They Hunt and Go to Church

We stepped onto the plane just in time to hear a man say, "Tomorrow, I'm going shoot something!"

But because we were going to Oklahoma, we knew what he meant.

We arrived on Thursday, picked up our luggage and ran into one of WG's dad's employees who was picking up his daughter...a woman who had actually sat right next to WG on our flight from California. Oklahoma is a small state.

WG's sister picked us up.

I spotted a slightly weaving ginormous, brand spanking new, red Chevy pick-up truck with a big bold OU front license plate and said, "Is that her?"

Sure enough, the girl who usually drives a little Pontiac Crossfire was barely handling the biggest truck known to man, WG's father's brand new purchase.

I took one look at her hair and knew for certain that I would not be asking her to take a pair of scissors to mine anytime soon. She's fashionable in her crowd, but her style is a far cry from mine. She had short, platinum blond hair with a darker brown underlayer, and, what I learned later were "extensions for volume." Uhm. No thank you. WG kept teasing me, "Would you like me to ask her? Did you want me to tell her to bring her scissors over?"

We stopped off at WG's dad's house to change clothes and visit with his dad and step-mom. We walked into his dad's office and saw about six gun cases out on the floor. If I hadn't known it already, I knew then that I surely was a long way from California.

Thanksgiving was an assortment of people who look like WG. Well, more like a pod of people clearly cut from the same genetic pool. Since I've only met a small portion of my man's family before, it was both refreshing and startling to be around so many people like him. They were loud, but not brash. They were curious about me but not obnoxious. And they were all there to eat the 950 different things on offer for dinner. And his cousin's wife was just about to give birth (honestly, that baby could have just slid on out at the dinner table).

It was at the dinner that I met his mother for the first time. She gave me a big hug, talked to us for a bit, and then went back to enjoying her Thanksgiving with her family and her boyfriend of four months. I don't mean this as a bad thing. I wasn't given the Spanish inquisition (or whatever they call it in Oklahoma), and I wasn't the focus of 23 people curious about their relative's California girlfriend.

Friday, I got to witness WG assembling his mother's Christmas tree in all it's glory. This meant four hours of very careful winding of lights around a vast number of individual branches. I handed over the lights, as I have been trained to do after two decades of being my dad's holiday-light-hanging assistant. I'm apparently the only assistant he's ever had who he didn't want to yell at throughout the process. I'm also the only assistant who's ever made out with him :Þ.

On a mid-morning outing to the world's largest Wal-Mart to pick up MORE lights for the tree, we had an interesting encounter.

Me: Hey, I see a dead deer in the back of that truck.

WG: I swear, I've seen more guns and dead deer in Oklahoma this trip than I ever have in my entire life. They've all come out to scare you.

Me: I see a dead deer in the back of that truck, and I can tell by the placement of it's antlers that the head is no longer attached.

WG and his mother laughed and laughed and laughed.

That same day, I also got proof that WG existed before the age of 14. I saw baby pictures! I saw screaming from the birth canal, brand new WG for the world to see, naked and all. And the scary thing? He looked just like himself. You know how there are people who always look the same, well that's WG. His mouth has the same set, thin line when he's displeased, the same smirk when he's up to trouble, the same light in his eyes when he's actually happy. I like that.

In the evening, I got to witness him playing Settlers of Catan with a glint of determination in his eyes that isn't usually there when he plays with amateurs. Seeing WG in his home environment, with people he's known for years, meant watching him come alive in a way I haven't experienced before.

Saturday involved exceedingly cold weather (well, exceedingly for a California girl standing outside for five hours straight) and some real, live
Oklahoma football. And those boys were big. They looked like giants out on the field as they tackled the OSU quarterback and knocked off his helmet. I had turned into a real Oklahoman by that point, and realized it as I caught myself thinking, "Son, you best put your strap on a bit tighter next time."

Ah, but it was fun to watch as WG saw the Pride of Oklahoma rush the field. I could see him fall back into his memory, and, for one of the first times, I didn't feel jealous, didn't want to pull him right back to the present time with me.



