A Tale of Two Grocery Stores

I went to the grocery store before going to work last Tuesday. Only non-perishables, of course, because the refrigerator at work is currently out of commission. I was so proud of myself, getting things done in the morning like the morning person I’m destined to be.

I was poking around the produce aisle, my hand basket filled with three bananas, two apples, and a single potato, when an older woman approaches me. She was probably in the grandparent age range, so I smiled, wondering what she had to say.

“You look like a young mother, I need to ask you a question.”

And before the woman could finish her thought, I cut her off:

“Actually, I’m not. Sorry.”

“Oh, I was just going to ask you about some punch for…”

“I don’t even work with kids or anything, so…sorry.”

She looked rather disappointed and taken aback at my prompt response. Being only 75% conscious, I trotted on down to the bread aisle.

Sitting at work, I kept replaying the moment in my mind. Some part of my consciousness was completely disgusted with being called a “young mother.” WHY? I’ve always looked older than my age, thanks to my height, weight, and what some people call my maturity (in reality, my ability to not say dumb things to older people).

The nice lady was just looking for some advice on high fructose corn syrup, and without giving it any thought, I became my worst nightmare: a rude, bitchy twentysomething.

I found myself at the grocery store yet again on Saturday because I’m a human being who likes to eat. Hoping to avoid an incident like I had last week, I visited the store by the giant mall in the next suburb over. It’s worth another mile to not have my single lady ego bruised, right?

After making the usual rounds for my dietary staples of bananas, yogurt, and bread, I zigzagged through the magazines up to the register. I was feeling especially proud of myself as I had clipped a coupon for a whole dollar off of a twelve pack of Activia. I know you sang the jingle.

I’ve become a bit of a yogurt fiend recently, consuming at least a cup of the fruity goop a day. I’m also a bit messy, so I occasionally leave empty yogurt cups on the horizontal surfaces of my room. At one point last week my room resembled a minefield for the lactose intolerant.

I heaped my groceries onto the conveyor belt and whipped out my coupons like a pro. Then I realized the little old lady ahead in line kept turning around to look at me. I assumed she was silently judging my purchases. Her eyes seemed to sneer, “Oh, only six eggs. Someone needs to find a husband!”

I snapped out of my daydream when the woman fully turned to me and said,

“I use that Acitivia too! It’s great. I don’t know if there’s a Target by your house, but they have those big packs for $2.50.”

Not sure what to say, I flashed the coupon in front of her face. Like I needed to apologize for paying more that she does for the yogurt that makes you poo.

“I have a coupon, it’s ok.”

“Good for you!”

She smiled at me and turned back around to finish her purchase. I was satisfied that I wasn’t rude to this woman, unlike last week, but I couldn’t help this feeling of dread spreading over my conscience.

“Oh god, why do my choices in yogurt make me an old woman?”

Have a great month!

October is one of my favorite months for a variety of reasons, and this October is no exception. I love autumn and all the sensory delights the season encompasses. Crunchy leaves, creamy pumpkin pie, and that unmistakable scent of burning wood, decaying leaves, and rain that somehow sums up this time of year.

Here are the top three reasons that I’m having an AWESOME October this year (and you should, too!).

1. The World Series is between two teams that I actually care about: the St. Louis Cardinals and the Texas Rangers. Having spent the majority of my life in some part of these teams’ territories, I will be happy whatever the outcome. My dad and I have a bet going on which team will reign supreme. I decided to go with the Redbirds. He let me pick first, so he was stuck with the Rangers. (ha ha!) Loser buys pizza when he and Mom come visit in December!

2. It’s National Chili Month. I made a lovely batch of black bean vegetarian chili at the beginning of the month. Thanks to the wonders of the freezer, I’m still eating it! My uncle Brad is writing about his adventures in chili this month on his blog.  His most current post discuss Cincinnati-style chili, an October institution in our house. My dad’s birthday is October 21 (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Dad!), so most years Mom would cook up a big batch to celebrate.

