epiphany at Chevron

Last night I was filling up my gas tank, sitting in my car, and watching a homeless man standing by the convience store entrance. This particular homeless fellow looks really homeless. He is super tan, has a matted beard, really ill-fitting (probably because he is so skinny) and soiled clothes. His face looks like he is 100 years old when he might only be 50. I never question his status as a desperate and downtrodden man like I do some of the clean-cut, overweight beggars.

This particular man has asked me for change on several occasions. I have never obliged. Not once. I don't necessarily believe in supplying folks with a couple of dollars to get them through today. I believe in giving people the tools to dig themselves out of even the deepest holes, which, I can't do as I race past him downtown.

I watched this man reach into the trash can and pull out a Wendy's bag. He went through the bag, carefully unfolding the wadded up burger packaging and found nothing. I watched him squeeze the remnants of ketchup from two spent ketchup packages into his mouth. He scraped those packages with his teeth like he was eating an artichoke with lemon and butter.

As a lady approached the convience store entrance he looked ashamed and quickly tried to hide his found treasure in the trashcan, never taking his hands off it. When she was out of sight, he brought it out again and continued digging.

About this time, a car rolls up and is either broken down or out of gas. The homeless man looks up and sees this car about to roll backwards into a post. He waves his hands, drops his Wendy's bag and runs over to this car. He helps the driver of the car (who was wearing an Ed Hardy shirt) push the car out of harms way and into a parking space.

Now, I immeditely assumed that he would ask for money for his deed. He did not. He just smiled the most beautiful, sincere smile and walked away.

I watched LIFE on Discovery on Sunday. This was the episode with the chimpanzees. In a particulary moving scene, one chimpanzee lends his tool for craking nuts to a fellow chimp who doesn't have one. Chimpanzees not only comprehend sharing, they can be kind. I thought this was so sweet and so wonderful and blah blah. But, sitting my car last night I was not as kind as a chimpanzee.

This homeless man can not help himself but he can help others. He may be eating leftover kethcup under the ugly flourescent lights of a Chevron but he was proud to help someone. There are few moments that make you think of the universe differently and, for me, this was one of them.

I will try to be as kind as that chimpanzee. I will try and be as kind as that man who has nothing but kindness to give.

cleanliness is godliness

I equate a good dentist check up to being a good person. I feel a personal responsibility each night and every morning to Dr. Meeks. One of my top 5 worst nightmares would be for him to think I wasn't doing due diligence in my dental hygiene routine.

I had my 6 month check up today. It was my best check up EVER. No cavaties, no calculus (the gross hard stuff), and minimal plaque. Also, the hygienest said I was funny, which is a huge win for me.

Dr. Meeks said I had gorgeous teeth to match my gorgeous face. I'm aware he was bullshitting me. Regardless, I don't think I've ever been so pleased with myself. I think going to the dentist affirms (or denies) my ability to be a responsible adult human. Dr. Meeks sees me twice a year and I'm always at the top of my game when he does. He doesn't know that I stayed up until 3 am watching Lockup Raw and didn't get my work done. He doesn't know that I didn't work out last week. He doesn't know that I'm dreading going to work. He doesn't know that I am falling behind on personal obligations. He doesn't know that I am questioning whether or not I will ever be sure of anything.

He always sees me and my teeth at their best. And that's why I love going to the dentist. I can hide all the real stuff and just be praised for doing my due diligence. Which is all I really want anyway.

Is this insane? Probably. And I don't care.

thank heavens

I've been thinking a lot lately about gratitude. I don't necessarily mean the 'leap out of bed in the morning and thank God you are alive" kind of gratitude. I mean more like the "this taco is really good and I'm grateful" or the "no one sent me a rude email today and I'm grateful" kind of gratitude. So, even though it's not Thanksgiving, I thought I'd make a short list of everyday things that I am grateful for.

• Good coffee and cold half and half every morning
• A computer that works
• Being accepted into graduate school
• Having a car that is nice
• Having friends, colleagues, and family that are encouraging
• Not being married to the first idiot that came along
• Not having babies, yet
• Crushed ice at Sonic
• Tiger's Blood sno cones with cream
• The found ability to say what I mean to people, even if it hurts their feelings
• New apartment complete with courtyard and serenity fountain

So, these things are mostly lame. But, I've decided that loving and appreciating little things about where you are right now is important. I've decided that every day you wake up your life is a little more complex, a little more involved, than it was the day before. It will never be like it is right now again.

Enjoy.

Taco Bell has a new menu item...

I haven't had a craving for Taco Bell since I was 19 and drunk. (Sorry mom). Taco Bell would never be my whole meal of food choice. But, neither would Wendy's, and I wolfed down some chicken nuggets like it was my job in Dulles airport yesterday. The point of this being that people are forced to make choices they would not normally make in airports.

I'm going to hold onto that thought because if that isn't the case it means that a middle aged man wearing sweatpants and a Family Guy t-shirt (tucked into the sweatpants) normally orders the newest Taco Bell menu item. This new menu item may or may not exist, but, if it does I'm sure it's called "Satchel of Taco Bell". I'll explain.

On Wednesday I flew from Austin to Dallas and Dallas to Washington DC. The flight to DC was on a small jet, with 2 seats on either side of the aisle. My assigned seat was, naturally, next to the man described above. He weighed at least 300 pounds. His sweatpants where made of some sort of acrylic material and I could see his unshapen body shaking under them.

