Even though I have a new, very-full time job with lots of important, adult responsibilities, I've kept on with my part timer at Victoria's Secret. I know the question that immediately jumps into your head, and, "NO", I can't tell you "the secret". privledged information.
It's a funny thing...working there. I realized pretty quickly that a very bashful person would most likely not feel comfortable working there...or at any lingerie shop. Discussing intimate apparel with strangers can be a little awkward. Bra fittings and inmodest customers who ask you to into their dressing rooms to assist them....breasts flopping and uncovered....again; awkward. But, none of it bothers me. Any professional bra specialist can handle it. Oh, yeah...Volunteer Director by day, Bra Specialist by night, baby. I could have my own T.V. show.
What I AM bothered by are male customers who cross over into inappropriate. Some men will come in alone, handle all the panties, ask us 30 questions and then walk out after an hour without having bought anything. This behavior could very well mean that they were overwhelmed by the selection and left empty-handed due to intimidation and confusion. But I can't help but wonder if some of them do it just to get off. Questions like "What do YOU think is sexy?" or "What size do YOU wear?" or "Would YOU wear this?" make me suspicious. Reasonably so, I think. But I suppose this is to be expected at such a business. We're the free, less taboo version of the 1-900 number. If we served hot wings and fries, we could be the classy Hooters.
The creepiest encounter I've had so far was with a male customer...late 50's. Curly mustache. Dressed in a suit...polite. His questions started off fairly innocent, and he seemed geniunely determined to choose something nice for his wife. I helped him as much as I could, and then left him alone to look. After a while, he came up to me with several pairs of crotchless panties in his hands. He claimed to not understand what they were. So, I told him. "These are crotchless panties". Pretty self explanatory, right? Not so much. He insisted he didn't get it, and continued to ask me what someone would do with such a garment. I attempted to answer his questions with as much tact as possible, and the more I talked, the nastier his grin became. I finally patted him on the arm and assured him he could make his decision without me. He argued a little....wanted me to stay. I heard him whisper my name one last time as I slipped into the detox shower in the store room.
Eewwuuu.
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Mockingbird and 75
I'm sitting here looking out the window at Hurricane Rita, and I'm thinking about how life is so different now for so many people. It makes me wish for what used to be....in lots of ways. I've been back in Baton Rouge since Easter, and things here are just fine, but I miss Dallas. I miss Dallas like I miss my ability to take long naps. A good friend of mine moved here from Indiana around the same time I arrived. We often talk about missing our previous homes, and about how things sometimes just don't feel "the same" here. That's part of life, right? Our aptness to adjust to change determines our success. But we can still allow ourselves to long for some other place.
Things I Miss About Dallas:
1. My friends. Friends that had really become my family. Friends that will never become less a part of me...regardless of location. They're all so unique...so different from each other. They were like my own personal breakfast buffet.....grits, danish, and juevos rancheros all on the same plate.
2. My bathtub. I lived in this really great apartment with a supercool bathroom. I had not only a standing shower, but a giant garden tub. I could lay in that thing for an hour at a time. Almost deep enough to doggie paddle in. Almost.
3. Shopping. I never really had much money to shop with, but I have never lived anywhere else that had a mall on every corner.
4. Saturday mornings at Corner Bakery. Cold weather outside....endless coffee, the newspaper, Cinnamon Creme Cake, people watching, and deep conversation.
5. My church. Unpretentious. Creative. Sincere.
6. The Angelica and Trinity Pub...two of my favorite spots in the city. Experienced both in one night is the preferred dosage.
7. Dancing...Salsa, especially.
8. How every outing was an event. When we went out, we WENT OUT. We planned ahead, dressed up together...it always felt like something more exciting than it actually was.
9. Concerts. Something worth listening to every night of the week, if you're intersted.
10. The variety of atmosphere. Every 10 minute drive takes you to what feels like a completely different city.
11. The downtown skyline. So pretty. There's a song by Ben Kweller that mentions the lights of Dallas...how seeing them as you're driving in gives you a sense of HOME. So true.
12. Museums. I never get tired of walking through art museums, particularly. A painting you've seen 50 times can be a totally new experience each time...just depends on how you look at it.
13. Parks. Every neighborhood in Dallas has a nice park. There aren't many here at all.
14. Driving. 30 highways in one city might not sound pleasant to everyone, but I loved it. Something about learning my way around Dallas gave me a huge sense of accomplishment. If you can do THAT, you can do anything. I didn't even mind the traffic most of the time.
