Say Hello to the Night

Driving to work in the dark. The dials of my car light my face from below. Not a flattering look, I'm certain. Turn on the radio. Free Beer and Hot Wings are on commercial. I switch to O & A.

They're talking about some woman on the train in Boston, I think. Who was getting her ass grabbed. She said something to the guy about it and he said, "I was reaching for the pole." When she got off the train, she found a "very special gift" dripping down the back of her leg.

People were calling in with their similar experiences. I wanted to call in with mine, but I'd gotten to the parking lot by then.

When I was...probably 14, I was at the movies. "The Lost Boys." With Kendra, the new girl from up the street. She was pretty, just moved to town, had mirrored squares with gold veining in her front foyer and knew how to make beds from working in a hotel. I think we were 14. Maybe 15. She must have been violating child labor laws somewhere.

We were at the older theater, if I remember right. Doesn't every town have that? There's the older, run down, kinda junky theater located in a strip mall or off by itself somewhere. And then there's the newer one with plush seats and cup holder armrests. But sometimes the times are better or the tickets are cheaper at the older theater, so you go there.

It was the middle of the day on a weekend, I think. There weren't many people in the theater. I'd been waiting for months for that movie. I loved that movie. I had the soundtrack. I got it on VHS. I could still quote every line, if absolutely necessary.

We went and sat in a side section. There were probably eight seats in the section, with an aisle on either side. The two of us sat down. The previews started. Someone came and sat about four seats over. A man.

The movie started. My crush on Jason Patric started. My obsession with vampires grew. I was enthralled.

Kendra elbowed me. Pointed at the guy down the row. "What the heck is he doing?" she asked.

I looked over. He had his hand in his pants.

"I dunno," I said, and looked back at the screen.

"I'm going to go get someone," she replied. She got up and left me there.

Honestly, I didn't even notice that he'd gotten up and left. I looked up and he was gone. Kendra and security eventually found him at the Fat Boys movie down the hall, sitting near two other girls. He beat feet out the front door and took off in a baby blue old-school Caddy.

We got two free tickets to the movies.

Honestly, I was never really bothered by the fact that this guy was yanking his crank at the theater. Yeah, it is kinda gross. And unhygenic. But he wasn't hurting anyone. He wasn't exposing himself. He was getting off doing this near young girls, but he wasn't hurting anyone.

I suppose an argument could be made that this could just be the first step of an escalating sex predator. But maybe it was some dude who couldn't get off any other way.

In the end, I was just ticked off that my movie got interrupted.

The Girl Who Loved Tampons

I vividly remember the first time I tried to use a tampon. It calls to mind one word: trauma. More trauma than when Carter and Lucy got stabbed in the ER. More trauma than when Josh got shot outside President Barlett's speech. More trauma than the creature created in New York this weekend while raking up a $41 million box office take.

Well, maybe not that much.

It was before a swim meet. I was to swim the butterfly and freestyle. Anchor the relay. I was fairly good--better at that than any other sport I ever engaged in. Competative, anyway.

But I'd gotten my period. One of the first, probably. Third or fourth time. Remember when they didn't seem to arrive with any sort of rhyme or reason? They'd just show up, like your weird aunt, visiting from out-of-town. Hi, honey! Howya been?! Don't mind me, I'm just stopping by for a few days. Might leave a mess, but you can clean up after me!

My mother tried to teach me to do this. Well, not teach. Coach. I don't know where the hell she bought what she bought. It resembled a small white bullet. Stuck on the end of a long wooden stick. I mean, this thing was to Playtex what Tussy is to Secret. Old school.

I wouldn't let her in the bathroom to help, as I was trying to maintain what dignity I could. So she was talking me through it through the door. While I was trying to read the directions on the fold out instruction pamphlet. You'd think they'd be able to better direct you how to deal with your own body. It is easier to put together a 500 piece Sauder desk. I know. I've done both.

It was awful. It hurt. Mostly because, I now know, I hadn't gotten it in the right place. And if you've never had one of those in "not the right place"...let me tell you, it hurts. It burns. It is like walking around with a piece of sandpaper...somewhere that isn't pleasant.

I didn't swim. I ruined my pink Polo shirt. Don't ask how. I don't want to talk about it.

I don't think I tried that again until maybe high school. I remember suffering with pads all through eighth grade, anyway. Wore sweatpants during gym, trying to square dance. I can't describe that discomfort.

It must have been high school when I started using tampons with any frequency. I don't know how I started. I don't know who mocked me enough to get over the fright of the first time. But thank God they did.

I never thought I loved them. I tolerated them. I varied from Tampax--for the biodegradability--to Playtex--for the ease. I even used OB when stuck in a pinch--gone to another country when I wasn't supposed to start for two more weeks.

Then I met a girl who didn't use them. Over the age of 25 and hadn't used a tampon. I couldn't fathom it. What could be standing in her way of complete and utter freedom? Fear? You'll get over it! Toxic Shock Syndrome? The only person I ever knew who got that got it because of her pregnancy! Genetically still a man? Okay, that one could be a problem.

