Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: eating, flowers, frivolity, life, lunch, observations, people, random, relief, tension, thoughts
Tonight’s drink: Oak Creek Cabernet
There’s something similar about the tensions of a twelve o’clock lunch crowd, and a row of closed daisies, waiting to bloom. You can see that both are queuing for something; there is a restlessness in their still focus on the present.
Then, when the diners have their meals and sit at the groups of tables outside, there is a rhythm to the eating, the drinking and the pausing. Just as the first rays of sun start to warm the outsides of the petals, each bit of nourishment soaks their insides; the hydraulic-like depression pulls the tensions away, and blooms ensue.
The diners sit back in their chairs and begin to carry on conversations again, their quirks and distinguishing marks making them individuals. The flowers, too, are suddenly unique characters, where they were once simply a mark in a carpet of flower beds. The bees take time with each one.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: charity, expectations, fantasy, homeless, homelessness, life, people, random, thoughts
This morning’s drink: more Starbucks.. I’m buying new coffee TONIGHT!
I think one of the insider things about being a resident of San Diego – particularly Uptown or Downtown – is that you sort of get to know the homeless people in your area. You don’t necessarily get to know them in a way that you’d call them a friend, or even an acquaintance. But you start to recognize their faces, their habits, their quirks, and learn to smile and/or avoid them as comfort levels require.
There is one homeless women on the walk home from work who I really like. It actually makes me smile to see her. She’s a large, black woman, with hair wrapped in a thin black sheet, and piled in an upward angle from the back of her head like a voluminous, charcoal beehive. She looks to be in her late 30s, but she could be much younger. She wears layer upon layer of black coats, pants, skirts and robes, so that her dress almost looks to be from the costume room of Labyrinth. She sits or sleeps on the same bus bench around 5 p.m. every evening, with large, black hefty bags, and usually a magazine or something to read. And she always has a kind, mellow look of contentment about her. Every day.
I’ve never spoken to her, for two very flimsy reasons:
1. I always want to give her food, and I never have any.
2. I don’t want to ruin the illusion that she is sweet, complacent and wise; and that she speaks with a Southern accent.
My relationship with homeless people has evolved tremendously over the years. When I used to smoke, I’d give them cigarettes. When I used to wash my clothes at the laundromat on Washington, I’d buy them tacos when they asked for money. One of the more frequent taco/cigarette customers used to think I was going to law school, no matter how often I told him I wasn’t. Everytime he saw me (and he recognized me no matter what), he would ask me when I was going to pass the bar so I could get his uncle’s money back from his evil widow, who apparently screwed the whole family over after his death.
One night, as I was walking into Henry’s, a new homeless man asked me for money for food. As always, I told him I would buy him a sandwich, but no money. This offer is usually met with a disgusted grunt, but he eagerly accepted, and began to follow me into the store. Uneasy from the frantic look in his face, I asked him to wait outside, then carefully picked out a sandwich, chips, a protein bar, some vitamin-enriched juice, and a bottle of water. When I presented him with the package, he didn’t even look inside – he just thanked me, set it down, and continued to beg with the wild look in his eyes.
I was immediately soured, and almost went so far as to take the bag back. Obviously I didn’t – I had to ask myself what I was expecting from the whole thing. Elation, satisfaction, relief – for both of us? Obviously, a tall order from a homeless man, or a junkie, or both. But I don’t even offer food anymore – now I start telling people the intersections for soup kitchens downtown.
I guess that’s what happens when you tuck expectations into sub sandwiches — they get eaten.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: , Bethesda, faith, family, guilt, life, martyrs, Maryland, people, random, thoughts, work
Last night’s drink: House merlot at the Saphire [sic].
I successfully evaded three hours of dining with my coworker last night, and opted, instead, to take an early evening nap and a walk around downtown Bethesda. This part of Maryland is very cute and made for rich people. It has safe options, like Rock Bottom and cute little boutiques. But every town, no matter how ritzy, has it’s dive. The Saphire was my saving grace, along with Tony, Charlie, Chris, the bartender, and the Tastee Diner we went to after I’d had a few.
Tony, who graciously covered all of my food and drinks last night, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t thrilled to be in a job that sent me last minute to Washington D.C. The thing is, he was right. And I am grateful for the paid trip, and the expensed food. What I’m not grateful for is the 24 hour company of martyrs and health nuts.
