Quodlibets

When you cry in public

Not from emotional pain, but from that pain that comes from being the most clutzy person in the world.  Last night, S and I had to do our grocery shopping, which, let me tell you, is an injury waiting to happen for me.
Relatively early into the trip, I went to get the hard rolls for our dinner sandwiches.  One second, I was a cranky, starving person reaching for a roll, and the next I was looking at my thumb, dumbstruck.  I'm not really sure WHAT happened, just that I hit my thumb on something and it wasn't good.  There was blood, that's how not good it was.  I think I panicked, because S wasn't with me.  He was at the deli procuring the meat for the sandwiches.  So I think I walked over there (and at this point, I was determined not to cry, even though it felt like my nail was going to come off my thumb) and handed him the rolls.  He could tell something was wrong, and I showed him my thumb. 

It's pretty scary.  (I think, but I'm a baby.) The nail is broken pretty low down on the thumb--which is why it bled--and I think it was pretty clear that I needed a band-aid.  S and I finished the process at the deli (during which tears were, yes, streaming down my face), and I insisted that we go break open a box of band-aids (we did buy them, yes) and apply it.  But at this point, my thumb was throbbing in pain, and the thought of trying to clip the nail off was making me feel woozy. 

So I stopped crying, we finished the shopping trip (which due to the Tide, was a doozy), and we came home and ate dinner.  At which point S insisted that I look at the injury, wash the area, and attempt to clip the nail.  Oh, I tried.  But all I did was cry, a lot.  I washed it, yeah, but I couldn't clip it.  I couldn't.  Now my thumb is bandaged, and I missed yoga this morning because there is NO way.  The thumb is still hurting, and now I'm operating without a thumb.  I have to keep it bandaged, of course, because I don't want the hangnail to catch on anything.  I haven't looked at it yet this morning, because I'm scared.  Dude, I'm a baby.

But I sincerely hate crying in public, no matter what the reason.  I think that most of us hate it.  Mostly, I think I don't want people to think that I'm having some sort of breakdown.  I want to show people my thumb and say, "Look, this is why I'm crying!"  Crying in public is just one way of totally ignorning society's unwritten rules; it breaks the barriers of comfort.  And as I was crying in the Jewel, I knew that people were wondering.  I would have been had I seen someone doing what I was doing.  It's embarrassing; it's easy to be embarrassed for people crying in public.

Now I have to bite the bullet and look at my thumb.

If looks could kill

I have a death stare.  If you've worked with me, lived with me, or been in class with me, you're aware of it.  I have a hard time hiding it.  If I don't like you, or what you're saying, you'll probably know, if you happen to glance at my face.  In fact, I have a hard time not showing any of my feelings.  I'm really, really transparent.  Sadly transparent.  If your outfit is ugly, I guarantee you'll know by the way I'm looking at you.  Of course, this means that I cannot lie.  I'm a terrible liar.  I can only think of one secret that I've ever kept for any length of time, and that's because I thought my mom would kill me if she knew.  (She knows now.  And she didn't kill me.  Whew.)  I'm just terrible at keeping it all inside me.

That's why I doodle in class.  Because if I don't, and I look up, and a student sees my face, he or she will know how truly evil I can be.  Some people are okay, and say okay things, and I'm sure that they can see the interest on my face.  But whoa, if you're stupid, it shows on MY face.  I'm good at disdain.  Isn't that sad? 

So anyway, the death stare.  I thought it was scary, but in retrospect, I don't think I could be scary if I tried.  Probably I just look constipated.  Isn't THAT sad?

A State of the (Weight) Union

If you're not interested in reading about my weight loss progress, then don't read this.  I'll get back to my normal self tomorrow morning with a snarky post.  So at least you have that to look forward to.  (And can I just say how sweet the sound of Ben Folds new album is to me?  I don't know if I love it yet, but I do love that S snagged a promo copy for us.  I'll still buy it because, duh.  I love BF.)

So, as of today, I weigh what I did pre-S.  Post college, I weighed a lot.  That freshman fifteen really stretched into a lot of weight over four years.  So anyway, when I came home from college, I decided to give vegetarianism a try (moral and health reasons).  It worked; I lost almost 20 pounds in about five months.  Not a ton of weight, but I was feeling better about myself.  But see, then I fell in love, and when you fall in love, you go on dates and go eat dinner out a lot.  And man, I'd snagged him.  I may as well eat that whole damn burger if I wanted it.  What did he care?  He was getting some.  And it's not like my weight gain was striking; it happened gradually, over 2 and half years of dating.  I gained back the almost 20 I lost and maybe a couple of extra, bonus pounds.  Supposedly, that happens when you're happy, and oh yeah, when you start eating meat again. 

