In The Name of Love

I'll be honest with you, Valentine's Day is not my favorite holiday. Now, before you stop reading or start prepping for the "typical" Single Girl Valentine's Day Rant - I know you're expecting it, don't try and pretend you're not - let me explain.

I love love. I do. I really, really do. I readily, and without any hesitation, tell people in my life how much I love them, how much they mean to me in any and all capacities, and I sign off most written text with an "xo" because I really, truly, have a genuine love for a lot of people in my life - I mean, that's why they're in it in the first place, right? Who keeps people around that they don't care for? Not me. So, the "xo." Basically, if I was talking to them in person, I'd totally give them a hug and a kiss. Cheek-kiss, I mean; I'm no floozy. Ahem. Others may beg to differ. Pay them no mind.

Anyway.

Last night, I was kind of in a funk. I was feeling overly contemplative, stuck at work, and stuck in life. Like I said... overly contemplative. Anyway, so, last night, when in this funk - do you know what I wanted most in the whole wide world? A hug. A giant, arms-wrapped-around-me, catch-my-breath-in-my-throat, eyes-closed, gut-squishing hug. You know the kind. The kind of hug that makes you feel safe. Loved. The kind of hug that trades sadness for the force of someone's arms wrapped clear around you - their fingertips touching on the other side.


I'm a hugger. What can I say? I got it from my mom. She is one of the most affectionate, loving people I know, and I grew up with hugs. And, now, much like a hand running over and over again through my hair and over my cheek makes me calm down and fall asleep, hugging makes me feel okay when I feel not-so-okay. And, on a rainy day I crave popcorn - 'cause that's what my mom always did. These are the traditions that I was brought up to appreciate. And, loving people was one of them.

So, what's my issue with Valentine's Day if I love love so much? Valid question. Allow me to explain.

I share love on the daily. I don't expect anything in return - except most people, when you say "I love you," don't not say anything back. Unless they're not nice people. And, if that's the case, I probably didn't say "I love you" in the first place. So. There you go.

So, what I don't love about this day is that you're supposed to say "I love you" to someone. The obligatory "I love you" is, for me, a lot of pressure for an emotion that's supposed to be organic, uncontrollable, and purely selfless. I mean, do you have a Valentine on Valentine's Day because you couldn't possibly, on any other day besides February 14th, have told this person that you love them? No. You have a Valentine on February 14th because corporate America tells you that that's the day you're supposed to love someone. That's the day that diamonds will mean more, roses will smell better, and chocolates will taste better because they come out of a heart-shaped box.

You Love on February 14th because it's "better" that way. In the name of red and pink and Hallmark and hearts and roses, you love someone.

Love me today, love me tomorrow, love me yesterday. I don't need a Valentine because my heart's exploding already. I'm the luckiest girl in the whole wide world. And, if you think about it - probably not even all that hard - I'm sure you'll realize that with every heartbeat today, tomorrow or the next day, you love someone and someone loves you. And that makes you the luckiest person in the whole wide world.

So, tell them today, and tell them every day. And feel your heart get all cozy and your smile get wider and wider and just be happy.

I don't love Valentine's Day because it's a dictated, obligatory celebration of something I think should be respected every day. Not just one.

With Love, From MySpace to Yours

I get a lot of shit email. A lot. So much so, that I barely check one of the accounts anymore, and have stopped giving it out as part of my personal contact information because I'd prefer it to just become the place where crap email goes to die - much like the recycling bin in my front hallway.

Prior to my moving in, the unclaimed blue bin in the front hall was established as the sole receptacle for any and all junk mail/fliers that arrive in the mail. Unlike my email junk, however, that recycling bin is overflowing and taking up an awful lot of physical space. And, the more crap that goes in it, the heavier it gets and the less likely it is that someone will move it to the curb. It's much, much easier to ignore the crap in my now defunct hotmail account than it is to ignore the possibility that the front hallway in my building will someday be awash with recycling bin overflow made up of supermarket coupons, Price Rite fliers, and Chinese food take out menus.

This morning, I could not sleep. I was awake at five in the morning, trolling the internet for entertaining bullshit that I could scroll through without much effort. I had every intention of finding something that would bore me and put me back to sleep. So, naturally, I navigated my way to my junk email account; what better way to waste time and very, very little intellectual energy, right? Lest I wake my already restless brain up any further.

In the midst of scanning, I was intrigued by this subject: "Ideas For An Amazing Valentine's Day!" and the sender: MySpace. Okay, "intrigued" might be a strong word. I guess I could say, I looked at it and thought, "Oh, yes please, Gods of Comedy; MySpace, tell me how to have an Amazing Valentine's Day."