Sunday, I awoke in bed beside the man I love. Almost as soon as I opened my eyes, he said, "Happy Birthday," and a rush of warmth filled my body. I missed my mom and dad, felt a longing for some of the birthdays of the past, but I also felt truly blessed to be where I was. Thanksgiving is meant for gratitude, but, despite some evidence to the contrary, it is on my birthday that I feel most grateful for my blessed life. I had texts and calls from my parents and friends throughout the day.

We went to church and attended a worship service led by Vicky Beeching, then to lunch (there were so many "then to lunch" moments throughout the visit that I thought I might have to roll out of the state on Tuesday), then back to his dad's farm to ride a four-wheeler around and heard the faint echo of hunters' bullets as they tried to chase down some white-tailed deer.

We learned that his cousin's wife had given birth, and there is now someone else in the world to share my birthday.

It poured rain that night. We drove to Oklahoma City in the rain, both commenting on the difficulty of holding hands while he drove, because he was in another of his dad's jumbo trucks, and were further apart than we are used to. It poured rain, and we walked around "Bricktown" (aka downtown Oklahoma City). It poured rain and we settled down for crawfish etouffe and then went to see August Rush.



And as we drove back to the farm, the rain turned into snow. It snowed on my birthday.

Before we knew it, it was Monday, and our last full day in Oklahoma.

We strolled down the rode in the truck to his grandfather's farm, where his grandfather toured us around.

WG: How old are these colts, Grandpa?

The Grandpa: Well, they were born in May last year, but they'll be two on January 1st, according to the American Quarter Horse Association.

Me: That's better than being born on December 1st and turning one on January 1st.

And his grandfather looked at me with approval. "You know a little something about horses."



And then we went to lunch in a restaurant where they let you eat peanuts out of a bucket and throw the shells on the floor.

The rest of the day we spent in Oklahoma City. We stared in confusion at the bombing memorial, not sure what to say, not sure how to make sense of the tragedy that happened there. Parts of the building still stand as a memorial, so it's hard to forget what used to stand in that very spot.



Then, WG, his dad, step-mom and I went ice skating. And I rocked. And by rocked, I mean I didn't fall on my bottom. WG did. I laughed.

And finally, one last dinner in Oklahoma. A fine, glorious, Napa-worthy meal (accompanied by wine made by WG's winery, but purchased at full price by his dad, with WG shaking his head throughout the whole exchange) of decadent pasta and tiramisu for dessert.

One cozy turn around a vast park filled with Christmas decorations, and it was time for one last talk with his step-mom, who had drunkenly advised me in Las Vegas not to settle.

"I may have been drunk when I said it, but I meant it. It's important not to settle."

"Well, I respect my father very much, and I wanted the man I dated to be worthy of my father's respect. And WG is a good man."

"It's true. We all think very highly of him. He is a good man."

And with that, WG and I went to sleep in a room full of clocks so that we wouldn't miss our 4:45 wake-up call for our 7 a.m. flight.

And then we came home.

Real World Wednesday

Stress

I have returned from the great state of Oklahoma, and I will provide you all with more details on that in the next few days. In the meantime, check out the photos.

From the moment I stepped off the plane on Thursday afternoon, I noticed something funny. No, it wasn't the abundance of guns or the absence of people in the airport. Rather, it was the absence of that panicky, tight feeling that seems to accompany me everywhere I go. Granted, I had no control over this trip, no directions to give, no reservations to keep. Still and all, I'd like to preservet that feeling of calm in my body for as long as possible.

For a while now, I've been thinking about stress. Women handle stress differently then men. Annecodotal evidence has proven this for all of us, and articles on the vast, helpful, Internet help prove it with a bit more evidence.

I don't think that every woman needs to convert to handling stress the same way men do (because, quite frankly, what would get done if no one stressed?), but there is something to be said for calming down.

