It has been said that I am a snob about certain things. And, I suppose that it is true to a certain degree. I believe life is too short for shitty coffee, booze, and food. I also believe that there is much to be said about the nuance of experience in certain places. I'm not a complete snob- I will bend on somethings- well, except coffee. I won't drink shitty coffee, if there is no good coffee to be had I won't drink it at all. Whatever, we all have our quirks. Anyway, since I posted about my obsession with hole-in-the-wall bars, I thought I would take a minute to post about food joints as well.
I spent ten years waiting tables. For some, this may be a bit shocking, but I LOVED it. I loved interacting with people- going to the table, gauging the group, putting on whatever personality I thought fit and working it. In the little town I grew up in, there were only a few job options for 15-16 year olds, and most involved restaurants. For a lot of that period in my life, I worked at one chain restaurant- and we were like one crazy family. We hustled our asses off and had a pretty good time doing it for the most part. We were tight-knit, and there were a lot of us. When your shift was over you sat down in the smoking section, drank coffee and hung out. After closing we would all drive down the street to the other chain restaurant in town and hang out there. Ahh, small town amusement... Pots of coffee and packs of cigarettes.
One summer, I left the comfort of the chain restaurant and went to work at a truck stop about 15 miles out of town. This was a MUCH different environment, in so many ways. For one, the extent of the ALL employees at the truck stop would have rivaled the number of servers we ran on a slow afternoon at my old job. There were never more than two servers on at a time, there was no busser, no cashier, no hostess. There was a cook, a dishwasher and one or two servers. That was it. Oh, and did I mention that it was family owned and operated? I was one of two employees not from the same gene pool...(this later turned out to be the curse that sealed my fate there, but that's beside the point.)
People came in and sat at the nearest available table, clean or not, and you hustled from the moment you walked in the door. There was nothing fancy about this place, it was CHEAP home cooking at it's finest. Pearl, who was in her 90's at the time, came in at 4am every morning and baked all the pies from scratch. We made the coleslaw in 5 gallon buckets. The local beef farmer delivered the meet fresh every day, and Friday night all you can eat perch was the most popular occasion for 20 miles. These people had not reinvented the wheel, they had just been filling a need for decades and had built a HUGE loyal customer base.
So what, your asking... So, to this day, I remember that place, and that feeling when ya walked in the door. And I find myself seeking out that type of experience wherever I go. I like beautifully prepared, fresh, fancy, food as much as the next person- well, maybe more in some cases. But if I walk into an establishment and immediately feel out of place it matters little what the food is like. The wine list can be exceptional, the food elegant and delicious, but if the vibe ain't there, well... it kind of ruins it for me. In fact, I have realized that it sometimes the food has NOTHING to do with it at all...I love dumpy hole in the walls that have one badass bartender and one superior server. The bartender is know for one drink, which she makes better than anyone else in the world, and the server tells you what to order because she knows what's good that night.
There is a place that a few of my friends and I frequent in town- they have been loyal patrons for decades, and I have only recently stepped into the fold. The first time I went I was taken aback a bit by the 70's decor. It's dark and dingy in there, I would venture to say the original wall paper still hangs on the walls. As you walk in, all you see is a big horse shoe shaped bar and a bartender. Saddling up to the bar, I asked what was good and Faye, the bartender insisted I hadn't lived until I had had her cosmo. My friends eagerly agreed with Faye, and so I obliged and ordered what I considered to be a fru-fru drink. I could NOT have been more wrong. What Faye produced was the STRONGEST fru-fru drink I had ever had- problem was, she made that damned thing so well, I was not completely aware of how strong it was. And let me tell ya, they go down so smooth, it doesn't take long to get yourself in trouble.
After a cosmo or three, we are seated. Our server is a sweet woman- in her late 40's maybe, she has long hair pulled back in a pony tail and a very friendly face. From the conversation I take it that she's waited at this fine establishment for possibly as many years as I have been alive. I like her, she is spunky and quick witted, and she knows the menu backwards and forwards, and she will tell you EXACTLY what she thinks of everything on it. This particular place is known for their barbque, especially their ribs. The people I am with ALWAYS come for the ribs, they crave them. My snobbery is immediately apparent. I am not sold on the ribs. I am not a big fan of meat on the bone, especially the kind you have to really gnaw at- if it doesn't fall off, it's a no go. She kneels down beside me and gives me her honest opinion about this and other menu items and then composes an order for me.
Truth be told, if I had come on another day, with other people, had a different server and a different bartender, I don't think I would have ever given the place a second thought. But the people made ALL the difference. And, it is true, NO ONE makes a cosmo like Faye- no one. I like the Cheers atmosphere, walk in the door and everyone says hullo. And I like the dark, dingy, ambiance. I like that so long as Dawn is serving I don't have to make up my mind, she will bring me whatever is good on that particular night. I like that they have secret menu items like 'special potatoes' which are not really on the menu, you have to ask for them. I like that they serve the salad in the same plastic bowls we used at the truck stop, and that the bathroom is always inexplicably cold or hot, depending on the season. I like that I could go in on any given night and sit at the bar with a bunch of people my parent's age and have a far better time than in some stupid, trendy bar down the street from my house. So, yeah. Maybe I am a snob about certain things, and I like that too.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
The House, the Box, and the Beginnings of the Solids
Ok, as promised, today, the experiences that go with the list. It all started a few years back. I had just moved to a new city from a super small town. Day after day I drove by this house, and never thought much about it- hell, I never noticed it really- until one night I went out with a friend, he chose the bar since I was still new to the area and didn't know much about where to go or what to do. We pulled in the parking lot (one of those classy, parking in rear joints), went to the door and he hit a buzzer. "What are you doing?" I asked, a bit confused. "They have to buzz you in." He said. No way! This couldn't be true! But, sure as shit, the door unlocked and we were let in...
