Lemons

It's 12:30PM on a Wednesday afternoon and I have to get to the bank. I love living in Denver, but my bank options are less than ideal. These days, I find myself going to the bank more and more despite the fact that it's 2013 and you would think I'd feel comfortable with mobile banking apps to save me time.

Sadly, I'm not there in the trust and confidence department. Nope. I'm just not. Instead, I keep imaging my phone will be lost or stolen and that will be a criminal's passport to my entire savings. Therefore, brick and mortar banking practices are for me. You'd think I was a Depression-era child. So why am I digressing here? Because for me, the biggest issue with traditional banking is that I can't park. I refuse to pay for street parking (or circle blocks upon blocks for it) when all I need to do is get in and get out. It's nearly warm enough to pass for Spring which means that soon I can bike to the bank, but for now, I'm stuck in the ole Prius, and stuck on the hunt for parking.

So what do I do? I don an oversized hoodie and park in the nearby Whole Foods Lot since street parking in front of the bank is never available.

Recently, I learned this type of bait and switch parking is actually "illegal" and something in my bones knew this all along (hence the special bank-parking hoodie get-up), but I do go through the motions of walking into the Whole Foods store itself and ogling - lets say the lemons at least - before ducking back out and angling around the corner. Wells Fargo, how can you not have accessible parking?

So it's 12:35PM and I've circled the much-too-crowded and much-too-competitively frightening Whole Foods lot in Cherry Creek, going on my 3rd loop when I see…a tweaker.

This guy is totally conspicuous (kind of like me). He's also wearing a hoodie, only his has a brown hood (not elegant black) and his sleeves are pushed up over his tatted forearms. He has the worn-out baggy jeans look (while mine are more fitted) and over-sneakered Van "dawgs" to round out the look. Something is UP with this guy.

And - next thing I know, he darts his eyes at me. I don't think he really saw me, because it was so quick and he was rapidly planning to unleash his parking lot vandalism scheme. Which is what he did! He hastily dug into his hoodie pocket, peeled back a glossy (non-environmentally friendly) backing paper and slapped on a garish bumper sticker to a nearby, nondescript, gray car! I was shocked. What was that tweaker thinking? It all happened so quickly: I was, at once, thrilled at the action and complexly breathless in outrage.

Next, I see the tweaker scurrying into the store! He was heading into the same store, probably with the same plan (to ogle the lemons and then turn right back around and head out to the bank). This was nuts!

In the blink of an eye, I made sure to study the important message on the sticker so violently (and lumpily) applied to the car. It read: "I like to party like an idiot" in sturdy black on a field of mustard yellow.

Huh?

I seriously couldn't believe it. I had just witnessed a true "run-by bumper sticker vandalism incident" and something had to be done about it.

Next thing I know, I hastily head into the Whole Foods store, spot the tweaker stuffing tomatoes in a flimsy plastic produce bag and hurry around the corner. What will he do next?

Also - why did I imagine he was stuffing tomatoes in the bag only to throw them at more cars? Was I re-enacting some weird Groucho Marx sketch that I have never thought was funny or have actually seen in real life and yet remembered that it bothered me to no end that people would conceive of throwing tomatoes at objects/people they don't like? Was I heaping on future vandalistic acts upon this tweaker simply because he was GUILTY in my mind? Interesting to ponder…

Regardless, I flagged down the man in the granola aisle wearing an apron who clearly "whistled while he worked there" to alert him of the vandal.

"Hey, do you work here?" I mouthed in a sideways hiss.

"How can I help you?!" he replied brightly in that granola way as if he harvested each and every oat cluster by hand while cooing at it softly.

I then informed him of the entire crimial saga of which he seemed incredulous.

"So you're saying that he already stuck the bumper sticker ON?" He really placed emphasis on the "on" in the sentence (I silently cringed at the overt sentence-ending with a preposition).

I nodded. "He did".

Then, nothing.

The man exhaled and let the weight of the entirety of the event settle over him. I shook my head with an affirmative, tight smile, before I shook my head again in that "I know. What can you do?" head shake way. Then four eyebrows raised and we do-si-doed a bit of a salute before parting ways.

Then, I flipped up my hoodie for good measure and went to the bank.

 

 

“A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended.” 

