LaurieWrites

Your Choice Your Voice It Takes Me There.

So I'm walking down the street in DC yesterday, in totally the opposite direction from the National Press Building, although I didn't know that at the time. It was hot as my own personal hell, and I was wearing a dress and I was sweaty and having to go be in a room with people who didn't need to see me looking a literal hot mess.

A cab appeared. I flagged it down. I got in and began inappropriately disclosing information to the cabbie, as is my thinking-out-loud habit and my genetic programming courtesy of my mother.

"WOW I THOUGHT I WAS BARELY GOING TO MAKE IT!" I said, hyperbolically. "It is HOT!"

He looked at me in the rearview.

"OH, you are pregnant?!?"

"No. No, I'm not."

(Please note that the next ten minutes were conducted from him in heavily accented English and from me with an internal monologue of "it's totally okay that I'm discussing fat fetishes with a cab driver who thought I WAS EFFING PREGNANT, which I AM NOT, although it would be NICE to be since I'm OLD AND SINGLE AND CHILDLESS AND ALL AND ISN'T THAT A FINE ENOUGH TORTURE COCKTAIL, WITHOUT BEING MISTAKEN FOR BEING PREGNANT ON TOP OF THESE HORRIBLE CURSES???????" Just sayin'.)

"Oh, haha, I think you are pregnant because you say you can barely make it."

(Nice save. Try again.)

"No, I say I can't make it because...I am hot and out of breath. There are likely pregnant women who can run circles around me. I am just fat. And out of shape."

"OHHHHH, haha, I LIKE THE FAT WOMEN. My wife is fat!"

He giggled, honestly - I'd say it was joyful on some level.

"Really?" (Insert conflict here between nervousness that I am complicit in the actions of a man calling his wife fat, and my own sense of solidarity with this perhaps-imaginary-fat-wife-of-cabdriver whom I've never met.)

"OHHHHHHH (ed. he was really loud, sorry for going all Owen Meany on your asses.) she is SOO fat. (ed. My wife is sooo fat she sits AROUND THE HOUSE. Sorry again.) She is 280 pounds!"

(I begin using outside, oxymoronic voice.) "That is a LITTLE big. Is she okay with it? IS she healthy? Does she have trouble getting around in this heat too?"

WHAT? WHO AM I????

"She is a nurse! It is a myth! The myth that you are fat and lazy!"

PREACH IT DUDE. Oh Christ, where is my money? God I hope I can pay him after all of this nonsense and don't need to go wheezing off in search of provisions AND cash while he wastes away, all 120 pounds of him.

"IS A myth! She walks all day! She walks and walks! And the thin people, THEY are unhealthy!"

This really got me going.

"YEAH! Like, I don't even SMOKE anymore. I used to smoke! You can be thin and smoke! And be all SICK. I have to be on a diet to MAINTAIN my weight!"

"MY WIFE TOO! Yes. Your numbers. It is all your other numbers. If your BLOOD PRESSURE is GOOD..."

At this point the gospel choir from the "Like a Prayer" video busted out somewhere in the universe with "Your choice your voice can take me there!" and there was witnessing and praise from my several subconscious selves, me and this tiny little cab driver and his fat wife who I'd never met, but who I imagined I would soon, at a beautiful pastry-laden table.

"And your SUGAR! My sugar is FINE!" I interrupted, compelled by the power of the choir.

He continued.

"I have ALWAYS like the fat women. It does not matter to me, but people say to me, 'Why? Why do you like them?' And I say, 'I do not know.'

"Yeah, there are men who seem to prefer larger women. How long have you been married?"

"38 years! It is no problem for me. It is the FAT men who like the thin women, you see them? The big fat men with these little tiny women?"

"Um, yeah. Must admit I do see that sometimes. Do you think it's because they have money?"

I step into this man's car and I become prejudiced against everyone in my fat solidarity all of a sudden. What can I say? It was like a wrinkle in time.

More continuing. "They have SOMETHING, those men, of course they must have the money too. They have the something something. WHAT DOES IT MATTER? THE PERSON MAKE YOU HAPPY IN BED, THEY LOOK HOWEVER YOU LIKE THEM TO LOOK."