Inside it was dark, and dingy, and small, really, really, small. There were two other patrons in the entire place, one sitting at the bar, dragging on a cigarette and making small chat with the bartender, and the other playing a one man game at the pool table. I gathered from the conversation my friend had with the bartender that the place used to be a residence and at some point was converted into a bar. That's right, it was a converted house. This explained why it was so small, and is also the reason it became known to me and my friends as the house bar. The house bar has a real name of course, but what name could beat "House Bar"? There really isn't much else to tell about the place, other than the drinks were strong and cheap, and the bartender was friendly and there was rarely more than 4 or five people in there at one time. How the place stays open is a mystery to me, while I still pass it often, I have not stopped in in years.
Something about the House Bar peaked my interest in the 'off the beaten path' watering holes. I like going to places (be it a bar or a restaurant) that are small and quirky, especially the kind that have not yet found their way onto the 'favorites' list of the masses. The next dive encounter wasn't for a couple of years, but it was, in different ways, just as fulfilling as the House Bar experience. As I said in my previous post, many of these places have their own reputation, based on the neighborhood in which they are situated, so this particular place, nestled deep in the east side of town, was known to be a red neck hang out. The word box is in the name, and how fitting the name is, this place is SMALL, I mean teeny tiny, and it's just one box shaped room. If I remember correctly, there were maybe 4 or 5 tables in the whole joint, and maybe 10 seats around the bar. Walking in, I immediately got the feeling like I had just walked into a crowded house party... it's wall to wall people, and there is a sign listing what's on the menu for supper. No, it's not a restaurant, supper is prepared by the bartender, generally in a crock pot, and offered up to the patrons-for free- on any given night, weird right? Upon saddling up to the bar, ordering a drink, watching the bartender free pour what may be the strongest rum-with-a-splash-of-coke I have ever had, and then paying her the bargain price of $2.50, I now understand. They have to feed their customers, if any of them are expected to walk out on their own accord...
The walls are covered in pictures, literally wallpapered. Upon closer inspection, I can see that many of the photos have the same man posing with different, topless women. A sweet, middle aged man, with a permed mullet and very few teeth notices me sorting through the visual cacophony on the walls and informs me that the man in the photographs is the esteemed owner of the establishment and that the women are all past or present patrons. Mr. Mullet and I strike up a conversation, he's a construction worker, a veteran, and has some serious opinions about 'Nam. I skirt the war talk, even though it is not yet 7 o'clock on a Wednesday evening, he is already very much intoxicated and I don't feel as though I have much to add to the 'Nam conversation. I cash out, worried that Mr. Mullet might have driven to the bar and would hence be driving himself home. "Don't worry about him sweetheart." The bartender says, as if she reached in my brain and plucked out my thoughts. "He lives next door, comes in every night after work, and leaves after happy hour. Come on back and see us again sometime." She says with such a thick hillbilly twang it's impossible not to like her. I accept the invitation and assure her I'll be back as I walk out the door.
And, I did go back; several times in fact. The little Box was my favorite hole in the wall for a while. Cheap drinks, friendly people and ALWAYS interesting people watching and conversation... and, I can say that some of the redneck, white trash stereotypes were true. There are many east side-isms going on at the place. Most of the people who go there are working class Americans who work hard and play hard- the average age in that place is probably somewhere between 45-55 and the juke box is jam packed with country and classic rock. Mullet is for sure the hairstyle of choice, and sweat pants and acid wash jeans seem to be the preferred fashion. Nope, not your typical hipster joint indeed, but a good time nonetheless.
Eventually, the novelty wore off I suppose, and I set my sites on discovering a new hole in the wall to experience, and then another and then another. I usually set my mental sites on a place and stew about it a while. I wonder if what people say about the place is true, what's it look like inside, who holds the bar stools down night after night? The next place I infiltrated was a bit of a cheat, it's a hole in the wall from the standpoint that it's a small town bar... most of the people who go there are from said small town, and it's patrons indeed fall into their own particular stereotype. Many people from around town wouldn't be caught dead in there, and yet, others go every weekend or even every night. I wanted to check this place out more because I had grown up with the idea that this was not a place I needed to go... WHY NOT? I asked, and the answers were always vague and unsatisfying... and well, when I am told I should not go somewhere my curiosity about the place becomes almost insatiable. For weeks, months really, I pined to see the inside of the place. I begged people to go with me... I bribed them even! But to no avail. Until one night...The night the Solids were born. There are tales to tell about this night and those that followed and the making of my small town list, but alas, these are stories for another day and another post....
Inside it was dark, and dingy, and small, really, really, small. There were two other patrons in the entire place, one sitting at the bar, dragging on a cigarette and making small chat with the bartender, and the other playing a one man game at the pool table. I gathered from the conversation my friend had with the bartender that the place used to be a residence and at some point was converted into a bar. That's right, it was a converted house. This explained why it was so small, and is also the reason it became known to me and my friends as the house bar. The house bar has a real name of course, but what name could beat "House Bar"? There really isn't much else to tell about the place, other than the drinks were strong and cheap, and the bartender was friendly and there was rarely more than 4 or five people in there at one time. How the place stays open is a mystery to me, while I still pass it often, I have not stopped in in years.
Something about the House Bar peaked my interest in the 'off the beaten path' watering holes. I like going to places (be it a bar or a restaurant) that are small and quirky, especially the kind that have not yet found their way onto the 'favorites' list of the masses. The next dive encounter wasn't for a couple of years, but it was, in different ways, just as fulfilling as the House Bar experience. As I said in my previous post, many of these places have their own reputation, based on the neighborhood in which they are situated, so this particular place, nestled deep in the east side of town, was known to be a red neck hang out. The word box is in the name, and how fitting the name is, this place is SMALL, I mean teeny tiny, and it's just one box shaped room. If I remember correctly, there were maybe 4 or 5 tables in the whole joint, and maybe 10 seats around the bar. Walking in, I immediately got the feeling like I had just walked into a crowded house party... it's wall to wall people, and there is a sign listing what's on the menu for supper. No, it's not a restaurant, supper is prepared by the bartender, generally in a crock pot, and offered up to the patrons-for free- on any given night, weird right? Upon saddling up to the bar, ordering a drink, watching the bartender free pour what may be the strongest rum-with-a-splash-of-coke I have ever had, and then paying her the bargain price of $2.50, I now understand. They have to feed their customers, if any of them are expected to walk out on their own accord...