I’ve struggled with the ability to blow off martyrs for… well, forever. If you are secure in yourself and your abilities, confident in your work ethic, and have reasonable self-esteem, martyrs should not bother you. I have all of those things, and martyrs get me every time. Whether they are family members who take on the extra load, or co-workers that treck into work with the flu, they always ping me in that one cerebral spot – the one that makes my jaw tighten with guilt. As soon as I’ve been exposed to their cross, all I can do is think about how I should be doing that, too.. and how inadequate I am as a result.
Of course, an hour later I’m over it – even sooner if I have a glass of wine to wash it down. But what can I do to circumvent it all together? The readiest answers are to either: a) tell that person to get a life; or b) tell the world to go F itself. I’m not the kind of gal that would do either of those things, so those aren’t viable solutions for me, as relieving as they sound. Besides, it’s my problem that these people are getting to me – not theirs. I need to find the anchor inside me that I can hold on to when I get the urge to throw things at these people’s faces.
….and… nothing comes to mind. Normally, I’m pretty good at identifying this stuff, but all I can think is that I just want martyrs to leave me alone. Stop making me feel guilty for enjoying myself after work. Stop making me feel bad for eating chocolate cheesecake. Stop making me feel like a selfish brat for not visiting my grandparents all the time. I put in my hours – I exercise willpower – I write them nice, long handwritten cards every few months. I pay my dues, dammit – and I don’t rub it in your face to prove it.
I think some people need to identify with their suffering, because they can’t identify with their joy. They need it to bond with others, and to have meaning in their lives. Suffering is, I believe, the root of all faith in religion. If you never had to see through a bad time, you never had to have faith that you would. So when you bond with others and you find your spirituality in the things that bring you down, it’s no wonder that you feel the need to put it out there. Maybe these people, in actuality, are trying to bond with me, in a funny way? I don’t know… I think martyrs hate competition.
Joy doesn’t prequisite faith, though it can spring from it. And I can identify with my joy a little too much sometimes. I still have faith, though, but I think mine springs more from confusion and that wierd, floaty feeling of the unknown. And I think I bond with people more over the unknown than the grief that sometimes comes from it.
It’s not likely I’ll be persecuted anytime soon, as a waspy, middle class chick from Southern California. But I hope I don’t try to bond over it, if I ever do.
I’d rather just go get a drink with you.
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: facade, infatuation, insecurities, life, love, lust, men, people, random, sex, thoughts, women
This morning’s drink: SLO Roasted Peruvian.
Infatuation is a hole we all slip into every now and then. It feels great for the first few days, until you realize how exhausting and draining the whole charade really is. It’s a fun charade – don’t get me wrong. If you don’t get back in touch with reality in a short time, though, you get slapped with it soon enough.
I call it a hole because it takes you by surprise, and it’s completely situational. If you meet someone and infatuation ensues, it’s foundation is nestled in where it all began. You become infatuated in a bar, it has that sort of vodka flavor. You meet them in a club, it’s got that high energy booty-bump going. If it begins in bookstore, it has that delcious coffee warmth to it. Once infatuation tries to build up into different atmospheres, though, you’re threatening its already shaky structure.
I have the most fun meeting people in bars, because it’s less inhibited and more forgivable. But I have a hard time keeping the infatuation there. I’m not a party girl, but I do act like one when I’m drinking. When I’m sober, though, it’s an impossible act to follow. I’m back to the crocheting and the crosswords, and the cat that’s got my tongue.
A big part of the problem is that I don’t tell people about certain things, because I’m afraid of what their reaction might be. Things like smoking, blogging, music, tarot – even though they are all pretty mainstream. It’s not like I’m some freak in the bedroom that can’t find a guy who likes to be pelted with tomatoes during sex… or something. Nope.. these are your basic insecurities, I suppose. They are completely irrational.
Anyhow, I’m crawling out of the infatuation hole this morning, and having my coffee and my blog before I start the day. I need to get back to me, without all this beeswax of lust and batting eyelashes.
Whoever keeps up wins the magic prize!
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: crazy, family, friends, hypochondria, lies, life, people, random, thoughts, vacation
Last night’s drink: Airborne.
