Memory...All Alone In The Moonlight...

I'm kind of pissed at some of the things my brain has chosen to remember. Or maybe I'm pissed about the things my brain has decided to forget. There are huge chunks of my past, years of my past, that have just fluttered out of my head and fallen somewhere. It's like every time a strong wind hits my ear, a Meta-memory gets blown out the other side. I'm beginning to wonder if the memories I do have are actually remembered by me, or if they are only memories because I remember being told about them. And how will I ever really know?

I was at a RibBQ at my sister's house tonight and we were talking about our grade school, Whittier, and all the various teachers we had. My mom told a story about me in second grade, one I'd never heard before. It wasn't really a story as much as something I did. My teacher, Ms. Griffith(big ups to Ms. Griffith, who was hands down my favorite teacher in grade school) gave us spelling words every week. We had to not only spell these words correctly, but we had to use the words in sentences. I believe the general idea was to use 1 word in each sentence, but I fancied myself a clever girl, and decided to use as many words as I could in one sentence. Apparently, this was how I rolled in second grade, because the incident my mom told me about tonight was not the first, nor the last time I did that. Anyspellingbee, my mom told me that one time, my second-grade self took two of the words, "giraffe" and "reddish" and formed this gem of a sentence: "A giraffe is a big animal with a long neck and it might eat a reddish." No wonder I didn't graduate high school on time, I thought "reddish" was the same thing as a "radish". And I also believed for some reason that giraffes might eat radishes. I'm not sure which is more disturbing. Needless to say, this momma-memory is exactly the kind of memory that I wish I'd had, instead of heard about.

The memories I seem to have always kind of suck. For example, I've been haunted by a Jewel memory ever since writing that boog about Preferred Cards. I'm at Jewel with my mom, and I'm sitting in the bottom of the cart, you know, under the body of the cart where people usually stack a couple of cases of beer. I'm not sure how old I am during this memory, but I've got to be fairly young since I can fit under the cart. So I'm under there and my mom parks the cart near the deli department and takes a number, only the deli is closed and my mom doesn't know. She stands there for awhile, waiting, not knowing the it's closed, but I realize it and I start to cry, because I'm sad for my mom. The memory stops there, so I don't know why I was so sad for my mom, and I can't recall what happened after that. I imagine we left the deli and continued shopping because that's what people do at the grocery store. This memory still makes me sad though, and I still don't know why. My mom clearly got over it, she has not shown any anger towards deli departments since then and has purchased tons of sliced meat in the years that have past. But that suck of a memory is the kind of memory I get instead of remembering a hilarious sentence I wrote about a giraffe and a reddish.

The manufactured "giraffe eating a radish" memory will now become part of my memory repertoire, and I'm sure I'll retell it 1,000 before my life is said and done. Along with my favorite manufactured memory about the time I peed all over my parents floor in front of the mirror, but that's a boog for another time. Anypisser, while the manufactured giraffe memory has made it into the "memories I didn't have but tell repeatedly" file, no feelings accompany it. I think that's what gets me so mad about my selective memory. In what was a mostly happy childhood, I've chosen to remember things that reignite feelings of sadness, or feelings of nothing, which is equally sad. And I have enough sad memories from teenage years and adulthood, I'm not diggin these sad childhood memories close location to my surface. Now don't get me wrong, I do have actual childhood memories that make me fizz with happy, kind of like Pop Rocks when they first hit your tongue. But for someone who appears to be so happy, I sure do like to keep the sad nearby.

Perfect Ham-ony...

I don't even like ham but I love ham, and I know that makes no sense, but ham is one of those things that I love when I'm eating it, but never go out of my way to have...sorry, I just had to get that off my chest.

Groce-ual Preference...

Yesterday while at the Jewel, I decided to lie about my Preferred Card status. Not only did I lie about my Preferred Card status, I went so far as to act out a scenario when presented with the "Do you have a Preferred Card?" question. As the cashier asked me, I pulled my carabiner off my belt loop(reason #75 why I know I'm a lesbian), and pretended like my Preferred Card had fallen off my key ring. I even said "Oh no! I think it fell off my key ring! Would you take my gym membership?" then I laughed, then she laughed, and then she told me that they do take the Dominick's card, to which I responded "Well I don't have one of those, how about a Piggly Wiggly card?" to which both of us laughed again. Then she waved her magic wand of preferred savings and before I knew it I was reaping discounts left and right.


I was curious about why I felt the need to make up a scene this time through the line at Jewel when every other time, I've openly admitted to not having a Preferred Card. Plus, the whole time I was waiting in line, I was inventing what I was going to do, so it wasn't like it was a game- time decision either, it was totally premeditated. What was it that prompted me to make up such a weird lie and then act it out? I think the Preferred Card pressure just finally got to me, and I cracked. That's right, the Preferred Card pressure...it got to me. Preferred Card pressure is what happens to me every time I go to Jewel sans Preferred Card. No one has ever made me feel guilty about this, or denied me savings, but somehow I feel less than Preferred since I don't have a PC to prove that the folks at Jewel prefer me. And this, my friends, is my big honking problem with Jewel...if you're going to give everyone the preferred savings, why the eff are you wasting time marking things as "Preferred Card" specials? Just mark that sh*t down and offer it to EVERYONE.


