Tell You Thursday: Coffee Tastes Like Burning

I do not like coffee.  There. I said it.  And now you know.

Because of this, "I can never be the perfect woman." - Travis

I hate the taste and usually don't like the smell.  I hear the generic jokes each weekday morning about how I shouldn't talk to someone before their morning juice.  I mean there's a whole ceramic mug industry dedicated to informing me "No Coffee, No Talkie."  That's fine for some, just not me.

My dad drove big rig trucks and worked nights until he retired.  He would pack his lunch in a brown paper bag, using the same one for weeks.  For all the years I can remember, both he and the bag would come home smelling like coffee and stale cigarettes.

I would already be up when he'd get home Saturday morning, my blond head running & looking up to ask whether he brought me a present.  Often he had a stuffed plushie toys, or something that fell off a truck, other times he would be holding the lunch sack & company mug.  When the toy & trinkets were absent, for some reason my next choice was always to ask if I could try his coffee.  You know the persistence of a child who wants to try what ever the parents were doing or eating.  One day, he finally let me.

I guess I don't know what I expected, but man was it awful.  It was cold and bitter and taste burnt.  Every time I tried it, cold and bitter and burnt.  I could never figure out why anyone would drink such a thing.  I's not my cup of tea, but at least I understand why coffee will always and forever taste like burning to me.

One Saturday morning he came home and went to the kitchen instead of the dining room, where we usually did our weekly exchange.  I observed him pouring the cold pot of coffee into his mug (that I knew had been sitting there for days) and pop that baby into the microwave!  My young mind didn't know quite what that meant but my grown-up brain does!  What the... my dad would keep the SAME POT OF COFFEE FOR A WEEK by simply reheating in the zapper.  And we're not talking some gourmet junk, not that it would matter, but like Folgers in the red or brown can.

He will always scoff at the fancy coffee that costs multiple dollars and still doesn't think there's anything wrong with a microwaved cup.

blech.

Here are some silly things I found on the internet.  I don't have to love it, but I can still appreciate them.

 

You're Too Nice.

As kids we're taught to be nice, play nice, eat nice, act nice... be nice.  All for our brains to ultimately decide how we'll interact with others.  I am an only child so these behaviors were super easy when it was just me and my lonesome.  But as the world doth turn, I did need to learn this basic lesson.  Growing up, there were no kids my age in the neighborhood and my babysitter only had teenage kids, all who worked at the Round Table Pizza franchise the family owned.  This lead to most of my 0-10 years being spent around older people who would treat me like a little adult and give me quarters to play the sit-down Arkanoid machine.  Rad.  Because of this, I was always praised for being so well behaved and polite, and would cry if anyone said anything to the contrary.

Whether it's pre-wiring or learned manners, I am truly a thoughtful, compassionate, loyal and genuine person.  I don't think telling you is conceded but it does feel a little weird.  I also have a feisty bite sometimes behind the words I choose and will gladly curse when the situation calls.  Among these journal posts, I know you'll see all sides of me.  But seriously, I'm a fuckin' peach.

It wasn't until my early 20s that a boss told me the phrase "guys and girls can't be friends."  And it would take several years and several incidents before I believed it.  More on that in a second.  Whether it's wiring or my fabulous inability to do accents, people feel comfortable around me.  But I have time and time again been the victim of being told "I'm too nice," especially to guys.  And not in that 'I'm gonna be cutesy to get attention because I'm lacking in emotional support from the men in my life."  Nope, because that type of attention makes me apprehensive.  I do have a warming smile, can easily start a conversation and am curious by nature.  My guy "friends" used to far outnumber my girlfriends, since I found most girls to be needy, grabby, touchy, complainty, emotional and silly.  Guys hi-fived (in the most coolest way) instead of hugging hello/good-bye, they watched wrestling and drank whiskey with me.  I just didn't get girls because I didn't understand and frankly didn't want to.

