The inevitable "big question"

There is no more delaying the inevitable. Jack is going to "pop the question," most likely before the end of the year.

We've been dating for five or six years (who's counting), and living together for almost three. Somewhere around our two-year mark, Jack told me that he intended to marry me.

My first reaction: "If you get down on one knee, I'll kick you in the teeth!" Poor Jack. Luckily for me he's a patient and understanding man. He knows that my father's multiple failed marriages that crumbled before my eyes and his horrible parenting skills (putting it mildly, the man should have been put in jail for the things he did when I was younger), have jaded me against marriage and men in general.

The next time Jack mentioned marriage, I got all logical and said: "You should finish your degree and find a career before we talk about this. I want you to have options. Besides, my parents wouldn't approve of me marrying a man without a "real" job." Sounds good, right? Bought me few more years.

Well, Jack has finished his degree in psychology and earlier this month he began training to be an elementary school teacher in the Baltimore City Public School System. Degree? Check. Job? By next month. Now he's asking what type of ring I want...

Don't get me wrong. I have no qualms about being with Jack forever. We get each other in a way that must be rare. We can joke, have fun and work hard together. He's my favorite dance partner. We see eye-to-eye on so many things. We have great sexual chemistry. Things are good, so why go screwing that up by throwing marriage into the mix?

So many people tell me "everything changes when you get married."

Jack and I have had numerous conversations about--and agreed on--things that will likely never change, whether we get married or not. I don't want to combine finances. I don't plan to have children. I would like to pursue a PhD eventually (after I complete the master's program I am applying for this week). My career goals involve moving to Latin America and working in the nonprofit world, in the ecotourism industry or at an environmental research or conservation center. I've already started teaching Jack some Spanish.

I DON'T expect that Jack will suddenly expect me to be barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen allowing my dreams to fade away just because we get married.

Of course I realize that people grow and people change, so maybe I am naive in thinking that we can grow together, not apart, and the promises Jack and I have made will hold strong. I don't think he'd want that.

Maybe I am naive. But, is that really so bad?

If I am going to "take the plunge," I'd like to say my "I do" with a head full of positive thoughts and a heart full of love.

Best Friends Forever

Nothing lasts forever. What a sad thought.

The strength of the bond between best-friends comes from the understanding that your friendship will endure, tough times, to the end.

But nothing lasts forever. Friends come and go...even friends I thought were forever-friends.

They were forever. Forever in the moment.

Firsts

The first openly gay Episcopalian bishop, Gene Robinson, will lead the country in the first-ever nondenominational prayer to be given at the inauguration of the first black president of the United States.

In an interview on National Public Radio, Robinson said that his prayer will be to the "god of all creation," a term he picked from his days in Alcoholics Anonymous.

By selecting Robinson to lead the country in this prayer, the Obama administration is showing the world that it is possible for gays, lesbians, heteros, bisexuals, Muslims, Jews, Christians, Catholics, Baptists, Protestants, blacks, whites, etc. to peacefully coexist.

At a time when Jews across the world are being murdered while praying in synagogues; unarmed black men are being shot execution style by cops in Los Angeles; and employers are allowed to fire someone because of his/her sexuality, this demonstration of good will and acceptance offers a glimmer of hope.

Hip to the jive

So, Baltimore City is trying to make it illegal to sell cigars priced $2.50 and below. According to a report on NPR, "At these low prices and with fruity flavors these cigars are targeted to kids."

Kids? Try pot smokers. And, they're blunts. Not cigars.

Nobody--including kids--smokes these things, unless they've emptied out the tobacco to make room for a little sumin', sumin'.

Common knowledge, right?

Baltimore City lawmakers are either living in the clouds or they're afraid to admit knowing the truth.

Goals for the New Year

I don't usually make New Year's resolutions...I am way too logical for whimsical wishes of happiness, world peace and an end to hunger. Not that these aren't valuable goals. It's just, I'm a realist [read: pessimist] and these things are simply not attainable in a one-year span.

As a realist, I've decided not to resolve to do anything in 2009, but instead to set some goals for the New Year. Goals are the realist's resolution. Unlike resolutions--steadfast decisions--goals may or may not be met and are fluid enough to allow for change.

With the semantics discussion out of the way, I present my goals for 2009:

• Apply to graduate school. I am 98% certain that I want to get a MS in environmental sciences, the other 2% of me says "anthropologist" or "linguist."
  
