wait, what?

Interview #2

2012-07-13T10:54:00.003-05:00

You see it all the time: billboards and flyers with half-naked girls carrying platters of food and mugs of beer.

The fact is, sex sells. The restaurant industry knows it, which is why many restaurants openly advertise female sexuality to bring in male clientele. As a girl growing up in Tennessee, it was Hooters. In Texas, it's Twin Peaks.

Recently, I was fortunate enough to meet a former Twin Peaks Girl who was willing to share her story.

Even if you are already familiar with Twin Peaks, please take 2.5 minutes to watch this: http://vimeo.com/30208661

Yep, you read that t-shirt correctly: My Favorite Breastaurant. I won't dive too far into the details of our conversation, but let's start by noting the woman narrating that video, Meggie. She is the Marketing Director (a.k.a. image consultant) for the Twin Peaks Girls. She is the one who ultimately got my interviewee fired.

Q: ”Why were you fired?”

A: “Because I was too fat.”

In fact, the image standards for Twin Peaks Girls span across a variety of categories for which the girls are inspected weekly. These include hair, makeup, fitness, uniform, etc. The girls receive a letter-grade (A/B/C/D/F) in each category for the week, and these grades determine a ranking of the girls. These grades are then posted on a chart in the kitchen for all employees to see, and the TOP 10 girls get first choice on sections during shifts, along with other perks. This rating scale has nothing to do with performance or sales; it is solely based on appearance.

That's as far as I'm willing to divulge for now. I'll just say, the life of a Twin Peaks Girl ain't all cleavage and smiles, folks.

Interview #1:

2012-06-11T11:36:00.001-05:00

Check!

The scariest part of any project is the first stage. You have to take those terrifying steps into the unknown, in order to find a groove and see where it leads. That said, I have taken the first few steps toward creating my solo performance based on women in the restaurant industry. I have the money and the people. Now it's time to make things happen!

The first interviewee is a friend who has worked at the same restaurant for the past year. She was a hostess there previously and is now a server.

The thing that stuck out most to me from her stories was the "family" mentality of the employees, particularly of the servers. This surprised me, as it presents a stark contrast to the machine that is the restaurant business. From her interview, I have constructed a family outline of her restaurant.

THE FAMILY:

Managers are the parents. Male and Female. There are two "nice" parents (the two males) and a "strict" parent (the female). This family is a matriarchy.

Servers are the children. Males and Females. The older ones (long-term employees) look out for the younger ones (short-term employees). They are assigned daily chores, and they play games to make work fun (competing to see who gets the best tips).

Kitchen staff and busboys are the Uncles. Males. Helpful, good-hearted, but sometimes too friendly.

Hostesses are the distant cousins. Females. Loved but usually out-of-the-loop. They don't have to wear uniforms like the rest of the family.

If outsiders (Customers) threaten this harmony, the Family sticks together.

Although the money is not great, this particular interviewee said she is staying at the restaurant because of the people--that is, the family. If she were to quit, she would betray the family's trust and be disowned, essentially. I find it both fascinating and unsettling to think that the line between professional and personal life is often so blurred in restaurants.

This gray area bleeds into customer relations as well. The interviewee said that many men who dine at her restaurant understand that her being friendly is part of her job. She also said that many men do not understand this and instead think she is interested in them personally. She often receives telephone numbers/messages left on receipts or is verbally hit on by male customers. One patron went so far as to say, "I like to watch you walk." But as the interviewee pointed out, playing along with these advances (giving a performance) is part of doing her job well.

It seems that some male patrons use the customer role to empower themselves over women--that is, the female servers. The interviewee repeatedly said that many "mean" customers like to "bark (her) around" when she is waiting on them. To them, she wishes she could say, "I am a server, not a servant."

The first dig

2012-05-30T23:08:00.002-05:00

For the next two months, I will be researching the experiences of women in the restaurant industry. I received an Unbridled Learning grant from SMU to conduct interviews with female servers, hostesses, and bartenders in Dallas, and to use their stories to create and perform a solo performance piece in the fall of 2012. The goal of the project is to expose some of the expectations and pressures placed on female workers in restaurants. For example:
How is the female worker expected to "perform" for customers?
What demands are placed on the female worker's appearance?
How does sexuality factor into the female worker's interactions with customers?
How does the female worker's job differ from her male coworkers'?