Those who've been reading here anytime over the past year will know that I've spent a long time trying to calm the hell down. There are benefits. There are downsides. But calming down has had an overwhelmingly positive effect on my life.

But this isn't entirely about me. After all, it is Real World Wednesday. No, this is about the 319,000 books about de-stressing on Amazon.

It's an epidemic!

And, aside from that, it's a luxury.

Those of us economically stable enough to stress about the little things should count our blessings instead of panicking over the lack of time to get the Christmas shopping done, the cookies baked, the meetings attended, etc.

But we still stress, even while counting our blessings (because, really, who has the time to count blessings?).

And, luxuries though they may be, there are factors in our lives that lead to stress.

So, other than simply telling ourselves that we're oh so fortunate not to live in any of these places, or fuel our middle-class guilt by looking at the Global Rich List, how can we ease some of the stress in our lives?

1) Eliminate unnecessary commitments - In other words, learn when to say no.

2) Adopt a healthy lifestyle - Yes, eat well, exercise, get enough sleep. It's amazing the miracles that will work themselves into your life when you get enough sleep.

3) Consider Feng Shui - Is your desk a mess? Has your kitchen counter become the camping ground for anything and everything that enters your front door? And, honestly, this works. Looking at my crowded little cubicle no longer feels me with a feeling of panick. It's still little, but the crowds of binders, office supplies, folders and disorganized photos on my bulletin board have dispersed to more organized corners. Heck, I've even inspired my co-workers to clean up their own desks!

4) Find a way to let it out. There are stressed that build up. That's a fact of life. While you're learning how to have less stress in life, there will still be times when that stress needs to be released. So, call a friend. Vacuum. Clean your closet. Go for a jog (and sweat a lot). Get online and read blogs. Give yourself the time you need to recover from stress before you pile more into your already full and exhausting life.

5) Check out. Turn off your laptop. Turn off the tv. Hide your cell phone.

How do you calm down?

Real World Wednesday

Two for the Price of one on this day before Thanksgiving.
1) Two Bags (actually written 11/21)
2) Ruining Your Perfectly Good Relationship (written 11/18)

1) First, two bags.

What does it mean? Well, it's the two big ole bags of clothes I just pulled out of my closet and dresser at my parents' house. Two FULL bags of clothes I don't wear, some I never wore, some more worn that others. But still, two full bags.

Today, I am, quite frankly, a bit abashed at the amount of extra stuff I have managed to accumulated. Though I'm not (yet) abashed enough to try a low-impact life, I can see that, in addition to being more careful about where my purchases came from, I also need to make better decisions when I'm at the store (or better decisions about when to actually go to the store.

According to the US Government, over a five-year period, about 2–3 percent of the U.S. population (5–8 million people) will experience at least one night of homelessness.

2-3 Percent of the U.S. Population (otherwise known as 299,398,484 in July 2006), would be 598,796 over a five year period will be homeless at least once.

So, with this statistic in mind, with two full bags of clothing to give away, today, I am most thankful for the fact that I have the luxury to loaf in a warm room, a blanket on my legs and feel so blessed.

2) Ruining Your Perfectly Good Relationship

In light of the fact that it is a holiday week, that I am actually writing this on Sunday, that I will be enjoying the blissful company of my parents and the joy that is not being at work, here is a more light-hearted (but much needed) Real World Wednesday.

I have a friend who thinks her relationship is in a rut. Two days later, I ran across a "Is your relationship in a rut?" quiz on Yahoo...I have a feeling that she might have found it, too. Then there are the "Should you be jealous of his female friends?" articles and the "Why he's not ready to marry you" articles.

I looked at one article that basically warned men not to marry a woman if she already had names picked out for her children. Uhm. Okay. Then no man will be marrying any woman ever again. That may be an overstatement, but I don't know one woman in my circle of friends who hasn't considered a name she would give to a child.

These articles ruin perfectly good relationships.