The walls are covered in pictures, literally wallpapered. Upon closer inspection, I can see that many of the photos have the same man posing with different, topless women. A sweet, middle aged man, with a permed mullet and very few teeth notices me sorting through the visual cacophony on the walls and informs me that the man in the photographs is the esteemed owner of the establishment and that the women are all past or present patrons. Mr. Mullet and I strike up a conversation, he's a construction worker, a veteran, and has some serious opinions about 'Nam. I skirt the war talk, even though it is not yet 7 o'clock on a Wednesday evening, he is already very much intoxicated and I don't feel as though I have much to add to the 'Nam conversation. I cash out, worried that Mr. Mullet might have driven to the bar and would hence be driving himself home. "Don't worry about him sweetheart." The bartender says, as if she reached in my brain and plucked out my thoughts. "He lives next door, comes in every night after work, and leaves after happy hour. Come on back and see us again sometime." She says with such a thick hillbilly twang it's impossible not to like her. I accept the invitation and assure her I'll be back as I walk out the door.
And, I did go back; several times in fact. The little Box was my favorite hole in the wall for a while. Cheap drinks, friendly people and ALWAYS interesting people watching and conversation... and, I can say that some of the redneck, white trash stereotypes were true. There are many east side-isms going on at the place. Most of the people who go there are working class Americans who work hard and play hard- the average age in that place is probably somewhere between 45-55 and the juke box is jam packed with country and classic rock. Mullet is for sure the hairstyle of choice, and sweat pants and acid wash jeans seem to be the preferred fashion. Nope, not your typical hipster joint indeed, but a good time nonetheless.
Eventually, the novelty wore off I suppose, and I set my sites on discovering a new hole in the wall to experience, and then another and then another. I usually set my mental sites on a place and stew about it a while. I wonder if what people say about the place is true, what's it look like inside, who holds the bar stools down night after night? The next place I infiltrated was a bit of a cheat, it's a hole in the wall from the standpoint that it's a small town bar... most of the people who go there are from said small town, and it's patrons indeed fall into their own particular stereotype. Many people from around town wouldn't be caught dead in there, and yet, others go every weekend or even every night. I wanted to check this place out more because I had grown up with the idea that this was not a place I needed to go... WHY NOT? I asked, and the answers were always vague and unsatisfying... and well, when I am told I should not go somewhere my curiosity about the place becomes almost insatiable. For weeks, months really, I pined to see the inside of the place. I begged people to go with me... I bribed them even! But to no avail. Until one night...The night the Solids were born. There are tales to tell about this night and those that followed and the making of my small town list, but alas, these are stories for another day and another post....
Monday, November 7, 2011
A Different Type of Culture
Anyone who knows me knows I have a thing for the dive bar. I live in a city where most of the "it" places are concentrated on one, very short, street. All the cool kids hang out there, on the weekends most of the bars are crowded with 20 somethings, parading around in a hipster haze, drinking over priced PBR, and barely breathing in their skinny jeans. It exhausts me to think about it really... my days of dressing with whatever fashion is in went out the window with the popularity of 32 inch bottom JNCO's, and I refuse to drink something that reminds me of what a skunk smells like. Similarly, while I do own a few pairs of stilts disguised as shoes, I refer to them as my 'dinner shoes' for a reason- they are bearable just long enough to go to dinner, come home, and take them off. So needless to say, while I will still occasionally grab a drink with a friend in one of those "it" places, it is most often at happy hour on a weekday, before all the hip kids come out for the night.
The dive bar is different... each has it's own subculture, they are generally small, neighborhood watering holes, the same people go to the same place, day in and day out. The unspoken rules have been established for years, decades in most cases, and for the most part, everyone follows them. These are not the places you go for a fancy-pants martini or a scotch on the rocks. You won't find a craft beer in sight, and most of them offer only cans of beer for reasons that vary- bottles are more expensive, they can be used as weapons, etc. Anyone who knows me also knows I am a beer snob, life is too short for shitty beer, and if I can't afford a good one, I prefer not to drink at all- same goes for booze... with all that said, you'd wonder why the hell I would venture into these seedy joints, where the premier beer offering is Budweiser, malt liquor is a mainstay, and I am fairly certain they refill their top shelf liquor selections with well.
Truth is, there is SO much to learn about human nature in these places... well, in bars in general... they are great places to people watch... and, since I have already exhausted what the masses do at the hip little joints down town, I find it intriguing to venture out and observe other little veins of the bar culture. It's tough to do, since most of the people I know would rather stay in the comfort of familiarity than venture into the places I'd like to experience. I can't blame them really, none of the places have a 'good reputation', (although, I have determined that much of the bad wrap these places have, helps to keep them small and unadulterated). It's just another piece of what fascinates me about the whole thing. To me, these are the things that male the dive bar so evocative. I guess I should say that I do not go into these places looking to fit in, it is never my intention to stay in any one bar for more than a drink or two. All I need is enough time to sniff out the vibe of the place and then I am happy to saunter out in much the same fashion I sauntered in.
What can you learn in the span of one or two drinks you ask? Well, a lot really, in fact much of what I learn, I learn before I ever walk through the door. Often times when I see a place, I will ask around about it... has anyone ever been there? What's it like? The answers to these simple questions are often quite amusing, especially after I go in and experience the place for myself... many a tall tale have been told about these places "Don't go in there, you will get shot", "You will start a fight as soon as you walk in the door", I could go on, but you get the picture. It's interesting to note that when it comes to small, hole in the wall bars, racism and classism are alive and in full effect. That's a black bar, that's a biker bar, that's a white trash bar... all I could think was, really people?? It's like that? Unfortunately, to some extent, it's true. But ALL of us feed the stereotypes.
So, you can see how getting into these places is a bit of a task. I don't go alone, because I don't go to any bar alone, no matter how trendy or divey it is. And who I go with to these types of places is an important decision, not because it matters so much who I am seen with, but it matters a lot who can go in and be respectful. People are very protective of 'their' bars... especially when said bar is small, with predictable clientele. When I started getting into the whole dive bar thing a few years back, a very wise friend offered some sage advice- I was frustrated that no one would ever go with me and that the main excuse was that I, being a girl, would start a fight just by walking in- my friend said... "First, it is rarely a woman who starts a fight in a bar. Most often it is a man who feels as though his ego has some how been accosted... if you go into a place and recognize that you are on someone else's turf, being polite and respectful, everything will be fine." And ya know what? She was right. So even if I could get an adventuresome friend to agree to go along, it won't work if they are hot tempered or ego driven.
