Pre-H-day assessment

I don't know when Halloween became a chore for me.

After years at Club Dedo things threatened to become a bit lack-luster in the costume department. It was difficult to top the atmosphere, drink to wait time ratio, social satisfaction departments. Maybe it was the make-outable DJ's. Maybe it was the bartenders willingness to put up with my shit as well as pour candle wax over me when things were slow. Maybe it was the goth drama. Maybe it was "love you even if you're too loud" vibe I caught... Maybe it was in my head.

For a few years I became the Hostess with the Mostest for a Halloween shindigs that encompassed all of my social circles. Tip of the hat to my parents for havin' a place with lots of room, a tree house, a hot-tub AND a fire pit. I could throw a party that included Vagina Veterans, Rotaractors, Japanese exchange students, my family, co-workers, ex-best-friends, new best friends, and friends of friends of friends.

It didn't matter because we had enough hot dogs and marshmallows for everyone.

But at one point I lost control of Halloween celebration. I might be able to trace it back to being engaged to a man that refused to dress up.Think again. Another story.

Obviously that ended badly and I tried to move VERY FAR away. Only that fell through... only a year later... only a week before Halloween. Giving me no time to arrange for a Martha Stewart level Halloween Party .

Instead I made pumpkin-pineapple-ginger eggrolls and lit up a campfire. At the last minute I let people know there was food and fire to be had.

The ones that I love the most, they were there. The ones I would love deeply showed up by accident.

It was a good Halloween. My last great one.

Now New Orleans had to make up for the lost time and the great memories.

What NOLA does not have? My baby brother, my nephews and niece. Just Dance. My Vaginas. A hot tub in my backyard.

What NOLA does have? Frenchman Street. With Christina at The Revival Outpost inspiring my costume.  Friends visiting from out of town. I can't wait to see V.!

A great job.

A snoring boyfriend.

Things will balance out.

PB and C mini muffins

Yields: 42 mini muffins

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/3 cup granulated sugar
2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp kosher salt
3 Tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 cup goat milk

1 tsp vanilla extract
1large egg, beaten
3/4 cup carob chips

Preheat oven to 350°. Combine the flour, cinnamon, baking powder, and salt in a large mixing bowl. In a separate medium sized bowl, whisk together the butter, sugar, peanut butter, vanilla extract, egg and milk. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and stir just until combined; fold in the carob chips.
Coat a nonstick muffin pan with a mist of olive oil from your awesome PC oil misting thing. Fill each of muffin cup about half full with batter. Bake 15ish minutes or until bottoms of muffins are golden but the tops are oddly not. Make sure they are baked all the way through... by eating one. Try to let it cool first. But you know... don't stress about that step.
Bring to your favorite deli and feed your meat slinging, bagel slicing deli boys.
Maybe undress the man you are dating with your eyes.

Yes, but is he Jewish?

After a few months of my mother struggling off and on with my spiritual path she said something the other day that was so “Jewish Mom” that I had the opportunity to feel normal about being Jewish.

Alienated. But normal alienated.

I informed her I was dating again. To which she asked, “A girl or a boy?” Because in my mom's mind I'm still just a lesbian waiting to happen. I also have a few lesbian friends who feel the same way. Secretly I think it's because of my bazooms of doom... and raging feminism. In any case. After I reconfirm that I self- identify as a heterosexual female my mom hits me with this gem, this rite of passage.

“Is he Jewish?”

I sat and stewed in the iconic and ironic glory. Is. He. Jewish?

No.

Which immediately set my heart and soul to racing. I mean, am I going to miss out on having spiritual spark in my relationships if I don't seek out Jewish men to date? Are non-Jewish men bound to never “get” me? Gosh, what if the man I end up falling in love with is not down with raising Jewish children?

Can of worms. Ye hath been opened so hard.

From what I understand Jewish men my age (or younger) don't get the idea of “spiritual spark” until later... or at least until I'm out of the picture. The number of unattached Jewish men in my age group I've met at temple? Zero.

So he's not Jewish, so what?

He's sweet. When I do something nice for him he is surprised, humbled and grateful. He gets dreamy eyed at me. He's honest. Honest about things most people would lie about. Which is to say more honest than I've experienced in quite some time. BUT... you know... he SNORES. A lot. So that might be a deal breaker.