15. The sunsets. Most consistently amazing ones I've ever seen.
16. Winter ice storms. There's only one or two every year. Perfect taste of winter. More than two gets old, and less than two just doesn't feel wintry.
17. Feeling connected to something so much bigger than yourself. Like going to a Big 10 University. It's similar to school spirit, but you get that feeling without having to endure pep rallies and cheerleaders.
18. Mexican culture. Realizing the insignificance of your supposed "majority" status is extremely refreshing.
19. Stimulation. Boredom was a rarity for me there. Even sitting at home, somehow, seemed colorful.
20. Festivals. Every month....something new. The themes of celebration focus on everything from Butterflies (in Grapevine) to Germany (in Addison), but somehow always manage to involve cowboys and beer.
Cowboys and beer. What better combination?
Things I Miss About Dallas:
1. My friends. Friends that had really become my family. Friends that will never become less a part of me...regardless of location. They're all so unique...so different from each other. They were like my own personal breakfast buffet.....grits, danish, and juevos rancheros all on the same plate.
2. My bathtub. I lived in this really great apartment with a supercool bathroom. I had not only a standing shower, but a giant garden tub. I could lay in that thing for an hour at a time. Almost deep enough to doggie paddle in. Almost.
3. Shopping. I never really had much money to shop with, but I have never lived anywhere else that had a mall on every corner.
4. Saturday mornings at Corner Bakery. Cold weather outside....endless coffee, the newspaper, Cinnamon Creme Cake, people watching, and deep conversation.
5. My church. Unpretentious. Creative. Sincere.
6. The Angelica and Trinity Pub...two of my favorite spots in the city. Experienced both in one night is the preferred dosage.
7. Dancing...Salsa, especially.
8. How every outing was an event. When we went out, we WENT OUT. We planned ahead, dressed up together...it always felt like something more exciting than it actually was.
9. Concerts. Something worth listening to every night of the week, if you're intersted.
10. The variety of atmosphere. Every 10 minute drive takes you to what feels like a completely different city.
11. The downtown skyline. So pretty. There's a song by Ben Kweller that mentions the lights of Dallas...how seeing them as you're driving in gives you a sense of HOME. So true.
12. Museums. I never get tired of walking through art museums, particularly. A painting you've seen 50 times can be a totally new experience each time...just depends on how you look at it.
13. Parks. Every neighborhood in Dallas has a nice park. There aren't many here at all.
14. Driving. 30 highways in one city might not sound pleasant to everyone, but I loved it. Something about learning my way around Dallas gave me a huge sense of accomplishment. If you can do THAT, you can do anything. I didn't even mind the traffic most of the time.
15. The sunsets. Most consistently amazing ones I've ever seen.
16. Winter ice storms. There's only one or two every year. Perfect taste of winter. More than two gets old, and less than two just doesn't feel wintry.
17. Feeling connected to something so much bigger than yourself. Like going to a Big 10 University. It's similar to school spirit, but you get that feeling without having to endure pep rallies and cheerleaders.
18. Mexican culture. Realizing the insignificance of your supposed "majority" status is extremely refreshing.
19. Stimulation. Boredom was a rarity for me there. Even sitting at home, somehow, seemed colorful.
20. Festivals. Every month....something new. The themes of celebration focus on everything from Butterflies (in Grapevine) to Germany (in Addison), but somehow always manage to involve cowboys and beer.
Cowboys and beer. What better combination?
Friday, September 23, 2005
I Used to Be Good on a Balance Beam
I've always said that I don't like people of fickle personality. We've all had friends and family members who seem to be one person with this group...and someone entirely different with another one. It can be such a dissapointment when someone you digg repulses you when the company changes. There's a fakeness....a lack of integrity....an absence of self-assuredness about it that makes me unreasonably angry.
Much to my horror, I've realized that I'm not nearly as consistent as I like to think I am. A part of me is exactly what I spend so much energy on hating. I don't think that anyone would ever be able to say that I'm a "different person" in different situations...it's mostly something that I observe in myself.
In every relationship (not just the "romantic") exists a dynamic of leadership and authority. More often than not, one of the pair "wears the pants". What is it that determines who takes that role? It has way more to do with just individual personalities...maybe it's the combined emotional chemistry in two people that controls it without our knowledge. I say this because my role varies in each relationship. In some relationships, I'm strong, opinionated, and bold. In others, I'm soft, accomodating, and willing to sit in the passenger seat...so to speak. This has become more apparent recently. Or maybe I'm just chewing on the concept more than I used to.
