had to delete two comments at most as a result of spammers. Just so y'all know what kind of principles I hold.

*Death Watch 2008. My stepmother is now completely bed-ridden. She no longer has the muscle control to sit up. She is bloated and when conscious, hallucinates a great deal. I keep trying to make plans but I also know that they need to be fluid. The end is around the corner. May I never again have to experience the slow deterioration of someone about whom I care.

Death of an icon

2008-10-13T19:25:00.000-07:00

Some of my childhood favorites. I'm still in search of the Circus Cookies. *

I was horrified last Thursday when I learned that Mother's Cookies had filed bankruptcy. Even worse is the image one gets when going to their website -- a white plate with some crumbs on it.

Mother's started in Oakland. Even when operations moved out of the area, for many of us in the Bay, they were still a Bay Area company.

The loss of Mother's? Almost like the loss of one's own mother. Especially if you have a mom like mine. "I have a job. I don't have time to bake cupcakes and cookies. Let the other moms be room mothers." As you see, I am still scarred by this.

My mom? A huge addict of the oatmeal cookies. And she would keep them on top of the fridge or in a high cabinet. I guess she was trying to keep them out of my reach. Yeah. Right. I had skills. Around age six or so, I learned how to pull myself up onto the counter so that I could get to the things I wasn't supposed to have. This usually occurred in the early morning hours of Saturdays when my parents were sleeping in.

This method was also helpful in getting the prize out of the cereal box. Climb up and find the box as well as a large bowl. Dump the cereal out into the bowl until the prize is visible. Retrieve the prize and dump the cereal back into the box. Act surprised later upon reaching the end of the box that the prize has not shown up.

I engaged in these tactics some years later as well. Toward the end of elementary school, my father went on a tour of the Mother's factory as a part of his job. He came home with a jumbo box variety pack of their wares. There were enough cookies in there to last the average kid at least a month. My mother placed the box on top of the fridge. Foolish misguided woman.

I learned from my dad at this time that they also conducted class tours for students. What?! I had never heard of this field trip. Needless to say, I was never able to convince a teacher that this was a very necessary field trip. And by the time that I was teaching, operations had moved out of the area.

When I first learned last Thursday that Mother's had shut down, I went to tell the receptionist at work. She bemoaned the oatmeal cookies. I told her that the folks at SFist mentioned leaving the package open "accidentally" so that the cookies would get ~~stale~~ soft. She looked at me and exclaimed, "I thought that I was the only one who did that." Nope.

I meant to go pick some cookies up on Thursday but didn't remember until I got home. I decided that Friday was soon enough. The oatmeal cookies were nearly gone. I had to search hard for those. And then while I was being rung up, this guy walking into the store said, "You'd better enjoy those while you can." I explained to him that I knew about the bankruptcy and that was why I was buying the cookies. He then asked where he could find the cookies in the store.

Saturday I was out with my mom. (And I got a reminder of why I think she is such a bitch most of the time I was with her. It is a small miracle that I am not in jail currently.) We ended up in a Target and she decided to look for cookies. The cashier asked her if she knew about the bankruptcy. And then the cashier started to share what her favorite flavors were.

I don't know how it is anywhere else but everyone here in the Bay Area has their favorite. That has been the common thread. And also the feeling of the death of part of one's childhood. Because I have yet to meet anyone who grew up in Bay Area for whom Mother's cookies were not a part of their lives. It's almost like saying that there will be no more air or water.

* If I don't find the Circus Cookies, I can always get this item.

The Bon Appetit Test Kitchen -- Part 2

2008-10-12T14:20:00.000-07:00

Pomegranate-marinated lamb with spices and couscous

I love lamb. I really love lamb. Therefore, I had yet another recipe to try. And as my aunt in Savannah pointed out, the cool thing about this recipe is that it uses one of the less expensive cuts of lamb.

Now the challenge of the recipe is that it calls for pomegranate molasses. But I was going to Berkeley Bowl Tuesday night. On my way to the produce section, I stopped on the baking aisle. (I knew that this is where I found the molasses for the pineapple upside-down pumpkin gingerbread.) There in the midst of all the other molasses bottles was one lone bottle of pomegranate molasses. I took it as a sign and after dropping it into my basket moved on to the produce section. I discovered that it is rather sweet. Almost too sweet for my tastes. But I loved all the spices in the lamb. Hmmm.

Fall to me means pomegranate. And apples. And pumpkins. Hmmmm. Maybe I should look for a recipe that incorporates all three next...

I'm starting to think that I may be in need of a 12-step program.

Porn pause

2008-10-10T11:00:00.000-07:00

I had meant to post more food today. Then I got home last night and said, "Fuck it." I poured myself a glass of wine, dished out the short ribs, and kicked my feet up while I caught up on some of the stuff on the DVR.

But I do have a question for y'all. In all the family crap, I forgot about one thing. My dad has a great deal of social obligations. A couple of weeks ago, his older sister accompanied him to a formal event. When I was talking to my dad yesterday evening, he mentioned the holiday party that one of the organizations to which he belongs. Apparently I have been commanded to attend. And the event is black-tie.

I currently own only two formals in my closet. And I hate them both. Besides they might not fit now. I need to shop for a new one. But where? My mom says that I should mention to my dad that I need a new dress so that he will pay for it. It's how she got her mink coat. (And no, Neil, this makes me fortunate. Not privileged. But there will be a post on this topic next week. Unless I change my mind.) So perhaps I can spend a bit out of my normal comfort range.

I'd love to hear from y'all -- especially the local folks -- about where I should go to look for a dress. Or about some designer you totally love. I only wish he had told me this before Carolina Herrera was on sale on Gilt Groupe a couple of weeks ago. That's OK. One day I will own a Carolina Herrera. And maybe that helps y'all with my style.

The Bon Appetit Test Kitchen -- Part 1

2008-10-09T07:30:00.000-07:00

Day one

Day two of Braised Short Ribs

I was going to stop cooking. Really. But then I received the November issue of "Bon Appetit" on Monday. I swear I'm going to quit just not now. No, really I swear I will. Soon.

I love braising stuff. This was another one of those multi-day dishes so I started it off on Tuesday. That's right on Tuesday, I managed to start this right before cooking up the mahi-mahi for dinner. All within an hour and a half. (There were at least another couple of food related tasks as well.)

How? When I am preparing multiple recipes simultaneously, I make a timeline in my mind. I msde a couple of other items, the end result of which you will see later this week. I put the mahi-mahi into the marinade. Next I started the short ribs. Once these were ready for the oven, I started cooking the fish. The fish required a higher oven temperature than the ribs did so as soon as the fish was done, I lowered the oven temperature. Once I finished eating, I figured that the oven had dropped enough and so the ribs went in.

By the time the ribs came out of the oven, the meat was coming off the bone on some of the ribs. This looked very promising. By the time they came out the second day, they looked more than promising. And what I tasted? Convinced me that this needs to be a part of my regular rotation of recipes.

And in case the food didn't appeal to you, I've thrown in a couple of photos of the Supermodel...

Pretending that it's still summer

2008-10-08T11:00:00.000-07:00

Pan-seared mahi-mahi with oranges and olives

It was easy to do it yesterday since, once the fog cleared, it was actually a pretty warm day.

Mahi-mahi is one of my favorite fish. I can almost never pass up a recipe that features it. Plus I was curious about the combination of olives and oranges. And somehow they worked well together. Maybe it was the shallots and the saffron. Oh, and have I mentioned that if you ask the cashiers at Berkeley Bowl for saffron that they have a secret stash at the register? A whole half gram. For what seems like pennies. When I ask for it, I feel like I'm making a major deal.

Pssst. You have any saffron in?
You do? I'm going to need a half gram.
Really?
You take checks?
Sweet.
When's the next shipment coming in?
I'll be back.

Now I have another way to prepare mahi-mahi next summer.

Sometimes she's a royal bitch

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

... and sometimes she's actually a nice person.

A little over a week ago, I was chillin' at Zoomie's. Cookiecrumb told me that no matter what I say about my mother here that she got the feeling that I actually like the woman.

This past weekend my mom was blowing up my phone -- to the point that I was calling her very name in the book as I watched the phone ring -- but I really wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. Really. I don't think I made a single phone call -- except to return a couple of my mother's calls -- from Friday night until Monday morning.

When I spoke to my mother on Monday evening, she said that I seemed to be in a better mood than I was on Saturday. I explained to her that I just didn't want to talk to anyone else. It's what sometimes helps me to get through the rest of the week.

And then we got to talking about grief. She said that she had been trying to spend the last five years preparing me for my aunt's eventual death. I told her that there's no amount of preparation that can make one ready for the reality.

We talked about letting go. My mother admitted that my aunt's name is still in her email address book. I told her that my aunt is still in both my email address book as well as on my cellphone. When I see the listings, I think that perhaps I should delete them. But I can't. Not yet. Of course, it doesn't help that sometimes I am a heartbeat away from calling her because I've thought of something I want to share with her. Still. How long does this take?

My mother started talking about her maternal grandmother. Her grandparents lived with my mom's family when she was growing up. Her grandmother died when she was about 14. And there was a huge hole left in my mom's life. She shared with me that she was still crying over her grandmother's death a year later. She said that she's always known that I was just as close to my aunt as she was to her grandmother. She knew how much this would all hurt. She also told me that it's OK to cry, for what may appear to others for no reason at all. That I'm just going to have to do it.

My mom said that whenever I think of one of the things I would have done with my aunt, I should go out and do it. That's how we got to be talking about how I was mad with some of my friends. She told me that these friends had been through too much with me for me to just walk away. I owed them an explanation -- especially since they probably had no clue that I was mad at them.

Shortly after hanging up the phone with my mom, I sent off an email to Jade and Emerald. I explained that I was mad because having people follow through on commitments to plans is kind of important to me right now. I also talked about how the weekend before my aunt died we had promised that this year we were definitely going to go out once a month. The idea was to try a new restaurant each time. When I planned the girls' night back in August, I thought of it as carrying on this idea.

This morning I received a response from Jade. She reminded me that I have always been her closest friend. She also admired my courage in being so honest. She finally said that she was going to try to make more effort because she realized that lately she had been so wrapped up in her kids that she hadn't been doing anything for herself.

So last night I learned that if I am willing to hear my mom rehash all the crap that I have heard ad nauseum, then she will actually listen to me. I know that a lot of our clashes come from the fact that we are too much alike. Too strong-willed, stubborn. And I guess that's why I haven't given up on her completely. Because every now and then she actually is the mom that I need.

Back to the porn

2008-10-06T18:50:00.000-07:00

Basque chicken with scallop potato

Tonight after running a couple of errands, I headed on over to my folks at Poulet. Just like Gregoire's, their menu last month wasn't that appealing. But this month? Tasty.

Sometimes I select wines by the cuteness of the label.

And have I mentioned that they sell wine? To go? Unlike Gregoire that only sells non-alcoholic beverages thus necessitating a trip down the block to Astronomico's. And my fave wine steward apparently isn't there anymore because there are no longer "Recommended by" tags with her name on the shelf.

Plum tart

I enjoy baking but I eat very little of the things I bake. I love buying stuff made by others though. That's one of the joys of going to Poulet and Gregoire.

I must admit that at times like these, I do feel a tad guilty. One of my coworkers told me today that she is probably going to lose her house in the next few months. She's been there for 25 years. She just made the mistake of trying to start a business and financing it with a second on her house. My mother -- so wise in things financial to some extent and so maddening in so many other ways -- has always told me that one should never finance one's business with one's home. If the business fails, you don't want to lose everything.

But see, I've never been able to afford to buy a home here in the Bay Area -- at least not anywhere that I really want to live. And so right now, I'm quite content with my rent-controlled apartment. That allows me the little splurges in life. Like Gregoire, Poulet, and Kate Spade.

Reminiscing

2008-10-06T08:55:00.000-07:00

The summer that I regained my senses and decided that I didn't want to be a lawyer, this was the theme song for me and my girls. Perhaps it is still one of my theme songs.

Probably because I grew up with Janet. And she's only about a month older than I. And she's still one of the hottest women out there. She reminds me that even though I am in my 40s, I can still be hot. Just like Madonna at 50 does. And Susan Sarandon in her 60s. When I hit my 60s, I want legs like Tina, a face like Leena, and the social consciousness of Susan Sarandon.

What we got from that song was that certain kind of swagger. (I had had before the song came out but then lost it along the way. Some bad relationships that made me question myself.) It's the walk of someone who knows that they own whatever place into which they are walking.

Sure the song is about some guy but it could be so many other things. Like that job you really want. Because somewhere along the way I learned how to put on the mask. How to act utterly confident even though my knees were knocking. (In days of old, the knee thing would be a figurative thing since they were in plain view due to my really short skirts.)

To me the song became about claiming the things that you wanted out of life. And not being afraid to say it -- even if in veiled references. Because let's get real. Sometimes if you state your true intentions, there are others who are more than ready to step in your way.

Oh, and to make things clear, I have never purposefully taken some other woman's man. In the early days of my college years, guys would ask me out and I would accept. I would then learn that these guys had girlfriends. I would drop them as quick as possible. I had this silly idea that if a guy left his girlfriend for me, he would do the same to me when the next new thing turned his head. I may look like a tramp at times but I have always had principles.

Might have something to do with having divorced parents and having huge trust issues as a result. * It might have something to do with having an uncle who's a dawg with a capital D. I don't think he's ever been faithful in any of his relationships. I know because for years I was his confidante. (My mother has always had huge issues with this. Imagine that? The queen of no boundaries calling someone out over the same thing.) He told me that I should avoid men like him at all costs. (He's also one of the other sick people in my life. At first they thought that he was rejecting his kidney transplant but now they're not sure. Because even folks on my mom's side of the family get sick. And he's 54. I hope they get it all straightened out because I'm not ready to let go of my Uncle Juju yet.)

All I know is that this is one of the songs that I play when I am starting to doubt myself. It makes me feel like I can do anything. As opposed to the song that shares its title with this post. That song just makes me feel weepy and shit. So I'm probably going to be playing this song for many weeks to come. So that I can find my way back. Crap. Now I have a whole other song going through my head. Great.

* Trust is a funny thing. When I write stuff here, I realize that there is a certain level of trust. Perhaps the semi-anonymity allows me to say the things that I otherwise wouldn't. Thus my anxiety in meeting folks from the blogging world. I am the queen of compartmentalization -- except here. I compartmentalize stuff to protect myself emotionally. So for those of you who have met me as a result of this blog, I'd like to tell you that it is a very hard thing for me. It's why none of my friends outside of the blogosphere or my family knows how to find this. Because some of them would use this all against me.

A quiet Saturday of sorts

2008-10-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

I told y'all that I wasn't going anywhere today. I've managed to clear most of the new shows from my DVR. Then I was once more sucked in by VH1. This time it was the "100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs." So yeah, I just finished watching all five hours straight through.

Watching the show made me remember my love of acid jazz. Yes, I love all kinds of music but back in the 90s my first choice was probably acid jazz. It's still probably one of my preferred genres right along with trip hop.

And then of course I got to reminiscing. I know I do this because so much in my life is up in the air right now. My dad hasn't decided what to do with my aunt's property. My stepmother continues her slow deterioration and everyone says how great it is that she's still around. And I think to myself, "Yeah, it's great for you but is it for her?" I occasionally think that I am a bad person for thinking that she should just hurry up and die. In the midst of this, my company is moving. Actually this is a good thing but it's change just the same. Just like getting the promotion earlier this year. I think I've surpassed my limit of change for a single year.

It has suddenly dawned on me why my mind wants to slip back to Autumn 2001. There was loads of family deaths and illness that year as well. And I changed jobs.

The music made me think of that time because just about every Friday night I would head into North Beach and dance for hours straight. The place was a bar/club. Actually it was a bar that had a tiny dance floor. And a DJ who would come in on weekends. He would start off mellow with a little Sade but as the evening progressed, there would be stuff like The Roots and Q-Tip.

My last day of work at the Death Star, I had invited a number of friends to join me at this place to celebrate my new path. (I had been to the place once before on a date and how vowed in my mind to return.) None of them showed. I remember standing at the curb in front of the place, smoking a cigarette when the realization hit that none of them were going to show up. The window to the place was open and these two guys were sitting at the table by the window. We started talking. I told them that even though my friends had flaked, I had no intention of leaving. They invited me to join them at the table. Actually it was the owner's table but they assured me that he wouldn't mind my presence when he eventually showed up. He didn't. The place closed at two; I stayed until four or so. And then started coming back every weekend.

I still have many of the clothes I wore back then. Occasionally I'll pull out a skirt and then put it back. Too short. Back then, they couldn't be short enough. Of course, I was also ten to fifteen pounds lighter then. And yes, I know that I'm not fat. It's just that those clothes make me feel that way.

What I've realized is that I really miss that person. Sure there was a load of self-destructive behavior back then, but I also had the ability to say, "Fuck them," when people flaked. Because I've hit that point once more. Of course, I don't want to get too carried away. My mother has dumped most of the people in her life -- or they her -- so that I am about all she has left. And it gets rather suffocating at times. But I'm thinking it's time to get rid of the "dead weight" so that I can move on. I just want to be that person who didn't need anyone else. Just being somewhere was fun.

Get out of my head

2008-10-03T19:30:00.000-07:00

Baked escargot with caramelized onions on puff pastry

... or at least stop reading the same recipes that I have.

While trying to pass time til quitting time today at work, I suddenly remembered that it was a new month. That meant a new menu at Gregoire. I didn't go at all last month because nothing really called to me on the menu.

This month? Well, imagine my surprise to see "Grilled pork tenderloin medallions with quince chutney." Huh? So I read on. "Beef Bourguignon." Make that all the time. And there was this other dish but more about that later. But something did leap out at me. And then I needed stuff to go with it. So I decided to try the escargots since I've been thinking about them for some time. And of course, I had to get my usual order of potato puffs.

Roasted duck breast with grilled plums

I supplemented the food from Gregoire's with this. I already had the duck breast in the fridge to cook up tonight. If I hadn't, I would have been tempted to order the duck from Gregoire's. But not tonight.

Whenever I see recipes that call for grilling, I quickly turn the page. I don't have any outdoor space at my apartment to set up a grill. Well, I could be like some of my neighbors and set up a grill on the roof. That always kind of worries me though. It would be just my luck that I'd end up burning down the building. Or another neighbor sets up his grill by the back steps. It's just that I don't want to cook my food in such close proximity to the dumpster.

But I really wanted to try this recipe. So I headed over to one of my favorite stores to purchase a grill pan. (I really need to stay out of there because cupboard space has become almost non-existent. I guess I should pick up that cabinet from my aunt's house one of these days. I think the pan was a great investment. In fact, now I'm wondering why I didn't get one sooner.

Pumpkin bread pudding

This is what really got me to Gregoire's. Because it's going to rain tonight. So now I have all these yummy comfort foods. And plenty of good books to read. Not to mention hours of Fall TV saved up on the DVR. I think I'm set. Because I don't think I'm heading out tomorrow at all.

Two out of three

2008-10-01T19:00:00.000-07:00

It's starting to feel a bit like autumn around here. Well at least the gutters are filled with dry leaves.

French red onion soup

Yep. Autumn means the start of soup and stew season for me. This was the first course last night though. French onion soup has been a favorite of mine since childhood, when my mother introduced me to the dish. I loved the red onions and the Manchego but I must admit that the star anise took a week bit of getting used to. In the future I may only use one instead of the two called for in the recipe.

Beef Wellington with Balsamic Roasted Vegetables

It also means comfort foods. And if that plate doesn't look like it's filled with comfort, then I don't know what does. This another first. I'm usually a rare to medium rare kind of girl. I sometimes forget that I really need to get a thermometer for my oven. The heat in the oven is always greater than what the dial says. I just need to play with the temperature and the time some.

I've been trying to decide on a dessert to make this week but I'm just not feeling the dessert thing. There was no room for dessert anyway.

There will be no deliveries to my mother this week. She finally took the pork braised with quince out of the freezer. Her verdict? It was great once she poured some barbecue sauce over it. (I am tempted to go into the ugly Curry Chicken incident of 2004 but I won't. Not now at least.) This is how my mother usually treats the things that I have cooked -- as if there is something missing. I could understand salt or pepper, but barbecue sauce? Whatever.

New world order

2008-09-30T23:45:00.000-07:00

... because I feel it's part of the process of winning folks over to make my whole move for universal domination.

Apparently Anna has thrown down the gauntlet. I've never been a punk beyotch so here goes.

How I hope to achieve universal domination

1. First of all, some of y'all may have noticed that I used the word "universal." That's right beyotches. I'm going interplanetary and all. I mean, have you listened to Al Gore? This planet is dying. Why the hell would I want to take over a dying planet? Nope. I'm going to round up my peeps here and then we're outie. If you're lucky, you get to come along for the ride.