  
• Get outdoors once a week, and write about it. My sedentary job and busy, urban lifestyle have been cutting into my nature-loving-tree-hugging-hippy side. I want to get out more often and then write about it.
  
  
• Use my Spanish more often. Foreign-language skills fade fast without practice.
  
  
• Cut myself some slack. Jewish guilt is no joke. My mother raised me to never be satisfied with my best and to always strive for something better. While guilt is a great motivator, it can wear you down and make it impossible to celebrate accomplishments. One day, maybe even this year, I will be able to look myself in the mirror and say: "You are a good, successful person." And mean it.
  
  
• Express affection. I want to hold Jack's hand in public more often, kiss him for no reason at all, stay in bed on a Sunday just to cuddle, and wrap my arms around him each day, as though I hadn't seen him in a year.
  
  
• Forgive, but not forget. I'd like to forgive those who have tried to drag me down and those who have left me with emotional scars. Most of all, I'd like to forgive myself for allowing these people to influence my decisions and weigh heavy on my heart and soul.My past, as sordid as it may be, makes me who I am today, so I can never forget it. But, forgiveness would be good.
  
  
• Get back in touch with my creative side. I want to paint, design, write, draw, work with metal, piece together collages, take up sewing....my creative side has fallen victim to my 9-5. It's time to reclaim it!
  
  

The skinny on where to buy bras

After trying everything from safety pins to clips to make my Victoria Secret bra work for me, I asked my fellow D.C. Web Women and my Twitter friends for bra-shopping advice. I got a huge number of responses, so I decided to write what I hope will be a useful blog post for ladies every where….

The general consensus about Victoria Secret bras is that they suck. Maidenform, (Check the Maidenform Web site for coupons), VanityFair and Warner were recommended mid-priced brands. These brands can be purchased at major department stores, as well as from discount shops—like Target--and online stores.

Here’s a list of recommended Web sites to purchase bras from:

• www.barenecesseties.com
• www.tjmaxx.com
• www.freshpair.com
• www.herroom.com
• www.onehanesplace.com
• www.kohls.com
• www.figleaves.com

If you’re like me, you have no idea what size bra you should be wearing. For getting measured and trying on different brands and styles, Nordstrom’s seems to be the popular choice.

For people in the Baltimore/Washington, D.C. metro area, here’s a list of boutiques that do custom bra fittings:

• Trousseau on Rt. 123 in Vienna, Va. does free fittings and alterations so your bras fit perfectly. (Great for women with “girls” of different sizes)
  
  
• Whether you’ve got mountains or molehills. DorNe Corset Shoppe in downtown Silver Spring, Md. will help you find the right size.
  
  
• Bra-la-la in Fulton, Md.—about 10-15 minutes east of Laurel—sells lingerie and more during store hours and by appointment.
  
  
• Lingerie Lingerie at The Shops At Kenilworth in Towson, Md., has been in the business of sizing breasts for fifteen years. They also sell a Happy-Birthday pasties and thong set for $18.
  

And I though VS was the only place to shop for bras. Silly me.

Happy Fucking Hanukkah

I've always considered myself a "bad Jew," but after this Hanukkah, I am definitely going to hell.

It was the second night of Hanukkah, and my parents and I were standing in the kitchen of a beach house in Alligator Point, Fla., sipping Patron Reposado from white wine glasses and listening to Jimmy Buffet on "Oyster Radio." My mom held up her glass and yelled "L'chaim!" Our glasses clinked together, and she continued the cheers with a "Happy FUCKING Hanukkah!"

In place of a menorah, we attempted lighting two lighter fluid soaked pieces of charcoal over the hibachi. My mom and I began: "Ba-ruch ata, A-do-nai E-lo-hei-nu, me-lech ha-o-lam, a-sher ki-de-sha-nu be-mits-vo tov."

Thanks to howling wind, our "candles" wouldn't light. At this point it was declared that "Jesus was too strong down here in the south." We gave up and went inside.

Commando

When I first bought my new house in May, I was little-miss-homemaker. The fridge was full of home-cooked meals in neat tupperware containers for the week ahead, the book cases were never dusty, my CDs were alphabetized, the dishes were always clean, the laundry baskets were void of dirty clothes and the carpet was always vacuumed and the floors swept. I even scrubbed smudges from the walls. Weekly.