Upon first thought, I wouldn't think that this is such a bad thing. What does it really matter which seat I sit in throughout a relationship? And, besides....people usually end up taking turns at the wheel in cycles. What's dangerous is when I decide that I'm comfortable not driving. Sometimes it's easier just to stare out the window and ignore where a relationship is headed. But, inevitably, my needs end up being ignored and, sooner or later, the driver forgets that I'm even in the car. I don't get a say in what music is played, I get cold, and bathroom breaks become infrequent...leaving me to cross my legs in pain for hours on end.
Okay....enough of the car metaphor.
I've recently become so wounded by loss of control that I'm extremely hesitant to let others hold power in any way, shape, or form. I'll notice suddenly that I've turned into an uncompromising bitch....and I push people away before they see what's happening. I've done it more than I like to admit, and I'm sure I've caused some hurt in the process (in more than one realm). Of course, Allison, the healthy thing to do is to BALANCE yourself between dominance and submission, but I usually find myself exisiting in one extreme or the other. So...sadly...NOBODY gets the best of me; me in my WHOLE self. Neither version is the way I want to be seen.
I'm still here, though; somewhere in the middle.
Much to my horror, I've realized that I'm not nearly as consistent as I like to think I am. A part of me is exactly what I spend so much energy on hating. I don't think that anyone would ever be able to say that I'm a "different person" in different situations...it's mostly something that I observe in myself.
In every relationship (not just the "romantic") exists a dynamic of leadership and authority. More often than not, one of the pair "wears the pants". What is it that determines who takes that role? It has way more to do with just individual personalities...maybe it's the combined emotional chemistry in two people that controls it without our knowledge. I say this because my role varies in each relationship. In some relationships, I'm strong, opinionated, and bold. In others, I'm soft, accomodating, and willing to sit in the passenger seat...so to speak. This has become more apparent recently. Or maybe I'm just chewing on the concept more than I used to.
Upon first thought, I wouldn't think that this is such a bad thing. What does it really matter which seat I sit in throughout a relationship? And, besides....people usually end up taking turns at the wheel in cycles. What's dangerous is when I decide that I'm comfortable not driving. Sometimes it's easier just to stare out the window and ignore where a relationship is headed. But, inevitably, my needs end up being ignored and, sooner or later, the driver forgets that I'm even in the car. I don't get a say in what music is played, I get cold, and bathroom breaks become infrequent...leaving me to cross my legs in pain for hours on end.
Okay....enough of the car metaphor.
I've recently become so wounded by loss of control that I'm extremely hesitant to let others hold power in any way, shape, or form. I'll notice suddenly that I've turned into an uncompromising bitch....and I push people away before they see what's happening. I've done it more than I like to admit, and I'm sure I've caused some hurt in the process (in more than one realm). Of course, Allison, the healthy thing to do is to BALANCE yourself between dominance and submission, but I usually find myself exisiting in one extreme or the other. So...sadly...NOBODY gets the best of me; me in my WHOLE self. Neither version is the way I want to be seen.
I'm still here, though; somewhere in the middle.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
My September 11th
Ever since my childhood, I've heard older generations recall their memories of monumental events. Many people can clearly remember where they were and what they were doing when....J.F.K. was shot, or when Neil Armstrong grounded the flag into moon dirt, or when the Atomic Bomb mushroomed into the heavens.
Of the things that my generation will be recalling in our older age, I suppose the events of 9/11 will be at the top of the list. As this crossed my mind today, it occurred to me how complex our memories can sometimes be.
Just like everyone else, I will never forget watching the news for 24 hours straight as airplanes crashed into buildings and people propelled themselves from office windows. It was horrifying. But in the past few years, when September 11th rolls around, my memories are clouded with specifics that are far more personal. I remember who I was with in those scary hours...a person I wish I could forget...the hotel room television...how I felt every single day of that entire week...the striped shirt that I looked so good in. That event just so happened to be the start date of a very bad time in my life; and I've never been able to seperate them. So, selfishly...this day makes my stomach churn for more reasons than the obvious.
What does that say about me?
Of the things that my generation will be recalling in our older age, I suppose the events of 9/11 will be at the top of the list. As this crossed my mind today, it occurred to me how complex our memories can sometimes be.
Just like everyone else, I will never forget watching the news for 24 hours straight as airplanes crashed into buildings and people propelled themselves from office windows. It was horrifying. But in the past few years, when September 11th rolls around, my memories are clouded with specifics that are far more personal. I remember who I was with in those scary hours...a person I wish I could forget...the hotel room television...how I felt every single day of that entire week...the striped shirt that I looked so good in. That event just so happened to be the start date of a very bad time in my life; and I've never been able to seperate them. So, selfishly...this day makes my stomach churn for more reasons than the obvious.
