Category: Writing

Nearly ten years ago when I moved to the Music Capital of the World, I thought I was allergic to beestings and had no problem with pollen. I’ve learned some things since then.

There’s this seasonal Welcome to Austin condition known as Cedar Fever that makes newbies feel as if they’ve come down with the flu. As trial and error would have it, cough drops relieved my itchy throat and sneezing, a neti pot cleared my sinuses and Bikram yoga kept most seasonal allergy symptoms in check–with a host of other wonderful benefits.

Yet, keeping the flora and fauna that resides within the human body in balance is as challenging as maintaining world peace. You never know when something’s brewing until your intel briefs you. In my case, it was ear wax.

I hadn’t experienced a good ear wax flood in years. When I say “flood,” I don’t mean that anything was leaking out, but as I slept the wax buildup plugged my ears, making me feel as if I was underwater. Combined with my heartbeat, I felt as if I could hear waves underwater.

A few days later, I smelled the stench in the water flowing through the pipes in my apartment. The next day, I learned the stench was caused by decomposing zebra mussels that had invaded the water supply. Yet I didn’t realize that those dead zebra mussels had thrown off my ear wax.

I did my usual hydrogen peroxide in the ear to break up the wax. That solution worked for a few days.

Then, women at yoga suggested I use garlic oil drops. One even suggested using my neti pot, which I didn’t think of because I focused on ear wax rather than inner ear pressure. The neti pot helped relieve the pressure from the other side, but only temporarily.

As I battled with keeping my right ear open, the water treatment facility used charcoal to remedy the dead zebra mussels stank. Periodically, my right ear would just pop open on its own, only to re-close just as inexplicably.

Then, it would pop open in the morning and only close as I slept. At that point, I stopped messing with it. After all, I didn’t really need to hear while I slept. No harm, no foul.

Finally, the problem cleared up altogether. That’s when I noticed that the water hadn’t stunk in a few days. Eureka! Those damn zebra mussels had had one last hurrah in death.

I’m not allergic to shellfish (yet!) , but I’m a firm believer of drinking tap water since it’s potable. However, the small fluctuation in water quality was enough to cause an immune response as my body knew it didn’t need the essence of zebra mussels.

In the meantime, I’m going to keep doing the things that promote body peace: daily exercise, fresh food, 8 hours of sleep and a glass of red wine!

I first noticed the smell in the bathroom. Having just flushed minutes ago, I lifted the lid. Nope, nothing there but a damn near sparkling clean toilet bowl.

Then I refilled my drinking glass with tap water and smelled it again. I brought the glass to my nose and there it was. I dumped out the water, got a new glass and this time filled it with bottled water from the refrigerator, which I had from the last time we couldn’t drink the water since flooding had overwhelmed the city’s water facility.

Even then, I started boiling water and storing it into other containers, but I had to start off with bottled water as a quick-fix until I had my stash of potable water saved up.

Since I had been a Peace Corps Volunteer and had lived and traveled around developing countries, I had a love/hate relationship with bottled water. If I lived in a place where I couldn’t drink the tap water, then I either used a filter, or filtered and boiled the water, or bought the largest container of bottled water I could.

I’d never smelled such a stench emanating from water before; so I immediately put the blame on the construction site adjacent to my apartment complex. Seems as if they’d been working on it for many years, but in truth, it may be closer to two.

The next time I watched the news, the mystery had been solved: zebra mussels had infiltrated the water supply for central Austin and were decomposing. Although the news anchor stated that the officials declared the water safe to drink despite the smell, there wasn’t any clip of an official turning on a faucet and taking a sip of it. Hence, I continued drinking bottled water if I wasn’t going to boil it first.

Fortunately, whatever efforts were made to remove the stench successfully reached my water supply first. Local TV anchors were still talking about the stinky water days after mine had returned to its usual odorless state.

