Wonderful Cloudy Days.

I need to get back on here...

I turned 29 a week ago. I had a get together the night before at the Chocoate Bar at their new location downtown next to the movie theater. I felt like it was an appropriate venue for a late 20's birthday shindig. Chandeliers, white leather furniture and an upper level. Now that's classy! 
But the kid in me knew a party wouldn't be a party without board games and balloons. Yup, I brought Pictureka up into that joint! And after five (my boyfriend claims I actually had six) cocktails, trying to find five "things from the sea" gets interesting. 
It was an awesome night. It feels good knowing that after all my trials in socialization since moving to Reno and near self imposed isolation I could still fill a table with a good eight people. I'd reserved a table for ten (as more "in case shit" than necessity) but the remaining few who couldn't make it were the ones I knew wouldn't make it...you know how that goes.
I'd really hoped Adrian's brother and sister could have stopped by but I'm  happy that they seemed to appreciate the invites. 

So if you're ever in Reno or Lake Tahoe and you can make it to the Chocolate Bar, you MUST try a Strawberry Infusion cocktail! It contains:
Fresh crushed strawberries
Pineapple juice
Lemon juice
Vodka
(hear me out) Balsamic vinaigrette
and. sprinkled with black pepper

I won't lie. It tastes EXACTLY as it sounds but it is GOOD.

Only problem is you may find yourself sucking through that stuff like Koolaid. But if you're like me and you can barely maintain your equilibrium after more than two beers but can throw back hard liquor like it's water you should be fine. Hence why after five, maybe six, cocktails I was pretty much good the next morning and downing wine and margaritas with the boyfriend's crazy relatives in California that afternoon. Hey, it was my birthday (and the day before Easter) after all! 

My grandmother has never seen a photo of herself as an infant. Because of this she used to lament that she must have been adopted, (despite the fact she and her two brothers are all light-skinned, formerly red-headed Black people who share the same sarcastic Mona Lisa smile that shows up in photos.)  She also hasn't seen many pictures of her own mother for years.
My grandmother's neice, Angelique, the daughter of my grandma's oldest brother, Teddy, has apparently come across a bunch of old photos that most of the family has never seen. Rumor has it that her mother kept them hidden. Backstory: my grandmother's sister-in-law, Charlene, is a very dark complected Black woman who was tormented as a child for the color of her skin. I'm assuming that's why she married my grandma's pale skinned brother. She kept her children isolated from the rest of the family and made it clear she didn't care for the rest of us. It appears she brought her children up in a very Afro-centric household which leads my mom to assume that she wanted to keep evidence of obviously Caucasian heritage under wraps.  Well, her children are grown with minds of their own, and I'm sure curiosity lead to the discovery of these very old, and very wonderful family photos:


 My grandmother's mama! Madeline Wynn. From what I understand Wynn is a Welsh surname, although African-American lineage, as we all know, is a bit iffy. I have no idea my great-grandmother is actually bi-racial or just light skinned (although European heritage can't be too far off looking at her features.)


I saw this picture for the first time just a few days ago. That little baby is my grandma!!!  I went to Walmart and printed out an 8x10 glossy of this photo and of the one of Madeline above and I'm giving them to my grandma for Christmas. I can't wait :D


This here is a photo collage of my grandma's father.  He was a total ladies man and he played the saxaphone and worked as a mail carrier. Did I also mention he was popular with the ladies? :D 


And here are my great GREAT grandparents.  I loved Victoriana growing up so this photo is just...unbelievablly cool.

 And here's my grandma over the years. The bottom left image of her at about 9 years could easily be me at that age.  I still can't get over that.  And my mom and I have always thought she was the spitting image of Haley Mills (The Parent Trap) in her senior photo (bottom right.) Right about now she's probably playing GTA: San Andreas and having a martini...

One of the best things about living in Reno is the proximity to the Bay Area.  After visiting with my boyfriend's family at his aunt's home in Yuba City he and I took a drive down to San Francisco and spent a couple hours at Fisherman's Wharf. We passed Boudin's and watched the bakers making sourdough bread dough and I froze my fingers taking photos at Pier 39. San Francisco is a lot like New Mexico, where my family used to live, in the way that there's a collective effort on the part of it's citizens to create and upkeep a distinctive atmosphere at Christmas and all year round. Docked boats were decorated with Christmas lights, City Hall was lit red and green, and people of all ages exiting the symphony were outfitted in their formal best.  It's only a few hours from Reno but a world away from my home. :) 