I guess I don't understand why stores like Jewel have things like the Preferred Card..."Here, fill out this form, waste some time and some paper, we'll waste some plastic and send you 1 credit card-type card for your wallet, and 87 thing-a-ma-bobs for your key chain, and if you lose them or forget them, don't worry because we will just give you the savings anyway, without any proof that you are in fact a Preferred Customer." At least at Dominick's you have to give them your phone number. I'm such an idiot, I always blank on my parents phone number and use The Joyous One's parents number, which is odd because I never remember that phone number any other time in my life, only at Dominick's when I'm proving that I have Fresh Values privileges. The other weird part about that is The Joyous One has a Fresh Values card registered to our house...where I live...and yet still I use her parent's phone number every time I'm at Dominick's...go figure. I also don't know her parent's address, but don't tell The Joyous One, we've been together for almost 10 years, these numbers are numbers I should know. And not just when I'm at Dominick's.

AnyA.D.D, Preferred Cards and Fresh Values cards are the reasons you will usually find me at Whole Foods, where they don't distinguish between preferred and non-preferred because everyone is treated equally, and being treated equally is important to this little lesbian. Anytime I feel low about not having the same rights as the straights in this country, I'll just head to the nearest Whole Foods and roam the aisles looking at all of the specials being offered to every single customer that enters the door. I'll feel no Preferred Card pressure as I grab up discounts and head to the cash register, equal in the eyes of the Whole Foods Gods. But of course, if I'm craving processed foods, or red dye 40, then I'll have to suck it up, go to the Jewel, break out into a cold sweat as I shuffle toward the register without my Preferred Card, and decide which story I'll tell this time.

I Know I Just Did, But How Dare You...

My previous post got me thinking about how annoying I can be about things(it also got me thinking about "The Choice Is Yours" by The Black Sheep). For example, getting mad at a car for going too slow, then getting mad at a car for going fast when I know full well that I have driven down many a street going too slow, and many a street going too fast. Plus, I'm the person who would get in-the-car mad at anyone who honked at me for going too slow, or shook their fist at me for going too fast. I say "in-the-car mad" because I get totally furious inside my car, screaming and swearing up a storm, banging on the wheel, but I'm scared to take it out of the car with yelling or honking for fear of a road-raged individual punching or shooting me...it happens. And it did happen to The Joyous One and I once in Forest Park...only we didn't get punched or shot, just yelled at by a woman who called us dyke-ass mother effers and told us what we needed was a man...and you know, if we'd thought of that "man" thing in the first place, The Joyous One and I could have saved ourselves a lot of grief, and pain, and a lot of same-sexin, so really I should find that woman and thank her. Anysybil, reactions like that from people are what stop me from honking, yelling out windows, etc. But road rage and honking and dyke-a** mother effers is not what I meant to write about. What I meant to write about is...

Things that are okay if I do them, but not okay if you do them...

Don't we all have these things? You cannot deny that you have roamed aimlessly through the produce section, carelessly blocking access to the potatoes, even though a week before, you in-your-head swore at someone for doing the exact same thing with the apples. Don't pretend like you've never been walking through the concourse at Wrigley, and stopped to look for your friends behind you, even though last time you were at a game, you pushed past someone who was doing the exact same thing, saying "Excuse you!" as you went by. We ALL do things that really piss us off when other people do them and we all know that we do. Perhaps if we just get some of these things out in the open, we can all stop doing them(listen, I know this is impossible, I just want to get them out in the open as my way of venting). Here are some of my favorite things that I do, that really piss me off when other people do them...


Take right turns slowly

Swear in public

Call the waiter or waitress by name(not sure why this pisses me off when other people do it, it just does...shut up)

Bang into people w/o saying "excuse me" when in a large crowd

Sit like a dude at concerts and sporting events(legs splayed as wide open as possible. I think men sit this way so they don't sit on their junk. I sit this way because I like having space)

Interrupt

Cough or sniffle when a cold is present

Chew and crack gum

Clap in the movie theater

Dance to "Single Ladies"

This list could go on and on and on and on, so I think I should just cut if off now, before I realize how hypocritical and annoying I am. I'd love to hear what some of you all do that really cheeses you off when other people do the same...you know you've got some good ones! Oh, and not commenting on other people's blogs? Another thing that I do, yet it pisses me off when other people do it...don't piss me off!

This or That...

As I got out of my car in front of my house yesterday, there was a car heading south on my street. It was close enough where I didn't want to cross in front of it, so I waited for it to pass. Of course, the moment I decided to let it pass was the exact moment the car decided to slow down. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was really about 12 seconds, and as the car passed me, I rolled my eyes and said "Why don't you slow the f*ck down...friggin idiot." About 23 minutes later, I left my house to head to my sister's house. As I approached the street, I saw that a car was coming, again, close enough where I didn't want to cross in front of it, so I waited for it to pass. The moment I decided to let it pass, the car decided to rev it's engine and fly past my house, much faster than I'm used to cars going on my street. As it whizzed by, I furrowed my brow and said "Why don't you slow the f*ck down...friggin idiot." Is it me, or am I impossible to please?