Thankfully, I don't speak from experience, but I can say that everytime I read one of those articles, I find myself examining things that don't require examination. I find myself jealous of time spent on the phone with a female friend. I find myself worrying that my wedding will never happen because I happen to like the names Caleb and Natalia.

So, here is a Thanksgiving gift to to those of you in relationships, those of you in budding relationships, those of you just going on a few non-committal dates over the holidays and those of you simply collection advice from The Society of Women in Relationships: The Real World Wednesday Tips on How NOT to Ruin Your Relationship During the Holidays.

1) Just don't open Glamour, Cosmo, Self, Allure, Vogue, Family Circle, Redbook, etc., until March. Just leave them till after Valentine's Day. Trust me, you'll be much happier.

2) Ignore any and all Internet articles promising to give you insight into your relationship. They will only lead you to pick a fight. And let's face it, this is not the time to mess with your relationship.

3) Don't expect a good Christmas gift (or whatever holiday you may celebrate in December). If you've been with your man for a number of years, then maybe he knows you well enough to get you something fabulous. Otherwise, don't rely on him for your Holiday Happiness.

4) Don't feel guilty about buying yourself something nice. That way, you'll feel better about the vacuum cleaner or assortment of table napkins that find their way under the tree.

5) If your dude will be out of the area for the holidays, make some plans that don't rely on your usual group. Sure, spend time with family and friends, but do something different, something you might not get to do if he were around. Take several long day trips with your girlfriends. Watch sappy movies. Fill your time so that you're mildly surprised when he returns and you find you miss your "me" time.

6) Yes, he has friends. Yes, some are female. Get over it.

7) One year, ten year, fifteen years twenty years, no matter the time that's passed, it's never going to be just like it was when you first started going out and would stay up half the night talking because you just couldn't get enough of each other (sure, this will happen sometimes, but it's not going to be the conclusion of every date, like it was in the beginning). Be grateful for this. Be grateful for the fact that you now get to sleep more than three hours when you are with each other.

8) No man will ever, ever, give you everything on your list. There are qualities that matter, but no man will be polite to your mother, call you exactly when he says he will, buy you just that perfect sweater you were eyeing surreptiously in the mall when he was looking at the remote control cars on the display rack, ravish you passionately every night and never fart in front of you. If you meet a man who does all of these things, run, run fast and don't look back. He is clearly a robot, a serial killer, or worse.

9) Don't analyze the relationship everytime you are apart. The next time you see him, you'll have a list of things you need to fix, but stop, think about it. Are you happy? Are you getting what you need? Then just decide to be happy.

10) Stop reading advice on the Internet and go enjoy Thanksgiving.

Seven and Seven

It's my seventh day in a row working, and I have seven more hours before I am officially on vacation.

Yeah, it's not THAT kind of a seven and seven.

I'm not so much whining as I am TIRED. And a little bitter that I get to do this all over again as soon as I get back from vacation. Yep, that's right. Work 7 days. Off 7days. Work 7 days. I don't know how I get myself into these situations. And it could be worse. I could be working shifts or holidays or retail on Black Friday (AKA the day after Thanksgiving).

But I'm tired.

As you may have read in that whole "having a week" post, things have been a little hectic. My dear JJ dog is doing much better than she was last week, so that's a huge relief (and a huge weight in my heart that I don't have to carry). The BIG event went off without much of a hitch (just a mildly scary moment when the bag with the laptop and projector only had the projector...). I worked an entire weekend, and no customers died. So, you know, I can't complain.

But I'm tired.

And people at work are looking at me, and saying things like, "You look wiped out."

And, as luck would have it, a photographer from the local paper is coming today. Oh goodie. I'm hoping he'll just TALK to me and take pictures of the teenagers who got published in our lit mag. 'Cause I'm in no condition to be photographed.

And I'm embroiled in the most shallow of arguments with myself. Is three pairs of jeans too many to bring with me to OK? What about three pairs of shoes (talked down from about five)? This is my only chance to make a good first impression. I don't want to look like the silly girl from Cali who crams way too much in her shiny little weekend suitcase, and I also don't want to look rag-tag (especially after my mother went to all that trouble to make sure I don't look like trailer trash).