But, every so often, the stars align, I am in the right place at the right time, and I get to check a couple more places off my list... yes, there is a list, it is a mental list, but a list all the same. It is categorized into geographic locations and is amended frequently. The town I grew up in has the most for such a small area- 5 to be exact. Before this weekend, I had two of the five checked off. After this weekend, I am happy to report, that only one remains. Both of the bars I went to this weekend have been labeled 'east end' bars, which means something altogether different where I am from versus where I live now. In the small town I grew up in, the east end is another way to say black... nobody ever explains it that way, it's just assumed; whereas in the city I currently reside, I live on whats referred to as the "east side" which is inferred to be the 'white trash' side of town. You can imagine that these two places have entirely different kinds of dive bars, each with their own nuances, cultures, and clientele.
I hadn't intended to ramble on with such a long background about the list or the ideas behind the list, so I will save the bits about my actual experiences for another post... perhaps later today or tomorrow... but do come back, these are interesting topics if you are at all interested in the way we humans interact; we are certainly one of the most amusing species I can think of, and you never know, maybe one of you will change your mind about what you think of the dive bar... This life is after all, all about experience right? So, why not try to broaden your horizons every once in a while eh?
The dive bar is different... each has it's own subculture, they are generally small, neighborhood watering holes, the same people go to the same place, day in and day out. The unspoken rules have been established for years, decades in most cases, and for the most part, everyone follows them. These are not the places you go for a fancy-pants martini or a scotch on the rocks. You won't find a craft beer in sight, and most of them offer only cans of beer for reasons that vary- bottles are more expensive, they can be used as weapons, etc. Anyone who knows me also knows I am a beer snob, life is too short for shitty beer, and if I can't afford a good one, I prefer not to drink at all- same goes for booze... with all that said, you'd wonder why the hell I would venture into these seedy joints, where the premier beer offering is Budweiser, malt liquor is a mainstay, and I am fairly certain they refill their top shelf liquor selections with well.
Truth is, there is SO much to learn about human nature in these places... well, in bars in general... they are great places to people watch... and, since I have already exhausted what the masses do at the hip little joints down town, I find it intriguing to venture out and observe other little veins of the bar culture. It's tough to do, since most of the people I know would rather stay in the comfort of familiarity than venture into the places I'd like to experience. I can't blame them really, none of the places have a 'good reputation', (although, I have determined that much of the bad wrap these places have, helps to keep them small and unadulterated). It's just another piece of what fascinates me about the whole thing. To me, these are the things that male the dive bar so evocative. I guess I should say that I do not go into these places looking to fit in, it is never my intention to stay in any one bar for more than a drink or two. All I need is enough time to sniff out the vibe of the place and then I am happy to saunter out in much the same fashion I sauntered in.
What can you learn in the span of one or two drinks you ask? Well, a lot really, in fact much of what I learn, I learn before I ever walk through the door. Often times when I see a place, I will ask around about it... has anyone ever been there? What's it like? The answers to these simple questions are often quite amusing, especially after I go in and experience the place for myself... many a tall tale have been told about these places "Don't go in there, you will get shot", "You will start a fight as soon as you walk in the door", I could go on, but you get the picture. It's interesting to note that when it comes to small, hole in the wall bars, racism and classism are alive and in full effect. That's a black bar, that's a biker bar, that's a white trash bar... all I could think was, really people?? It's like that? Unfortunately, to some extent, it's true. But ALL of us feed the stereotypes.
So, you can see how getting into these places is a bit of a task. I don't go alone, because I don't go to any bar alone, no matter how trendy or divey it is. And who I go with to these types of places is an important decision, not because it matters so much who I am seen with, but it matters a lot who can go in and be respectful. People are very protective of 'their' bars... especially when said bar is small, with predictable clientele. When I started getting into the whole dive bar thing a few years back, a very wise friend offered some sage advice- I was frustrated that no one would ever go with me and that the main excuse was that I, being a girl, would start a fight just by walking in- my friend said... "First, it is rarely a woman who starts a fight in a bar. Most often it is a man who feels as though his ego has some how been accosted... if you go into a place and recognize that you are on someone else's turf, being polite and respectful, everything will be fine." And ya know what? She was right. So even if I could get an adventuresome friend to agree to go along, it won't work if they are hot tempered or ego driven.
But, every so often, the stars align, I am in the right place at the right time, and I get to check a couple more places off my list... yes, there is a list, it is a mental list, but a list all the same. It is categorized into geographic locations and is amended frequently. The town I grew up in has the most for such a small area- 5 to be exact. Before this weekend, I had two of the five checked off. After this weekend, I am happy to report, that only one remains. Both of the bars I went to this weekend have been labeled 'east end' bars, which means something altogether different where I am from versus where I live now. In the small town I grew up in, the east end is another way to say black... nobody ever explains it that way, it's just assumed; whereas in the city I currently reside, I live on whats referred to as the "east side" which is inferred to be the 'white trash' side of town. You can imagine that these two places have entirely different kinds of dive bars, each with their own nuances, cultures, and clientele.
I hadn't intended to ramble on with such a long background about the list or the ideas behind the list, so I will save the bits about my actual experiences for another post... perhaps later today or tomorrow... but do come back, these are interesting topics if you are at all interested in the way we humans interact; we are certainly one of the most amusing species I can think of, and you never know, maybe one of you will change your mind about what you think of the dive bar... This life is after all, all about experience right? So, why not try to broaden your horizons every once in a while eh?
