The bad, the good and the tasty

Last weekend I held what I had hoped to be the first Derby de Mayo -- a blend of Cinco de Mayo and Derby Day. And of course I had meant to take photos of the food -- a blend of Mexican and Southern natch -- to post here but I got caught up in conversations. And then at the end of the evening I was kind of emotionally sideswiped. My last two guests in attendance, Emerald and Marin, decided to hold an intervention of sorts. "We think you've been drinking too much lately." Um, did you miss the partygirl memo? Sheesh. "And we think you should go to therapy." Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Really. Add up all my time over the years and I've done at least four to five years of therapy. As my last therapist told me about three years ago, I already have all the tools; I just have to give myself permission to use them. And sometimes sitting in the despair just feels kind of good while you're trying to figure things out. I awoke on Sunday emotionally drained. As such I slept most of the day -- literally. By Monday I was recharged and kind of pissed off. Pissed off is a good thing for me; it's where I find the energy to make change.

So now is about more change -- positive change. I joke about my nomadic soul. It comes from packing it in as a means of change. Now I'm working on how to stay in one place yet still effect change. It kind of helps that on Monday I received an unexpected cash infusion. After doing the responsible thing of paying some bills, I decided that I had some money for me. I have missed being a member of the Film Society but frankly it's rather pricy. So now I'm going to take some of this unexpected membership to join a museum in the East Bay that has lots of events. I figure that this will give me opportunities to meet new people. And I'll get reciprocal benefits at museums in San Francisco. A good thing since I still need to go see the expanded Balenciaga exhibit. I also found local ballet and jazz dance classes for adults at a reasonable price. I'm holding off on those until after I finish my month of boot camp in June. And today I upheld a previous commitment with Emerald to judge the science fair at her son's school. I was paired with a young woman who is new to the area. As it turns out, she is working for my father's previous employer. (And Bucko Ken's as well.) As we were leaving the fair, I asked if she would like to exchange phone numbers as she's new to the area and all. See? I'm good with this change thing.

The other good thing is that I finally had my piano tuned today. Thank you, Groupon. It's been years since I've made any kind of serious attempt at playing since I couldn't stand the sound of the thing. While the tuner said the piano was indeed severely out of tune (a half step), he was able to return it to a playable state. Love him. When I've called other tuners over the years, they have told me that it's an inexpensive model and I'd be better off buying a new one than trying to tune it. But this tuner got it. Upon seeing the piano, he asked, "It has sentimental value, doesn't it?" He also marveled that while it had lacked tuning for years, it had been well cared for. After he left, I sat down to attempt to play. My hands in the past had been rather stiff so I decided to go with what my hands knew best -- Beethoven's Fur Elise. I can still play nearly half of it from memory. It wasn't great but it wasn't completely horrid either. Now I need to locate my Chopin and Bach books. Maybe by the end of this year I can once more take stabs at Rachmaninoff. In the past playing the piano was one of my ways to relieve stress when I was feeling overwhelmed.

But I know. All this time you've been wondering about the photo. After the tuner left and before I attempted to play, I popped out to check on my mom's house. On my return, I stopped at The Brick Pig's House. The husband came out to take my order. The wife upon hearing my voice, came out from the kitchen and exclaimed, "You came back." I reminded her that I had told her on my last trip there that I had said I would return if all was as good as she promised. As I decided how much to order, I was asked how many I was feeding this time. "Still just me." The husband pointed to a photo on the wall of a young woman who had eaten an entire slab of ribs minus one in a single meal. "Why yes, there was a time in which I could have eaten an entire slab on my own." Now it sits like a challenge in the back of my mind.

I decided this time I needed a mix of the ribs as well as their brisket. Oh.My.God. My next trip there I may very well ask kind folks to adopt me. I have never in my life had brisket like that. It really did melt in the mouth as the folks on Yelp claimed. And to switch things up, I went with the blackberry cobbler instead of the peach. Reminded me of summers on my grandparents' farm.

Bottom line? In probably the best headspace in quite some time. Or at least I like to think so. Well once I finish dealing with payment for water damage to my place from upstairs unit.

Same as it ever was

Some days you wake up and think to yourself, "How did I end up here?" Now for most folks it would be the days of your partygirl time that would make them think this. But for you it's the days of "normalcy." Not that you're looking for drama, just something more.

Today you realized that beyond Facebook and your inconsistent blogging, the only means of positive human contact upon which you can count are the delivery people -- the postal carrier, UPS, FedEx, GSO -- you see each day at work.