Now I find myself sitting at work, not wearing any underwear, because I haven't done laundry in a million years. My weekly cleaning habit has become biweekly at best. The dishes pile up, clumps of cat hair blow along the wood floors like tumble weed, the CDs lie in a jumbled heap, dirty laundry covers the bedroom floor and I have resorted to buying lunches in our over-priced-not-very-tasty cafeteria.

I guess the honeymoon is over.

First Thanksgiving in new house

There was nothing traditional about our first Thanksgiving in the new house.

We spent the day with friends instead of family, ate pastel de pollo instead of turkey and there wasn't a pumpkin dish in sight.

I started preparing the filling for the pastel de pollo on Wednesday night, using a hand-written "recipe" on notebook paper that Nany, my madre tica, was kind enough to share with me. I put "recipe" in quotation marks because the instructions leave a lot to the imagination. How much tomatoe paste goes in the filling? To taste, I suppose. Cook it what temperature? I go with 375. And, how long do you cook it? "Hasta que este dorado," of course.

Thanksgiving morning, I was back in the kithchen by 7 a.m. There was a lot to prepare. Our menu included fresh beets with goat cheese and chopped mint; a cheese platter, featuring ricotta salata, manchego and aged gouda cheeses, as well as chunks of fresh baguette and seasoned olive oil; pastel de pollo for the main dish; and bread pudding with a brandy-butter sauce.

Note: I used brandy instead of bourbon because I forgot to buy bourbon when I went to the liquor store that morning. (I must have distracted by the handle of gin I decided to buy.)

Around 7 p.m., our friends Natasha and Steve arrived with a box of booze (best gift a lady could ask for) in-hand.

We had a great time eating, conversing (read: ball-breaking) and drinking. Natasha and Steve were especially entertained by the fact that I force "poor Jack" to smoke outside in the cold.


Did I mention drinking?











It took me a week to write this post, but I figure, it's timely since I'm still eating the leftovers.

Thankful

Yesterday morning, while preparing my Thanksgiving feast, I made a list of things I'm thankful for. Here it is (in no particular order):

Strong willpower
Gaining perspective
Change
Coffee
Honest opinions
Tequila
Forgiveness
My parents
My loving boyfriend
New friends
Old friends
Laughter
Tri-colored Nikes
Mix tapes
Genuine curiosity
Never having had to go hungry
Homemade gifts
Good people
Having a stable job with room to grow
Education
Volunteerism
My home
Tiffany's jewelery
Family recipes
Curling up on the couch with my favorite blanket
Good books
Diversity
Hand-me-downs
Self-reflection
Lazy afternoons
Day-drinking
Fine wine
Fine cheese
House music
Dancing as if no one's watching

Rainbows and Kittens

Yesterday I learned that the world really is all rainbows and kittens.....rainbows with face-eating elves at the other end and sick, starving kittens.

I went to meet Mary with MAS Rescue at Academy Animal Hospital. She was bringing two kittens--Lucy and Ethel--for me to meet and choose one to adopt. The kittens were emaciated and had breathing problems and runny eyes and noses. They barely moved. It was really depressing. Worst of all, the woman tried to con me into taking one of the kittens even though it would likely die or infect my current kitty. Sick kittens and a face-eating elves.

After that horrible experience, I spent four hours contacting shelters about adopting a kitten. Finally, we decided to drive out to the SPCA on Falls Road. There was one kitten left, eight weeks old and healthy. We took him home on the spot. Meet the new member of our family.

Help! I need career advice

I am in desperate need of career advice. HELP!!!!!

I have the opportunity to move into a new position within my office. I would serve as the liaison between my department and the IT department on the reorganization of our intranet and would work on new social media initiatives. It's a high profile position and would look great on my resume. Besides, I'm bored with what I've been doing and have been looking for a way to add blogging, podcasting, etc. to my repertoire.

Just one problem.

My would-be supervisor and I don't get along that well. Also, I am really independent (read: I do what I want!) at work now and may have to give some of that up.

What to do?

Would you dare?

'Tis the season of over-eating.

