I spend a lot of time in the city and something rather amusing has happened.
I've made friends with the local street urchins.
Yes, those lovable, grumbling, sometimes shouting profanities homeless men of Portland who used to make me want to cross the street just to avoid possible eye contact.
Pretty ladies can sometimes earn unwanted attention.
Once someone got way too close for comfort wondering where I was going, sweetie, and followed me several blocks late at night.
My only way of handling the frightening situation was to nearly scream, YOU LOOK JUST LIKE THE ARTFUL DODGER! HAVE YOU SEEN THAT MOVIE?? WHERE'S YOUR FRIEND, OLIVER??
Needless to say my queer outburst stunned him long enough to redirect any unseemly behavior and I managed to get inside Guy's building with a CHEERIO, GOOD CHAP! and scurried away from the possible rapist with my heart beating double time and me wondering why the hell the first thing that came to my mind was a 70's musical.
I am a weird girl.
But that was months ago.
Since then, my interaction with creepy men on the street has turned into a Disney movie.
Like the opening to "Beauty and the Beast" where the townspeople are all wishing Belle a Bon Jour! the bums of Portland greet me each morning with similar songs of praise.
Good morning, beautiful.
Look at that red hair! You have beautiful red hair.
You look like a picture out of a book. You're so pretty.
Happy holidays, darling. Don't lose that smile! Love the glasses!
It's like, they all suddenly became extra grandpa's and uncles making my day brighter.
There's this area in NW near one of the shelters where I always park if there's no other spots available for blocks.
There are always spots available there because it's in front of this overhang where a lot of homeless men sleep.
And without a doubt, most people subscribe to the similar kinds of fears I once did about getting too close to the bums.
And it doesn't make us judgmental haters, there are some homeless people that can be downright mean when you don't hand over your "spare change."
And I'm not gonna lie, the ones screaming incoherent strings of sentences like some actor with turrets in a Pinter play can be downright scary.
But I'm glad that I have discovered a little hamlet of friendly street wanderers who look forward to our morning paths aligning as surely as I do.
Even when I've got no makeup on and I'm simply filling the meter, they always have something appreciative to say.
I gotta start baking them cookies or something.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Parental stamps of disapproval
Today I watched "The Family Stone" and realized a few things.
One, I don't know why I've always thought I liked that movie.
I think it's because it has three of my favorite actresses in it which distracted me from realizing I actually dislike the plot a great deal.
Sarah Jessica Parker arrives to meet her boyfriend's family at Christmas and they all instantly hate her.
How can you hate Carrie Bradshaw??
Their overwhelming disdain is irrationally bizarre and you have to choose sides between SJP and the entire rest of the cast.
Eventually, because life is so darn unpredictably full of twists, SJP's original BF ends up with her sister, the lovely Claire Danes and Sarah JP hooks up with his brother.
Why not?
Now the whole family accepts these new match ups and everyone lives happily ever after.
My point?
I remembered how awful it felt when Mr. Volcano's parents were as welcoming to me as the Stone family was towards Ms. Parker.
The first time he told his parents he wanted them to meet me they told him they were "still in mourning" over the loss of his ex wife.
Nice.
In mourning?!?
She didn't die, their love for each other did.
When I finally DID meet the Volcano clan they were all overwhelmingly weird and shy.
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone and I'd stepped inside a zone where they all smiled and seemed polite enough but were secretly planting pins in my voodoo doll.
But I did gain points with the father when I told him to stop being a baby and just eat the damn fish already even if it didn't get cooked the way he thought it should.
I certainly know how to leave a lasting impression.
The real kicker, of course, was when we tried to arrange it so both of our parents could meet after that and the Mr. and Mrs. Volcano suddenly got too busy to attend a Christmas Eve church service as one big family.
Oh yeah.
I could feel the love.
Even the baby Jesus rolled his eyes.
Is it any wonder that this blissful match of ours was doomed to fail?
And is it so surprising that Mr. Volcano had to flee the state to get away from such a parasitical family?
Sigh.
That was not a good year.
The man was uncertain about me and his parents wished I was someone else.
Not exactly happily ever after.
But then I thought about this Christmas.
And how when Guy told his Mom about me she couldn't wait to meet me.
And when she did she was so overwhelmingly loving and warm she invited me to come visit anytime.
And I thought about how much my parents love Guy.
And how Mom and I agree this is the only man I've dated that my dad has actually liked.
Sometimes it takes parents time to warm up to the people you love.
But sometimes when they're in tune with you, they know when something's right and when it's a mismatch.