Some may wonder why the fluctuations in water quality don’t cause me to stop drinking tap water altogether. Here’s why I continue to do so: within limits, I want my body to deal with whatever is in this environment, so I’m not always sick in the long run.

Remember the end of Battle of the Wits scene in the Princess Bride where Westley admitted to building up an immunity to poison, which he’d put in both glasses? Within limits, it’s best to build up an immunity to whatever poisons there are around here. Otherwise, my body’s going to react violently every time there’s a shift in the wind.

So, if I’m a straight, single woman who has her own money, doesn’t want children, but wants male companionship, why do men always fuck that up? I’ve already gotten over the fact that most men don’t read as much as I do or juggle as many interesting activities, but ever since I started dating when I was a teenager, most guys have either bored me after a date or two or tried to turn me into their housenigger–you know, that woman you cajole into doing all the drudgery you don’t want to do yourself despite the fact you’re a grown ass man and perfectly capable of doing so? And no, I’m not angry. Just realistic. If I minimize the amount of time I do that shit for myself, I sure in the hell don’t want to waste time doing it for another person. Honestly, if I don’t need a man’s money, not even on a date, then what reasonable expectation does he have that I’ll take care of the menial tasks in his life? None, as far as I’m concerned. Tina Turner was right: What’s love got to do with it? Honestly, I’ve never once thought, “Oh my God, I’m spending way too much time reading books. I wish I had more housework and errands to do!”

Here’s another thing: I firmly believe in not comingling funds. If it’s my birthday, then you can buy me dinner or a drink, but even then, it’s not an obligation because I don’t go out unless I have the money to do so. I also expect the same in a guy, along with him taking care of his other basic responsibilities of being an adult.

In addition to not comingling funds, I’m against comingling body fluids with the notable exception of salvia.  Human salvia. If you’re the guy who lets your pets lick all over your face, forget it. Every woman has her standards.

Since I’ve never wanted children, why should seminal fluid or sperm ever enter my body? It just becomes another thing to clean up and we women already do enough of cleaning up. So don’t be that guy who goes on a date or comes over to hang out without condoms. You’re already not spending money on me cause I don’t need it, so you should have enough for condoms. If you’re that fucking cheap, you aren’t worth fucking. And I know what you guys are thinking, “It’s not the cost, I just don’t like wearing them because it dulls the sensation.” But, you know what’s really dull? Not fucking because you didn’t bring any condoms!   Honestly, it’s less mess and hassle to self-pleasure.

Thanks to Meetup, I don’t have to look for an interesting male companion any more. I join the groups that do interesting things. That’s half the battle. Humans are sociable animals and I can socialize with people who have common interests.

Yet, I still wanted to discover why men fuck up companionship with a woman who doesn’t want his money, baby or wedding ring. I know that any combination of those three things can be wonderful for some, but what I see are three traditional ways to control women.

So, I invited some friends to bar where we discussed these issues with three bartenders. (Yes, I focus grouped this one.)

Before bringing the bartenders into the conversation, we first discussed what we wanted out of men since we were all independent women. Not surprising, at the top of the list, none of us wanted a possessive man. After all, what part of “independent woman” would actually be appealing to a possessive guy? 

We want a man to be part of our life, but not to assert himself as if he’s our ENTIRElife. It’s the difference between being needed and wanted. A needed man is a part of a woman’s survival strategy; a wanted man shares in her happiness. If she’s already surviving pretty well before she meets you, then she wants you as a companion, not some knight in shining armor, or meal ticket or sugar daddy. 

Since companionship can take a lot of forms, the next important thing is for a guy to be upfront about his needs. Even the bartenders confirmed this much. Both the guys were Virgos, but whereas one was the most dreamy-eyed romantic monogamist, the other was polyamorous and they communicated clear expectations. The third bartender, a woman who was also the only single parent among them, considered communication and a non-possessive man to be at the top of her list because it’s just exhausting otherwise. 