I am incredibly intimidated to begin these interviews--to cross the delicate line from patron to investigator.

How to approach these women: that is the question. I have worked as a hostess in several restaurants, and I cannot imagine where I would begin if asked to tell stories about my experiences from the host stand. A loyalty forms between workers in restaurants as all staff members, from the kitchen to the floor staff, work together to make the job as not-excruciating as possible. An outsider attempting to peek in (a.k.a. me) could potentially threaten this harmony, which is exactly why my job is not an easy one.

It is the theatre artist's job to stir up the ordinary and to question the way society operates. So although my job is admittedly not the most desirable or familiar, I must press onward to find out which questions need to be investigated.

I'll be blogging about my findings, so be sure to check in throughout the summer. Wish me luck!

2012-04-29T23:58:00.001-05:00

REPOSTED FROM "15 Things Happy People Do Differently":

5. MEANING vs. AMBITION. They do the things they do because of the meaning it brings into their lives and because they get a sense of purpose by doing so. They understand that “Doing what you love is the cornerstone of having abundance in your life” like Wayne Dyer puts it, and they care more about living a life full of meaning rather than, what in our modern society we would call, living a successful life.

The irony here is that most of the time they get both, success and meaning, just because they choose to focus on doing the things they love the most and they always pursue their heart desires. They are not motivated by money; they want to make a difference in the lives of those around them and in the world.

2012-04-26T17:09:00.000-05:00

Lately I have been questioning the "addictions" I have. To list a few, I might say I am addicted to coffee, cigarettes, sweets, and men. These are things I turn to on a daily basis for comfort. But are they really addictions, or simply rituals that I perform out of habit?
I lean toward the latter.

addictionnoun1 his heroin addiction dependency, dependence, habit, problem.2 a slavish addiction to fashion devotion to, dedication to, obsessionwith, infatuation with, passion for, love of, mania for, enslavement to.
ritualnounan elaborate civic ritual ceremony, rite, ceremonial, observance; service,sacrament, liturgy, worship; act, practice, custom, tradition,convention, formality, procedure, protocol.
I am not a slave to my habits. I practice them daily out of obligation to my own sense of identity. These rituals of drinking coffee, smoking, eating sweets, and flirting with men are engrained into my daily behavior. They remind me of who I am: who I think myself to be. But I can change them if I so choose. A friend once told me that any change you wish to see in yourself should become "daily practice." One day at a time, you can change your rituals and therefore change your identity.No addiction is unconquerable.
"I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul."from "Invictus" by William Ernest Henley

Restless

2012-04-10T00:04:00.000-05:00

My biggest fear is losing an inch of my freedom.

I have known one too many a girl who surrendered her own ambitions to fulfill a man's. I have felt one too many times the grasp of an institution pulling me back, ordering me to live by its rules. I have run from one too many relationships, platonic and romantic alike, fearing that I might lose a part of myself if I let someone in too close.

Each time I perform, I feel a surge of energy as I surrender myself to whatever might happen once I enter that scary, mysterious place called the stage. In my life, though, I will do almost anything to avoid that feeling of surrender. I want control. I need control.

I need control so badly that I will destroy anything that seeks to take it away from me.
This small town tries to keep me from doing big things? I'll move to Dallas.
The law says I can't drink until I'm 21? I'll get a fake i.d.
Some boy wants to make me his girlfriend? I'll stop returning his calls.

Perhaps this need to control is what led me to directing. I feel at peace when I am in complete control of a rehearsal, deciding exactly what needs work when and how to go about doing that work. It's HEAVEN!

If only this quality could have an off switch, I would be a perfectly productive, happy human being, rather than a twenty-one-year-old workaholic.

From "Songs of Myself" by Walt Whitman

2012-04-02T23:39:00.003-05:00

A child said What is the grass?

fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more
than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green

stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,

A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,

Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see

and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the

vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,

And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,

Growing among black folks as among white,

Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I

receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,

It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,

It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,

It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out

of their mothers' laps,

And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,

Darker than the colorless beards of old men,

Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,

And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for

nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and

women,

And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken

soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?

