Below are the 8 most recent journal entries recorded in step_journal's LiveJournal:

Saturday, July 22nd, 2006
10:41 am	Death of a gecko It had been a less than stellar week. Pretty much just the usual annoyances: I'd had frustrating disagreements with 4 people at work (ticking off more than 3 people in 1 week pretty much signifies it's me and not them); a back strain in yoga (injuring a bodypart by activity designed to improve it pretty much signifies I'm seriously uncoordinated); Although I've lived in the south all my life, this year's Dallas daily temps, comparable to the ambient temp of hell and killing most of my plants of my yard within 24 hours of the first 100+ degree heat blast, were more unbearable to me than in the past (signifying I'm getting old.) Of course, not much can make it in my tiny "backyard". It's 80% unshaded black concrete, surrounded by 8' fence so there's no chance of a breeze making it through. I've only seen 3 living things thrive back there, cactus, palmetto bugs, and geckos. Hate the bugs, love the lizards, neutral on the cactus. When I first witnessed my own little desert biodome (the bugs scramble when the porch light comes on, the geckos express their displeasure when I exercise futility by watering the plants, the cactus are pretty much just there), I wondered why the geckos didn't eat the roaches, since I was pretty certain that's what the little guys do, when not selling car insurance. On further inspection I decided it was probably because the bugs were as big or bigger than most of the geckos. Having lived near the swimming pool in 2 of my past Dallas area apartments, I'm all too familiar with the flying 3+ inch roaches that live outside but head inward in search of water, food, AC and Tivo when the temps soar. Not wanting these guys to come knocking, I sprayed the threshold of my back door with Raid, in hopes it would deter them from entering. So Friday I'm on my way out of town for a relative's birthday, hoping the weekend will be a little better than the week. And on my way out the door I scoop up my dry cleaning from the floor by the door. At the dry cleaners I'm chatting with the clerk while sorting my dry clean clothes from my "press only" items, when I see it. The Raid might have prevented the bugs from coming in, but 1 tiny gecko, less than 2" long, didn't realize the danger and apparently made it as far as my laundry pile. The poor little guy looks like one of those trendy pins, as his final resting place was the collar of a white linen blouse. The dry cleaning clerk was very distressed. I think I might have to find a new dry cleaners. I definitely need to find a new form of pest control. And a new blouse. Current Mood: sad (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 29th, 2006
7:24 pm	P*rn from Nana My 85 year old grandmother (Nana to all who know and love her) is quite technologically hip, especially for an octogenarian. She has a PC in her bedroom which she frequently play games on and emails quite a bit. In fact 90% of the mass email jokes/urban legends I receive are from her (I haven't successfully taught her to check www.snopes.com before forwarding stories about preschool cancer victims seeking to set the world record for most business cards collected before they die). So like a good granddaughter, I always briefly scan the subject line for relevent keywords indicating it's not spam before deleteing 90% of the emails I receive from Nana unread.  Nana is a very kind, lovable sort, and has endeared herself to many of my friends and acquaintances. She has many of these folk's emails and spams them regularly as well. Unfortunately, at least one of these people actually opens the emails she sends them. Then they promptly freak and forward them to me. I had no response to this other than to thank the forwarder for making sure I'd seen this lovely missive from my dear granny (my own copy was safely deleted unopened). And to inform my friend I would send her the therapy bill. Current Mood: shocked (Comment on this)
10:45 am	Keep Austin weird, keep Dallas pretentious You know, the phrase "thirty thousand dollar millionaire" has been around for at least 10+ years. Shouldn't it be at least $50k millionaire by now, due to inflation? Regardless, I'm not buying these shirts, but they are hilarious (and too true). http://30kdm.com/index.cfm?page=clothing&sort=0 Current Mood: giggly (Comment on this)
Wednesday, June 14th, 2006
9:43 pm	"I don't trust Victoria, that b*tch as too many secrets." So it gave the appearances of a perfectly normal bachlorette party. The kind that you've thrown and/or participated in numerous times if you're an American female in your mid-30's. You don't know the bride quite well enough, so you go with the slightly suggestive yet tasteful Victoria's Secret gift card and save yourself the embarrassing trip to "that" kind of story where you would have to purchase neon colored condoms and edible underwear.  