The woman sitting next to me in the theater was a stranger, the sort of woman who would be hard to pick out of a crowd or a police line-up. “Well, she had bright red lipstick and fashionable clothes” probably wouldn’t be enough for a conviction or a second meeting. There was nothing about her that warned me of the direction our conversation would take.

I enjoy chatting up strangers, so when she asked me if I had seen a trailer of the movie we were about to watch I joined in a conversation with her about films.

“Have you seen Blade Runner 2049?” I asked. My boyfriend Andrew and I saw it on opening night. We bought the tickets a month early, as soon as they were released, and anxiously crossed off the days on the calendar until the screening. We stayed up late the night before and watched the original Blade Runner, so we could put the sequel into the proper perspective.

“Yeah” the woman replied in between mouthfuls of popcorn, “It was really boring. I didn’t like it at all.”

I wanted to ask her why she didn’t like the movie. Maybe, like me, she bought and consumed an extra-large soda, without realizing that she would be trapped in the theatre for over three hours. While I was thinking of what to ask, she dipped her bright red lacquered nails into the popcorn bucket again. Around bites of popcorn she explained that she saw the movie about Queen Victoria and “that Muslim guy” and didn’t like it. Not because of the acting, but because there was mention of the Koran. “Really” she said, “Who needs that!”

The whole time she was speaking my mind was doing something like “Wait a minute, you don’t like Blade Runner? Wait… what did you say about Muslims? And Queen Victoria?” I didn’t get to say any of this out loud, because she just kept talking. It was like watching your toilet overflow onto your shoes as you stand there and wonder where you last saw the plunger.

When she mentioned Battle of the Sexes, I replied “I want to see that one, I remember when that match happened.”

“Well, I walked out of that movie. There were lesbians in it and they were kissing. It was disgusting. Got my money back too.” She finished this statement with a self-satisfied nod and sighed as she leaned back in her seat. It must be tiring, I thought, trying to find a movie that doesn’t offend.

When she asked if I would hold her seat for her while she went to the ladies room, I looked at her and blurted out the only thing I could think of, “I really looked up to Billie Jean King when I was young!”

I’m not very good at verbal exchanges. Give me an hour or two to write something down, and I’ll be especially witty. I was with two friends that night, a lesbian couple. While the woman was away I apologized to my friends, both for the stranger’s remarks and my lack of response. They assured me it was okay, they knew where I stood, but I couldn’t help feeling confused and shamed. What about my appearance and manner made that woman comfortable enough to share those statements?

Like most people, I avoid confrontation. I just want everyone to like me. But my silence speaks, and what it says when I say nothing is “I agree with you.”

The First Amendment gives us the freedom to hold different beliefs. Her opinion of Blade Runner might offend me, but it doesn’t harm me. And saying you don’t like coffee might worry the folks at Starbucks, but it won’t put them out of business. When you express prejudice and hatred toward people because of their race, religion, sexual orientation, or political affiliation, what you are really saying is you don’t want to share your schools, your movie theatres, your businesses, or your civil rights.

My friend suggested that I respond to these conversations by saying “I’ll pray for you.” This seems like a sensible response, and most likely will not lead to my arrest, like a punch to the face might.

I’ll pray that those who follow that path of hate will instead find common ground with those they wish to suppress. I’ll pray that good people will speak out and say they don’t agree with hate, that hatred and prejudice are wrong. And I’ll pray for those who kneel, so that others may stand.

Peace, Love, and Understanding

Terrye

 

 

 

I’ve always considered myself something of a feminist, but I have to admit there is one area where women are at a distinct disadvantage.  The great outdoors is not so great when you risk peeing on your leg because you can’t spread your legs far enough when you squat. I’ve never been envious of a penis except when Andrew and I go hiking. We’ve got a trip coming up where we will be spending five or six hours on trails at Guadalupe Mountains National Park, and I’ll be carrying a little over three liters of water.  Luckily, I found a nifty little item on Amazon.

When I ordered them I told Andrew “Look! It’s like a detachable penis!” He was both skeptical and relieved when they arrived and he saw that they were little wax paper funnels. The cover of the Klean Go package has the phrase “A lady’s way to stand up for herself!”  I guess the phrase “Next best thing to actually having a penis” was either taken or too risqué.

The reviewers on Amazon recommend practicing at home before you attempt to use them out in public. I did, and I have to say I never realized the toilet was so far away when you’re standing up to pee. I’ll never criticize Andrew’s aim again.