Now, please allow the fact that I'm getting MySpace emails to this account indicate further just how antiquated this particular account is.

Anyway, the marketing geniuses at MySpace provided me with some vital stats for the upcoming V-Day celebrations. They wanted me to know where to eat, "locally," with MySweetheart on V-Day. (Their recommendation? That I head to Providence for an intimate dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse, which was graded at an A+ by MySpace users.) Also, they'd like me to know what music I should listen to on MyPlaylist for V-Day, and, in case I find myself lost and lonely on the big day, where to find hot, available singles in my area... On MySpace. Duh.

I don't really keep up with radio-friendly music. It just doesn't do it for me. But, these MySpace music recommendations surely have piqued my interested as to just what the hell is going on in the land of Top Forty music these days.

1. "Two is Better Than One," Boys Like Girls
I read this like two girls are better than one. If that is what this group of heteros mean, then I'm impressed it made it to the number one spot for V-Day. Not every couple is that open-minded.
2. "Baby," Justin Bieber
Not the most inventive song title, and it doesn't give much away. Maybe he has a baby, wants a baby, wants to practice making them, I don't know. All I know is that I have no fucking clue how to say his last name except that it's conjuring up the image of the elephant Babar in my head. (Cue childhood memory music...)
3. "Your Love is My Drug," Ke$ha
Uumm. What's with the dollar sign? Has she had to change her password in the UMassDartmouth COIN system so many times that she is far too literate in combining letters of upper and lower case with at least one symbol? Probably not, because if she were, she'd know to have also included a numeral.
4. "Kiss Me Through the Phone," Soulja Boy
I am assuming this is a phone sex reference? If so, isn't that so 2009? I thought it was all about the sexting? Oh, and I had to check that I was spelling Soulja's name right like, three times. And I'm a fairly literate person.
5. "I'm Yours," Jason Mraz
Besides granting us "Words With Friends" (pseudo Scrabble iPhone app that allows proper nouns) obsessives a way of using an M, R, and Z in one word, joining the ranks of Brett Favre in the land of Last Names I Have to Think Way Too Much About Before I Say Them Out Loud, and providing every couple getting married in 2009 with their wedding song, what has Jason Mraz actually done?

Well, thanks, MySpace.

I will have an amazing Valentine's Day this year, and it's all thanks to you.

Gracias

So, I don't want to get all in-depth and emotional with this post, as I have a tendency to do at times, but I just wanted to say that part of the reason why I love Thanksgiving is because people say "thanks," when they normally don't, or wouldn't, or don't have time to, or whatever the reason may be.

That being said, I just want to mention how thankful I am to have the friends I have.

They are numerous, and they are awesome.

I am so lucky, and so thankful for old friends, new friends, same-age friends, older friends, younger friends, boy friends, girl friends, musically-inclined friends, local friends, faraway friends, married friends, mom & dad friends, business-y friends, school friends, fun friends, crazy friends, sober friends, drunk friends, work friends, family friends... the list goes on and on and on.

And on.

I'm going to give myself some serious credit for picking the coolest people ever to hang around with.

So, be thankful for something this week. Or, be thankful for more than just one thing, be thankful every day. If you're not, well, then, you suck.

And, put a couple bucks in the Salvation Army bucket; then when the person ringing the bell says "Thank you, have a happy holiday," I promise you'll get that warm feeling in your chest that makes your step lighter, and your stresses a little fainter, if only for a moment.

Happy Turkey Day.

Sister Theresa

I recently discovered, by taking a Myers Briggs test, that I am an ENFP. The many extraneous details of ENFP don't really matter in this particular situation, except for one. I learned that, as part of my personality, I look for connections in random occurrences, find commonalities and search for meaning in local, or even global, situations that seem connected in some way.

The staggering thing is, I do that. A lot. Even if I don't know what the connections mean, I still recognize them, ponder over them, and wonder about a day when their meaning will become clear to me. The story that I'm about to share is one of those situations.
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My step-dad has twelve brothers and sisters; they were born in the 1930s/1940s and their parents were old-school Portuguese.

Their boys were encouraged to quit school, ceasing their educational careers, immediately after high school - or, maybe even sooner, I'm not sure - so that they could work, help out the family, pay for things. The girls were encouraged to get married so that they could leave the house, be dependent upon someone else for food on the table. It was all in the name of providing, of surviving.

