Alan and Justyna

Justyna exclaims as she tears past her guests that mill below the Mexican paper flags, "This is the only song I can dance to!" She grabs Alan who is deep in conversation with his father at the end of the pew and pulls him to the front of the old church with the blue organ. Their friends play a dark melody from the altar-turned-stage as the two embrace in their dance. A child ballerina twirls around them. The guests gather to watch the one moment that might be described as traditional on their wonderful wedding day. Alan twirls Justyna in circles over and over as she strains to keep her balance. Without warning, Alan takes off running, apparently to make a lap around the church. He pulls a laughing Justyna behind him. Her steps are tiny and quick, well able to keep up even in heels.

It Felt Like What I Wanted

I wrote this piece during an exercise in a memoir writing class I took this year. Each week we would write vignettes based upon phrases offered by the teacher. In this case, the phrase wound up being the opening line.

It felt like what I wanted. The tang of sweat above his lip lingered on my tongue as he pulled away. My lips felt bruised from careless contact with his facial hair. "He probably only shaves like, once a week," I spoke with great authority to my girlfriends that evening.

It was the sort of midsummer's day that made you wish that you lived at the beach rather than in the suburbs. As the sun baked my shoulders I sucked down every last drop of the fountain cherry cokes we bought at the corner gas station, then crunched each piece of ice left.

I could taste the cherry coke on his breath, too. He was older, 16 to my 14 and I knew it was fate when I learned his birthday was four days after mine. He loped down the street next to me like he had a guitar slung across his back. His red hair was between stages - him wanting to grow it long, his mother wanting it cut. He was tall and thin but I could see the definition of his muscles as he grasped my elbow.

We sat under a maple tree on a stranger's lawn just blocks from the building where we both took ceramics. Each day prior to today I had meticulously chosen my outfit in anticipation of seeing him: babydoll dresses with leggings, always black but sometimes small flowers to be feminine. This day though after sleeping through the alarm I pulled on beat-up, cutoff jeans covered in bleach stains - the rock n' roll equivalent of tie dye - and sharpee drawings of Led Zeppelin symbols. Of course it was this day that he announced that we should leave class and go for a walk to escape the clammy room of clay.

As we strolled down the neighborhood streets he'd ask me questions and then laugh too hard at my answers. We would halt momentarily to allow the occasional breeze to tickle our skin and the leaves above. In one smooth move he sat down cross-legged. I followed suit and felt grass and tree roots under my legs. I couldn't take my eyes off of his freckles and his blue eyes.

He smiled as he kissed me. The butterflies that had been dusting my stomach walls lifted up through my lungs and out through my shoulder blades.

Years later I would see him at a show where his band was playing. He shined when he smiled as told his friends gathered at the bar "This is the girl who taught me to kiss." I rolled my eyes, nudged his shoulder and announced that I would buy the next round.

As I turned toward the bartender I smiled and closed my eyes for a second. He was the one who gave me what I longed for. My first kiss.

Written of course, for Mike.

A Charming Little Tree

Yesterday, I bought my first ever living Christmas tree. Ela and I had a lovely time decorating it last night and I am already in love with it:

In years past I would get a Poinsettia and decorate it for my home in Atlanta. Because I spend Christmas in Chicago every year it made sense not to have a tree. The tree at my parent's house is beautiful and filled with ornaments bearing their own stories and memories of our family. I was surprised that in my first tree in my home ever, that my little stories came by simply and that they were stories unique to my life in Atlanta.

In addition to several beautiful big and little birds that I have used on my poinsettia in the past, I have a portrait of my home that Ela painted the year I moved in here, a blue star garland from Mica, a cat from Tiffani sitting next to the tree and it all sits on a kuffiyeh from Mohammad.

Even though I've been struggling with a migraine all day, my charming little tree makes me smile each time my eyes drift its way.

Why I had to Hit a Cop today

I don’t know what it is abut that square block the runs from MLK to Mitchell and Capitol Ave to Washington in downtown Atlanta, that gives dudes the idea that they can act like frat boys. And get away with it I mean.

Not 30 seconds after I sat down for my meeting this morning, a certain Sheriff (an actual Sheriff, not a deputy) comes over to greet me. He holds out his hand to shake mine then quickly reaches down and grabs my ankle- my ANKLE! He gestures at my tattoo and tells the woman next to me, “Look, she got my name tattooed on her ankle!” I wish I could embed a recording of this cuz his accent is something else.

I literally swatted at his hand over and over to get it off my leg. I repeatedly hit a cop today, people. It took him a while to finally let go. And what makes it even funnier is that he isn’t the first cop that I’ve had to swat away form my lower leg. Last session there was a certain Chief of Police who had a similar obsession my body art. He would usually announce loudly to those around us "looks like you got some dirt on your ankle!" Groan. Then he would grab my ankle. He even did it once when I was wearing pants- like lifted up my pant leg. Unreal.

And this, ladies and gentleman, is why I can never leave the house when I’m headed for the Capitol in a skirt without pantyhose. How funny is it that my Mother’s displeasure at my tattoo oh-so many years ago and her admonitions that I would regret it carried some weight because the tattoo subjects me to the advances of pervy old white Georgia cops!

I actually stared into my sock drawer this morning, lamenting the fact that my pantyhose stash had been completely depleted by the session. Because I was running late as usual, I had no time to stop at CVS to pick up a pair. And I thought to myself, the hell with it, what does it really matter if I'm barelegged or not? Now I know.

In other news, I’m finally getting the hole in my closet fixed to prevent future visits from Blossom the Possum. The dude who came to fix it out of the blue started talking to me about metal and haunted houses even though I was wearing a suit. Am I really that obvious to read?

