340- Social Experiment (For Me Anyways)

Does anyone else hide people on their Facebook Newsfeed? You know, hit the little x button and say Hide All By __ ___?

I did. I hid pretty much 99% of my friend list and when the new profile page came out- Facebook totally ratted me out- You only see "Friends" that I follow so if you visited my page and didn't see yourself...

So, as I began to walk straight into people from my past the past couple of weeks (and by past I mean high school/middle school/random people you barely interacted with) and started making connections that I have never even know of before I thought- "Gee...maybe I should use social media as a networking tool as well as a reconnecting tool...maybe there are relationships I have yet to discover in the hallowed hidden task bars of my Facebook!"

Well, not really- but I figured I might as well see how long it takes me to get really, really, really annoyed with some people and at the same time be bold and comment on other people's shared data. Because let's be honest- you only put things on Facebook when you want other people to notice right? You don't want that creepy kid to comment but definitely close friends.

Well, I'm going to be that creepy kid. Or maybe end up being a friend of sorts but probably not. So, for the month of February, I will follow every single person that I am friends with on Facebook (all of which I personally know) and I will be online for every single moment I am actually on Facebook which WILL KILL ME beause I defintely don't like some people iming me.  (I'm in the middle of typing this and I already have someone out of four people iming me that I want to ignore. Damn it)

So, what do you think? Is Facebook over exposing us and I'm in danger of becoming "that person"?

342- The Cowboy and The Moon

This is to someone I owe a story....It's meant to be spoken- like the myths and legends once were. 

         This is the story of the Cowboy and the Moon. 

Far to the west, past the rolling Mississippi and deep in the heart of the American frontier, there are stories of how the west was won by men, men who roamed the range, celebrating the wild of not only the land but also their souls. Far from towns, deep in the pitch black of the prairie nights, these men would gallop across the open land on their mustangs, who like their partners were not natives of this soil but had become one with the spirit of the land which still lived in the Native American tribes, the heart of the buffalo, and the rivers and soils of Mother Earth. 

                This particular story is about one of these men, a cowboy who shunned the towns to wander and explore all the mysteries of this new land. Everyday, he would work under the hot sun, toiling and sweating--living. He was courteous to the land, not wasting, but honoring all that he saw. The Indians across the range knew him and named him He Who Walks In Silver.

                For this Cowboy was the favorite of the Moon, the Silver One. Every night as the Sun set in her blazing glory, tempting the young man with her blushes and her winks, he would turn and watch the sky for the slow ascent of the Moon. As darkness fell and the stars awoke from their sleep, he would lay in the soil and warmth of his Mother and gaze into the twilight. 

    And every night, she came to him, bright and white, innocent and pure. And she loved him, for he did not need fire to see at night, but gazed at her and only her, his eyes never wavering and his heart speaking the language of the ancients. And they loved beyond jealously or doubt or insecurity. Because the Moon was still young and she was still in love with the new wild land that held such spirit in its old earth. And the Cowboy loved because he had never known anything but the songs of the wind, the dancing of the trees, or the blustering of the storms. And he knew that every day, even if the sun was hidden by dark clouds, that his lover would come to him that night, dispelling the darkness and finding him, waiting. Every night was a full moon.

                But the Sun grew more and more jealous as she watched the West flourish and grow and the spirit of the land slowly receded away under the Wild West taverns and the men who rode and pillaged and killed under her eyes. And soon the Sun was jealous of the purity of the night, for no evil dared to stir underneath the full innocent eyes of the Silver One. And the stars knew their sister grew jealous and they tried to warn the young Moon, but she was blind to anything but the Cowboy.

                One day, the Sun grew hotter and hotter until the Cowboy was forced to stop his work, and he settled into the shadows of a rocky cliff and watched his cattle mill around, bellowing in the heat. And the Sun grew hotter, puffing herself up and pushing down onto the land. And Mother Earth groaned and her children cried out to the Sun for relief. But the Sun refused and continued her slow descent until the waters hissed in their banks and the animals cried out in their misery. 

The Cowboy soon found his throat dry and struggling to his feet, he swung upon his horse and left his cattle to their own fate, riding quickly in his attempt to find relief in the form of a river. But to his surprise, he did not first find a shore or a tribe to aid him, but a street that led into a narrow alley between rickety wooden buildings. 

              The Cowboy had come to his first city. And he stared in wonderment at the men as they ignored the pressing heat, swinging back bottles and laughing, calling out to women who sashayed by in their skirts, their skin glistening in the heat. And the Cowboy gratefully stumbled into the nearest building where men emerged, seeming almost mad with relief and laughter. 

           And the Cowboy had his first taste of spirits and he found himself lost in the feeling of relief and warmth, the cool liquid transforming his head from pounding to a floating pleasure. And the Sun was pleased. And she began to set, her majesty flooding the skies with purples and blues. And Mother Earth watched the sunrise in fear, knowing the Sun had accomplished what she had wished. 

For the Sun had known this town was near the Cowboy and knew she would drive him to his first encounter with the settlers, men who had no respect for the land but consumed it like starving beasts. And there among the wild men, there were women. And they were not like the beautiful red skinned, black haired beauties that the Cowboy had grown with, the women who knew Lady Moon and her lover and knew to keep their distance. But here, in the town, there was a different kind of woman, and the Cowboy laid his eyes on her in his drunken mist.