I'm thankful that for the first time, the stars have aligned and I have found a decent guy whose parents like me.
Now his parents and mine?
Oh, just a few liberal Beavers fans breaking bread with a couple of conservative Ducks fans.
No prob.
None at all.
I just better make sure there's plenty of wine.
One, I don't know why I've always thought I liked that movie.
I think it's because it has three of my favorite actresses in it which distracted me from realizing I actually dislike the plot a great deal.
Sarah Jessica Parker arrives to meet her boyfriend's family at Christmas and they all instantly hate her.
How can you hate Carrie Bradshaw??
Their overwhelming disdain is irrationally bizarre and you have to choose sides between SJP and the entire rest of the cast.
Eventually, because life is so darn unpredictably full of twists, SJP's original BF ends up with her sister, the lovely Claire Danes and Sarah JP hooks up with his brother.
Why not?
Now the whole family accepts these new match ups and everyone lives happily ever after.
My point?
I remembered how awful it felt when Mr. Volcano's parents were as welcoming to me as the Stone family was towards Ms. Parker.
The first time he told his parents he wanted them to meet me they told him they were "still in mourning" over the loss of his ex wife.
Nice.
In mourning?!?
She didn't die, their love for each other did.
When I finally DID meet the Volcano clan they were all overwhelmingly weird and shy.
It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone and I'd stepped inside a zone where they all smiled and seemed polite enough but were secretly planting pins in my voodoo doll.
But I did gain points with the father when I told him to stop being a baby and just eat the damn fish already even if it didn't get cooked the way he thought it should.
I certainly know how to leave a lasting impression.
The real kicker, of course, was when we tried to arrange it so both of our parents could meet after that and the Mr. and Mrs. Volcano suddenly got too busy to attend a Christmas Eve church service as one big family.
Oh yeah.
I could feel the love.
Even the baby Jesus rolled his eyes.
Is it any wonder that this blissful match of ours was doomed to fail?
And is it so surprising that Mr. Volcano had to flee the state to get away from such a parasitical family?
Sigh.
That was not a good year.
The man was uncertain about me and his parents wished I was someone else.
Not exactly happily ever after.
But then I thought about this Christmas.
And how when Guy told his Mom about me she couldn't wait to meet me.
And when she did she was so overwhelmingly loving and warm she invited me to come visit anytime.
And I thought about how much my parents love Guy.
And how Mom and I agree this is the only man I've dated that my dad has actually liked.
Sometimes it takes parents time to warm up to the people you love.
But sometimes when they're in tune with you, they know when something's right and when it's a mismatch.
I'm thankful that for the first time, the stars have aligned and I have found a decent guy whose parents like me.
Now his parents and mine?
Oh, just a few liberal Beavers fans breaking bread with a couple of conservative Ducks fans.
No prob.
None at all.
I just better make sure there's plenty of wine.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
The Problem with Perfection
I work in the wedding industry.
I went to Diamond School.
My friend pointed out that even though I went from makeup to jewelry, I'm still playing dress up.
It suits me.
The difference between the two is pretty monumental, however.
In cosmetics, women are shopping for themselves.
It's sheer vanity and daily routine but it's individual.
They reach for their refill of Bronze Goddess bronzer and sparkly lip gloss because it makes their own heart happy.
Rarely is a woman buying eyeliner because it's what her man wants or even because she feels the pressures of society to wear it.
In the hippie city that is Portlandia?
P-L-E-A-S-E.
It's cooler to NOT wear makeup.
It means you're too deep for such superficiality.
Of course, you could seriously stand to use some highlights and mascara, but that's besides the point.
In the diamond biz women are searching to satisfy some greater expectation that extends beyond the bounds of concealer and lipstick.
Something in them is convinced they will never be satisfied until they find the perfect ring, that, of course, is nothing like their sisters or best friends. And one that is fitting in direct reflection to the love of their man and the significance of their relationship.
They believe their importance to him is mirrored on their left hand.
The wedding itself carries the same weight of expectation and significance.
Even though it is really a glorified party.
But people shell out enough money on a few hours that could secure a home.
The pursuit for pure perfection is so great that when inevitably the flowers for the ceremony are wrong or the Maid of Honor is too hungover to walk down the aisle, the day is ruined.
It's an irrational set up for disappointment and yet women do it all the time.
One girl came in to the store with her boyfriend to look at rings.
They're planning a trip to the Bahamas at the end of the year and she made a comment when he's stepped away that she hoped he'd propose while they were there.
It's like setting herself up for the let down of the century!
Why do women do this?
Shouldn't the fact she is going on a trip to THE BAHAMAS be cause enough to celebrate and rejoice?