We women think seriously about having both the time and energy for a boyfriend. And wouldn’t it be wonderful if sex was never a chore? Which is why I strongly advocate for separate residences. Because when we plan to spend time together, I’ve scheduled the time and energy and naps for that. And then he leaves. That’s just the proper punctuation at the end of a well-written sentence. We can spend some quality time together and some quality time apart.  

Nothing makes the heart grow fonder than not being around you 24-7! Have you ever heard people who don’t live together complaining about needing their own space?

And this should go without saying, but with the rise of digital and surgical enhancements, I’ll say it anyway: to love me is to love my body the way it is. If you’re turned off by my looks, I’m going to be turned off by hearing you complain about it. And I expect the same. There are male friends who I don’t find physically attractive, so I don’t go into that zone. If you feel the need to make major edits to someone’s physique, then don’t pursue that person. 

We also agreed that we wanted a man who was spiritually and emotionally balanced. The guy who’s moral, has integrity and goals in life, but not such a fanatic that he zapped all the joy out of living and emotional vampires need not apply. 

Now, I realize some of you are thinking that I’m too picky or unrealistic or stubborn, but you know what I am? Patient. I believe one day in the not so distant future Mr. Perfect will stroll into my life because he’ll be a made to order boyfriend cyborg. And Jeff Bezos will make that a seamless transaction and delivery!

I love serendipity! I’d just picked up Robin DiAngelo’s book White Fragility from the library and out of nowhere, I got behind this truck for a couple of miles en route to yoga.

It’s always shocking to see a display of conservative Americana in Austin although I know this city is a liberal island within a vast conservative ocean. Just reading his bumper stickers, I hypothesized that he considered himself a patriotic American, a gun rights advocate, a Trump-supporting Republican, and that he’d served in the Armed Forces. I figured he was a White guy since that demographic roars the loudest about guns, patriotism and Trump.

Unfortunately, I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with this guy–and I confirmed he was White because at one point, I changed lanes in order to make a right turn from the leftmost lane as my usual route to yoga. If I had been able to speak with him, I’m not exactly sure how that conversation would have started in order to be productive.

Generally speaking, a conversation goes better to start out with something positive such as asking him if he’d served in the military and then thanking him for his service to our country. Then I would have disclosed that I grew up as a military brat since my father had served in the Air Force.

The next part would be tricky. How to ask about Trump without getting into an argument? Given the fact that our paths had crossed in the middle of the longest U.S. government shutdown, thanks to Trump’s desire to have the American people pay for a wall that he repeatedly said Mexico would pay for, I really wanted to know he’s opinion on that.

Of course, I’ll never know. There are White people who’ve stopped talking to their own relatives because of a protracted argument over Trump. Trump supporters want to believe that he’s their champion. Realistically, I wouldn’t have won him over that there’s a better way to strengthen our country. After all, I’m not the same demographic.

On a surprisingly cold December Thursday night here in Austin, a friend and I searched with our smartphones where we could find a decent nearby restaurant that actually served food and wine at 10 PM. After striking out both online and in person at one restaurant, which claimed to be open until 11 PM, but had closed the kitchen early due to the sudden cold front, we ended up at a jewel of a Vietnamese place that I pass at least once a week, but have neglected in all the years I’ve lived here.

I’d only dined there once, on a date, and had never returned because I usually cook at home. Yet, after all the years, I remembered the orange beef. It was just as delicious as when I’d had it years before. Since it was so late at night, I only ate a third of it and boxed up the rest.

Then the urban magic arrived: two fortune cookies in one packet. Disregarding the fact that those “Chinese” fortune cookies were served at an Vietnamese restaurant (but were really an American dessert phenomenon), I reacted far too excited. My friend, sensing my over-the-top happiness, told me to take all of them, the twin packet as well as all the rest.

