anti-thanksgiving

We have this awesome tradition in my family: Anti-Thanksgiving. It's a party we throw every year, the day after Thanksgiving at my parents' house. My mother and I spend all day cooking the most spectacular meal (this year: herb-brined turkey, sausage stuffing, creamy macaroni and cheese, green beans with toasted almonds, roasted Brussels sprouts with pancetta and Gorgonzola, cranberry-jalapeno relish, crusty dinner rolls, pumpkin pie and brown sugar-banana spring rolls), my brother mixes martinis and my dad pours the wine (mostly from Cline Cellars this year). Some friends bring culinary contributions (this year I loved the horseradish-cranberry relish and coconut bars). Close friends pile into the kitchen, munching on Vietnamese spring rolls, cheese, and crackers while the turkey finishes roasting. We catch up (having not seen some of our friends since the last Anti-Thanksgiving), and the new additions are introduced. When we all sit down, it is a raucous, rowdy, hilarious meal full of toasts (some serious, some not so much) and jokes (some appropriate, most not).

This year, I had a moment, just before we sat down to eat. I was double-fisted with the end of one of Jeremy's custom martinis in one hand and a glass of Cline Zinfandel, sweetly poured by my father, in the other. I listened as one of my oldest friends in the world talked to one of my newest friends. I watched as my mother laughed hysterically at something my brother's girlfriend said, and my parents' neighbor conspiratorially giggled with one of my brother's buddies. As I took in the warm room, so full of love and laughter and good smells, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

We call it Anti-Thanksgiving, but I've never felt so thankful.

chicken pox

I used to develop crushes like they were chicken pox--a little brief exposure and suddenly I was pink, feverish and breaking out.

A decently-cute guy (or sometimes not even) who paid enough attention to me (or sometimes not at all) and I wasn't just interested, I was smitten.

As you can probably guess, that didn't work out all that well.

After awhile I realized that it wasn't the boys I was so addicted to...it was that feeling. That feeling that gets stirred up in the first few moments of talking to someone you want to get to know. That feeling of hoping he'll call you (and subsequently, that feeling of obsessively checking his Facebook page, using imaginary psychic powers to will him to call you).

It was all very tiring, so a few months ago I decided to stop.

I went out, but I stuck with my friends instead of flirting with strangers. I ignored meaningful eye contact on public transportation. I went dancing, but I remained partnerless-by-choice. And the feeling stopped happening.

So now I'm kind of at a crossroads. I think I'm ready to seek out the feeling again...but I am hoping it'll be different. My friend Brooke tells me "if you always do what you always did, you'll always get what you always got," and if I know one thing, it's that what I got before isn't what I want now. Not that I'm even sure of what I do want now.

I just know that I don't want chicken pox.

legs and all

I really like the way my legs look in a miniskirt. It feels kind of weird to come out and say it, but it's true.

My legs aren't what you might call conventionally beautiful. They're short and a little bit pudgy with calves that are strong from running but not particularly elegant-looking, and knees that wrinkle in the way that knees do. On a day-to-day basis I hardly notice them. I mean, whatever, they're just legs.

But a few weeks ago while getting ready to go out for the night, I found an old denim miniskirt in the back of my closet. I wasn't sure if it still fit but sure enough it did. I put it on with a thin t-shirt and a pair of boots and suddenly I felt transformed. My regular walk evolved into a powerful strut and I stood up straighter than usual.

My interactions were different that night too. I perceived myself as beautiful and self-assured and assumed others did as well. Of course it's possible that they didn't, but I didn't really care.

The interconnectedness of inner beauty and outer beauty is a pretty cool thing.

stand-up guy

Today I went with a friend to the pharmacy at Walgreens to pick up her medication. There was an issue with her prescription so we had to wait while it was resolved.

I sat down while she stood in line. An older man, probably about seventy-five years old, sat down next to me.

"I got my Cialis. You want to see it?"

"No thanks."

"I gotta crush it up and take it with something hot."

"OK."

"Just because I'm slowing down doesn't mean I don't still get my sex thing on."

"Of course."

Miraculously, at this moment my friend's name was called, she paid and we left. As awkward as the conversation was, there's something refreshing about someone completely willing to discuss his need for erectile dysfunction medication with a total stranger.