...and I get to put my cat in his carry case tonight. What fun.

But, in seven hours, I'll be on vacation, even if that vacation involves a cat howling bloody murder as I set him ever so gently on the passenger seat of my car.

And that's all still better than working retail on Black Friday.

Having a week, let me tell you...

So, Monday started out okay. I would get to go ice skating with Irene, then spend an evening playing with WG. But my intentions to get out of the house by 10 to get to Renie by 11 were thwarted by e-mails that required answering, a container of rancid sour cream that somehow never got thrown away, remained in my fridge and then tumbled and exploded just as I was grabbing my water and heading out the door, oh, and banging my knee on a pillar at the gas station, not being able to get gas at THAT pump, driving around to another, getting out and realizing something just wasn't right and then turning around realizing my hands did not have keys in them, because they were still in the ignition. Oh, people. This day did not start well. But it ended well, with happiness ensuing on the ice skating rink :).

Tuesday was a mad dash, slap dash laugh of a day piled with too many hours on the reference desk a quick ten minute meeting with people planning an event in JANUARY (do we really need to be that prepared?).

Wednesday started out with an e-mail from my mom telling me she thinks my dog's dying. So, I burn through the morning (saved only by getting to do storytime for 30 first graders) and hurry home at lunch to find that my darling girl's back legs aren't quite working anymore. She looked around almost blindly when I got there, but by the time I'd left (and she'd eaten some of my pastrami sandwich, her first food of the day), she was looking at me, licking my face and wagging her tale in pleasure. She's better...but she's 13, and the arthritis has finally gotten to her. Our other dog, her soul mate, our German Shepherd, is cleary depressed. He checks on her every 15 minutes or so, gives her lick on her nose and then goes mopes in another part of the yard, a big, moping 125 pound dog the size of a grown man.

Today, oh, today. I've been cleaning my apartment in preparation for being out of it for a week. I cleaned and cleaned all morning (having not gotten to play Warcraft last night because of cleaning), showered and ran out the door for another whirlwind day of work. Six hours on the reference desk, got yelled at by one customer, what was not on the reference desk spent getting ready for our BIG event tomorrow (takes place from 11-4...so I don't get a lunch break, but I do get to go home early), and then going back and forth via e-mail with a reporter who wants me to organize a photoshoot for Monday (his first choice was the week after Thanksgiving, but somehow three days from now seemed like a better choice) - that's what I get for whining that the newspaper was covering the other local branch more than mine. Oh, and by the way, will I mind MCing the BIG event?

Oh, and I got to be the worst girlfriend ever...what a plus. I was whining to WG via text that I was feeling stressed out and needed a virtual hug. His response? What's wrong? And, oh yeah, by the way, my face is numb. Why? I thought. Oh. Duh. ..dental work that I completely forgot about whilst being totally wrapped up in JJ (the dog) and the daily frenzy that is my work life. Yeah, I'm stressing, and he's had drill in his head. I think he had the worse day.

Tomorrow. I can hardly predict the wonders that will fall upon me as I run around like a lunatic buying pizza for the BIG event, setting up the room, introducing a famous author in front of 100+ people and otherwise trying NOT to fall on my face.

So, yeah, that's me, whiney, worried about my dog, anxious about Oklahoma (and cleaning my apartment like a crazy woman to prove it), and just overall ready for a flippin' vacation.

Real World Wednesday

ADHD

ADHD is commonly thrown around by some educators as a way of getting around dealing with behavioral issues. Yes, it's true that people have different ways of learning...but calling some of these styles a disability does not necessarily serve a positive purpose.

WebMD offers a down to earth description of some of the symptoms of ADHD:

Are in constant motion.

Squirm and fidget.

Do not seem to listen.

Have difficulty playing quietly.

Often talk excessively.

Interrupt or intrude on others.

Are easily distracted.

Do not finish tasks.