                And he lost himself. For she was the Sun in mortal form, her sun kissed skin glowing, so unlike the tan color of the Natives, and her blond hair sparkling in the artificial candlelight that the Cowboy had never known, and her blue eyes sparkling like the sun in the water. And she saw the Cowboy, and she felt the wilderness surrounding him, so unlike the dead men that surrounded her. And she wanted to taste freedom. 

           So, she seduced the young Cowboy, taking him to her rooms and burning him with her intensity. And all night, the Cowboy was introduced to feelings and pleasure that he had never known in the innocent arms of the Moon, and he forgot his lover as the candles flickered around him and the light of the woman blinded him to anything but her.

But outside in the twilight, the Moon shone frantically onto her sister Earth, searching for her lover. And the stars winked at her, laughing, knowing he was in the arms of a mortal woman. And finally, she found him there, locked in embrace, curtains drawn, hiding from her. And her heart broke and she turned her face from the Earth, plunging it into darkness.

And all around the world, the people cried out as the moon disappeared. And the stars were startled and scared and tried to remain still, but in fear clumped together, causing pictures to form in the sky, and the tribes of Mother Earth gazed into the darkness. One wise woman instead gazed into the heart of the roaring fire that usually was used only to cook but was now used to see. And she waited.

               The next morning, the Cowboy awoke to the Sun’s rays as they peeked through the curtain trying to find him and when she did, she crowed with victory. The Cowboy had stayed away from the Moon and the Moon ‘s heart lay broken.

               The Cowboy left the town to return to the wilderness, and the day passed with memories of the previous night  coming to his mind and shaming him. But he waited to see his lover, missing her for the night that he had lost.

             But that night, the sun set in her purples and her pinks, trying to hold out to see the Cowboy’s face when the Moon did not come. Finally, she succumbed and the stars came out, uncertain. But the Moon was gone. And the Cowboy cried out in his misery, knowing that she must have seen, and he wept. Wept as the wolves howled their own misery and the bats flew blindly in the night, bouncing into each other and the wild cliffs, for before the moon had been their guide. And the creatures of the night all cried out with the Cowboy but the Moon refused to listen. And evil crept into the darkness and began to spread across the land as pitch covered them. And a restless night passed, for the Cowboy refused to close his eyes, searching the heavens for the moon’s winking face.  She did not come. 

                This continued for day after day, unwavering vigilance of the sky until finally exhaustion claimed him and he slept. 

                When he awoke, a wizened head bent over him, crooning the language of the ancients. He bolted upwards, his hands outstretched, grasping for the pure language that his heart still screamed in its pain. But the old woman stared at him in silent reproach. 

                “Drink,” she commanded, handing him a skin. And he obeyed, gulping down the cool liquid before turning his gaze back to her.

                “Grandmother,” he greeted her, recognizing her as a tribe’s seer, and knowing her power to be great. 

                “Fool,” she spat at him,” You have condemned us all to blindness and fear. Your grief is selfish.” And he hung his head in his shame but said nothing.

                “Will you go on your spiritual quest or surrender to the white devil in your heart? Go to the taverns with their fire liquid, women, and thunder?  Or will you follow the path you have created?”

                And looking up at the blue sky, clouds absent from the fierce blaze of the still victorious Sun, the Cowboy gave a nod,” Tell me my path, Grandmother.”

                “Go to the north, travel in a straight line, like the Moon’s beams. And you will come to a grove of trees, here the Great Bear comes down to quench her thirst every night. You must wrestle her until she shows you the path to the heavens. Only then can you bring the Moon back to us all.” And she gazed at him with her heavy brown eyes set in her wrinkled face, rough like leather. And then she left him.

                The Cowboy quickly followed her advice; he mounted his mustang and rode towards the North. For three days and nights, he traveled, stopping only to rest his mustang and sleeping under the Sun. At night, he continued to survey the heavens, looking for his lost lover.

                The day he reached the grove of trees, he dismounted and surveyed the area. A small creek winded through the soil and the trees bowed down to him in the wind. He placed his horse on the other bank and hid himself among the leaves and awaited the night. And as soon as the sun had set, the stars seemed to shiver and the Great Bear of the Sky, left her home in the heavens and descended to Mother Earth. 

                The Cowboy watched in wonder as the silver bear bent her head to the creek, and just as she opened her mouth, he jumped from his hiding spot and grasped her fur in his hands, and began to wrestle her.

                Now the Great Bear was furious in her attack, but the Cowboy stayed out of the reach of her giant claws by clutching the nape of her neck, and avoided her fangs. And they wrestled for hours , her fur glowing like the stars far above. And just as he felt his strength begin to break, the Great Bear moaned out in agony.

                “I must drink. I must have water for my cub or we will perish in thirst.” And she bowed her head, and allowed him to slip off in silence. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, the cowboy sank to his knees before her.

                “Great Sister Bear, I am He Who Walks In Silver and I must ask you to show me the path to the heavens so I may win back the Moon.”

                The Great Bear stared at him for a moment before nodding,” Get on my back, Brother Man. I shall bring you to the path.” And once he was mounted, she drank her thirst and then leaped into the sky.