Actually that store embarrasses you for 2 reasons:  1. because you're there, and  2. because about 1.5 seconds after you walk in the door, the multi pierced, dreadlocked yet still sexy as hell teenage clerk looks you up and down, taking in your glasses and casual business attire and gestures to the Bachelorette section of the store without even asking what you're looking for. This is the section where they segregated all the things you need to embarrass the bride to be, without making you search through various objects that you can't identify (and truly don't want to know what they are for) or objects that you have a pretty good idea what they are used for, and your 1 thought is OUCH!  So you dig out the required halter that shows a touch more skin than you usually reveal (because - other than Halloween - it's the one occasion where you can dress just a tiny bit braver than usual with minimal judgement), and paradoxically find a ring that looking wedding band-ish enough to wear on your left ring finger (having attended many of these, you know it's most crucial to avoid the scary guys that circle the bachelorette party in the club at 2am in search of unmarried attendees. You're pretty certain Jimmy Buffet had this exact scenario in mind when he wrote "Fins". Of course you aren't used to wearing any rings so it drives you crazy and you take it off after about 10 minutes, but it was a noble attempt. So it starts out innocently enough with a delicious dinner at one of the area's nicer restaurants. You know the bride, H (lovely, fabulous with a lust for life you've always admired and a free spirit you've always envied), her sister in law K, the eternal good sport who has the less than fun task of riding herd over the bride to be for the evening, N (adorable, fun loving, and most importantly - always sweet enough to laugh at your jokes). You meet C, the beautiful and hip new mom and R the experienced wife and mom of teenagers (whom she wasn't concerned about said teenagers drinking alcohol itself, she was just concerned that they not drink Smirnoff Ice from the bottle through a straw???) So your biggest fear was that the evening would end up at a male strip bar. You have nothing against attractive muscular male forms per se, it's just that - being 35 - you're more than a little over it. But lucky for you, male strippers aren't on the agenda. At least, not the male strippers you typically encounter at bachelorette parties. Oh no, this evening, you're attending a different kind of strip club....a drag queen show at the local gay bar. Your first observation after schlepping from the upstanding suburbs to the trendy alternative area near downtown is: who knew gay people partied so cheaply? You determine this after you total up parking, admission, a martini and bottle of champagne for the bride all cost you less than $30. Of course, unlike the majority of the patrons, you don't add the cost of the numerous bills stuffed into the various entertainers surgically and/or wardrobe enhanced cleavage. Your second observation is that all rules that normally apply in club situations are reversed. No worries about those sharks circling at the end of the night, but be careful how friendly you are to the female bartender with the crew cut and the Rolling Stones logo belt buckle. Normally at least the bride to be - if not the whole party - have guys buying their drinks the majority of the evening. In this alternative universe the flamboyant Neiman Marcus saleman who is sort of a cross between Jack from Will and Grace and Carson from Queer Eye that you thought was so adorable at first was actually just a trained monkey performing for the straight girls in hopes of draining the bride's champagne bottle and working the other bachelorette's for free drinks. In your world if you walked in the women's restroom and encounted a male, especially shirtless, you would check to make sure you hadn't drunkenly stumbled in the wrong restroom, then likely summon security. In this place it was so common by the end of the evening it didn't even phase you. In a straight world a person of one gender offers a person of the opposite gender money for the offeree to allow the offeror to touch them. Here transexuals and cross dressers took money from straight females in the audience and then felt them up. (Although - it didn't appear to be for arousal purposes so much as envy and/or comparison shopping.) The drag queen show itself was more about presentation than actually talent, as the performers all pretty much walked around lip synching, gathering dollar bills from the audience and occasionally doing some half hearted dancing. The show began with most of the performers on stage at once doing "Lady Marmalade" (Zero points for originality. I'm straight and even I knew this would be the first song). The hostess for the evening then proved to be bitchier than any natural born female and terrorized the audience. Then came a redhead performing "Not Ready to Make Nice" and "Cowboy Take Me Away" (From sellout crowds overseas to being lip synched by an overly made up cross dressing drama queen in a gay bar.....I wonder if this is what the Dixie Chicks had in mind when they decided to alienate their core fans?) Then an energetic black woman providing the most dancing seen this evening as she moved to Aaliyah's cover of "When Doves Cry"...then a Latina trannie cha cha-ed her way around the room. So far all these people had 2 things in common: 1. Amazing clown-like make up and 2. Despite #1, you could still determine their original birth gender. And