Heh heh.

I'm a 31 year old poet with maybe a bum cervix and a bad credit score. There are worse things. We both have elements of our past that we're ashamed of. Who doesn't? I could certainly never run for president. Anyone that knows me from age 13 to 28 knows that I spent a solid decade and a half mangling my reputation and tempting fate. I got over it. Some people are capable of that sort of redemption. I might go so far as to say MOST people are capable of redemption.

I don't believe in throw away people. After the damage we sustain in life... we deserve reprieves. After my father treated my mother poorly, people may have regarded her as a throw away. A woman so wound up in pain that she could not love or would do anything to seek the approval of love. Even wait. And wait for love. My step-dad did not see her like that. He just swooped in and loved her.

My Ellie-mom. She got the hell out of situations before anyone could try to pull that shit on her. She is fucking zen-core like that.

And my sister? She's been told time and time again that she's a throw away. Thankfully she has the type of attitude that doesn't give a shit about what people say. She has the type of spirit that means to redeem lost causes. Her own as well as the causes of others. Might be the only reason why she's still with us today. With us and full of life... and bullshit.

I've been thrown away. A lot. So now I'm persnickety. About pretty much everything.

Only, right now, I'm around someone that doesn't mind the attitude. Someone that nose dives into a book about Shabbat. Someone that snores... snores so hard.

Get the fuck out. Sometimes I can be that simple.

A guy walks up to you in a deli and asks about the book you're reading.

The rest is presently surprising you.

Light after Lonliness

A few weeks ago, during a sermon, Rabbi B reminded us that life is full of interruptions. Her interruptions had/have a capital I. Mine... not as much. In life, I think, there should be such a thing as middle case. Middle case maybe.

Hurricane Issac was an interruption. It was devastating in unexpected aspects of my life-- emotionally, financially and spiritually.

No one can really prepare you for three days alone in a house with your cats. Isolation. ISOLATION. Middle case isolation, maybe. Alone with per-cancerous cells, cat fights and lots of thoughts. Thoughts of family, friends, friends (who are not speaking to you for their own reasons) fatal friendships, family fatalities, genetic dispositions, your own look on life and it got that way because of your choices, choices you wouldn't have made if you'd known people were not going honest and true to you, and how does anyone know how to be honest and true when all their hearts know is the bob and weave of listening art... and who are you to accuse because all your heart ever wanted was the bob and weave of speaking art. How does any love ever happen between the two when the zig to the right and the zag to minor never meet?

You're alone with that conglomeration of catastrophe.

And then there's the turmoil of trying, having tried for weeks before Issac, to meet with your local rabbi. To meet with a rabbi, one has to have a few weeks notice. Can you meet on Day XYZ? No. Then you can meet with a rabbi on day A. Ok. Only something has happened on Day A. And then the Capital H came in on the anniversary of Capital/Bold K. You can't expect to meet with anyone during High Holy Days which is stressful.. because... like.. first High Holy Days since you decided to become a Jew... all on your own... so talking to someone about that would be nice.... better than nice... it would be a life line. But that's not going to happen. So you ask to have certain days off so you can attend to your spiritual business as efficiently and business like as possible only to realize you have to prioritize. And a rabbi has to prioritize. Somewhere in the middle you'll keep missing your connection.

And it has STRESSED ME OUT.

Until my best friend was in town. Strained as the friendship is right now, God knows how good it is, because it was when Ariel was here that I was asked to light the candles for Friday services.

In all the isolation and desperation and stress and insecurity.... in all the chaos... a very select, very important moment was created for me to have with someone I love deeply and then shared with a community that is creating a learning and loving experience in my life.

For months I've been trying to be loved by Judaism. For months I've been stressed out and hurt because I didn't feel that I was being loved from a place that I had found love.

Love. Capital in all ways. LOVE.

And just a few moments of creating fire and speaking poetry on the right night, in front of the right people... is all it took to renew my faith in love, God, greatness and light.

Because. ABSOLUTELY... it is no question of maybe/middle cases.

Love alone will Shine.

For what it is worth. For all my faults. And all of yours. It still will Shine.