              And thus the Cowboy was in the heavens, the winding Milky Way the road before him, glistening in black rivers and the stars shining around it like lamps in the night. And they whispered as they saw him walk towards the Moon’s house. But none stopped him for they missed Sister Moon and wished her back.

           Before Dawn illuminated the Earth and erased the Milky Way, the Cowboy saw the house of the Moon in the distance. And he ran, for the Sun was rising and if she saw him before he reached the house, he would fall from the sky, for the path under his feet was only there in the dusk. And his lungs burned and his legs ached, but he threw his hand against the door just as the rays of the Sun hit his back. And he dangled in the sky, hanging from the door of his beloved. But she did not answer his frantic knocking, but sat in her grief, turned from Earth and her lover.

                And the day passed, and the Cowboy through strength of will, held on as the Sun watched in amazement. And the rivers and the creatures of Mother Earth wondered what the dark speck was among the clouds, not realizing they were seeing the Cowboy, fighting not to fall back down to Earth. The Sun’s vanity stung, knowing she had lost.       

               When she did set, and the Cowboy’s feet soon felt the path underneath them and he collapsed at his love’s door. And the tears on his face and the burning in his body and the exhaustion in his mind soon overtake the love in his heart. As his heart broke, his soul cried out once more in the ancient tongue,” Forgive me.”

                The Moon heard his heart and his last words float through her door and she flung open her door to gather him in her pale arms. But her broken heart and wounded pride had cost her her lover, who lay dead before her, as in sleep. And she wept even harder for that. Her face turned down towards the Earth and her tears mixed with the soil and the entire world marveled at her return. And she held the Cowboy as she cried until the Sun returned 

                As the Sun set that night, unsure and uneasy. The Moon turned back towards the Earth, but she did not turn her full face, and every night she seemed to wane in her grief. Until her face disappeared once again from the sky. And Mother Earth felt her children’s  fear and her sister’s grief. So, she sent a crow to the Moon.

                In the moment the Crow landed on the Cowboy’s prone form, he jolted awake as if he had been sleeping. And the Moon in her joy, turned slightly back to Earth. And every day as she spent the time in her lover’s arms, she turned her face a little more back to Earth until the night when she was once again the shining bright white moon, full and whole. 

               But there was a catch to the miracle. The next day, the Cowboy fell back into death, and the Moon once again waned in grief, until she was gone from the sky. And then on that morning, he awoke. And this continued every night. And continued today.  For tonight, she wanes in her grief. 

                And the West was won and Cowboys disappeared from the land. But there is still the story of the Cowboy and the Moon. And now, He Who Walks in Silver is known as The Man in the Moon. Full moons became the sign of lovers as she watches over them in her joy, held by her own lover.

343- Yoga Baby

           The woman next to me can do the splits. And the Indian woman in front of me is channeling monks. But it's okay! Because this is a basic Hatha Yoga class. It's about breathing- not about how one can hoist onself off the ground indian style and swing back and forth into plank position....

          Whoa.

         I actually enjoyed the hour long session even if my forearms, back  of my calves and wrists were screaming at me to be a wimp and just go back to child pose for the love of Ghandi! Oh no my friends, Warrior Pose! Cobra! Downward facing dog! Breathing through my nose! Exhaling into another aggressively named pose! Trying to remember to keep my eyes closed and not focus on the two Jedi masters next to me. And why does the yoga instructor sound like Delilah?

    Being extremely nervous about yoga, I have always put off trying it. I didn't take advantage of the classes they taught at college because I was also too busy being a stressed theatre student to take the time to attend a free session and as the years went on, I just got way too nervous about it. Did I have to have my own mat? What does one wear? Do you go barefoot? And how will I know what to do? I"M NOT FLEXIBLE!

     But no more. I am determined to grow. So, I went and purchased flexible cotton pants (which okay might be extremely cute and look awesome with the matching tank top) and may have grabbed the on sale yoga/pilates double thick mat (lilac/teal reversible!) and gone to it. The monks may have something to say about my worrying more about my style than my poses but obviously they had less cramped classrooms where the woman next to you can completely bend her foot into your face- making you damn glad you got a pedicure so you can attempt to shove your foot in her facial area without worrying about her gagging. Consequently in case you were wondering, I didn't manage to fully bend my leg sideways. However, she did compliment me on my nail polish.

     So, as I exhaled into child pose, I listened to the wise instructor (who still sounds like Delilah) explain that yoga is not about getting rid of stress or illness or pain- but to bring you back to your wholeness. To remove yourself from suffering and allow you to experience the pain which allows you to be whole. And I breathed in and out and kept my eyes closed from the mirror image of myself (complete with Indian monk woman in perfect plank) and just let go of the stress and uncertainty and just let myself relax into the moment.

For the first time that day, I didn't mind the cute couples in the back doing yoga together or feel lonely as I watched the two friends shopping for cute outfits together and wish wholeheartedly that I was just back with friends in a city I loved because of them- No, I exhaled and jumped into plank and somehow managed to do a decent warrior pose and figured I may be onto something with the whole self improvement before self hatred thing.

345- Blog Day

       Living an hour away from downtown isn't ideal. Living rent free and in a great part of town is. So, I've complained, whined, and griped about how lonely it is moving away from friends and to a city you never really liked all that much.