3. My ladyfriends and I have created a joint Tumblr entitled The Melancholy Pantyhose Society. A Tumblr is similar to a blog, in that users post text, photos, videos, and other media to their pages, and users can also re-post content from other users’ Tumblr accounts. Much of the content is nerd-centric: favorite moments from “Game of Thrones” and quotes from “Doctor Who” are everywhere on my best friend’s page.

The name came out of a brainstorming session we had several months ago. We discovered the term “Bluestocking.” There’s lots of history about women being excluded from higher education and fashionable vs. non-fashionable woolen leg wear, but I won’t bore you with all the details. What you need to know is that Elizabeth Montagu began a literary society in England in the 1750’s and dubbed it “The Blue Stockings Society.” From then on, the term came to refer to educated or intellectual women. It can also come with a negative connotation, but we chose to reclaim the word, proclaiming our nerdiness to the world!

To recap, check out the Tumblr, have a big bowl o’ chili when you’re watching the World Series, and don’t forget to bundle up! It’s getting cold out there.

A Story Before Bed

There once was an intern named Katie. Katie loved theatre more than she cared about making money (at least for now).  She was so excited to be offered an internship with a professional musical theatre company in Chicago, even if it meant living on peanut butter and jelly.

Katie lived in the United States, where tax codes allowed some companies to be designated as 501(c)3 “non-profit” businesses.  This meant these companies, often arts groups or social service organizations, had a more important mission than simply generating wealth.  These companies wanted to help their communities more than they wanted to make a profit.

Unfortunately, this also meant that Katie the intern was sometimes left to do simple, mindless tasks.  Her company was not some MegaGlobalCorp that could afford to pay an Indonesian factory laborer to fold letters and stamp envelopes. Besides, her company’s social conscience would not allow such unfair labor practices!

So, Katie set to her task of folding, folding, folding.  She stamped the cards and affixed the sticky address labels that would soon be sent to each and every patron of the theatre.

“Wow,” she thought to herself.  “I hope all this folding doesn’t lead to a repetitive motion injury!”

But Katie would never complain about her internship.  She was glad to be working in the theatre and to be paid for her work.  And, after a long day of folding, answering the phone, and filling ticket orders, she could always go out and see a show.  She was very happy to live in a city with such a variety of live performances and not a honky-tonk, small potatoes kinda town (Tulsa).

The End. Sweet Dreams!

Go Go Go!

My new apartment is a block away from the Evanston YMCA.  Not even a block, just across the parking lot outside the rear entrance of the building.  After some research into the fitness programs they offer and spurred on by the fact that the $100 joiner’s fee was waived in September, I decided to join up. 

The last time I was in a YMCA was preschool.  No, I wasn’t some kind of gym rat toddler.  I was known to do Jazzercise at home with Mom every once in a while, but that’s another story.  I attended preschool at the Y in Lawton, Oklahoma.  The few memories I have of that year include growing beans in plastic bags on our classroom windows  and a lovely photo session in a bed of marigolds:

Awww, wasn’t I a cutie!

 Equipped with my YMCA card and the scratchy, motel-worthy towel the nice lady at the desk hands me, I now have access to a plethora of group exercise classes throughout the week.  So far my class of choice has been Zumba, which is similar to Jazzercise in that it utilizes dance moves and a flamboyantly dressed, eternally peppy instructor.  Unlike Jazzercise, Zumba’s basic steps come from Latin, Indian, and hip hop dance.  The blasting music occasionally makes me feel like I’m at a college party, like I should be dodging the inebriated freshmen and yelling at my friends across the dance floor.  But then I realize I’m in a work out studio, not a frat house.  And I’m ok with that.

 

I don’t mean to pass judgement on any class participants, but it is always entertaining to see the range of ages and sizes at these classes.  I suppose I’m used to theatre dance classes full of young, relatively thin people, so it is refreshing to see such a variety of people shaking their groove thing.  Who would have thought chanting out the chorus to Ricky Martin’s “Cup of Life” while shimmying and twisting with a room full of strangers would be so much fun?  Certainly not me.  But come on, who can resist this? 

 

I highly suggest trying Zumba if you have any inclination toward dancing and/or want to get out of a fitness funk.  I see some participants looking around as if the rest us were on crazy pills or feeling embarrassed because they aren’t as coordinated as they would like to be.  As a person who suffers from non-coordination, I think it’s important to go out and try things that might not come easily to your body.  Give it all you’ve got.  Who really cares if you look like a fool?  I’d rather be a dancing fool than a sitting fool.