My friend had this fun, food-related list-game on her blog Jakezilla, so I thought I'd take a crack at it. The only thing I would never eat is the Big Mac meal--sounds like a dirty old trucker. Besides, I've tasted the double cheeseburger and won't go back for more. There are some things I've had that aren't on the list that I have eaten: guinnea pig, llama, coca tea, pisco, octopus, chicharron, meat from the sack off the back of a poor bolivian woman, maranon, tepesquinlte, and tacos from the sketchiest shack in Honduras (yes, I got sick.)

So, anyway, here's my list. Bolded items are things I have eaten; italicized items are things I would never eat.

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue (can’t go wrong with melted cheese)
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Hors
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano (One of my specialtie
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Gay Marriage

Just when I finally felt like I could be proud of the U.S. population, citizens of California, Arizona and Florida go and eff it up.

When will gays be treated equally in our society? If the government tried to ban marriages between people based on race, religion, age, class, etc., there would be riots across the country.
We have affirmative action for racial minorities and women. Meanwhile, there is no law to specifically forbid firing someone for being gay. I have more than one gay friend who is afraid of admitting to being homosexual for fear of backlash from the community and repercussion at the workplace.

Laws against hate crimes protect criminal offenses committed against a person or property motivated, in whole or in part, by the offender's bias against a racial group, religion, ethnicity, gender, sexual preference or disability. Gender identity is not protected, because, apparently, beating cross-dressers with baseball bats isn’t a crime…law enforcement agencies don’t even bother keeping stats on these crimes. Just last year, President Bush rejected efforts to expand federal "hate crimes" laws to include sexual orientation.

I am proud that this country has finally progressed to a point where a black family can occupy the white house and a woman can be considered as a presidential nominee. Unfortunately, we have not come far enough to allow gays to be treated as equals.

My theory? People are scared to accept gays because they just might have to acknowledge their own homo-erotic thoughts. Get over it.

Election Day

In anticipation of the much-talked-about long lines at the polls, I prepared a thermos full of piping hot, motor-oil coffee, threw a banana in my purse—along with my crisp, new voter registration card—and bundled up in my black fleece pullover and royal blue gloves to make the three block walk to my polling place at 7:30 this morning.

Side note: I was supposed to have been at work at 7:30 a.m.—the original plan was to work until lunch time and hit the polls before the mad after-work rush. My plans changed when my alarm went off at 5:15 a.m., just two hours after I had gotten home from the Bassnectar show at Bedrock. I turned the screeching alarm off and went back to sleep for a couple of hours before dragging myself out of bed and to the polls.

Expecting hundreds of people to be waiting in a line wrapped around the Canton Middle School, my designated polling place, I was shocked at the silence on the streets. Just two small signs—one advocating slots and one supporting Obama—lined the chain link fence near the school’s entrance. I guess Maryland is so blue, that we don’t need pushy campaigners to persuade us to vote for their candidate. The dems know we belong to them, and the republicans consider us a lost cause.

I joined the line, which was spilling out just beyond the doors. There were maybe 25 people ahead of me. Some old timers were grumbling. I’m not sure what for. I was in and out in 15 minutes…barely even had a chance to sip my coffee, much less eat my banana.

I voted for Obama-Biden, like a good MD dem should. I said “yes” to slots and yes to early voting. I didn’t vote for the district court judges, because I know nothing about them. I figure no vote is better than uninformed voting. I also said “yes” to increased funding for schools, arts and culture.

Marriage

As a little girl, I never dreamed about being a bride. I didn’t fantasize about wearing an elaborate white (beige) dress with a long train. I didn’t hum duuum-duuuum-du-DUUM while holding mock weddings for Barbie, Ken and friends. And, I certainly never believed in “Mr. Right.”

In fact, I have spent much of my life hating men and viewing marriage as a conformist and stifling ritual at its best, and a huge mistake at its worst. My cynical view of this so-called sacred bond between two people is probably thanks to my deadbeat father who married and divorced multiple times during my childhood (and before and after). Watching his numerous dysfunctional relationships crumble (aKa go down in a heap of twisted wreckage and burning flames), I remember thinking: “Why get married? Just makes it harder to leave when that time comes.”

Sad, huh?

The reason I am writing all this is that Jack recently divulged his plan to propose to me sometime in the near future. This is not the first time he brought up the subject. Last time I threatened to kick him in the teeth.

Jack may not be “Mr. Right.” He’s certainly not perfect. I’m certainly not either. I love him. He’s by best friend. We live together and share everything. Why screw that up with marriage?