And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,

The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,

And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the

end to arrest it,

And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,

And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

[taken from princeton.edu]

little things

2012-02-19T14:16:00.005-06:00

"God is in the details."

my cup of tea*

rest in peace*

une fleur*

New Year

2012-01-01T22:18:00.001-06:00

I declare 2012 a time for Self-reconstruction.

Lately I, like many others, have been driven toward self-destructive habits. Smoking, binge drinking, eating junk food, laying in bed until after noon, ignoring problems instead of solving them, sulking in the past instead of working toward the future, waiting for opportunities to present themselves instead of making things happen for myself.

I didn't think I would make a New Year's resolution this year. I usually do, but this year, it felt unnecessary. That is, until I found myself sitting in a hotel room at 3 AM on New Year's, drunk as a skunk, hookahed up, body aching, empty Mcdonald's bag bedside, and most importantly, facing the deep unhappiness that has been hanging over me for a while now. I realized last night that I had a resolution to make after all: it's time to end this self-destruction.

I've always had supportive friends, family, and community here in Knoxville. At some point after I moved to Dallas (which was over two years ago), I began to take that support for granted. I felt invincible, and I suppose I wanted to test the limits of my comfortable life; see how messy things could get. And they got quite messy, indeed.
One of my favorite movie quotes comes to mind: "I'm such an unholy mess of a girl." That's from The Philadelphia Story (1940). Unfortunately, living as an unholy mess isn't as glamorous as it sounded coming from Katherine Hepburn.
Sorry, Kate. You're on your own now.

Shhh

2011-12-20T17:34:00.001-06:00

I enjoy finding back-alley secrets: the discrete side of society.
What happens "off the record" is often far more interesting than what is supposed to happen.

During the day, I get stuck in traffic that's backed up for miles as cars trudge from place to place, as people run errands they don't want to be running. But at night, I cruise around town, nothing and no one in my way, traffic lights flashing yellow, saying "Go ahead."

In the morning, I pay five bucks for a cup of coffee and a croissant. When evening comes, the guy behind the counter hands me that same coffee along with a shopping bag of free pastries as they close for the night.

During the day, I go to class and work. I put on a strong, happy exterior to power through the to-do's. At night, when no one's around, I can be me. I do what I want to do, what I love to do. Just for the hell of it.

I like staying up late, taking walks with no exact purpose, and seeing what happens (or doesn't) while the rest of the city sleeps. At that time, I can enjoy silence and stillness in the world, both of which seem unattainable during the day.

Yet I can't decide if I'm an early riser or a night owl. Is it possible to be both? I feel anxious when I lay down, as if I'll miss out on something happening right outside my window. So in the morning, I spring out of bed to get caught up on whatever happened while I was asleep. I hope that never wears off: that childish engagement with the world around me. I see too many people become jaded all too quickly with life, growing apathetic in their twenties. There's so much to see, to do, to experience. It just doesn't make sense to stop exploring (yes, this brings a Northface ad to mind). Anyway, to summarize, I argue that the world is an endlessly fascinating place, if you take risks and investigate past what societal authorities want you to see.

Airport Hostility

2011-12-15T15:06:00.001-06:00

Yesterday, I flew from Dallas, TX, to Nashville, TN. On the plane, I wrote in my notebook about "airport hostility": "Everyone is ready to fight at any moment; you can feel it in the air, though it's hidden well."

That statement may sound a bit dramatic, but has anyone else noticed that people seem especially irritable on airplanes? This lady sitting next to me was saving a seat for her husband who was a few people behind her in line. Another woman approached and pointed to the empty seat, starting to make her way to it. When the lady next to me explained that it was taken, the other woman took it quite personally. She huffed and rolled her eyes before she continued down the aisle to find a seat. Awkward.