Should have seen that one coming maybe?

"I guess so, yes. Well, your wife is very lucky that you see her so positively, because in my experience many men don't. Or is that just because she could beat you up at this point?"

Look at the jolly fat jokes with a side of domestic violence all of a sudden! Nice! I have no idea what happens to me sometimes.

He thought that was hilarious.

"Haha, she could beat me up ONE time, but oh, she is disabled now, she is fine but another story for another time, not enough time, but you know we are all okay with whoever, whatever we like."

Yes, I hope so. And I'm not sure what I said when I got out of the cab, since cab arrivals are times for my synapses to collide in a frenzy of making sure I have my camera and my wallet and my keys and to figure out how many dollars I let him keep from a twenty, which more or less prevents any other rational thought.

I do remember thanking him for making me laugh, because he totally did, and too many people don't. Right or wrong, I have to admit that although validation from random strangers really doesn't factor into my daily bread, it was kind of cool that fat was where it was at in his cab.

*I don't disclose my weight just because I don't, but if you've arrived here for the first time or haven't ever seen me, it should be noted that I am not and have not been since the age of 10 a small girl, and in fact have recently reached a weight that for me is a personal high. I'm cool with it on lots of levels, and don't take any political stance on fat acceptance other than believing that whatever's healthy and comfortable for you, that's what you should do and be and handle. I'm a reporter at the moment, so forgive me my need for background. ;)

I am.

Have I said lately that I love Heather?

Laurie, you're a badassmotherfucka. Say it with me now, "I, Laurie White, am a BADASSMOTHAFUCKA and I will not be intimidated by little weenies with no social skills."

You totally need a friend like this, I swear.

Solutions.

Me: I am not liking this at all. Not at all. Do you know what I need? I just need something really great to happen, right now.
Lauren: Do you want me to kiss you?
Me: You realize I'm blogging that.

Sorrow is a Dan

Professor: For this assignment you'll produce three images that really reflect your college experience

Dan (to me): So for you that's Def Leppard!

Me: Shut up, Dan.

The man in front of me in line at Barnes & Noble on Christmas Eve had a tower of books, dvds and games in his arms, probably about 20 items, stacked really awkwardly and in imminent danger of toppling over.

The boy behind me whispered in my ear, "That's either for one pretty spectacular kid, or a lot of just average ones. Wonder which one it is?"

Pumpkin Party

Dan: I have no reason to blog.
Me: Everyone has a reason to blog.
Lauren: I just don't know why anyone would care about what I have to say. Like maybe three people?
Me: That works for me.
Dan: Like what do you blog about? Starbucks?
Me: Why in the hell would I blog about Starbucks? Oh...wait, now the pumpkin spice latte, THAT I've blogged about.
Dan: See, blogging about Starbucks. I can't blog.

I'd actually been thinking that it was time to blog about Starbucks again, because I had the best such latte I've  ever had the other day. EVER. And while driving along and sucking it down like I do, I may have spontaneously said aloud "It's like a party in my mouth." Not that I'd ever tell him that.

Your tomatoes suck

I love grocery shopping. I can't believe it's been more than two years since I first spoke in depth about just how much.

Since I just moved recently, I've been familiarizing myself with my environment, to include a new grocery store. To be honest, I don't like the grocery store near me at all, and it's one of the things that depresses me most about the new spot.(I won't go into the other things. Yet. Denial is still functioning at a really super high level.) It's a mostly shitty store. I judge them solely on produce - first impressions and all - and also, if you can't be bothered to make me a nice salad, I am simply not dealing with you. And since I've moved into a neighborhood that isn't at all wealthy, in fact skewing towards the lower end of the economic scale (at least until you hit the new, overpriced, "urban redevelopment" condos on the other side of the Route), I've noticed that the powers that be must think NO ONE HERE CARES ABOUT DECENT LETTUCE.  It's environmental injustice at its worst, I think, because I've also moved into a really integrated town that skews more African American and Hispanic. I'm one of the few pushing-40 (oh dear GOD it's finally happening.) white women in the store, most of the time. Sometimes the only.