2. Fool the felines into thinking that they actually have a say. I'd do the same for dogs but let's get real. "Dogs have owners; cats have staff." If I win over the cats, the members of their staff are mine for the picking. Just don't tell Natasha. She still thinks that she is the one in charge around here. And just ignore the fact that I keep looking over my shoulder. I can't risk her seeing this. She'll kill me in my sleep.

3. I'm only taking folks who have an IQ of 100 or less with me. As long as they have been vetted by the cats. I have this funny notion that the leader of folks should be more intelligent than their people. This number used to be higher but I have found that prolonged time on the internets seems to have dropped my IQ. Or maybe it was the years of spending six-plus hours a day with little folks. I don't know. All I know is that my IQ seems to be declining -- kind of like money for some folks. Then again, charisma can go a long way and I think I have plenty of that.

4. I'm hoping to take a good deal of the PRB (That's the People's Republic of Berkeley for those of y'all who are new to here) with me. There seems to be a lot of book-smart folks around here. I think I can use them. In exchange for the passage, I am promising them a diet of all organic food and that we will make a moderate, if any, carbon footprint. Oh yeah. And their kids can run wild in all public places.

5. I think it's time to weed the gene pool some. Seeing as I am that crazy ass Berkeley liberal, I think this may be possible. When my peeps roll out to explore new worlds, maybe I'll mention the existence of dinosaurs on other planets. Or the fact that gay marriage is OK with me. Leave the rest of the fools on the dying planet. Besides we will have all the great technology. It will be so easy once we leave to crush those who have been left behind.

6. Life with me will be a non-stop party. Don't tell the rest of them but here's the thing. If you spend all of your time partying, it's hard to notice the other stuff. Like my secret bank account on Neptune. Not that I have one.

7. Sunday night dinner at the palace. Everyone is invited. Every now and then it will be a potluck. But most of the time, it will be me trying out a new recipe or two. You must take at least a small sample (of the Kool-Aid) but I won't force you to finish it all.

8. Now here's the big seller. In my world you can be whoever you want. As long as you are not a threat to me. If you're a threat? Well, then we're sending you back to Earth. Enough said.

Yep. I can feel that universal domination is well within my grasp.

Still no food

2008-09-30T09:38:00.000-07:00

... but perhaps tomorrow.

I had the best of intentions to do some more cooking last night. The thing is that I had a two hour training session for the mentoring program. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait to receive my match.

Tonight there will be cooking though. After I remember to stop at the grocery store. Somehow in all my weekend shopping, I forgot to buy toilet paper. I hate when I do that.

So stop by tomorrow for more photos. I promise.

I couldn't resist

2008-09-29T10:40:00.000-07:00

I meant to post this on Saturday but then I got busy doing stuff like laundry and grocery shopping.

I found this quiz over at Cursing Mama's and knew I had to take it.

Your result for Reincarnation Placement Exam...

Spy

58% Intrigue, 54% Civilization, 72% Humanity, 45% Urbanization.

Live well, ride fast, and die young, baby!

Well, you turned out to be something of a rogue. This may not be exactly the life you wanted... but it's difficult to place people who want to enjoy all the romance and intrigue of civilization, without actually having a demanding job. Besides, since you enjoy the benefits of humanity so much more than you enjoy the press of humanity itself... you shouldn't have much trouble with your role in life. As long as you aren't afraid of danger there's a place for you in society, even if it's a rather dark and wicked place. Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to fulfill the role of a spy.

The good news: You're free and clever, and you can do whatever the heck you want. The bad news: everybody else is free and clever too, and they're not all on your side.

With the flick of a blade, you can change the course of history. Might be fun. Might be a little messy.

Take Reincarnation Placement Exam at HelloQuizzy

Woohoo! Can't wait for the next life.

Proof

2008-09-28T18:45:00.000-07:00

Last night I ended up calling my cousin. She's always been like an older sister to me. I told her about the problem with the sucky friend. The first thing out of her mouth was, "Does she have kids?" I told my cousin that was bullshit. Having kids should not instantly give one a "Get out of jail free" card as far as friendship is concerned.

I don't always check my mail when I get home in the evenings. If it's dark and my hands are full, I figure I can just grab it in the morning on my way out. For this reason, I did not see the card until I headed out on Saturday morning. The card that said, "Thank you for being my friend."

The card served as a reminder that not all women who are married and have kids suck as friends. And so to this friend, I would like to say thank you for the reminder. And thank you for being the friend that I need, I want and I deserve.

There will be more food

2008-09-26T22:45:00.000-07:00

Just not tonight. Tonight I have been toying around with loads of thoughts. So here goes.

This post all start from being angry -- at myself, at others. Then I reminded myself that I was trying to move past being that person. Deep breath.

A few weeks ago my dad sent me an email about a documentary that was coming out. It sounded fascinating and so I passed the email onto some friends. One of these friends then wrote back saying that she wanted to see the movie. (No, Zombie Mom, it was not you.) Correction. Two friends stated interest. One -- who was not Zombie Mom -- started discussing when we could go see it. The first weekend didn't work for her. I expressed concern since it wasn't a huge blockbuster. "Who knows if it will be playing the next weekend?" Fortunately for her it was. Unfortunately she could not make it to the movie that weekend either. (Here's where I was going to go into a tirade about her husband. And then I was going to end with why at times like these, I'm glad that I'm not married.) I decided to be OK with it since the film did win an award at Sundance. Then yesterday I checked the listings for this weekend. The film is no longer showing in Berkeley; last night was the end of the run. (Insert in here a tirade about how I hate trying to make plans with my married friends. There could also be a whole discussion of how this mirrors my relationship with my dad when I was growing up after my parents' divorce.) I didn't call the friend yesterday though. Let's get real. She wasn't going to head out to a movie last night. I toyed with the idea of going to catch it alone last night but I was too tired. I did call tonight though. She immediately said, "You know the movie thing? I'm not going to be able to make it tomorrow like I said after all."

Good thing I had already come up with a contingency plan. Yes, it's no longer playing in Berkeley but it's still playing in the Bay Area. So I decided yesterday that I'll just head over to Marin County tomorrow evening to catch it there. And I think I should take myself out to dinner beforehand. I have never had any problem with doing things on my own. Hell. If it wasn't for the friend, I probably would have gone to see the film the first weekend it opened -- alone. So if anyone has any restaurant recommendations for the Larkspur area, I'd love to hear them.

The whole thing has left some questions in my mind though. If I'm so good at dealing with and doing stuff on my own, why are they still in my life? Are they really necessary or are they merely accessories at this point? * I'm starting to think that it's time to move on with my life. And that just may mean new friends.

* Yeah, I know I can be a bitch. If by being a bitch, you mean brutally honest. Live with it.

Wrapping it up

2008-09-25T08:40:00.000-07:00

Pineapple upside-down pumpkin gingerbread

If you haven't guessed yet, I am quite enamored with this month's issue of "Bon Appetit."

I used to bake on a regular basis.* My junior year of college, I would get up each Saturday morning and bake baguettes. And there was usually some sort of pie or cake around as well. I think my roommates loved me.

In law school it usually happened on Thursday. I started to notice that I ended up throwing out part of the baked goods each week because I just couldn't eat it all fast enough. So I gave some to a friend. And then someone else learned of the gift. So I added another person to the list. By the end of that school year, I was making deliveries every Thursday evening to about seven or eight friends on my way out to the delis. Because everyone went to the delis on Thursday night.

Then I dropped out of law school and moved back to California. Once I got my first real job and my own apartment, I resumed baking. Not on a regular schedule but when the mood hit. And I would bring whatever I had baked into the office. Coworkers would exclaim, "I can't believe you went home and baked after working all day!" But remember? It relaxes me. Plus for the first time ever, I didn't need to jockey with anyone else for use of the kitchen.

That's where I'd like to be. At that place in my mind where I can come home after working all day and suddenly feel like baking. And actually have the energy. Because I must admit that if I hadn't mentioned the possibility of the cake to coworkers, I may not have actually baked it. One day, though, it will be different. Hopefully soon. In the meantime, I'm off to plan this weekend's menu.

* A confession. I keep reading about how baking is an exact science. Here's the thing. I stopped being real regular with my measurements many years ago. Yes, my grandmother taught me about leveling stuff off and all that. She was also big on sifting. I almost never do either these days. But I also have a pretty good eye for measurements. Little extra flour in that first cup? Well, a little less in the next then.

Even worse is when I make dumplings. Look at the chicken in the pot. Then dump enough flour in a bowl to go with said chicken. Eyeball the flour and add some baking powder based upon how much flour is in the bowl...

What I'm trying to tell y'all is to not be afraid of baking. Sure you may have some disasters along the way -- like any time I try to use a box cake mix -- but pretty soon you'll get the hang of it and know where the margins of error lie.

How I spent Friday evening

2008-09-24T09:00:00.000-07:00

Braised pork shoulder with quince

... and Saturday evening and part of Monday.

I was intrigued by the recipe because of that one ingredient -- quince. As far as I knew, quince was simply a "Food that starts with the letter Q."

What will I remember the most? That when one is working with quince, one must have a very sharp knife. Did I mention that the knife needs to be sharp? Reading through the recipe, there was a note that quinces are hard. I have never tried to cut through anything that is harder, denser than a quince. Quartering a ripe apple is easier. (This comes to mind because once peeled and quartered, quince does remind one of an apple.) It was more akin to the feeling of slicing through a large potato. But more difficult.

Why bother? For me, it's the challenge of working with an unfamiliar ingredient. While I had heard the word "quince" before, I had no other frame of reference. And so I was deeply interested.

Everything went swimmingly until Saturday evening. (Friday night I applied the dry rub and popped the sucker into the fridge.) Perhaps it had something to do with my late start. (I had originally planned to do the Saturday step in the morning. Unfortunately I did not prepare the two earlier dishes on Friday as was the plan and they ended up being prepared Saturday morning.) Shortly after 11 p.m. the dish was ready to leave the oven. But my brain was a bit addled at this point -- might have something to do with the fact that Boris felt I needed to be awake at 5:30 a.m. every morning this weekend -- causing me to try to lift the lid off the pot without the aid of a potholder. (I do this all the time with things on the stovetop since the handles are usually cool.) So now I have second degree burns on my thumb and forefinger. I poured a cocktail and used the fingers to the hold the cocktail glass. Felt just as good as holding them under a running faucet of cold water. The good thing is that initially I thought that three digits were involved. I ignored the receptionist at work on Monday when she said that I should pop the blisters. Not trying to get any infections here.

But Monday evening I pulled the stuff out of the fridge and got it all layered in the casserole dish. And that quince may be a bitch to cut up, but it's mighty good tasting once cooked. Oh, and this was also in my mom's care package. Actually the trip to mom's was more of a food exchange since my bag was just as full when I left as when I had arrived. And I took some to work yesterday as well.

Never too much of a good thing

2008-09-23T09:20:00.000-07:00

Lamb patties braised with eggplant, peppers and tomatoes

You would think that it was enough that I made soup and went to Chilebrown's on Saturday. Why stop there though? Because I made this dish as well before heading out for the pepper tasting.

I mean look at it. It has eggplant. And lamb. And because it has eggplant, I can tolerate the tomatoes. Of course, I did follow the recipe and use heirloom tomatoes.

This was also part of the care package for my mom. It's kind of funny. For many years, my mother would rarely eat my cooking. It would be, "I don't like that" or "I'm not in the mood for that." When she did eat my food, then often it was, "Why didn't you do this instead?" Because my mother is the first to tell you that she is a great cook; the rest of us are merely pretenders to the throne. And then she'd get mad because I frequently cooked food for my dad and my aunt, but not her. Why? Because they showed appreciation. Food can be a very personal, emotional thing for me.

In recent years there has been a shift in my mother's attitude toward my cooking. It seems to coincide with the point in time when she started telling me what apparently she had been telling others for years -- that she is proud of me.

My childhood was a painful time filled with, "You didn't try hard enough." Might explain a great deal about my body image issues. I have too many years of hearing others say that I was great only to have my mother tear me down. And in those earlier years, I often thought that I was great just to hear otherwise. So I learned to distrust my judgment as well as that of others. But food was a safe haven for me. No matter what she said, I knew that I cooked well. Now I sit here questioning why I wanted her approval so bad for all those years though.

Yes, I even ask this now that I have her approval. Now I bring her food and she calls me the next day to ask for the recipe. And I bring enough so that she can share with her neighbors, other retired folks. And they ask her why I don't do this for a living.

Yes, I have toyed with the idea. There. I said it. Cooking, just like re-reading The Tao of Pooh, helps me to rediscover my center. I am at peace in the kitchen. No TV, no computer. Not even a phone since I realized long ago that cellphone coverage is pretty sketchy in my kitchen. As a result, the majority of the time I do not bring my phone with me in the kitchen. They can leave messages. It is my time to create. And so why not take the plunge? Because I'm afraid that if I have to do it everyday, then I will grow to hate one of the things that I truly love in life. Besides I've had more than enough change for right now.

Happy times with mom

2008-09-22T11:30:00.000-07:00

The first time I went to visit my mother in Mexico was the first time that I tasted squash blossoms. We had gone to the house of one of her friends for lunch and the woman sauteed the flowers before using them as filling for quesadillas. Delicious. She then explained to me that this had been an experiment as she had never bought the flowers before. But she had had them in soup.

I somehow tasted the soup before I left and fell in love. My mother brought me a can of the Campbell's version on her next trip back to the States. For years I was OK in not having a recipe for the soup. After all, where was I going to get the flowers? Duh. Berkeley Bowl. So for many months I have been on a mission to find a recipe. Most of the recipes I found are written in Spanish. That's OK but they often lacked measurements. I finally found one posted in English -- with measurements. But the directions were rather garbled. What I present to you is what I concocted based upon all of this.

Sopa de Flor de Calabaza

1 cup butter
1 cup fresh corn kernels
2 cups zucchini, diced
2 cups of squash flowers, stem and stamen removed and chopped (I used 12 and was a little short. I'd recommend about 18)
Epazote (Berkeley Bowl was out so I substituted a little oregano.)
1 onion, finely chopped
1 cup tomato puree
3 cups chicken broth
2 jalapenos, seeded and diced
Salt
Pepper
1/2 cup cream

Melt 1/2 cup butter in a pan. Add corn, zucchini and flowers to pan. Saute until vegetables begin to release juice. Add epazote. Simmer on very low heat.

In another pan melt 1/2 cup butter. Add onion and cook until onion is soft. Add tomato puree. Cook for about five minutes.

Stir tomato-onion mixture into other pan. Add chicken broth and jalapenos. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Let soup simmer about another 20 minutes or so.

Turn off heat and stir in cream.

Oh, and of course I'll be taking some of this over to my mom's house. Along with some other items. But you'll get to see those later in the week.

No comment

2008-09-21T19:40:00.000-07:00

So why throw something out into the blogosphere and then not allow comments? I've thought about it off and on throughout the day. I also thought about whether I "owed" anyone an explanation. Yeah, I do. I owe myself. No one else.

The first part is easy. I often write posts for myself. I just don't post them. The thing is that eventually there is a point that I end up deleting the stuff that I don't post. I didn't want these words to disappear. I ~~wanted~~ needed a permanent record.

I guess the second part is easy as well. I wanted to say what I felt I had to say without interruption. That's what happens with my family. I go in thinking to myself, "Here are the things that I want to say." Sometimes I get to say them and then they are glossed over.

I understand this though. I am the caretaker, the one who tells everyone else that it's going to be OK. And some days I ask myself how I ended up here? How am I taking care of these people who are 20 to 30 years my senior? I mean, I knew it would happen one day. Thing is I've been doing it since my teens. What made me seem like the rational, take-charge person? Of course, this is what has usually allowed me to do well at work. Funny, huh?

I am also the keeper of secrets. But they're not really secrets. Each just thinks that it is. And since enough folks already know them, let me enumerate the ones I have heard over the last few weeks.

Before my stepmother got sick, she went around telling her friends that she was thinking of divorcing my dad. I know she thought that he was having an affair. He was -- with a bottle of vodka. Before my stepmother got sick, my dad went around telling his friends that maybe he wanted to divorce my stepmother. Her family was driving him nuts. Then my stepmother got sick and everything changed.

This past week my stepmother started hallucinating. She also did not want to try to walk anymore. The hospice folks told my dad's older sister -- she visits my stepmother every day -- that the hallucinations will get worse. They also think that the cancer is now everywhere including in her bones. That's why she doesn't want to walk; it's too painful. So the end is probably near. And I think of silly things like how I still haven't used that gift certificate for a pedicure that she gave me last Christmas. We were going to go together but then she got too sick to go. My aunt has a return ticket home for October 3. My dad's cousin thinks that my stepmother will be gone before then. We'll see.

Marin says that we're alike in that we're both stuffers. We take the emotions and stuff them away in some dark closet in our minds. One day the closet reaches capacity and it all comes spilling out. Monday through Friday I go to work and field calls from family members. On weekends my family allows me to fall off the face of the earth, so to speak. And that's when I usually let the closet door open.

The multiple layers of grief? I'm lucky if I can remember what day it is. I wake up Monday morning counting the hours to Friday evening. And as I told my boss last month, I just take each day as it comes and do the best that I can. But mostly I keep telling myself that this -- and the world around me -- will get better. And it's kind of hard when something comes along that shakes your belief. But I'll get through this as well. I have to. Who will my family have if I don't?

One of those days

2008-09-21T09:50:00.000-07:00

First of all, I must say that these days are becoming less frequent. But they're still here. What kind of days? The ones during which I miss my aunt. A lot.

I'm trying my best to put my thoughts into some sort of order in between the sobs. Because with order, maybe I can make the sobbing stop. And because I had plans for today that did not involve curling up in a ball in bed for the entire day.

It probably all started a few days ago when I was talking to my dad. He started talking about his parents and my aunt. His big thing these days is about how he's so happy that I got to spend as much time as I did with his parents. He's just finally realized what a big impact that my grandparents had on my life. I think it was my aunt's death that made him realize this.

My father was devastated when his mother died. My stepmother had no clue what to do, what to say. At least that's what she told me. Then again, this is a woman who didn't even bother to attend my grandmother's funeral. So I helped my father deal with his grief and I dealt with mine alone for the most part.

If things were different, I would try to talk to my dad about all of this. His wife is dying, though, and he's dealing with his crazy ass in-laws. He has more than enough on his plate. He doesn't need my crap as well. So I lie to him when he asks how I am. I tell he doesn't need to be concerned when he says that he's worried about me.

Friday afternoon my former supervisor stopped by my office. He asked how I was doing and quickly took the question back. He knows. He's lost a lot of family members to cancer. How do I answer that question when asked? "Fine." "Coping." "Taking each day as it comes." What else is there to say?

We then talked about movies. He said that a few months after one of his relatives died, he made the mistake of seeing My Life. He ended up having a complete meltdown in a movie theater. I told him that I've been trying to stick to comedies and action flicks lately. I then mentioned that perhaps I should try to avoid Stepmom and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Wouldn't you know that the movie was on some cable channel yesterday. I didn't watch it though. I did try to watch Soul Food though. That lasted for about 15 minutes and then I had to find something else. It just hurt too much.

I've tried to fill my days with classes and volunteering. Oh, and cooking. But cooking is another trigger. I don't really know how to cook in small quantities. There's only so much my freezer can hold as well. I often delivered the surplus to my aunt.

I started this practice when she was first diagnosed with cancer. At that time I worked about a ten minute drive away from her house so I would stop by after work. When I started working farther away, Sundays became the day that I would most likely stop by. I would call to make sure she would be in. When I mentioned a delivery, she would ask, "What's on the menu at the restaurant today?" I would drop off the containers of food and pick up the empty containers from previous weeks. And then we would sip tea and talk. That's what I miss. Our talks. I still find myself picking up the phone to call her at times. And then I remember.

This week I've really wanted to talk to her -- especially today. She spent most of her career teaching people how to empower themselves. She wanted there to be an even playing field -- for everyone regardless of ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation or any of the myriad ways in which we try to classify one another. She didn't like to watch the evening news because she said it was so filled with negativity. It doesn't mean that she wasn't aware of what was going on in the world. She just wanted to believe that we -- society in general -- could be better than those images she saw on the news.

In the past week there has been a great deal of discussion about privilege on the internet. As I read the first piece, I wanted to call my aunt. We had had this discussion for too many years to count. And finally it looked like everyone else was talking about it as well. My hope in people was renewed.

