I'll be reading Growing Up with Tamales for story time at Blue Willow Bookshop, in Houston, on Thursday morning, May 15. Tell everyone you know with kids in the Houston area. How do you find and support local indie book stores like Blue Willow? By going to Booksense.
On Saturday, May 17, I'll be in Dallas, reading and signing at the J. Erik Jonsson Central Library, for the 13th Dallas Children’s Book Fair & Literary Festival.
On June 22, here in Houston, I'm going to do a poetry workshop. It's free and open to the public, y'all, and they're having one every Sunday in June, taught by local poets I love and respect. So come on down.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Extreme AnnoyanceYou aren't going to know what I mean if you don't know Houston streets, but I'm going to say this, anyway. There sure are a lot of stupid, rude people driving down Allen Parkway in the mornings lately. And in the River Oaks area, in general.
Stupid woman in the Lexus SUV with the bluebonnet license plate who lives in (or visits someone in) Allen Parkway condos: You almost killed me the other day, and you didn't even notice.
Rude people coming west down Memorial, then going left on Shepherd: Quit running the red light, assholes. Quit running the red, then filling up the intersection on the red, then having the nerve to honk at me when I'm trying to come east down Memorial and go right on Shepherd while I have the green freaking arrow. Who do you people think you are? Do you think that, because you're going into River Oaks, that makes you special? You're wrong.
People going south on Shepherd, turning left on Allen Parkway: That's a two-lane left turn. See the arrows on the signs? Stay in your lane, or don't throw the finger at people who honk at you to keep you from wrecking.
Stupid people driving Hummers or Tahoes while texting on your phones: Stay in your lanes, or else don't act all hurt when I honk at you for coming out of your lane and drifting toward my car.
There -- I feel better having typed all that. I know it won't keep me any safer, though. Unfortunately. Constant vigilance...
What Not to Pay a Lot For
Today I'm wearing a $3 sweater. It's fuchsia, 100% mercerized cotton, from Jones New York. Also, I'm wearing $8 pants -- black, lined, perfect fit -- the label of which was removed before I found them at the thrift store.
My shoes are heeled loafers from the Kohl's Junior section. I bought them on clearance, along with two other pairs, before I realized that Kohl's had a junior shoe section. It's where they put all the shoes with chunky heels, looks like. So, like... training heels? For teens who don't yet know how to walk in heels, but still want to? I think I'm the only one buying them, though.
Normally I don't wear heels with pants, because I don't care enough, but today I have to because my favorite black loafers -- flats -- have finally given out. They're broken in a way that I can no longer fix them. *Sighz!!1!!*
This is boring, isn't it? Let me sex it up for y'all, then.
You don't own me. Nor do you own my wardrobe.
I have this friend named Julio, and as his name implies, he is a latino male, and therefore he embodies certain stereotypes on a regular basis. (I'm sorry, latino men reading this, but y'all do. Y'all just do.)
Me: ... and I had to wear heels today, because those shoes I wear every day? Now have a big old hole in them.
Julio: [with knowing look] That's not why you're wearing heels.
Me: It's not?
Julio: Come on. Don't play dumb. What does your boyfriend say about it?
Me: Dude. Stop being latino.
You see what he's saying? No? Okay, here's another.
Julio: I like your ring.
Me: Thanks.
Julio: So, is your boyfriend going to pop the question?
Me: What?
Julio: Come on. Don't play dumb. We both know why you're wearing that ring on that finger. You're trying to tell him something. So, I guess all that stuff you said about not wanting to get married... You've changed your mind now, huh?
Me: I'm wearing my ring on this finger because I finally lost enough weight to wear it again, but I haven't lost enough weight to move it to my middle finger yet.
Julio: Oh.
Me: If I want to get married to my boyfriend, I'll just tell him that. With my words.
Julio: Okay, sorry. You don't have to get all mad.
You see what I'm saying now, about latinos? No?
Me: So I have to go meet with the underwriter after lunch.
Julio: Oh, I see. So that's why you're wearing a skirt today.