So, I sit down. I take out my book. I am limited to one half of my seat. We take off (on the second attempt mind you, something about at error message!!). As soon as we level out and I start to relax, it happens.

My seat mate takes out a large Taco Bell sack filled with Taco Bell menu items. He puts down his tray table and lays them out. Six taco supremes, two burritos, and a mexican pizza. I start to gag as soon as the smell hits my face. Now, because only 3 people read this blog you each know how transparent I can be when I don't like someone or something. You also know about my gag reflex. It is brutal. I'll let you each imagine me in this situation. I'm sure your imagination will do it better justice than my words.

The older man sitting across the aisle from me catches my eye and we both look at each other in disbelief of what is happening. We laugh together, to ourselves.

I'll spare you the intimate details of how long and how disgustingly this man ate his Taco Bell. Let's just say it took over an hour. Let's also just say that at one point a morsel of Grade D beef and a shred of lettuce fell on my pants. Both the flight attendant and the man across the aisle laughed. My seat mate says "Sorry" and a piece of crushed taco shell flies from his mouth and onto my shirt. I literally can't breathe.

Now, I should say, at no point was this man aware of my discomfort. He was too busy rocking out to Rascal Flatts and searching the now empty satchel for more Fire Sauce. He had no clue that what he was doing offends every single flying social norm, ever.

Approximately 56 minutes into the eating of the satchel full of Taco Bell, my seat mate begins to reach his limit. One taco to go. He's not going to make it. He offers the taco to me. The man across the aisle and his seat mate are laughing at me again. I decline.

It's over. Finally. The wrappers get wadded up, the crinkled, torn Fire Sauce packets disappear back into the satchel. The flight attendant takes the remains of my nightmare away. The man swills the last drops of his Diet Coke (hah!), slams his seat back, stretches, audibly burps (I gag), and falls asleep. Then, he begins to softly snore.

I settle into my book and Ipod and drown him out for the remainder of the flight.

So, I had to sit next to someone really annoying on a flight. That happens to people all the time, that's not remarkable. What is remarkable is that I didn't actually kill him. It is remarkable that I could laugh in the middle of total annoyance. It is remarkable that I was actually a little happy for this guy. I was happy that someone could enjoy food that much, live in their own world, and a little jealous that he knew about the "Satchel".

End!

favorite feeling

I've decided that my favorite feeling (besides taking off control top pantyhose and a bra thats too small after a 12 hour day) is relief. Or maybe those feelings are the same? Anyway, feeling relieved is pretty sweet.

Being relieved means that my worrying was for not, that I made the right decision, and that my gut instinct is my best friend.

So, today, when I get home and take off my annoying work clothes and settle into my couch for some reading time I will be physically relieved and mentally relieved. And it will be so good.

I'm not that important and neither is my job

It has been 17 days since I last posted. This is mostly because I've been really busy with work and my life and being generally important.

I came home to Louisiana for the weekend to hang out with my mom and relax. It was a good weekend. I ate shrimp and grits and drank iced tea. I drank coffee and ate etouffe. We talked shit, and talked good things, we laughed and slept. It was good, but, I was ready to get back to my life in Austin today.

As I drove out of the driveway I was already thinking about work, about emails, about things I forgot to do. I remembered I left clothes in the washer and my trash in my house. So, I had begun to prepare for malodorous mix of mold and rotting vegetables upon my arrival at 6500 Champion Grandview.

I looked down at my dashboard to set my odometer. 4 warning lights were on. Break system warning light, anti-lock brake system warning light, the little car sliding off the road light, and the traction warning light. I stop. I put on my hazards. I turn around.

I turn-off and turn back on the car (like a re-boot?) I play with the parking break. Mom and I decide I'm not going anywhere.

I read the manual. Words like "Stop Immediately and contact your dealer" let me know I've made the right decision to not drive 7 hours on questionable breaks.

I start to freak out about what all I'm going to have to miss tomorrow. As I begin frantically writing emails, I calm down. No one cares. I'm not a surgeon or a doctor. I'm not a lawyer. No one is going to jail because I can't be at work. No one's life is going to shut down. No one will be mad at me for making the safe decision.

I'm just not that important (thank God!). What is important is shrimp and grits with your mom and not dying in a fiery accident on I-35 because I had a meeting.

Perspective. Isn't it liberating?

24 going on 67

I'm 24. But, most of the time I might as well be 67. I like to drink coffee and read books. I like to go out to fancy restaurants, watch TV, and be asleep by 10:30. I like to wake up early and run/do yoga.

I 'went out' this weekend. You know, pregaming at someones apartment, paying $10 for parking downtown, going from bar to bar talking to dudes with gel in their hair and wearing Banana Republic shirts with the bottom button buttoned and an undershirt. I have never been so annoyed in my whole life.

I left, alone, and drove home at 11:30pm. I got a Frosty from Wendy's on the way home. That was my favorite part of the night.

So, as hard as I might try, I'm not like most other 24 year olds. I refuse to pay $10 for parking so that I can pay $6 for drinks so that I can talk to people I don't even like. I hate jacket conversation. I don't want to explain what I do to people looking past my shoulder at some 18 year old in Forever 21 gear.

I'm too old (biologically or otherwise) to pretend.