Also my sister’s blog and report of what happened this weekend in Chicago is fantastic and hilarious and makes me feel like I should close up shop over here because she has got it covered. Here's a preview to entice you to go read it:

My family celebrated an early Mother's Day at a fancy french restaurant called Chez Joel. It's owned by these handsome Moroccan brothers, one of whom (probably my future husband, even though he's married, waa waa) is named Sufjan. Sexy. Anyhow, the food was delicious. The giant bottle of wine was delicious. And my father was drunk. He was hilarious; right before dessert, he stated "I'm going to try to stand up now," wobbled towards the bathroom, and waved his fingers at the waiter who stood aside to let him by. I can only imagine what he may have said to him. Plus, earlier in the evening, he was trying to think of the word for Metrosexual and could only come up with "Sexopolitan." That's right. Sexopolitan.

Palm Sunday in Chicago and Atlanta

I spoke with my father today just after mass at the Arabic church. On the Orthodox calendar, today was Palm Sunday. I could hear the happiness in my father's voice, it was clear he had been enjoying the day.

He spoke about the beautiful weather in Chicago, and how nice the service had been. Little girls wore their pretty Easter dresses and carried flowers. Palm leaves are carried by parishioners in a procession around the church's yard, symbolizing Jesus' entry into Jerusalem the week before he was executed and rose from the dead.

My father makes crosses out of the palm leaves that are always in heavy demand by fellow church-goers. It made me wish I was there to help twist them into shape quickly. It makes me long for my family, for Chicago. For a church that I haven't been to in over a decade but can remember its smell of frankincense, the taste of pita bread at communion, and can easily hum the Easter songs sung in Aramaic. I'm grateful to go home next week.

In the meantime, I spend my Palm Sunday at my home in Atlanta by going to one of my very favorite places, the Forest Park Farmer's Market. There I spend just $5 and acquire no less than 10 tomatoes, 6 cucumbers, 5 lemons, 2 yellow bell peppers, and 6 bananas. I head over to take a walk through the plant and flower section.

I wander in zigzags enjoying the afternoon breeze and blue sky, touching petals, tasting herbs, smelling blossoms. I look up and find myself surrounded by baby palm trees. The air is smells green. I buy a beautiful bougainvillea to hang on my doorstep. I listen to Celluloid Heroes on repeat on the drive home. Everybody's a dreamer, everybody's a star.

2007 in Photos

Taking a cue from Audacity, here is the 2007 review in photos.

January: The winter sky on the drive from Chicago back to Atlanta. I rode in the backseat and Reem and her BFF Sarah were my chauffeurs for the longest hitchhike in history.

February: Flying into Chicagoland

March: Springtime appears in Atlanta with the dogwoods blooming at Oakland Cemetery during my parents' visit.

April: The very first Blah Girl picture. Driving documentation begins.

May: Rain, wind, 800 cocktails, Irish music, kisses, bliss, 2 am in Savannah.

June: Spiderweb Houseleek on a trip with Dad to the Chicago Botanic Gardens.

June: Eek gets shaved and looks like an old man

July: Jamaican Sunset for Ela's birthday

July: Mica's Metalsome birthday

August: Troy Davis gets a Stay of Execution. We hold a press conference featuring exonorees Gary Drinkard, Darryl Hunt and survivor Jennifer Thomas Canino


September: Dad and I share another birthday party. Note the bite already taken out of the front of the delicious coconut cake.

October: Greatest Halloween party in Atlanta made perfect by the sister and brother plus 4 cousins.

November: Mom, Reem and I go back to Ireland.

December: Steve Bright argues Snyder v. Louisiana in the US Supreme Court. I marvel and choke back tears as he makes friends of Justices Scalia and Alito. One of the most amazing experiences of my life.

December: Christmas at the Hodi's with the Clan

Meat Markets, coming home

Check out the name of the new butcher in Chicago. Beautiful!

Speaking of meat markets, how bout the Kroger in the Edgewood shopping plaza on Moreland? I had no idea that this was the new spot to cruise.

When two different guys checked me out in the time from the car to the store I thought it was a bit peculiar. When it continued inside, dude after dude walking by, looking me up and down and smiling a little too friendly, and culminating in a guy asking me out after a brief conversation in front of the dried fruit I knew I wasn’t just grocery shopping- that there was all sorts of other kinds of shopping going on- know what am sayin ladies?!? Not that I blame the guys- I was looking unusually irresistible in my hair-is-too-dirty-to-go-out-but-I-don’t feel-like-showering hat and last night’s makeup. I think the Kroger is the new heterosexual equivalent of the Midtown Home Depot for gay men.

This has been a lovely first day back in town after being gone for the last couple weeks. I slept in till noon after having a wonderful dream where I was dating David Sedaris (then while dreaming remembered he was gay, but it was all good cuz I still got to hang out with Amy and saw her craft-filled apartment). I made a Moroccan lamb and apricot tagine and tomato, lentil and orange soup. I took a bath with lavender salts and burned rose candles. And now the Simpsons are on and the Secret Agent is on his way over for what I hope will be a delicious meal. It’s good to be home in Atlanta.

Coming Home

Heading home to Chicago this afternoon for the weekend. I miss the City, the people, the Lake. I've been obsessing about Deep Dish Pizza, mmmmm.

I love Falltime in Chicago, even though I think its still a bit warm there now. I love the breeze.

These pictures are from a year ago, my September 2006 trip. This trip was also the one where I blinged out Reem's cast after she fell at Little River Canyon and we had to airlift her out. What a day! The bonus was that she got to have the most glam cast ever.