Tofu Soup

Yes, I know I've been delinquent with the 'Wrimo blogging---I'll get to that in a minute.

But first I want to talk about soup. Tofu vegetable soup, to be exact. From China King.

I've been sick the past few days. Feeling crappy and tired and run down due to the addition of a second job at a bookstore(Yes, the discount is SWEET!) and a much more active social life than I've been accustomed to the past few months.

I've been thinking about this soup. It has huge chunks of tofu and its all garlicky and it comes with little fried noodles to sprinkle on top. Three dollars and fifty five cents of heaven.
I decided to pick some up on the way to work, reasoning that I wanted it and it would make me feel better.

I went in and placed my order. Soup and an order of rangoon(crab-free as I love the aminals).
Sat around for about ten minutes, then headed out to the car.
I was in the car starting to munch on the rangoon when it hit me: I could afford this soup.

You see, last year at this time I was in a pretty shitty place.
Working for an agency that jacked around my hours and treated me badly, broke, living paycheck to paycheck.
Feeling really crappy about my life, my future, myself.
Grasping at anything and anyone that would make me feel better about my life.

As one friend stated, "Your mouth is smiling but your eyes are sad".

I was so miserable I didn't even have the strength to identify what was going wrong with my life.

Things happened. I got assaulted and spent time in the hospital taking a long hard look at my life. I switched jobs. I started working on my teaching certificate.
I ended a friendship that had been causing me stress and that maybe wasn't the healthiest.
I started yoga, helped grow a garden.
I've made new friends, joined new groups, started stretching my boundaries.

I've learned to go places by myself again, without feeling the need to have someone there constantly.
I've done a lot of home maintenance work that I was scared to do before.
I've learned to express my wants and needs.


What does this have to do with soup?

I can afford it now. Not only can I afford to go out and buy Tofu Vegetable soup, I can afford to do it twice a month if I choose.
I can pay my bills and have a bit of money left over.
I can put a bit of money in savings and give money to organizations that I support.
I'm not rich or even on the middle class spectrum, but I'm doing better than I have been for a while.

My life has changed so much in a year that I can hardly believe it.

I look back at the girl I was a year ago, and the woman I am today almost doesn't recognize her.

My life has changed immensely.
I'd like to say it was all hard work or all luck, but the truth is that it was a combination of both.
And I'm stronger for it.

A year ago I couldn't buy soup without putting off paying my bills; today I can buy food whenever I need it.
A year ago I was scared of the world and of the future; today I am eagerly looking ahead to spreading my wings and flying.
A year ago I had lost my sense of self worth; today I look in the mirror and see a beautiful woman with a bright future.

Today my mouth is smiling...and so are my eyes.

House Mouse

A Haiku:

I am very sad
My house has a little mouse
the cat won't kill it


So. There is a mouse in my house.
A baby mouse, but still a mouse.

We discovered it Saturday afternoon, while Anna and I were sitting on the couch discussing Life.
We heard a noise. We saw The Beast running after something.
I thought the cat was being silly. Anna immediately recognized what was happening.
I screamed and jumped up on the couch. Anna(the brave one)went to investigate.

She caught it. She held it in her mouth.
(I'm talking about The Beast. Anna isn't really the type to catch small animals in her mouth.)
She carried it around. She batted it around a while.

Then she LET IT GO. And didn't chase it.
It ran into the bedroom. I screamed even more hysterically.
Anna got the broom and went into the bedroom to try to capture it. It ran under the bed.
I jumped on top of the bed and screamed. Anna kept saying,"I can't catch it with you screaming in my ear!".
I calmed down. (Not really)

Anna cleared everything off the floor(sewing machine, fabric box) and using the broom managed to get the mouse back into the dining room.

Then she built a barrier around my door so that it couldn't get back into the bedroom.
(Now THAT is a good friend.)

The Beast caught it again. Carried it around a few minutes, then let it go.

Ten minutes later, she repeated the pattern.

After watching this several more times, Anna and I decided that either The Beast had no intention of killing it or the cat and the mouse were actually in a consensual S/M relationship and they were waiting for us to leave so that they could get to the good stuff.

