The hardest button to button

I chose a button up shirt to wear today and as I was walking down the street I realized it had come open; it's shiny white buttons had been no match for my heaving bosom. I was thankful to have had a camisol on underneath but, discouragingly, it was not the type of garment you'd wear if you felt like retaining modesty. I might as well have been wearing nothing.
Slightly abashed, I rebuttoned the shirt and kept myself aware of any sudden breezes. This happenstance reminded me of a smiliar situation which occurred about a year and a half ago while I was at my new job:
I was hosting at a very busy, very crowded sushi restaurant that I'd worked at for 2 days so far.
I was cleaning tables, seating customers, and generally keeping on my feet when I noticed some funny looks from the customers. The men looked amused and slightly entertained while the women looked embarassed and slightly entertained. Had I spilled something weird on my shirt? Was there rice in my hair? I looked down to find the source of amusment and saw that my shirt was wide open, black bra on display for the enjoyment of all! I ran to the bathroom, laughed at the mirror, rebuttoned and (with the help of a safety pin) went back to work.
No one said a thing about it, unlike the time, months later, that I spilled a tray of drinks down my front.

I guess what I'm getting at is, does anyone have a safety pin?

A memorable conversation

"Hey Hart, how're you doing?"
"Getting by," he said wistfully. "How 'bout you Madge?"
"Pretty good, I got a raise at work, been hanging out with (good female friend) alot . . . keeping busy."
"Oh wicked, I'm totally happy for you!" He paused. " But I've missed you."
"Oh?" I shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, me too . . . I mean, we used to see each other every day, so that's reasonable. But you know why I had to move out, right?"
"Oh, totally!"
"Because we talked about it for a long time, and--"
"It wasn't the right place for you," he said with understanding.
"Yeah! Exactly! I mean you and Steck like it, but I just felt weird having that guy who stole from you sleep in the closet and the strangers dropping by to smoke out at 3 a.m... I mean of course, most of them weren't strangers to you, it was just that I didn't know them . . . plus we couldn't stop fighting so . . . "
He grinned happily and I stopped talking, feeling confused. He said he got it.
"Do you want a drink?" I asked.
"I'd rather get a kiss from my baby" he said, grinning.
"I've got Fresca--what?" I stared at him, tense.
He hovered in on me, still grinning. "Can I get a kiss from my baby?"
"Remember the conversation we had five days ago!?" My voice became shrill. "You said you remembered!"
"Yeah," he said, missing the point. "You moved out, it's not like we broke up."
"We did break up! What are you talking about?"
He laughed. "But not really."
I screamed, aghast for two reasons:

(1) It had taken alot of agonizing and bad nights between us for me to leave him in the first place. I'd left a week before the actual breakup, saying I had to think about things, which I did. Once out of the dirty hole of an apartment, my thoughts became as clean as (close female friend)'s apartment, which I moved into temporarily. He was dragging me down and he was selfish!
(2) On the day of the break up, I'd talked so much without being heard that I was over the whole thing and found it easier to distance myself emotionally than he did.
I was rational and logical.
He was sobbing.
"You don't even caaaare!" he yelled, tears welling in his eyes. "You're killing me; you don't care how much your hurting me"
"You didn't care when I cried," I said, zipping up my suitcase.
He threw himself face first on the single mattress that lay on the floor (the bed we used to share) moaning.
"I told you I wanted to travel when we met, it's not my fault you spent all your money on weed," I said matter-of-factly.
"I thought you loved me!" he sobbed. "If you loved me you'd stayyyy!"
I laughed; this was the oldest trick in the book!
"I did love you," I said, feeling disgusted all the more because it was true. "If you loved me you would want me to travel."
I looked around the room. There was plenty still to pack but I didn't want to hang around any more.
"I'll get the rest later, when you're working." I sighed, throwing a bag over my shoulder. Then I tugged my suitcase to the living room and said goodbye to his friends who were sitting just outside the door, as usual.
I was triumphant and proud of myself for not losing my cool or getting angry. Which is why I was so pissed that he didn't even seem to remember it happening."We DID break up!" I yelled
His eyes welled up in a familiar way, and I showed him the door.