I'm also prone to deep conversations with clerks. And clearly, as my new favorite one indicated, I'm in the very small demographic of people who would actually buy certain unpalatable products on the shelves of her store. Herewith, an inaccurate transcription of my absolute very favorite conversation in recent recorded memory. It makes up for every person who's ever grunted "I'm fine" when I ask them how they're doing.

Me: Hello.
Her (I shamefully do not remember her name but next time I will.): Hey.
(Scan. Scan. Scan. Scan. Stopping at pickled tomatoes.)
Her: Uh, what are these?
Me: Pickled tomatoes. 
Her: These are gross.
Me: No, not really. They're actually really good.
Her: I really don't think so. Look at them. They don't even look right. I thought they was potatoes. They don't even LOOK like tomatoes anymore. They look...WRONG.
Me: Er, actually, I was pretty happy to see you carried them at all. You can normally only get them in delis.
Her (Staring at me like this was a "What's Happenin'" episode, and she was Shirley and I was Rerun): Delis. Hmph. You like pickled things?
Me: Yeah, I do. I like...sour things. Olives. pickles. Gross tomatoes.
Her: I just think that's a bad idea. Like, where did you even FIND those?
Me: Back in the refrigerated section...with the other...umm....refrigerated pickles.
Her: Wow, I've just...I don't know. I've never seen them in here in my LIFE.
Me:Are you a picky eater?
Her: Nah. I just don't like things that look like that.
Me: Well you know, you've really made me think about this, but I think I'm going to have to take my chances. And I'll think about you every time I eat one of my delicious tomatoes.
Her: What?
Man Behind Me, to me: She didn't get it.

I laughed the whole way home.

Yelp

I've been yelping quite a bit lately. I get to opine about the places I go and give them ratings and talk smack about them if I feel like it, which is actually turning out to be a great writing exercise if I have other work to do that I can't quite get jump-started.

The site is really helpful if you want to check out public opinion on anything from restaurants and bars to dry cleaners and beauty salons. We used it a lot on our last trip to New York, to confirm or deny locations and to get a general vibe for what people thought about restaurants, specifically. It's good if you're traveling somewhere new. I know I'll use it like crazy for Chicago places.

Go ahead - yelp yourself. It's liberating.

Dinner With S

"Hello"

S: Hi, meet my friend Laurie
Waiter: Hello, my name is (GarbleGarbleGarble)
Me: Oh...hello, nice to meet you.
Waiter: And what is your name?
Me: Laurie
Waiter: What?
Me: Laurie. Laurie.

He leaves.

S: Don't you think it's hysterical that a guy named Merlin couldn't say LAURIE?

"Accessorizing"

S: I have a gun in my house now. What has my life become?
Me: You have a gun?
S: Well, D has a gun. But I think I want one. Did you know they have pink guns?
Me: No, I was not aware of that.
S: A pink one. A little pink gun. I mean, I wouldn't want to fire it or anything - just look at it, and maybe hold it, like "Oh my God, I have a cute pink gun."
Me: Maybe put those little crystal stickers on it?
S: Yeah, like the ones that go on cell phones!
Me: You'd have to buy it at the Wal-mart, though, to make it really legit.
S: I KNOW. We bought ammo! Ammo at Wal-mart.
Me: Very Washington County.

Interview This

The lovely and talented Stacy Campbell interviewed me today as part of her general effort to interview the world, or at least as we know it on the interweb. Be sure to check out her website. She is also one of the high priestesses of Indiebloggers, which is worth a look as well.

I answered, because she asks really good questions, and also because someone finally CARED, I'm telling you. They CARED to construct questions just for me. I did name names and share the not-very-sordid details and did not once, you'll notice, mention any reality television show, which is pretty good for me these days. I did, however, refer her to my publicist on all matters related to Jake Gyllenhaal. There are some things I'm just not ready to share. Stay tuned to People.com for that. I'm the one who looks a lot like Reese Witherspoon these days.

Here we go. I only droned on a little bit. Try to pay attention.