Is it just me, or does that describe just about every child on the planet at one time or another? And, perhaps, just about every grown man. And that list, with the possible exception of not finishing tasks, also pretty much covers my personality, and I've survived just fine without ritalin, thank you very much.

How is this worthy of an RWW post, you ask? Well, the New York Times just happened to have an article on "bad behavior" and its long term effects on a student's potential for success.

A study discussed in the article had this to say:

Kindergartners who interrupted the teacher, defied instructions and even picked fights were performing as well in reading and math as well-behaved children of the same abilities when they both reached fifth grade...

So, disruptive kids are doing just as well on tests as the children who sit quietly at their desks, following all the rules and doing all that Big Brother asks of them.

Furthermore, ADHD, in these studies, was found to be little more than a slower, but still normal, development process in the brain. You know that whole thing about boys being about two years behind girls? Well, the same logic applies with ADHD kids, according to this study. It's not a developmental disability, it's just a slower process. Most of the kids will get there eventually, wherever "there" is.

So, why label at all?

Why not just work with teachers to show them how to work with kids who work at different levels? In fact, I'm quite sure that's happening already (and I know there are more than a few teachers out there who could let me know the truth behind that).

What is the value in labeling a kid as ADHD? And why must we all develop at the same rate? What's the big hullabaloo with making sure that all twelve year olds can accomplish the same things? What's wrong with a little bit of an individual learning style?

In my family, the value meant that my aunt could take a step back and say that this "wasn't her fault," pump my cousin full of ritalin and hope it worked. Later, it meant researching whether or not the ADHD was actually Asperger's. And you know what, I don't think it's anything. I think my cousin likes math more than reading, has a knack for computers and now, thanks to his girlfriend, is a pseudo-goth. He's also twenty and stuck in a small town.

Other than getting a kid some one-on-one time with a counselor, which that student may or may not need, what does the label provide?

What about you? Were you ever rambunctious? Did you ever talk too much in class? Or were you perfect angels who always did what you were told?

Organizations that make it a point to study ADHD:
Eli Lilly and Company
Kid's Health
National Institute of Mental Health
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention

More on the recent studies:
Brains of Children with ADHD Mature Later (from Canada!)
US News
Time Magazine
NPR

You're Know You're a Geek When...

You break a button off your keyboard, and when your boyfriend fixes it, you call him your hero.

You practically kill your computer in an attempt to play World of Warcraft.

You and your boyfriend log-in to your separate WOW accounts so that you can go on quests and your boyfriend can help you through the tough spots.

You insist that your boyfriend cannot go through life without watching The Nightmare Before Christmas.

You recognize that your next few Settlers of Catan games are crucial, because they are the last practice you will have before playing with people who actually know what they are doing and will not have the kind patience of a boyfriend who can be soothed by a kiss when you take too long deciding where to place your next settlement.

...but you're still a girly-girl if

You cringe in fear as your boyfriend updates your video card driver and BIOS and ask, as your screen goes all shades of black, "Is it supposed to be doing that?"

You're quite certain that you should purchase the pink laptop sleeve to go with the pink computer.

You worry far too much about how to get your silk skirt halfway across the country wrinkle-free.

You have already hung up most of your outfits for your vacation next week, but aren't putting them in the suitcase so as to limit the wrinkles.

Your first thought upon learning that your boyfriend did, indeed, get tickets to the major football game in his home state next week, is, "Okay, so that's another outfit I have to plan".

Here's to gloriously geeky girly-girls!

Decisions, Decisions and a Monkey

Two years is a reasonable age for a computer, right?

A reasonable lifetime before being passed on to a father who has been known to crash computers simply by changing the background and thus cannot be trusted with new computers in the household?

I'm guilt tripping myself (yes, it's a verb) about whether or not I should purchase one of these (in flamingo pink, of course).