— Ian McEwan, Atonement 

This quote speaks to me on all levels, and mostly beyond the physical...

 

 

Blue tie, red tie, which one do I choose?

Rebecca Black was a simple high school kid who couldn't sing. But maybe she was on on to something!

All kidding aside, I know who I'm voting for. However, the debate tonight evidenced a confusing disagreement on the purpose of government in general. All I know was THIS simple kid was lost in the weeds of repetitious, tedious and abstract statistics.


"It will be of little avail to the people that the laws are made by men of their own choice if the laws be so voluminous that they cannot be read, or so incoherent that they cannot be understood. " - James Madison

“The truth is, unless you let go, unless you forgive yourself, unless you forgive the situation, unless you realize that that situation is over, you cannot move forward.”  - Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free




I was able to put this into practice today for the first time, in an official capacity, that I can recall. I feel amazing. A new year really has begun...

Bad Date

* Last night I had the chance to submit this little ditty to Cosmo for their December issue. Let's hope my smut makes the cut!

 

I met Jason at a networking event and he soon invited me on a date the following week. He chose an expensive wine bar in downtown Denver called Cru. I noticed that he suggested grabbing a "drink" and not "dinner” so I made sure to eat beforehand. I looked forward to talking with him further and to my fancy glass of Pinot Noir.

When I arrived, Jason was sitting at the bar with a crisp glass of Pinot Gris in hand. He gave me a big hug and suggested we sit at the corner table. I sized him up and down and instead picked a table outside.

Sitting across from Jason, I assessed his dress: He was wearing Chaco's, a rust-orange button down shirt (so badly wrinkled around each button that the fabric looked parched and cracked after days of wear in a desert) and…shorts. I was seriously distraught at what I saw. For the record, I blew out my hair (which takes forever), wore tight jeans, a sparkly tank top, a long necklace, and kick-ass heels. My point is, he took under 30 seconds to throw on his field-work clothes and I took...a lot longer.

Next, Jason suggested that we order a flight of wine. I was not pleased. I already knew which wine I liked but I felt I had to roll with it. Panic set in, as I knew that we were going to have to SHARE THE GLASSES. Yes, I'd probably sleep with a guy who can put a nice outfit together but that's not my point. I don't like swapping spittle on flutes. It’s disgusting!

I gulped when Jason asked if I was hungry. Despite my refusal, he ordered an enormous cheese plate for us to share. MORE SHARING! I mumbled something about blue cheese (as a joke) as nothing makes your breath smell more than crumbles le stink. I’m sure you can guess which cheese plate he ordered. I was miserable.

When the flight was presented, I went from unhappy to sheer dismay. Jason hopped around from glass to glass completely OUT OF ORDER! He gulped, didn't sniff, didn't savor and I watched his bearded face and mouth converge on each glass in horrific slow motion. I knew I would have to taste those very glasses next and I was simply SICKENED. I made sure to twist the glass stem around ever so slightly (and obviously) when it was my turn to sip. Meanwhile, he didn't let me taste first. Jerk.

When the cheese plate came out Jason spread almost all of the fig compote on the bread, had one taste of the blue, nearly vomited and proclaimed that it was “bad”. He said the veins of mold really freaked him out. I didn't even respond. I DID, however, cleave a chunk of the Manchengo before he wolfed it down and left ME with the blue.

In desperation we both signaled the waiter to order more wine. Jason asked for an additional Pinot Gris and I finally got the jammy-jammy, cherry-cherry with notes of wood. It was very-very good.

When the bill came, it was $105. I don't know how. I don't really even care.

Jason had a near-heart-attack. He sat there for a long while. I stared at him directly and uncomfortably with disdain and contempt in my eyes. He then suggested we split the bill. I thought for a moment and offered: "I will contribute $21". He was speechless at my acute attention to math.

Then, like a heaven-sent angel, the waiter came to collect payment. He pleasantly inquired, "How was everything?" Jason replied, “Everything was great” and was all smiles. He made a big show of being the "man" and said it was good to meet him and his name was Jason. Jason, and I kid you not (how could I?) then said: "And this is Angela." He then panicked." I mean Amanda."

I was horrified. "I'm Samantha" I deadpanned. I then took the bill/fold before the waiter grabbed it and took back my cash. I said loudly (and the two other women who were at the table next to us can verify), that he could pay for the bill being as he didn't even know who he was dating.