Dead Man Eating

This article caught my eye on Friday: http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/22/justice/texas-last-meal/ 

After a Texas death row inmate refused to eat the gargantuan final meal he ordered, the state legislature ruled to end the practice of granting those sentenced to death a final meal of their choosing.  Prisoners about to meet their maker will now share the same meal as all other inmates.

What exactly did he order? “… two chicken fried steaks smothered in gravy with sliced onions, a triple-meat bacon cheeseburger, a cheese omelet with other ingredients, a large bowl of fried okra with ketchup, three fajitas, a pint of Blue Bell ice cream and a pound of barbecue with a half-loaf of white bread.  The meal request also included a slab of peanut butter fudge with crushed peanuts, a pizza and three root beers” (quoted from the article).

Texans have a reputation for large appetites, but this is a ridiculous amount of food for one man to eat.  Surely the “pound of barbecue with a half-loaf of white bread” raised some flags.  The correctional facility could have avoided all the food waste from this inmate’s final act of defiance if they presented each item in two- or three-bite serving sizes.  An executioner’s tasting menu or a Rick Perry amuse-bouche, if you will.

The article raised questions as to the limits of the final meal rule: Does the Department of Corrections have the ability to deny or limit a request?  Why was the rule instated in the first place?  The biggest question for me, though, was why only a pint of Blue Bell?  If you’re going whole hog (or whole cow, chicken, and hog), why not a full gallon?  And what flavor?  Their Blackberry Cobbler ice cream is to die for, but I mean that only in the metaphorical sense.

I discovered that the practice of granting a prisoner a final meal goes back to the very first human civilizations.  In some early European cultures, it was believed that the practice prevented prisoners from returning as ghosts.  Accepting a meal meant the prisoner had forgiven his or her executioner and judges.  Just think of the significance of the Last Supper in Christianity.

While the practice seems “fair,” it made me think about why the final meal is so important.  One must eat to survive, but food has a greater significance in our lives.  It is a source of comfort (hence my predilection for making brownies at a certain time of the month), a way to carry on cultural and religious traditions (Thanksgiving, Shabbat dinner), and a source of entertainment (Iron Chef).  Eating those foods that are comforting, a reminder of home, or just plain delicious may be the one last moment of pleasure that prisoner has before death.  I suppose this goes to show there is never a moment in life when food isn’t important, or at least puts food near the top of the list of life’s pleasures.

Chefs and foodies like to discuss what they would eat for their final meal.  Most of the time it involves whatever their mother or grandmother made for them as children.  I can’t say that my answer is much different.  If I get to choose my last meal (hopefully not under death row circumstances), I would definitely include my mom’s Cowboy cookies.  Perfect little chewy, buttery, chocolatey nuggets that, along with several other dishes, defined my earliest food memories.  Even though I can now make them for myself, there’s something about her cookies that taste better.  I think it’s love.

The Road to Chicago

I recently started a management internship with Light Opera Works of Evanston, Illinois. A friend from TU now works for them full-time and asked if I wanted to be their fall intern. I said YES and within two weeks found myself headed for Chicago.

My twelve-hour journey from Tulsa to Chicago took me East through the edge of Oklahoma, across Missouri through Springfield and St. Louis, and up most of the length of Illinois. Look, there’s corn! And it wasn’t dead or dried out in Illinois.

The biggest difference so far has been the temperature. The Okie summer (over a month of 100+ temperatures) was driving me nuts. While always good for conversation, these desert temperatures were not so good for my brain cells. Slipping into my car after a 9am-4pm shift at the cafe was like walking into the convection oven we used to heat up sandwiches and pizza. I hesitate to complain too much, as I know some people live in these conditions nearly year-round, but it was too much for me.  The high in Illinois last Thursday? Around 77 degrees.  I would step out of my car at a rest stop and just grin. Probably an entertaining sight- young woman steps out of late-model Ford Focus, takes a deep breath, and smiles widely. Cinematic, no?  The pleasant weather has continued, although it has wandered up to 80 or 85 degrees. I’m not complaining!

