Punch

We lifted out plastic champagne flutes high in the air, clinking them over the sparkly felt table top. "To being a Princess!" we shouted before lowering our glasses and drinking in the sweet punch. Playing poker without alcohol was new -- and even more fun with my Alcoholics Anonymous gals.

***One Word ***

Cramped Quarters

I'd known her for most of my life. In many ways, I respected her. Joanne was a strong women, lived life with humor and understanding, stretched out a hand to those in need, and always worried she would die a burden. As we sat together on the beach, her nose buried deeply in a book mostly because of poor eyesight, I thought of our relationship.

She had never been very tolerant of people who didn't take care of their bodies. She had been an aerobics instructor for years. When she stopped teaching, she became obsessed with training dogs in agility, something that kept her on her feet and active most of the day. She'd always been thin. Even now, in the bright sunlight, her tanned skin hung limply around her slender body. Kindness toward over weight people was not in her abilities. It was a small thing that had always bothered me.

She also didn't value people with disabilities much. Sure, she preached that they should have rights and should be an important part of the community, but that sentiment only lasted until they got in her way. Move over or be set aside seemed to be the underlining feel of her philosophy. It was another hard pill to swallow when I was around her, especially when she was younger.

I looked at Joanne, lying comfortably on the chair, and smiled at her. "I'm going to order a drink. Do you want anything?" she asked as the cabana boy approached.

"No thank you," I said.

Joanne summoned the young man over with a flip of her wrist. "What do you have to drink?" she asked him with a coolness to her voice.

"Drink? What kind?" He stood, smiling at the old woman first and then myself.

"That's what I am asking you. What kind of drinks do you have?" She looked impressed at the youth's lack of understanding as he stood happily mute at her feet.

"Yes." he responded, still smiling at her scornful face. "We have drinks. What kind do you like?"

Joanne stiffened and I shrunk at the thought of where this conversation would go. I didn't make myself small enough because she turned to me, incredulity coloring her eyes. "Well, you know how I feel! The kid should speak English well enough to work here and he doesn't! I can't stand this kind of disrespect. Would you please order me a drink and be reproachful, none of this nicety stuff for the lazy bum?!?"

I smiled at the young man kindly. "Lo siento muchismo. Podemos tener dos Margaritas doble, por favor?"

"Si Senora," he said and was off. Joanne rolled her eyes at me and went back to her book. I could hear her mumbling about my foolhardy tolerance for those who refused to speak English. She didn't care that we were sitting on the pristine white sands of Mexico. Suddenly the long white beaches felt to cramped of a space to share with this burden of a woman.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Den

My head hurt more than it ever had. I stumbled out of the den and down the hallway, trying to navigate the narrow space without knocking the cutesy pictures of Mrs. Benning's children off the walls. I didn't realize she had also managed to stagger to her feet and was a mere two feet behind me with the crystal cigar tray I had picked out for her husband only a few weeks ago clenched tightly in her hand.

*** One Word ***

Bargain Hunt

I see them lining up around the corner and twisting down the long paved streets of America. The flyers and carnies wearing pressed Armani suits are all promising security for a signature; what a bargain! No one seems to be reading the fine print though. They just scribble their name and trade their freedoms for a false sense of security.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Sorry. I can't escape the date and my resentment seems to be coming less palatable each year.

In Rememberance

It's impossible to avoid this day, to let it slide by without some sort of recognition. The date sits quietly aside the others on the calendar, e-mail boxes fill up with requests that you remember, donate, or sign a petition. News reporters write and rewrite their stories, interviewing everyone who walks by to find the deepest gut reactions and sweetest sentiments. September 11th: The Day That Changed America Forever.

To be honest, I'm sick of it. It's mostly propaganda pushed by politicians and religious fanatics. I'm not saying millions of Americans don't hungrily eat it up and then spew it out. It's a tragedy. Truly the loss of that many lives due to any single event is horrific. But for all those who have posted or stated or e-mailed me, let me ask you this: How has America changed?

I actually asked several people this. The answers all started the same. Silence. Astonishment. A weighing of which story to tell. I should say most. A brave few didn't question and happily shared their fatigue. The truth is, it doesn't matter. I live here and I get to play a part in it to. I won't share their answers, but I will tell you mine.

America has changed for the worse.

We distrust our neighbors because they look different than us, especially if we think they may be Muslim.

We legalize racial profiling and claim it is for our national security.

We ask people to give up their freedoms to make others feel better without questioning what we will ask of the next group of people or even who that next group will be.

We've stopped having conversations about our differences and have started to scream at, point fingers, and assume everyone is guilty, or worse, just plain wrong.

Of course, we've made travel inconvenient as well.

But the most disturbing piece is that we seem to have forgotten what being an American is suppose to be about. I miss those mythical days of America. The ones we read about in American studies. The ones that talked about coming to America to escape religious persecution, to make a better life for your family, the ones that referred to the nation as a melting pot. Mostly, I miss being bonded to people I don't know just because we are all fighting for the same thing.

The heat that kept us warm as a nation has been turned off and we have begun to separate. I wonder what tragedy will need to befall us before we get it right.

Salt

She'd been standing outside the restaurant for ten minutes. Her nerves kept her from walking opening the door and walking in. Smoke swirled up from her cigarette as she watched others moving in and out of the building, all smiling and laughing. "Why am I standing here when I could be in there with all the others smiling and enjoying a drink or two?" she thought to herself moments before her own reproach. "Because I am an idiot who is wasting her life!"

Quickly she stubbed out her cigarette, the little that remained, and took a deep breath. Before she could change her mind, she walked to the doors and pulled on the handle. Warmth and laughter met her. She stepped inside and headed straight to the bar. "Margarita on the rocks, salt the rim please." She smiled at her first step of moving on.

*** One Minute Writer ***

The Interview 2

So like, I went to thise interview, and um, the guy was a total creep. He kept asking me all of these really dumb questions, ya now, but I am sure he just did it to get a look down my shirt. Not that I like let him or anything like that. Maybe if it had been for like a register position instead of dunkin fries I mighta considered it. But yeah, not for dunkin the fries or flippin burgers. No way! How gross would that have been. Ugh. Men are so disgusting! Anyway, I didn't get that job.

*** Daily Writing Practice: This was done more as an antic than not. I had promised Marc, the owner of the blog, that one day I would write crap just to see how he would put a positive light on it; hence the poor language, spelling errors, and grammar issues. You see it as he will. If he clicks on the link, it will bring him to what I intend to be the real entry. You can click the link or just read the post following this. ***