Simply The Breast...

Summer, and everything it brings along with it, will soon be upon us. I'm talking music festivals, BBQ's, swimming, fireworks, backyard hanging out, but also some obnoxious things like mosquitos, sunburns, humidity and my #1 summer pet peeve...naked shirtless men. Listen, it's not for the the reason you think...that reason being that I'm a lesbian and prefer the naked chest of a woman...that's not it at all, although that statement is true...I do prefer the naked chest of a woman, but I can appreciate the naked chest of man as well. Anychesty, that's not the reason. I feel this way about naked chests of men because I think it's unfair on many levels, that they get to be shirtless whenever they please. Those levels include the fact that men are the only ones who get to experience an even tan from the waist up without needing to pay for the tanning salon, and also the fact that we're forced to look at naked man-chest all summer, even if that chest is attractive(although nothing is attractive about the matted pit hair of a man, no one can deny that!). But what truly bugs is that if we women decided to go out topless, we'd get in trouble...steaming piles of trouble...


Picture this: a braless but shirt-wearing Me, and my friend, we'll call him Chuck, decide to take a walk to the local park to play frisbee. We both leave with shirts on, but as soon as we're outside, we realize it's super hot. The only solution to our hot problem is to remove our shirts. Chuck and I both whip em off, tuck them into our back pockets, high five over our cleverness, and continue to stroll. Enter neighborhood law enforcement officer...he pulls his car over, hops out, and says "Ma'am, you can't be walking around town without your shirt on, even though you have a nice pair. I'm going to have to write you a ticket for Indecent Exposure"...me, in my naivete assumes he will also write Chuck a ticket for the same thing since he also has his breasts exposed, but he doesn't...so I ask him why a woman's chest is indecent while a man's chest is not. He can't answer and just hands me the ticket...


Now, this did not happen to me or anyone I know. I don't have any friends named Chuck(if I do and I just forgot, I'm sorry Chuck!), I'm rarely without a bra, and I don't ever walk around town with my top off...I want to, but I don't...I'm too jiggly, which also explains why I'm never without a bra. Now, I don't know for sure if men can get tickets or arrested or whatever for Indecent Exposure. I mean, maybe they can and I'm just assuming they don't, since I see shirtless men prancing about all summer long, hairy shirtless men...and no shirtless women...because they would get in trouble...for being shirtless...and not hairy. Anybackhair, that is what chafes me and my unexposed nipples. What is it about the woman's breast that is so "indecent", so "offensive? When Janet Jackson had her boob exposed on TV, what was so bad about that?


Is it the nipples? It can't be, everyone has had at least 1 at some point in their life, hell some people have 3. Is it the curvature of the breast itself? A lot of men have a curve to their breasts and sure, a lot of the time it's a muscle-y curve, but it's a curve nonetheless! My guess is that it's because women's chests are seen as sex objects, and men's aren't. But I'm having a hard time believing that too, since I've seen plenty of man chests being ogled and fondled by women and men alike. But that's all I can figure in this breasnundrum...women's chests are more often seen as sexual things, sexual objects, and therefore are deemed "indecent" when exposed.


It's a shame really that breasts, whose purpose are to nourish the young, are seen this way. It's a shame that men's chests aren't seen this way, not as young-nourishers, but as sex things. And I'm not innocent in this, I've ogled and fondled chests of both sexes...I'm an equal opportunity ogler/fondler. But I do that with butts too, and legs, hands, wrists, backs, necks...hell I'm just an all-around perv, I guess. Right now, right in this moment, I've got an "all or nothing" attitude about the whole chestate(chest debate): if one of the sexes can't expose their chests, then the other sex should be forbidden to as well. And I'm all for it if someone decides to change the rules to allow both sexes to prance topless...and if they do, imagine the chestacle(chest spectacle).


**Author's Note: even if the rules changed and I could prance topless, I would not. I don't think anyone would benefit from my top half being exposed, least of all my top half, which would no doubt turn the color of a cherub tomato and cause me great pain and peeling with possible skin cancer ramifications. But also, my top half, aside from my rack, ain't that great and the only place it should be exposed is in the comfort of my own home. I would hope that some of the shirtless men of this world would heed my advice and realize that maybe the best place for your chest and man-boobs to be exposed, is in private.**

This way...

I miss Kathy. I do. I miss her so much, in the pit of my stomach, in the nooks of my heart, I miss her more than I imagined I could or would. It's funny, I find myself wondering what right do I have missing her this way? I didn't know her favorite color, or band, or food, or movie, I really only knew her birthday because of her death, I missed her going away party when she left for Alaska, so what right do I have missing her this way? What right do I have writing about missing her this way? She was such an epic figure, full of life, and hilarity, and just all good things, how can I help but to miss her this way? Part of her beauty was making everyone she met feel special, feel connected...we are all missing her this way.

And now, in the sadness of missing her, I'm remembering her, I'm feeling the sheer luck of knowing her, I'm recalling the happiness of being her friend, a smile is spreading across my face, one that cannot be helped, and I'm beaming. No one else's memory can make me smile this way.