Then the discussion continued and I became frustrated and saddened. Now I really wanted to talk to my aunt. I wanted her to remind me that this is part of the discussion. Yes, the discussion is often phrased in terms of black and white. That's because that has the longest history in our country. Even if it is only put in these terms does not mean that it doesn't include all of us though. People will feel that they're under attack and become defensive. Some people will never really get it no matter how many ways you try to explain it to them. That's OK though. Those people usually end up being the minority. As long as I can believe that most of us can reach that point of consensus, then I can still have hope. Because I got to thinking that if you can't believe in the possibility of something difference, then what's the point of it all? Why try? Why do anything?

I had to remind myself that this is what living is though. Being a part of it all. Sounding like a broken record because maybe someday someone will finally pay attention. I thought about how it's just so overwhelming to try to change society as a whole. I can handle it one person at a time though.

Now I'm OK with the frustration. These problems didn't happen overnight. Nor will the solution.

And the sobbing has been replaced with the occasional quiet tear so maybe this has done it's job. Right now I don't miss my aunt as much. I just needed to remind myself that she's not really gone since she's so much of who I am.

Probably for the second time ever, I am turning off comments. Today I'm not much in the mood for dialogue, but tomorrow I probably will be. This was a hard decision because I figure that if I throw something out into the universe, then I should be willing to discuss it. This just isn't one of those days though.

With that, I'm off to do laundry and more cooking. The surplus? I'll probably take some to my mom. And maybe I'll bring some into work tomorrow.

Hot fun in the summertime

2008-09-20T19:50:00.000-07:00

Summer's almost over and it's only right that it should end with a bang. Today I went to Chilebrown's for a pepper tasting. Because I'm crazy like that. The first bite was sweet. And then then heat started. I initially thought that it was not much worse than eating habanero. Now that I think about it? I've put a substantially larger piece of habanero in my mouth previously to produce the same level of burn that the cute little peppers produced.

Pictured above is the stuff I brought home from the garden -- minus the Bhut Jolokias. Can you believe that Chilebrown wanted me to sign a waiver before leaving with two of those babies? Don't worry though. They'll probably be heading to my dad. He was indeed jealous when I told him about my pepper bounty. Now what to do with all the others...

Fuck vanity

2008-09-18T22:20:00.000-07:00

I have so many topics swimming around in my head right now. I just got off the phone with my dad and we talked about family, music, and the election. But I don't think I'm going to go there tonight. Instead it's going to be completely about me.

This week was "fat" week for me. Even worse? I need to do laundry. This means that the stuff that I could comfortably wear during "fat" week is dirty. This is how I found myself in the "wrong" skirt on Wednesday.

Up until about 20 years ago, I wore a size six. Then one day I walked into a store and tried on a size six. I was swimming in it. The saleswoman said, right before she brought me a size four, "Our sizes run large."

I thought that this was an isolated incident. But no. Suddenly instead of a size six, I was a size four. And as the years progressed, I became a size two.

I sew. OK. I used to sew. But the thing is that my size never changed as far as commercial patterns are concerned. I was a size six. And in recent years, I became a size six with size eight hips.

I am vain though. I loved saying that I wear a size two or four. Three years ago my former neighbor and I made a pledge. Each would kill the other if she ever had to go higher than a size four.

So this week due to bloating, I suffered through clothing that was beyond uncomfortable. Wednesday I had mistakenly chosen a skirt that I am still sure to this day, the cleaners shrank. Really. I sucked it in until my ribs were quite prominent and the skirt was still too tight. This was not the case in the past. And Wednesday night was tutoring. After spending eight-plus hours in this skirt, I just could not imagine spending an additional hour and a half. Oh, and the driving time home. And did I mention the lower back pain?

Fortunately I had a break between work and tutoring. That's when I headed to the mall. The store had loads of denim on sale. At this point I only owned one pair of jeans without holes. So I thought that denim was a good idea. I grabbed loads of pairs in size four. And at the last minute added one pair in size six.

I tried on a couple of pairs of the size four. In both cases I thought to myself that they would be completely comfortable in a week or so. They just weren't now. The whole point of the shopping expedition was to find something that was comfortable now -- besides the sweats that I wear at home in the evenings. And so I stepped into the size six jeans. They not only felt great but they looked great. And they were on sale.

Pretty cute. Right?

So now that I've crossed that threshold, I have decided that going up a size after 20 years isn't that bad. But it does stop here.

The interview

2008-09-16T19:25:00.000-07:00

Monday night I was kind of bad. I skipped my Portuguese class. Because I was busy with my interview to become a mentor.

It was time to fill in those gaps from my application. I went in knowing that I should mention that I am a Bay Area native. I've learned over the years that we are not as common as I had thought previously.

I talked about the things many of us take for granted -- applying for college or finding a job and an apartment. If you've never had a support system, do you really know how to do these things?

And college? Well, we all know that the SAT and other standardized tests can be culturally biased. If one has never been exposed to these things, then how can one answer questions on these topics?

The last part of the interview was answering questions about certain scenarios. The first was one in which the young woman was involved in risky behavior -- sex, drugs, or some combination of the two -- and how you would respond. And so I was honest. "I am not necessarily trained to deal with these kinds of situations but there are lots of people out there who are." I then went on to say that I would tell the young woman how her behavior is jeopardizing her future and that I can help her find someone to talk to. The program director loved how I said, "We can go and make an appointment." She said that her experience has taught her that while these young women will say that they will do whatever it is that you have asked of them, they rarely follow through with the actions. Just by my saying "we," I was holding this fictional young woman accountable.

The next step is to go through training. Part of this training is setting boundaries. Funny, but during the interview, I mentioned how there is often a lack of boundaries in these young women's lives. I gave a concrete example from my teaching years of how to be supportive yet set firm boundaries at the same time.

Basically I totally rocked the interview process. But from y'alls comments, I think you already expected that. I just wanted to let y'all know that I lived up to your expectations. And now I'm totally excited about getting my match.

And no, I don't see any problem with this post as a follow-up to yesterday's. Because I'm all multi-faceted and shit.

One less debt

2008-09-15T21:25:00.000-07:00

First of all, I am sure that a few of you have been wondering about what happened to this post as it made a brief appearance in y'alls readers this weekend. Yes, I meant to post. Just not at that time. Remember how I am prone to write stuff days, sometimes weeks, in advance. I just kind of hit the wrong button. But on with it all...

A few weeks ago, I mentioned exotic dancers in a post. That same week Hilly wrote a whole post about them. In my comments to her, I said that perhaps I should share a story. So now I'm sharing.

My first exposure to dancers was through a college roommate. If there was a Chippendales review in town, then she was there. And after we became roommates, I'd tag along. That same year I dated a guy who belonged to a certain fraternity.

This guy announced after a month of dating that he had been watching me for a year. I know this because he was able to describe outfits that I hadn't worn in about a year. Over this time, he had decided what kind of house we would have when we were married -- and the names of our children. I was going to say, "And for some reason," but I know the reason. When I met him, I was barely hanging onto life. I was looking to others for my reason to stay around. And so we "learned" how to be cruel to one another off and on over a two year period. I say "learned" because I know that at least on my part it was not something new. I may have not exhibited it previously but I knew long before I met him how to be cruel to another person.

This is not the story though. I mentioned this guy because his fraternity had an annual Chippendales night as their big fundraiser. I still joke to this day that that was the only night each year that all of the guys in the fraternity got laid. Really. Right before I left the place, I headed to the bathroom. To see some chick who had one of the brothers pinned to the floor while her friends were trying to drag her off of him saying, "But she has a boyfriend." Yeah. Right.

A few years later I ended up in a summer school program in England. The first Friday night found me and a few classmates walking through the West End. We'd pass by clubs and they would say that ladies didn't need to pay the cover. Well, our group of six was half female. And the female half? We were adventurous. We eventually told the guys that if they paid for a round for us in a pub, we would go with with them to their strip club of choice.

I remember our shock upon entering the club. They had a one drink minimum. And that two pound pint? Was eight to ten pounds in the strip club world. And then the girls started dancing. And the first chick had totally not taken care of her bikini line. Ewwww. I would have had more drinks if they had not been more expensive. But I had had enough drinks to warrant a trip to the bathroom. And while I was in the stall I got to hear the chicks talking about the cheap bastards in the club. You should have seen the looks on their faces when I stepped out of the stall. After about twenty minutes of this, during which we got to witness the girls literally clean out a German tourist's wallet, my guy friends decided that they had been cheated. One headed back up to the door to complain. The door guy was not there but the roll of entrance tickets was. My friend ripped off a long strand of the tickets before returning to find us. When we finally made it back to the dorm, all six of us were wearing a "boa" of these tickets. I'm sure the other students with whom we met up in the lobby after they were returning from a night at the theater and four-star dining thought that we were extra classy. I know this much. Our story is probably much more interesting today than theirs.

The last time I set foot in a strip joint is the most memorable by far though. It was during the height of my partygirl days in San Francisco. Every Friday night after work, I'd head to North Beach. To this old Italian bar. I still think of it as one of the safest places in the City. I was seated at the bar next to an older guy. He looked at me and asked, "Sweetheart, why you look so sad?" Now at this point the bartender, who I knew well enough to call "Uncle," had told me to not talk to this guy. Something about his fear that one day I would end up dead in an alley. Whatever. (Jade on the other hand used to ask me why I always told these guys that I understand Italian. I told her because I've seen the movies. First to go? The accountant and the girlfriend. Just didn't want folks saying things in front of me about which I shouldn't know.) I told the guy, "Some guy just insulted me." And then I pointed out the guy to him. I caught the offensive guy's eye as I pointed and smiled really nicely. Because I can be a bitch like that. The nice guy sitting next to me said that no one should ever insult me.

As the evening progressed, we started talking about smoking -- specifically cigars. Turns out his friend owned a place with cigars. So we decided to head on over. Turns out the place was a strip joint. All that mattered to me was that they had Jack and cigars. The girls were a wee bit classier than my previous encounter but I didn't really notice that much.

How does one follow up cigars at a strip joint? Playing pool. By the time our pool game ended, I realized that I was quite intoxicated (OK. Maybe I realized it when I was puking in the ladies room at the strip club but the night was young. And my stomach was empty.) and explained that I should probably go home. Especially since I had not eaten much that day.

"You should have told me you were hungry. Next time I'll buy you dinner."

And then he called the bartender over to get a cab for me. And pressed some money in my hand. I tried to give some of it back because it was more than what I knew that the cab ride home would cost. He wasn't having any of it. After reaching home, I briefly thought to myself that if he had given me five dollars more, I could have broken even for the evening.

The next week I was out with a friend and her coworkers. One of her coworkers had grown up in San Francisco and knew all kinds of interesting types of people. She mentioned a former classmate who had been acquitted on a hit. I told her that her classmate had the same last name as the guy I had met the previous weekend. When I told her the guy's full name, she said that he was the uncle of her classmate. And that I had not been mistaken in pegging him as a made man.

Every now and then I wonder about the guy who insulted me. Because I haven't seen him since that night. Oh, but he probably just moved out of the area. Yep. That's it.

Ummm. And now maybe you understand just how wild and out of control I was back in those days. Because stuff like this? Kind of normal back then. But I had a lot of fun.

Making lemonade

2008-09-14T15:35:00.000-07:00

This would be figuratively, not literally. The way my weekend started, it could have been a total disaster.

Friday afternoon while at work, my cellphone rang. It was the fraud prevention unit from my bank calling. The automated voice asked if I had recently tried to use my debit card, or had authorized someone else, to make a transaction in the amount of $102.50. Ummm nope. So I hit the button to indicate my answer of "No." Then the music started while I waited for a real person. After a couple of minutes, I decided to pull my account information up on the computer. WTF?!!! Someone had made two withdrawals of $202.50 from my account earlier in the day. Not pending transactions. Transactions that were already posted to my account. It gave the address so I looked it up online. A gas station to which I have never been. More music playing. At this point, I was freaked out to say the least. I stayed on hold for about 25 minutes. And then I was disconnected. I called the bank back. I was on hold for about another 40 minutes on this call before I got a live person. She once more asked about the transaction for $102.50 as well another attempted transaction for about $150. I explained to her that I had not authorized either of these transactions. She said that she would cancel my card -- that was still in my possession -- and issue a new one. I then asked about the two that had posted to my account. She put in for a provisional credit for those two. And then told me that the money would be back in my account by the 19th. The thing is that I had already sent out some checks to pay some bills. And my current account balance? It was not going to cover all of those checks. She said that if the checks hit my account before the bank had returned the money to my account, then yes, the bank would be returning them. But they would reverse any fees incurred because of this. Really assuring. I tried my best to think happy thoughts. OK. So the wine I picked up on my way home helped some.

Saturday morning? I had resolved to get through the weekend on my credit card. And so I got up to take my car to the shop so that they could complete the repairs. Last weekend, I had been told that it would take two hours. I had brought a couple of books with me for the wait. Right before I headed for the waiting area, I asked how long it would take. "Two hours for each part. Four hours." This would be when I felt like crying.

And then I remembered all of that stuff I had written in the last week. I reminded myself that I had updated my iTunes software on Thursday night and the software on my iPhone on Friday night. So I put on my headphones and tried out the new genius playlist feature. I chose "A Beautiful Mine" (Some of you may know this as the theme song to "Mad Men.") as my first song. And that little genius in the software? Came back with a mix of some of my favorites including NWA, Public Enemy and EPMD. And so while I read my book, I found myself chuckling at Chuck D. saying, "Most of my heroes don't appear on no stamps." I smiled when I heard a guy talking about, "A girl who's shooting up this world like Shaft." From the first time I heard this song, I always imagined that I was that girl. By the time that I heard EPMD say, "Relax your mind...". I was well on my way there. And I threw in a little "Woo sai" to be safe.

I started thinking that my luck had turned around when I drove over to the Berkeley Public Library and instantly found a space in front. I thought to myself that my unwillingness to give into the negative had led me to this parking space. And then I went inside and discovered that the self-checkout machine was not handling DVD or CD rentals. Just my luck. I had scraped the change out of my wallet to pay for the meter fee. Fortunately I was out before my time expired.

I still had that residual daringness left from "Looking Out the Front Door" left in me though. And this is what made me daring enough to try something that only an insane person would do -- go into Berkeley Bowl in the middle of the day on a Saturday. And unfortunately my list was too large for a hand basket. So I got a cart and "ditched" it at strategic moments -- like when dealing with the produce section. I left the cart at the periphery in these instances and walked my finds back to it.

After sitting in the chair in the car dealership waiting room, my lower back pain had returned. Did I mention that I walked into Thursday's belly dancing class with this pain? And that it was still present on Friday morning? But by Friday evening it was non-existent. But by Saturday afternoon, the pain was fully raging. And so as I maneuvered the narrow aisles of Berkeley Bowl, I silently prayed that no one would bump into me.

All was good until I got in line at the checkout. The family in front of me had "that kid." This kid kept weaving his way through the various carts for entertainment. And if your cart was in his way? Well, he just pushed it out of the way. Now I must admit that the majority of the time while this was happening, it was just him and his dad. I figured that dad was clueless so I forgave him. Then mom showed up and I changed my mind. Especially after the kid started picking up my stuff from the conveyor belt while his parents were being rung up. Hello, people. Your germ-ridden kid is touching my stuff. It's moments like these that makes me want to slap entitled, oblivious liberals. (Oh, and did I mention that PMS also kicked in this weekend. Ummmmm. Yeah.) Instead I gave the kid "that look." He dropped my stuff and fled back to his parents, never to be seen in my personal space again. Oh, and this was the only kid with them. I dunno. I figure that two adults and one kid? One of the adults should be able to keep the kid in check. So all this crap happened but I was determined to keep the positive things I had planned for the weekend going.

And so I give you moussaka -- once more. With ground lamb this time. Because early last week I realized that I had not consumed any eggplant the entire summer. And there was also that change in weather. Except for yesterday, most of this week has had a distinctly fall kind of feeling in the Bay Area.

But the moussaka in many ways took second stage to this. The chop is from a pork rib roast that was brined before roasting. (And so could not be eaten on Saturday.) On a bed of polenta. With braised Swiss chard. You can thank the fine folks at "Bon Appetit" and Zoomie for this menu. The article was about local foods, I believe. And this particular dish was about how Southern meets Italian. The recipe said that you could use Swiss chard but it was originally made with collard greens. Love me some collards. Just didn't feel like cleaning them.

And so food is what got me through the negative. Even if I did have to put it all on my credit card since I no longer had any cash. But that's the positive upon which I chose to focus. What if I hadn't had room on my credit card to get through the weekend? That would have sucked completely. However, I did. And while it is not my favored method of payment, I was still able to do the things that I had originally planned for the weekend.

And then I thought about Taoism. This is precisely the kind of situation that Taoism speaks to. Sometimes life hands you a bunch of crap. It's all about how you deal with the situation. You can freak out and say, "Poor me." Or you can move on. Because true happiness comes from realizing that things happen and not trying to fight the crap but instead managing to move through it all -- with yourself intact.*

* Yes, I have been reading The Tao of Pooh once more. I told y'all that the book keeps me grounded.

What summer used to be

2008-09-13T17:20:00.000-07:00

About five years ago, I got my mother hooked on the idea that summer meant Cobb Salad. She cursed me at the end of that summer because it seems that she had put on some pounds. I attributed it to her habit of assembling a salad and then dumping salad dressing on top. In this case it was some extra thick blue cheese dressing.

Me? I like to shred the greens in the bowl and then I add the dressing -- usually about two tablespoons worth. After tossing the greens in the dressing and making sure that the leaves are lightly coated, I then added everything else on top. As I eat everything else gradually mixes in with the greens. And nowadays, I no longer use blue cheese dressing but instead use a vinaigrette and add some crumbled blue cheese on top. And this dressing? Well, instead of using oil, I used the bacon drippings from the bacon I had cooked up just for the purpose of using on the salad.

The first salad -- the one pictured -- was pretty good but subsequent salads this week were made even better by the inclusion of these. They come from a coworker's garden. I have never been much of a fan of tomatoes, but these? The first time my coworker brought in a bowl a few weeks ago, he stopped by my office to announce their presence in the kitchen. "They're like candy." I was skeptical. And then I tasted one. He was so right. I have never tasted a tomato this sweet before in all my life. I find myself eating them as snacks while at work. If my mother had served these when I was a kid, I might have a different opinion about tomatoes today. I sure do hope that he'll be bringing more in some time soon.

Hanging from a telephone wire

2008-09-10T23:00:00.000-07:00

Yep, I guess I told a fib. I said the other day that I would leave a discussion of this past Saturday to one paragraph. After reading a couple of other blogs, I decided to go ahead and share some of my thoughts. The more I think about it, I think the reason why I misspoke was because I felt that I needed to do my last two posts first.

Saturday's brunch was at times very emotional for me. After everyone had a chance to eat, we sat around and shared stories about my aunt. While the group consisted mostly of my aunt's friends, my dad and his other sister were also present. But before I get into the statements that were made about her, I'd like to get into some of my choices.

Some of you may have noticed that I my presence in the blogosphere has been less over the last few weeks. That's because one of the decisions I made was not to use my feed reader -- for almost two weeks. (I won't even begin to describe how many posts there were waiting for me when I opened it yesterday.) I knew that I needed to take a step back, much as I have done with many of my family members.

In many ways, I was feeling like my life was in a rut. I love structure, thus my love of lists, but I also love the unexpected. And I decided that sitting on my butt in front of the TV night after night was not as much of a variety as I need. Besides I have DVR. The shows will be there waiting for me when I want to see them.

Now don't get me wrong. My workdays are not always the same. It's just that the daily "surprises" have gotten to be the same in some way. I can handle most of these "surprises" in my sleep at this point. And so often by the end of the day, I do indeed feel half asleep. Then I reminded myself that my job has a seasonal quality to it. When we are in our peak season, I completely love my job. This meant to me that during the slow time, I needed to add more things to my life. Like the classes. Oh, and I have an interview scheduled for Monday for the volunteering.

Deciding what to do was in some ways the hard part. When trying to decide what to do, I suddenly heard my aunt's voice in my head. Because not long before her death, she had been asking me why I no longer did things like taking classes. And what really resonated with me was the memory of her saying, "When you do these things, you seem really happy." So I made decisions based on things that give me joy.

And now that brings me to Saturday's brunch. One of her friends mentioned how she was always so much fun to be around. In 2001, she pissed me off. I kept my contact with her to a minimal until 2003 -- when she was first diagnosed with cancer. Because she was sick, I was able to forget our past differences. But there was something else. I had missed her during that time because of the simple fact that she was so much fun to be around.

As the discussion continued, one of her friends mentioned why she was so much fun. This friend said that she had a serious side and could take care of business when needed. But she also had this childlike quality. I remember tearing up this point because all I could think was that perhaps we weren't that different from one another. Perhaps this was to be expected since my grandmother had such a great effect on both of our lives.