Me: What the hell? Julio, I'm wearing a skirt because all my pants were in the wash this morning.
Julio: Whatever. Look, you don't have to lie. I know how women are. If you have a crush on this underwriter guy, it's fine with me. But does your boyfriend know? He's gonna figure it out, when he sees that you're wearing a skirt.
Me: No, he isn't, because my boyfriend isn't a possessive, self-centered latino. He knows that I dress for myself and not for every man on earth! Dammit!
Julio: That's what you think. I have to hand it to your boyfriend -- he plays it pretty cool, and obviously that works for him. But all men are the same, and we all know how women are. He knows why you're wearing that skirt. You'd better watch yourself.
Me: Oh my god! What the hell is wrong with you and every other latino man I know??!??1!1!
I'm not obsessed with my weight. I'm obsessed with the means of measuring it.
My scale finally broke all the way. For the past month or so, it's been telling me that I weigh 354.5 pounds. (That's not really the number, but I don't feel comfortable saying the real number online. So I'm telling y'all analogously, instead.)
One day last week, it told me that I weighed 351.5, which was my goal weight at the time, so I chose to believe my scale on that day. Then it went back to 354.5, and I chose not to believe it.
Now I should weigh 349.5, if I'm counting my calories right. (Which I am, because -- hello -- look how obsessive I am about the numbers, here.) But the scale won't tell me that I've lost two pounds this week. Instead, it obsessively sticks to 354.5.
This morning, it said 99999, then it said 298.5, then it said 351.5.
I guess it's time to get a new scale. I was all freaked out about that, starting from a new baseline, within a new system. Because, see, I don't care if the scale tells me my true weight -- I only care if it accurately gauges weight loss. But if I buy a new scale, the baseline will presumably change, and what will I do with that integer of difference?
Julio said, "That what standards are for." I said, "I have standards. What are you trying to say?" But he said he meant mathematical standards, and that I should put a filled 5-gallon jug of water on each scale, to gauge their difference, and then make my calculations from that. (He's good at math. He has a degree in it or something.)
I was happy. "What a good idea!" I said. "But I'll use a ten-pound dumbbell, instead."
So now all I have to do is buy a new scale.
"So is that why you're always in a bad mood lately? Because you're starving yourself in order to change the numbers on your broken scale?"
"No. Shut the hell up."
"What does your boyfriend say? Does he say you're always in a bad mood lately? Does he think it's worth the weight loss, to hear your bitching all the time?"
"SHUT THE HELL UP."
Turkey Day, or Pork Day, or Mussells in Black Bean Sauce Day
I'm not cooking for Thanksgiving, after all. What with all the stress of my ex-husband suing me for custody of our kids, I am simply unable. Plus, I don't have the kids for Thanksgiving this year, anyway, so I'd prefer to spend the four-day weekend loafing, not washing dishes.
We're going to a Chinese restaurant -- me, my boyfriend, and all my family members who've been displaced by my decision not to cook. My boyfriend wants to buy me lobster. I said I'd rather just eat pork. Or mussels. Or shrimp. Or tofu.
And I'm thankful. I give thanks for my boyfriend, my family, my friends, and especially my kids.
It looks, by the way, like this whole custody suit thing might work out better than I'd feared. Fingers crossed...
Whining Done
That's it. No more whining. Really, I'm relatively content now -- the bad stuff has been handled and potential good stuff looms on the horizon (always). So, I'm good. I'm thankful. I'm hopeful.
What are y'all doing for Thanksgiving, peeps? What kind of pies are you going to make? Will you send me a piece? A 100-calorie slice, please?