What is marriage? I want to get a master’s degree, dance all night long, travel the world and eventually move to Central America. Can married women do that? Would I have to take his name? Would I hyphenate? No, that’s tacky. I’d be Mara Low. I’d have to get a new license, passport, etc. Would we have to put all our finances together? I don’t want to. He’s not great with money. I don’t want kids. I don’t want a dog. Would his tolerance for my insanity wane? Would sex be different? Would he suddenly become jealous? Would I?

So many questions….

Too busy

“I’m too busy” has to be the most commonly use excuse for not doing something. I know I use it all time.

“I’m too busy” to clean the house. “I don’t have time” to respond to calls and e-mails from friends whose lives have led them down paths very different from that of my own. “I’m too busy” to call my birth-father, who is probably going to die soon thanks to a life-long drug addiction. I’ve got “too much going on” to be bothered with visiting my ex-step-sister and her new baby. And, I just “haven’t gotten around to” responding to that heart-breaking letter from my “madre tica,” informing me that her son, who I once cared deeply for, has inoperable brain tumors and that the family is struggling to pay medical bills and make ends meet.

It’s time for me to be honest with myself.

Yes, I am a “busy” person. I work like a dog. My commute is two-hours each way. When I’m not working a paid job, I do volunteer work. Next, I’ll be applying to grad school.

Is it possible that I keep myself “busy” so I have an excuse to ignore the things I can’t (or don’t want) to deal with? I seem to find time for kayaking trips, boozing-it-up with my neighbors, relaxing poolside with my parents, writing a blog, etc.

Maybe I put off cleaning the house, because there are 3,000 things I’d rather be doing. Maybe I don’t get in-touch with old friends because I’m not ready to acknowledge the fact that we’ve grown apart. Maybe I don’t call the ex-step-sis because it makes me sick to think that she is stupid enough to get pregnant by a jailbird junkie and uncaring enough to do dope throughout the pregnancy. And, maybe I don’t call my birth-father, because I can’t speak to him with out wanting to cry for all the fucked-up things he did to me as a child. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t respond to the letter from “mi madre tica” because I’m terrified. I’m afraid the letter is a lie and I am being conned. I’m afraid that I’m a horrible person for doubting. And, I’m most afraid that the letter speaks the truth and I can’t do anything about it.

So, there it is. The truth.

Being 25...

Being 25 ain’t easy….

Now, I know some of my “more mature” friends may be thinking, “I’d kill to be 25 again,” but I bet that’s because they’ve forgotten how bad it sucks.

Over the past three years, I have gone from size 3/4 to size 7+ and I can’t seem to accept the change. I own just one pair of jeans, because every time I go shopping, I inevitably pull a bunch of size 5 jeans off the rack and take them into the dressing room, only to find that I can’t pull them up over my hips. I swear my hips are four inches wider than before. And, let’s not even get started on how much my ass has grown….

I like to blame the changes my body has experienced, on the sedentary lifestyle that comes with having a 9 to 5 job. Eight hours a day, I sit on my ever-widening ass and stare at the computer screen. Just two years ago, I was traveling Latin America, making fast cash slingin’ cocktails and dancing til’ dawn any night of the week...ah, the good old days! I thought by 26, I’ d be living in some exotic land, fighting to end poverty, saving trees or something else equally noble. Maybe by 30…..

Anyway, back to my hips. This is me in my early 20s:Lean and mean...

And this is me at 24:

Getting wider, and squishier. (Probably a little uglier too....)

Now look what's happened at 25:

Some of my friends have asserted that my inflated ass and newly-ample hips are my body’s way of telling me I’m ready to have children. Well body, listen up! I am in no way shape or form interested. And, friends and colleagues should take note that it’s not that I’m “not ready” because I’m still too young, so please stop saying that. You may call me selfish, but I choose higher education, a meaningful career and world travel over spitting out babies any day of the week.

At 25, you’re too old for lining your walls with fliers and posters and drinking until you puke. You’re too old for stretch jeans and super-thin, clingy shirts. You’re expected to save for retirement and pay all your bills on time.

At 25, your coworkers say things like “what you like twelve?” and “good night KIDO.” And, your friends say, “Oh, you wouldn’t remember that” and “you were born in the 80s?!?” AND, your family starts questioning you about when you’ll be tying the knot and having a family of your own.

At 25, life is full of contradictions.