Why do I need one? Oh, because I'm a geek. Well, I'm a "thinks she's artsy" geek, because not only do I need a faster computer with a better graphics card so that I can further develop my World of Warcraft addiction (currently on hiatus as within thirty minutes of starting to play on my current laptop, I am sent to the "blue screen of death," which threatens to start deleting things at random from my hard drive if I don't behave), but I also want to do more photo editing. I've got Adobe Photoshop (not elements, photoshop...thanks WG) on my computer, but it's waaaaayyy too slow.

Why should I get one? They're ridiculously cheap at the moment, and with the coupon I found, I can get a $1700 (pre-tax) system for $1100 (including tax). And it would make my life oh so much more enjoyable to have a computer that doesn't freak out whenever I try to upload my photos to flickr. Oh, and WG's stoked about doing the research (and found me a $500 off coupon!).

Why shouldn't I get one? Uh, it's two weeks before my birthday, six weeks before Christmas. I've got a best friend's birthday before my own. And I have only *just* started thinking about a budget for Christmas gifts.

Other decisions?

Whether or not to switch this sweet blog o'mine over to wordpress and a friend hosted server. I could get my own domain name! pinkcerealandraspberries.com has a nice ring to it, right? But, contrary to some other folks, I love blogger. I love that I get to pick and choose and add random HTML code wherever I so choose. Would I need to learn CSS for wordpress? But I also want to password some posts (oh, the things I could say! haha). Oh, dilemmas.

And finally, the monkey.

Precisely a monkey of a velvet nature.

WG's little sister is a licensed cosmetologist and she works at a place called Velvet Monkey, and I may let her cut my hair when we're in OK.

This is roughly what my hair looks like now:



And this is what I might want it to look like (but the cut is basically just a slightly shorter version of what I have now)



or this (which is still basically the same but about 12 inches shorter than my current 'do)



Help, people. I need help.

Chic in the Corral

So, in less than two weeks, I will have had Thanksgiving dinner with WG's family and friends. I will have done more than have a couple of e-mail conversations with his mom. I may even have met one or both of the exes. Whoa.

In preparation, my mom bought me new clothes, because, and I quote, "We can't have you looking like trailer trash when you go to the Corral," yes, that's right, people have taken up my use of "the Corral" as the nickname for the great state of Oklahoma. Oh, yeah, and my mom worries that I'll look like trailer trash. Not really, but the only control she can have over another mother judging me is to make sure I have nice clothes. And, quite frankly, with my budding World of Warcraft addiction possibly leading me towards a computer purchase, I'm not going to turn down someone else spending her money on my clothes. So, after a successful trip to TJ Maxx, I am armed with two new sweaters, new jeans, a lovely olive green top, a $20 t-shirt (which goes against just about all of my shopping values) and cold weather gear ('cause weather.com predicts temperatures in the, uhm, 50s, while it'll be in the 60s back in Cali, so, clearly a scarf and earmuffs are required). So, with an outfit that will transition from airplane to dinner table if absolutely necessary, a decent outfit requiring boots and my little kitten heel pumps if we have the chance to freshen up, I'm as ready as I can be.

I have two weeks to ponder, two weeks to wonder and two weeks to, of course, not get everything done that I want. I was able to let something, go, though, and that's my burning desire to bring homemade treats for the dinner table. I've never gone to a Thanksgiving meal and not brought food, so this is an entirely foreign concept to me. In fact, it's rare that I've been anywhere other than at my own home, frantically helping my mom prepare the bulk of the meal.

I said to WG last week, after I made my ridiculously reliable and delicious cake brownies (no recipe online, but if you've got one of those red and white plaid Betters Homes and Gardens cookbooks, it's in there, in the cookie section), "I know what I'm making to bring to Oklahoma."

"You don't have to bring anything."

"Yes, I do. And I'm bringing these brownies."

"No, you don't."

"Well, I'm bringing brownies. I can't not bring something."

"Yes, you can."

...this was not our first ever edition of "I'm more stubborn than you."

And I'm going to win this one, in a way, because my mama didn't raise me to show up empty handed.