 

 

Every time I go in for a checkup, my doctor warns me about my cholesterol levels as though they were the rising consumer price index.  And if there is some sort of connection, soon I won’t be able to afford bread. I’ve been in a cold war with my arteries for some time now. I don’t feel clogged, so my strategy has been to pretty much ignore the doctor’s warnings.

When I read an article that suggested that red wine would help lower your cholesterol levels, I thought “Now there is a solution I can get behind!” so I headed over to Total Wine, the Grand Canyon of liquor stores. I looked around and finally found an employee/tour guide/Wine Ranger, and I asked for a recommendation for a sweet red wine.

Wine Ranger: “Do you mind bubbles in your wine?”

Me: “Actually, I prefer wine with bubbles.”

When he suggested a bottle that cost less than $10, and came with a twist top instead of a cork, I considered that a win. These are my two most important qualifications for selecting a wine.  I’ve had that bottle about a month, and I don’t know if it’s lowering my cholesterol. I do know that it’s giving me a better attitude about the evening news.

I’m also trying to lose some weight. The diet I’m trying is called the 5:2 diet. Basically it’s a modified fast where you eat regularly five days a week and two days a week you drastically reduce the calories you consume. For me that means I can only have 500 calories a day on my fast days.  What can you eat and still come in under 500 calories for the entire day? Here’s a list:

1. Cauliflower
2. Broccoli
3. Foam packing peanuts

 

Just kidding.  A diet of nothing but cauliflower and broccoli should only be undertaken if you work alone, and have no friends or family. Also, my boyfriend Andrew says the foam packing peanuts are actually called rice cakes.

I was attracted to the diet because there have been medical studies done on mice that show that intermittent fasting can decrease chances of getting Alzheimer’s, lower cholesterol, and reduce joint pain. If I’m ever reincarnated as a mouse this will certainly come in handy. The magazine article where I first read about the 5:2 diet used the phrase “Quality of life”, words that trigger me now in my 50’s the same way “All you can eat buffet” and “75% off shoes” triggered me when I was in my 20’s.

A typical fasting day for me consists of either a hard-boiled egg or one cup of oatmeal in the morning, a salad with tuna for lunch, and some wishful thinking for dinner. Or I can have 4 ounces of boneless, skinless chicken along with the aforementioned cauliflower and broccoli. I also drink lots of water, and get my exercise running back and forth to the restroom.

This diet obviously is not for everyone, if you are diabetic or hypoglycemic it just won’t work cutting out your calories this drastically.  On fast days I end up REALLY hungry by dinner time. Cartoon cat hungry, where I hallucinate images of roast chicken while I’m looking at Andrew sitting on the couch. And I find myself resorting to food porn, binge watching old episodes of The Great British Bake Off and tearing out impossible recipes from magazines. I look at those torn out pages the next day like I’ve had some sort of blackout. Why did I think I would ever be able to or want to make a Towering Seven Layer Salmon Mousse? I’m also disappointed that you can’t lick the pictures of food on magazine pages and get a taste of the dish. Why can’t they do this? They can create those annoying fragrance inserts that stink up my mailbox.

I’ll keep going, though. So far I’m losing about a pound a week, and I don’t gain it back when I eat regularly the rest of the week. Regularly being the recommended 2000 calorie a day diet, not Cheesecake Factory regular. I have to skip the wine on fast days, but I find that it gives me something to look forward to the rest of the week. Even if I’m watching the evening news.

 

I stopped coloring my hair about six months ago, and let the grey slowly (very slowly) take over. It had grown out to a sort of “ombre” look with blonde ends, and people were asking me “Are you letting your grey grow out?”

I was always tempted to reply “No. Why do you ask?” and then look horrified. However, I managed to keep a straight face and tell them yes, I actually meant for my hair to have this weird grey stripe down the middle.

At first it was easy to give up the coloring, I just stopped. But as the grey advanced I worried what I would look like when it was finally completely grey.  On the plus side, I noticed that the teen age cashier at KFC automatically gave me the senior discount without asking my age.

I’d been on intimate terms with Miss Clairol for almost thirty years. You don’t walk out on that sort of relationship without a few regrets. Finally, like an alcoholic dumping out that last bottle of booze, I stopped at Supercuts and basically asked the hairdresser to cut off anything that wasn’t grey.