Once upon a time family members were sick and/or dying. You checked out on everything else for the most part. And then the day came that you were ready to re-enter the world at large only to discover your "life" was gone. This is the argument you have given to family members regarding your dad. "I simply can't go back there because it will be all about him and I will lose myself along the way all over again." But it's too late; you're already lost.

So now you try to figure out how to get out of the hole you've dug for yourself. If you were still renting, the answer would be simple. Pack up and move. Start again. But it's not so easy now. Then again, hasn't this always been your answer? Pack up and move on instead of sticking around and figuring out a way to make it all work?

And please don't suggest going to church. So not the scene around here.

Pound Cake

So I'm about to tell a story that some of y'all may have heard before. Some stories are worth retelling though.

About ten years or so ago I was going through the "Why am I still single?" thing. Being single in itself doesn't really suck. It's just that your formerly single friends seem to drop off the planet. And then they have kids. Suddenly they are doing stuff -- with people who also have kids. But you don't so you're so out of the loop. But then when you meet up with these friends on those rare occasions, they somehow think that your life is so great. And I suppose it is if you think that entertaining the thought of adopting every stray animal that crosses your path so that you can have consistent companionship is better. Hell. You want to go to shelters and adopt every cute stray. Well not maybe cute. Pitbulls can be cute. Think of Petey on The Little Rascals. Cute as hell if you ask me.

Enough rambling. I was at some function or another at my dad's and his sister-in-law and I had snuck out to have a smoke. (Another revelation. Part of the reason why I can't quit smoking is because it's one of my defenses against others.) So started the pound cake story.

She told me how her dad told her about how fabulous her mom's pound cake was -- so much so that they would swipe a taste while it was in the pantry. And then her dad reminded her how sometimes her mom would put a lemon glaze on the cake. The glaze just enhanced the flavor of the already really good cake. Her dad then told her that she was the cake and that any man in her life was the glaze. The cake (you) is perfectly good on its own; the glaze (that other person) just adds something that makes the cake seem better. The key point though was that even if there is no glaze, the cake is perfectly good on its own.

That's what I remind myself of in the middle of the onslaught of everything else in life. Because being never married and childless in one's 40s? Can you say pariah? Freak of nature? OK. Maybe not but that's how it sometimes feels when people ask. Or when I'm hanging out with old friends and they say,"I always thought that you would be married with kids before me." But nowadays I really like other people's kids. One's that can be returned.

And then I remind myself that I'm like the pound cake -- I'm perfectly fine on my own. Some days it's harder to remember this than others.

I'm sorry that I'm not white

I had originally planned on posting something completely different but then Monday night happened.

One of the joys of being footloose and fancy free is that when I see a post online that Dave Chappelle is appearing at a club in San Francisco on Monday night, I can head on over to the Live Nation site to secure my ticket. Now I could have been sensible and bought one for the early show but why do that? Every now and then you have to remind yourself that you can still hang. That's why I went for the late show. Yes, it started at 10:30. And yes, I knew from prior experience that a Dave Chappelle show can last three hours. But I'm all badass partygirl like that.

I came home from work on Monday, ate dinner and then caught a disco nap. Then it was time to get ready for the show. People asked, "You're driving into North Beach? Parking sucks." Yeah, it can but I know the area near Cobb's all to well since my former home away from home is on the same block. As I circled the block for a second time, I got a parking space within a half block of the club. I'm really tight with the Parking Goddess of SF.

The vibe in line was cool. It continued in the club -- for a bit. These folks seated on the floor (I was in the balcony.) kept yelling out all kinds of stuff. Next thing you know, their table was surrounded by security and they were asked to leave. The woman in the couple was really resistant. Took two security guys to get her out of the place. And the last words we heard from her as she passed in front of the stage were, "I'm sorry that I'm not white." Yeah, she went there. After she left, Chappelle asked the audience, "Do you think she'll be back? She was kind of cute."

It felt good to laugh. It also felt good to stick to my plan of no caffeine or alcohol. Had no problem getting up for work today and was completely functional. Makes me feel like going out more, being more badass. Of course last night I was also limping. Took myself to the doctor today. Seems as if I have an inflamed Achilles tendon. That means taking it easy for a bit. But just a bit. Because once you've had a taste of what life used to be, it's hard to go back.

One is the magic number

You sit and remember reading The Sound and the Fury all those years ago. You think of Benjy suddenly remembering Caddie from all those years prior because he smelled some flowers that reminded him of her. At the time you read something else that said that smell memories are the strongest. Perhaps. For you it's always been about music. Long before "Ally McBeal" you believed that life needed a soundtrack. You hear a song and instantly remember a person or place. The soundtrack is the one thing you never doubted, questioned.