      And yes, I've been going out and trying restaurants when I can but I have yet to meet anyone beside the few wonderful people I've met at work. So, in a quest to get out there: I'm going to try a few things the next couple of days. Ideally, I would love to go with someone else but well...obviously I don't know people yet. So, I'm going to be the very awkward girl standing and trying desperately to talk to someone. Hopefully, I run into someone who doesn't mind saving me from the wall. Or at least free food.

Ideas?

Current Plans:
-Fuel Film Mixer - Maybe learn somethings about film
-Mpact- Been a member for 6 months and never gone to anything...
- Foodie Memphis- I like food...
-National Civil Rights Museum

346- Duck March

Names have been changed because well, I can.      

       Welcome to the South's Grand Hotel, The *******. My name is Britney and I'm the Duckmaster (um not really) at the******* Hotel. And whether you are a guest or a visitor, you are truly a guest here at the ******* (how many times am I going to say *******?) Welcome to you all.  And a very special welcome to St. Jude! (Okay, a few people just wooted. That's a positive sign)

      And it kind of continued like that. I talked, fumbled around, and kept remembering to turn so the people behind me could take pictures of my face instead of my riotous curly hair-- which did not know it was going to be filmed today.
 
      I tried to stick to the script which I had fully planned on hopefully memorizing but with only 15 minutes, I felt best that I should just wing it. (Oh yes, I went there) So, when out came the jacket and the cane, I was so excited I was sure I was going to embarrass myself. Because Excited Britney is not a thinking Britney- no witty remarks or thought processes just fowl (Again!) jokes and a unnerving fear that I was going to blurt out a duck joke..(Why do ducks roofs leak? Because they have quacks!)

       Yea, I think I kept asking people if they were excited to see the ducks and kept leaning on my cane like it was a life support hose but people, I was the freaking Duckmaster for the day. No one knew differently (except very supportive coworkers) and I just barreled my way through it. (Even if dude in the back corner is playing a drinking game out of how many times I say *******)

      Then, I went to the elevator to get the ducks. But no one was in the elevator... So, I stood there and just smiled as people continued to take pictures...until my savior with an elevator key came in, closed the door, and took us upstairs. I then got to try and walk across the roof without biting it (red and black and snow don't mix well, people would probably know what happened...) to meet the other really awesome savior person who had unlocked the duck house for me and set the little darlings free. (get off the roof, get off the roof, get off the roof)

        So back downstairs, where they literally flew out the door, into the fountains waiting arms while I waited till the music ended before saying "Thank You!" and then stood there awkwardly (Um, what now??) before making a break for the desk. (I know them there)

       And it was completely wonderful to be granted the special privilege of being a Duckmaster- and yes it is a very big privilege- I mean, I wasn't an honorary Duckmaster- I was The Duckmaster for the morning of January 21, 2011. Awesome doesn't even begin to describe it. Everyone was fully supportive of my fifteen minute prep act and I went right back behind the desk to continue checking people in.

But no people really-- this is where lack of public embarrassment will get you.

             Cool, ain't it?

(Can I still wear the snazzy red coat?)

347- Interim

( I know, you're thinking- she just posted a restaurant review last night...but I was being lazy last night and just recycled a review from a couple of months ago but don't worry, it was like powdered milk, it doesn't go bad quickly. This is fresh, enjoy)

    When someone asked me what kind of pizza I wanted for lunch, I looked at them, perplexed. One does not just randomly get free pizza. No, one gets free pizza when someone wants something or you beg sufficently. I had not begged because I was in the middle of trying to check in 445 people in the middle of a snowstorm.
     

       Which of course meant someone wanted something...like no one goes to lunch but gets to eat pizza and be distracted from the fact that they are working 10 hours today....and sorry if your legs feel like they're about to snap and you're composing odes to the office chair sitting empty in the back, you have five minutes to enjoy your pziza and oh by the way, its freaking snowing in Memphis!


        After that fun time, having bundled up and regarding the slick street in front of us, we contemplated keeping our dinner reservation for a restaurant downtown. Then, a car skidded across two lanes and back. No one ever say Caroline and I ignore clear signs.
        
         Driving back to our little suburbia community, we discussed various choices for dinner before I used the sheer wickedness that is Urbanspoon to find a restaurant called Interim.    It had mac n cheese on the menu. We might as well name ourselves the Mackin on Cheese Girls the way we HAVE to order it when we see it on the menu.

Plus the place we wanted to try wasn't open yet.

        So, we drove in the (still snowing) dusk to arrive at the corner restaurant tucked in bustling shopping area which I have never really noticed before. Still in our frumpy uniforms, we had been given a good review from a usual diner who claimed it was a great place to take business clients. Um...Grove Grill redux?


        Thankfully not. From the waitress who seated us with a enthusiastic, genuine smile and the waitress who was super friendly but not overly familiar, we were soon settled into two a two top and discussing our random topics of work, men, friends, and work.  However, Interim does not have a cocktail list....which is always awkward as Caroline and I try to scramble to try something new without having any kind of idea what the bar is capable of making...

           Waitress was (get this) happy to help! I explained I was looking for something sweet while Caroline claimed she was looking for something fruity. She offered chocolate for me and coconut for Caroline. We were taken aback for a second because actually...yes, that's exactly what we wanted. (Mind Reading Waitresses?)

         Sure, martinis were $10 a pop but they were strong and artfully mixed. Not my favorite though and I certainly wouldn't recommend Interim for its drinks, I happily sipped my chocolate martini (much creamier than the last one I had) and placed my order.

