Cook for 50 men. Screw 55

Many years ago by accident I encountered the book The Color Purple. I watched the movie on HBO as a very young adolescent. It was Christmas and the adults were playing cards. I snuck off to watch HBO hoping to catch a glimpse of something sexually explicit. Instead it was the middle of the movie version of The Color Purple. I watched absentmindedly. Clearly this movie was for adults, but not in the dirty way I was hoping for if I am being perfectly honest. My dad barged in sensing I was up to something I should not be doing. To my surprise he was well acquainted with the movie. He pronounced the movie a travesty and walked out. I found his observation curious. The movie seemed ok, from what I could understand.

Many years later I stumbled upon the book. I had not interest in it because by this time I had seen the film in its entirety and was fairly certain the book had little more to offer. I was living in Rome for the second time. The receptionist at my mother's job was just a few years older than me and we had become friends. She came to visit and brought her a dogeared, underlined copy. She asked if I had read it. I shrugged it off, but she insisted I should read it. She left the book behind after her visit. My cousin's name was written inside. I am not very close to that cousin and felt awkward about reading her book. After the first few chapters I could not put it down. I felt as if a secret passageway had opened in my head. Suddenly I had deeper access to the human experience. I understood love, God and womanhood as never before.

I had just fallen in love for the first time and had my heart broken. Badly. It was a difficult time. The Color Purple and the Tragic Kingdom CD got me through it. A few more years went by and Alice Walker published a novel about how the book became a movie, and the controversy surrounding the film. In certain African American male circles it was seen as anti-male. In other circles it was viewed as anti-woman. It was the eighties. Race and gender were different then perhaps. For me it was an enrichment of  what had become more than a book to me. It had become a map for how to find my way, my happiness.

Fast forward twenty years. The concept of The Color Purple has been knocking around in my head. For no specific reason I downloaded The Color Purple audiobook read by the author: Alice Walker. Listening to the author read a novel is in itself a special gift. The author's voice will tell you the things you need to know. It will answer the questions in your heart. I didn't know I still had questions, but I did and heard the answers. I am set to begin my fourth listening. I hear something new every time.

My mother is here with me while Ryan is off keeping our country safe. I started talking to her about the experience in a dreamlike state. I even coincidentally found it on my bookshelf this morning. We spoke about how my cousin's book came into my possession. She made the notations and underlines many years ago in her first and only reading of the novel. She opened it to a passage she had underlined: "She ran a roadhouse. Cook for fifty men. Screw fifty-five." I say it out loud and laugh. I tease her. I say, "Ha! You like that part the best huh?" She said no she didn't like it at all. I laugh some more. Push her to explain why she would underline something she didn't like. Finally she said she liked the sentence, but disapproved of it as a way to live. I say it is one of my favorite lines in the book. It is an audacious line. An absurdly bold thing to say to a parent, but I am grown. I say all sorts of bold things these days. This one got her good. She stared at me as if I suddenly transformed into Twilight Sparkle.

Twilight Sparkle

My Itty Bitty Titties Are Going to Save the World?

When I was a pre-pubescent girl I whispered a not-so-secret secret to my cousin who was also my first best friend. It was late at night and we laid face-to-face in the dark during one of our many sleepovers. Jean I whispered, "I don't think I will have big boobs. Like ever." She sat up in my darkened room quickly, "Yes, you will! You're boobs will come in. Don't worry." 

If you know me then you know those boobs never came "in", to my great dismay. As I approached my fortieth birthday friends began to warn me about my impending first mammogram. When I finally had the courage to listen to them I heard that my small B-cup breasts would be smashed sandwich style in a very threatening machine. 

My first mammogram did not disappoint. There was much to fear. It was terrible. I dreaded every appointment going forward. At my most recent mammogram the technician propositioned me. She told me a fact I already knew; I have dense breasts. I have known this for years. They are petite and dense. Mammograms have a hard time seeing into the tissue. The proposition was to join a medical research study, have an non invasive Automated SoftVue 3D Whole Breast Ultrasound exam and receive $50. Twenty at the first exam and thirty next year at the second.