And then someone else summed it all up best. No matter what she was doing, my aunt had fun doing it. If there was no possibility of fun, then she just didn't do it. And she could make the most mundane of activities seem like the height of fun. She could even do this when she was sick and suffering from great amounts of pain. By doing this, she made it possible for the rest of us to forget that she even was sick.

So now I'm going to do my best to make sure that every day is filled with some sort of fun. Because as that article that Heidi quoted, this is what life is. And I am so ready to get on with living.

Another section possibly filled in

2008-09-09T22:10:00.000-07:00

The weekend before I started tutoring again, I went to brunch with the foster parents of the girl I tutor. (They also happen to be family friends and I had to pick up my mother from their house.) During brunch they voiced their surprise at my relationship with their foster daughter. I was too mentally fried at the time to explain to them that she shows deference and respect toward me and feels safe in telling me the truth about what is going on with her at school because these are the boundaries I have set for her.

If you know me, then you know that I spent a lot of time thinking about that post a couple of weeks ago.

The first part of the thought process was looking for local volunteer opportunities. I think I may have found my match in a volunteer program through the local YWCA. The program matches women with young women who are about to age out of the foster care system. My mother -- typical of her -- thinks it's a horrendous thought. Of course it is. It's probably a little too personal for her. Her idea of volunteering is to dish out food at the soup kitchen. Oh, and she has also signed up to volunteer two days a week at the Democrat campaign office. Her neighbor has also signed up there as well as the Obama campaign office.

In toying with this idea, I had an epiphany. Of course, I have been feeling off-balance. Volunteering has been a part of my life for many years.

It all started when I was twelve or so. I joined the Red Cross club at my junior high. We made stuffed animals for hospitalized kids. At age 13, I put in over 100 hours volunteering at a local daycare center. At 14, I put in 50+ hours at the V.A. in Tuskegee, Alabama. That was definitely an eye-opening experience. The next thing that sticks in my mind was when I volunteered in pediatrics at the university hospital my freshman year. I learned that sometimes babies get horrible diseases. My job was to help them forget all of that. When I worked at the Death Star, they asked for volunteers. I helped to paint the dining room at a transitional shelter for families in the Haight.

What I realized was that when I started teaching, I stopped the volunteering. And that was OK then. I did still volunteer. I would sign up for committees and whatnot. But I'm not teaching now. And I realize now that by not finding some other volunteer opportunity has left a void in my life.

I worked for a non-profit briefly. I recognize the power in people giving dollars. But there is so much more in giving of one's time. Or at least that's what I think. For me, it started at a point of not having much money but wanting to help. Now I could write a check but that somehow feels lacking in my mind. Ten seconds to write a check? Is that really doing something? Yeah, maybe it does but I want to know firsthand that whatever I have done has changed the world in some way. And the best way to do this is to do things, interact with people. I was about to say that I am an introvert but then I thought that I should take a Myers-Briggs again. (I'm a ENTJ if you're wondering. Might explain my incessant list-making.) Apparently I am a "slightly expressed extrovert."

Hmmm. I really am an extrovert at heart? Might explain a great deal about my feeling of disconnect as of late. And why volunteering that allows me interact with others is so important to me.

And so today, I submitted my application to be a mentor. One more thing done. But I'm still not done reclaiming the old me yet...

Afterthought: If none of y'all hear from me tomorrow, please call the cops. I am afraid that Natasha is going to kill me in my sleep tonight. I went to Berkeley Bowl to pick up her favorite canned food. They were sold out because the friggin' stuff was on sale. So I tried out some other stuff since I refuse to go to Astronomico's or Whole Foods -- the only other stores that carry the stuff. I know that Astronomico's charges at least fifty cents more a can than Berkeley Bowl does for the stuff. Then again, maybe I should have spent it. My life is definitely worth more than that.

Reclamation

2008-09-08T22:30:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend I had thought about writing a whole post about the events of Saturday. They can be summed up in a paragraph though. I went to the library and put my car in the shop. The car needs to go back this Saturday so that they can finish the work since they had to order a part. Grrrr. Then I will be already to start taking road trips. Saturday was also my aunt's birthday. After the errands, I went to a brunch that one of her friends was having to celebrate her life. Then I went out to dinner with family to do the same. My stepmother is still the same. Her birthday is later this week.

Now onto the real subject here. A few weeks ago I was talking about reclaiming my life -- and my sanity along the way. Tonight I took yet another step in that direction. I am once more enrolled in a Portuguese class. The surprising thing is that the instructor remembered me from before. It's been three years since I've taken a Portuguese class. It's slowly starting to come back.

Of course, I still could not escape death. We had to pair up with a classmate to do introductions. The woman with whom I was paired said that she was taking the class because her sister-in-law who passed away in June was Brazilian. And now this woman is raising her twin three-year-old nieces. She is taking Portuguese because she doesn't want them to lose their mother's language. I don't know about you but I wanted to cry. But then we got to hear from the one guy in the class who said that he wanted to learn Portuguese so that he could meet more women the next time he goes to Brazil. And so we got to laugh. All in all, it seems like a fun group of folks. When I had to describe myself later in the class, I said that I was faladora. That would be talkative. Because I figured that I should be honest.

Tomorrow night and Thursday night I am going to try to enroll in a couple of dance classes. I would have tried for one on Wednesday as well but I tutor on Wednesday nights.

I'm nowhere near done in reclaiming my life though. There is still at least a couple more pieces to the puzzle.

Stuff

2008-09-04T11:06:00.000-07:00

I keep forgetting to take a picture for y'all every Wednesday evening. Because school is back in and that means that Wednesday evenings are spent tutoring. Math and English in case you're wondering. So instead, I give you this photo I found through Google.

The nice thing is that recently it has actually been sunny in Pacifica -- a rarity. So I get to go to a place that I find lovely and I get paid. Sometimes I get dinner as well. Can't get any better than that.

I am seriously trying to plan some vacations for myself but right now I feel as if my head is going to explode from attempting to make plans. So I took this quiz instead.

Your result for Zombie, Zombie Food, or Zombie Survivor Test...

The Survivor

You are well prepared and knowledgable and will no doubt live a long and happy zombie-free life. You might want to think about setting up a zombie survival group in your area, an anti-undead militia. But please, for everyone's sake keep it low-key. We don't want the government to think we are on to their scheme so take your band and keep moving.

Take Zombie, Zombie Food, or Zombie Survivor Test at HelloQuizzy

I wonder if these skills can get rid of irritating relatives. Hmmm...

Summer of death continues

2008-09-02T22:07:00.001-07:00

First of all, my stepmother is still here. More about that in a bit. The new death is the father of one of my aunt's best friends. I am so over these calls.

But back to my stepmother. My dad learned today that someone has filed an elder abuse charge against him. WTF? Once my stepmother passes away, I know that it will only get uglier.

And so this is my daily existence. I can only hope that karma will kick these folks's asses really hard.

I just want the Summer of Death to end. Now.

Wanderlust

2008-09-01T18:55:00.000-07:00

By Thursday afternoon I was dreaming of getting away from it all. But then reality set in.

I realized that starting Thursday night, I was responsible for two fish,

two dogs,

and three cats for the holiday weekend.

No, the first cat is not Natasha. He's my neighbor's cat. He's even more camera shy than she is.

So much for getting away. I contented myself with making a list of places. Then I realized that everywhere on the list consisted of day trips. So I made a new list of weekend trips. Maybe once I start doing some of these, I can start making a list of places that will take more than a weekend. I figure for now, I should start small though.

And so since I could not get away, I did the next best thing and headed to the roof. (Please ignore the singing. I'm just trying to drown out the voices of the guys from work telling me that it is not good for the roof to walk upon it constantly. La-la-la. Whatever.)

My neighbor started an herb garden last year but it appears that she gave up on that idea. Now we're left with a few pots of this.

And since y'all enjoyed the 'hood photos, I leave you with these. I had not been on the roof since they finished the new building. Unfortunately this building blocks most of our western views. Grrrr.

I hope to start on the lists the coming weekend. The best I'll be able to do is a day trip though. Actually, it may be this way for a bit more time. I have a family obligation Saturday evening. It's my aunt's birthday and so we're having the party that she would have wanted.

Slow day

2008-08-29T09:26:00.000-07:00

Time is passing ever so slowly today. So much so that I am entertaining myself with online quizzes. (Don't tell my boss that though.) First I confirmed that I am a nerd -- and proud of it. To continue my nerdiness, I took the following quiz.

Your result for The Commonly Confused Words Test...

English Genius

You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly! Way to go!

Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it!

Take The Commonly Confused Words Test at HelloQuizzy

Then again, I used to be an English teacher. Yes, I know that my grammar and vocabulary here are not always "proper." It's like a former coworker used to say though. "Most writers break the rules. However, one must first understand what the rules are so that one can make a conscious decision to break them." I like to break rules.

Grumpy

2008-08-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

So yeah. I've been pretty grumpy lately. I'm working on it though. When I'm pissed off, I like to run. It used to be if I was feeling grumpy, I'd go for a drive. Now I go for a walk.

Every summer there is corn in the field. I'm not sure if I really want to know what they do with the plants. In the fall it all gets tilled under and the Canadian geese show up. For at least a week. But the field wasn't my real destination.

Nope. Not the final destination. Every time I pass by Live Oak Park I do think of how I should go there more often though.

I fell in love with Codornices Park in elementary school. From first through third grades, I went to this babysitter's house after school. Most days she would take us girls to a park. Codornices was the special occasion kind of park. There are trails along the creek. But best of all is the cement slide built into the hill. For really good speed, it's best to use wax paper or cardboard under your butt.

And nothing beats the views from up there.

Or the beauty of the Rose Garden across the street. I always forget that there are tennis courts next to the Rose Garden. All I could think was, "Is there a cooler tennis court anywhere else? I don't think so."

On my way back down the hill, I couldn't resist taking a few photos of the homes around the area. The first is of a house that's being remodeled. The other two photos I had to take after seeing an "Apartment for Rent" sign. ~~I don't even want to imagine what the rent is up there.~~ (I had to look out of curiousity since I knew the property management company would have it listed on their website. $2,650 for a two bedroom. Although they only show photos of one bedroom. Hmmm.) By this time I was also chatting with Zombie Mom on the phone. I think that she was amused by my random valuations of houses I passed. Like this large Tudor style one. Sorry but no photo. "Hmmm. One point five."

The whole walk was a little over two miles. As a reward, I stopped at Gregoire for the eggplant and the potato puffs. As I stood at the register, I felt my legs starting to shake a bit. So now grumpy has been replaced with sore.

That's OK though. Just getting ready for what will be coming in a couple of weeks.

Summer of death

2008-08-25T21:10:00.000-07:00

That's what I have told one of my cousins I have come to name this summer. My aunt died. Last week a family friend died. And through all of this my stepmother is dying. On Friday my cousin echoed my earlier sentiments. "I'm done."

Yeah, we lost a family friend last week. I found out by reading the paper. But this was someone whom I knew in name only. My dad's cousin? She went through this whole, "My wedding party is dying" thing. But I, the flower girl, am still here.

Saturday turned out to be the nexus of all that is bad in my life. Picked my mother up after her trip to see her mother; she had no regard for my time and schedule per usual. Even better was when she talked over me while at brunch. Then again, she did show great improvement by apologizing immediately -- a rarity. And I was reminded once more how I do not have a voice as far as my family is concerned unless they want something from me. I went to spend a couple of hours with my real parents after that. Screw all those other things I had had planned for my day. My head hurt and I needed to recharge.

It wasn't enough though. I got home and decided to check stuff on my computer. I read a blog post that pissed me off. I could go into it but I decided that it all really isn't worth my energy. Who are these people? Are they a part of my everyday life other than some words on a screen? So I opted to not comment. Nor did I write the flaming post that instantly came to mind. I reminded myself that the universe has a way of dealing with things as long as one has patience. And I have loads of patience.

No. More pressing was the need to lie down. For a couple of hours. Saturday night was supposed to be girls' night out.

Two of the women had already backed out on Friday. The restaurant owner called to confirm the reservation. He was thrilled when I told him that instead of six it would be four. And then I picked up the phone to confirm two of the four. (I didn't bother to call Fluffycat because I knew that she would definitely be there. Remembering this is why I actually showed up to the restaurant.) One of the two called while I was walking to the restaurant. She was at least an hour's drive away. She had forgotten. I had heard nothing from the other. And then I started freaking out. And getting fully pissed off. By the time I had reached the restaurant -- on time for the reservation -- I had heard from only Fluffycat. And so I gave up our table.

I ended up on the phone with one of the women who had bowed out on Friday at this point. That third party? She had apparently called this other friend. And I started screaming about how I was the one who had set everything up -- at this friend's behest and she did not have the decency to call me to say, "Hey. This is what's going on." Especially since this friend has had a past history of flaking. And even more so, because this friend was the one who had asked me to set the whole thing up in the first place. This would be while talking to my friend when I called two weeks after my aunt had died because I was still in disbelief that she had not tried to contact me. Saturday night's dinner was our first contact since then. Part of my tirade on the phone was that if she didn't show up, I knew that we were done as friends. But she did. So now I'm still questioning. Of course, I'm leaning heavily toward being done with her at this point. I know that we have a bond but what if it isn't what you need?

Food at the restaurant was fabulous. Fluffycat and my friend headed home. I headed to my bar. I got a cocktail and headed out to the outdoor area. While I played solitaire on my iPhone, I fought back the urge to cry. The guys I have met there previously quickly realized that they needed to give me space. I was angry at the world. But mostly I was angry at myself for making bad choices.

Random Guy showed up, as I knew that he would. I told him that I was pissed off with the world and he quickly moved out of range. Eventually he sat with me. And I thanked him for making me laugh. I don't laugh much these days.

There is the moment that continues to haunt me. Random Guy asked, "Why don't your friends ever go out with you?" And I explained about their marriages and their kids. And told him that one day, it would happen to him as well. But the thing that touched me? We're not dating but he said that he'd like to meet my friends. Heck. I've met his. Now there's a part of me that is feeling abandoned. Nothing new. I'm an old hat at this feeling,

By Sunday, I thought to myself, "I'm done with this blogging thing. It's time to go out and reclaim my life." But I had a life when I first started this blog. It's just that I need to find my way back the person I used to be. Not completely. The new version of that person has learned how to say "no" and to not feel overly guilty for saying that one word.

Somewhere along the way I have built a life that is filled with people who say, "I need.." and, "Could you possibly do..." This isn't so bad in itself. It's just that with many of these people, when I utter the same words, they don't seem to hear them.

I became my "partygirl" persona because I realized that people did not listen to me. The partygirl persona allowed me to be all in another person's face until I was heard. OK. Let's be honest. When I am in partygirl mode, I only have to say it once.

Now I'm trying to figure out how to fit that into my everyday life. People want me to research stuff and to then give advice. If it doesn't fit into their vision, then they ignore what I have said. Thing is that months down the road, I am generally proven right. I love research. I love looking at the "big picture."

Where am I now? I'm trying to come up with things that will help me to maintain my sanity during all of this. And to tell everyone who doesn't fit into the plan what they can kiss.

And so the summer of death marches on.

Look, BellaKarma. No meat.

2008-08-21T19:15:00.000-07:00

Summery Corn Soup

So I know that Biggles will not be thrilled with this post. But you know what? One does not have to have meat with every meal.

My mother and I toyed with this concept through the late 70s and the early 80s. Why? Many reasons. After my parents divorced, money was tight at first. My mom's younger sister has been a pescetarian since the early 70s also. My mother and I both love seafood. Well, my mother loves shellfish and I love just about anything that comes out of the water. But we also enjoy the occasional pork chop or rack of lamb. *sigh*

Before I threw on the trout last night, I started this dish. Well, it had a lot more cooking time. I knew that I would tout it for BellaKarma. Often she looks at the dishes I cook and post here and tries to think of vegetarian options for them. Not necessary here. This soup is completely vegetarian. No. Scratch that. It is vegan. I must admit that vegan is an extreme rarity in my cooking. I just love those dairy products so much. In fact, I have yet to meet a dairy product that I don't like.

And now I must reassure BellaKarma some more. It's not that complex a recipe. Really. I must admit that I was dreading that whole straining thing but it went quickly. And as you see, I went for yellow tomatoes throughout the entire recipe. I was briefly tempted to put in more than two chiles but then I came to my senses. Thank goodness.

Bottom line. This is something that I'd definitely make again.

The return of bacon

2008-08-20T21:20:00.000-07:00

Last summer was the salmon with bacon. It was good but I actually prefer trout to salmon. Go figure. And I absolutely love the Pan-Fried Trout with Bacon. I could marry it. Next time I might try substituting shallots for the green onions though.

And there was a salad on the side. If it's just me, then the salad is always on the side. My dressing of choice this summer is raspberry balsamic, walnut oil, dijon mustard and tarragon. That's it. Nothing more. It's gotten so that I keep a small of it in the fridge.

Now this isn't what I had planned to post tonight. I was supposed to be having the mahi-mahi but it had finished defrosting in the fridge. Good thing that I broke down and got the trout (and bacon) while I was in Berkeley Bowl tonight. (The reason for the shopping trip is a dish that is still cooking as I type this.) Yep. Someone meant for me to have the trout tonight. And to whomever that may be, I say, "Thank you."

Small roads

2008-08-19T21:30:00.000-07:00

I suddenly realized something this past weekend. I've missed out on a great deal of the beauty of California because of my mom's fears. Specifically my mother has a fear of bridges and two lane roads.

When I first started going to Pt. Reyes Station, I mentioned it to my mom. She asked about the roads. I told her the truth. She said, "No."

But I love two lane roads. I love drawbridges. And so it was perfect that Saturday afternoon/evening found me driving through the Delta. (Even if I had "Walking in Memphis" stuck in an endless loop in my mind.) I thought of y'all while I was driving. Like, "I should pull over to take some photos," but the sun was setting and I try not to do those kinds of roads after dark if I've never driven them several times. So I'll be heading back.

I previously said that Sunday was my "me" day but Saturday evening was as well. Getting behind the wheel of my car on open, or fairly open, road is very relaxing. By the time I got home Saturday night I had clocked around 260 miles of driving from the time that I left home for work on Friday morning. Looking at the number, I think that it really isn't that much but then I think about the reality of it all.

Friday morning I drove to work in San Francisco. At the end of the day, I drove home through Friday night commute traffic. It was road rage worthy. After eating dinner, I gathered my stuff and then drove to Sacramento. After doing three and a half hours of work in my dad's office on Saturday, I drove to Tobie's housewarming. And then home.

On the road between Sacramento and Lodi.

Brannan Island Levee Road in the Delta.

It was the drive to Tobie's and then the drive home that took me through the Delta. I haven't spent much time back in that area. Might have something to do with the great number of folks who some may classify as being "rednecks" around those parts. Always made me a bit uneasy.

Berkeley Plantation, Virginia.

James River.

Just like how I will do ten hour drives by myself through the Deep South but I don't stray onto those small roads unless I really know them. Because solo driving in the U.S. means that I look at things not only through the lens of gender but through that of race as well. When I lived in Virginia, my downstairs neighbor, the self-proclaimed "redneck," told me the places that I should avoid. Oh, and I should explain. Her calling herself a "redneck" had nothing to do with her political beliefs. Nah. She just didn't have a college degree, liked country line dancing, and Jack Daniels. It was more an acknowledgment that white folks with more money than what she had looked down their noses at her. A lot of her kind of folks were my friends when I lived in Virginia. Maybe there was a shared experience that the dominant society would never think that you were good enough for them.

Yorktown.

Williamsburg.

Jamestown.

I digress. Bottom line is that I need to do here what I did in Virginia. It was much easier there because of the French Bitch, the Peugeot I drove back then. My car had phantom problems in the electrical system. This meant that I called the towing company -- in a town of about 10,000 people -- at least once a month. Since I apparently have a distinctive voice, they got to know me at "hello." Now I don't know how much experience you have with getting a jump start but the deal is that you should ideally drive the car for at least 30 minutes after getting the jump. It gets boring driving the same streets and ideally you should take the car on the highway. So while I was waiting for the tow guy, I would pull out my map and look for unfamiliar lines. I quickly learned that I could drive to Jamestown and back if I was in a rush. Have a little more time? Head to Yorktown. Or just explore the other nearby towns. And then there were the days that I would just head out with my camera riding shotgun.

I have been trying to find balance in my life. Over the past weekend I have noticed quite a number of things that were lacking. Hopping in my car and driving down some unfamiliar road is one of them. So now I'm going to figure out how to include these explorations into my life. Because they are me. And I just need to reclaim the pieces of me that have gotten lost along the way.