But now I've shed all those happiness pounds, oddly enough, making me a happier person.  Some days I hate the diet, and I want to eat a big breakfast, fast food for lunch, and a big Mexican meal for dinner.  But I don't.  Almost never.  And for the past few weeks, I've been controlling what I eat very well, and it's been showing in my weight loss.  Oh, don't get me wrong, I still regret and resent the diet every day.  It doesn't make me happy watching S eat food I can only drool over.  But the result does make me happy, and right now, I'm trying to balance that with my unhappiness.  I'm putting on clothes and feeling good again, and that alone is worth it.  I just feel better, and I try to remember that every time I watch S stuffing his face with chips and salsa (that's been my main craving recently--terribly bad for you but oh so delicious Mexican food).  Does it always work?  No.  But that's okay with me.  I don't beat myself up about it so much anymore, and that's good too. 

The State of the (Weight) Union:  Skinnier, definitely.  Pants falling down all the time.  But still a long road ahead.  Happier, for sure.  (And that goes for both of us.  Except for the pants thing.  S's pants don't fall down.  And wait, he doesn't have a long road anywhere ahead of him.  But he's happier!  Because I am.  I'm lucky; how could I be more loved?)

Redirect, your honor

I don't want children.  Point blank, I do not see myself as a mother, and I never have.  I can't imagine bringing a child into my home; I can't imagine dealing with society and its expectations for me as a mother.  I can't imagine being a stay-at-home mom; I can't even imagine nurturing.  I can't keep a fucking plant alive, for god's sake.

That said, I'm honestly baffled by yesterday's Oprah.  (I tivo Oprah just in case something REALLY good is on, and boy, did I hit it today.)  Ayelet Waldman, an author, stay-at-home mom and former lawyer, published a column that stated that she loves her children, but is not in love with them.  She's in love with her husband, and he comes first.  Fuck, what a relief.  To hear someone say out loud  what I think all the time, well, it's nice.  When I hear women saying that they watch Oprah while their husband "does his business on top" of them, I want to fucking cry.  I'm not willing to sacrifice my romantic life for children, which is what happens so often these days.  (Forgive me, moodge and poodge and assorted other grown-ups and sister and people who don't want to hear this, but I feel that it is a priority for S and I to have sleep together/make love/have sex at least four times a week.  We've been really good about making it a priority, minus that whole depression period in my life.  And I can't imagine a time where it will not be a priority.  I'd rather make my relationship with my lover a priority than have children.)  I'm simply confused about how a woman could choose to put her relationship with the man she wants to live with FOREVER on the back burner--your kids leave, and in this situation, your husband might too.

Look, I'm not saying that kids aren't important, and that you can't devote time and love and the best intentions towards them.  But killing your relationship with your husband is going to be more detrimental to the lives of your children than almost anything that you'd give up to spend time with him.  I'm seeing how hard it is to maintain a relationship without children--it's work!  it's hard!--and I can't imagine the effort needed afterward.  But what is this man?  A sperm donor?  No, he's the man you yoked your life to, and if you forget that, you'll lose more than you ever thought you could.

And the outrage that other moms directed at Ayelet, well, it made me think that we're raising a generation of children that have a totally skewed view of life.  These children will not understand how to balance a life; how to love someone romantically; how to NOT be the center of the universe.  These children are growing up with mothers who view them as companions and THEY'RE NOT.  A child is a child.  Not a friend (though if you're lucky, you can develop a friendship with them later on in life), and not a replacement for a life partner.  Who are these people, these mommy-bots? 

Grrrrrr.  Just, Grrrrrr.

Disposable Me

When you battle depression, small things take on great big buckets of meaning.  If your boyfriend says he's just not in the mood, you think that your relationship is a big fireball of doom, and that he couldn't possibly be attracted to you anymore and therefore, doesn't love you anymore.  If you burn the toast, it's because you're incompetent.  If you can't sleep at night, it's because you're cracking up, and the exhaustion you feel the next day is clearly because you're a sub-par human being, who can't keep up with the rest of the world.  And if your friendships drop away, well, clearly it's because you suck as a person.  Who would want to be your friend?

I'm not depressed now, at least, I'm not depressed the way I was in November and December.  Things seem bright to me again, and small things are small things again.  But I am still caught up on the last question.  Who would want to be my friend?  I think this because one of my friendships is over, for all intents and purposes.  And I so loved this person that it is bewildering to wake up one day and think that the person just stopped liking you.  Just stopped feeling all the things that made the friendship good, deep.  Because this wasn't just a drinking-in-the-bar friendship--this was a sibling type relationship.  For me.  And I wonder now, if I was alone in that; and if I was, how stupid am I?  How boringly stupid.  How ridiculously naive.  I miss this person every day, and yet, I was disposable for them. 