Why does she have to take something that is already fantastic and add more expectation on top of it?
It's as if there is a chronic dissatisfaction buried inside of every woman in regards to her relationship.
No matter how much is good or even great there is always more she wants.
He said, 'I love you' but he didn't say 'You look Beautiful.'
He made reservations for dinner but it wasn't at your favorite restaurant.
You had sex but it wasn't nearly exciting enough.
He bought you flowers but they weren't nearly as expensive as the ones your co worker received.
He bought you jewelry but it wasn't a ring.
Do you see what I'm getting at??
And the worst part is that we all encourage one another!
Where men run around trying to prove to other men that their penis is larger we women run around trying to prove our men and relationships are more flawless than anyone else's!
People covet a rare, flawless diamond and the price tag that comes with it, seeing it as a badge earned and deserved.
But shouldn't the loving commitment, the devotion of a man who stays by your side in spite of all those times you go bat shit crazy be far more important than any thing, any ceremony, any loving words that could ever be uttered?
Do I think women should settle for less than all they deserve?
Of course not.
We're fucking goddesses and should be treated as such.
But I wonder if instead of always wishin' and hopin' and dreamin' for the things that aren't, our energy was devoted to adorin' and appreaciatin' and delightin' in all that is today, we'd be happier with happier men and less debt. And less divorces.
I'm killing the Cinderella story right now.
Because you know what?
I'm not fucking Cinderella.
And I don't need Prince Charming to save me from a lonely life of hateful isolation.
I'm a happy, contented, fulfilled woman who happens to love the idea of sharing her fabulous life with the kind of handsome man who is captivated by her.
All the little romantic details?
They're like the countless tubes of lipgloss scattered in my purses.
Each fabulous in its own right, but without them my lips are still seductively delicious.
Some perfection needs little to perfect it.
Remember that.
It's sure to save heartaches and headaches.
I went to Diamond School.
My friend pointed out that even though I went from makeup to jewelry, I'm still playing dress up.
It suits me.
The difference between the two is pretty monumental, however.
In cosmetics, women are shopping for themselves.
It's sheer vanity and daily routine but it's individual.
They reach for their refill of Bronze Goddess bronzer and sparkly lip gloss because it makes their own heart happy.
Rarely is a woman buying eyeliner because it's what her man wants or even because she feels the pressures of society to wear it.
In the hippie city that is Portlandia?
P-L-E-A-S-E.
It's cooler to NOT wear makeup.
It means you're too deep for such superficiality.
Of course, you could seriously stand to use some highlights and mascara, but that's besides the point.
In the diamond biz women are searching to satisfy some greater expectation that extends beyond the bounds of concealer and lipstick.
Something in them is convinced they will never be satisfied until they find the perfect ring, that, of course, is nothing like their sisters or best friends. And one that is fitting in direct reflection to the love of their man and the significance of their relationship.
They believe their importance to him is mirrored on their left hand.
The wedding itself carries the same weight of expectation and significance.
Even though it is really a glorified party.
But people shell out enough money on a few hours that could secure a home.
The pursuit for pure perfection is so great that when inevitably the flowers for the ceremony are wrong or the Maid of Honor is too hungover to walk down the aisle, the day is ruined.
It's an irrational set up for disappointment and yet women do it all the time.
One girl came in to the store with her boyfriend to look at rings.
They're planning a trip to the Bahamas at the end of the year and she made a comment when he's stepped away that she hoped he'd propose while they were there.
It's like setting herself up for the let down of the century!
Why do women do this?
Shouldn't the fact she is going on a trip to THE BAHAMAS be cause enough to celebrate and rejoice?
Why does she have to take something that is already fantastic and add more expectation on top of it?
It's as if there is a chronic dissatisfaction buried inside of every woman in regards to her relationship.
No matter how much is good or even great there is always more she wants.
He said, 'I love you' but he didn't say 'You look Beautiful.'
He made reservations for dinner but it wasn't at your favorite restaurant.
You had sex but it wasn't nearly exciting enough.
He bought you flowers but they weren't nearly as expensive as the ones your co worker received.
He bought you jewelry but it wasn't a ring.
Do you see what I'm getting at??
And the worst part is that we all encourage one another!
Where men run around trying to prove to other men that their penis is larger we women run around trying to prove our men and relationships are more flawless than anyone else's!
People covet a rare, flawless diamond and the price tag that comes with it, seeing it as a badge earned and deserved.
But shouldn't the loving commitment, the devotion of a man who stays by your side in spite of all those times you go bat shit crazy be far more important than any thing, any ceremony, any loving words that could ever be uttered?