Note: Photos added from Google the afternoon of 20 August 2008 at the request of
Fluffycat. One day soon I'll go through my old photos and post some of the stuff that I actually took while I lived in Virginia.

The Omnivore's 100

2008-08-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

I saw this over at Cookiecrumb's and so I had to give a go.

How the Omnivore's 100 works:
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.

2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.

3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.

4) Optional: Post a comment at Very Good Taste, linking to your results.

MY OMNIVORE'S ~~100~~ (53 out of 100):

1. Venison

2. Nettle tea

3. Huevos rancheros

4. Steak tartare

5. Crocodile (though I have had alligator)

6. Black pudding

7. Cheese fondue

8. Carp

9. ~~Borscht~~ (I really don't like beets.)

10. Baba ghanoush

11. Calamari

12. Pho

13. PB&J sandwich

14. Aloo gobi

15. Hot dog from a street cart (My mother swore it was part of the New York experience.)

16. Epoisses

17. Black truffle

18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes

19. Steamed pork buns

20. ~~Pistachio ice cream~~ (I don't like most nuts including pistachios.)

21. Heirloom tomatoes

22. Fresh wild berries

23. Foie gras

24. Rice and beans

25. ~~Brawn or head cheese~~ (Not after seeing my grandmother make it.)

26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper (The closest I've gotten was a olives stuffed with Scotch bonnet instead of pimientos. Mmmm. Good stuff.)

27. Dulce de leche

28. Oysters

29. Baklava

30. Bagna cauda

31. Wasabi peas

32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl

33. Salted lassi

34. Sauerkraut (Words cannot even begin to describe how much I love this stuff. Oooo. And Kim Chee as well.)

35. Root beer float

36. Cognac with a fat cigar (Nope. The last time I had a cigar -- a Cuban -- was with some sangria.)

37. Clotted Cream Tea

38. Vodka Jelly/Jell-O

39. Gumbo

40. Oxtail (I debate about whether I'll ever eat this again since I know that the person who prepared it before was not that good a cook.)

41. Curried goat

42. Whole insects

43. Phaal (I really must try this because I really love a good vindaloo.)

44. Goat's milk

45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth $120 or more

46. Fugu

47. Chicken tikka masala

48. Eel

49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut

50. Sea urchin

51. Prickly pear

52. Umeboshi

53. Abalone

54. Paneer

55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal

56. Spaetzle

57. Dirty gin martini

58. ~~Beer above 8% ABV~~ (Once was more than enough.)

59. Poutine

60. Carob chips

61. S’mores

62. Sweetbreads

63. Kaolin (Isn't this the active ingredient in Kaopectate?)

64. Currywurst

65. ~~Durian~~

66. Frogs’ legs (I go back and forth on this one.)

67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake (Yes to all except the elephant ears.)

68. Haggis

69. Fried plantain

70. ~~Chitterlings or andouillette~~ (Once was enough on the chitterlings as well. Oh the smell.)

71. Gazpacho

72. Caviar and blini

73. Louche absinthe

74. Gjetost or brunost

75. Roadkill (Only if I didn't know that it was roadkill.)

76. Baijiu

77. Hostess Fruit Pie

78. Snail

79. Lapsang Souchong (I drink this near daily.)

80. Bellini

81. Tom Yum

82. Eggs Benedict

83. Pocky

84. 3 Michelin Star Tasting Menu

85. Kobe beef

86. Hare

87. Goulash

88. Flowers

89. ~~Horse~~

90. Criollo chocolate

91. Spam

92. Soft shell crab

93. Rose harissa

94. Catfish

95. Mole poblano

96. Bagel and lox

97. Lobster Thermidor

98. Polenta

99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee

100. Snake (If only that one roommate I had had years ago had made a batch of his rattlesnake chili...)

It looks like I've got some eating to do...

Finding balance in the PRB*

2008-08-17T21:25:00.000-07:00

I suddenly have a lot of posts bouncing around in my head -- perhaps because my weekend was so full. I thought I'd start with the easy one first.

Today was "me" day. The family members who I know really care are totally respectful of this idea. The idea that at least one day a week has to be completely mine. If I have that, then I can deal with all of the rest of the stuff.

I awoke at 8:00 a.m. with all these thoughts of what needed to be done. By noon after much thought, I realized that they didn't need to be done today. Well, especially those things that involve driving. Those can wait until tomorrow evening when I will be in my car because I have to drive to work. So I caught up on TV viewing and took a nap.

Around 4:00 I headed out to the library. I finally managed to finish two of the Stephanie Plum books I had checked out weeks ago. Only four more to go and I will be caught up on the series. Of course, returning the books could have waited until tomorrow as well as I pass the library on my way to work every morning. But I had items on hold. This would be a result of the Netflix meltdown during this past week. It dawned on me that some of the older titles on my list might just be available at the public library. They were -- and were already checked out so I put in hold requests. But this is just the why of the walk. The walk itself was the more important part to me.

As I neared the BART station, I could hear the sounds of music over a P.A. system. The "Free Tibet" group was set up there once more. Apparently this is the new hot protesting thing in Berkeley. There haven't been protests in front of the Marines recruiting center for months. And somehow magically around the same time that those ended, the "Free Tibet" marches started. The one I saw on Friday night as I was leaving for Sacramento was at least two blocks long. Anywho. I gladly took a flyer from one of the adorable children handing them out. Actually it was more of a race as two of the kids made a beeline for me, rushing to see who could get to me first. It made me smile. Enough that the homeless guy I passed had to comment. Something along the lines of, "Keep on smiling. Yeah. I'm talking to you."

The return was all about food. I needed gelato. Really. But Naia is still down to two cases instead of the three they used to have and there was no cardamom. *sigh* So I trudged on.

There was a quick stop at Astronomico's (This is Marin's name for the place and I kind of like it.) to pick up canned food. I just didn't have the energy to walk to Berkeley Bowl to save fifty cents a can. Besides I just needed a few to tie me over until I could stop at Berkeley Bowl on my way home from work this week. But I thought of Zombie Mom while in the store as I saw a woman pulling a child in a red wagon down an aisle.

And I remembered how I didn't get the tuna the last time I hit my fave takeout spot. But I still needed gelato -- and maybe sorbet -- so I headed over to Ciao Bella. And I guess it was a good thing that Naia didn't have the flavor I wanted because I suddenly remembered that if I used my debit card at Ciao Bella, I could earn airline miles. By the way, I ended up with blood orange sorbet and rose petal gelato, if you're interested.

On my way home with all of my goodies (Tucked away into one of the many tote bags I received while teaching. I felt so "Berkeley."), I saw what was probably the most interesting site. A woman was power-washing the sidewalk in front of her house. I found myself thinking, "Aren't we supposed to be conserving water? How did she get into Berkeley? I mean at Marin's house they have a bucket in the tub to catch some of the runoff water from the shower to use for watering." OK. I mostly thought this because I was forced to walk in the street. Her back was to me and she could not hear me approaching because of the noise of the washer. So while walking in the street to avoid getting wet, I thought of the other stuff.

Ahhh. But how to conclude this all? As I feasted on the tuna, eggplant and potato puffs, I got sucked into "Confessions of a Go-Go Girl" on Lifetime. By the end I had a few questions. Because even a cheesy Lifetime movie leaves me asking questions.

Are all women who take their clothes off for a living unhappy? Why do people say it's degrading? Aren't you "selling yourself" at just about any job? But then I got to thinking about how women our often objectified in our society. It all gets back to that double standard. Women are being told that men like them to act in a certain way and then are punished for doing exactly that. Oh, and please do not mention religious morality to me. Those books were written by men. And no, I am not trashing religion. It's just that I have issues with a man writing about how a woman should behave and then masking it all in religious beliefs. Or those men who choose to interpret passages in this manner.

So this is the stuff I will be pondering while I write my next couple of posts. Until then.

* Whenever I use the acronym "PRB," I always mean "The People's Republic of Berkeley." It's from my childhood. No matter for what others may now use the acronym, it will always mean this to me. Maybe one day I'll get around to adding a glossary to the sidebar.

The person I wish I was

2008-08-13T21:30:00.000-07:00

I don't discuss it much here but I watch a great deal of reality TV. Currently I am watching "From G's to Gents," "New York Goes to Hollywood," "BB10," "Brooke Knows Best," "Project Runway," "Shear Genius," "Date My Ex," "I Love Money," and "Flippin' Out." OK. So "Flippin' Out" ended this week but the reunion show was so hilarious, I know that I may have to watch it a few more times. Just to see Jeff with his business partner's daughter. "Bad baby." And "I Love Money"? I call it "Best of the Skanks." And into this the summer series of "The Closer," "Psych," "Monk," and "Mad Men"...

Long before I discovered reality TV though, I was into "Vanity Fair." I've had a subscription for too many years to count. And I usually read each issue from cover to cover. Over the last year I have not quite met this monthly goal. As part of the "taking care of me" plan, I decided that I needed to start this practice once more. And what a great issue to do this.

I started my reading during lunch today. I decided to save the article on Carla Bruni for later reading and instead read about the recent presidential election in Zimbabwe. As I read the article, I teared up a few times. How could people treat one another in that way? And how could the rest of the world stand by silently for so long while it happened? (OK. They are both "silly" questions. Both are a part of the history of the world unfortunately.)

My dad made a couple of trips to Zimbabwe during the mid-90s with the Chamber of Commerce. The items in the photos were my souvenirs from those trips. He and my stepmother told me tales of this wondrous land. And there were also the numerous photos my stepmother took. (My dad had several of them enlarged into posters and framed them.) I wanted to go and see it all for myself. And then things became unstable.

I didn't think about traveling to Zimbabwe anymore until I read the article. Because as I read the article, I became angry. My first thought was to hop on a plane to Harare and to help in the struggle for democracy -- since that seems to be what the people there want. If they wanted communism or some other form of government, I would feel just as passionately about it all.

And then I heard my mother's voice in my head. "You will go over there and open your mouth and then they will kill you." In younger days the words "they will kill you" were instead "you will get arrested." While my family views me as a rebel, I know in my heart that I am a long way from that point. My true self was not that afraid of being arrested. It was the reaction of my parents that scared me more. The same goes for the dying thing. When one has spent the good part of one's life trying to kill one's self off, the idea of dying in itself is not that frightening. The only part of it all that scares me now is dying before I've had a chance to do all the things that I want to accomplish. I am sure that one day I will find a cause and drop everything to rush off to be a part of it all. Because I know that this is a large part of who I am -- who I want to be.

In the meantime, I am trying to think of other things that I could do. My first thought was to write this post. Because I don't think that we hear enough in the U.S. about the living conditions of others outside of this country. Especially if it is a lesser developed country. No, that term doesn't seem completely right in describing Zimbabwe.

To stop all of these thoughts, I read the article on supermodels of the 90s when I got home. Next I'll finish the one on Carla Bruni. And maybe somewhere along the way I'll have a sudden epiphany about how I can stop feeling helpless in wanting to help those who seem to need so much.

Worn out places, worn out faces

2008-08-12T23:20:00.000-07:00

Stuff happens and I do a lot of processing. Or at least that's what Marin says. She also says that I, like her, am a stuffer. As in stuff those feelings into a closet in one's mind to be dealt with another day. But that's another post. This is the stuff that I forgot to include yesterday. I don't know why. Perhaps I needed to let it marinate some more.

Last week Hilly wrote a post about friendship. Reading it, of course, brought some of my recent questions to the forefront of my mind. I've never made a list; perhaps I should. Sure there are things that irritate the hell out of me but for some people, I will forgive them these things. And perhaps that makes me an idiot.

Over the last month I have seen people act in ways in which I would have never expected. No, that's the wrong word. Crap! I don't know the word but all I know that is that the support I have gotten from others has reminded me why I call them friends. And then there are the others.

A part of me questions whether it is time to end a friendship. I wanted to put the word friendship in quotes because I have started to wonder if the relationship is even that.

The weekend that my aunt died, I called this friend and told her what had happened. Two weeks later I had heard nothing from her -- and a mutual friend had even asked during that two week span if I had heard from this other friend. Nope. When we spoke two weeks later, it was because I called. And I remember thinking, "It never dawned on you to call me to say, 'Hey. How are you doing?'" I didn't say this but I know that if I had called her on her shit, she would have felt bad and responded "properly." It's just that one almost always has to call her on her shit at times like these. And I'm tired.

Then I started thinking about how maybe just once more my mother had been right all these years. She has told me for many years that my friend was too self-absorbed to truly notice anyone else.

And so now I toy with the idea of walking away from a 35-year friendship. Because I think that my friend walked away years ago. Or maybe she wasn't ever really a friend in the way that I define it now. She is just someone with whom I experienced a great deal of my life.

One is the magic number

2008-08-11T22:10:00.000-07:00

Over this past weekend I thought of many blog posts. The problem was that there seemed to be some overlap in my thoughts so I decided to throw it all together into one of those rambling kind of posts that Nat enjoys so much.

Last week was a hellacious week for me. I'll admit it. I had hit pretty near bottom mentally. As a result I just could not get rid of that tired feeling.

I had promised my dad that I would spend the weekend in Sacramento. But there were things I really needed to take care of at home first. Friday evening found me finally doing some straightening up around my apartment. While eating dinner, I toyed with the idea of going out. I kept thinking, "But I'm so tired." Going out won out though and I headed out around 8:00.

Once at my bar, I grabbed a cocktail and headed out to the outdoor area so that I could drink and smoke. And since I was alone, I pulled out the iPhone to play some games. (Normally I would have pulled out a book but none of my current reading choices fit into my purse.) And as I sat there half-asleep, I told myself that I would leave after a couple of drinks -- the minimum that I would have to order in order to use my debit card.

Yeah. Two drinks. That was before I met the young woman who shared my love of all things Kate Spade. We both agreed that prior to finding Kate Spade, we never were that into purses. But Kate's stuff is different; it's timeless art.

And then Random Boy showed up. And then I ran into Married Guy. Who decided that Friday night was a good time to share the fact that he's always wanted to get into my pants. Uh yeah. And then there was a third guy. At one point I was talking to all three. And letting them decide who should pay for my drinks.

Then the band started. I haven't laughed so hard in quite some time. The way I put it was that they were the kind of band that if you heard a CD, you'd say, "They're OK." And then you see them live and are totally freaked out. Because the lead singer/guitarist thought that he was some sort of god of rock. At least that's what I decided from his facial expressions and behavior. And he so was not godlike.

Sacramento was out of the question for Saturday. I needed caffeine, fat, and carbs. And a little more sleep. But Sunday? I felt like me for the first time in weeks. I wanted to stay at home and bask in my me-ness but I remembered promising my dad that I would show up at some point during the weekend.

Suddenly I had "Cats in the Cradle" going through my head. (I've loved that song since childhood.) Why? Because I thought to myself that if I blew off going to Sacramento, my dad would be greatly disappointed. And then I remembered all those times that I sat around waiting for a guy who would never show up when I was a kid. And then I thought, "Karma's a bitch," but then remembered that I'm a better person than that. So I drove the 160 miles round-trip to spend a few hours with my dad.

My dad kept asking, "What can I do for you?" Finally I knew the answer. "Respect the boundaries I set." It dawned on me that over the last month or so, I haven't really done much of anything that was purely for me -- unless you count sleeping. It was time to start setting -- and enforcing -- boundaries. Part of these new boundaries will be making sure that I have time to go out and laugh and dance and talk about things other than work or my family. As long as this happens, I can get through just about anything.

Today I still felt like me. So much so that I braved Berkeley Bowl this evening -- with a shopping cart. (The trick is to never take the cart down the aisles.) I usually try to keep the Berkeley Bowl shopping down to the what-can-fit-in-the-hand-basket level. But I needed paper products. Desperately. (No, I was not out yet but it was going to happen some time this evening.) And this time I shopped mainly the perimeter of the store for the first time in weeks. (This means that I bought fresh stuff instead of the prepared stuff upon which I have been surviving for most of the past month.)

Coq au Riesling

Thank you, Zoomie for sharing the recipe. I used six thighs. I also followed Zoomie's advice and upped the mushrooms to about a cup and a half or so as well as using about four to five cloves of garlic. Oh, and I used three ounces of pancetta instead of the one ounce the recipe calls for. And since there was so much more stuff in the pan, I doubled the wine and cream. I like things saucy. Now I have a few servings packed individually in the fridge as well as a couple of servings in the freezer.

There's more chicken marinating in yogurt in the fridge. Butter Chicken tomorrow night! And maybe I'll finally go through that issue of Bon Appetit that showed up recently.

So yeah, I'm back.

Representing the Yay

2008-08-07T22:15:00.000-07:00

Y'all thought that I was kidding yesterday, didn't you? Teach you to have doubts when the Empress makes a proclamation.

The receptionist at work is deeply into Facebook. Last week she came across this list -- a list of things that prove that one is from the Bay. There was much laughter involved. And the occasional, "Everyone doesn't do that? What?" So let's get onto the list -- with my commentary.

Gas prices are a dollar more than anywhere else in the country.

"We got purple.. we got graaaaapes!" We have the best damn weed in the country. Everyone knows it and anyone who doesn't live here is jealous. Might have to do with our close proximity to Humboldt. Also reminds me of Sunday night at my bar. Not that I smoke because me on drugs? Way scary thought for most folks.

Thizz is your term for E pills.

Broadway is not the plays and theater ... but the bars and stripclubs. Also the reason why when I used to hit the bars around there, guys used to ask which club I worked in. I can't help the way that I dance at times.

Stupid, Dumb, n Hyphy are your descriptive words for a party/club that you went to. Check out the video at the end of this post if you are unclear with these concepts.

Ghost ridin' your car and rollin' with your doors open is the cool shit to do. Nope. That's a cool way to kill yourself. And I think of the Dubs every time I hear "ghost ridin'."

Underage drinkin' starts at the age of 12. What else are you supposed to do when hanging on the pier at the Berkeley marina?>

You've laughed at the Bushman at Fisherman's Wharf.

You've paid money to the robot man dressed in all silver. The robot man is the sheezay.

You've seen Alcatraz from a distance ... but never go. Yep, never been there. That's a tourist thing to do. And one day some tourist will come to town who insists that we go there.

You know someone who runs in the Bay to Breakers every year ... usually naked. I'm not sure about naked but I do know some Hot Tamales.

You can't smoke in restaurants, clubs, bars, or 25 feet near a door of a business. Not sure about this one. Obviously the person has been hanging at the wrong places.

While going over the bridge you think to yourself, what if another earthquake happened right now? After seeing the post-Loma Prieta photos (I was outside of the area at the time.), I try my best not to think about this kind of stuff while crossing bridges.

You went to Club X/City Nights when you were 16 or 17. Ummm. Why would you go there when you were older?

When you hear "I got 5 on it", you yell "Oakland!"
(WHERE YOU FROM??? OAKLAND. SMOKIN')
First of all, you're not supposed to yell out? And if it is OK, what the hell else are you going to say? Because when I was at that firefighter party with Jade and the DJ played this song, everyone called out, "Oakland. Smokin'," at the right point in the song. I think it's the unofficial song for Oakland.

When you from Richmond you holla out, Yee!Yee! Not so sure about this one. Must be some new shit since I left Richmond.

You know exactly who: Mac Dre, Keak Da Sneak, Richie Rich, Spice 1, Turf Talk, The Team, Federation, Mistah FAB, E-40 are... Doesn't everyone? And I've gotta thank my former students in east Oakland for teaching me what "ripper" and "runner" mean. Hint -- they're synonyms.

You've called into Wild 94.9 sayin "St. John you so fierce!" I listen to him regularly but I refuse to say those words -- unless the prize is primo.

You listen to Wild 94.9, 106.1 KMEL, or Live 105 everyday. First three preset buttons on the my car radio.

You actually know a bum or crackhead by face or name. You mean that you're not supposed to?

You've been to a Giants game and seen the Rally Pumpkin.

You've been to an A's Wednesday $1 night. I probably have been but I don't like the cheap seats. I need to be on the third base line.

You've tailgated at the coliseum. Gotta say "no" to this. Raider Nation? Scares the crap out of me -- and there isn't much that scares me.

Ridin' the yellow bus...is not actually ridin' the yellow bus. Well, duh.

You've seen or been to the Chinese New Year Parade. Yep.

You know someone who is a DJ, or tryin' to become a rap artist. And?

There are many white kids in the high-class suburban areas thinkin' they are from Oakland. And then they get their asses kicked.

You get charged an arm and a leg to go across a damn bridge. Hell yeah. I remember the days when you could give the toll person a roll of pennies and roll on.

You own a pair of stunnas. I did. Then they broke. I need to head out to get another pair. Can't lean properly in the car without them.