We discussed ways to get rid of the mouse. I got hysterical again.

Anna offered to stay longer if I didn't feel as if I could handle being alone in the house with the mouse.

Being a mature woman of 31, I stated that I was sure I could handle it.

She left, and I immediately left as well.
Went to walgreens and bought some supersonic pest repellers!(TM)

Anna swore up and down they would make the mouse go away.
I plugged them in. I went to meet a new girl for a drink.
Came home drunk(somewhat embarrassingly so) and immediately passed out.

When I woke up this morning, I assumed that the supersonic pest repellers!(TM) would have caused the mouse to magically disappear overnight.

Not so.

It ran across the kitchen while I was making scrambled tofu.

I screamed and ran.
(Thankfully I had the foresight to wear thigh high wool socks with my sexy nightgown in the event that a mouse would still be in the house)

I ran back into the bedroom, frantically got dressed, and went to meet my housesittees for lunch.


And haven't been back since.

Thank goodness I'm housesitting this week....hopefully the mouse will be gone by Friday when I go back home.

cutting through the wire

Several months ago, a good friend and I were talking about relationships, both romantic and platonic.
She said to me, "Phoenix, after you left C you covered your heart with steel wool, duck taped over it, and surrounded it all with barbed wire. You protect your heart very well by not letting anyone in....but you don't let anyone in."

I've been thinking about her words a lot the past few months. I think she's right.

I've always prided myself on being tough. Strong and unemotional.
(I'm a farm kid. Thats how we operate.)

After I left C I didn't cry for almost three years. Couldn't cry if I tried.
Finally, a friend helped me cry again and I spent the next six months crying and letting it all out.

And I've spent the last four months thinking about what my friend said to me.

About how it makes me nervous when my friends cry.
About how scared I am to ask for help when I need it because I'm afraid of being vulnerable.
About the women I've dated, and how I bail out when things have the possibility of getting serious.



At Fest this year I felt very open. I shared things and emotions with people that I would normally keep tucked away inside.

It felt good. It felt really good, actually.

One of my festie friends remarked that she always felt so good about herself at Fest, and I responded that the reason Fest was so great was that we weren't afraid to show our authentic selves there.

And then I realized that while I show many parts of myself outside of Fest, I only show my emotions while on The Land.

I think its time for that to change.

I've cut through the wire, and I'm slowly unwrapping the duck tape as I type.

So if you get a card or letter or an email in the next few weeks telling you exactly how much you mean to me, don't be surprised.

One Week In

I'm one week into the vegan cleanse and I feel amazing!!

I have so much energy.
I'm sleeping better.
My eyes and skin look clearer.
My allergy issues have basically disappeared.

I just feel good all around.

I cannot believe I waited so long for this.

Mmmmm...tofu

Soooo...... I went on my little Dairy-Until-I-Hurt eating binge this weekend.
Ice cream, fudge pie, pizza, cheese cubes, ice cream cake, bicuits with milk gravy, more cheese cubes....

Needless to say, I didn't feel very good by the time I made it to yoga Sunday afternoon.

However. For the first time in a long time(like since birth) I have no urge to see or consume dairy in any form.

The thought of cheese makes me nauseous.
The thought of ice cream makes me cringe.
Milk in general looks like sludge to me. Chalky, pasty sludge.

This is probably a good thing.

Vegan-Licious

So as many of you know, I've been a full vegetarian for about a year, and a pescetarian for about two years before that.

However.
I recently started having what one might euphemistically call 'issues' with dairy foods.
Not just the usual pain and bloating associated with lactose intolerance, but also chest and back pain.

Please let it be known that I love the cheese. Its pretty much the reason I wake up some days, especially if I have a wedge of that brie with mushrooms in the fridge.
(I love that brie so much I've eaten it before even when i knew it was probably bad. Yes, its that good.)

However. At some point(much later than I'd like to admit) I decided that enough was enough and that I needed to cut back on the dairy.
So I went out and bought some vegan cheese.

It looked good on the shelf.

It looked good in the wrapper.

It looked good sitting in my fridge, this faux 'cheez' that was designed to save me from a life without bean and cheese burritos and cheese sammiches.