           Since this was a rather expensive contemporary restaurant, Caroline and I agreed to both get an appetizer apiece (and split the Mac-N-Cheese one). She got the shrimp n grits while I choose Salmon Cakes. I might as well have chosen Best Thing on the Menu because god they were delicious. The macncheese paled in compassion which is unusual since it was still actually decently done. Just not as good as Salmon Cakes. Think Crab Cakes but with Salmon...mercury poisoning never tasted better.

        And then ESP Waitress offered us desserts. She did it perfectly, scoop up dirty plates, tease us with the wonders of the what the dessert menu could possibly hold and then have us simmer for a full thirty seconds before we gave in. We were tempted by the Pumpkin Vanilla Creme Brulee but with the snow and the cold, we were seduced by the word Warm next to Chocolate Cake. Really...how fair is that to the poor Brulee?

        As nice as it was to sit in a beautiful modern establishment, we were seated on the edge so my back was to the place the entire time...I couldn't turn around and look without looking like a badly dressed creeper. Besides the parts I could see were beautiful, including the silverware arrangement, flowers, napkins, and wall design.

          Hell, even the food was artfully presented- for once I fancied myself a gourmet. And then I ate it all and thought...that's why the portions in those cooking shows are always so small...I always thought Top Chefs were just pricks who wanted to keep you ordering more stuff until you finally couldn't hear your stomach growling anymore. (Seriously, I think it just might take more calories to eat those little platters than the calories actually in the food.)

          As we left, I asked to speak to the manager. Now, Caroline mentioned how funny it was to watch the service person turn white as they went off to find their boss- because it is always, usually bad when someone wants the manager...but if nothing else, I know I appreciate when someone takes the time to speak to my supervisor about my efforts and successes as opposed to my failures. I wanted to take the time to give something besides money back to a person who did their job well, made us feel welcome, and didnt mind us asking a trillion questions about insider tips. Even if your manager wears his tie tucked into his shirt. Do people really do that?

        I wouldn't recommend Interim to many people because it was more a romantic, steady mature setting then just dinner or drinks scene. However, I would recommend it to anyone who wanted excellent service and relaxing atmosphere.

    But seriously, does Memphis require Shrimp n Grits and Mac N Cheese on the menu at independent venues? Because my pants do not appreciate it.

348- Grove Grill Review

                I’ll admit. It wasn’t my first choice.

I will also admit that bad karma was stuck to me like Elmer’s glue. I knew I should have let that car over this morning... But when you are cursed with a bad day, you have to suck it up and deal with it. Or at least laugh over drinks with a friend.

Until you get to The Grove Grill that is. 

From the moment we walked in, tired shiny faces from standing at a desk all day under bright lights and dressed in our mass production excuses for suits—I’ll acknowledge we weren’t your typical customer of this fine upscale dining establishment.

But we just wanted to enjoy drinks over an appetizer and a delicious meal prepared by someone who takes pride in their work.

Well the trainee hostess seemed happy to excuse us, eager to sit us down and have use enjoy our time. The trainer looked at us as if trying to decide if she wanted to ask if we had a reservation or just tell us the restaurant was closed for a private function. And as a fellow member of the welcome and serve community, I know what that face means. “Get out and never darken our door again” or possibly “Is this one of those site inspections?”

It set the tone.

 I had eaten at the Grove Grill once before when a young man took me there as part of the pre-Prom dining out with friends ritual. His group was mostly private schools and mostly enjoyed the dinner either ignoring me or asking me how many times I had been “flushed”. So, as an “adult”, I was eager to enjoy the continental style and fully enjoy the food, drink, and atmosphere.

Waiter must have talked to Hostess because I do actually believe he managed to look straight down his nose at us when greeting us. My colleague and friend took it all in stride and took control of the situation by asking for a drink menu. We were offered their fine wine list but wine is for a more mellow night and we were seeking something as outrageous and strong as my current bad luck karma. Something like a Chocolate Martini or a Cat in the Hat?

He offered us Jack and Coke.

Now, I appreciate not being seen as the kind of girl who is a bitch beer drinker but I hope to god I haven’t crossed the line to a Jack and Coke over the bread kind of girl. Because if I have, I’ve been at this job far too long.

Instead, I asked him about mixed drinks: Car decided on a Pomegranate Martini and I tried my usual gambit of “Surprise me.”

I always hope a bartender hearing that will know he has someone who is more interested in his skill and knowledge than just ordering the usual. I was expecting something along the lines of the Pomegranate Martini or even a simple and highly unusual evening Mimosa.

                I got a man in the chef uniform coming over to talk to us about the drink selection. And as I listened to him ask me what kind of alcohol I like, I felt guilty about pulling him from his kitchen due to my indecision. Or perhaps seeing him and Waiter exchange that look of exasperation at the two silly girls laughing over there.

I wanted a mimosa. He gave me a look. And left. Then came back to explain that if I liked Rum (which I had mentioned), I should try the Mojito. Which I had also wanted to. I love mint. I was officially excited.

And then Waiter brought me a sprite with mint leaves and a tree sticking out of it. Very presentational but I just knew it wasn’t going to be what I wanted. And sure enough, the only reason I took a sip was Chef asking me how I liked it. (I think he knew full well I was waiting to sample it on my own.)