I was tremendously excited because I watched a lot of Grey's Anatomy before Christina left and the show became too complicated to follow. Christina and Meredith were obsessed with medical research studies and clinical trials. The technician was offering a chance to be part of research study. My itty bitty titties are going to save the world? According to the technician and the literature my breasts are precisely the kind of boobs they need in the study. She promised it would not hurt and described it as a pleasant experience. I am always up for a good time and an adventure. This was a bit of both.

Just before the giggles began.

It was a great experience from start to finish. The technicians at the Imaging Center were skilled, professional and fun. I had to change out of my street clothes because this ultrasound involves lots of warm water. I was never so excited to have a medical exam. Why would I turn down a boob massage of warm water?After I undressed I placed my breasts one at a time in a warm puddle of water while the jelly suction cup under my breast began to apply suction and pressure. It was wider than a nursing baby's mouth, but the same power. Suddenly it felt good, a little too good perhaps. I tried to hold it but, I giggled and later guffawed uncontrollably. It was contagious and soon the technicians were laughing too. It was certainly ticklish, and I will take that sensation over the smashing of the mammogram any day.

Both the mammogram and the SoftVue came back normal. My cousin Jean was wrong about my boobs and a bunch of other stuff that came after puberty. But she was my first best friend, and our relationship set the stage for lots of other women in my life. I love my little community of female friends in my life now. Most of all I never imagined my itty bitty titties could make a difference in breast health for women someday.

The Revolution Is Being Televised

A few months ago I was Hunter's escort at a play date. His friends have a trampoline in their backyard, which is standard in these parts. No playdate is complete unless I am part of the fun. I climbed onto the trampoline enthusiastically. He squealed with glee at the sight of my bouncing. After a few minutes I noticed my panties were wet. Each jump forced out a bit of urine? Yes, that is a question. I was not quite sure it was pee because well I did not feel the urge to go. I reluctantly left the fun, peed and returned. To my utter shock more liquid came out each time I landed. I had no desire to pee. I cut the playdate short to go home to change my pants. At home my pants were wetter than I have ever experienced.

I discussed the events with a few of my female friends and they all agreed that they have similar experiences, but advised I should mention to my gynecologist. Today was that doctor visit. My doctor nodded knowingly as I whispered discreetly that I had trouble holding onto to my urine while on the neighbor's trampoline. She looked me straight in the eye. All her attention focused on me. She was taking this trampoline business seriously. I was not exactly prepared for this level of intensity. Boy did she have news for me:
I have a weak pelvic floor
Been peeing wrong
Kegels should not be quick bursts of squeezing
Physical therapy is an option (digital penetration is part of the deal)
Amazon sells the Apex for $249
And lastly, surgery is also an option

My head spun. That is a long list of options for something as frivolous as trampoline jumping. But it was more the idea that a part of my body is weak that worried me. My allergies leave me wilted most days. I just do not have the energy to be as active as I am wont to do. This has been a source of concern. I love pushing myself physically either through weight training or whatever of the moment martial arts catch my interest. My allergies have slowed me down a bit and I no longer feel strong in my body. THIS. MUST. CHANGE. The change might just need to begin in my vagina.

In addition to the aforementioned Apex and other comments on the list, I remembered the actress Regina Hall speaking about her Yoni egg. I laughed at her shenanigans. I boil eggs, peel eggs and eat eggs. What I do not do with eggs is hold them in my vagina for safekeeping. This will require a great deal more research, but I have to tell you I am intrigued at the promises of not just a stronger pelvic floor, but a super charged love life. Who among us ain't down for some supercharged lovemaking?

The Handmaid's Tale vs. The Bold Type

Two of my of the moment favorite shows: "The Handmaid's Tale" and "The Bold Type" (TBT). Both shows tightly focus on the female experience in our current time-ish.  If you have not heard by now that Margaret Atwood's 1980s novel The Handmaid's Tale has become a hit tv series on Hulu you have disengaged from pop culture in a very real way. And that is perfectly ok. The thing is this might be the appropriate time to reengage. Let me give you a hand.

In "The Handmaid's Tale" Peggy from Mad Men is now June/Offered in a dystopian, totalitarian America where the birth rate was so low and Americans so fearful that they allowed a religious cult to take over the government and institute ritualized sexual slavery to save us all from ourselves. That is the gist of this dark, often mysterious show. What's that now? Why would you want to watch that? Because it inexplicably timely. The characters accept each new assault on their freedom with some consternation, but never the anger and outrage one would expect. At least not until it is too late.