I question myself all the time.  Am I that desert-able?  I know things changed, but I don't know how.  I couldn't save the friendship, because, it is clear now, it did not want to be saved by anyone but me.  I feel like a fool, like a sad, blind fool.  And I'm afraid.  I'm desperately afraid of this happening again and again in my life.  I keep people (and the idea of people) at arm's length.  I can feel it happening, and I know that I am hungry for close friends, but that I am terrified to actually act on that hunger.  I don't want to love so hard and lose again.  It's a simple fear, really.  I'm afraid of abandonment, and to be abandoned (and that's what it feels like), well, that just makes every step forward ten times harder.

How do I get past this?  How do I trust people enough to start letting them in again?  Whoever thinks that breaking up with a lover is harder than breaking up with a friend is insane--because it's just as fucking hard.  It hurts just as much.  It all depends on how much you let people in.  And I really did it with this person, and it bit me in the ass.  And now I'm scared shitless; and I can't seem to go backwards or forward on this issue.  I hate it, and a part of me hates this person for doing this to me.  But if they called every day, from tomorrow on, I'd be their best friend again.  I forgive easily.  But that's a pipe dream--not going to happen.  So how do I condition myself to accept that?

Sloppy Joe, Slop-sloppy joe

I had a crazy craving for sloppy joes last night at like, midnight.  So tonight, I'm forcing S to eat sloppy joe.  He doesn't mind, only because I cater to his particular needs.  If you make sloppy joe at all, you know that most recipes call for some combination of onion, celery and green pepper.  I hate green pepper in my sloppy joes, so that's no problem.  But I rather like having celery and onion in it, at the very least to taste.  S, of course, can think of nothing more distasteful than crunching into a piece of celery when eating something tasty like sloppy joe (or anything that might be cooked like this, in fact.  Name a recipe involving meat in a skillet, and I inevitably have to change it.), so I've come up with a compromise.  I cut all vegetables into large pieces, so that he can easily avoid them.  And if I happen to want a bit of that particular vegetable, I'll cut it up after S serves himself, and add it to my own food.  It sucks, in a way, but it's better than never eating these foods. 

In non-sloppy joe news, there's a new Pope.  (I almost typed Poop.  Freudian slip or honest mistake?)  I'm not particularly thrilled with the choice, being that he is super-conservative.  He was JP II's right-hand man, for goodness sake.  But I did happen upon the whole thing, from the white smoke to the announcement, to Pope Benedict XVI's address of the crowd.  (I do have to say that I approve of the name.  While I'm not so great with papal history--I did have to buy a book called about the papacy for one of my classes in college.  I think that Benedict is a fine name, and far less boring than some of the other choices.)  I found it interesting to watch, but also, of course, bittersweet, as is any TV coverage that is in the city of Rome.  I also, for the first time ever, had no desire to be in Rome at this minute, as it is sure to be a crazy, crazy place.  With no hotel rooms. 

This Pope, I'm pleased to say,  has been judged a muffin, by me.  I may not like his view of the church, but I sure do think he's a cute old man.  It's interesting, too, to me, that he is German.  Only because the history of the German people is so blighted.  Ratzinger, as Wolf Blitzer was only too happy to point out, was a strict anti-Nazi, and even deserted from the German army when he was drafted into it during WWII.  One of the other commentators said that it's clear that Ratzinger's family is free from the stain of Nazi-ism, but how do we know that?  What if some distant cousin wasn't free of that taint?  Not that it matters, really.  I don't care if Ratzinger's relatives drink like madmen on Sundays and eat more sausage than God.  The man is obviously well-liked in the church, and he's the Pope, for better or worse.  I only hope that he can tame his more conservative tendancies.

(Interesting too that during Vatican II, Ratzinger was among the more progressive of the delegates to the council.  Or was he advising a delegate the council?  I can't remember.  I only wonder how he came to be one of the most conservative cardinals in the college, from being a progressive member of the church.)

Anyway, I'm not a Catholic, so I don't really care anyway, except that so many Third World countries are filled with Catholics.  And AIDS--and this Pope is almost sure to condemn condom usage as much as JP II did.  That's bad, from where I'm sitting.