Labels: domestic, sexism, Thanksgiving, vanity, venting
6:08 AM #Comments:
OMG! I was LMAO when I read "You don't own me. Nor do you own my wardrobe." Your dialogue between you and Julio is too hilarious.# posted by
ShoeGirl : 4:06 PM
You are so, so right about Memorial/Shepherd/Allen Parkway. I work on Allen Parkway, and we used to live off Memorial by the park, so I sat through that right turn onto Shepherd every day, and every day people ran that left turn in front of me. I dumbly assumed that the lights were timed poorly, with no time when both lights are red. But I'm sure you're probably right, and that the lights are fine and the problem is with the arrogant assholes. Now we live off of Allen Parkway, so when I'm coming home from tennis at the park, I always diligently get in the middle lane, where you can go left or straight, because I have to turn right soon after. But of course, everyone else rewards my diligence by turning into the rightmost Allen Parkway lane from the leftmost Shepherd lane and damn near running me off the road. My other favorite are the people who realize they've fucked up, and then try to U-turn on Allen Parkway at, say, 5:30 p.m. Maybe you've been lucky enough to miss those.
Anyway, all of that crap is why we pay insurance on a car that sits in our garage 95% of the time, and I take the bus to work. And judging by my buses, there are quite a few suits who feel the same way.
Most importantly, though, cautious congrats on your custody suit. It is easy to see from this blog how devoted a mother you are, so you definitely deserve some good news!
# posted by
: 4:08 PM
Due to lack of attendance/ kindness/interest I also cancelled Thanksgiving. My husband and I decided to rent a cabin in the mountains instead. Now I'm actually looking forward to it! Also, I love, love Kohl's and thrifting. Thrifting in Texas was the best. CA is not as great.
# posted by
: 6:21 PM
I don't live where you live or anywhere near where you live, but I could totally have written exactly what you have written about the drivers. Good. God.
I don't know what I'm making for Thanksgiving, but it's the desserts. In my family, it is assumed that if you are fat, you make the best desserts. Which I do, but that's not the point.
Probably pumpkin pie. My husband is mental for pumpkin pie. And something with fruit in it, so I can justify it to my fat ass.
# posted by
That Chick Over There : 7:46 PM
Happy thrifteries! I love that cheap clothes feeling.
We are supposedly going camping in the Canyonlands for Thanksgiving, but I think we'd both like to hide under the covers for four days straight & eat processed food.
# posted by
Marigoldie : 8:54 PM
When I lived over at the Rincon Apartments, I held my breath every damn day coming out of the parking garage, CERTAIN that this would be THE day I got mowed down. Someday, someone needs to explain to the River Oaks beeyatches that, just because they have the money to do so, does NOT mean they need to DRIVE A GODDAMN HUMMER. Seriously, there are not enough groceries in the world to fill one of those gas-guzzling monstrosities.
This Thanksgiving, I'll be packing up the boy, driving to Bryan, and cooking, among other things, a pumpkin pie made with marscapone. Then on Friday, I will drive back. Without the boy. For what I desperately hope will be two child-free days in my house. For the first time ever. Cross your fingers.
So there IS good news about the bullshit custody case? I can cancel the hit on your ex? ;-)
# posted by
: 8:26 AM
ShoeG: Thanks. :)
Upper Kirby: Yes! Everything you said regarding that turn! And I haven't yet seen the Allen U-Turn attempt, but now I'm on my guard. Thanks. And thanks for the good thoughts on the case.
Sooboo: Ooh, that sounds like fun. Romantic. Also, I'm sorry to hear that thrifting in CA has failed you. :( Maybe that's your excuse to travel more often? The money you save on clothes going toward airfare?
That Chick: Heh re: fat people making best desserts. It's true for me, too. But still!
You could do a thin cheesecake slab covered with glazed fruit. Glaze made with Splenda. Or you could just do something with a lot of calories, then eat it, then challenge your family to a Dance Dance Revolution tournament afterwards. That was my plan, if I was going to cook. Cherry pie and DDR.
Marigoldie: I would totally admit it and then hide. But "Canyonlands" sounds pretty awesome, too. Just the name, I mean. I hope you have fun, either way.
Jennifer: Okay, I totally fantasize about having my own business in which I tell new River Oaks money what they don't have to buy. I'd tell them not to buy Hummers, not to buy furs, not to buy the ugly rainbow-colored LVs, etc.
Pumpkin pie with marscapone: Oh my god, that sounds good.
Child-free for two day for the first time: sounds *even better!* Good luck with that, and have fun.