I watched the first season last summer binging episodes late at night and reading blogs that unpacked each of the dense storylines. I eagerly awaited season two as it moved into unchartered territory. The first season ended with the book. After the first few episodes of the second season I stopped watching. It was torture porn. Every week June/Offred was assaulted or demeaned in some unspeakable way. The other characters did not fare any better. I asked the ladies on the forum I follow closely to let me know if the second season turns the corner to something more positive.

That turn happened recently. The women gained some power and exercised it to make things better.

Then suddenly there was talk of June/Offred's unborn baby being taken from her and the forgotten horror of child separation as a practice in the fictional country came rushing back. But not just on the how. This was also happening here in this country, in this time. It was incredibly hard to watch the news and the show. Watching life imitate art should never be this painful. I think another hiatus is needed from the "Handmaid's Tale". It has become too hard especially in light of the separations at the border.

After feeling drained and oppressed I switched to TBT. It's a "Sex And the City" (SATC) millennial version with a lesbian, bi-racial character. This fixes many of the diversity issues we saw on our beloved SATC. In stark contrast to "The Handmaid's Tale" I feel uplifted after watching TBT. I love seeing these young women critically engaged in their careers and friendships with one another. There are no oppressive patriarchic systems crushing them out of existence. There are male characters in supporting roles, but the drama is not typically about them. There is even a female Editor-in-Chief who could easily be the villain, but she is not. She is finally the good boss that seeks to mentor these three young women as they navigate the cutthroat fashion magazine world in New York.

Of course these shows are not met to be competitors in any way. What they are though are places where modern women can see themselves. Where we can indulge in the fantasy of other realities for ourselves. This is harder to do in "The Handmaid's Tale" of course. I cannot help but see myself in the characters even, or perhaps especially, when they are in their darkest hour.

Chinese Foods Unknown

TEDx Savannah crew

About that TEDx Savannah event I so eagerly lobbied to be part of last month. It was AMAZING. As I hoped I had the opportunity to go behind the "curtain." It was a lot of work back there. It was two days of working closely with the team who produce the event, but also time well spent with the speakers. The talks were fascinating. There was the rocket scientist who loves to paint, the Gullah descendant who works in STEM and the college professor who studies scatological iconography. It was a 48 hours I won't soon forget.

I connected with some great folks. One of them is a Chinese graduate student. Do you love Chinese food as much as I do? Have you ever gone to a Chinese restaurant and saw a massive table with only Chinese people eating dishes that were clearly not on the menu and wondered WTF? I have experienced this phenomenon several times. I have spent a good portion of my waking hours and perhaps a few sleeping hours pondering how to gain access to the hidden menu. It seemed impossible until I met Carrie (I changed her name to protect her anonymity). She was drawn to me when she heard I was from New York. I was drawn to her when I saw her amazing t-zone highlight. We discussed make-up and the eight-step Korean skincare method before turning to food just before I stumbled upon an incredible secret.

Me: How long have you been in the US?
Carrie: One year and a half.
Me: Are you wearing make up or is that your actual skin?
Carrie: Oh no! Is it too much?
Me: No, not at all. I wasn't even sure it was makeup.

That is when she pulled out her Chanel highlight palette. If you are a woman reading this you know just how intimate of an act this is. As I turned the elegant compact over in my hands I knew I had crossed an important boundary and prepared to move the discussion toward food.

Me: Do you like American food? It must be very different from food in China...
Carrie: I do like American food.
Me: I love Chinese. In New York we have great Chinese food but, I have not found any good restaurants here yet.
Carrie: I want to go to New York very much. I'm trying to get an internship there this summer. There's a very good Chinese restaurant in Georgetown. It's called Wang II.

I sat staring at her speechless. First of all I could scarcely believe I was a part of this discussion, but that is not what left me dumbstruck. I could not believe she loved Wang II. This place does not even have a website. I have been to Wang I and was not impressed so this was confusing AF. I quickly pulled it up on my phone.

Me: You go to this place? Wang II? (I jabbed at my screen with my pointy little index finger.)
Carrie: Yes, it is so good.

Perplexed, but undeterred I pushed onward. I pulled up the menu on Yelp.

Me: Carrie, can you please show me what you order when you go to Wang II? (I cradled my phone gently offering it to her with childlike gestures.)