Granted, it’s human nature to see patterns and construct stories, but I loved that both wise sayings implied “earth.” Whether you call it “ground” or “dirt,” it’s earth. As an earth sign, I appreciated the reminder of being true to my nature. If the old broom is my past experiences, then I must remember the thorns and not just the roses. The second “fortune” is the way I’ve approached my life, striving for the best, but at the same time, being logical.

A few days later, I received yet another karmic message. This time it was on a page near the beginning of a book I’d just checked out of the library about the Burundi genocide in the early to mid 90s, which overlapped with my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Tanzania. I’ve no idea if the author of the note meant it for a particular person or whether the author just wrote it out for the next reader of the book, but it’s now found a home on my wall. When I’m having a rough time at work, I inevitably glance at this note and smile at the simplistic, encouragement of it all.

Throughout your lifetime, you’ve got to stop doing some things in order to have new beginnings. It’s a sign of maturity. At the very least, it’ll keep life fresh and interesting. On a serious note, the ability to adapt to the changing environment keeps you on the right side of natural selection. Nowadays, instead of worrying about things ending, I focus on how I can reinvent myself.

Imagine if a fully-grown butterfly could return to a cocoon and reemerge a different butterfly. One capable of occupying a different niche within the overall ecosystem.  Wouldn’t that be grand? At least for that butterfly?

That’s what we humans, if we’re not so stubborn, can do. Granted, the older I get, the better I get at being stubborn. Yet, that doesn’t mean I won’t change my ways in order to preserve my life and forge a new way of life. 

All around me, people are being priced out of their apartments and homes because the cost of living has exceeded income. A wise woman once told me, back when I thought I’d retire as a science teacher, that the only way to make money was to be an entrepreneur.  I politely nodded and smiled respectfully, thinking I’d never have to heed those sage words. After all, I had a Masters in Education and lots of teaching experience. I could get a teaching job anywhere in the world. 

After several professional reinventions, where I’ve enclosed myself within a new cocoon of knowledge to learn different skill sets, I’ve come closer to being an entrepreneur. Suddenly, my favorite number is 1099 and I’ve discovered that one path to happiness is setting my own schedule. I’m not merely talking about which days of the week I’ll work nor how many hours during the day, but even down to the micromanagement of my time such as no middle management asshole dictating when, how long and how often I use the bathroom. 

I can eat when I want. Run errands when I need to. Go to yoga in the middle of the day. And since I work from home, pajamas are my work clothes. Commuting consists of walking from one part of my apartment to the other. And if I ever think, in the middle of the work day, “I could use a drink….” (heeeeeey), I pour myself a drink. 

See how I’ve embraced this new reinvention of my life? I cannot believe I dwelled in employee-dom for so long. Granted, I may not ever be able to retire, but the whole retirement thing was really a contemporary social experiment to ease older employees out of the workforce, so younger ones could enter. 

In the past versions of civilization, people worked until they died. They may have slowed down along the way, but there was no such thing as a retirement package other than the expectation that the younger generation of relatives, usually adult children, would take care of them. So, instead of dwelling on the fact that we’re living through the last vestige of retirement as we know it, I’ve embraced a far less stressful working lifestyle and no longer worry about work/life balance.

Of course, there are some limitations to this path I’ve forged. Our alleged developed country does not have universal healthcare, so I have to pay for that myself. I no longer get paid sick nor vacation leave. Honestly, there was only one time in my life I actually needed my sick leave and all the other times I used it to do other things because I was well. My habit is to live below my means and save money, so when I do take some days off, I’ll still be able to pay for everything.

At the same time, I know there’s a work lifestyle where I don’t have to trade hours of my time for money. I can still get paid even when I’m not technically at work. It’s called residual income. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a part of heaven on earth that I need to incorporate into my work life. 

I feel another metamorphosis coming. 