*Republished with edits by Christopher Zane

I was riding my bike around Austin's Hyde Park listening to Yo La Tengo and enjoying the effects of dusk on a pleasant evening when the strong smell of pot hit me.
Suprised, I turned sharply to see if I could spot the stoners but only succeeded in falling embarassingly off my bike. Tonight I learned there is such a thing as being too curious.

With friends like you who needs friends?

I recently joined the Austin Unitarian Young Adult group, also known as YARN, which meets every Wednesday. I've only been to a few meetings but am not nessesarily new to the group since I was raised Unitarian and was quite involved in my high school youth group(YRUU). Many of the people from YRUU now attend YARN meetings and I know them all pretty well. Thats how I was able to identify Selma, a new person who showed up this week.

I also identified her as a sort of hippy nerdly type by her fairly "unique" sense of style;
Perhaps it was the black beret tilted at a jaunty angle, the blue tie dyed shirt topped with a vest, or perhaps the large necklace that identified her as pagan. Of course this didn't mean I didn't like her. God no, people should dress as they please. It was her voice and permanant look of worry on her face that made me wary.

She explained that she'd moved here 6 months ago and was having trouble making friends.
As she spoke I'd decided that while seemed to have nice intentions she tended to go on a bit about her problems and the problems of the world, soon holding the group hostage with her tales of woe.
Eventually side conversations started but I stayed with my face pointed in her direction, possibly trying to give unity to Kay, who had made eye contact with Selma and could not break away. Finally she stopped and other, more interesting people took her place, laughter and joyful tones enlivened once more.

Possibly the saddest part of the night was the end, when we were all washing the potluck dishes and getting ready to leave.
"What is everyone doing now?" Selma asked, "do you guys want to do something else?"
"I have to go home!" I said in alarm and I excused myself by way of Dan, who would be getting off work soon and would have to be let into the apartment since he didn't have a key.
While the others mumbled about heading home as well, I jumped on my bike and pedaled away, cheerfully listening to The Beatles.

It's not that I don't sympathise with Selma. It can be very difficult to make friends in a town where you have no one, something I learned from personal experience. After a while your willing to be friends with anyone, you're not in a position to be choosey and unfortunately they are. My advice to Selma is to use this extra time to become more interesting.

Based on a Dream

We were drunk and playing around, just having fun, taking pictures.
Then he brought out a camera with film in it, that he said showed the real you.
It sounded strange, but we were drunk, so we said yes, though the happy way our voices echoed made them sound hollow.
From then on, nothing we did was really us.
We were like people trapped in a nightmare of uncomfortable feelings and actions.
We were not joyfully drunk, but we couldn't stop acting and just be what we were. Scared and sober.

He shot the whole roll, and the next day took it to be developed and I agreed to pick them up, since I owed him a favor.
We all agreed not to look at them without each other.
But that was hard for me. I would casually knock the envelope open, and look without touching. I didn't see much, just something dark and a little unfamiliar. My curiosity rose, so I quickly flipped the envelope shut, cutting off our interest, and put it in my bag.

To take my mind off of the pictures, I went to the mall, to try on a dress I'd seen the other day.
While I was there I met a man who would not stop chatting me up. He was too friendly, with a perpetual smiling face which blackened my mood considerably. His cheerful voice and my mood reminded me of what I glimpsed on those pictures. I pushed it out of my mind and instead went to try on an armful of clothes. The man continued talking to me, even when I shut the door for privacy; He was incorrigible.
" So, you trying on clothes? I love clothes! Some people call me a clotheshorse even! Cause I have so many different kinds you see! Haha! Imagine a man loving clothes so much! All those clothes you got, you must be a clotheshorse too, huh? Seems like we have a lot in common, oh hey, what’s this! You dropped some photo here, nothing too racy I hope! Haha! Hope you don't mind if I take a peek?" I hesitated as I heard the envelope open. I should stop him.
"They aren't things you should look at,” I warned, but it was too late. I heard him gasp, the envelope of photos came shooting under my dressing room door and he was gone. Feeling maliciously satisfied I put them in my bag and left the store.