1. I notice you love, as I do, the Gary Jules Donnie Darko/Tears for Fears cover. It’s fantastic and, like you, I can listen to it over and over and over again. You say it’s a sad song and I totally agree. Why do you listen to it over and over? Me, I like sad music. What kinds of music are you most drawn to and why?

Ah, "Mad World." Why? Hmmm. I probably listen to it over and over like I re-read old letters that told me they loved me. Just your garden variety sucker. Haha. No, really - in this case, it's the piano, and the violin (I'm especially a sucker for strings.) Also his hypnotic repetition and deceptively simple rhyme scheme...I love songs that are like short stories (I'm a frustrated fiction writer - just can't do it) and this one qualifies.

"And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had. I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take. When people run in circles, it's a very, very mad world" Gah! So appropriate for my reaction to recent world events, now that I see it in print.

I am drawn to so much music it's sort of ridiculous. One of the greatest regrets of my life is that I wasn't handed an instrument as a small child, because my efforts to learn them in adulthood have been unsuccessful so far. Piano and guitar lessons were soooo humbling. Drums are next. I have a lot of energy to burn and quite good rhythm so maybe that'll work. In the meantime, I'm a fangirl. I have so many favorites. I grew up listening to 70s rock and Motown courtesy of my parents, which morphed into country (I'd probably still cross the street to hug George Strait, and I still love bluegrass especially.) High school was Duran Duran and 80s new wave that turned into hair bands and metal (Metallica is still one of the best live music memories of my life, and the 1988 Monsters of Rock tour one of my best memories period.) Led Zeppelin is...well, very important stuff.

In college I listened to Tracy Chapman's first cd over and over and discovered songwriting. Embraced grunge - loved Soundgarden, and feel that "Temple of the Dog" is one of the best complete cds ever recorded. I'm sort of a hybrid singer/songwriter plus rock and roll/r&b girl, with a deep love for the holy trinity of Al Green, Marvin Gaye and Aretha Franklin. I love the Dixie Chicks - "Taking the Long Way" was arguably the best cd of 2006. I'm currently addicted to Patty Griffin, listen to Prince consistently, and see the Indigo Girls and Cowboy Junkies just about every time they come to town. Hem is a great band and so is Girlyman, a folk-pop group out of Brooklyn (currently). Essentially I like stuff that makes me happy to be alive and listening, and that doesn't suck. I admire and can easily identify instrumental talent, and I like to sing along. Loudly.

2. You just found $20 on the ground and no one is around who could possibly have lost it or could claim it. How do you spend it? Assume you have to buy something for yourself, no more than $20, but you have to spend the entire bill.

If I found 20 bucks I'd honestly probably spend a little more on lunch. Isn't that sad? But lunch is very important. I love it. It's my most communal meal of the day generally and I hate to blow my cash (Although I do. So consistently!!!!) so finding some would ease the pain a little bit. I might also feel compelled to go to Whole Foods and buy some olives and mozzarella. Sweet Lord I love Whole Foods olives and mozzarella. Know how they buried the Pharaohs with provisions for the journey? Those would be mine. If it wasn't food - like if I was feeling okay about lunch - it'd be a book or a cd. I'll know I've made it - if indeed I do - when I can buy either of those things without thinking twice. Full price. Hardcover. Whatever. That would be so excellent.

3. You love reading, and I think we have similar taste in books so I love seeing what’s in your reading list. What were your favorite books as a child? Try to refrain from mentioning the “old standby” books (Cat in the Hat, etc.) and focus on the not-so-mentioned.

My favorite book that I first remember was a hardcover version of "Heidi" that I made my poor grandmother read to me over and over and over. And I remember being obsessed with the part where Heidi's grandfather made toasted cheese for breakfast, because frankly I was quite jealous of little Heidi, 'cause dude - toasted cheese for breakfast. The illustration was such that I kind of thought in my kiddie state that I'd like to eat it right off the page. If he'd made lunch I'd likely have lost my tiny little mind. (All those people who think I've grown up are wrongwrongwrong.)