They used to have a large family Christmas party every year, Uncle Joe would dress up as Santa, take pictures with the kids and hand out presents. They had to rent a hall there were so many people; brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, children, grandchildren, great grandchildren. I could never remember everyone.

Everyone's name, if you were one of the thirteen children referring to a sibling, was Brother (Insert Brother's Name Here) or Sister (Insert Sister's Name Here) as if they were nuns and... well, and, whatever the male equivalent is for "nun," I have no idea.

So, four years ago Sister Theresa came to Thanksgiving at my house. She doesn't have a husband, she doesn't have children, so, she chooses one of the thirteen to be thankful with every November. That particular year, it was our family.

When she arrived, she handed me a gift: a Christmas cactus. I love Christmas cacti. It could not have been a more perfectly chosen present.

Over the years, I came to realize that the Christmas cactus was actually two individual plants potted together and because of this, they would bloom at separate times. Which, is kind of nice because then I always got two blooms, at two different times, and they were two different colors. Red and pink.

It's been four years since I've seen Sister Theresa, the last time was at that Thanksgiving dinner. This month, I received word that this year Sister Theresa is going to come to my Thanksgiving. I can't help but think it's odd - and, I do mean odd in a good way - that both times I have had Thanksgiving dinner at my house, Sister Theresa has joined us.

Perhaps even more strikingly odd is that, as Thanksgiving nears, the buds on the Christmas cactus that Sister Theresa gave me are all plump and ripe with color, about to blossom, for the first time, simultaneously. For the first time, ever, the flowers on both plants will bloom at the same time, during my second Thanksgiving with Sister Theresa.

Is it just my ENFP-ness, or isn't that kind of cool?

Spoken Word

This weekend is Summerfest in Downtown. People from all over the place flood the streets for folk music, food, craft beer, art, authors, museums, galleries... you name it - you can find it this weekend.

The restaurant I've worked in now for - gasp - six years, is right in the midst of the craziness.

By the end of today I will have worked nearly thirty hours in three days. Funny things start happening at the end of these long shifts...

Me: Clearing plates from customer's table. How was everything tonight?
Customer: Oh... soooo good. Delicious.
Me: Excellent. Would you like anything else tonight?
Customer: Rubbing belly due to fullness. A stretcher!
Me: Only if we can share.
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Me: How are you, folks today?
Customer: Very well, thanks.
Me: Great. Would you like something to drink?
Customer: Are your eyes real?
Me: Gesturing to my face. Yes. Yes, it's all real. Something to drink?
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Me: Can I help you sir?
Guy Waiting at the Bar: Can I have a glass of wine to go?
Me: Um. No. I'm sorry...
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Me: Would you like something to drink?
Customer: Gestures to her nine-year-old. She'll have a virgin martini.
Me: A virgin martini?
Customer: Yes. Something with no alcohol in it.
Me: A virgin daiquiri? A virgin colada?
Customer: A martini. Without any alcohol, though. She can't have one with alcohol.
Me: Exasperated, to the little girl. Do you like strawberries or pineapples better?
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Oh yeah. And, happy Fourth of July.

Mama

It's Mother's Day. The day that used to mean that my sister and I struggled through a pancake or muffin recipe and "surprised" my mother with breakfast in bed. (I think two kids banging pots and pans for forty five minutes kind of gave it away before we showed up with the tray.) The day that used to mean that I'd fashion a card or - one in year particular - a Mother's Day Coupon Book. (Items in the book included watching my sister "free of charge" and cleaning out her car.)

This year, like the past few, it means I call my mother and we talk on the phone, or it means that she's comes down to visit and I take her out to brunch. We do grown up things now. Maybe because I grew up or maybe because she's so far away. It's not as easy as it once was.

But it's still pretty easy.

The hard part is knowing that there are friends of mine who celebrate this Mother's Day without their mother.

Four of my friends go without her. One day after another, time passes and and remarkably they get stronger with each one. Some have had more time than others. But still, I'm sure for each of them, today is especially hard.

I feel lucky. Not simply because I have the mom that I have. (Though she is great.) But more so because I've seen something in my friends that makes me humbled to have her. And I'm happy to know my friends who are strong, incredible people with so much loss in their hearts today, that I can't help but feel it in my own.

Today I called my mother and when she didn't answer, I left a message. In a little while, I will go to work, put on an apron and serve brunch, lunch and dinner to a multitude of mothers, grandmothers, and children until later tonight when my shift is over and I'm finally able to sit down and relax and then I'll pick up the phone to see if she returned my call.

She will have.

My thoughts will be with those who are still waiting.

k.