It looked good nestled against the eggs and salsa and tucked nicely into a tortilla.

However. It tasted like nothing I've ever had before. And not in a good way.

Thankfully, I was able to stop myself from vomiting on the front porch and instead managed to spit it out and simply gag a few times.

I put the remnants of it back on the plate and left it on the porch for the squirrels.

After some intense discussion with a friend who also had dairy 'issues', i decided to go cheese free for the three weeks before Fest.

Week one was rough. I'm accustomed to using the cheese as both a flavor enhancer and an effective source of protein, so it was a real shock for me.
I was terrified i wouldn't get enough protein, so I meticulously wrote down everything I ate.
I couldn't figure out how to make most of my recipes without cheese, so I ended up having to try new recipes I'd long since relegated to the I'll-try-it-on-a-rainy-day-if-I-have-nothing-better-to-do section of my recipe book.

Week two was better. I had figured out that I wasn't going to wither up and die of protein deprivation so I was able to make it several days on grains and veggies and fruit alone.

However. Week three I discovered I felt great. My aches and pains were gone, my skin was clearer, and I no longer had any stomach issues.

I left for fest. I bought a bunch of Lactaid as insurance, knowing that many of the fest meals had cheese. I figured that a small amount wouldn't hurt, especially if I popped a Lactaid beforehand.

I had already decided I was going to skip the cheese tasting---I like a bit of pain but I knew even if I was armed with mountains of Lactaid I wasn't able to take on the temptation of having piles of cheese laid out before me.
The first three days, I got the dairy free option at the meals.

Nutloaf was, surprisingly enough, even better without the cheese.
Chickpea feta salad was just as delicious without the feta.
Even the Waldorf Salad was better without the blue cheese.

Then came Morrocan stew night.
I've long hated the Morrocan stew for a variety of reasons, the main one being that it was served with a kale dish that lured me in every year with its promise of sesame seeds, then caused me to gag upon the first bite that reminded me of exactly the reasons I hated kale.
Also served with Morrocan stew was Banana Yogurt Raita, which I considered to be the only somewhat palatable part of the meal.
Maxine Dangerous refers to this meal as the trifecta of evil, and after my Banana Yogurt Raita experience this year I'm inclined to agree. But I digress.

However. I was hungry and didn't want to walk back to my tent just to have plain granola.
So I had the Morrocan stew. It wasn't as bad as I had remembered. Salt helped.
I had two bites of kale. Still pretty wretched, but I figured it wouldn't kill me.

Then I popped a Lactaid(I feel about 80 years old typing that phrase, btw) and ate a few spoonfuls of the delectable banana yogurt raita.
Then I went to have a cigarette with Trixie.

I was halfway through the cigarette when it hit.
I've never run to the Janes so quickly in my life. I'm pretty sure I broke some records for speed.

After this debacle(still a little shaky and sore), I ran into an acquaintance who also had dairy 'issues'(and was ironically enough, responsible for the cheese tasting that had been haunting my dairy fantasies for the past week).
She very slowly explained to me, much as one would explain to the village idiot, that my days of dairy were over. Told me that if the pain started within ten minutes, it was a dairy allergy and not lactose intolerance, and that no amount of Lactaid would cure it.

I cried a little.
I wrote in my journal.
I cursed the bodily defect that renders me unable to enjoy the dairy like everyone else in the world seems to be doing.
I vowed to try another brand of the vegan cheese.

I went without cheese the rest of the week.

I arrived at home. I went on the front porch.
The remnants of the vegan cheese were still there. The squirrels had meticulously picked away the bits of tortilla and eaten them, leaving only the vegan cheese behind.

I figured if the squirrels were afraid of it, it was a clear cut sign that I shouldn't even attempt it again.

So I went through my pantry. Got rid of anything containing dairy.
Requested a copy of Veganomicon at the library and went through all of my cookbooks to find quick and easy recipes that I could make.

Tomorrow night I'm going to a slumber party, where I will have my last hurrah wth dairy in the form of pizza.
Monday I'm starting an experimental six weeks of veganism.
If all goes well, it will probably end up being a permanent change in my life.