Then, I'm sitting on the plane, buckled up for a two-hour ride, kind of looking around at the other people on the plane. I notice that no one is talking to each other. Everyone has their iPods, laptops, books, drinks, food, whatever, or they're sleeping. I suddenly wonder: why can't we all start singing songs or telling stories? I mean, with a couple hundred people on this plane, surely someone has a good joke to tell, right?
Just then, the lady next to me starts throwing up. I'm serious. The lady that was saving a seat for her husband? Well, now she's vomiting—violently—into one of those tiny barf bags they give you on an airplane. I realize at this moment that those little bags cannot actually hold much liquid. So, I scramble to find mine in the back pocket of the seat in front of me, and I hold it out to her as an offer. I then realize that her husband on the other side is doing the same. We look at each other, the husband and me, with matching cringes that seem to say, "Yeah...this sucks." Of course, she's embarrassed to be throwing up on a plane, so no one's really winning at this point. Oh, and naturally, there's no flight attendant to be seen. Eventually, the lady stops vomiting (thank God). Her husband digs a napkin out of her purse and helps her clean up. Now, this is one of the sweetest things I've ever seen: a husband wiping vomit off his wife's jacket sleeve, telling her everything is okay. She is clearly devastated. She doesn't dare to make eye contact with anyone until everything is cleaned up, but finally she turns to me and says, "I'm so sorry." I just smile at her. "It's all good."

I guess I got what I wanted after all: something to unite people on an airplane. I was hoping for a story or a song. Instead I got vomit. But hey, that's life.

frigid toes!

2011-12-05T12:20:00.001-06:00

This weather makes me want to stay inside and write.

Weather: the state of the atmosphere at a place and time.

Ah, yes, how we love talking about the weather. It is the one immediate thing that we all have in common. It's specific, it's undeniably present, and the worse it is, the more it bonds us together. Especially in a place like Dallas, where the summer heat is so brutal that the power grid struggles to support air conditioners and where rolling blackouts occur for months, the weather is the common enemy that unites neighbors and strangers alike. When I sense that horrifying early-conversation terror that I have nothing in common with the other person and therefore nothing to say to him or her, there's the weather to my rescue. "Man, it's cold outside!" or, "You know, it's supposed to rain later today." That's genius, Miranda. What a simply effortless conversation starter you are. I suppose it's better than the dead-end "How are you," right? Eh, maybe not.

If I were homeless, I would go south. I would just start walking until I reached a beach. There I could live the dream, lying on a beach all day and night, until a hurricane would come and carry me off to the next place. That sounds fun, though dangerous.
In all seriousness, I do want to try being homeless at some point. I mean, just for a day or so, to gain some understanding of what it's like to live nowhere and anywhere, and also to see how differently people treat you.

In fact, we should all try being homeless for a week. It would be an incredibly difficult challenge. As a young lady, I don't know that it would be the wisest decision, but it's been on my mind nonetheless.

This is for me.

2011-12-05T00:00:00.000-06:00

Look forward. Imagine the entirety of your life, the timeline of all the events that have happened, and all those to come.

Realize how fleeting this particular moment is in that expanse.

Understand how insignificant this particular problem is in the full picture of your life's work.

Now breathe and move past it.

I want to travel the world, starting with Europe. I want to see landscapes, architecture and artwork that will render me speechless. I want to be fully immersed in something so beautiful that all I can do is stare and take it in for as long as possible.

I want to create masterful, relevant, world-changing theatre.

I want to burst through peoples' expectations.

Imagine the infinite possibilities of your life. What happens next is completely up to you. It is a matter of making one decision at a time. So take this moment, this obstacle, whatever it is, and own it.

Shit.

2011-12-02T16:17:00.000-06:00

As I sit here sipping my usual morning cup of coffee and listening to sad, acoustic, indie music, I'm feeling a powerful apathy. It's the kind that makes you want to turn off your phone and hide in bed all day. Two questions consume my head:
How did I get back to this place?
and How do I get the fuck out?

To the answer the first question, I'll start by saying that I ran across a quote recently: "People say that bad memories cause the most pain. But it's the good ones that actually drive you insane." In the past few months/years (I'm not sure how long), I have been haunted by good memories. And now I realize that I have been living in an idealized past, which to this day stops me from moving forward. As you probably guessed, these memories are of a boy—a boy who used to make me happy and now tortures me without even knowing it. The truth is, I don't even know him anymore.

Let's rewind.

I was brainstorming on ideas for a screenplay earlier this year, around May. Someone told me to start with a "what if" to form a concept. I wrote down two:
1. What if you were stuck in the past?
2. What if you were only capable of loving one person?

Now, looking at them side-by-side, I see that they are not in fact two separate ideas. They are, for me, one in the same.