But with greater life experience now unlocked, I imagine most birds fall victim to the nice syndrome.  Being kind to a gent for him to return flirty and expectant.  There are other times sure, but most notably it happened to me in high school, at a previous job (HR had to get involved in that one) and at one Star Trek convention.  And here is one such experience.

I had been making the trek (cricket. cricket.) to Las Vegas every year for the grand Star Trek mega-convention stationed at the LV Hilton.  Although by that time I wasn't going to hear the invited guests speak, it was mostly to hang out with the friends I'd made over the years.  It's August 2010 and a couple years after the Experience shut its doors.  It was Saturday night and I was lookin' good, feeling good' and I hadn't paid for a drink all weekend!  I strolled down to the grey and marginally futuristic bar I casually named the Sea Quest Bar many years prior.  Everyone was laughing, drinks were flowing, people conversating, hugging and giving off that sweet con vibe that only happens during those magical 3-5 calendar days, a few times per year.  I never had to make plans to meet because there would always be someone I knew hanging out.  Occasionally, even some convention guests would stop by, which was always cool, but it was never my focus.  Talking with everyone at a convention is still one of the favorite parts.

As the night went on, I'm standing near the bar and a friendly guy came up and started talking to me.  He seemed familiar but I couldn't place it at first.  I figured it was someone I'd seen around the con until he said his name.  And what happens in this continued story was a first for me.

Side note - I've debated whether to reveal who it is and I'm choosing not to.  It's not to rudely keep the mystery or to brag (name dropping is a gross sickness I do not suffer from) but I think this fella was trying to figure some serious life shit out at the time, and I happened to fall in the cross-hairs.  At least that's what I want to believe because it would help preserve that humanoids are people who make mistakes.  But for the vaguest of context, it's someone the Trek community would know but isn't an actor on any series.

Back to the conversation... Sometimes chatting with a fella who may be getting the wrong idea will come to a logical conclusion and I won't have to figure out the best way to let them down... Other times, it won't.  And this is when my brain weighs the options of which is more polite - casually drop in my dudes name, wait till the end if he asks me out, or say nothing at all.  During this con, I had secretly been married to Travis for three months, but no one knew, because of reasons.  So after a few hours of chatting with this guy, I really started to get nervous.  I've always felt it's such an awkward statement to announce.  "Hi, it's nice to meet you." "Hi, it's great to meet you too,"  "So, in case you want to end the conversation now, I'm involved with someone else.  You're free to go if that's all you were looking for."  It's really judgmental to assume everyone is interested in you, but then it's also crappy to hit it off with someone and then have a blow.

So this one fateful night I went for the second option - wait for him to ask me out.  This was now several hours in and a pretty good conversation overall.  It flowed - we laughed, found common interests and hobbies, but also became very serious and emotional at times (for him, which should have tipped me off) and in the end that dreaded question was asked.  "So do you want to get out of here?"  or some such.  shit.

I gave my most genuine sad face (because I truly always feel bad,) finish him rung in my head, and the fatality blow came by muttering fiance and several apologies.  From what I remember, he was bummed but appeared like he'd go on breathing.  He departed quickly but still wanted to be facebook friends so I figured shoot, maybe it wasn't so bad.  I said goodbyes to who ever still remained.  It was some obscene A.M. time and I needed water, food and a mental rest.  I think I went to the diner, went outside to see the sunrise and then headed to bed. 

Here's the photo I took from the parking structure:

About a month later in Los Angeles, we met up for a single lunch meal.  He knew of Travis, even asked about him, so to me there was nothing deceiving.  But the tone of the conversation was different than at the con - which can happen when you get away from that atmosphere.  But this lunch day he was Mr. Too Cool for School Guy, knowing this person/that person, sputtering obnoxious ideas and oh hey, do you and your man wanna swing with me...?  nah, that's cool.  What did I get myself into...  The feeling I wouldn't talk to him outside a social context was high and from what transpired after, he felt the same.