Monday, October 31, 2011
525,600 Minutes Pt II
Taking a retrospective look at the last year seems daunting. It's daunting, but necessary. A year ago today I began a journey I had begun many times before, the difference this time is that instead of taking a step forward and ten back I took a few more steps forward. Up until a year ago, I could have been described as a serial relationshipist. For nearly 15 years, I swung from one long term relationship to the next. 2 years in one, a year or two in another, three here, another year, four, and so on. Most often said relationships were ended by me, and every time a relationship came to a close I would vow to take some time to really look at myself, figure out who I was, get grounded, blah, blah, blah. And every time that proved to be a false statement... within a week or a month I would be well into my next deal. Each partner was different... VERY different. Polar opposites really. One was too controlling, the next was too smothering, then too detached... BUT, let me just mention from the start... they were all great in one way or another, they each taught me something about myself, each of them handed me a piece to my puzzle, even if I could not see it at the time. This is not a post about my ex lovers, but I think it important to mention credit where credit is due.
After a year alone I have come to realize some important things. They aren't universal truths by any means- but they are truths for me. Truths that have been here all along, it is only now that I am starting to recognize them. First, when a relationship ends, it is necessary to put some serious time in with oneself... something I NEVER did before, no matter how long or brief the period in between partners. I spent all free moments outwardly focused so that I would not have to evaluate what was going on inside me. And even when I was in a deal, I did everything I could to busy myself with others so as not to upset the delicate balance of unrest in my head... I would throw myself into my partner's interests or concern myself with the lives of friends or family, or work, or school. This resulted, shockingly, in failed relationship after failed relationship, and a whole lot of confusion in my own mind.
So, when this last relationship came to it's end, I swore to myself and to those close to me that this time it would indeed be different, that I was committed to myself and would start to cultivate a personal relationship with myself- it's sounds stupid and new-agey even as I type it, but it's true, and that is exactly what I have done in the last 12 months. I have thought and wrote, talked and listened, cried and laughed, taken 2 and 3 steps forward, and then one or two back. I have looked so hard at myself my vision blurred, I have concentrated so hard on the lessons in front of me I nearly missed them. I have made mistakes, won victories, gotten sick, gotten well, been better and been worse. I started becoming vulnerable, for the first time in my adult life. And slowly, like maybe in the last month or so, the fog surrounding the enigma that was me has begun to lift... I am starting to actually see me, and see the way I look at and interact with me.
About a month ago, I was chatting with a friend and her mom about health and what that means, specifically about loosing weight... something I have done more times than I care to inventory. My friends reasoning for loosing weight was to get healthy, her mother agreed. I said that I wanted to loose weight so that I would not hate what I saw every time I looked in the mirror- seemed a reasonable enough answer to me, but apparently not. At once, both mother and daughter snapped there heads around to look at me, as if I surely must've been joking... and I still didn't get it. "What?" I asked. "Surely you don't hate what you see every time you look in a mirror!" The mother gasped. "Well yeah, I do." I said, beginning to feel as if I may have given an un-fit answer, but still super puzzled. I thought everyone attached their self worth to what they saw in the mirror...
And so, I took the whole conversation home with me that night, and I let it all sink it. In the morning I awoke with a strange epiphany-like feeling... "I hate myself?!" I thought. "Wow, I do. I hate myself. Holy fucking shit. I hate myself!!!!" It seems a bit emo to be so excited over discovering one's own self hatred, I know... but this was big. I had never really and truly grasped that concept, or what it meant in the context of my life... the self hatred was the result of a lifetime of pre-programming and brain washing. Subliminally, I had soaked in all of those ridiculous messages the media throws out for us to catch... The perfect woman looks this way, acts this way, and on and on. It's freaky that all of this propaganda got to me on such a deep level I wasn't even aware, I had essentially bought into the hype without ever having made a conscious decision to do so...And let me add that this is not some "Woe is me, I hate my life" sort of thing. No, this runs much deeper, so deep that I did not even know it was there until I began clearing the mental clutter I had collected to hide from myself. And further, while on the surface, to me this issue appeared to be about outward appearance, a closer look has revealed that it has nothing to do with the way I look on the outside, if I do not get right with the way I feel inwardly, than my appearance to myself will always be distorted.
But now, things are making so much more sense... now I am beginning to recognize what was going on all those years... I used relationships as a way to validate who I am as a woman, who I am as a person... I used the relationships to feel needed, wanted, appreciated, and loved. Talk about looking for love in all the wrong places! And all the while I knew something wasn't right... I never felt particularly fulfilled, in fact- most often I felt like a foreigner in my own skin... because I was seeking all the right things in all the wrong places. I knew I needed to develop a relationship with myself, but never knew how or why really. And this isn't a bad thing... there is no one to blame, I am not furious with the media or any thing. I am really just happy to have finally cracked open this window. It is time to air out the back logs of my brain!
Over the last year I have many times felt as though I was on the edge of a big break through, I have written about it many times, but I was never clear on what the break through was or where it would come from... now all the puzzle pieces I have been collecting are beginning to snap together. In the spring, I made the realization that tough bitch had to go, and began making an effort to soften my outer shell. Not long after that, I discovered my wonderwall and had to begin dealing with the dismantle of my own Fort Knox like defenses- these were hard tasks, hell they still are, everyday; and now I am starting to see how all of these things are interconnected to this self hate thing... All the defenses, all of my personas, my whole being, had been carefully crafted by me to protect me from me... crazy huh? Seems as though now that all of that heavy lifting is out of the way, I could perhaps call it done. Lesson learned, moving on.
Not so fast... I am to the point now, that I am beginning to see the relationship between all of these pieces... the awarenesses I have been making are now layering together to reveal something bigger, so no, I am not finished. In fact, as trite as it is to say, I have only just begun. I am now tasked with dismantling the belief system I have created and reorganizing how I think of myself... In order to really make a lasting change in my life I will have to start looking at how I talk to myself, how I treat myself, and how I conduct myself with others. I now get that I have a frightening lack of self esteem... all of those defenses were built to mask that, both from the world and from myself. It's a little scary how much the human psyche resembles an onion... layer built upon layer, built upon layer, and they all have to be tended to if I am truly to flip the script in my life.
