Friday, July 13, 2018

When dressing for a funeral...

When burying a beloved friend, what does one wear to his funeral? Do you cascade yourself in a traditional black ensemble? That feels too serious, even for this occasion. Can you add a pop of his favorite color? Or the unforgettable sparkling shade of his eyes? Should your outfit be a loud celebration of his laughter, and an homage to his mischievous smile?

Then, how do you select the correct shoes? Ones to carry a burden much heavier than you had planned for a hot summer day. Which are the most practical  to help his soul walk the path to peace? While I’m thinking about it, can you leave bread crumbs for a spirit to find it’s way home?

What can you wear that doesn’t make you feel more exposed than this raw vulnerability? But also something that allows you to breathe deeply, and freely wrap your remaining friends in love. What outfit makes your stand proud in his memory, without making you fidget under the gnawing awkwardness of never understanding...why?

As I weigh all my options, and stand in front of a bursting closet, I decide I’ll wear white. Because even though I am undeniably in mourning, my hope he has not been lost in vein will reign paramount. In his honor, I will fight the stigmas harder than ever before. Plus, it doesn’t hurt to be shrouded in his name.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

I will hear you, and I will believe you.

My older brother's first childhood memory is of intruders in our house, holding a gun to my head. I was less than a year old, and while I am thankful I have no recollection of the events, I have no doubt my body does. I have always had a heightened sense of danger and the events of my childhood only sharpened my awareness. 

My first memory is of being transported in a box truck. I recall the metallic, dusty smell and the pain in my eyes the few times I saw the sunlight during the journey. I do not know how long we traveled, nor the locations we stopped. I do recall being taught to play dominoes by two strange men that kept me in their hotel rooms. 

I was traded, as blonde haired and blue eyed currency, to the debts owed by my drug addicted and abusive step-father. From the age of two until I was seven, I was not seen as a human. 

My faith in humanity is paper thin, but I do have hope. It is fragile, and lacks confidence but hope is there. I have survived being a victim, and the dialogue we start with young boys and girls about strength and fearlessness I hope will translate to less abductions of innocence. 
Sexual assault, child molestation, rape. They're words that make us uncomfortable and therefore we avoid them. We sweep them under the rug. We attempt to make excuses for the actions because no one wants to believe in monsters... but they're real and we need to see them for what they are. 

To my fellow survivors... Remaining silent does not protect you. I hear you. I believe you. I am here for you. 

Monday, September 7, 2015

New friends made? ZERO.

Last night, I went into a local gas station wearing shorts and a 3/4 sleeved top. I was picking up ice and soda for a BBQ for which I was enroute. 

While inside, a scraggly young man continuously leered in my direction. Looking as confused as he was interested. 
He was dressed in an oversized black tshirt, with some type of haunting graphic, featuring skulls and swirls of smoke and I assume "magic". 

He was also adorned with many, I can smartly assume, less than professional tattoos on his neck and arms. 

When he finally speaks, it was to say "You don't look like the type of girl that should have tattoos."

In my surprised and annoyed state I quickly responded "You don't look like the type of man whose opinions matter to me."

It's abundantly clear that I'm not great at holding my tongue, or making new friends...

Monday, July 20, 2015

Overdue Review...

1. I am not a liberal feminist. This seems to surprise people. Don't get me wrong, I do believe in equal rights, but the constitution already provided for that in the 14th Amendment. If you need a bunch of rich old white men to validate you as a special class, you're still thinking incorrectly. 

2. I'm also not feminist because I think it's okay that I want men to hold the door open for me, pump my gas, and wait for my meal to get to the table before they start eating. (Among a few other things) It's etiquette, not oppression. 

3. Corporate office setting are breeding grounds for hostility, envy, jealousy, and stupidity. If I had time to do half the scandalous things I'm accused of, I could be rich by teaching a course on time management and efficiency. 

4. The art of letter writing should be revived. Who wants mail? And who wants to be my pen pal? I don't care if we live in the same city... 

Thursday, May 21, 2015

First 6 Thoughts I Had This Morning.

1. I'm inexplicably attached to the website I crave the daily emails and pour over the goods like a mad woman. I've ordered several things, and each has been as lovely in person as they are through the viewfinder of my magical Mac products. 

2. Getting random gift cards via email, from essentially a stranger, is confusing. I can't decide if spending their money only reinforces the behavior. I want the pretty dress, but I feel like I'm accepting a bribe. 

3. I've been blonde for two weeks. I'm going back red. I feel like an imposter as a blonde and I'm uncomfortable with my own reflection. 

4. My happiness is fueled by traveling. And seeing people that I love. 

5. I haven't watched Grey's Anatomy since McDreamy died. I don't even miss it. Just him. Forming attachments to fictional characters is a problem. 

6. I am not an accountant. I am not an accountant. I am not...fuck, I'm an accountant. 

Tuesday, May 12, 2015

Blackout Brunch.

New Orleans is a magical place. 

One can easily lose hours, or even days when visiting. 

On my most recent visit, I only lost hours, in what will forever be fondly referred to as "Blackout Brunch". I no longer trust bottomless mimosas, or gay men wielding drinks called "The Beyoncé".

You shouldn't either. (Ever)

(The drag queens, performing at brunch, hold no responsibility for my demise.)

I went to sleep (passed out) in a bathroom stall (fully clothed) of The Country Club, was later escorted out (by man in his underwear) and driven home by lovely strangers (that called me oppressive). 

I don't recall any names, or even the color of the car I went home in. But I do know the interior of the car was leather as that delicious smell never escapes me. I also recall that one of my rescuers held my hand the entire way from Bywater to Uptown. 

The remainder of the weekend was spent wandering with my Mix Tape, dining in truck beds, watching movies at 4am, and receiving hour long foot massages from a small Asian man. 

Every moment was precious. Even the fuzzy ones. 

Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Lists Go On.

1. Sometimes a haircut requires two bottles of wine, a brave couple of best friends, a trusted advisor, and the kitchen of your childhood.

2. Reigniting my love for Dave Matthews Band hasn't made me feel the least bit guilty. I don't care what the Negative Nancy's say, the band makes me happy and they're genius.

3. Spending holidays with my ex-boyfriend isn't conventional, but it sure is fun. He's adorable, I love him, and his family is the best. The "ex-hangover" was 90% worth it, and I like those odds.

4. Horses. Always a good idea. Seriously, look at these two...

Brotherly love at Peavine Creek Ranch.

5. This made me laugh for easily 10 minutes. (Every time I watch...)

Get. It. Girl.

6. And this... well this might be the sexiest thing I've ever read...

If you were a book
I'd lick my fingers
and flip your pages,

until your spine creased
and you lay spent,
with nothing left to offer.
Then, I'd cup you in my palms
and read you again.

It's all about balance.