This worried me.

Back at home I put the package on the coffee table, and sat on the couch, thinking. He came to watch it as well. And so we waited for the others to get home.
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Then I woke up.

Flat White guy

Not long ago I began a job at a just-opened restaurant/bar/cafe called HOA. According to the owner the idea of blending a coffee bar, restaurant and booze bar was revolutionary. "You can come in, have a few drinks from a full bar, have a nice big dinner and relax with a coffee after word" he would say, eye brow raised towards me, as if sharing a special secret. "Revolutionary".

After a few months we began getting regulars, especially for coffee. We were the only place in town that served a brand called Havana, which had a very distinct and strong flavor. Perhaps it was highly addictive as well, because many of the coffee regulars would come in 2 or 3 times a day for double or triple shot flat whites, lattes, cappucinos...etc. For those of you who do not know what a flat white is, it's a double shot of espresso with little foam and about half the milk of a latte. It's a strong milky coffee basically.
At some point a tall, nervous man who looked to be a house painter started coming in. At first it was 2-3 times a day, but very quickly we began seeing him 4,5,6 times a day. Always a flat white, sometimes with an extra shot. Flat White guy spoke quickly, drank quickly and smiled a twitchy smile as he sprinted in and out of the bar. We never discovered his name and one day just stopped coming in, just like that. Maybe he moved, maybe he had a massive heart attack, we'll probably never know. But what we can certainly be sure of is his pee reeked incredibly of espresso.

Today while we were at a local pita restaurant waiting for the owner to show up so that we could ask for jobs at the local pita restaurant D and I saw a homeless man in a wheel chair. He was struggling up a driveway and his task looked difficult, tugging ever so awkwardly at our heartstrings. Having beaten the drive the man then wheeled over to a Catholic church, let his legs down from their resting place and stood up. "Hey, he can walk" D said, eyebrows raised. "Seems like it would have been easier for him to push the wheel chair up that drive way instead of using his arms to push the wheels the regular way". "Maybe he's got Arthritis, working out,hiding the fact that he's not crippled... or something" I said, reaching. We watched the man walk over to the front of the church,shuffle behind a bush, pull down his pants and pee against the wall. Now my eyebrows were raised, "thats a church!" I exclaimed. Dan laughed "isn't that a mortal sin? Thou shalt not pee on a place of worship?"

Whose towel is this?

I was finishing up a shower when I realized I didn't have a towel to dry off with. I didn't want to run around wet and shivering to look for one and luckily I didn't have to; my boyfriend, D, was in the next room. I yelled me towel problem to him and he obliged.
"what a nice guy" I though" to pause in his reading and look for a clean towel when for me. What a thoughful, considerate ki...wait a second, this towel smells like sweat, like body odor, like D after he's been running!" I ran into the other room holding the towel in front of me as evidence. "is this the towel you use to wipe off sweat after you've been running?!"
He looked up from his book distractedly to squint at the towel which I was holding in front of his face. He looked as if he were not sure if this, a pink and blue towel was the towel he used to wipe sweat off or if it were, perhaps a different towel. Maybe yellow and red?
"Hmmm, maybe?"
"Smell it"
"Hmmm yeah, probably" he smiled "why do you ask?"
I looked at him, not sure if he was serious or if he'd given me the towel on purpose.
"what?" he asked, still grinning.
I gave up deciding and opted for dropping the towel on the floor, getting a clean one from the closet and taking another shower to wash off his old sweat. He stood in the doorway watching me
"what?"