You know the words to "California Love." You mean that there are people who don't? Oh, and I've always thought that the sign near the beginning of the video was missing a word. It should read, "Welcome to Oakland biotches."

You've been to a concert/rave at the Shoreline. Why would I go to a concert at that toxic waste dump? Obviously a young 'un wrote the list. Someone older? Would have definitely said Day on the Green.

You or a friend have Gas, Break, Dipped in front of a club. Doesn't everyone?

You've gigged on the dance floor.

"YADDYAMEAN" or "SHABOOBALABOOPY" comes out of your mouth at least once a day. Not sure about the second but hell yeah I do the first.

You've been to the Cow Palace for some event. My mother would not allow me to go there. Something about drugs and violence. Whatever.

You know exactly where Pier 39 is. Of course I do. Gotta avoid the tourists.

You got a piercing or tattoo on Telegraph. Check. Need to go back for the tattoo though. Not sure if I'll hit Zebra for the ink. They do a fan-fucking-tastic job with piercings though.

You are still confused why Cal State Hayward changed to Cal State East Bay. It's still Cal State Hayward in my mind.

You know "Goin' Dumb" is a dance ... not an insult to your intelligence. Once more -- duh.

You always represent your area code. Shout out to the 5-1-0. Oh, and hell. Shout out to the 7-0-7. Area code of Vallejo. Home of E-40. Birthplace of my "real parents."

You say "HELLA" at least 50 times in one conversation. Depends on the conversation. Could be more. Could be less.

"...IT'S OFFICIAL LIKE A REFEREE'S WHISTLE...I'M SO BAY WIT IT!!"

Just be happy that I couldn't find my favorite Too $hort song, "Invasion of the Flat Booty Bitches."

Another one of those posts

2008-08-06T20:05:00.000-07:00

Still riding that roller coaster.

Last Monday my stepmother went back into the hospital because she had a seizure at home. This Monday the doctors told my father that my stepmother needed to enter another facility instead of returning home. Yesterday they told him they estimate she has another three weeks to live. It's been less than three weeks since my aunt's funeral.

Yesterday I overslept for work. Again. I had problems falling asleep Monday night. So yesterday I got the talk from my boss. He was saying crap about how maybe the job is too stressful for me and maybe it just wasn't a right fit. Today the president of the company said how they needed me to be focused at work. I heeded the advice that Marin gave me yesterday. I bit my tongue. And instead I spent a day at work having panic attacks all day long. At least that's what I think it was. All I know was that periodically it felt like someone had reached their hand into my chest and was squeezing. I couldn't breathe during these moments and thought that I would pass out. And then I got home tonight and it all stopped.

I don't know what the hell people expect. I'm coping as best as I can. Sometimes I'm really sad. At other times, I'm pissed off beyond belief.

Anywho. I'm getting kind of tired of writing these kind of posts. I have all these other happier posts either already written and saved or bouncing around inside my head. I'd rather post that stuff.

After writing this, I headed over to Jester's and decided to take the quiz. I remember doing it in the past. Can't remember the results then.

Dagny took the free ColorQuiz.com personality test!

"Desires a tranquil, peaceful state of harmony offe..."

Click here to read the rest of the results.

I think they need to get out of my head. And maybe I should have just headed over to the quiz to start off with.

Passing time

2008-08-05T22:40:00.000-07:00

Before all the stuff went down with my aunt, I stumbled across the perfect post. In fact I was editing this post in my head up until the point that I learned that she had died. And then life took over and it got shelved. But I knew that one day I would have to post it.

I had decided back in May that I absolutely needed to have an iPhone. (And when I got the call telling me that I needed to rush to the hospital, it was on my new iPhone. But I'm getting ahead of myself.) Then I started reading the rumors that a new phone would be introduced. I knew that I should wait until June 9th for the announcement of the release date of the new phone at that point. I had hoped that the date would be before my birthday but it's just as well that it wasn't. I needed to wait for my birthday loot. And I had enough to get the 16G. Thing is that I decided that sleep and comfort were more important to me. I didn't get to the Berkeley store until 7:45 even though I had been up since 6:00. I still kick myself for that decision. The guy in line in front of me got the last 16 from the store and I had to settle for an 8. I was told that I could order the 16 and wait 7 days for it or I could take the 8 and if I decided that I really wanted the 16, I could bring it back when they got more 16's and pay the 10% restocking fee.

This was not the entertaining stuff though. While in line, some homeless guy walked past. And he started singing a song about how there were no more revolutionaries in Berkeley as they had all been replaced by yuppies. Most of us in line had to laugh. That was our mistake. He then realized that he had an audience.

As he chowed down on his oatmeal in a paper cup that he had gotten from the shelter, he proceeded to share his views of the world with us. There were the evils of capitalism. Then somehow we ended up on how homosexuality was wrong. He also was kind enough to point out to us that most gay men reside in San Francisco while Berkeley is filled with lesbians. And the worst part of these lesbians? Instead of laying with a man they use "artificial insimulation" to become pregnant. And no, that was not a typo on my part. These were his exact words. I shit you not.

He then shared his belief that people needed to find religion -- instead of pirate stuff. I mean pirates as in ummm pirates. He told us that Jesus walked into the temple and told them to get that shit out of there. A young woman in line behind me had issue with his use of "Jesus" and "shit" in the same sentence. He then informed us that Jesus was a Jew. Gee. I never knew that. And then suddenly we were on the topic of Islam -- his apparent preferred religion.

I believe that it was around this point one of the guys in line asked him about his food. There was a discussion about fruit and then he suddenly exclaimed, "Look how the white devil has tried to distract me from my real point. They do that." Of course, later on he tried to clean things up by pointing out that not all white people were evil. I think this was after he said something about some blacks being hypnotized and forgetting their culture. Uh huh.

Then somehow we found ourselves back on the topic of homosexuality. Well, some of the folk in the line had had enough and were speaking back. The people near me -- as well as myself -- had decided that it was best to ignore him. If he had no active audience, he would stop and go away. I couldn't help but whisper to the folks around me my take on the lesbian comment though.

"These women he's met in Berkeley? They're not all lesbians. They just don't want to be with him."

And then there were some chuckles. Well, after the women explained to the guys that sometimes we -- women -- say stuff like that to get rid of undesirable guys. I still wonder how many of them were re-evaluating past encounters with women.

All I could think was if he was my last chance for procreation, it was time for the human race to end.

So when he got back to homosexuality, some folks decided that they had had enough. Cellphones started coming out.

"Oh! Look at the white man pulling out his phone. He's probably calling the police. Doesn't he understand? This is Berkeley."

And the guy was right. He wasn't a danger to himself or others. The cops may have asked him to move along but that would have been it. He was on a public street after all. And if the PRB and free speech are not synonymous, then I don't know what else is. And you know what? That would have been OK with me. Stuff like this? This is why I chose to live in Berkeley. I love the fact that I never know what I'll encounter when walking down the street.

And this is one of the stories that I would have shared with my aunt. Actually as it was all going down, I thought to myself, "I have to call her when she has recovered from her chemo so that I can tell her about. I know she'll appreciate it." It's part of what has made the past few weeks hard. My life is now filled with moments that I'd love to share with her but can no longer do so. I've gotten past the crying a few times a day. (Perhaps learning yesterday that my stepmother will never be coming home again has replaced that pain. But I wasn't really surprised to learn that.) And my aunt's still one of the contacts on my cellphone. I just don't have the heart to delete it quite yet. Just like her birthday is still on my Outlook calendar.

But today I'm no longer kicking myself. Today I turned in my 8G for the 16G I ordered a couple of weeks ago. Because I'm still in my return period. So yeah there was a 10% restocking fee but I got the joy of practicing with the 8G for three weeks while waiting for my 16G. And so now while avoiding certain family members like the plague, I'm also trying to remind myself to enjoy the little things in life.

Trying to find my way back

2008-08-04T20:40:00.000-07:00

I took last Thursday and Friday off from work and spent most of the two days sleeping. That helped a great deal.

When Friday evening brought another family brouhaha -- one that made me want to hop in my car immediately and drive to Sacramento so that I could kick some ass -- I passed off the stress to another relative. Hell. He hasn't been doing anything for the last couple of weeks besides trying to figure out what of my aunt's stuff he's going to pack up and take with him -- NOT! -- and eating and drinking lots. Oh, and the drinking lots is not a coping thing for him; it's a way of life. Because how often can you call someone at 10 a.m. only to discover that the other person is already three sheets to the wind?

Then I made the ultimate escape -- I went to stay with Dumb and Dumber for the weekend. We had a lovely time. I made sure not to play any movies with explosions or barking dogs and they kept their craziness down to a minimum.

As a result, I think I may be back on regular sleep patterns. And eating as well. To celebrate the occasion, I thought I'd treat myself to some stuff from Gregoire's.

But before I get too far ahead of myself, let me go back to July. Apparently during Sizzle's romp through Berkeley, she passes Gregoire. She did not realize that it was the place of the photos. But I do recall her saying something about the guy behind the grill. Before all the crazy hit, I meant to post these photos -- what Sizzle missed on the July menu.

Buffalo wings.

Pork loin stuffed with leeks and pancetta.
But now it's August and there's a whole new menu. I put my choices out to vote. I figured that I would do one of my combos since they had a vegetarian item that sounded appealing as well as some meat and seafood choices that seemed to call my name as well. Then I thought to myself, "Do I really feel like cooking this week? And didn't I just earn some money from dogsitting?"

Grilled pork loin medallions, parmesan & truffle butter.

Roasted eggplant with bell pepper & herbed goat cheese.

And no photo but I did also pick up the raspberry bread pudding as well. I was going to get the tuna as well but then they called me back to say that they were out. Another night.

And now that I'm eating again, perhaps I'll soon be inspired to actually cook once more.

Note: Tomorrow I'll also probably get around to posting the answers to the songs.

The tunes continue

2008-07-30T01:20:00.000-07:00

So there's more family drama about which I could write but I need to start moving on. All I'll say is that my stepmother is back in the hospital.* She had a seizure Monday around lunchtime. I got the call while I was at work. And that was when I officially reached the point when I had nothing left in me. To say that I'm burnt would be an understatement. I looked in the mirror a few hours ago to be greeted by ugly dark circles under my eyes. And for some reason the people I see in everyday life, like at work, keep trying to make me smile. Most of the time I want to slap them.

When I get home, I spend a lot of time watching shows taped on the DVR (Reality TV is my friend.) and listening to music. Tonight -- yes, I know that it is technically morning -- I hit YouTube to listen to Two Chinese Boys. Well, more to watch them since they just do a lip sync. And through the related videos, I came across these gems.

Oh, and speaking of music, please do visit my previous post. I like to think that there are still some "easy" ones out there.

* And just when I was getting back to a normal sleep pattern, I have once more returned to my sleepless nights.

Name that tune

2008-07-28T01:00:00.000-07:00

There are some memes that I simply cannot resist. This would be one of them. I first saw this through a post that Hilly shared and then over at her blog.

The Rules:

1. Put your mp3 player or music player on your computer on random.
2. Post the first four lines from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song (Skip repeat artists). I decided that if one of these four lines included the song titles I would use only the lines up to that point. If it's the first line, I'll give you the four following -- in one song this meant only giving you three line. So hard this song thing.
3. Post and let everyone you know guess what song and artist the lines come from.
4. No cheating.

1. Right about now NWA court is in full effect.
Judge Dre presiding in the case of NWA versus the police department.
Prosecuting attourneys are MC Ren Ice Cube and Eazy muthafuckin E.
Order order order. Ice Cube take the muthafuckin stand.
Fuck tha Police by NWA guessed by rawdawgbuffalo

2. Light in your head and dead on your feet
Well another crazy day
You'll drink the night away
And forget about everything
Baker Street by Gerry Rafferty

3. Never thought I’d see you like this
You lookin’ good when you’re half dressed
Just let me give you one last test
Is that a sin, no
Showdown by Britney Spears

4. Purely intense amazing
Exquisitely devastating
I'm in a daze and I'm
Drenched in our moment
Safe by Bonnie Bailey

5. It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me, oh no
It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation, oh no
Nearness of You by Norah Jones

6. See, first of all
I know these so-called players wouldn't tell you this
But I'm a be real and say what's on my heart
Let's take this chance and make this love feel relevant
Let's Get Married by Jagged Edge

7. My child arrived just the other day
He came to the world in the usual way
But there were planes to catch and bills to pay
He learned to walk while I was away
Cats in the Cradle by Harry Chapin guessed by Bella Karma

8. It all came so easy, all the loving you gave me
The feelings we shared, and I still can remember
How your touch was so tender, it told me you cared
We had a once in a lifetime
If Ever You're in My Arms Again by Peabo Bryson title guessed by Nat

9. They're like the latest fashion
They're like a spreading disease
The kids are strappin' on their way to the classroom
Getting weapons with the greatest of ease
Come Out and Play by Offspring guessed by Nat

10. Took some time to celebrate
Just one day out of life
It would be, it would be so nice
Everybody spread the word
Holiday by Madonna guessed by Nat

11. I wanna rock right now
I'm Rob Base and I came to get down
I'm not internationally known
But I'm known to rock the microphone
It Takes Two by Rob Base and DJ EZ Rock guessed by Bella Karma

12. The more you make me see
By giving me all you've got
Your love has captured me
Over and over again
The Closer I Get to You by Roberta Flack

13. I'm having trouble trying to sleep
I'm counting sheep but running out
As time ticks by
And still I try
Brain Stew by Green Day

14. Boy I`ma make you love me, make you want me
And I`ma give you some attention, tonight
Now follow my intuitions, what you`re wishin`
See I`ma keep you up all night, for a long time
One Minute Man by Missy Elliott

15. Words in papers, words in books
Words on tv, words for crooks
Words of comfort, words of peace
Words to make the fighting cease
Wordy Rappinghood by The Tom Tom Club

16. How can I put this in a way so as not to offend or unnerve
There's a rumor goin' all round that u ain't been gettin' served
They say that u ain't u know what
In baby who knows how long
Gett Off by Prince

17. Son you better be ready for love
On this glory day
This is your chance to believe
What I've got to say
Time Out of Mind by Steely Dan

18. Since I could call you
But everything I can't remember as fucked up as it may seem
the consequences that I've rendered
I've stretched myself beyond my mean
It's Been Awhile

19. You know what the Midwest is?
Young & Restless
Where restless (Niggas) might snatch your necklace
And next these (Niggas) might jack your Lexus
Jesus Walks by Kanye West

20. When your world is full of strange arrangements
And gravity won't pull you through
You know you're missing out on something
Well that something depends on you
The Look of Love by ABC artist guessed by Nat

And yeah, I know that I copied lyrics that include the "n" word. I can do that. Most or the rest of you can't. Unless you want a beatdown. And the beatdown is not being racist but someone of the paler nation using the "n" word is. Why? Because implicit in the definition of being racist is being in a position of power. Last time I checked, my people were not there so while we may be prejudiced, we are not racist. Get your terminology straight. And frankly, I have yet to meet a person who is not prejudiced in some way or another. It's what we do about our prejudices that really matters at the end of the day.

And maybe one day I'll let y'all guess what the default ringtone on my cell phone is. It surprises most folks. And that's all I'm going to say. Actually now that I think about it, I just might be willing to give out a prize to the person who can correctly guess my ringtone. Consider it the bonus question. (Sorry but I am going to disqualify Buzzgirl, Fluffycat, and Zombie Mom from a possible prize for this question as they may have actually heard the tone.)

But in the meantime, try to figure out the songs.

Seems like Nat is the winner. Guess I have to figure out a prize for her.

Daddy's girl

2008-07-26T23:15:00.000-07:00

That's who I am, who I've always been.

This weekend was my father's birthday. My stepmother's caretaker prepared all of this wonderful Filipino food for us. My father had never had Filipino food before. I was asking, "Did you make any pancit?" Alas there was no pancit. But there was a wonderful soup with mussels and spinach. And chicken adobo and lumpia. I had thought about taking photos for y'all but I needed to eat up before it disappeared. Besides I just didn't want to go through the explanation for my stepmother. It was hard enough telling her a few times throughout the day who I am.

And then my dad and I talked.

About his crazy ass in-laws. My stepmother's sister-in-law and that woman's mother have been helping to take care of my stepmother. Last Saturday when my dad got home from my aunt's funeral, he was greeted by resignation letters from the two. Yeah, he was paying the heifers. And they said, "Well, we waited for you to get home to let you know."

About his crazy ass brother who must have been hitting a crack pipe. Before the funeral, my uncle announced that there was no need for him to fly back to Alabama when there was a perfectly good car -- my aunt's -- for him to drive back. I expected that. A few days ago, he called up my dad and said that he may as well take all of the furniture in my aunt's house when he leaves as well. What the...?

My dad said how everyone has been telling him what he should do. I told him it was too soon to make any decisions but that I'd support him in whatever his choices were.

Gosh. That felt kind of strange typing that. It seems like it should have been the other way around but that has been my relationship with both of my parents for way too many years. I am the person to whom they go when they are trying to make some sort of decision. I have done this since my teens. It's also why I think that sometimes I like to go out and act younger than my age -- or what people think that someone my age should act. A part of me has always been the grown-up. Being the grown-up is tiring. And not always all that much fun.

But back to the present. I did let my dad know my opinion about certain things. Like how I thought that some of his first thoughts were purely emotional and not the best financial decisions to make. Because between the tears, I can get all kinds of logical.

Bottom line is that my dad has some big decisions to make. That could result in some major life changes for me. That's all I'm going to say for now. I did also let him know that as far as my aunt's furniture is concerned, there is one piece that I'd really like to have. If it doesn't cause too much drama with the rest of the family.

After discussing his options for continuing care for my stepmother, we got to the other big issue. My father was sitting out on the patio with a big box. Filled with my aunt's papers. There were more inside. He said that every time he tried to go through them, he just couldn't. So I poured myself a glass of wine and proceeded to sort through the boxes of paper. Because I have the ability to realize that something is personal and quickly put it aside. My dad sees it and wants to linger. And then the emotions kick in.

I have only cried twice today. When I first awoke in the morning because that's how I start most of my days currently. And then when I speaking to one of my cousin's on the phone. I am sure that my dad could tell that I had been crying at the latter time but I did not actually cry in front of him.

And I say that maybe he didn't really notice because he was close to passing out by that time. Because while I sorted through the papers, he sat there drinking large amounts of wine and tequila. Because that's how he copes. And maybe that would be fine for someone who is not a formerly recovering alcoholic who is also diabetic. But he is those things. And seeing him sitting in that chair completely blotto took me back to my childhood. The unfulfilled promises. The time he asked me drive home from a family event and I only had a learner's permit.

I also talked with my stepmother's sister and my dad's friend about the surprise party that they have planned for tomorrow. In theory, it all sounds great. In reality, they are having a bunch of people show up at my dad's house. And large amounts of people stress out my stepmother. This of course means additional stress to my dad. My step-aunt apparently had the same reservations that I did. She said that when other people became involved, everything kind of snowballed. So we told my dad's friend how things would be. And I reminded him that if my dad ended up stressed out in any way, the people in question would have to deal with me. And no one in their right mind wants to deal with me under those circumstances. No matter how much crap I talk about my parents, I will protect them from others.

I know that I have said that I am stepping back from being the caretaker. I meant it about people other than my parents. They are why I became such a caretaker of others. While I can let go of it all for others, I just can't where my parents are concerned. Maybe I'm being a little selfish. I don't want to lose anyone else any time soon. So I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that my parents are here just a little bit longer. Within reason.

Repetition

2008-07-25T22:40:00.000-07:00

I know that I've done this before but then I saw it at Camels & Chocolate and decided it was time to revisit the list. I am also stalling to get around to writing all the stuff that has been happening.

Let's just put it this way. I have been sleeping an average of three to four hours a night. And working fulltime. My mind and body are tired. And the crazy ass shit just keeps happening. The hard times of day? At night when I try to go to sleep but my mind suddenly starts going through all of the craziness and I can't seem to shut it off and next thing I know, it is the wee hours of the morning. Then I get hit on the other end. Mornings I wake up and realize that I need to talk to someone about all the craziness so I reach for the phone to call my aunt. (For the last eight years or so, I have talked to my aunt on a near daily basis.) And then I realize that she isn't around to talk to me. And the tears flow. Then I go on with my day and people ask how I'm doing. I say, "Fine," because I know that most of them don't really care. Or if I say anything other than that, they will freak out. I cannot tell those close to me, like my dad, how much it really hurts. I remember writing a post in the past. I'm not sure if I actually posted it but it was all about how one woman alone cannot be the mother that so many of us need and so you make up a "pie" of various people. I lost part of the pie a couple of weeks ago -- the part that taught me that it was OK to be me and that it was OK to dream.