I am trapped by memories of a beautiful relationship which no longer exists.

On that same page, I had recorded a quote from Samuel Beckett's Cascando:

If you do not love me
I shall not be loved
If I do not love you
I shall not love

I do not agree with this poem. I believe that love is a series of choices, an all-too-conscious decision to work through problems rather than give up. Though I sincerely hope this poem is not true for me, I cannot be sure: I have no proof of the contrary, for I have yet to love any other boy. What I do know from experience is that filling all of your capacity to love with one person is a huge risk. In doing so, you may experience immense disappointment, regret, and pain...a wound like no other.
From this wound I have yet to heal.

2011-11-16T23:31:00.000-06:00

Investigate.
Repeat.

WOAH

2011-09-25T16:59:00.001-05:00

Where did a month go?

I'm only alive when I'm moving.
The faster I move, the more alive I am.
I am most alive when I am dancing.
And lately, I have been DANCING.

The past month, I've been dancing through life. Everything has been going really well, for the most part, and I've learned that saying yes keeps you growing, opening yourself up to new, sometimes frightening experiences. Prioritizing is key: if you take on ten million tasks in no particular order of importance, the Jenga pieces all come crashing down in a depressed, scattered mess.

Regardless, say YES.

Say YES to life. Say YES to risks. Ready, set, go! and go and go and go!

Where I differ from the old cliches is on the point of "Never look back." I disagree. Look back; reflect; learn. If you never look back at where you're coming from, how will you know where you want to go?

I've learned to be a better writer with this strategy, too. Full commitment to writing whatever is on my mind; diving in, and saying YES to my own thoughts as I translate them to paper. Then, LOOKING BACK. Editing and finding the most important thoughts (eliminating the "fluff," as an old English teacher once called it).

Intellectualizing is the absolute enemy to art, to life, and to being present at any given moment. I sink when I'm alone, thinking. My room can be a cave of cloudy thoughts, burying me in their immense weight. Depressing as shit. It's not until I get out of my room and DO something that I can snap out of it. Artists have a disgusting habit of intellectualizing life. Life is not something to observe from the sidelines and use as a subject for a research paper. You can't duplicate life if you've never lived. What you get is a taupe, bland, oatmeal kind of product. I decided, I don't want to live an oatmeal life. I love oatmeal. It's incredibly healthy, agreeably textured, filling, and cheap. But oatmeal is not one of life's great treasures. Eating oatmeal is not an experience. And oatmeal will not be a priority in my life.

Anyway....how did I get on a tangent about oatmeal?

Like the moment you see flowers waiting for you on your doorstep,

2011-08-26T22:10:00.001-05:00

the best things in life aren't things at all.

who cares what kind of flowers they are; someone cared enough to put them there

I have blogged again and again about my search for the "best things" in life. It dawned on me tonight, finally, that this is a most foolish endeavor. I prize no possession more than the memories that I hold in my head. Moments of understanding or fear or elation; the most intimate and outrageous experiences; surprising and inexplicable feelings; interactions with unforgettable people. The events and relationships that, over the course of twenty years, have stayed with me through everything.

And THAT, dear friends, is the stuff that's worth writing about.

oops, I did it again

2011-07-24T13:00:00.001-05:00

I took on too damn much [working 30 hours, play rehearsals, filming, bills, etc.] Unfortunately, that means I will likely neglect my blogging duties for the next few weeks.
Unicorn is out of the office until further notice.
In the meantime, help me answer this question: is it better to strive for an extraordinary life, or to find happiness in the opportunities you are given? I have always believed the former, until just recently. As I embark on my twenties, the idea of settling for an "average" life, with a family and the whole "white picket fence" shabang...doesn't sound as horrible as it used to. That's not to say that I want to settle down anytime soon, but what's so shameful about being "average" anyway?

Newest Find: Sunflower Market!

2011-07-19T15:10:00.002-05:00

Yesterday, at the suggestion of one of my co-workers, I finally made a trip to the Sunflower Farmers Market. And I am unashamed to say, I have fallen in love with a grocery store.