Speaking of entertaining sights, I’m sure my carload of paraphernalia would provide any passer-by with seconds, dare I say minutes, of entertainment. Let’s examine the exterior: University of Tulsa front license plate with Forest Park High School (Virginia) frame, Ft. Jackson military sticker, South Carolina rear license plate, TU stickers. A rolling identity crisis. My back seat held two large suitcases, a Pirates of the Caribbean bag of cosmetics and shower supplies, my new ukulele, and my collection of hats- sombrero, hipster flat black Flamenco-style hat (Wikipedia tells me it’s called a cordobés), and my two straw summer hats. My passenger seat was occupied by my computer bag, snacks, and my Captain Jack Harkness (of tv show Torchwood fame) action figure. My new Captain Jack Sparrow action figure kept me company on the dashboard.

No, I don’t have an obsession with action figures. I have an obsession with action figures keeping me company on road trips. Go ahead, ask my friend Lisa. Or my mom; it’s all her fault anyway. But that’s another story.

What’s a Girl to Do?

I picked up a copy of The Double-Daring Book for Girls at the library today.  Research shows this is the second book in a series by Andrea J. Buchanan and Miriam Peskowitz.  The book contains ideas on a variety of topics that would be interesting to any female (or male), regardless of age: sports, crafts, notable women, event planning, etc..  Some of my favorite topics include “How to Conduct an Orchestra,” “How to Dye Your Hair Using Kool-Aid,” and “What to Do When You’re Bored.”  The section on cricket was extremely informative.  I still don’t think I could completely understand the sport until I actually played and/or saw a match, but I now know that matches are divided into innings like baseball games.  Unlike baseball, though, innings are always referred to plurally: “That was a long innings.”  Oh, English English, how wonderful you are!

The book reminds me of a Girl Scout badge activity book, just without the silly requirements to have your troop leader sign off on everything.  It also reminds me of a similar book I bought when I was in elementary school.  Grandma probably bought it for me, now that I think about it. It’s on my bookshelf at home, so I apologize for not being able to supply a title.  This book was published sometime in the Victorian era and contains much of the same “girls doing fun stuff” attitude.  The activities were a bit more domestic and suited to that time period of corsets, 50-button boots, and female gentility.  I recall attempting to make molasses candy from the instructions in that book; the resulting confection was more of an oozing brown lump of goo than anything I would call candy.  I was only ten or eleven, but the instructions had obviously not been updated for all the conveniences of a contemporary American kitchen.  My mom must have had a great deal of confidence in my culinary abilities to let me boil sugar and mess up her kitchen. Thanks Mom, it was fun!

The best part of the book is that the authors have included inspirational quotes and profiles of notable women, including some I had not heard of before.  There were the most notable of the notable- Marie Curie, Harriet Tubman, and Eleanor of Aquitaine to name a few- but there were also some of my favorite women who don’t always get a lot of notice- Ada Lovelace, Clara Schumann, and Martha Graham.  If you don’t know these women, I highly suggest reading up on their amazing accomplishments.  I love books about all the ground breaking, unnoticed things women have done throughout history.  It’s important for women, especially adolescent girls, to know that women have always done great work in a variety of fields.  Knowing I could achieve anything as a woman gave me a lot of confidence as a tween.

I still find inspiration and strength in these women.  In fact, I found one of my new favorite quotes in this book: “Life is not easy for us.  But what of that?  We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves.  We must believe that we are gifted for something and that this thing must be attained.”  Marie Curie spoke to me straight from her radioactive grave.  Perseverance and self-confidence are two things I want to cultivate in myself.  Reading this book might help me, even though I am wary of the effectiveness of some of the activities.  Dying my hair with Kool-Aid probably won’t increase my ability persevere hardship, but it certainly sounds like a bowl of fun!

Santa Tequila

The glamorous first lady took the podium with a benevolent smile and a graceful upstroke of her arms.  Her followers became still and quiet, gazing up at their Evita.  Women clutched their handkerchiefs and men removed their caps in reverence.