Carrie: Ummm..well..I can't..do that.

Carrie's eyes began to dart around the room. Perhaps she was looking for the nearest exit because I had clearly stumbled upon one of the last remaining secrets in western history!

Me: Why not Carrie? (I was calm, struggling to drain any hint of aggression or anxiety from my voice. My voice would not betray me today.)

I tried to sound pleading. Curious, but not too curious. Concerned, but not worried.

Carrie: There's a separate menu, for Chinese.

I gasped and pulled my hand to my mouth so quickly it made a popping noise. Carrie nodded slowly reminding me of that popular Jack Nicholson gif.

I recovered from the popping gasp with such aplomb you will hug me with deep pride next time you lay eyes on my physical person. I was very cool and casual when I asked if we could go sometime and order off the special Chinese menu. She said yes and I watched as something like pride began to emerge from her eyes.

Ladies and gents when I get to Wang II and order from the Chinese menu you will be the very first to know.

Rest in peace Anthony Bourdain my food hero and inspiration.

This Was Bizarre Foolishness

Seven years out of the country will do a number on your pop culture knowledge among other things. There are quite a few shows out there that I have either never heard of or watched. Sometimes it is both. Bizarre Foods is one of those shows.

Part of the deal we made in order to come back to the U.S. was that Ryan would deploy three months out of the year. They doubled the deployment this year so he is gone for six months. We are almost half way through. I am learning some big lessons this go around. I am stronger than I thought, and having a fantastic support system has helped me to see that.

I am deepening my relationships with my family and learning how to insist people respect my boundaries. And I continue to navigate the brackish professional environment in Savannah. I am still working with my client. That is going very well. Also a friend of a friend recommended I connect with a temp agency. Typically the assignments do not work with my schedule with Hunter, but this week I made it happen. I had to hire someone to help, but it was well worth the effort to have an office outside of the home to go to everyday.

The assignment is nothing to brag about. Typical office work. Nothing I would be interested in doing full time, but the location is fantastic. I spent the week in historic downtown Savannah, which is hip, cool and trendy. Everyday I tried a new restaurant on the best of Savannah list. Friday I went to the Kayak Café. It almost felt like New York in there, but everyone was too laid back. I took a seat at the bar and ordered a chicken burrito. After a few minutes a man sat next to me. He was clearly a regular at Kayak. No sooner than he ordered his fresh salad did it appear. I wondered how much longer did a burrito take to prepare. I inquired about my meal as he chowed down on his. It came out almost immediately after I asked.

I noticed a certain air of aloofness wafting from the guy sitting next to me. He stood out in contrast to the relaxed atmosphere. Most people would have made some sort of gesture of hello; this is the south after all. I made a mental note that he did not, but my burrito was so good the thought quickly passed. We sat munching away at our respective meals in silence. Then I heard the waitress point out a young woman at the other end of the bar.

Waitress: We were just discussing how much you resemble Andrew Zimmern from the show Bizarre Foods.

Aloof guy: NO RESPONSE

If you were looking hard enough you could see a slight shrug to his shoulders. Perhaps a hint of annoyance, but overall he neither affirmed nor denied it. This was not the response I expected. If someone mistook me as a television personality I would definitely have a response. Unless I was the celebrity they thought I was! I turned to him quickly and asked if it happened often that people mistook him for...I stopped mid-sentence and asked who exactly he was supposed to be. He said the show is called Bizarre Foods. I asked how does that work out for you. His eyes lit up.

Celebrity guy: I wonder if should get an agent sometimes. There was this one time a woman jumped out of her car asking for my autograph.

Me: Oh that sounds a little over the top.

Celebrity guy: There was this one time a woman let me pat her on the ass.

Me: Eww

My shoulders automatically pulled back and I lowered my chin in disapproval. He turned away briefly.

Celebrity guy: I should not have said that.

Me: No you should not have. It was inappropriate.

He pushed his salad away.  

Celebrity guy: I am so embarrassed. I should not have said that to you.

He whispered once more that he was very embarrassed. He quickly paid his bill and left in a hurry.