So as I swallowed past the rotten Sprite taste, I munched on the Calamari with the lime-esque sauce. The 

Calamari was light and delicious but not my favorite. And I think the Mojito had already ruined my views on lime.

As we talked and enjoyed the quiet and relaxed atmosphere, we chatted with Chef a bit and were happy to see that he was passionate about making us feel comfortable and generally interested in our story. However, when it came down to ordering, I was once again hit with the “face of shame”.  Waiter screwed up his nose, reared his left shoulder back, and looked at Car in distress as I tried to explain- no, defend- my choice.

You see, not only had I had a hellish day at work. Full of frights, sighs, and trying to decide how the guest would feel if I threw their credit card at them in the manner they had just whipped it at me, my day had been only bearable due to my day off previously. The lost suit of Car’s in the laundry room, my car key refusing to turn or even budge as we sat in the dark garage, the fact that my parking key did not let me out of the said dark garage, and the driving down creepy and did I mention dark back streets to find the restaurant we had chosen was closed on Mondays all added up to me wanting a Groveburger. Something simple but classically presented.

I blame the Mojito.

He offered the steak, he suggested the salad, he practically begged me to consider the shrimp and grits (Rated Best in the City!) but finally snapped his book shut as I presented a case that would make Chef Boyardee repent and left us in peace to enjoy our…well, Car’s drink.

Car’s drink was rather delicious and I am jealous of her wise drink ordering ways. But I thank the Grove Grill for their attempt. And for their rather fun and slightly creepy wall of presidents. I think George was giving me the eye the whole night but Adams was playing hard to get. Damnhim.

And the Chef did not let us down. Car enjoyed her Southern Caesar Salad (Grit Croutons and Ham) even though as a huge Caesar fan- I eyed it like Brutus on the Ides of March-(Can you tell I’m not a grits fan?) My Grove Burger was delicious- perfectly seasoned and the fries were amazing. Although I did have to ask for ketchup because I am not a cultured woman and I believe that fries and burgers must have some kind of condiment on them.

So as George watched, we ate our meals and enjoyed talking in the softly lit space with the high ceiling and the light walls. It was a very relaxing and comfortable place which would not be out of place in a romantic movie setting or a Washington D.C suburb. But other than the Grits- the Southern was not over played here and I enjoyed that. Sometimes I feel like Memphis pushes too hard on the Southern tradition but perhaps that’s just me.

While the menu was not small, it was varied and had a much more interesting way of approaching its side items (Praline Sweet Potatoes!), I felt like I was not their usual clientele. And perhaps since it was a Monday night we threw them off. Or perhaps it was my bad karma following me and tainting their establishment. In which case, I do apologize for the glasses I heard shatter because that was probably my bad luck creeping in the rear exit smelling the fresh and delicious smell wafting from the kitchen. 

So, while I will never be able to highly recommend The Grove Grill, I will probably remember it and recommend it for the Chef’s sincerity and interest and the Grove Burger. 

Not for their mojito.

349- Coming Home- Top 100 Challenge

       On old McFadden and Whitehead song was playing softly in the dark interior striving against the constant noises generated by the running engine and the hissing of the heat as it coursed through the vents and spiraled into the car.

        The inhabitant barely seemed to notice. Fingers locked onto the steering wheel, green eyes stared past the rain drops and the steady blades that swished and swooshed as they performed their tasks. The steady sound of the car could have been, should have been soothing to the young woman behind the wheel of the little pink Volkswagen bug.

       But her eyes stared locked on the road ahead, her foot pressed hard against the brake...staring at the road beyond the familiar gravel driveway, a road she had driven many times but which had never looked so foreboding. The radio continued to hum its words of encouragement of perseverance and overcoming- She jabbed it silent with a brutal stab of her finger, barely glancing down.

         The confusion swarming in her stomach threatened to crawl into her throat. The rain pounded its melody into her roof but her eyes stared past it- past the horizon and to the home that she had left. She hadn't looked back, hadn't been able to face knowing she had made the wrong decision, admit the frustration and mistakes that surrounded her every time she opened her eyes. 

          Headlights passed by and just as quickly the car disappeared away. Her eyes flickered to the tail lights that were disappearing into the darkness, the rain falling down into a curtain, separating her from them.

---
      "Punch-buggy Pink!" Elliot exclaimed, punching the driver in the arm and raising his arms in victory.

       "How the hell did you see a pink beetle in this?" Miranda asked in disbelief, craning her neck to glance around the passenger side.

        "Easy," Elliot replied, leaning back. "I'm just that talented."

         "How come you always play this stupid game but won't let me call jinxes?" Miranda asked, irritation coloring her voice as she turned back towards the road.

        "Because jinxes are like cracks in the sidewalk- they bring nothing but negative recprucssions, who wants to play a game where they might have to go days without speaking or break someone's back?" Elliot toyed with the radio which was currently blasting some old rock n roll song.

          "Elliot! Get your hands off my radio! You want to be the only guy in nursing school with nine fingers, just keep that up." Miranda flipped on her turn signal and began to turn into the side street which would take them back to her apartment. She had promised spaghetti tonight and Elliot was hoping he could talk her into watching the football game. As he glanced up, the red light caught his eye just as he felt Miranda turn the wheel into the turn.