Wish me luck.

overwhelmed

I just got back from fest a few hours ago.

I haven't quite absorbed everything but i will say that it was the best fest i've ever had.

Instead I'm going to talk about what i've been doing the past few hours.

I drove. A lot.
Finally got home. Hugged and kissed the cat profusely because during Fest there was a miscommunication and I spent an entire night thinking she was dead.
(I'm reallyreallyreallyreally glad she isn't.)

Took a shower. Tried to clean the dirt off my feet and failed.

Cleaned the ring of dirt around my neck and got grossed out when i realized that a woman was biting that same dirty neck(Its inevitable at fest. The dirty neck. Not the biting.) a few nights ago.

Got dressed for work and petted the kitteh some more.

Then I looked out of my living room window at the street.
Walked out to the porch and surveyed the street.
Walked outside my apartment, locked the door and checked to make sure it was locked.
Walked downstairs, opened the building door and surveyed the street again.
Walked to my car and locked the door behind me.

And then i realized that less than 24 hours before i had been walking down the streets at Fest in a slightly altered state wearing nothing but ruffly butt panties and a bra.

And that i had been and felt completely safe doing so.

And now I'm back to feeling unsafe in the world.
Sigh.

Its that time.

I leave for Fest in five hours.
I'm so excited I can barely sit still long enough to write this blog post....

Last year's fest was rough, to put it mildly. Lots of drama caused by other people, lots of sadness caused by several festies getting injured on the way there, lots of sitting around crying and smoking until my lungs hurt.
The fest energy was off, and it affected all of us.

Nobody had a good fest last year. Nobody. If they say they did, they're lying or crazy.

When we pulled out of the parking lot last year, I looked behind me and thought, "Well, this is it. I am NEVER coming back".

Then I started talking to other festies and realized I wasn't the only one who had a bad Fest.

We were all collectively miserable.

And I started thinking about my approach to fest, and how it changes my time there.

My virgin year I didn't know what to expect, and everything was so fresh and new and it overwhelmed me. I ended up in The Womb(forgot to drink enough water) and vowed that I would come back every year afterwards.

My second year I came with the hopes of meeting some fantastic women, and I did.

My third year was my best year ever. I went with no expectations other than having a good time. And I did.

Last year I didn't know what to expect.
I anticipated drama from a disgruntled and insecure Festie, and I got it.
I expected to figure out where my life was going(I had just quit a horrendous job) and I did after a lot of crying, talking, and stress.

This year I'm trying the nothing approach.
No expectations, no hopes, no dreams.
Just going to go and enjoy the ride.

My plan this year is that I have no plan.

I'll let you know how it works out.

Testing, testing....

I scheduled my tests for my teaching certification.
If I pass(which I assume I will, obviously) I will be a full fledged teacher by December of this year.

I intend to be a teacher by December, and to have a teaching job by next fall.
(The above is an intention I set the other night; I repeat it daily.)

Its kind of weird to take a 'test' to teach; I taught for quite some time without a license or certificate of any kind.

Its also kind of weird to be a 'student' again.

I hated school when I was a kid. Hated college when I was a young adult.

I got bored. Bored with teachers and professors who just wanted me to repeat their words back to them, bored with other students who seemed to take forever to grasp simple concepts.
I skipped classes. Refused to study. Never turned in homework.

Somehow, I still passed.


Its a little bit different with this. I can't bullshit my way into good grades and can't turn in special projects to bring my grade up at the end of the semester.
Just a lot of memorization and regurgitation.

It bores the hell out of me. But I'm doing it anyways, because it means I can go back to teaching.

And then I'll be the one giving the tests.

Tomatoes in the morning

So this summer I've been co-gardening with a good friend of mine.
She did all of the early summer work with the knowledge that I would be taking care of the garden through most of July and August when she was out of town.


The other day I was coming home from my morning walk and when i checked on our little plots, I realized that TWO of the tomatoes had turned red overnight!
They've been green for what seemed like forever, so this bright blush of color was unexpected and exhilarating.

I took a picture with my fancy new phone and emailed it to her.
She emailed back and informed me that the tomatoes on her porch had also turned red overnight so that i should pick these and use them.