Do I think women should settle for less than all they deserve?
Of course not.
We're fucking goddesses and should be treated as such.
But I wonder if instead of always wishin' and hopin' and dreamin' for the things that aren't, our energy was devoted to adorin' and appreaciatin' and delightin' in all that is today, we'd be happier with happier men and less debt. And less divorces.
I'm killing the Cinderella story right now.
Because you know what?
I'm not fucking Cinderella.
And I don't need Prince Charming to save me from a lonely life of hateful isolation.
I'm a happy, contented, fulfilled woman who happens to love the idea of sharing her fabulous life with the kind of handsome man who is captivated by her.
All the little romantic details?
They're like the countless tubes of lipgloss scattered in my purses.
Each fabulous in its own right, but without them my lips are still seductively delicious.
Some perfection needs little to perfect it.
Remember that.
It's sure to save heartaches and headaches.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Eat More Butter
All of the girls at work are on a diet.
In fact, one of the gals, in an effort to try and convince management we needed our own private fridge in the office connected to the main floor insisted that because all of the girls are on diets and not eating a lot they need access to their energy drinks and an employee fridge near the main floor would be just the ticket.
Her idea didn't land the fridge.
But it did incur my disdain.
Enough. With. The. Diets. Already.
Shouldn't they stop being cool when we no longer frequent lockers on a daily basis?
Ladies, I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but you have an ass.
And your ass has cellulite.
And so do your thighs and your hips and possibly even your breastesses.
But so do mine.
And hers.
And even that size 4 Russian model.
Trust me; one of my gal pals who actually is a Russian model pinched her thigh in the faces of several of us bemoaning about how skinny bitches never rock cottage cheese thighs and she proved us all wrong. I will never forget that comical moment when my friend was half bent over with her slip hiked up her scrawny rear, pinching her nonexistent fat rolls declaring, 'See! Look. I have cellulite too!'
And she did.
Everyone has an ass.
Even the skinny bitches.
My point?
Shouldn't it be high time we work with what we have instead of punishing what is?
You wanna make a lifestyle change?
Be my guest.
You wanna eat organically vegan wheat free hormone free hate free ruffage that centers you and brings you more energy?
Awesome.
But if you fall under the other category of women, and I know you know who you are, then stop drinking your bullshit shakes and energy shmenergy drinks and sneaking your junk food when nobody's looking and just own it.
Own however you look right now and worship it.
And buy clothes that cater to it.
Simply as it is.
TODAY.
Right now.
Just shut up.
Eat some butter.
And be glad you're no longer taping prom pictures to your locker mirror.
Leave the body image insecurities to the preteens.
We women are too busy loving our own luscious asses to ever worry about how huge they may have become.
In fact, one of the gals, in an effort to try and convince management we needed our own private fridge in the office connected to the main floor insisted that because all of the girls are on diets and not eating a lot they need access to their energy drinks and an employee fridge near the main floor would be just the ticket.
Her idea didn't land the fridge.
But it did incur my disdain.
Enough. With. The. Diets. Already.
Shouldn't they stop being cool when we no longer frequent lockers on a daily basis?
Ladies, I hate to be the one to break it to ya, but you have an ass.
And your ass has cellulite.
And so do your thighs and your hips and possibly even your breastesses.
But so do mine.
And hers.
And even that size 4 Russian model.
Trust me; one of my gal pals who actually is a Russian model pinched her thigh in the faces of several of us bemoaning about how skinny bitches never rock cottage cheese thighs and she proved us all wrong. I will never forget that comical moment when my friend was half bent over with her slip hiked up her scrawny rear, pinching her nonexistent fat rolls declaring, 'See! Look. I have cellulite too!'
And she did.
Everyone has an ass.
Even the skinny bitches.
My point?
Shouldn't it be high time we work with what we have instead of punishing what is?
You wanna make a lifestyle change?
Be my guest.
You wanna eat organically vegan wheat free hormone free hate free ruffage that centers you and brings you more energy?
Awesome.
But if you fall under the other category of women, and I know you know who you are, then stop drinking your bullshit shakes and energy shmenergy drinks and sneaking your junk food when nobody's looking and just own it.
Own however you look right now and worship it.
And buy clothes that cater to it.
Simply as it is.
TODAY.
Right now.
Just shut up.
Eat some butter.
And be glad you're no longer taping prom pictures to your locker mirror.
Leave the body image insecurities to the preteens.
We women are too busy loving our own luscious asses to ever worry about how huge they may have become.
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