            "Red light!" He cried out and saw the headlights of the oncoming car just as heard the angry squeal of the tires as Miranda punched her foot down on the brake.

----

        "Idiots!" Grant fumed, his eyes flickering to his rearview mirror where the SUV was sitting, half in the middle of the street, the brake lights bright red and the driver apparently trying to decide what to do next. The fools had almost run the red light and he had been going too fast to have been able to avoid them.

          His eyes flickered down to the clock which glowed green: 6:49.

          Fuck. He was late. Of course, he would have gotten stuck in the office with personnel reviews due but Allen and Ellen would never forgive him if he missed his own godson's birthday party. Course he hadn't really asked for his college roommate to make him godson but people were weird. It wasn't like Grant had meant for his one night stand from the fraternity formal to go to breakfast with his quiet roommate and end up marrying him. He had thought it had been nice enough to be invited to the wedding- he really hadn't expected them to ask him to be godfather of their first kid!

         But with Allen's business trips and Ellen's illness, Grant had been the one who ended up having to take care of the little diaper rag. He had said no, cited business meetings and social networking events but somehow he had become a surrogate part of the family- taking Jay to football games, enrolling him in little league, and teaching him how to curse in different languages.

        The cell phone beeped next to him, an email. Probably was a rescheduled meeting or an urgent situation that required him to turn around and go right back into the office. But Grant just kept driving, the rain sliding down his convertible as he sliced through it. Allen had told him that Ellen wasn't doing very well, that the doctors said she might have a few more months but not a year.

          So, he wanted to make it to this birthday party, wanted to see Jay happy with his mother and be there for the family that had taken him in against his will. And as he drove down the famiiar street from his office to the suburb where the Hosell's lived, Grant barely noticed the headlights on the side of the road until he was driving past them and the light filled his car.

        He glanced behind him as he drove on, seeing what looked to be a pink car sitting in a driveway. He shook his head as he continued, who painted their cars pink?

---

       Time to go, she decided as another car passed her. The clock on the dashboard was fast but she knew it was time. She was going to go home, return to her world and face the consequences of what she had left behind.
        And maybe, she hoped, to be forgiven.

             

350- Yellow Luck

            
             Recently,  I found out about the South American tradition of wearing yellow underwear on New Years Eve for happiness. And being in a considerably but not utterly unhappy period of my life, I figured I should start trying to make it better instead of letting it get any worse.

                 So, today was the day I decided to see just what comes out of wearing said combination. With a bright smile and high hopes, I faced the day in my bright yellow undergarments.

(Don't worry, I had clothes on too.)

And ended the day realizing that my high hopes and positive attitude which I have been carrying around with  me like lucky charms the past couple of weeks had not been boosted by the yellow underwear.

Perhaps it was because it's not New Years Eve or perhaps I didn't get the right shade of yellow. Or maybe the luck of the yellow underwear is just for people who are going to get lucky with someone else wearing yellow underwear. 

      

  Or maybe it is the beyond the power of yellow to ease this transitional period of stops and starts of ends and rejection, uncertainty and fumbling steps in the dark. Of trying to become independent and stand on your own two feet... only to realize how unstable the ground underneath you really is.

      

      So instead of going out and buying colored underwear, perhaps I should just keep trying to stand up. Even if it means I'm going to be rejected, ignored, battered, scorned, mocked, dismissed, and put off by the various things that life throws at you. Because while I dust myself off and start trying all over again, maybe I'll have just the little bit more confidence knowing I'm rocking cute underwear.

And maybe that's the point.

351- Sunsets on the Delta

        Marcie learned to tell time before she was six. And not just if it was time to go to bed or time to wake up but what the exact minute was at any time of the day.

                Growing up on the east delta of the Mighty Mississippi, Marcie Devoe could tell you where the best barbecue shacks were or how to find the blues clubs that the tourists didn’t know about before she was eighteen. And she knew exactly what went into a Peanut Butter Bannanarma Martini before she was legal to drink.

                She knew all those things because she knew Sissy Wheeler. And just like everyone else on Peach Tree Avenue, Marcie knew how to keep her mouth shut about what she knew. It was the unexpected code of conduct of the small neighborhood clan and Marcie had grown up into the legacy.

                “Darlin’, you’re running a hair behind on time.” Marcie settled herself on her usual perch and faced out into the sunset. Beside her, the speaker was idly watching the dying embers of what had been an unusually cool summer day, her sunglasses idly threaded through her fingers.

                “You might want to put the jacket back on Sissy,” Marcie advised, her hands slipping into her light weight coat. The sun was eye level on the horizon now, and Marcie realized belatedly that she had forgotten her shades back in her car.

                “You’re gonna ruin your eyes watching that inferno, baby doll,” Sissy quipped. Marcie shrugged, leaning her head back against the sun warmed bricks and relaxing into the traditional sunset watch.

                Sissy’s manicured hands continued to toy with the sunglasses and Marcie reached out to snag them, slipping them on neatly.

                “Thanks.” Marcie grinned behind the powder blue shades, feeling the cat eye design catch her bangs in the persistent North Wind that had been cruising the streets of the delta all week. She had felt it come in town last night. It always came and told her when Sissy Wheeler returned- carrying the smell of champagne and pears down Peach Street.