then came a goregous blond vision that would have turned any straight man's head, with only yellow feathers strategically covering her naughty bits....and now we've adding a new layer of complexity to the ambiance. Female, male, cross dresser, transexual, gay, lesbian, straight, bi, urinals, stalls..... It's all very academically interesting but a little too exhausting to continue pondering this evening. The 3 bottles of champagne have taken their toll on the bride and it's time to go. Quotes: "I don't trust Victoria, that b*tch has too many secrets." Drag show hostess while discussing her favorite underwear brands "Darlin, I'm non-lesbian female in gay town at 2am. There's no safer place than here." Me in response to N's concern over me walking to my car alone at the end of the evening. Current Mood: confused (Comment on this)
Thursday, June 8th, 2006
8:41 am	The devil and the database I'm a system programmer for IBM's relational database, DB2. Which basically means I'm not a hit at parties and I've been chained to a pager most of my adult life. I'm not particularly superstitious, but I do scare easily. Which basically means the date on the calendar last Tues didn't concern me, but the Omen movie I saw with my friends has resulted in nightmares and sleeping with the lights and TV on since the viewing. So the scene at my place last night: I'd just finished showering (which in 99% of all horror movies means I'm about to meet an untimely end at the hands of a psychopath and/or demon dog) and, unaware of my perilious state, I'm mentally going through my to do list and had decided on reading a few chapters in my bible study book (for real, I swear I'm not making this up for added irony) when my pager goes off.  Now at this point I've been oncall for my job the better part of a month, and my pager has been going off what seems like round the clock for the better part of a week, so for the sake of decency, I'll omit the language I used. Suffice it to say the psychopath in the closet blushed and the demon dog hiding in the other room likely covered his ears with his paws. So I remember I like food and shelter (and thus need to continue earning money to pay for said luxuries) and return the page. And my DBA customer informs me he's receiving an error when trying to perform a database function. And the error code is (don't pretend you didn't see this coming)....-666. Now there have been many times in the past 10 years I've wondered why I've remained in this career. But until now, the questioning of my chosen vocation has always been based on tangible concerns, like the adverse health affects of long term sleep deprivation or dwindling US job market due to the offshoring of  IT jobs. This was the first time ever my job has literally frightened me.  So I put a cross and bible next to my laptop and got to work (okay, that part I did make up. But only because those items were in another room that was dark. And of course devil dog was in said room, just poised to strike.) Usually when I'm researching obscure database error msgs, my problem is not finding enough data. As you can imagine, there was no shortage of hits when Googling 666. The challenge was adding enough keywords to eliminate the websites for Sheldon Silver, Damien and David Lee Roth and just get the technical information I needed. After about an hour we found and resolved the problem (not only was the error msg creepy as hell, it was also vague and misleading, an IBM trademark : ). I signed off my PC, turned on every light in the house, found no sign of the psychopath or devil dog (apparently my job saved me, as they were likely too bored by referential integrity and load utilities to stick around for a chance to rip out my throat) turned on the TV in my bedroom and got into bed. Where I saw an interview with the current media-labeled antichrist, Ann Coulter. I'm surprised the devil's spawn couldn't afford a better bleach job. (Hey, I'd spent most of the evening with my job, life and soul in peril. I'm allowed to be a little catty.) Current Mood: scared (Comment on this)
Monday, May 29th, 2006
8:02 pm	4 days in Flint - part 3 Friday evening was the Shabbat dinner, which aside from my required reading, I had only encountered on an episode of Sex and the City. There were now even more children and lots more adults in the bride's parents house, and a good time (and a tasty meal) was had by all. I managed to not commit any great faux pas during the dinner party itself, although many folks seemed just a bit uncomfortable around me. I don't think it was the non-Jew thing so much as the female groomsman role (or grooms-fem as the bride's aunt named me). Not only was I the wrong religion for this gig, I was the wrong gender as well! But all were kind and the evening was fun. At the end of the evening I tried to bond with another person that seemed alone to by offering to help the nice lady that was doing the dishes, only to have her look at me strangely and politely refused. It was only when the bride's mother paid her later I realized I'd offered to help the help. : ) Sat morning brought my first trip to a synagogue, which was lovely. (As I've told several of my Catholic friends, I think the Jews might have them beat when it comes to