I picked them.
I walked home, cradling them in my arms.
I sat on the porch and looked at them for a while. And thought about how a ten cent package of seed, plus hours of labor, had yielded this triumphant moment.

WE GREW TOMATOES!!!

I went inside and started the percolator, listening to the coffee drip.
I toasted an english muffin and spread it with cream cheese.
I took out my favorite knife and sliced a thick slice of fresh warm tomato.
I cooked an egg over medium.
I slid the egg and the tomato onto the english muffin, poured myself a cup of coffee, and took it all outside.

I sat down, took a sip, then a bite.
And found bliss.

And thought about the meaning of life, and how the greatest pleasures I've found have always been the simplest ones.

Sitting on my porch laughing with friends. Walking through the park and watching the squirrels chase each other up the trees. Eating bread fresh out of the oven.

And I thought about how lucky I am to have all of these things in my life.

29 DAYS UNTIL FEST!!!

Thats all.

29 long long l-o-n-g days..........

So much to do, so many outfits to plan, so much packing and re-packing.

29 days.

I lost my pants.

I lost my pants. My favorite black pants.
They fitted tight around my booty, and flared slightly past my thighs. Cuffed at the bottom.

I have no fucking idea what happened to them.
No idea.

I've searched my apartment over and over.
Called everyone whose home I frequent to ask if I had, by chance, left them there.
(Then realized that I go OVER to people's houses without pants on, not LEAVE people's houses without pants on. I am a lady, after all.)

The only explanation is that they blew away when I was drying them on the front porch.
I do this frequently. Dryers wreak havoc on clothes, especially ninety dollar dress pants.


So they're gone.

The pants I wore weekly when I was teaching.
The pants i put away for my little foray into the super-fun-and-informal- job-where-I-didn't-have-to-dress-up(that ruined about eight months of my life).
The pants I brought out, dusted off, and started wearing again when I found a job that actually paid a living wage.
The pants whose cuffs I fixed with superglue not two weeks ago.

Gone.


Last week I returned some clothing to a dear friend who informed me, "Oh, wow, I've been looking for this! I have four pieces of cloothing I just haven't been able to find."

At the time, I thought, "How does one lose clothing?"

Now I know.

Insight

So.....after six months of hideous depression and crying and hating my life and being afraid that i was losing my mind, I realized something.

The issue was not the horrible winter weather.
The issue was not my lack of substantial income.
The issue was not my romantic/sex life, which had been confusing and difficult as of late.

The issue was that i hated my job.
Not my job in general, but the field that I was in.

I care about the disabled. I really do. And I love my clients.
I just don't want to spend the next twenty years of my life working with them.

And I started thinking about when I was happy. And I realized that happiest I've ever been was when i was teaching.
And then I thought that maybe I just liked it because I liked teaching sex ed.

Because, let's face it, getting paid to talk about sex all day is a pretty sweet gig.

And then I dug deeper into myself. And cried some more.
And I realized that I missed teaching.

And then I realized that my Aunt B was right---I belong in a classroom.

I always have.
I tutored and taught Sunday school(shocking, i know) when I was younger.
I worked at a summer camp, teaching kids about hygiene when I was older.
And every job I've ever enjoyed has involved educating others in some way.

I decided to go back and get my teaching certificate.
I've been working on it for the past month.
Its hard. Its scary.
I feel like I've gotten dumber over the years and I regret(but only slightly) the drugs and alcohol that have made me this way.



The odd thing is this: Almost everyone in my life has told me they were waiting for me to figure it out and get my certificate.

My former supervisor(whom I taught under) told me she always felt I should be a teacher and that she was praying I'd make the decision to go back to school and get my regular certification.

My parents(who would rather burn money than share it with their lesbian daughter) gave me $100 for tuition.

The Egg Whisperer(who pushed me into applying for my certificate) told me she always felt I was too smart to just be content taking care of others for a living.

My friend TLA told me that HER MOTHER(whom I've never even met) was happy that I had made the decision to get my certificate.

I've had several friends tell me they had hoped I'd eventually realize that teaching was my destiny.
And on and on......




Its amazing how others can sometimes see what we cannot.