                “I can see I’ve been a bad influence on you.” Sissy replied, face still turned towards the blazing sun and its inevitable descent. “Your momma should really have done a better job raising you to be a lady.”

                “Too bad for my Momma that you live next door.” Marcie glanced over under the cover of her shades. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t put that on, Sissy.”

                Sissy looked down towards the blue wrap that was laying limply in her grasp, fluttering in the wind like a pennant. “I had forgotten I had it.” A moment passed before Sissy asked, “You going out tonight?”

                “Meeting some people down in midtown later tonight.” Sissy cocked her head to the side, indicating Marcie to be silent. Marcie fell quiet, aware of the body signals that Sissy usually employed when focusing. Marcie could hear the Davises fighting in the small town house two houses down but the rest of the street lay mostly silent.

                “What time is it?” Sissy asked  suddenly, eliciting a groan in response.

                “Sis, I don’t want to-“

                “What time is it, Marcie?” Sissy repeated, her clouded blue eyes looking past Marcie and directly into the sun. Marcie shook her head in exasperation but Sissy sat there, waiting expectantly. It was an old game.

                “I don’t want to play today, Sissy.” Marcie rubbed her forearm absently, her brown eyes watching Sissy behind the vintage glasses. Sissy didn’t move either, her eyes still open and her face still turned into the bright light of the setting sun. Marcie sighed, rubbing her forearm nervously. “Can’t we just talk about how schools going?”

                For a long minute, neither of the friends moved as the sun began to cross to the west, inching its way down the horizon and inching the shadows along the brick wall. Moments continued to pass until finally Marcie broke.

                “It’s a quarter to six, give or take two minutes. You doing anything fun tonight?” When Sissy scowled slightly, Marcie grumbled. She knew Sissy was annoyed that she had been so late meeting her but she had been at practice. Obviously Sissy knew that but had decided to play their old childhood game instead of talking.

” What does the sun look like?” Marcy asked, taking her cue. A small smile spread like melted butter across Sissy’s face, transforming the pale girl into a sun drenched sprite.

                “Just a cat. Smiling like he’s got a secret.”

                “You’re making that up, Sissy Wheeler,” Marcie laughed, trying to look but having to avert her eyes even behind the sunglasses.

                “ I am not. You’re just jealous cause you can’t see it,” Sissy teased.

                “It’s time for me to go soon,” Sissy  pointed out, the note of sadness was barely perceptible but Marcie heard it. She had always heard it. Heard the blue sadness coloring Sissy’s voice just like she could smell the hope in her- always had been able to.

                “But you’ll be back next month, won’t you?”

                “Darn tootin’, lady bug,” Sissy confirmed. Marcie watched the pale shoulders underneath the pastel flowered dress bow in on themselves. She always knew how much Sissy hated to leave but it was a necessary situation.

                After all, everyone on Peach Street knew what about the Wheelers. How little Sissy Wheeler was born blind one day at sunset to a thirteen year old girl whose parents had taken one look at the blind, crippled thing and sent it away to a spinster aunt.

                “Remember how we met?” Sissy asked .

                “We’ve always known each other,” Marcie replied, watching the big dogwood in the Davis' yard cast a shadow on the bricks on the Wheeler home, separating Sissy from Marcie, from her home, and from the little red car that had pulled up front.

                It wasn’t really true. But Marcie’s first real memories were of Sissy, a older girl sitting underneath a window in the yard next door crying so hard, little Marcie Devoe had come over to find out what was wrong.

                In between sobs, the older girl had confessed she didn’t know what time it was and she didn’t want to go back to her aunt’s house because it was too dark there. Which in a three year olds mind was a completely legitimate reason to not want to go somewhere. Marcie had hidden the girl in her club house for two hours before Sissy was collected and taken off.

                Marcie had learned to tell the time after that. Perhaps the three year old had thought if she could tell the time, she could keep her friend longer. Maybe she just was smart enough to learn to read the hands on clocks or learn how to tell what time it was by the shadows on the ground but Marcie always kind of thought it was because she knew Sissy couldn’t. Because Sissy couldn’t see anything except what was in the sun.

                So, she did it for her. And Sissy looked straight into the sun for Marcie and told her what she saw. Shapes, people, words…it changed every time- but not the goodbye. The goodbye was a woven exchange that promised a return.

                “It’s time to go, Sissy.” Marcie said, taking off the glasses and slipping them onto the upturned face. A familiar old woman was watching from behind the wheel of the Honda Civic in the street, she too knew the goodbye ritual enough to know she had no place in it.

                Marcie stepped to the side as Sissy stood up and let the shadow of the dogwood cross over her face, shadowing her and making it impossible to see behind her shades. Sissy turned towards the sound of the idling car, looked directly into the sun, and then back at Marcie.

                “How long until next time, Marcie-darcy?”

                “Too long, Sissy.”

                “You’ll be here when I get back?” The door to the Civic was opening and the Marcie began to cross away towards her house, towards the open screen door and her mother waiting for her with a list of chores.

                “Of course. I can’t miss our sunsets anymore than the sun can, you know that.”

                And with that, Sissy Wheeler was gone, heading back to her world just as Marcie was heading back towards hers. The Wheeler House brick wall was now completely shadowed and the sun sank lower. Till tomorrow.

 Till next time the North Wind brought champagne and pears and Sissy Wheeler.