Bullshit custody case: I don't think I can say much about it yet. I'll just say that the court-appointed person representing my kids' interests seems really awesome, competent, and experienced in her field, and after meeting her, I feel confident that she can cut through the drama and bias on both sides, and find out what's best for our kids. So... yays. Thanks for asking. :)
# posted by
Gwen : 11:24 AM
I am a white woman who once lived by myself in a small apartment complex in Dallas. Most of the other occupants were Latino, from Mexico or El Salvador. I had the apartment next to the mailboxes with a stoop, and I sat there to smoke. The men would chat me up while they got their mail and make comments like Julio--except for Raphael, who was forced by circumstance to grow a sense of humor about Latino men. Raphael, a man in his twenties, lived with his parents and SIX older brothers (Grown MEN! With BEARDS!)in a two bedroom apartment. I couldn't understand why they would choose to live on top of one another like that (they all had expensive clothes and cars, so it wasn't money), until Raphael told me that his mom had gone back to Mexico to take care of her ailing father. Left to their own devices, the men had to figure out how to take care of themselves. None of them could cook or clean because she had done it ALL for years! Raphael would bring beer to my stoop and fill me in on the latest developments as their tragic tale unfolded over the months. He would lead with some comment on my appearance and how it meant I wanted a man. I would demur, he would point out that I was so unsafe living alone (this was ALWAYS brought up by the other male Latino tenants. It broke their brains. Where was my family and why would they allow this?), I would point out how safe I was with him and all his brothers within shouting distance. You can script it all out in your head, I'm sure. He would play it straight through to the marriage proposal, then the amusement in his eyes would give it away. I'd say, "So after the wedding, I'd live with your family, right? And how much cooking and cleaning would I have to do?" He'd say, "Oh, no. We have figured some things out. Like the things you wash dishes with, they hold water...?" "Sponges?" "Yes. You can buy them at the grocery store. Raul found that out yesterday." "You guys didn't know that?" "No. Raul says they have a whole section of that kind of thing. He got some nice ones, with a scrubby part." He mocked himself and his brothers with such a manic gleam in his eye by the time he'd had a couple beers. It was awesome. One time the maintenance guy had to kick down their door because they left some beans on the stove with the heat on too high while they were at work. Smoke everywhere. Eventually some of the brothers moved out to be on their own. Their mother still hadn't come back from Mexico over a year later when I finally moved on. I think she was waiting for the last couple of sons to finally get their own places. Or maybe she'd decided to escape altogther.
# posted by
: 11:30 AM
I know exactly what you mean. I live in the height area and have to drive to greenway plaza. The easiest way is down Memorial to Shepard to Kirby. I am 30 and have only been on Allen Parkway 2 times and that was only because I was not driving. It is like a mad house.
I love my crazy latin family we don’t have a traditional Holidays. We all work mad hours and don’t feel that anyone should have to spend 10-12 hrs cooking so this year we decided to have spaghetti with all the trimming and for dessert FLYING SAUCER PIES. IF you live in Houston you know about the Flying Saucer Pies on Crosstimbers. You have to get there at 6 am but it is worth it.
For Christmas we are having a pajama party (no teddies please). We decided that since we all work our butts off that we should have a whole day were we don’t have to change out of our pajamas. Driving on the freeway in your pajamas is the strangest feeling. I have a 32 yr old sister who even has the adult oneis pajamas with the footsies. Did I mention she is 32 yrs old and about 5"10. I think she wear a size 24 so she a big girl. Yeah it is a sight to see. I laugh my ass off every year. Yeap I am thankful for my crazy family.
# posted by
: 3:56 PM
Wait, what?!? Sued for custody by your dumb-ass ex? That sucks gangrenous donkey balls. I'm sorry. I know it's a nerve-wracking hassle even if it all goes right.
-Amy
# posted by
: 12:50 PM
Nik: I loved your story. Thank you.
Angela Z: Sounds like fun. Can I come along? :)
Amy: What you said, yes. And thank you.
# posted by
Gwen : 7:53 PM
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