But this is not what this post is supposed to be about so let me get on with it.

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed.

1) Bold those you have read.
2) Italicize those you intend to read.
3) Underline the books you LOVE (I opted for asterisks).
4) Reprint this list in your own blog.

1 Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2 The Lord of the Rings - JRR Tolkien
3 Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4 Harry Potter series - JK Rowling
5 To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee**
6 The Bible - I would have bolded this but I have not read it in its entirety.
7 Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8 Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9 His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman**
10 Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11 Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12 Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13 Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14 Complete Works of Shakespeare
15 Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier**
16 The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17 Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18 Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19 The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger**
20 Middlemarch - George Eliot
21 Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22 The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23 Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24 War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26 Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27 Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28 Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29 Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30 The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31 Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32 David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33 Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34 Emma - Jane Austen
35 Persuasion - Jane Austen
36 The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - CS Lewis
37 The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini**
38 Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39 Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden**
40 Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41 Animal Farm - George Orwell
42 The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43 One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44 A Prayer for Owen Meaney - John Irving
45 The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46 Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47 Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48 The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49 Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50 Atonement - Ian McEwan
51 Life of Pi - Yann Martel
52 Dune - Frank Herbert
53 Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54 Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55 A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56 The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57 A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58 Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59 The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60 Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61 Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62 Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63 The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64 The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold -- I'm still debating whether I want to read this one.
65 Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66 On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67 Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68 Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
69 Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70 Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71 Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72 Dracula - Bram Stoker
73 The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74 Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson
75 Ulysses - James Joyce
76 The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77 Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78 Germinal - Emile Zola
79 Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80 Possession - AS Byatt
81 A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82 Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83 The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84 The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85 Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86 A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87 Charlotte's Web - EB White
88 The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89 Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
90 The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91 Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92 The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93 The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94 Watership Down - Richard Adams
95 A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96 A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute
97 The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
98 Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99 Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100 Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

And yeah, some of the books are ones which I should have read for various classes over the years but didn't. I'm still not going to read them. Instead, I am currently working my way through the Stephanie Plum novels and am currently on the seventh. Then I'll hit the books that Fluffycat gave to me.

Crossing boundaries

2008-07-21T21:40:00.000-07:00

Friday evening found me sitting on the BART platform at Powell Street waiting for a train to take me back to Berkeley. (This was after getting to meet both Sizzle and Heather B. in person.) According to the sign, my train would be showing up in two minutes. Then came the voice over the PA system. "Would the person playing around on the yellow strip on platform one, please stop. If you do not stop, I will halt all trains coming into the station." This announcement was repeated a few more times before my train arrived.

I did think to myself, "If this person doesn't stop playing around and my train ends up being delayed as a result, I will hunt them down." That yellow strip is there for a reason. There are handles near the doors on the outside of the cars. I once saw someone get smacked by one because they were on the yellow strip before the train came to a halt. But I made it onto my train and then I stopped caring about that person.

Sitting on the train, I found myself deep in thought. About how I had spent the past week with people jumping around on my personal yellow strip and how they just didn't seem to listen. And suddenly I knew that when I had shouted, "I'm done!" on Thursday night, it was a permanent, not temporary, thing.

The two things that people have said to me the most over the last week or so are, "Be strong," and "Take care of yourself." Let's start with the second. When I started going to therapy once more a few months ago, I mentioned this concept to the therapist. I've known for years what I needed to do; I just didn't want to rock the boat too much. But now I'm going to give it a try because I've always felt in my heart that it was the best thing for me. I'm finally learning how to be a little more selfish.

I remember telling my mom back when I was in college that one of the best things about getting married would be that I could change my last name. I even questioned my mom about why she did not go back to her maiden name after the divorce. She said so that we would have the same last name while I was growing up. I pointed out that she could have changed mine. She pointed out that my father and his family would have had a fit.

There's a part of me that has felt like I have never fit in with my dad's family. They're always telling you about how you can be better. Except for my dad. He just wants me to be happy. (Of course, he has also pointed out in the past that he lives in California for a reason.) The bitchassness that was displayed last week? Nothing new.

I am done with playing the role. I am done with being around people whose company makes me feel horrible. I think that for the first time in my life, I really am ready to start taking care of me. And right now, it's all kind of scary but I think that if I hold on to the idea that this is the best thing for me, in the end I'll be OK. It's time for someone else to be the family caretaker.

Past my limit

2008-07-17T23:58:00.000-07:00

So it happened. Tonight I snapped on my family. They have been working my last nerve all week. Idiots just didn't realize it though. Actually the family members whom I actually like did realize.

The laundry list of grievances is long and I don't have the energy to go into it right now. (I do plan to give you a list of the shit that has gone down this past week at a later time though. I promise.) Let's just say that when one of my cousin's showed up at the house this evening, she asked how I was doing. This would be the same cousin with whom I made snarky comments on Tuesday night. When I answered, "Fine," she suggested we step outside. Because she realized that I was pissed and about to tell some people off. These same people have apparently pushed my father to his limit as well. He may have mentioned the word "bitchslap." (He really likes that word since I taught it to him back in February.) OK. And maybe my father realized that something was off. He said, "You've been a little too quiet." I do that when I'm trying to not rock the boat, so to speak.

Today was the viewing of my aunt. Relatives kept asking, "Don't you want to go to the funeral home?" Ummmmm. Nope. Especially knowing that my two aunts by marriage had taken care of wardrobe and makeup. If you knew these two heifers, you would understand my reticence. They have no style. And my aunt? She had lots. I knew they had fucked her up. My mom went to the viewing early and quickly called my dad's cousin, one of my mom's best friends, to give a warning. Yes, they had indeed fucked up her clothing and makeup. They made her into who they wanted her to be instead of who she was. I knew that if I went to the viewing that I'd definitely be cursing out some folks.

And then I like a fool said yes to something that I shouldn't have. And it totally messed up my plans for the evening. I was going to sneak over to San Francisco for at least a couple of hours to check out the pre-conference stuff for BlogHer. By the time I finished with their crap, it was too late. I had mentioned to them that I had had something planned but they really didn't care. And so while I was extremely angry with them, I'm even more angry with myself. I have this one uncle who just can't seem to understand the phrase, "No, I don't have time to do that." Seems pretty straight forward to me. He thinks that you must be joking. I think that he and his wife need to get their asses on the next plane back home.

Finally around 11 p.m. I called my mom. (Yeah, scary that she's the voice of reason right now.) She mentioned that my dad's cousin has said that she will not be sitting with the rest of the family tomorrow at the service. I told my mom that I had been thinking the same. That's how done with these folks I am. Besides the service, as I realized on my drive home, is for them. They planned it all. They didn't need the input of anyone who lives locally. Actually my first thought was to not show up at all. My mother has tried to convince me that (1) I do need to show up and (2) I need to sit with the family because my father needs me. Damn. She had to play that card, didn't she?

During my drive I thought of many things. Yes, I was still so pissed off that at times, I had to wipe away the tears. First I thought about how people grieve differently. Then I had to think about how I recognized this but the asses in my family didn't really seem to. And the queen of the asses is a psychologist. What's up with that? Actually, I'll just say it. She's the one who drove me over the edge. She and her husband.

I also thought about how this is who they are, who they have always been, will always be. I'm just not sure if I want them around anymore. They've always been narrow-minded, judgmental people. I'm just kind of done with tolerating them.

My mother mentioned something else of which I had thought. If I can get through this week without the therapy, then maybe I can stop. Flying solo has been kind of tough but I like to think that I have gotten through it all pretty well. Remember? I have mad coping skills.

I guess I should try to get some sleep if I'm actually going to try to show up for the friggin' service.

Thank you all for your kind thoughts over the past week. You've been so much better than most of those folks who are supposed to be my family.

Hyperventilating again

2008-07-15T23:45:00.000-07:00

Tonight was the family meeting since all of my dad's living siblings are now in town. The service will be held on Friday. There was much fighting over the last few days as to which day the service would be held. And then there was fighting about the service itself. My dad says that it is a celebration of life, not a funeral. But tonight was dinner at my dad's cousin's house. As the relatives started to arrive -- because people in my family are rarely on time -- my second cousin, who is like a little sister to me, looked at me and asked, "I'm going to have to hold my tongue tonight, aren't I?" And I knew then that I would make it through the night. We would separate ourselves from the others occasionally to make snide remarks about the others. Isn't that what being with family is all about? Well, it is with my family.

At one point in the evening, my dad and his older sister pulled me aside to share something with me. I'd like to say what it is but it's not definite. All I know is that it has left me feeling a mixture of guilt, joy, confusion, and panic. Thus the hyperventilating. Which is a shame since today was the first day in which I did not feel like crying endlessly.

Just know that I'll be sure that I'll let y'all know the outcome.

Oh, and I did not have to write the eulogy or the obituary. Other relatives stepped up to the plate without being asked. My favorite was what follows, something written by one her first cousin's.

She made living life seem easy,
She made it seem fun.

We all know that life is not fun or easy,
But she did it.
If a person came to her full of woe, and weary with problems galore,
She would give wonderful and uplifting advice.

After the person left, I would ask, “Will this really work?” She would say, “I have no idea.” The person who left was happy and content, ready to try a new solution to an old problem.

It took me a while to understand her wisdom.
You see, she could read people pretty well.

Most people are trying to put a round peg into a square hole and no amount of persuasion will stop them. So it’s best to tell them to keep pounding away until maybe one day it will fit. Hopefully through the experience they will wake up and smell the roses.

She made life seem easy,
She made it seem fun.

She knew life did not consist of the things you had,
but the friends and family that God allowed you to collect in your life. This means that during her life she was a great daughter, sister, niece, cousin, aunt and friend
Since she made living life seem easy even in sickness, more people tried it her way and found out they liked it
Since she made living life seem fun even in ill health, more people enjoyed life.

She fulfilled her God given destiny and purpose for living.

She made living life seem easy,
She made living life seem fun.

It describes her to a tee. So much so that everytime I read it, I tear up.

And tonight my second cousin's kids were tearing around the house. And eventually, I was right there with them. And then my dad said, "You've become your aunt." Because if she was still here, she would have been the run tearing around the house with them. But she's not. Those kids loved my aunt so much but they're too young to understand that she's not coming back.

We all have our roles in our families. Mine, I have come to recognize over the last eight years, is to fill the voids. I did it when my dad's mom died by calling everyone at least once a month, many daily. And my aunt always told me that while being a mom was great, being an aunt could be better in some ways. An aunt can be the fun person, the confidante. And tonight thinking over some of our conversations during the past year, I think she was "training" me to fill the void. But they're big shoes to fill.

Sleepless night

2008-07-14T01:15:00.000-07:00

Please bear with me. In the past others have said, and I have agreed with them, that I have some pretty good coping skills. And so now I'm just coping. A big part of my ability to cope with what life hands me is the ability to verbalize that crap in some place or another. Yeah, I'll be calling Thrive tomorrow to set up an appointment but in the meantime I need to get some sleep so that I can go into work tomorrow so I'm just going to put it all down here so that hopefully my mind can shut off long enough for some more sleep. And I may be doing this some more over the coming weeks because I just can't dump this stuff on my family. This is how I stay sane. Most of them are in worse shape than I am.

I guess it all starts with sleep. The relatives to whom I spoke on Saturday and Sunday said that they had a hard time sleeping on Friday night. I didn't. When I finally got home and was talking to my hairdresser, she said that I needed to go out. So I hung up the phone, cleaned myself up a little bit and headed out for the evening. I got to the pub and told my bartender to keep the drinks flowing. While the end of the evening was a bit hazy -- although I do remember my temporary insanity in speaking to Sports Guy cordially -- what I remember most is that once I returned home, I slept a solid eight or so hours. Now most of y'all might not think this is anything monumental but most nights I only sleep four to six hours. Hell. I can even function on three hours if necessary. And on Saturday night -- OK morning as it was around 2:30 am -- I managed to sleep through some guy ringing all the buzzers trying to find me. One of my neighbors dealt with him and from his description of the guy, I would guess it was Random Boy. One of my other neighbors who had been awakened by the guy, who told me about it all on Sunday, said that her first thought was to see if I was up but then she changed her mind after she remembered the kind of weekend I was having. She decided that I needed the sleep.

And so I have been sleeping at night for the first time in a long time -- except for tonight. And taking naps in the day. I'm not really a nap person but after a few conversations, all I can think about is going to sleep. I worry about going to work in the morning. I know that I will want to take a nap but won't be able to.

Sleep has been good but it's the waking up that sucks. When I wake up, I think of all the things I want to do, all the things that I want to say to people. And my aunt is always on that list. Because we used to talk on a near daily basis. While she was a major bitch at times, she was still a part of my support system when things were bad. Over this weekend, I have come to realize just how much a part of my daily life she was.

Sunday night I went to dinner at my mom's house. I thought that it was going to be this hideous event but then the hyperventilating started and my mom said, "If you want to tell me about it, you can." So between gasps, I told her about all the stuff in my head at that moment. She agreed with me that I should ask one of my aunts by marriage to write the obituary. She would do an excellent job of it. And then my mother and I cried together.

When my grandmother died, it hurt. It just didn't seem to hurt as much as this does. But my mother explained. We had time to prepare for my grandmother's death but not for this. Yes, my aunt's cancer was more than likely terminal but she was still active. She was supposed to be alive for a little longer. We had plans -- plans that we had made over the last week, in fact.

We are waiting for the results from the coroner. (The hospital determined that there had to be an autopsy.) When the doctor spoke to us on Friday, I felt like he was trying to do damage control. And then the coroner called my dad's cousin this weekend with some questions. There is a possibility that the hospital screwed up and that she could still be here. And there is a part of me that is so angry in the middle of the pain. If this is true, they robbed us of time with her.

I'm trying hard not to think of this though. I am the caretaker, the one who holds things together when everyone else is falling apart. I have always hidden most of my pain from them in the past. This time things have changed. This time they're worried that the pain may be too much for me. It almost is. To say that I feel like the rug has been pulled out from underneath me would be an understatement. But I want to live; I want to be here. And I keep telling myself that one day I will wake up and realize that it doesn't hurt as much. Until then I just hope for sleep.

The hardest writing assignment ever

2008-07-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

Over the last couple of days, I have been careful about talking to relatives. I know which conversations are going to be the most difficult. And so today I finally called one of my uncles. He was the next youngest after my aunt. They were a team. I knew this would be hard for him. As my dad pointed out, my uncle is the most openly emotional of my dad and his siblings.

In the past when someone has died on my dad's side of the family, my aunt has written the obituary and I helped her edit. In talking to my uncle this morning, he said that they were hoping that I could write most of the obituary for my aunt. And every time I think about it, I just can't breathe. And when I can breathe again, I start to wonder how I'm ever going to make it through this all. Because the one person who always made things better in the past when I was faced with this kind of crap isn't here anymore.

Change of plans

2008-07-11T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have spent the last few days going out and doing stuff -- and thinking about writing about it all. I was going to write about when I went out on Wednesday night. I was going to write about going to Grape and Gourmet in Sacramento yesterday with my aunt. I was going to write about the fun of standing in line at the AT&T store this morning. Then I got a phone call this afternoon that changed everything.

My aunt's battle with cancer is over. She died earlier today.

Hitting my groove

2008-07-09T10:10:00.000-07:00

I am starting to think that my inner partygirl has returned once more. Perhaps because I have found some kind of balance between work and my personal life. Or maybe it's because it's one of the ways with which I deal with stress.

Over the holiday weekend, I started thinking to myself that since I was still in my birthday season, there was no reason why I should not head out. The first thought of this was on Friday. Then I spent the afternoon with the Zombie family. OK. Let's get real. If I had walked to their house as I had originally planned, there is no doubt that I would have gone out. But then I was a slug and took so long in getting motivated that I had no choice but to drive there. That left Saturday.

I got home from an afternoon with my aunt and put the beans on to cook for the cassoulet. By the time they were done, I realized that I had just enough time to get myself ready to show up at the pub just as my bartender would be starting his shift. No brainer there.

Since it was "early," I brought a book with me. Every thing seemed fine. Cocktail in hand, I headed to the small outdoors area to drink, smoke and read. And then the guys who were sitting upstairs spotted me. Apparently they had just scared off another woman. And they wanted to talk to women. How do I best describe the situation? It was like hanging out with Sheldon, Leonard and their friends. Really. And I was sober. The start of the conversation was a warning to not get my book wet and then a question about whether I knew the story about when Abe Lincoln got a book wet as a child. I shit you not. Then there was some opera singing. There was other stuff but I have mercifully blocked it all. I quickly escaped back into the pub so that I could strain my eyes in their poor lighting and swill down more cocktails.

By the time the chick who warned me that the last OKC guy and Sports Guy both had something off in their heads (Nothing like a little confirmation.), I was feeling more sociable. Thank goodness. Turns out the guys who had made me flee indoors knew her. And you know what? After a few cocktails, they weren't that bad. We discovered a common love of all things Dave Chappelle. They also could not understand how Kate found him so offensive.

Oops. I may not have mentioned that previously. In fact I know that I didn't because I let the stuff marinate at the time and took a bunch of stuff out of my post about her visit. What the hell. When Kate was visiting back in April, she informed me that she found Dave highly offensive after I popped in one my fave DVDs. OK. So maybe she didn't actually make this proclamation until she heard him tell a bit about a guy masturbating on a bus. She just didn't get how it could be funny. I told her that if she actually rode public transportation, she would understand because she would realize that that kind of thing does happen on public transportation. (Hmmm. Makes me think about why I will not take the 22 Fillmore -- or the Hoochie Express as I came to call it after that one fateful ride.) Then there was something about how he and Eddie Murphy were merely retreads of Richard Pryor. The conclusion? Why couldn't they be more like Bill Cosby? Yeah. Ummm. It was on at that point. But she's been my friend for over 20 years so we're still speaking.

Enough about that already. The evening continued and Random Boy made an appearance. (By the way, he created the name, not I. "I'm just some random guy you occasionally run into at the bar.") Now I'm feeling lazy and don't want to check the archives but here are the important things about him. He'll be 25 later this year. He likes to hunt, fish, watch NASCAR, and drink bourbon. I didn't think they made those types in Berkeley. He's also just as sarcastic as I am. And on Saturday, he felt the need to explain some of his comments. As in he was joking when he agreed previously that I was fat. But I knew that he was joking. And then there was the discussion about how there is a small part of my brain that knows that I'm not fat. Unfortunately it's not the part of my brain that processes the image it sees in the mirror.

I remembered those words when I got home from work on Monday night. I had already eaten my daily calorie allotment at lunch since I had made one of those rare trips to a fast food restaurant. But then I thought that it would be OK if I ate more so I had a small helping of the cassoulet. It's all about baby steps. Lots of other people have told me that I look OK but they are all trying to lose weight so a part of me doesn't really trust them. But when Random Boy and Zombie Mom tell me that I look OK the way I am, I believe them. Go figure.

Tonight the partygirl tradition will continue. I'm off for the rest of the week after today. And my bartender works on Wednesday nights. Guess where I'll be tonight?

How I get through it

2008-07-07T21:00:00.000-07:00

Note: I started writing this post weeks ago but things didn't quite work out as planned so I put it on hold.

I knew that Father's Day would be a rough day; I just didn't know that it was going to be quite that rough. But I was kind of prepared.

While shopping for the Father's Day dinner, I had another recipe in the back of my mind. I told myself, "If I have enough money left after I buy the things for dinner, then I'm going to buy the ingredients for this other dish." And I did so I threw those extra items into my basket. (This is how I survive Berkeley Bowl. I never shop with a cart, always with a basket. Shopping those narrow aisles with a cart is just insanity.)

Monday evenings I tutor the foster child of family friends after work. This means that I usually don't get home until 8:00 or so. That was too late to start cooking. Besides there was the question of the prep before cooking. So I settled on Tuesday as I knew that everything would be defrosted by then.

So then I spent all that time cooking the multi-step recipe only to have it turn out to be not that good. I made some bad choices in meat. I made note in my mind what changes I would make the next time I attempted the dish. Which I did this past Saturday and Sunday. This time I was quite pleased with the result.

Cassoulet.

This is a favorite dish of mine whenever I find myself in a French bistro. For some reason, I had never gotten around to giving it a try at home. Now I'm hooked. The first time I used duck breast. That was fine but the sausage choice just didn't blend. This one contains a mixture of duck breast and confit duck legs. And cannelloni beans, pork, sausage, tomatoes... Well, you get the point.

Cooking multi-step recipes has always been relaxing for me. That's why I think I picked this recipe. Having to concentrate on what you are doing in the kitchen doesn't leave much room for all those other thoughts.