I thought the final hairdo came out okay, if much shorter than I have had in a long time. Actually, once people started complimenting me and saying that the hairstyle made me look younger, I realized that this was the same haircut that I had when I graduated from high school in the seventies.

Another coworker came up and said I reminded him of a celebrity, and I asked “Helen Mirren?” but sadly he said no, that wasn’t it.

I forgot about this conversation until I walked outside to my car later that day, and caught sight of my reflection in the glass windows on our office building. I had on pants and a tunic top, and with the grey hair I realized that I looked like, not Helen Mirren, but Bea Arthur in her Golden Girls days.

Oh well, Bea was a pretty classy lady so I’m okay with that. Now that the grey has taken over, I’m hoping that all the cashiers at retail establishments will be too embarrassed to ask me how old I am, and give me that free cup of coffee or taco at 10% off.

There was a story on the local news recently that was a perfect example of how local governments can act quickly on important issues, as opposed to the slow grind toward democracy in their state and federal counterparts. The coverage centered on Redneck Heaven, a restaurant in Lewisville, Texas. The controversy began with complaints to the police department that the waitresses there were topless. Apparently the line that distinguished a sexually oriented business from a food service establishment was one drawn in brush strokes across a nipple. This breast-staking event was covered by every local channel. The news stories went on to describe how the police had visited Redneck Heaven and reported back to the city council that the women were in fact, covered by body paint; and they wanted a ruling on whether the paint counted as clothing. The news reports did not mention how many trips the cops had to make to the place in order to observe these servers.

I was amused by the interviews of customers at a nearby dining establishment. One woman described how her family had wandered in there “by accident” and discovered the scantily clad servers. I for one, when faced by a choice between Olive Garden, Chili’s, or a place called Redneck Heaven, would never chose the latter. Not because I am a prude or offended by nearly naked women, but because I would expect the menu to consist of fried bologna and Velveeta cheese sandwiches, served with a side of cheesy puffs, with maybe a free side of bait and ammo to go.

The news stories went on for two or three days, following the event to its logical conclusion when the council met for a special session where they voted on an ordinance that stated that body paint and tattoos were not clothing. Whew! I was glad to hear this, just when I was bracing myself for casual day at work. Redneck Heaven’s version of casual day includes something called “Anything but Clothes”, or ABC days. On these occasions the women wear their standard skimpy bikini bottoms, garter belts to hold dollar bills, and an assortment of strategically placed items to cover (or not), their top parts. There are pictures on the restaurant’s website of typical costumes worn on these days, and I was amazed at the creativity on display. One woman covered her breasts in what looked like whipped cream, with a couple of cherries placed on top. I spent a good five or ten minutes trying to figure out how she got those cherries to stay there, as I can barely get a barrette to stay in place on my hair without plastering it in with hair spray. Other non-edible coverings included artificial flowers, condom wrappers, and the controversial body paint.

Like most of the male patrons interviewed for the story, I don’t see anything wrong with women walking around nude, or nearly nude, or mostly naked.  I’ve always limited myself to accidental nudity, like the time I went down the water slide at Hawaiian Falls, or the morning I forgot to close the living room blinds. But I was concerned because they were working in a restaurant and not someplace where the décor consisted of dim lighting and metal poles. Food service can be a dangerous business, and I hoped for the sake of the waitresses and customers, that they were serving mostly cold beer and sandwiches wrapped safely in plastic.

I know firsthand of the dangers. I was once a waitress myself, and one time I set a basket of chips on fire at the Mexican restaurant where I worked. I extinguished the blaze by throwing the basket into the fountain in the center of the dining room, along with three cocktail napkins, the crepe paper flowers hanging over the booth, and a cardboard take out menu my customers had thoughtlessly left lying on the center on the table. I think I was only partly at fault for this accident, and the person who thought it was a good idea to add flaming cheese to the menu should have shared in the blame.

Luckily I was wearing a shirt and pants when this event happened. Had I been clothed in just a necklace of paper condom wrappers, that thing would have gone up like a string of Chinese fire crackers. While I sympathize with the reluctance on the part of many of the customers of Redneck Heaven to see the end of body painted boobies, surely they understand that city ordinances are put in place to keep a strict separation between places that are serving food and places that are serving up something that only occasionally is covered in whipped cream. I applaud the Lewisville city council for their quick action to protect the public and tighten up the definition of clothing, especially for those of us who might be confused on casual Fridays.