What does that say about me?
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Why?
When bad things happen, everyone wants to know "why?". "Why me? Why them? Why here? Why now? Why this?" It's an element of the human condition to feel that we deserve answers, immediate and in their entirety. We want to snap our fingers and for it all to be laid out in front of us, panel by panel, like a cosmic comic strip.
And, we all know that there are some people who believe they know the truth when unfortunate things happen to large groups of people. They use their respective religions or academia to explain tragedy. Societies hold their breath and await learned figures to share their wisdom...as if what they say will provide relief for the world.
"Oh, okay! Now I feel better. Now I can turn off the news and sleep well tonight on my soft PosturPedic because SOMEONE has made sense of all this madness. I'm so freaking glad that MY life can get back to normal...finally."
The thing about that is, the conjured explanations don't ever benefit the people who are directly involved in the situation. When people have experienced hurt, loss, death, and devastation, no religious or logical answer can serve as a bandaid. Telling an entire culture of people that fate chose them or, even worse, that God chose them for a particular hardship because of a history of sin, poverty, or lack of ambition isn't going to propel them into a place of peace.
My thoughts on widespread suffering is that the only answers to "Why" are revealed in individual lives. In time wounds begin to heal and the puzzle pieces of our pain (regardless of their extent) begin to fit together into something that makes sense to us.....until we can stand back and focus on a complete picture. Sometimes the picture that is formed can be seen by us only because it is beauty far too personal for others to understand.
While this is what I believe...what I desperately hope to be true about life, I would never say to a stranger in the midst of their intense suffering..."One day you'll know why this happened."
There's no way I could look into the eyes of an 80 year-old woman, lying on a cot in a shelter, with my tears pouring over her age-spotted hands, that the reason for her role in a living nightmare will be revealed to her just around the corner. As she pulled out photographs of her great grandchildren from an upholstered bag with a worn leather handle (where the remainder of her belongings now reside), I found myself completely unable to offer her any reassurance. While I knew that what she needed was strength, all I could do was weep as I kneeled beside a soul who looked eerily like my grandmother. I couldn't have felt weaker and more ashamed in that moment. I told her I loved her. I meant it. That, and the willingness to listen, was all I had to give. I sat with her until she fell asleep, and prayed that her questions of "why" will be revealed to her.
I can see us all.....everyone single one of us....at the end of our journeys....with a stack of flawlessly assembled puzzles under our arms. Not a single piece is missing from any of them.
And, we all know that there are some people who believe they know the truth when unfortunate things happen to large groups of people. They use their respective religions or academia to explain tragedy. Societies hold their breath and await learned figures to share their wisdom...as if what they say will provide relief for the world.
"Oh, okay! Now I feel better. Now I can turn off the news and sleep well tonight on my soft PosturPedic because SOMEONE has made sense of all this madness. I'm so freaking glad that MY life can get back to normal...finally."
The thing about that is, the conjured explanations don't ever benefit the people who are directly involved in the situation. When people have experienced hurt, loss, death, and devastation, no religious or logical answer can serve as a bandaid. Telling an entire culture of people that fate chose them or, even worse, that God chose them for a particular hardship because of a history of sin, poverty, or lack of ambition isn't going to propel them into a place of peace.
My thoughts on widespread suffering is that the only answers to "Why" are revealed in individual lives. In time wounds begin to heal and the puzzle pieces of our pain (regardless of their extent) begin to fit together into something that makes sense to us.....until we can stand back and focus on a complete picture. Sometimes the picture that is formed can be seen by us only because it is beauty far too personal for others to understand.
While this is what I believe...what I desperately hope to be true about life, I would never say to a stranger in the midst of their intense suffering..."One day you'll know why this happened."
There's no way I could look into the eyes of an 80 year-old woman, lying on a cot in a shelter, with my tears pouring over her age-spotted hands, that the reason for her role in a living nightmare will be revealed to her just around the corner. As she pulled out photographs of her great grandchildren from an upholstered bag with a worn leather handle (where the remainder of her belongings now reside), I found myself completely unable to offer her any reassurance. While I knew that what she needed was strength, all I could do was weep as I kneeled beside a soul who looked eerily like my grandmother. I couldn't have felt weaker and more ashamed in that moment. I told her I loved her. I meant it. That, and the willingness to listen, was all I had to give. I sat with her until she fell asleep, and prayed that her questions of "why" will be revealed to her.
I can see us all.....everyone single one of us....at the end of our journeys....with a stack of flawlessly assembled puzzles under our arms. Not a single piece is missing from any of them.
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