I still have a copy of that Richard Scarry "I Smell Christmas" book where you could "scratch and sniff" the orange and the pine tree and the gingerbread man. I loved "The Poky Little Puppy" - Golden Book kind of stuff. A rebel from day one, I eschewed "Cat in the Hat" for Seuss's lesser-known "Yertle the Turtle", cementing my interest early on in loveable villains done in by their own pride - and also burping turtles. I read those ridiculous "Bobbsey Twins" books obsessively. They were brown-covered hardbacks and involved two sets of twins who were siblings - Bert and Nan (oh, the insufferable Bert and tight-assed Nan. Killing me, man.) and Flossie and Freddie. Seriously. They were always getting into some scrape or the other, on Blueberry Island, or at the "seashore" or in the country. Mommy and Daddy Bobbsey should have grounded their asses years before. I was also a big Nancy Drew fan - and swore to God I should have been born in South Dakota because Laura Ingalls and I totally would have been friends. You know, if I hadn't been struck dead by the prairie fever. Yes. Geek. All doubts should be removed at this point.

4. You write the animal/pet column for BlogHer, which pretty much means that I will adore you for a lifetime. What do you love most about animals and why? Be specific. What is one of your favorite animal/pet memories of all time?

I love animals in a general sense because we really don't know what they're thinking. It's a great mystery how we coexist (although sometimes humans handle our end poorly) and so many animals are just so beautiful. I love dogs, specifically - because they generally don't know malice and have an infinite capacity to forgive. My dog is the only breathing creature who has always been happy to see me (besides my grandma - and we're getting to that one, yes.)

Favorite memory is hard because I have so many. Going to pick Punkin up from his first home qualifies, I guess - although I had no idea I was going to get him. I had my sights set on another dog - a female, because you know, girl power and all. But he kept jumping up in my lap and climbing up over my leg when I was sitting on the floor, to the point that I just felt like a jerk for rejecting him, because obviously he felt he was the one for me. This is the only time this reaction to that particular tactic has turned out for the good. A second runner up is when I had two dogs - Sunshine died in 2000 - and we lived in Ohio. I'd come home from work and play the White Album, and when "Ob-la-di-ob-la-da" came on, we'd all dance in the dining room (where there was no other furniture.) I can also see them both in my mind, standing up on their back legs looking out the window of the huge truck that I drove us home to Maryland from Ohio in. They looked out most of the way. So cute.

5. You once wrote and submitted to IB a touching post about Valentine’s Day and your Grandma. (She sounds like a beautiful person, by the way.) Other than Grandma, who are your role models and why? In what ways do you strive to be like them?

Thanks for recognizing that relationship. It's been really important to me, obviously, for my whole life.

I have so many role models for different things, but I'll choose what comes to the top of my heart now. I admire people who live with integrity and intention, who are smart and funny and kind. I also admire a great capacity for growth and reinvention - I love Elton John, you know?

My grandfather deserves equal time for his faith and absolute decency. My friend Karen has shown me how to be hopeful and to honor my heart. My friend Audrey - how to show grace and kindness, no matter what, and to be a positive force in the world. Denise for making me pay attention to what's right for me and goading me to stand up for it. My old friend Mike for persistence, and belief in and pursuit of one's best self. My friends Marcus and Carmen for loyalty and strength of character and purpose. Older adults like my friend Bernice who live healthy, productive lives (working full-time and getting an honorary degree at 84 - seriously.)

All the writers and artists I know who consistently dare to put themselves out there in spite of risk and lack of any immediate reward. Women like Margaret Bourke-White and Dorothea Lange who were professional photographers when it was a lot more difficult to break in. Journalists like Molly Ivins and Maureen Dowd who speak truth to power. Anyone who looks out for the good of others and for their community.

And of course my mom for her successful efforts to sustain a family and meaningful career, and her devotion to all of us, and my dad for his dedication to maintaining his commitments even when he didn't necessarily want to and when it wasn't easy at all. My parents are quite remarkable people.

Thanks, Stacy. That was fun. And now I don't have to talk about myself for at least two days, which is a relief.