So, here I am. A year later, a little more aware, a little more awake, and A LOT more eager to continue on. This solo thing is the toughest thing I have done so far in life, but it is also the most rewarding... knowing is half the battle, and now I know so much more than I did. There's much work yet to be done, but I can honestly say, 365 days later, I am happy with my progress, I am proud of myself, and I am grateful for all of the growth opportunities that I have had in the last year. It's funny how long I waited to understand this lesson, how hard I have struggled to see the obvious, and how empowering it is to FINALLY GET IT. This may take a while, this whole learning to love me thing, but I can already tell how worth it it will be in the end... the only partner I need, and the only one I can truly rely on, is the partnership with myself. And me and myself, we are finished playing against each other, we have joined the same team and have already begun training together. It's won't be long, we will be dominating the court of our life :)
After a year alone I have come to realize some important things. They aren't universal truths by any means- but they are truths for me. Truths that have been here all along, it is only now that I am starting to recognize them. First, when a relationship ends, it is necessary to put some serious time in with oneself... something I NEVER did before, no matter how long or brief the period in between partners. I spent all free moments outwardly focused so that I would not have to evaluate what was going on inside me. And even when I was in a deal, I did everything I could to busy myself with others so as not to upset the delicate balance of unrest in my head... I would throw myself into my partner's interests or concern myself with the lives of friends or family, or work, or school. This resulted, shockingly, in failed relationship after failed relationship, and a whole lot of confusion in my own mind.
So, when this last relationship came to it's end, I swore to myself and to those close to me that this time it would indeed be different, that I was committed to myself and would start to cultivate a personal relationship with myself- it's sounds stupid and new-agey even as I type it, but it's true, and that is exactly what I have done in the last 12 months. I have thought and wrote, talked and listened, cried and laughed, taken 2 and 3 steps forward, and then one or two back. I have looked so hard at myself my vision blurred, I have concentrated so hard on the lessons in front of me I nearly missed them. I have made mistakes, won victories, gotten sick, gotten well, been better and been worse. I started becoming vulnerable, for the first time in my adult life. And slowly, like maybe in the last month or so, the fog surrounding the enigma that was me has begun to lift... I am starting to actually see me, and see the way I look at and interact with me.
About a month ago, I was chatting with a friend and her mom about health and what that means, specifically about loosing weight... something I have done more times than I care to inventory. My friends reasoning for loosing weight was to get healthy, her mother agreed. I said that I wanted to loose weight so that I would not hate what I saw every time I looked in the mirror- seemed a reasonable enough answer to me, but apparently not. At once, both mother and daughter snapped there heads around to look at me, as if I surely must've been joking... and I still didn't get it. "What?" I asked. "Surely you don't hate what you see every time you look in a mirror!" The mother gasped. "Well yeah, I do." I said, beginning to feel as if I may have given an un-fit answer, but still super puzzled. I thought everyone attached their self worth to what they saw in the mirror...
And so, I took the whole conversation home with me that night, and I let it all sink it. In the morning I awoke with a strange epiphany-like feeling... "I hate myself?!" I thought. "Wow, I do. I hate myself. Holy fucking shit. I hate myself!!!!" It seems a bit emo to be so excited over discovering one's own self hatred, I know... but this was big. I had never really and truly grasped that concept, or what it meant in the context of my life... the self hatred was the result of a lifetime of pre-programming and brain washing. Subliminally, I had soaked in all of those ridiculous messages the media throws out for us to catch... The perfect woman looks this way, acts this way, and on and on. It's freaky that all of this propaganda got to me on such a deep level I wasn't even aware, I had essentially bought into the hype without ever having made a conscious decision to do so...And let me add that this is not some "Woe is me, I hate my life" sort of thing. No, this runs much deeper, so deep that I did not even know it was there until I began clearing the mental clutter I had collected to hide from myself. And further, while on the surface, to me this issue appeared to be about outward appearance, a closer look has revealed that it has nothing to do with the way I look on the outside, if I do not get right with the way I feel inwardly, than my appearance to myself will always be distorted.
But now, things are making so much more sense... now I am beginning to recognize what was going on all those years... I used relationships as a way to validate who I am as a woman, who I am as a person... I used the relationships to feel needed, wanted, appreciated, and loved. Talk about looking for love in all the wrong places! And all the while I knew something wasn't right... I never felt particularly fulfilled, in fact- most often I felt like a foreigner in my own skin... because I was seeking all the right things in all the wrong places. I knew I needed to develop a relationship with myself, but never knew how or why really. And this isn't a bad thing... there is no one to blame, I am not furious with the media or any thing. I am really just happy to have finally cracked open this window. It is time to air out the back logs of my brain!
Over the last year I have many times felt as though I was on the edge of a big break through, I have written about it many times, but I was never clear on what the break through was or where it would come from... now all the puzzle pieces I have been collecting are beginning to snap together. In the spring, I made the realization that tough bitch had to go, and began making an effort to soften my outer shell. Not long after that, I discovered my wonderwall and had to begin dealing with the dismantle of my own Fort Knox like defenses- these were hard tasks, hell they still are, everyday; and now I am starting to see how all of these things are interconnected to this self hate thing... All the defenses, all of my personas, my whole being, had been carefully crafted by me to protect me from me... crazy huh? Seems as though now that all of that heavy lifting is out of the way, I could perhaps call it done. Lesson learned, moving on.
Not so fast... I am to the point now, that I am beginning to see the relationship between all of these pieces... the awarenesses I have been making are now layering together to reveal something bigger, so no, I am not finished. In fact, as trite as it is to say, I have only just begun. I am now tasked with dismantling the belief system I have created and reorganizing how I think of myself... In order to really make a lasting change in my life I will have to start looking at how I talk to myself, how I treat myself, and how I conduct myself with others. I now get that I have a frightening lack of self esteem... all of those defenses were built to mask that, both from the world and from myself. It's a little scary how much the human psyche resembles an onion... layer built upon layer, built upon layer, and they all have to be tended to if I am truly to flip the script in my life.