“Don’t cry for me Argentina,” she cried out, emotion flooding her voice, her words almost slurring together.

But it wasn’t emotion choking her up this time.  Her devotion to the people of Argentina was unquestioned, but the first lady was known to visit her husband’s liquor cabinet.  With one swift upending of her shot glass she overcame the stage fright that gripped her when she made important personal appearances. 

“One more couldn’t hurt,” she mused, pouring yet another shot of the magical Mexican elixir known as tequila.  Up and down with the glass again.  The fire raged throughout her petite frame, but she needed no chaser.

Word came that they were ready for her.  She gathered her gloves, smoothed her hair, and stepped out onto the balcony.  Her husband touched her lightly on the back. 

“Are you ready for your crowd, my Eva Patrón?” he asked with a smile.

She beamed back at him and turned to face her people.

Salad, Teddy Salad

Lunch today was a delicious salad of fresh mixed baby greens, a hard-boiled egg, hummus, cucumber, carrots, and cherry tomatoes from the farmers market.  The hummus had extra garlic, which gave the whole thing a garlicky twang I’m finding difficult to get rid of despite brushing my teeth and chewing gum.  Temporary halitosis aside, it was delicious.  Hummus might be my new favorite salad dressing.   

Like most mid-week lunches, this one reminded me of one of my favorite Monty Python episodes: “Mr. Neutron.”  Dad and I like to quote the description of a character named Teddy Salad- “As in lettuce, cucumbers, radish, tomatoes. Yeah, that’s him!”  In short, Mr. Neutron (the most fearfully dangerous man in the world!) has supposedly come to destroy the world.  The U.S. military has sent out a man to find the CIA agent Teddy Salad- lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, radish.  Salad is the only man who could destroy Mr. Neutron.  Salad turns out to be in disguise as a dog, naturally, while Mr. Neutron hides out in the London suburbs.  General confusion and hilarity ensues. 

The episode is from the final season of “Monty Python’s Flying Circus,” which means there’s no John Cleese, but the show does not suffer at all.  It also mostly follows one continuous plot instead of the usual assemblage of disparate sketches, songs, and animations. The link is to part 2 of 3 of the episode, starting with the most discussion of Teddy Salad. Check it out, complete with Turkish subtitles!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ef5Uqs4hTYc&feature=related

Feel the Burn

Work out videos have been an almost constant presence in my life.  We had a healthy collection of them at home growing up.  I still remember the smiling faces of Jane Fonda, Denise Austin, and the Jazzercise lady staring back at me in between my VHS copies of “The Little Mermaid” and “The Sound of Music.”  I even had my own Barbie work out video that featured an animated Barbie urging her viewers to feel the beat and work up a good sweat.  I never understood how Barbie could participate in such rigorous exercise with her rigid plastic body.  It’s hard to do bicep curls when your arms are perpetually stuck at a ninety degree angle.

My recent mission to exercise everyday has left me craving variety in my calorie-burning routine.  I’d done neighborhood walks, jogs by the river, and lots of stairs around campus. I picked up a Jazzercise DVD at the library to keep me out of the heat and to add that needed change to the routine.  The DVD touted three different workouts plus strength training.  Sounded good to me.

Thirty minutes after I get home I’m drenched in sweat while step-touching and bouncing along to the effortlessly peppy Judi Sheppard Missett, looking slightly older but in no worse shape than in the tape we had at home.  Forty minutes into the workout she switched from cardio to strength training.  “Pick up your weights!” she ordered.  I leaned over and pressed pause on the DVD player, realizing I did not own a pair of hand weights.  Looking around the house, I found the perfect substitute: two unopened bottles of Merlot!

I then found myself squatting in rhythm to the DVD’s bad generic techno music whilst holding a bottle of wine between my legs.  Then came the lunges and lateral lifts.  “Point that weight!” she commands.  Left, swing the bottle from California.  Right, swing the bottle from France.  Left, where’s the corkscrew?  Right, pour me a glass already!  I must have been doing some sort of viticultural mating ritual.  The bottles weigh about 6 pounds each, and my muscles were definitely feeling the burn. I don’t know that Barbie would approve of such an adult workout, but it works for me!