As you planned your life, the most frequent question that arose was, "Why?" You asked this in high school as you sat around on a Saturday night playing solitaire while watching "The Love Boat" and "Fantasy Island" and in the back of your head "At Seventeen" played. Later when your carefully made plans went astray, you asked, "Why?" Somewhere along the way you just stopped asking. Sometimes things just are.

This is what you tell yourself every time someone asks you why you've never married. Well, aren't you dating now? And what about kids? You can't go down that road because that just opens up that whole can of whys.

Part of the price of blocking these questions is putting up your guard. Living on the defensive. But you've had way too many years of practice at this and are quite adept. Frankly sometimes you occasionally allow yourself the thought that this is why you are single. Your guardedness. And you remember how it all started, a form of survival. But then you shove it back into that place where all things about which you do not want to think -- or at least not for that moment -- are kept. Besides that's a tale of its own.

And really? Most days you like your life. You like not having to answer to anyone else. You like being able to pack your bag on a whim and leave town on some new adventure. And you realize that this is what gets you past the whys and turn the Jill Scott up a smidge more.

Venturing out

Yes, it's been about a month since I last posted. Most of my dining has been pretty boring -- not even photo worthy. It was survival eating. I have completed the 30 days of Paleo and am no longer sticking to it 100%. While I haven't gained any weight back, I have noticed a slight shift in my sleeping patterns. Still not the full-blown insomnia but still. Not severe enough for me to eschew those foods I truly love though.

I awoke this morning with a taste for barbeque. Normally I head to either KC's in Berkeley or Everett & Jones in either Berkeley or Hayward. Today I wanted something different so I read a bunch of online reviews. Decided to give The Brick Pig's House a try. (And was kind of sad to realize that it is in a neighborhood in which I looked at homes. I so need to move.)

The Brick Pig's boasts that their BBQ is Southern style instead of the usual KC style. Besides reading about this in online reviews and their website, I also got to hear this from the owner/cook. While I waited for my order, she came out to chat. She stuck around once I replied, "Yes, this is my first time here." We discussed the other places I usually frequent. We talked about differences in BBQ. I mentioned that my mother is from Virginia and around those parts they tend to make the vinegar-heavy Carolina BBQ. The owner of Brick Pig's knows how to make Carolina style but has decided to stick with the Little Rock, Arkansas recipe of her people.

Order in hand, I sped home. It was different but still tasty. Less smoke flavor than other places. And the sauce -- which I ordered on the side per usual -- had more of a vinegar tang than most. As such, it wasn't cloying sweet as the sauce at KC's can sometimes be. Oh, and did I mention that I also got peach cobbler? And that it was still warm when I got home?

Next time I'm trying the brisket. And one of the other cobblers. Because I'm so going back.

Tom Cruise

That's how I feel these days. Like Tom Cruise jumping on a couch while on Oprah. I know. Makes me sound kind of manic compared to my former self. Like I said, I now no longer wake up feeling a fog around my brain. So if that makes me manic, so be it. (Of course shortly after I started this change, my mom has asked on a daily basis, "Why do you sound sad?" Have I sounded sad to y'all?) Then again maybe I'm all like Charlie Sheen. But I'm not in denial; I know I need to make changes.

Monday night I finally tried one of the recipes in The Paleo Solution. Yep, that's spaghetti sauce over green beans. The beans were roasted in the oven. The sauce had no added salt. And there was no cheese on top. But it all tasted oh so good.

I am committed to the 30 days. Over the last few years I have learned that I can indeed make commitments. (Huge life changing event was passing my three year anniversary at work making this is the longest I've stayed at any one place.) I have a deep love of cheese, yogurt, and ice cream. I doubt I'm done with them. But now I'm afraid of them. I now feel that if I eat these things, I will be physically ill. And I'm going to ignore my coworkers -- most of whom are overweight -- when they say that I'm on my way to being anorexic. Sorry but I eat all day long and don't regurgitate yet I'm eating disordered because I'm smaller than you are? First of all beyotch you should have caught me ten years ago when I was completely disordered. Second of all, fuck all you beyotches who sit back and think that because a woman wears a single digit size, she must be anorexic. I don't go around saying that just because a woman wears a double digit, she must push away from the table. Well except for my aunt but then again my thing with her has always been making different food choices. Believe me. If I still lived in Virgina, I'd be shoving this down her throat. I'm tired of losing people to health reasons.

So that's right, beyotches. I plan to be here for some time. Suck it up.