beautiful stained glass.) Of course, after 2+ hours of hearing what seemed like the entire book of Leviticus read in Hebrew, the novelty had definitely worn off. Since I had lots of time I studied the temple, specifically the area behind the stage (I'd missed the proper name for the pulpit area in my required reading). There was a smaller lit area behind the stage where several torahs were kept, with a white sheer curtain hanging in front of it. It wasn't in my reading, but I'm assuming the sheer curtain represented the veil from the temple in Biblical times. In the second half of the book (new testament) the veil was torn when Christ died. (Mark 15:38) Okay, so I had to look up the scripture reference, what actually kept going through my head at the time was the Jeremy Camp song "This Man". The other interesting ritual was the bread and wine shared at the end of the ceremony. Since I only know this as communion - and that's also from the 2nd half of the book - I knew that couldn't be it. I asked some of the folks (I forgot to asked the bride's brother, who's a rabbi) but no one knew the origin. They did confirm it wasn't Passover, as that's a specific date. Onto a very nice luncheon at the temple, where I was surprised to find, in addition to many other tasty treats,  plain bagels. Now I've applied no stereotypes to this point, but 1 positive stereotype that I was hoping was true was the Jewish tradition of lots of bagel toppings (salmon, kapers, lox, etc). This spread didn't even have so much as Philly cream cheese! If you can't get a loaded bagel at a Jewish luncheon, where can you find one, I ask you? My bizarre food related racism aside, it was a very nice meal. Sat afternoon the bride, groom's father, groom's stepmon and I traveled a few miles north to visit the German town of Frankenmuth. We passed up what had to be the world's largest Christmas store (again, second half of the book : ) in favor of a brewery that served (among many other things) chocolate beer (yummy) and Flint's own Cabernet (ick). Sat night was the rehearal dinner, or actually the dinner followed by the rehearsal (at 10pm at night) as the bride's brother (who was performing the ceremony) was Orthadox and couldn't get into a car (and come to the temple) until an hour after sunset. This set off some already simmering tempers between the groom and bride's parents and made for the very tense rehearsal (which, in my experience, happens in all faiths : ). Sunday was the big day, and of course by the evening of the big event, everyone put aside their differences and enjoyed a lovely wedding. We had our own personal trauma when the straps on both my and the best man's wife's dress broke and we only had 1 safety pin between us. Since I had to walk down the aisle and wasn't looking to be labeled the Gentile whore, I used the safety pin and then went on a quest to find another one. Several boutinerre pins and 1 baby's diaper pin later, all flowers, dress straps, diapers and even the bride's bussel were secured. So at the reception, as I watch the bride and groom being lifted perilously in their chairs desperately clinging to a napkin while family and friend's happily dance around them in a circle, some epiphanies occured to me, which require a little background on part.  My family has what's politely called issues. More than a few, in fact. Most of them were in the past, and frankly my immediate family now seems much more grounded and stable than most I know. But still, growing up with several problems that are usually featured on the Movie of the Week brought a certain stigma, even if it was mostly in my head. But having spent 4 days in the inner circle of these 2 families, I finally believed some things that everyone (included my own dysfunctional family) has been trying to tell me for a long time: 1. Every family has issues. Some, like mine, just happen to have their skeletons dancing under neon signs in the front yard instead of neatly tucked away in the basement. 2. Every family has love. Some, like parents who desperately want their children to have the nicest wedding possible but have conflicting views on how to go about it, just show it differently than others. 3. You aren't your family. Your family, good and bad, is what happens to you. They will, of course, always have great influence over you, but ultimately, you decide what you will (and won't) be. Quotes: "Nice to meet you. We're the only Gentiles attending this gig." Groom's stepmom when meeting me at the Shabbat dinner. "No, but that doesn't prevent me from having conversations with total strangers." Bride's mom's response when asked by the groom if she'd met the best man and his wife while she was in the middle of conversation with them. "Jesus Christ!" Groom's father in the synogogue when he was informed of the time (10:30pm) the night of the rehearsal dinner. "Hey, the he/shes are stealing the chocolate" Groom in response to the bride's transvestite cousin and date emptying the Godiva chocolate bowls at the rehearsal dinner. "You know, I think they are going to be okay." Groom's stepmom to me during the reception "Sometimes showing up is everything." Best man to me after I'd responded to a compliment with "all I did was show up" (Comment on this)