The girl at the end of the bar asked what happened. She was shocked when I told her. This unfortunate encounter highlights aspects of the #metoo movement. It reinforced the entitlement men of a certain age and stature feel in the world. Whether it was his fame or his wealth, he felt entitled to speak to me in a way that made us both uncomfortable. He said he was embarrassed but, failed to apologize explicitly. On the bright side he policed himself. He knew it was a misstep and instead of making it worse he left.

I walked back to my office wondering if I had done something to invite the comment. Perhaps I should have not opened the conversation. Maybe I was wearing something that gave him the wrong idea. Then I remembered that he was embarrassed because he did something wrong. I did nothing wrong. In fact I did everything right.

Yep, I kept the ring

Last time on the Cat Who Swallowed the Canary I was having a moment at TEDx Savannah. I was on the precipice of discussing a little known fact about myself. When I ended my engagement with my first fiancé (yep, I kept the ring) I moved back to Brooklyn, New York from Rome, Italy. I worked hard to build a new life in my hometown mostly confident I had made the right decision. I landed my first job in finance. The job was stressful. There was a steep learning curve and the first tech bubble had just popped. I made time to date and create a robust social life. My cousin and shared a smashing apartment in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn with a sweet commute.

My boss at the time, let's call her Roxanne, was a stickler about time. It did not matter how late we stayed to get work done; at a few minutes before 9:00 am Roxanne made the rounds through our maze of cubicles to make sure we were in our seats. Late arrivals were not tolerated. My last Tuesday in the office began with a start. I slept through my alarm, and was running ten minutes behind. I pulled myself together quickly and bolted for the train. I was close to making up the time, when the train stopped just before it entered my station. Unbelievable! When the doors opened I slipped out with my eyes focused on getting through the turnstile. That is when I noticed a colleague from another department. He was rushing into the train. The expression on his face gave me slight pause, but then I thought about Roxanne staring at my empty chair in the meeting and regained my momentum.

I climbed the stairs out of the subway two at a time. At the surface I checked my watch. It was 8:55. It would take me another three minutes to get to the 33rd floor of WTC 2, but there was smoke and what I thought was debris coming out of WTC 1. I called Roxanne to tell her there was an incident and I would be late, but I could not get through. I know now from trauma therapy that I went into shock as my brain tried to protect me from the horror that was people making the awful choice to jump out of the windows of the highest floors of WTC 1. I continued to make my way to the building when the second plane hit. I was less than a block away. The ball of fire the explosion created was so big and so hot that I could feel the heat on my on the side of my face. There was a collective scream from the hundreds of us on the ground, and then a stampede of people running at me. I hid in a small space between buildings until there was a clearing. Then I ran.

I made it home to Brooklyn just before the Towers collapsed. I saw the ball of fire for weeks after in my nightmares. I worked for a large firm with an even larger parent company in Hartford, CT. With our headquarters destroyed, our fearless leaders decided to relocate us to CT.

When the dust settled we were asked to document the belongings we had in the building at the time of the attack. We were reimbursed with very few questions. With everything that had happened it was difficult to remember everything in my desk. In the end it did not matter much. Creating the list more than anything triggered survivor's guilt. I was wracking my brain trying to remember if I left my sweater on the back of my chair or not while others had lost their lives. It was a difficult process to work through, but being in Hartford helped. The distance created a much needed buffer.

Having survived together, my colleagues and I were tightly bonded. We recovered together in a sort of cocoon. We had shared this singular experience. One which very few people could understand. When I left the company five years later my anonymity and individuality returned. It was a relief to forget. September 11 anniversaries came and went. Fewer people knew I was there that day. It receded into the background of my life.

I was the guest speaker on base in Italy one year during the memorial, but was so triggered that I stopped talking about it for another few years. Then TEDx Savannah came up on my radar. This year the event is being held at the Savannah International Trade Center. I tried my best not to say the name of the location because every time I said it, I said world trade center. In this year of living authentically I recognized the Freudian slip. Instead of ignoring it I embraced it. In my correspondence with the Nick, the volunteer organizer, I told him I was there that day. He mentioned it at the first volunteer session. I knew there was a chance he might, but I was unprepared to speak about it with strangers. I faltered a bit. My apprehension is rooted in my desire not to profit in anyway from the lives that were lost that day. I honor them when I live. When I pursue my dreams. When I am fiercely authentic in my life that was spared on that tragic day. I survived that day, but I thrive everyday after.