Thinking about genes

I don't know why I didn't think about this last week, but it just occured to me when buying pineapple yesterday.  My cousin Bee (her childhood nickname; possibly Bea? but I like Bee better) told me that her two favorite foods are asparagus and pineapple.  I'm sure she likes to eat many other things, but I observed first-hand her love of asparagus, as she ate so much it was ridiculous.  I wish I could have eaten that much, but then instead of staying at the same weight last week I would have gained weight.  Nonetheless, as I said, I didn't think much of this until yesterday.

Two of my most favorite foods are pineapple and asparagus.  I'm not kidding.  There is almost always some sort of pineapple in my fridge, be it cored, sliced or chunked.  I eat pineapple almost every day.  I eat asparagus less often, but if it is part of a dish at a restaurant, it almost always tips the balance in favor of that dish.  When I do buy asparagus (relatively more often than normal this spring), I eat it for every meal (save breakfast) until my stash of it is gone.  I steam it and eat it with salt and pepper, and that's it.  I don't need any other embellishment to convince me to eat it.  One weekend I ate it for dinner one night, lunch the next day, dinner that night (at a restaurant, no less) and at lunch the day after that.  I love it.  And cream of asparagus soup!  Oh, need I go on?

But anyway, why those two foods?  And why do Bee and I both love them?  Is it some inherited taste, or just coincidence?  Or do we love those foods because we grew up closely together and ate together enough to produce that result?  I'm just curious. 

Did you ever wonder what shaped your taste for something?  I love vegetables--all of my siblings do, really.  We will eat spinach like it's going out of style.  My mom has said that other moms that she is friends with often marvel at how many vegetables we eat.  And this isn't a new development.  I liked these vegetables even as a kid.  So why?  S won't touch a vegetable with a ten foot pole.  Why does he hate them and we love them?  And he hasn't ever developed a taste for them--the only things he currently eats are sweet corn and tomatoes...every once in a great while.  And he likes, even in greater terms, way less than I ever have.  I think at seven I was a more adventurous eater than S is now.  How strange is that?  And why is that?  I can't imagine I was exposed to that much more than him, in terms of what we ate.  I only ate Thai, Japanese and Indian as an adult and loved them.  I hadn't eaten Greek or Mediterranean until I was an adult.  I love all of these foods now.  And S, who ate some of them for the first time at the same time as me, doesn't like any of them, really.  Why?

I'm just curious to know why our tastebuds differ so much.  And can you get tastebud transplants for people?  How much would that cost?  I know a prime candidate.

Things I Simply Do Not Understand

A meme called Caesar's Bath is being passed around the Internet, and the idea is this:  you name five things that your peers seem to love and you don't get at all.  It's not a meme in so far as there are no limits, but it is a meme in that everyone's doing it.  I think.  That's my definition.  So here, without further ado, are mine:

1. Drinking mass quantities of alcohol--I've done the drunk thing, and it sucks.  There is nothing fun about waking up at ten the next day with a sick stomach, a pounding headache, and an insane desire for a Quarter Pounder or some Taco Bell.  And frankly, being drunk itself isn't that fun.  You're perfectly drunk for about five minutes, because when you take the next sip, you're not perfectly drunk anymore.  You've crossed into too drunk, when you make fun of your friends and hit on their sig-figs; another drink or so later, you're throwing up in the bushes or telling everyone you love them so much while spilling your drink down their clothing.  What the fuck is fun about this?  I don't get it.
2. Stupid Humor--Like "Dumb and Dumber" or "Dude, Where's my Car?" or "Jackass."  Even S likes this shit, and it doesn't make me laugh.  About the stupidest I have ever gone is "Harold and Kumar go to White Castle" which was only good when it wasn't being obnoxiously stupid.  I simply didn't get "There's Something about Mary;"  I don't understand why Cameron Diaz using spooge as hair gel is funny.  I have a sense of humor, I swear.  But this just ain't it. 
3. Make-up and that "uber-trendy" look--I don't understand make-up.  I never wear it, and I always cringe when I see a girl wearing what looks like entire tubes of concealer and eye shadow and lipstick on their faces.  It's good to look good, no doubt about it.  But when you're wearing every make-up trend and clothing trend at the same time, you don't look good.  And when you have too much make-up on, you even look bad.  So I don't get it.  I read fashion magazines so I can find shoes and purses.  I don't feel like a trendster, and I don't want to be.  How little personal style one has if she wears all the trends, all the time. 
4. Alternative music--Things like Linkin Park, Limp Bizkit, Sum-41, Hoobastank, and Lifehouse.  Once upon a time, this was my music.  Things like Pearl Jam and Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins and even, god, the Chili Peppers.  But on the whole, I don't understand the majority of mainstream rock.  I just don't get it.  What's good about it?  It sounds like shit, the lead singer is always imitating someone else, and usually they act so cocky about themselves that I feel sick.  All the good bands seem to be on the fringe--and even then, the bands I like don't seem to be rock anymore.  Precious few, nowadays.  Because rock music is incomprehensively mostly bad.
5. Sushi--I'm not saying I don't like it, because I've never had it.  But I feel as if it has become this trendy thing that if you don't eat, you're a backwater loser.  I'm not sure about that.  I love Japanese, but I tend more towards tempura--and then, only vegetable--and yakitori.  I know that people love rolls, but I can't stand the taste of seaweed.  It just doesn't taste good.  And as for raw fish--I've eaten it.  I like tuna tartare and tuna carpaccio just fine.  I'm sure I'd even like sushi if I tried it.  But I'm mystified by the status that sushi holds.  Yes, it's expensive, and yes, it's an acquired taste.  But liking sushi doesn't make you suddenly cultured or sophisticated, and just because you know the BEST sushi place doesn't mean you're better than any other sushi lover.  Because frankly, everyone I know that eats sushi knows the BEST sushi place, and they're all different.  And isn't what we're really talking about sashimi?  Or am I just a stupid podunk non-sushi eater?