Still, I imagined myself, jet lagged and exhausted, showing up at the family friend's house for dinner, meeting people I've never even heard of, and then handing over a slightly travel-worn container of brownies. And what container? Because I can't expect to get it back. Oh, the endless worries of meeting strangers who will have opinions of you as their loved one's girlfriend of over a year.

I decided I liked the image of me, neatly dressed in my sweater, silk skirt and pumps, handing over a pound of Peet's Coffee Beans (Holiday Blend, of course) much better. And at least the beans were brewed in Berkeley. So, I bought the coffee. And a tin of Ghiradelli chocolates for his mom. But no other gifts, no other treats from Northern California. I can't predict who all we'll meet, and it's not like I'm coming from a foreign country, "I bring you the chocolate of my people."

So, I'm trying to approach this like WG would, since these are his people that we're visiting, and just relax and be myself.

But I'm still coming armed with the goodies of my people, or my state, or...I mean I'm not trailer trash, and I'll show up with a hostess gift.

Real World Wednesday

Safety and Sacrifice

Nothing has been the same since 9/11, least of all when it comes to things like your personal privacy in airports and government buildings, among other things.

This matter hits close to home, because, in recent weeks a family friend visited (and when I say "visited," I mean "went because she had to pay her son's fine")our local law enforcement establishment. The officers (not rent-a-cops, but sworn officers of the law) searched her purse, put everything through the x-ray machine and somehow made her feel that they'd done too much by opening her wallet. The matter hits close to home not at all because I'm on the side of the family friend who complained that she is a law abiding citizen and shouldn't be searched when entering a court house. No, I'm on the side of the law here, folks. Yes, growing up with my particular father, and his 30+ years of law enforcement experience may make me just a bit biased.

I hate to say it, but there are bad people out there, and it's never obvious whether they are fifty-something mothers, teenage boys or your local neighborhood city councilman. No matter who you are, it is for your own personal protection that you sacrifice a bit of your personal privacy when entering certain buildings or boarding a plane. I don't mind taking my cell phone out, opening up my wallet and standing in the position for the metal detection wand, because even though I know I'm not armed and dangerous, the very same checks the officers do on my body and my possessions will be done on the guy walking in behind me, who may just happen to have a razor blade tucked away in his wallet. A razor blade just ready to be used on an innocent bystander like me. Or a razor blade just ready to carry out a grudge on a law enforcement officer like my dad.

Don't for one minute decide that it's the Democrats, the Republicans or any other particular group that is making you dump your purse out on a plastic folding table. Don't even for a moment consider the possibility that you should be let through easily because you don't "look" like trouble.

Instead, be grateful that someone wants to protect you. Be thankful that you're one of the good guys. And be supportive of the fact that there are people who interact, every single day, with the bad element. And those x-ray machines, those "personal property searches" keep them safe.

And speaking of safety and sacrifice, if you haven't had the chance, take a look at the AP article on military veterans and homelessness. Did you know that, statistically, 25% of the homeless are veterans? I'm safe and warm in my apartment, with my cat on my lap, never having to consider donning a uniform and picking up a gun, and the people who have defended my freedom are out on the streets. How's that for real?

The Problem Is

As a follow up to yesterday's post...

Did you look at any of the links on the "Sweat Shop Free Brands?"

Well, I did.

And it was not a good thing.

The choices appear to be one of these two options.

American Apparel:


Certainly, this is the kind of figure skater dress of which I dreamed for at least the first twelve years of my existence. But it's not exactly work friendly.

Next up, Esperanza Threads:
Uhm. No.

So, you see my dilemma. If I want to shop Sweat Shop Free brands, I have to either start dressing like a disco dancer/Jane Fonda in the '80s. Styles that, I'm sure, have their fans. I just don't happen to be one of them.

What do I wear, then?

I know that Rocket Dog has some "vegan" styles, and I happen to have four pairs of their ballet flats:

But, ladies, we all know that a woman cannot dress with shoes alone.

Help, oh great fashion experts of the Internets.