So, here I am. A year later, a little more aware, a little more awake, and A LOT more eager to continue on. This solo thing is the toughest thing I have done so far in life, but it is also the most rewarding... knowing is half the battle, and now I know so much more than I did. There's much work yet to be done, but I can honestly say, 365 days later, I am happy with my progress, I am proud of myself, and I am grateful for all of the growth opportunities that I have had in the last year. It's funny how long I waited to understand this lesson, how hard I have struggled to see the obvious, and how empowering it is to FINALLY GET IT. This may take a while, this whole learning to love me thing, but I can already tell how worth it it will be in the end... the only partner I need, and the only one I can truly rely on, is the partnership with myself. And me and myself, we are finished playing against each other, we have joined the same team and have already begun training together. It's won't be long, we will be dominating the court of our life :)
Monday, October 24, 2011
525,600 Minutes Pt. I
Things have been super crazy hectic lately, but they are starting to slow down a bit... I have been thinking quite a bit- I know what your thinking, does this chick ever DO anything?! All she does is hammer on about thinking! And, for the most part, it's true- I do spend a lot of time swimming around in my own mind... but I do think it leads to productivity... at least some of the time. It just seems as though right when I am ready to sit back and rest on my laurels something comes up that requires me to perk back up and pay attention.
Things topping the contemplation list of late- being a big girl and the struggle involved in standing on my own two feets. Taking responsibility for me and my actions, learning that humble pie is not one of my favorite meals, but is sometimes a requirement that comes with being a big girl, and- perhaps most importantly, having gratitude for all of the above.
Last week I was very blessed to take a trip to Sin City with some of the BESTEST friends a girl could ask for, it was fun, but seriously mentally exhausting! Getting to hang out with friends and do fun things was no doubt awesome, but as I suspected, that place is like a visual and auditory energy sucking vampire for those of us who get our recharge from that quiet place within ourselves! Now, don't get me wrong- there are many, many, beautiful things there, and it is for sure one of THE BEST places in the world to observe that infinite possibilities of human behavior. I could have have easily spent the entire trip posted up on the strip or in a casino just watching people... but needless to say- I was more than happy to get home to my bed and the sweet, sweet, sound of silence!
Anyhow, the trip and the whirlwind of weeks leading up to it led me to this contemplative state... a week from today will be perhaps the most important anniversary I have celebrated thus far in life. The 31st will mark a full year of being single. Some might moan and say how sad it is to be single, others might think it no big thing to be single at all. But for me, this is a milestone. A year of hard work. A year of not settling out of fear. A year of stepping forward, and backward and forward again. A year of loneliness and despair. A year of triumph and joy a year of getting to know the most important person in my life... a person I had long ago written off. A year with me, just me.
I have learned a lot in the last year, there have been as many Ah-ha moments as there have been damn it moments, but they have all been powerful in their own awesome or painful ways, and in the last few weeks many of those moments have begun to crystallize into cohesive lessons for me. I plan on committing some of those moments and lessons to text in the coming days, but for tonight I think I will go to bed, alone and happy... thanks to all of you who have helped to reel me back into reality over the last year, those of you who listened, offered advice, let me cry, and all of you who in general helped to foster and facilitate my growth, this leg of the journey is far from over, of that I am well aware, but I think the up-coming mile marker is worth at least a post or two in reflection and certainly worth a more than a fleeting mention of gratitude. Love to all of you, and as I am still learning- love to myself.
Things topping the contemplation list of late- being a big girl and the struggle involved in standing on my own two feets. Taking responsibility for me and my actions, learning that humble pie is not one of my favorite meals, but is sometimes a requirement that comes with being a big girl, and- perhaps most importantly, having gratitude for all of the above.
Last week I was very blessed to take a trip to Sin City with some of the BESTEST friends a girl could ask for, it was fun, but seriously mentally exhausting! Getting to hang out with friends and do fun things was no doubt awesome, but as I suspected, that place is like a visual and auditory energy sucking vampire for those of us who get our recharge from that quiet place within ourselves! Now, don't get me wrong- there are many, many, beautiful things there, and it is for sure one of THE BEST places in the world to observe that infinite possibilities of human behavior. I could have have easily spent the entire trip posted up on the strip or in a casino just watching people... but needless to say- I was more than happy to get home to my bed and the sweet, sweet, sound of silence!
Anyhow, the trip and the whirlwind of weeks leading up to it led me to this contemplative state... a week from today will be perhaps the most important anniversary I have celebrated thus far in life. The 31st will mark a full year of being single. Some might moan and say how sad it is to be single, others might think it no big thing to be single at all. But for me, this is a milestone. A year of hard work. A year of not settling out of fear. A year of stepping forward, and backward and forward again. A year of loneliness and despair. A year of triumph and joy a year of getting to know the most important person in my life... a person I had long ago written off. A year with me, just me.
I have learned a lot in the last year, there have been as many Ah-ha moments as there have been damn it moments, but they have all been powerful in their own awesome or painful ways, and in the last few weeks many of those moments have begun to crystallize into cohesive lessons for me. I plan on committing some of those moments and lessons to text in the coming days, but for tonight I think I will go to bed, alone and happy... thanks to all of you who have helped to reel me back into reality over the last year, those of you who listened, offered advice, let me cry, and all of you who in general helped to foster and facilitate my growth, this leg of the journey is far from over, of that I am well aware, but I think the up-coming mile marker is worth at least a post or two in reflection and certainly worth a more than a fleeting mention of gratitude. Love to all of you, and as I am still learning- love to myself.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Coming Soon: The Crazy Cafe
For some time now, I have been thinking about diving into a second blog. Not that I am abandoning this one, this will still be the space where I babble on about my wonders of human happenings. But I have been thinking about starting a food blog... I know, how many food blogs are out there right? I am pretty sure the number hovers around eleventy billion... and I would never profess to have a newfangled idea... I am not looking to change the face of food blogging or make crazy waves. I just thought it would be nice to have a space to keep record both of what I cook and eat.
I will admit to not being the savviest blogger... this is part of the reason I have pussy-footed around launching a new blog. I don't know how to put fancy piktars up or to use links or any of that technological stuff that remains an enigma to me. I am NOT my father's daughter when it comes to technology... my dad is a technological geek--and don't get me wrong--I LOVE him for that (that, and a trillion other things of course), but- having that sort of assistance at my finger tips has made me a bit of a nit wit when it comes to all things technology related. Hell, I quit taking pictures on my camera when I realized they wouldn't just beam to my computer. I didn't even begin really using email until a few years ago... I have crashed EVERY computer I have ever owned. At almost every place I have been employed I am eventually banned from using the copier. I cannot make the DVD player work without assistance from my young and savvy roomie. Alright, I think you get the picture.