Faced with the finality of the Friday before vacation, I was hit with a sort of rapid onset case of hypochondrial psychosis, which not only forced me to focus on every pain, twitch, sneeze and bruise on every inch of my body, but it also prompted me to visit urgent care in order to get antibiotics for what I finally concluded was an oncoming external ear infection. I was so afraid of getting sick on vacation.
After a quick once-over by the nurse practicioner, she told me I have a zit forming in my ear, and gave me a low dose of antibiotic pills to take away the germies before wishing me fun in Vegas (yes – I’ve been talking non-stop about my vacation; I am too excited to shut up). Of course, as soon as I heard the news I instantly felt better, so I’m not going to waste the supply. I’ll just stick some oxy in there and call it good.
As I was chugging my Airborne drink in a precautionary move, I came across Nancy Grace, which I recalled as one of the shows that the TV People at work told me to watch. Apparently, she’s supposed to be the Dr. Laura of television. Since Dr. Laura is one of my guilty pleasures, I decided to give it a shot. What I actually found was just a boring sensationalist with predictable broadcast ploys. There was one idea that came up during her show, though, that I’ve actually been thinking about a little bit lately: the whole concept of people saying, “He/She would never do that. Anyone that knows Him/Her knows that they would never do anything like that.”
Usually this comes up from friends or family of an individual who has disappeared, often a mother who has appeared to have abandoned her kids but is believed to have been abducted, but also perhaps as a suspect in a crime where no clues can be found. It makes me think about how well anyone really knows anyone else. I think if you surveyed 100 people, and you asked them if they considered themselves to be crazy, at least 95 of them would say yes, to some degree. The other five are probably just delusional, which qualifies as crazy in my mind.
People have too many layers to be predictable – you never stop growing, or learning new things, so you can never know how you are going to react to new situations or stimuli until they actually happen. And then – BAM – a new layer. Your family and friends know the layers that have existed, and maybe some of the new ones you’ve taken on, but they don’t know the ones that haven’t formed yet. So maybe the friends/family could say, “Oh… Bridget would never in a million years to that,” if they monitored her life 24/7, but there’s all kinds of crazy stuff out there (correlative to all the crazy people), and so you just never know what’s going to happen next.
It happens the other way, too. I’m sure you know guys & gals that you would never describe as a “kid person,” but I bet you’ve also seen at least one of those people do a 180 when the baby situation actually comes to be. People lie to themselves and eachother, and many are very convincing. But I think many lies are based on speculation rather than deception – like, what a lie is going to do rather than what the message actually is. If lying to yourself or others brings you comfort, it may just be a default stance until you’re faced with the truth and you have to make a move.
If we are all surrounded by lies, that would help to make sense of why, really, nothing seems to make sense. But then again, what do I know – except what I’m feeding myself?
Filed under: Daily Specials | Tags: friends, life, people, random, thoughts, work
Tonight’s Drink: Rex Goliath.
I felt better yesterday after I helped answer phones for donations to the fire victims. I didn’t give blood, but at the end of the day, I didn’t see what good it would do. Besides, I have that positive Rh factor – I would be a completely universal donor if not for that little plus sign. It irks me a little.
So… I’ve been seeking out ways to meet people like a hungry bloodhound. I’m thinking of organizing the company Christmas party; I’m reading the “Strictly Platonic” section in Craigslist; I’m even revisiting match.com, which already looks to be a bad idea. I’m even looking at taking a community class like cooking, or joining the women’s choir. Something. Anything! People, come to me!
I guess that the downswing of a regional disaster isn’t the ideal time to strike up friendly chit chat with strangers.
Alright – now that that’s done, I’m enjoying some Jeopardy and jones-ing for more re-runs of Sex in the City. It’s obvious to me that I’ve been starved of cable for quite some time. I’m relishing in every decadent syndication that hasn’t been shown on Fox or NBC. Also a plus to this addition is the fact that I can finally talk to other people at work about… things other than work. I don’t open up at work often, because I think my dorkiness is potentially debilitating to my career. I’ll have to agree with Jenn that being young requires you to maintain a facade of level-thinking in order to ensure that people don’t immediately start to notice your age. So now I can mask my personal self, yet free my character, by debriefing on Dancing with the Stars. It’s a start.
Man, I can’t wait for Vegas.