Thursday, May 25th, 2006
9:04 pm	4 days in Flint - part 2 So on the plane to Flint, while listening to the podcast from the previous Sunday's sermon at my church (this podcast thing is recently new at my church, I'm thinking it may be one of many signs my church has grown too big for me. But we're here to talk about God's chosen few, not non-denominational Christian organizations that utilize modern methods of spreading the Word.) I checked out my required reading. I studied up on the Shabbat dinner I'd be attending at the bride's parents home that evening, the Torah reading the families would participate in the next Sat morning, the tallit, ketubah, chuppah, wine, glass breaking and other parts of the wedding ceremony. By the time I landed in Michael Moore's hometown (as the groom was quick to point out, Mr. Moore was not on the wedding guest list), I felt somewhat prepared for whatever cultural issues were headed my way. I couldn't have been more wrong. Shortly after I landed, the bride was kind enough to meet me at the airport. Just as I'm thanking her and remarking that she must be the calmest and most organized bride in history to have everything under control enough provide airport shuttle service for wedding guests 48 hours before the big event, she suddenly remembered she'd forgotten her 1 task for the day: picking up the marriage license. Now I've never been married myself, but I have been in several weddings, and this piece of paper has always seemed second in importance only to the rings. Luckily the luggage came quickly and Flint's 4pm Friday traffic wasn't bad enough to prevent our speedy commute to the downtown courthouse to procure the license without issue.  From there it was onto the bride's parents house. The climate at bride central was chaotic of course, but everyone was very nice and welcoming, especially the bride's parents. It did seem odd that with each new room we entered there were more children (at 1 point I wondered if they ran a daycare, turns out it was just the bride's many nieces and nephew) I was further surprised when, while we were checking out the wedding gown in the converted basement, the bride's sister in law proceeds to breast feed her newborn. I've been told my demeanor puts people at ease fairly quickly, but I really need to rethink my attitude if it's going to result in lactating breast exposure less than 5 minutes after I meet someone! (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, May 23rd, 2006
9:00 pm	4 days in Flint - part 1 Okay, so I never actually planned to enter anything in this blog. I've never been the journaling type (I never even wrote anything in that cute diary with the lock that I asked for and received as a kid, as I lost the equally cute key about .2 seconds after receiving it.)  I only opened an account here as I have some friends that actually are quite good writers, and I wanted access to their entries. I'm a pretty private person by nature, so I was quite content with my non-journaling self.  Plus I didn't think I'd ever have anything very interesting to write about. As far as memoirs go, my day to day life isn't nearly as enticing as Candace Bushnell's (whom I can't relate to but aspire to be that sexy) or as hilarious as Laurie Notaro (whom I can completely empathize with but aspire not to : ). Then I found myself in Michigan serving as a groomsman in my friend's traditional Jewish wedding. And since I'm a Christian female from Texas, culture shock became the watch word (and vast understatement) for my 4 days in Flint. The backstory: I met the groom online 14 years ago when I was a senior in college. Email was barely entering the mainstream at the time (not only did we have to walk 5 miles barefoot in a snowstorm uphill both ways to school, we had no emoticons!!!!!!!) and the Sociology and Computer Science profs got together and created a class that studied primitive (read: early 90's) human's email behavior. One of our assignments was to exchange emails with a "pen pal" all semester. Back then I was a Christian female from Oklahoma, and the Syracuse student I was assigned to was the first Jewish person I'd ever met, online or in person. He was also one of the kindest, strangest and (unfortunately for me since I wanted a good grade in this silly class) the most prolific (read: ridiculously long email writing) people I'd ever met. I'll spare you the vast theological debates we've engaged in (Can a person be both atheist and Jewish? : ) and fast forward to present day. We've kept in touch and both been in Texas for a number of years. Last year he met the very lovely bride on Eharmony, proposed in a helicopter over Niagara Falls (clearly a NY boy at heart) and the rest was history.  Which brings me to last Friday as I check my overly expanded luggage (I tend to be a princess-packer anyway, and when I have to look presentable at no less than 5 wedding related events, the phrase "carry-on" does not apply) and tote my ancient Ipod and Wikipedia Jewish Wedding customs printout required reading onto the plane to Flint (actually it was Chicago, then to Flint. Apparently Flint is so remote, you can't even get a direct flight from a major hub.)  To be continued...... Current Mood: contemplative (2 Comments |Comment on this)