Tag: observations

International Travel

-So I the only vaccination I have left is Hep B, but there’s yeast in it, which I’m allergic to. So I have to get a note from my allergist saying they can give it to me.

-How do you get Hep B?

-That’s the thing, it’s like, body fluid exchange. I don’t plan on engaging in a lot of that.

-True.

-But apparently you can get it by, like, sharing someone’s toothbrush or razor. Though I also don’t plan to approach random strangers and ask them for their toothbrush.

-True, and it’s not likely someone is going to come up and spit in your mouth.

-You never know.

-That might be a local custom.

– Right. You’re in some remote little town, surrounded by a group of angry villagers who are offended that you won’t engage in the local custom of spitting in each others mouths as a friendly greeting.

-But I didn’t get my shots!

-They’re all screaming, Spit in my mouth! Spit in my mouth!

-You’re cursing the guidebook authors.

-Spit in my mouth! The gods will be angry!

Lovely

A few things you would like, if you were me:

  • Dancing with old men at weddings
  • Sourdough toast
  • Watching jellyfish swim
  • Children who whisper when they�re talking to small babies
  • The feeling of breath on the neck
  • Red winged blackbirds
  • Sotto voce
  • Slicing fresh ginger
  • When little kids jump, how they sometimes do this thing with their arms. They spread them like wings, like they’re about to take off.

Habit

I am sitting on the cushy table at the gynecologist’s office. I know the table is cushy because there is nothing between me and the table. That is, nothing but a thin sheet of paper that crinkles when I shift. I have another such sheet draped awkwardly across my lap.

It feels odd sitting like this, in my long-sleeved shirt, my earrings, my lip gloss, and my paper lap throw. Of course, I’ve been here before, and I like my nurse practitioner. Her demeanor suggests that the gals do this kind of thing all the time, sit around with no pants on making chitchat about how the writing is coming, and whether this breakfast place is preferable to that.

She has her back to me for a few moments, checking my chart, and then she turns to me suddenly with a surprised face.

Are you humming?

What?

Were you just humming? Just now?

I guess I was.

Is that a nervous thing?

No. I talk when I’m nervous.

Do you hum a lot?

All the time, I guess. I don’t usually realize I’m doing it.

Huh. That’s kind of nice.

Thanks.

KATRINA

Through this whole disaster, I�ve only been able think in slow motion when my mind turns to all the suffering. Reports kept saying, �It�s worse than anyone knows, it�s worse than anyone knows.� But none of them were explaining how, what that meant.

Today, watching Oprah Winfrey, I saw a police officer break down. He said that inside the Superdome, people were raping babies. The police, out-armed and outnumbered by street gangs inside, were powerless to stop them. Children couldn�t go into the bathrooms because predators were waiting there, raping them, even killing them. There was gunfire inside the shelter. With no electricity and no windows, it was dark inside, save for a few small skylights hundreds of feet up. I finally understand.

To our survivors, I am so sorry. We should have been there sooner. Once the storm passed, we should have protected you from further harm. We owe deep gratitude to those nearby who did what they could without adequate resources.

Americans pride ourselves on taking care of our own. Until now, it has felt as though our capacity to do that in times of crisis was limitless. It has been difficult to accept our vulnerability, and to admit that we need help, just like any other country visited by grave disaster. Thank you to all of the countries who have offered that help, especially those of you who have put aside political differences to do so.

Thank you Canada, Cuba, Venezuela, Saudi Arabia, Dominica, Russia, France, Japan, China, El Salvador, Israel, Paraguay, the U.K., the United Arab Emirates, the Netherlands, Honduras, Germany, Venezuela, Jamaica, Australia, Switzerland, Greece, Hungary, Columbia, The Dominican Republic, Mexico, South Korea, New Zealand, Guatemala, Belgium, Singapore, Sri Lanka, Italy, Guyana, Indonesia, Austria, Lithuania, Spain, Norway, and the Bahamas. We’re humbled by your compassion.

Disappointment

Kayla is demonstrating a point by playing air drums at the table. She�s rocking out, twirling imaginary sticks, tossing them in the air. After a few confidence-building throws, she takes things up a notch, rocketing a single imaginary drumstick way up into the rafters.

Our eyes follow it up, and up, and up. The imaginary drumstick is so high that Kayla leans back in her chair to catch it, stretches one arm far into the space behind her, and scowls in concentration. Her husband, alarmed at the ill-advised tilt of her chair, nudges Kayla forward to the safety of the table’s edge. Her face falls; her arm goes limp. Damn! she says, I just missed it.

Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend Said Ros-Ar-Y?

A young nun was recently reprimanded for dancing indecorously with a missionary during Catholic World Youth Day. According to the article, a local newspaper “showed pictures of a dancing Johanne Vertommen being held up in the air by the missionary, and then clinging to him with her legs wrapped around his body.”