I left the table mid-payment and walked to my car. 

Strangely he texted me "Did you make it home ok? I had a great time tonight and would like to see you again."

I hit delete.

Mirror, mirror

"A loving person lives in a loving world. A hostile person lives in a hostile world. Everyone you meet is your mirror." – Ken Keyes Jr.

This quote spoke to me on many levels, especially today on the 11th anniversary of 9/11. I feel that if we could all embody this ideal (and yes, it's an ideal) that we truly COULD reflect our best selves to one another and see our best selves IN one another. I wonder what a world that could be...

I chose this image of me at about 6 years old brushing my hair in my mirror all on my own. I was studying my appearance, my image for one of the first times that I could remember. My mother thought my concentration warranted a photo. I like to believe that my mirrored self was just about to reflect a smile :P.

My life as a fairy tale

 

Bold, fearless and a bit naive, she walks up to the ancient stone wall full of power, charm, bluster and no conceivable idea of pause. There's a rope hanging hundreds of feet from a rock face dangling before her, begging to be tugged. There's also a steep staircase, a formidable challenge to even the most fit athlete or most confident star.

Assumptions are made.

Instantly.

No double-thinking; no hesitation in the slightest. She was 19.

+++++

Next to her lies a calming influence. A good man with keen intellect and an unconventional pause. He assesses the same wall, the same stairs, the same rope. He reacts differently. He was 39 forever.

Wild thoughts tumble in her mind. The ex-Dog; a real mongrel. What would he think of the wall? He wouldn't even come to the jungle. He wouldn't come out for a bone. What would he think of the wall? How would he climb? But he wasn't there. Again. He was trapped behind his other walls. Deep, fortress walls around his heart. His middle. He was a cave-dweller older than time.

In two small steps she near-leaps at the rope and tugs with back-ripping ferocity. Because that's what she does. She's a Captain. You pick a route/you go. Her feet press stone, one/two. Toes straight up, heels pressed wide in a stance of authority. She knows the way. Like this. Just like this.

One/two.

Sail.

Next question.

+++++

The man with the calm is unmoored.

Stoically, with composure and control he allows for little, disgusted guffaws. This woman/this brat. She has topped the absurd.

"Who ARE you?" he means.

In a poetic and sparse sequence of words that she half-heard through the wind of her own making he defines her, her essence, the monstrosity of her world view as unacceptable. Impossible.

He says she is not human. He says, more accurately, that SHE views HERSELF as mythical and he hates her for it.

He says she can not defy gravity, common sense, or rules the way she does. She WILL NOT.

He is not laughing. He is consumed with penetrating derision. He questions - at a core level - if she actually believes she is a mortal woman. She tastes the acidity of his judgment. It hurts. She can't ignore the way their story - their FRIENDSHIP will end.

Fairy tales are lovely when the princess and the pea smash together in a brilliant jam. A jam untasted. A green, untasted jam.

+++++

Hours later, she's on top of the wall looking out over hundreds of miles of jungle tree-tops at hints of river water snaking to a red-line horizon. He is there next to her, but closer to the cur. She didn't know they were the same. 19 and 39. End dates to old decades - a generation apart. Their dual climb completed in silence and struggle, one of pride and one of definite prejudice.

She judged him too. She learned that men are fragile too.

After a pause, a long drink of breath wheezing across the chasm between Venus and Mars, they both exit stage right with little fanfare. It was about to rain. The sky became dark, and the wind demanded due respect. She ducked like a criminal in shame from the promise of their love, and watched it become trampled into brown-brackish water. Not beautiful. Gone.

+++++

Lifetimes later, she stands before a tree. A wide, old, Virginia white oak. Left like an Ansel Adam's legacy with arms akimbo, proud and outstretched, full of leafy imperfection in a field of modern sparseness.

Outstanding!

She is so thirsty. She is so tired. Her legs ache from climbing mountains.

One/two she remembers. Like this. Just like this. A rope swings down to meet her grasp and she tugs with heart-wrenching desire. She is real. She is human. She wills her toes straight up. Like this.

From behind a strong and tender man embraces her in total. He lifts her. He lifts her.

He loves her. She is not old. She is free.