SO anyway... I have been a little gun shy about the food blog, but I think it is time. I would say cooking is one of two mediums I have for expressing myself (the second being writing, hence the willy nilly blogging:), and I suppose it is time to give the other medium it's due. So, it will for sure be a work in progress, but I hope to have it launched in the next few weeks... the basic idea is that I will post about things I am cooking as well as reviewing any cool places I eat... I am hoping that by posting what I am cooking it will help me to become a more disciplined cook... BAHAHA! Who am I kidding? Let's just see if I can launch the damned thing first, then I can make lofty goals and promises that I may or may not fulfill!
I will admit to not being the savviest blogger... this is part of the reason I have pussy-footed around launching a new blog. I don't know how to put fancy piktars up or to use links or any of that technological stuff that remains an enigma to me. I am NOT my father's daughter when it comes to technology... my dad is a technological geek--and don't get me wrong--I LOVE him for that (that, and a trillion other things of course), but- having that sort of assistance at my finger tips has made me a bit of a nit wit when it comes to all things technology related. Hell, I quit taking pictures on my camera when I realized they wouldn't just beam to my computer. I didn't even begin really using email until a few years ago... I have crashed EVERY computer I have ever owned. At almost every place I have been employed I am eventually banned from using the copier. I cannot make the DVD player work without assistance from my young and savvy roomie. Alright, I think you get the picture.
SO anyway... I have been a little gun shy about the food blog, but I think it is time. I would say cooking is one of two mediums I have for expressing myself (the second being writing, hence the willy nilly blogging:), and I suppose it is time to give the other medium it's due. So, it will for sure be a work in progress, but I hope to have it launched in the next few weeks... the basic idea is that I will post about things I am cooking as well as reviewing any cool places I eat... I am hoping that by posting what I am cooking it will help me to become a more disciplined cook... BAHAHA! Who am I kidding? Let's just see if I can launch the damned thing first, then I can make lofty goals and promises that I may or may not fulfill!
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Mr. Jones and Me
A couple weeks ago I had a talk with each of my parents individually. I don't remember how each conversation started, but they were both about the same sort of things. Both my dad and my mom said they just really wanted me to be happy. They both want me to find my place. I agreed with them- not that I am unhappy so to speak... but I would say that I am discontent and that I have been feeling unfulfilled. It was really nice to have the chance to speak freely with them. I love my parents, I think that has been pretty obvious throughout this blog. My parents are definitely amazing people, I respect their opinions, I look up to them, I am proud to have them as my parents, and I want little else in life than to be the woman they can be proud to call their daughter. (You can call me sappy and lame, that's alright. It is the truth.)
I mentioned feeling a little like a failure to them both. Many people my age are now settled into careers, marriages, and many have children. I, on the other hand, have come through the last decade with very little to show for it. I have some of the 'things' on the proverbial check off list- I have a job, two in fact. I have a house. I work, I support myself... blah blah blah. I like my jobs alright... although they are like any other I have had... I have been at these two particular jobs for a little over a year and I am beginning to feel stagnant. There are no opportunities to move up at either and they are just beginning to feel stale. My house is kind of the same way- it is a fine enough house, but I am ready to go somewhere else, do something else. I am about to finish out my first year of being single in my adult life, and that too is beginning to get old. I am ready for a change- all the way around.
Of course, my parents are my BIGGEST cheerleaders. They re-frame the way I look at my 'achievements' and try desperately to help me figure out how to find fulfillment in what I have. They are concrete and solution oriented... something I WISH I could be right now... something I think they wish I could be at times as well... My mom said "You have always been the one to do things your own way, [the hard way]- but you have always figured it out, and you will figure this out too." God love the woman! There was a time when they were both so frustrated with the way I bang my head against the wall until I figure things out- they both tried desperately to teach me another way throughout my adolescence, but to no avail. The patience these two people have had with me my entire life is truly immeasurable-miles and miles more patience than I have ever had with myself- and I love them to bits for it.
I shared with my mom that it seems as though I have been stuck in this rut of fear for a while now- probably since I dropped out of grad school. I know that dropping out was the best decision for me at the time, and I do not regret it for even a moment, but it has set off this unsureness in me. It's like I have an idea of what I want my next move to be, but somewhere along the way I lost the ability to be sure of myself... I swim around with all of these fears and projections in my head about what could happen if I make a decision... It is not that I think I cannot do option A or option B, because if there is only one thing I know about myself it is that I can and will do whatever it is I set my mind to. It is more abstract than that- like what if I pursue this one thing that I think will make me happy, what if I make it happen, pour my heart into it and then come to find out it is not what I wanted either?! I know how ridiculous that must sound to some people- but it is a real and paralyzing fear to me.
Then I start really thinking. Wait a second dumbass- I am pretty sure that this true happiness and fulfillment you blabber on about constantly comes from WITHIN you- and once you have that, there will be a natural sense of contentment, and you will be happy with whatever you are doing where ever you are doing it. I have written extensively on the importance of doing the work on myself, but I am not sure it set in until I read the quote above... it's the work of BEING myself. It's giving up on this perfect image of what I think my life should be, because that image is what is holding me back from what my life is- something to enjoy and embrace. My mother reminded me that there are no mistakes, only experiences to carry forward. I know there are others out there who struggle with the same stuff... maybe not all of them stammer on about it in a blog, but I think we all go through the types of things that I share on here... which is why I am not embarrassed. I cannot apologize for my humanness. But I can embrace this life and share it.
I had a visit from an old friend this weekend and she flipped the ole 'life is short' cliche for me- "Life is long." She said, very matter-of-factly. And I must admit, I agree. Life is long; therefore we mustn't cheapen that experience by sprinting through it, we will wear ourselves out far before the 'finish line'. Equally notable, we cannot trudge along at a snail's pace so as not to disturb that image of perfection. Instead, take the time to drink in every drop AND enjoy every interaction... I have to remind myself of that constantly...I am where I need to be, and I will end up right where I am supposed to... I am not now and never will be a 'Jones', so why drive myself insane with the apples to oranges comparisons?
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