I caught myself, one night, extolling the virtues of the tampon to this perfectly capable woman with her own decision-making powers. And I thought, "Jesus. Shut up." So I did.

But I am a convert. And a lifetime user. I'll never give them up now. Thank you, tampons. Thanks for making life a little more bearable.

Realities of Baby-Having

I saw "Juno" this weekend. And it was awesome. Funny, sweet, smart, witty and just generally excellent. And only a bit fantastical.

I caught a bit of an interview with Ellen Page, she who is Juno and who was also the scariest teenager ever in "Hard Candy." Seriously. Scariest. EVAH. Jill Rappaport, who is seriously looking rough these days, asked her about the policital implications of a teenager having a child and exploring the "OTHER OPTION" i.e. going under the knife. Or vacuum. Or both. Whatever.

Ellen's all: "Well, I think we did explore that option and that we dealt with it in a meaningful way." Something like that. I just kept laughing. Because neither she, nor good ol' Jill, would just come out and say the word: ABORTION!!!! Like saying it meant they'd had one. Or something.

I'm not slighting her at all and I think she gave the best answer she could. I mean, she can't be all Katherine Heigl and say how she doesn't understand the choices this girl made and that, in reality, that would never have happened. Which is basically what Heigl said about "Knocked Up." And I agree. That hot chick would never have that dude's baby. Unless he started Microsoft. Or Yahoo. I'd marry Mark Cuban, though. Since he started his company in an effort to listen to IU basketball on the 'net.

I appreciated Ellen's stand on the matter. And, let's face it, they're campaining for nominations. They can't risk the fallout of a star who doesn't believe in the message.

And, in watching this movie, I can see how this particular girl would make the particular choice to have a baby. And I honestly wish that more intelligent girls would make the same choice--to have the baby and give them to a deserving family. Because even intelligent girls make dumb choices every once in a while. Like sleeping with the guy who isn't ever going to get a job, is going to wander from restaurant to restaurant all the days of his life. Because he's born to run, baby. Which is great for his self-image of raging against the machine, but isn't so good when Friend of the Court starts calling for child support payments.

I do wish that they'd shown a bit more of the thought process, though. To go from the lone, sad, pathetic protester informing Juno that her baby has fingernails to sitting in the waiting room and getting annoyed with everyone to deciding to keep the baby? Doesn't necessarily fit that really smart girl and this really smart movie. I know she has to keep it to get to the story. But couldn't we get to a better reason for her to keep it?

Who Am I?

Who am I? What do I stand for? In what do I believe?

I believe in not giving away spoilers unless someone is forewarned. I believe in scheduling really good movies all day on cable channels, not a mediocre movie five times a day. I believe in the E! News ticker. I believe in snowy nights. I belive in the absolute silence of winter. I believe in the magic of spring. I believe in true love, in the benefits of chicken soup and ginger ale and I believe that crying at television commercials serves to prove you are actually human.

I also believe that someone can put together a plan for universal health care. I believe that people of different races and religions can live together. I believe that a gay couple can raise a child just as well as a heterosexual couple. And I believe that the same gay couple should have the right to marry or "join together" or have their relationship given legal status by their local, state and national government so they can experience all the joys and pains of such a relationship.

No, I am not a divorce attorney.

I believe that everyone is due a good education. I believe that public dollars should be invested in public schools. Not academies. Not parochial schools. That's up to the individual. I believe the middle class is getting priced out of higher education and someone needs to do something about it. I think that state governments need to keep pace with funding for colleges. I believe that kids shouldn't have to go to a community college, then a local college, then to the best state school for a semester or two in order to get sheepskin from the most presigious school in the state. I think they should start there, if they are good enough to get there!

I believe that a woman can be president. I believe a Catholic can be president again. I believe that someone's religion shouldn't define who they are, what they believe is good for the country or how they are going to vote. I believe in the separation of church and state and I vote for people who believe the same thing.

I believe women have the right to choose what they do with their bodies. I believe that the state should stay out of it. I believe the state should also stay out of my decision of whether or not I get to live or die and on what terms I choose to do it.

I believe in drug legalization. I also believe that a Democrat will never be able to propose such a thing. I believe only a Republican can advance such an argument, based on tax grounds, and get it passed.

I believe that I'm a great big bleeding-heart liberal. I believe that my father would roll over in his grave if he heard me say so. I also believe that, just because I believe these things, I'm not irresponsible. I believe we can do these things, think these things, and still be responsible members of society, looking for the best value for our dollar, holding people responsible for their actions and their expenditures. I believe we have to reinvest in our country in order to reap the benefits and I believe that's going to take time, money, effort and sacrifice. But I believe it can be done.

Who am I? I am what I believe.

And I also like horror movies and red wine. And getting caught in the rain.