Although I exercise every day, I’d not ridden a bike in over ten years. My sister planned a beautiful bike ride around Mt. Vernon during the perfect time of the year when the fall leaves were brilliant. I hardly got two pedals in when I realized the seat was far too high. Even people who were biking in the opposite direction paused to share a laugh at my ass high in the air.  I called to my sister and nephew to stop and wait as I lowered the seat. 

At one point, my sister wanted her bike, so I switched with her and rode my nephew’s old bike.  How to explain? Riding my nephew’s old bike was like willingly riding a two-wheeled medieval torture device where my arms were stretched out at an unnatural angle. During the ride, I listened to Daughter of a Daughter to a Queen about the only Black woman who was one of the Buffalo Soldiers after the Civil War, which helped ease my discomfort. Something about hearing another person’s worse situation makes one feel better.

After a while, I couldn’t take it anymore and I had to switch with my sister again. We’d planned to bike to town to have ice cream or a smoothie or some such thing, but we turned around after my sister realized that the restaurant destination was farther away than she’d anticipated. She even stated that next time, she’d have to park closer. Hmm, next time I’m going to ride one of her daughter’s bikes.

Nonetheless, it was beautiful scenery, weather and one of the best ways to listen to an audio book.

If ever I were visited by aliens and they wanted to gift me some advanced technology, I’d ask for a device, which would allow me to unfuck up any situation. I realize that would be a large undertaking, at least to my Earthly intellect, but there are challenges that cannot be solved by 3D printing solutions.

How would that even work? On a very small scale, if you dropped your cell phone, causing the screen to crack, then the alien technology could simply reorder the molecules, restoring the screen back to its original wholeness. According to quantum physics, that could happen spontaneously, but the amount of energy it takes for broken material to become unbroken is so great that it doesn’t happen—outside of this alien technology, that is. Also, spontaneously unbreaking a cell phone screen violates the Second Law of Thermodynamics, which my fellow science geeks know as Entropy.

Entropy is the reason why it takes so much energy to clean up or organize anything, but making a mess is so easy to do! Some would even argue that you’re being one with the universe when you revel in disorganization since that’s the direction the universe tends toward naturally. Going from highly organized or low entropy to greatly disorganized or high entropy is the way of the universe.

Here’s an easier example. Take a standard 500-piece jigsaw puzzle freshly dumped out of the box.  Just a pile of pieces. Some are stacked on top of the others. Some are facing downward while others are facing upward and some incredible pieces are propped up on their skinny edges by other pieces. This symbolizes the highest entropy because it is the most random and disorganized.

And what do we humans do? Smooth out the pile into a single layer. Ensure all the pieces are turned upward. If we’re really good, we separate out the edges while we’re putting nonedges with similar pictures together. Then we get the edges all together and fill in the rest from the edges inward, more or less. Some of the most satisfying things about putting a jigsaw puzzle together is not merely the thrill of organizing something, but also the comfort of knowing that there’s one solution and we have the skill set to reach the goal. Absolutely no confusion.

Plus, jigsaw puzzle pieces, unlike human beings, don’t refuse to join together because they all look different. If those pieces had existential awareness, they’d know they’re meant to join together and make a picture. And they’d also know that no two pieces look exactly the same and yet they all have value in the solution of creating the overall puzzle.

But even with alien technology where would I begin? Mind control or mind erase? Would unfucking up the world start with taking all the pain that people have caused others and reversing the polarity? Would the world become a better place if all the pain that we caused one another instead directed itself back onto ourselves? Suddenly, the perpetrators would suffer for their own actions rather than their victims. Imagine THAT power dynamic. Valuing mutual cooperation to make the best world we could instead of trying to exclude one another as if we’re not all part of the same puzzle.

From the perspective of the aliens, viewing us from afar, how ridiculous does the Earthly jigsaw puzzle, which actively fights against itself, appear? A picture is never completed by a jigsaw puzzle that destroys other pieces. Would aliens reach out to the most empathetic among us and gift us with humanity-saving technology or would they instead just start by smoothing out the pieces?