Refreshing, no? I think we can safely call this progress.

Discretion

When Heather comes to visit, I suggest that we stop by Good Vibrations, a local highbrow sex shop, for a quintessential San Francisco experience.

We amble through the Mission, passing forty-two taquerias along the way, and finally arrive at our destination. I’ve been to Good Vibrations a dozen times — for bachelorette supplies and the like — and have never known one of the employees to approach me unbidden; they’re incredibly discreet.

Heather draws immediate attention. She’s approximately 6″4′ in heels, and is wearing a skirt that clearly shows her legs stretching up to her armpits. Also, her mouth is so agape that her jaw is getting rug burn. Every few feet she gives a Southern-drawl stage whisper, What is this? and then withdraws in horror when I explain.

We look around for a few minutes, select a set of superior pink vibrators, and are snickering over the flavored body oils when a butch-lesbian store employee approaches.

BLSE: Do you mind if I ask you two something?

Me: (Looking around to see who she’s talking to.) Us? Oh! No, not at all.

BLSE: OK. Why did you both decide on the same vibrator?

Heather and I look at each other questioningly, and then guiltily, like perhaps we’re planning to do a kinky, synchronized stage show involving hot-pink vibrators, knock-knock jokes, and dancehall costumes.

Me: Um.

Heather: Um.

Me: I don’t know. I guess we just liked the same one. Why do you ask?

BLSE: It just seems like women who come in together always leave with the same vibrator.

Me: Huh.

The truth is I insisted that Heather could not leave town without a vibrator, as I knew she’d never owned one, and I didn’t see any clean, well-lit, sex-toy shops last time I was in Salt Lake City. Heather protested that she didn’t need one. I pointed out that it was not a question of need, but a quality-of-life issue. She reiterated that she wasn’t that interested. I shoved the vibrator into hands and switched through each one of its seven pulsating channels.

She took one.

And now the clerk wants to know why. Why did Heather select that particular one? The one that I shoved into her hands, the one that I told her she could not leave the store without. Heather looks at me expectantly. I give a nervous high-pitched squeak and begin to study my shoes.

Heather: Uh I’m from Utah.

BLSE: Oh?

Heather: (nervous laugh) I’m a good little Mormon girl. I don’t know anything about any of this stuff.

(Mormon ancestors everywhere bang their heads against coffin lids. From 735 miles away, Heather’s mother hears her daughter, who has publicly and venomously sworn off the Mormon Church for years, and speeddials a church Elder. A few days later, he will meet Heather at the airport with a Book of Mormon and a plate of Rice Krispy treats.)

BLSE: Oh. I see. Well, do you use any kind of lubrication during sex?

Heather’s eyes are locked on this woman. She is trying hard to look serious, and calm, and knowledgeable. I know she doesn’t want to answer, and yet she does answer. Heather very obviously wants her answer to be the right one, the best possible answer regarding vaginal lubrication, so that perhaps this kind and helpful woman will go away.

BLSE: I see. Well, there are all kinds of things that affect lubrication, time of the month, arousal levels, energy levels. Do you ever find?

Awkward conversation ensues that reveals far too much about both my and Heather’s sex lives. This woman is coaxing us into saying things we would blush to tell our husbands. Suffice it to say that we spend the longest five minutes of our lives discussing the intricacies of vaginal lubrication with a complete stranger. Both of us are doing everything we can to indicate our discomfort, but the conversation lunges forward.

BLSE: Also, do you ever experience pain during sex?

Heather clears her throat. I move away, feigning fascination with a colorful butt-plug display. The BLSE doesn’t budge, she is clearly engaged in a mild flirtation with Heather, whose eyes are darting wildly around the room.

Heather: Uh well. I’m a recovering Mormon. I mean, I, I Uh I (deep sigh)

For the first time in recorded history, Heather Armstrong — the woman who has told the Internet about the cabbage she stuffed in her bra to relieve lactation pains, the months she went without sex after giving birth, the times she has had to remove her own feces from her rectum with her hands — is officially speechless. I swoop back in.

Me: OK. I think we’re fine now.

BLSE: Well, it’s just that

Me: We’re good. We’re good. Thank you!

BLSE: I mean, I was just saying

Me: OK!! Thanks for your help! I think we’re fine on our own! Thanks, though.

BLSE: (clearly annoyed)I didn’t mean to be pushy or anything.

Heather and me: Oh, nonononononononono. It’s fine. Fine! Thanks! Thank you!

Heather and I retreat to the far side of the room and take several deep breaths. Once we’ve regained our composure, we step up to the counter and purchase our Doublemint Twins vibrators. Then we step out into the street.

We are grinning, silent. I turn to Heather, I can’t believe you told her you were Mormon.