Now, if you're in for a challenge, do the meme.  It's fun and interesting.  I had a hard time at the beginning, but by the time I got to five, I'd thought of a couple more:  "The Family Guy" TV show, Halo (video game) and tattoos.  (But not piercings, unless they're in sexual parts--that seems like torture.  Or maybe that's the point.  So I still don't understand it.)  For goodness sake, I have my nose pierced.  I get it.  I love mine.  I've had it for six years this month, actually.  And I've never once thought of taking it out.  Wow.  Six years.  I got it in Rome--which incidentally disqualifies me from giving blood, I think--and it's such a strong, good memory for me.  One of my strongest of Rome, actually.  Maybe I'll tell that story at some point, but I don't really think this is the entry to do it in.

HOLY JESUS IF ONLY I WAS THIS FUNNY

If you do one thing for yourself tonight, go read Dooce.  I don't know when I've laughed that hard at a blog.  Maybe never.  Brill-i-ant.  Absofuckinglutely brillant.  It's about poop, but it's the funniest shit ever.  Really.  The funniest shit ever.

The everywhere food meme

Favorite food to crunch: Celery
Favorite comfort food: Campbell's Cream of Tomato soup with crumbled Ritz in it
Food that makes the best noise: The sound of a Roman pizza sliding out of the brick oven.
Favorite picnic lunch: Prosciutto, salami, one hard Italian cheese and one soft, fresh bread and tomatoes.  In Italy.
Favorite food scene in movie:  I don't have one, actually.
Favorite food lyrics:  Good morning son, I am a bird/wearing a brown polyester shirt/you want a coke/maybe some fries/the roast beef combo's only nine-ninety-five/it's okay/you don't have to pay/I've got all the change  (Ben Folds)
Least favorite food lyrics:  are there bad ones?  I'm sure there are, but I don't know them.
Best food smell memory: The smell of coffee mingled with bread reminds me of Pascucci, in Rome. 
Favorite summer snack: Tomatoes on sourdough with mayonnaise and black pepper.
Food that reminds me of the ocean: Eww.  No.
Favorite winter snack: Popcorn with lime salt.
Most likely to eat for lunch: Some sort of pasta Lean Cuisine.
Least likely to eat for lunch: Anything else.
Makes me gag: Don't know that there is a food that does.
Food tradition I hate: Do people really throw spaghetti at their walls to see if it is done?
Saturday night food: Whatever S and I can throw together that might taste okay.
Favorite wild foods: Raspberries, because it reminds me of the raspberry bushes next to our old house.
Favorite food for sex play: Do people seriously enjoy this kind of thing?  Lik-a-maid, I guess.
Favorite medicinal food: Miso soup.  To fend off colds.
Food that reflects my heritage: Pizza and weiner schnitzel.
Food most like me: Goat cheese?
Favorite raw food smell: Lime.  Squeezed over raw cucumber.

And totally randomly, did you know that there is such a thing as a wholphin?  That's right, a whale did it with a dolphin, and created a wholphin.  Except that the wholphin that was born in Hawaii recently had a wholphin for a momma and though they're not 100% sure who the dad is, they think it's a dolphin.  I thought that hybrid animals were sterile?  Am I wrong?  But supposedly, these wolphin creatures also exist in the wild, not just because some human thought it would be funny. 
Incidentally, I know this is all true, because I read it in the Chicago Tribune.  Online.