This ended up being balanced with the other challenges that faced me over the weekend though. Like that decision that I made to go out Saturday night after spending Friday afternoon at the Zombie household and Saturday afternoon with my aunt. (Saturday was lunch at this place followed by dessert at a favorite place of Zoomie's.) And all the while knowing that I would have to get up Sunday morning to go to brunch with my mom and family friends. So I told myself that I wouldn't stay out too late. Yeah right. But Saturday night deserves its own post. Because it was that kind of evening.

For now I will ponder other deep things. Like how much of the cassoulet, if any, will find its way to the freezer.

When I grow up *

2008-07-01T19:15:00.000-07:00

For days I have thought of posting. I just didn't have the energy.

Saturday I headed out to dinner with Flufficat, Buzzgirl, Jade, Emerald and another friend. Let's call this other friend LA Teacher for now. After dinner, LA Teacher and Flufficat joined me at my favorite bar. Well, they joined each other. I was bad and kind of did my own thing. I had meant to take photos throughout the evening but forgot to. Well, I thought I had but apparently I took photos of boys at the bar. And even posed for one with them. Imagine that. Have I ever mentioned that my bartender tends to be a little heavy handed?

Sunday I managed to crawl out of bed to head to the Zombie household for a barbecue. And that's where I received the pictured item. Needless to say, I wore it for the rest of the day.

When I started this blog years ago, I never thought that as a result I would end up with some wonderful friends along the way. And I guess that that's why I have not been able to walk away from blogging completely.

* I wasn't sure what to call this post but on my way home, I was listening to one of my favorite songs in the car. That decided it for me. Or maybe I was thinking of this song.

What y'all have been waiting to see

2008-06-25T20:00:00.000-07:00

Christmas of 1991, I drove from Virginia to my dad's hometown in southwest Georgia. My dad fretted as he often does when I hit the road on my own. To alleviate his stress, I said that I would only drive to Durham alone. From there, I would follow my great aunt and her husband down to Georgia.

Thing is they planned to stay in Georgia less time than I did so I would be doing the drive home alone. I told my relatives that I would see how I felt when I got to Durham. If necessary, I would spend the night with these relatives and head out the next morning. The thing is that that the drive from my dad's hometown to Durham is something like seven hours. And I did at least half the drive in torrential rain. I stopped in Durham for gas and realized that if I didn't keep going, I would never make it home. I was near bone tired and operating on adrenaline. So another three hours later, I arrived home. I was hungry and tired. Tired won. I had no food at home and just didn't have the energy to go out to find some. I awoke the next morning in a pickle. Where were my keys? After a half hour of searching, I found them -- in the front door. That's when I realized just how tired I had been the previous evening.

The next time I took the trip was for Christmas 1997. That time I did the drive via Florence, South Carolina. (I had a friend back then who lived in Florence.) There was also supposed to be a stop in Savannah but my grandmother ended up in the hospital briefly. I felt that it was more important that I spend that extra time with her instead of exploring Savannah. One day I will finally get to Savannah, though.

But y'all don't want to hear about all that. Y'all want to hear about the tiara. First of all, let me say that it is real rhinestones. That thing has weight to it. When I arrived in Georgia, I was relegated to one of my usual family holiday duties -- gift-wrapping. As in, I wrap everyone's gifts except for the ones that are for me. (When I was in high school, my parents would pay me to wrap their gifts. My mother said that I have a way with odd-shaped packages.) My grandmother and my aunts had numerous packages that needed wrapping. Have I mentioned that my dad is one of ten children? My grandmother was not wheelchair-bound at this point so in the daytime, we would talk about food. Prior to her wheelchair days, I would have been helping her with the holiday baking like I did in 1991. At night I wrapped gifts into the wee hours of the night.

It all started that first night of gift-wrapping. I went digging through the bags of wrap and trim and found -- a tiara. My aunt explained the origin of the tiara -- some sort of pageant -- and I promptly set it upon my head. Every night I would pull out the tiara so that I could wear it while I wrapped gifts. Christmas Day it was decided that I should hand out the gifts. "But where is your tiara?" my aunt asked. I found it and put it on. And then handed out gifts and smiled for photos.

I had said during that visit that I would take the tiara home with me. I didn't. Perhaps I should go back for it. Because I've been practicing the hands and all so they don't seem so dead.

Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

2008-06-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

My old place in San Francisco had jasmine all around the front door. (The tree limbs are the magnolia tree.) Now it only exists in my mind. With a bunch of other stuff.

I had a long chat with Zombie Mom after yesterday's post. I said, "Now you understand why I feel fat now." She said that I was just too skinny back in the day and that I look healthy now. Many family members have said the same thing. For years they had been telling me that I needed to gain weight. OK. So maybe my doctor was saying the same thing as well when I was in high school. I'm now at the weight he thought that I should be. (I just checked my BMI on a NIH site. Apparently I am now at the low end of the range for normal. My weight up until about five years ago was always in the underweight range. I knew this though.) So I guess Zombie Mom and I are struggling with opposite body image issues, but in some ways they're similar. We are both now at weights that others consider to be "healthy" but when you've spent most of your life outside of that range, it's hard to see what everyone else does.

I also talked to Zombie Mom tonight. One thing stuck in my mind from that conversation -- storytelling. When we were in college, Emerald used to tell me that I was a wonderful storyteller. I think it started with a chair. In the photo featuring the red mini and black boots, there is a chair to the left of me. That chair was a rocking chair. And for many years, my mother would sit in that chair, I would climb onto her lap, and she would read fairytales to me. This started long before I myself could read. By the time that I could, I had memorized many of the stories. One night at a college party, I entertained people with the retelling of some of these fairytales. I simply could not believe that they had never read Hans Christian Andersen -- my absolute favorite. I also took a class in college in African literature. The professor was really into the oral tradition in the tribes of Africa. It's the same in the African American community. Over the years, I have sat and listened while my elders -- my great grandfather (whose parents were born into slavery), my great aunts and uncles, my grandmother, whoever -- told their stories. And they all got stored away in my memory. Many of those people have now passed but their stories haven't. Whenever I am with family, I share their stories. Somewhere along the way I became the keeper of my family's history. I have also been doing research since about age 13 to see what is true. Perhaps one day I will write it all down. I worry. I have no children of my own. Who will keep the stories when I am gone? (And yes, perhaps this could have been a post on its own but I decided to throw this into the general hodgepodge of this post.)

I went into Tuesday with mixed feelings. A lot of folks, including some relatives, forgot my birthday on Monday. I also work with people who are nice but don't do anything for birthdays. It was the most anti-climatic birthday I have ever had. If it had been a "big" one, I probably would have been depressed. Oh yeah. I'm already kind of depressed so I'm not sure how that would have worked out.

My dad shared too much information with my mom on Monday when she called him. Now she's screaming stuff like, "I want my money back." This would be the money that she contributed to their joint finances when they were married. Have I mentioned that they have been divorced for over 30 years? I shared with my father the joys of caller ID. "When I don't feel like talking to her, I just don't answer the phone." Remember? She knows nothing about boundaries. That means that everyone else in her life must establish them. He also said that she doesn't really listen to people. I pointed out that those were my exact words to her last summer -- right before I called her a "fucking bitch." Because sometimes she really can be one. We care about her but she could really benefit from some therapy. There's only so much the rest of us can do.

Saturday night I'm heading out with the girls. I hope this will make up for what has been a rather blah birthday season thus far. OK. I did get that fabulous Kate Spade bag last week but that's not enough. One of my friends backed out of the dinner thing because I wouldn't allow her to bring her boyfriend (?) along. I don't know what the guy is at this point except that he is her baby's daddy. And I can say that because (1) they are not married, and (2) when she found out she was pregnant, he disappeared from the scene. He just returned late last year because now he wants to be a father. The kid will be three later this summer. Oh, and my first time meeting him? Kind of came off as a pompous ass. So I figured that I would be selfish. It's my party as the saying goes, after all. Having a guy around on a girls' night? Totally messes with the dynamics. Especially if it's some guy you don't even like. So yeah. My friend apparently now only goes out when he can join her. I told my therapist on Tuesday it just seemed weird to me. "I don't want to be in a relationship if it means that I can't have an identity that is separate from the other person. It just doesn't seem healthy."

For years my grandmother has been sending me a check for my birthday as well as Christmas. For years I have not been cashing those checks. I mean, she lives on Social Security. Instead I have been shredding them. My mother finally shared this with my grandmother after this past Christmas. Tuesday morning I called my grandma to thank her for the card that she had sent. (I have told my mother that I have never once doubted in my life that my grandmother loves me.) She told me that I was to cash the check and to treat myself to something this time -- perhaps gas in my car. I laughed and told her that her check would not fill the tank of my car but it would buy me dinner. As the day wore on, I remembered how Monday's dinner was so uneventful. That made me think of the shrimp at Gregoire. So I got home and ordered two entrees -- the shrimp and the curried lamb chops -- as well as my usual potato puffs. Now I have dinner for two nights. When I went in to pick up my order, the cook said, "Hi." And that got me thinking. Now that folks can recognize me on the street, perhaps I should lay off saying stuff about guys who I may meet in everyday life who I find attractive.

OK. Brain empty. Now I'm set to watch some TV and to read some more Dexter. Although tomorrow night is such the better TV night. Because hello. Season finale of "Farmer Wants a Wife." Hmmmm. I need to check when "I Love Money" starts so that I can be sure to add it to my DVR schedule. Oh, but tonight is a new episode of "Flipping Out." Cool. A reality show about featuring a person who has issues with boundaries. But I'm not related to him.

Through the ages

2008-06-23T21:05:00.000-07:00

I don't know if y'all noticed but a couple of weeks ago I posted a photo of myself. And didn't take it down. First time in three years. Now I'm feeling all kinds of fearless. So now I take you through the evolution of an Empress. I had a hard time choosing photos since I didn't want to overload y'all. This is only about half of what I found. And maybe one day I'll post the photo of me in the tiara. But not today.

My parents have always called this my Stevie Wonder look.

I just couldn't choose -- kind of like the whole divorce thing -- so I knew that both had to be included.

My parents should have taken this as a warning. In my partygirl days, I loved to wear a mini with black knee boots. Don't ask about the rest of the accessories.

Disneyland with mom. Although you can't see her face, I think we both look cute as hell. Even if our clothing would have become one with our skin if it had caught flame.

My typical look in high school.

For a brief while in those days, I turned into something that now reminds me of The Breakfast Club. And yeah, there was a date stamp on the back of the photo. Apparently some time in the last half of my senior year of high school.

College days. The coat did not work with San Diego. My grandma was in the photo with me but I decided to edit her out. Especially since we were sitting across the street from the Bambi Club. My mother thought that this would be a funny photo given that my grandma is hardcore Pentecostal.

One of those perfect days. When I look at this, I feel the peace and ease that I felt that day all over again.

Or maybe I was just recovering in the previous photo since I know that this was from before that day.

I told y'all I used to party a lot. We thought that we were sassy as hell.

Father's Day in San Francisco -- 1995.

My uncle's funeral in 2001 -- right before I stepped on the ant hill.

Family reunion in Alabama in 2004. Sitting in the pool because there were ant hills around. And I remembered my last encounter with an ant hill.

The shocking thing for me is how many photos I found as I went digging through the box. Yes, I have a banker's box filled with photos. I have spent decades running from cameras. But if you want to see photos from my current decade, you're better off checking on other blogs. Because the number of photos for this decade are few and far between.

And why today of all days for this post? Because it's a kind of special day. The kind of day that makes me want to remember where I've been.

The definition of happiness

2008-06-19T22:20:00.000-07:00

I've been doing a lot more reading over the last month or so than I have since ... Hmmmm. It would appear that the last time I did this much reading just may have been last summer.

I like to read mysteries but there's only so many dead bodies one can take in one week. Over the last couple of days I needed to switch over to some chick lit. No dead bodies and not a great deal of thinking to do. Or so I thought.

Nearing the end of the book, I came across this -- "...happiness is not getting what you want but wanting what you get..." I don't know about y'all but I had to let that one marinate for a bit.

How many times have we heard someone say, "I could be happy if only..." Oh, let's be honest. How many times have we said these words to ourselves? I know that I have too many times to count. I am also guilty of the variation -- "I can do these things once x, y, and z fall into place." Thing is those things rarely happen and so you end up in this continual holding pattern.

A few weeks ago, I questioned here what it meant to be living. That's because it's always been that happiness was this future thought. And now I'm starting to think that while I may occasionally think that here can suck at times, there is happiness as well. And it's time to start looking for it.

I love my job; it's my commute that gets to me at times. But my commute is going to improve before the end of this year since the company is going to move. I love coming home each night. Yes, Boris can be an annoying little arse. Then there are those times that I'll be reading a book and he'll curl up next to me. And then I remember why I put up with the other stuff. And it's not just my apartment. I love my neighbors, my neighborhood. I have a near impossible time imagining living anywhere else. And some days I am in absolute awe that the former nomad has managed to stay in one place for over three years now.

And then I think about the rest of my life. Sure I'm not dating anyone but I often have doubts that I'm the marrying type. Along the way, I have managed to assemble my own family though -- people whom I love and who I have never doubted love me. And some of them are y'all. The hard part has been in finding the balance between the family that I have created and the one that I was given by virtue of birth.

I do love my blood relatives; I just don't always like them. Probably because deep down inside, I like myself and just can't understand why they act like I should be someone else. I just don't like that person they seem to want me to be. Well, not quite my father. I know that he'd love for me to not be "his wild child" -- the person who can be brutally honest at times and who will do things like dancing because aren't we supposed to be having fun? My father almost never voices his displeasure to me though. He tells me that it's important to be true to ourselves because this is the only way that we can truly be happy. Who cares what other people think? You can't live your life for other people. I know it's cliche but it's so easy to forget along the way.

And so now I'm starting to think that this is all that it's supposed to be -- nothing more, nothing less. And you know what? "It's alright with me."

My new friend

2008-06-19T12:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday morning I got up and got dressed to go to work. Then I realized just how exhausted I was so I called in sick and went back to bed. I woke up around noon. I feel much better today.

Even more so because my new friend pictured above is on her way. Yep, it's that time of year again -- the Kate Spade sample sale. If I get enough loot during the next week, I'm going to pick up another bag that is part of the regular sale.

The trinity

2008-06-17T06:30:00.000-07:00

There is a trinity for me that is necessary for OK mental health -- proper nutrition, adequate sleep, and some form of activity. By activity, I mean taking a walk, not necessarily going to the gym. With the trinity in place, I am much better at dealing with stressors in my life. Monday morning I was missing at least two of the trinity and I had had some stress hit on Sunday. Needless to say, I was not dealing well on Monday.

I got to work and realized that I just wanted to go back home, crawl into bed, and cry. Then I got up from my desk to get some caffeine so that I could get through the day. It seemed quite necessary since I was operating on three to four hours of sleep. Walking to the kitchen, I felt myself getting dizzy and for a brief moment thought that I was going to pass out. It was at that point that I realized that I was completely fried mentally and physically. All I could think was, "I don't want to talk to anyone. At all." It was one of those let-the-blue-envelop-you-like-a-comforter moments.

Lunch time hit and I toyed with the idea of skipping lunch -- because I sometimes do that. OK. Let's be honest. Most days I function on one meal a day -- lunch or dinner. It's rare that both happen. The days that I have both are the ones when I split my food from lunch over two meals mostly. But hey. My waist is getting smaller. I know that I can't function if two elements of the trinity are missing. So even though I felt nauseous, I forced myself to eat lunch. And when I got home, I had a dinner that was not composed of my lunch leftovers.

During the whole day, I toyed with post ideas even though I knew that I had written one on Sunday night that kind of summed up the stresses of Sunday. I wasn't really happy with all the various posts that I had written by Monday evening so I decided to combine them. And now we have this post.

I knew that Sunday was going to be stressful. Visits to my father's house almost always are. But for over a month, my dad's older sister had been telling me, "You know that you really need to do something special for your dad for Father's Day because he's under a lot of stress right now." And it wasn't enough that I was going up on Sunday morning. No, I needed to go up Saturday night and spend the night. I explained to her that I had an eye appointment Saturday afternoon -- and yes, they did dilate my eyes -- so I didn't think that driving on Saturday would be that advisable. She stopped just short of saying that I should change my appointment. Now mind you, this is the same woman who told me once my health benefits kicked in at my current job that I shouldn't go making appointments immediately even though some of them were overdue.

In the days leading up to Sunday, my father had shared with me how there might be other folks around besides him and my stepmother. Then he told me to not worry about feeding them because they had plenty of other food for those folks to eat. Because my stepmother's family and her friends like to drop by the house on holidays, as they always have, and expect to be fed. I guess I wouldn't mind the moochers much if I actually liked the people. But I don't. Over the past twenty-plus years they have barely hidden their disdain of me in the their looks, their tone of voice. Hell. A few years ago my stepmother gave me a huge lecture on how she didn't like how I greeted her mother. Something about how it is not sufficient to say "hi" and to wave from across a crowded room. (If you knew the old biddy -- ummm, my stepmother's mother -- you would think that I was doing a great job. My dad even asked the woman, "Could you shut the fuck up?" a few years ago.)

So I showed up and started cooking. Then the people started showing up. I was cooking enough for four. By the time, I was ready to serve the food there were five people present including myself. Then right as everyone was ready to start eating, a sixth person dropped by. And my stepmother's mother looked at me and said, "Well, you know if you just cut some stuff in half..." That was the point when some unkind words almost crossed my lips. I know that I rolled my eyes so hard that no one could have missed the expression on my face.

I probably could have let it roll off but then I got home and received a call from that boy. Oh, and by the way, I did go out with him again on Friday. So I figured that it wouldn't hurt to stop in the cafe around the corner from me. Apparently he hangs out there a great deal to avoid having to deal with his roommates at home. And then he informed me that he thought that we should be friends because he has decided to date someone else. Oh, and could I help him in looking for a new apartment since I was much more familiar with the area than he is? Yeah, I knew I was mentally toast at that point. That's why I decided to ignore his text message on Monday.

And so briefly for a while yesterday I toyed with simply writing the following as a post...

Memo to Self
Stop being such a fucking doormat. Because at the end of the day you just end up feeling like a worthless human being.

There was also a post about feeling like I'd been run over by a truck.

I think I'm going to spend a lot of time over the next week thinking about this whole dating and family stuff. Right now I just feel like I'm done with it all. Doesn't mean that I'm not not hitting the Kate Spade semi-annual sale though.

Father's Day

2008-06-15T22:15:00.000-07:00

... also known as the only reason why I'd be insane enough to go to Berkeley Bowl on a Sunday morning.

It all started because my father has been "hinting" that he'd like some osso buco for a few months already. But Berkeley Bowl didn't have any veal shanks so I improvised.

Artichoke stuffed with shrimp.

Salad of escarole with grapes and proscuitto-wrapped pears.

Braised lamb shanks with saffron risotto, and green beans with mint, pine nuts and white onion.

Unfortunately the double latte I just had in the last hour only gave me enough energy for the above. If I had more energy, I would tell you about the point in the evening when I almost lost it. At least my dad was appreciative; today, that's the only other person whose opinion matters. And while I do not have enough energy to write more, I also am a little too awake now to go to sleep. So I'm off to the kitchen to make a cocktail to counter the effects of the caffeine.

Thank you, Canada

2008-06-14T10:30:00.000-07:00

Without those fine folks in Canada, this would not have been possible.

For quite some time, I have been hooked on the Persephone's Bees that they serve at Kitty's. Last night on my way home from work, I finally remembered to stop at BevMo to look for the key ingredient -- Pearl Persephone Vodka. (While mixing the drink, I checked out the bottle and discovered that it is a "Product of Canada.") And joy of joys, they had it. Oh, and in case you're wondering, Persephone's Bees is a mixture of Pearl Persephone Vodka, lemon juice, and honey. It went well with dinner.

Yes, I went with the duck.

Loved how the duck was cooked. The raspberry was a little too sweet for my tastes though. And I didn't get the joy of watching the guy cook because I had to get canned food for Her Royal Uppitiness and the Porn Star. (Some of you may refer to the pair as "Natasha and Boris." I live with them; I know their true selves.) And of course, while there I had to pick up the very necessary lemon juice.

I've always been against the whole moving to Canada thing because they have this thing called winter. But I think that the fine products from Pearl could help me get through that ugliness. I just don't know if Natasha will allow us to move.

Junk in the trunk

2008-06-13T22:00:00.000-07:00

So Rachel posted this video a few months ago but I decided that it was worth another post.

It still cracks me up. Maybe because I've been reading too many Stephanie Plum books recently. And I could easily see some of the characters in those books in this video. (I must remember to thank Emerald for getting me hooked.) I will eventually be making my way through all of the other reading recommendations I have received over the past month or so. All I have to say is that I currently have something like ten books checked out from the library.