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So there's this dude that works at Trader Joes who, for at least the last three, maybe four years, goes out of his way to get my attention. And by attention I mean he does that creepy, head-to-toe-body-scan-while-standing-right-in-front-of-you move. You know, the move made even worse when the guy tops it off by trying to meet your eye at the end. While wearing a nasty grin. 
He seems harmless enough, so I've never bothered to complain. Hell, he's not even that bad looking, although he isn't exactly my type, either (short, pretty overweight with a shaved head and goatee combo.)  I'm just not the type of woman who responds positively to that type of attention, and the fact that I practically have his schedule memorized for days when I just don't feel like being leered at can be aggravating. 
The only time I ever felt in the least bit worried about the situation was earlier this year, when he made a point of approaching me from the right while I was standing in the frozen section and made a loud, exasperated sigh. And yeah, as I said, I think he's harmless but his actions read as just so immature. Like, I'm sorry that after four years of oggling the same woman who patronizes your workplace once a week hasn't amounted to her giving it up to you. Maybe he has trouble meeting women because he's insecure about his weight, although to be honest I've never met a fat Latino dude who had any trouble finding ladies. I mean, come on; they're like Teddy bears! There's just no reason to act like such a passive aggressive douche.
 

Any time my top slips and the least bit of cleavage shows my mom or grandmother is there with a sideways glare, a gasp, or a frantic "Fix your shirt!" to regulate my moral fiber. 
It's the burden I carry having H-cup boobs. A really heavy burden. 
I've been been fighting the battle for self-acceptance since I was 13, when I became pretty much fully developed. 
I've been told to be proud of what I have innumerable times, but it's hard to not feel self conscious when I've had disgusting old 
men hang their heads literally inches above my cleavage and stare into my shirt as they pass by. Female friends are just as bad, if not worse since having a set of huge boobs apparently equals a never ending stream of luck and desirable suitors, therefore warranting snarky comments in my direction that would make a strip club patron blush, dismissing any assertions that the weight of my breasts causes serious physical discomfort, and being on-call for every random, intrusive inquiry about my bra size (because not only do they have to know, they can never remember. The numbers are too large to keep in their heads.) So yeah, as I said, it's been a long hard battle.
Now that I'm almost 30 years old I'm at the point where I'm still not fully comfortable with my size but also a place where I'm tired of apologizing and going out of my way to  conceal my body. 
So anyway, I was at McDonald's with my mom the other day. We were sitting in a booth and I was leaning in with my chest pressed against the table. My mom immediately went on red alert because that position caused my tank top to slide down and pushed my boobs UP. The usual bug-eyed, anxious "fix your shirt!" ensued but I didn't bother and I insisted that I looked fine.
"But they're hanging out!" my mom pleaded, and I once again insisted that there was nothing wrong. We went another round in an identical fashion until I yanked down the collar of my tank top, exposing the bottom of my underwire bra, and said, "No, THIS is hanging out!"
To say my mom looked stunned...well, she looked as if she was about to cry, actually. But it definitely shut her up.
And instead of letting the silence call an end to the conversation I drove home my point with the fact that women not even half my size go around in tops that let everything hang out and no one says a word. 
Small victory, I s'pose.

It's too damn warm and sunny to be almost Christmas. This time two years ago we were knee-deep in snow facing sub zero temperatures and this week the average high is 50 degrees leading up to Christmas. I think it irks me because this mild weather will reinforce the tourist's myth that we live in a perpetually hot, barren desert here in Reno. Hell, I think one of my 40 year old cousins back in Ohio still doesn't get that Palm trees don't grow here. And I'm almost certain she still thinks my family used to live in Albuquerque, "Mexico."  
Anyhoo...

They were my first concert, screw you, lol.

Merry Christmas, LJ!

This Friday evening, I'm going to see the Nutcracker Ballet!
 
Anything related to the story of the Nutcracker holds a special place in my heart because the play, it's music, and the performing arts have been a large part of most of my life.
 When I was in Kindergarden back in LA my school put on this MASSIVE schoolwide production in which kids from every grade took part, including two girls from my class who were chosen to play Sugar Plum Faries (one of them got kicked out and replaced for behavior problems, I think. And my teacher informed my mom who informed me that she would have picked me but I was "too shy.")  All the damn faries had to do was skip across the stage in a tutu, tap the Christmas tree with their wand and skip back off stage.  I'm not resentful in the least... 

I also played viola from age ten through college. My junior year of high school the orchestra performed Trepak, also known as the "Russian Dance."  That is THE liveliest, fastest song from the Nutcracker, and well, let's just say our teacher let one of the students, in fact it was this hyperactive raver chick, conduct the orchestra during that piece.  We probably could've sparked a campfire with out bows if we'd gone any longer.  That same year, I was also with the Las Vegas Youth Symphony.  I can't remember but I think I was first chair during the holiday concert when we performed Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies. And did I mention the violas had our own solo? How do you like me now, kindergarden teacher??? 

And if nothing else, going to the ballet gives me an excuse to wear my poofy dress again! :D

This s*** will change your life!  I don't even like ice cream at the same level as the general populace and this mess had me notifying  my friends and family.