Nothing else to report until that years' Black Friday.   I had done a little shopping that morning and met up with Travis for breakfast at one of our favorite, small local eateries.  I was getting me some eggy enchiladas with extra tasty red sauce, having a super time when I uncharacteristically checked my facebook thingy.  I hardly ever do that when I'm with another human, but I don't know, I just did.  The app notified me of an unread message that after the words started registering, my face adopted a perplexed look.  Travis didn't say anything but I could feel it.  I'm sorta laughing, sorta confused, and in general I get the most bizarro, sad, odd message from this guy - OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE!

I can't do it justice by summarizing, so here is the entire facebook message:

I just shut down the phone and laughed, feeling like I always do after a guy gets the wrong impression.  Gee, sorry you were 'REALLY looking for it' and I totally hosed you.  pffft, whatever, he's messed up right now, not making any sense, and it's just sad.  I felt nothing.  But after Travis read the message he was really upset.  "No one is gonna talk to my wife that way, lots of expletives / shakes fist."  Being three month newlyweds, we were using wife and husband often, and it was really sweet & chivalrous for him to want to defend my honor.  But I needed to calm him down because the enchiladas I waited all morning for weren't gonna eat themselves.  I told him look, it was Thanksgiving yesterday, maybe he got super drunk and high in dealing with his family, and sent this ridiculous message.  But it's not worth it.  I'm not upset, I'm not going to talk to him again, look I blocked him on facebook, and this type of thing happens so don't waste the energy.  He was worked up plenty for months but did subside when there were no more incidents and the energy was focused elsewhere.

I saw him at next years' con, albeit from afar.  The few friends who had been privy to what went down really wanted him to apologize, but when I looked at him he appeared mentally defeated and broken.  I felt really sorry for him and if I did engage, wasn't sure how it'd go.  Several instances of phone tag later relayed the message he wanted to talk.  I agreed... I mean what was he gonna do.  He very quietly, but profusely and sincerely apologized.  WOAH - I wasn't expecting that!  He said he was going through a serious mental breakdown and he couldn't believe he had written those awful things to me.  He wanted me to know how sorry he was, that he had enjoyed our conversation and that he understood if we never spoke again - but he didn't want that message of how things were left.  I was still absorbing it all but I told him how I appreciated his gesture and I understood, and I'm sure I'd see him around (which has yet to happen again.)  Whether it was pure sincerity or another emotional transference,  it was nice to hear and I hope he became a happier and healthier person.  This is where my mind goes because I'm nice, I want to see the best in people, even if they have proven me wrong.

Learning from life is important so I'm more aware of how a misinterpreted exchange gets you bummer facebook messages.  But I'm also more aware that I am a fuckin' peach, worthy of having my honor defended.

word.

Tell You Thursday: Little Blue Dot

I used to have it and I still kinda want one.  It was petite and sexy and tough.  It hurt me, but I dug it...

In high school I pierced my labret. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN!!!

It was sophomore year maybe, so around 1996, and as per usual during the light hours of Saturday, hanging out with my friends.  Doing girly things like re-applying makeup and trying on different thrift store clothes.  Talking about which musician currently rotating on Alternative Nation we wish we could date.  I may have mentioned to the girls I wanted a piercing or I just started poking at my lips, but this chick said "Let's pierce it - I can do it!  I did my brothers' friends' girlfriend and it looked awesome," or some such.  Up until that day, only 4 holes had been placed upon my body - 2 in each ear.  But it was something I really wanted so I half-enthusiastically agreed.  Plus, many of my friends had piercings even though we were no where close to 18.  Although, this one tattoo shop in Lancaster didn't care how old you were, they kept the shop nasty dirty.  At least I had the sense to keep it in-house and minimize the risk of infection... geez that sounds so naive now but I fucking believed it then.  My main concern was how to hide the piercing from my parents, for at least a couple months, because by then it would be healed and they too could see the beauty.  geez again...