I had driven past this quaint market a few times and honestly thought it looked a bit...questionable. This store is located, as the cashier so eloquently put it, "in a weird area, where if you go down Henderson one way it gets really nice, and if you go the other way it gets really sketch." But that's exactly what makes Sunflower Farmers Market so wonderful: its appeal to both markets. Sunflower's slogan describes the atmosphere perfectly: "Serious Food, Silly Prices!" Organic-loving, vegan hipsters come for the remarkably healthy selection of fresh produce, hormone-free meats, and fair-trade coffees, while average Joes enjoy their reasonable prices on everyday items. Because yes, Sunflower Market offers textured vegetable protein by the pound. But they also carry Cheerio's.

In fact, this comparatively small grocery store has just about everything: a bakery, deli, sushi bar, floral department, bulk foods (including flour, nuts, candy, beans, and coffee), frozen foods, and a great selection of beers and wines. Walking around the store, I must have looked like a child, sampling bakery treats and filling my basket with small bags of their bulk foods (including, yes, TAFFY). Each employee I spoke with was helpful and friendly, and (unlike most grocery store workers) they didn't seem to hate their jobs. Overall, my first trip to Sunflower was a total success.
So if you like good food at good prices, check out Sunflower Farmers Market on N. Henderson Ave., right next to The Pearl Cup. As someone who lives in University Park and works in Uptown, this location on N. Henderson is super convenient! In fact, now that I have fallen in love with their saltwater taffy bar, I will definitely be making regular, post-shift sugar runs.

Going South!

2011-07-17T00:35:00.002-05:00

South Dallas ain't so bad, folks.

(during the day, at least)

Despite the roads that desperately need re-paving, the stench of dumpsters, and the unsettling sounds of cars, warehouses and large dogs urging to free themselves from their chains, South Dallas somehow maintains a certain charm.
Walking around town on the empty sidewalks, I felt like there were abundant treasures hiding just behind this rough exterior. I passed classic landmarks like Doug's Gym ("49 Years, Same Location") as well as some new, trendy favorites like the Lily Pad Cafe ("Sustainable Street Food"), demonstrating the eclectic diversity of this area.

On to the point of the journey downtown: a trip to the Dallas Farmers Market, which was more than a tad disappointing. Apparently, although the market is open seven days a week, the individual vendors can choose not to open on weekdays.
On the way back from the Farmer's Market, we made two fantastic discoveries. I first toured around the Arts District during my freshman year, and it has since been a go-to for theatre (DTC, Winspear), art (DMA, Nasher), and culture. Somehow, I overlooked these sights time after time. First, the Main Street Gardens are a green oasis right in the middle of downtown, at the corner of Main and Harwood. This site seemed to attract mostly families, pets, and tired bicyclists, and it even had a fountain to cool off your feet (or paws). Then, out of curiosity, we crossed over to the Thanksgiving Square. With its impressively steep rows of fountains and shady trees, this spot provides a low-key, serene escape to enjoy a quiet lunch, relax and reflect.

Then today, I visited the Deep Ellum Outdoor Market. This quaint affair takes over the parking lot next to Deep Ellum's Cafe Brazil on the third Saturday of every month, and it is the perfect spot to find local art, crafts, food, and music. Each booth offered something unique, from handmade jewelry to on-site portrait artists. A two-person, acoustic band filled the tent with good vibes. The event was just large enough to offer variety and just small enough that the experience with each vendor felt personal. The one downside? After just a half hour perusing tables in the July heat, I was dripping in sweat and desperate for air conditioning. Overall, though, I left with two great jewelry pieces and a belly full of fried sweet potatoes. Yeah, it was a good day at the market.

My buys! Bracelet: imported from India; Necklace: handmade by a local artist.

So no, it may not be as glamorous as Uptown or as safe as Highland Park, but South Dallas has plenty of its own charms. And I'll definitely be back to sample the area's abundance of locally-owned restaurants and cafes.

Grow Where You Plant Yourself

2011-07-02T14:12:00.001-05:00

Dallas is the ideal place for sports-lovers, meat-eaters, and money-spenders.

Dallas is not the ideal place for a hippie/thespian/college student.

As I look around at a city I cannot afford, I wonder if I would have been better off going to a low-key college in the middle of nowhere, then moving to a big city after graduation.
But alas, here I am.

Then again, Wait.

I am in Dallas!

A city of incredible energy, diversity, and pride.

Why the hell am I not taking advantage of it?