Drakkar

I was at someone's house the other night, having drinks. They have a teenage stepson. He was going out with some friends and was busy getting ready in his basement room, then snuck out, avoiding the slightly drunk, very loud women hanging out in his kitchen.

After he left, the family cat came into the kitchen. I picked it up and put it in my lap, petting it. Then I looked at my friend, sitting next to me.

"Smell this cat," I said.

She looked at me. "Is this like the: I think this milk is spoiled--you smell it trick?"

"No. Tell me what you think this cat smells like," I said.

She leaned over and smelled the cat's fur. Far enough that she could jerk back if necessary. Close enough to get a whiff.

"Is that Drakkar?" she asked.

"That cat smells like high school, doesn't it?" I asked.

Later, we discovered that the cat had been in the teenager's bedroom when he was getting ready. When he came home (we were still drinking) and after we asked him whether he was smoking pot with his friends, we asked what kind of cologne he had on.

"Ax Body Spray."

"Ah," we both said, nodding knowingly.

While the scents may change, some things never will. Teenage boys and cologne: two things that should never be combined.

Vacation

I was going to write a long entry about my boss going on vacation. About how he just left on Friday. Which means he spent three days going through everything on his desk. Which means he was digging through piles of things I'd put there about four months ago, the time he last went on vaction.

About how I came to work on his last day to find piles of papers with sticky notes on them, with cryptic scrawls indicating what should be done on files with expired deadlines. With letters that had never been answered. With messages from people I don't know and have never spoken to.

About how I'm supposed to take care of this stuff that's been sitting ignored for months in the few days that he'll be gone and have finished product sitting on his desk when he gets back so he can review it or ignore it and it can sit on his desk for another three weeks, until he goes on another vacation.

About how I came into the office on a Saturday, thinking I was going to get cracking on all this stuff. How I wore crappy clothes so I could crawl around on the floor, making piles of the most important, vital, time-sensitive stuff to start working on. How I brought Diet Coke and fast food and music to keep me sated and kept company.

About how, instead of working, I started looking through the classifieds.

About how I got a call from a friend and decided, "Screw it, I'm going to the bar."

But then I thought better of writing that, since I wouldn't want anyone to think I didn't like my job.

Nostril-itis

I hate winter. Really. With every fiber of my being. Or fibre, if you prefer.

Snow is pretty to look at. For about a day. I can't deny the romance of walking through a snowy night, crystals crunching under your feet. The absolute silence blanketing the world. The hint of blue that lies over everything as the moon glances off the frozen crust of snow. Crawling into bed, warming the sheets while looking out a frosted window.

Then you have to get up and drive to work the next day. And that? Sucks.

I hate running the heater. I hate the fact that my gas bill increases times 7. I hate cleaning off my car. I hate salt ruining my shoes and getting on the back of my coat when I walk through parking lots. I hate that people still can't drive in snow. I hate the dirty snow that collects on the side of the road. And I hate getting out of bed in the morning.

I do like kicking that snowy, salty, grey crap off the wheel wells of my car, though. I do like that.

The heaters really bother me. Don't get me wrong. I like being warm. I have a space heater in my office because my secretary is going through "the change" and she could break out into a swimming sweat at any moment. So we all suffer.

But the dry air and the static electricity? I hate it. My lips are chapped, my hair flies everywhere, my nails chip. And my nose is a mess.

I have sinus problems. I have allergies. I blow my nose constantly. I have to use Puffs with Aloe...God bless Puffs. Because if I didn't? My nose would have been worn away by facial tissue years ago. My nose ran so much as a kid that I had a permanent line across it from where I'd push my hand up against my face to swipe my runny nose. Neat, huh?

In the winter, it gets worse by the hour. The heat sucks all the moisture out of the air. It isn't better outside, unless we're going through a periodic thaw. And who wants to be outside for that?

So my nose runs. But is also dried out. Oh, the dichotomy of it all.

The inside of my nose right now? You know how you put mud masks on your face? And it dries? And before you rinse it off, you smile to watch the mask crack? That's the inside of my nose right now.

I have two permanent problem areas that will not heal. In the left nostril, it is right where the nose meets the face, just inside the nasal canal there. If you put your finger juuuuuusssst under your nose? Then move it up? Just inside. Not to look like you're picking or anything. 'Cause you're not. But that's where it is. The starting of a fissure. Like hemerroids for the nose.

The other nostril has one, too. Longerstanding in nature, even. This one's on the septum. The thing that separates one nostril from the other. There's a line, a crevass, that has split open and seeths. Right there. Just inside the nostril.

Go ahead. Feel around in there. You know you want to.

So I'm reduced to sticking fingers full of vaseline up my nose in an effort to soften up the skin enough to reduce the pain. In order to endure the actual blowing of the nose. Because, right now, it hurts too much to blow. I'm reduced to sticking corners of kleenex up there, just to ensure that I can breathe.

Spring can't come fast enough.