Sitting on the floor, covered in clothes, make-up, magazines, tobacco leavings, etc. I prepared for the pain by feeling the thickness of my lip, in order to size up how quickly we could do it.  I squeezed and contemplated while staring blankly at artwork we had drawn to help us fry*.  My girlfriends gave a pep talk of how cool I was.  That was sweet.  So how did we perform such a delicate act?  Apparently all you need is ice and a safety pin.  And honestly, I think the ice cube was just something we saw on TV.  oy vey, gives me the chills just thinking about it.  We found a nice one just lying on the floor and prepped it by burning the ends with a lighter.  Let's get.this.party.started.

Very scientifically, we figured where the middle of my lip was.  And by scientific, I mean we eyeballed it.  She numbed me using the melting ice, firmly grabbed the pin and gave it a go.  I was surprised it broke through the skin quite easily.  But I did flinch, so we stopped.  Hmm - now I had a safety pin stuck halfway in my lip, which neither felt or looked great.  I mustered up the courage and told her to finish the job.  zoinks!  It was finally free - I was pierced!  I felt so connected to my generation, like I could do anything - go anywhere - be part of the scene!!  I was ready to hitch a ride up to Seattle until I realized, I didn't have a flat-end piercing stud.  Crap.

In all our, ehem, meticulous planning, I didn't realize you needed a special type of jewelry to keep yourself clean and safe.  So the only thing we could do was stick a thin, regular cheapy cheap earring into the new throughway and hope it didn't scuff my gums too bad.  In the moments following, it was the first time I felt the weighted reality of 'not having money.'  I needed something I couldn't ask my parents for, yet had no source of income and no credit cards.  I didn't know what to do...

I guess I hung out till Sunday, called my mom and begged her to let me spend the night at my girlfriends' house.  I told her we had some major test on Monday and must devote our attention but honestly, I needed more time to figure out my debacle.  My high school didn't care about the piercing - not sure what they'd say now - but I suffered all day with that darn pokey thing and still had no clue how to make this last.  At 2:20pm I headed to where my mom always parked, kept my head down low, and opened to door to disaster.

She immediately saw it (I didn't know my lower lip had been red all day) and started panicking about what i'd done to my body.  Note - why do parents always say that?  On one hand I get the parental rationale of going to the worst outcome.  "You're setting yourself up for regret," or "You've just squashed any chance of landing that high-paid executive job."  Pfft - these are old-school thoughts.  They said it to me then and when I got my tattoos.  Just like business is changing and all types of people work high-profile jobs, I kept telling them it doesn't change who I am as a person.

After a few hours debate between the drive home and in house, I conceded to remove the piercing.  I really didn't care my parents were frustrated, but what sealed it was no matter how what idea I came up with, the jewelry I needed wasn't in my future.  And the metal stick poking into my gums was really messing with me so out it came.  They didn't speak to me for a few days, which in hindsight was a shorter time than when I got my tattoos - that was a whole week of silence!!

There was never an infection and everything healed quickly.  The only physical evidence I still have, albeit fading, is a little blue dot.  I don't know why it was blue, but I'm sure it had something to do with the CHEAPY METAL and lighter fluid.  My body has migrated it slightly to the right.  That or we really did miss the mark... who knows.  I still check it out sometimes and reflect upon the whole story just outlaid before you.

What I miss most is what it represented.  I made a decision that had consequences, but I had done something just for me.  A first attempt to solidify my teenage self in the 90s.  I didn't realize it then but I never spent anytime understanding who I was.  I was this surface humanoid going through the motions of breathing and laughing and learning, but my guts were blank.  This has been something I still struggle with today, just not as often.  Thank you little blue dot.



* frying is what you do on Acid.  I felt it important to include, not to brag, but because much of my 90s (and probably the same to many other wonderful people) revolved around messy bedrooms and this very unique state.  It was my youth and my 90s and it's important.