That is why I am making July my month of exploring. With D Magazine as my sidekick, it is time to embrace the city that I have kept at arm's length for nearly two years. And of course, I'll let you know what I find :)

Timeless

2011-06-29T12:44:00.001-05:00

"When change happens, you’ve got a choice. You can either keep on doing what you were doing and hope things work out, or you can make the decision that not only you can meet the challenges of the future, but you can help set the pace." -President Obama 6/28/11

It's true: we live in a world run by corporations, the members of which strive every day to develop newer, faster, cheaper and easier technologies—"better" ways to do things.

But will anything ever be good enough to be left the way it is?

The answer is, yes.

A few classics have outlasted generations of trends.

Similar to the "Most Underrated Things" post from a while back, this is a short list of irreplaceable originals, things that will never go out of style. Before I begin, let me give a pre-cursor: I am always making lists. I suppose I make them to mentally sort through my experiences; so that as I age I may surround myself with only the good, and all the best, things in life. So, here it goes:

1. Candles. Something about a real fire just cannot be replicated. Open flames, despite all the potential for disaster, have never lost appeal. And dinner by candlelight is just sexy.

2. Wallet photos. Today, anyone with a cell phone can click a button to instantly take and store a photo in their memory card. Yet no matter how impractical and unnecessary they may be, I cannot help but favor old-school wallet photos. There's something endearing and meaningful about carrying a person's actual photo in your wallet.

3. Hand-written letters. No email, text, nor Facebook message can duplicate the excitement you feel when you receive a handwritten letter in the mail. The key to my heart? Good ole snail mail.

4. Cooking. Yes, crafting a home-cooked meal is rather laborious compared to microwaving a Hotpocket or swinging by McDonald's. And it's risky business if you're not experienced in the kitchen. Yet all the time spent on preparation and labor makes the reward that much tastier when your meal is finally ready. Furthermore, cooking for yourself means you have some kind of connection to what you're putting in your mouth, as opposed to mindless and joyless consumption.

That's it for now. If you have anything to add to this brief list, by all means share.

Still Learning

2011-06-16T11:31:00.000-05:00

I must learn how to ask for help.

Hauling a queen-size wooden headboard in a Honda Civic, and proceeding to then load it singlehandedly into my apartment and install it myself, is just not something a reasonable person would do. A reasonable person would ask for help.

So, that's what I'm working on, starting now. I will accept that even if I can do something of that magnitude alone, I shouldn't.

_The ultimate question is, why should I?_

With so many people in my life more than ready to help, I have no one but my own stubborn self to blame when I choose to take the whole world on my shoulders (just like my statue friend, pictured above).

Over the past two weeks, I have determined that I am most definitely an A-type personality. It hurts to admit that because people generally don't enjoy being around us "high-strung" A-types. But I'm learning very, very quickly (from living with a solid B-type) that something's gotta give.
Today, that something is leaving my headboard leaning against the wall until I find someone to help me assemble it.

..even though it's driving me nuts to see it there...

Nope, I'm going to the gym.

2011-05-29T20:23:00.000-05:00

Traveling makes me feel jaded.
Watching countless towns come and go; seeing the same restaurants and billboards and gas stations; realizing more with every exit that my hometown is no different from any of them: it makes me feel like a tiny ant crawling aimlessly through a maze.

Also, I won two dollars today by playing the lottery in Arkansas. Still, he and I are not quite even, considering the bumpy roads and filthy bathrooms. But hey, at least I didn't get lost in Pine Bluff again.
On the up-side, I'm back in Dallas! First items of business: moving in and finding a job. Wish me luck!

Promise

2011-05-25T23:23:00.000-05:00

I refuse to ever be a puppet to a corporation, a toy to a man, or a disappointment to myself.

And if that means driving a junky car till I die; if that means living in a tiny studio apartment; if that means shopping on a budget and eating at home and not having cable and sewing my own fucking clothes...Well, that's perfectly fine with me.

This is not for readers so much as for myself. This is a promise to myself. Because unfortunately, this is all too easy for ladies today to forget, including myself. We continually throw away our self-worth and our dreams to fulfill what someone else wants us to be, to take the easy route.

I for one am completely fed up with doubting myself.

Trophy wife? Fuck that.