New to me

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."

Cross one off the list

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.

Yo slut

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."

And then it all went downhill

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.

Death of an icon

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.

Sometimes she's a royal bitch

... 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.

A quiet Saturday of sorts

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.

Proof

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

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.

No comment

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 less debt

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.

Hanging from a telephone wire

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

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.

Summer of death

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.

Worn out places, worn out faces

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.

Hitting my groove

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

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 *

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.

Blowing through the jasmine in my mind

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.