Memories Fade but the Scars Still Linger

The other night at the Hollywood Bowl, I was harassed by the Bowl security guards and a couple of women. Four different guards on four separate occasions asked to see my ticket. I was sitting in the Pool Circle, right in front of the stage. In order to get to your seat, the ticket is scanned then your hand is stamped. No one gets in unless they're scanned and stamped. So, one by one, these guards ask for my ticket, check it, hassle me because my ticket was for Seat 4 and I was standing at Seat 1. Each time, I let the guard know there were 4 of us in the group and I was certainly in the right place. After the 4th, and only apologetic, guard left, a woman approached me. [Sidebar: all of this is happening during the Fixx's set. Oh so wrong!] OK, woman approaches me, "Hi, this is my first time at the Bowl." Great, I say. You picked a good show to see for your first time here. "So, is this how it works? You stand while everyone else is sitting?" I look around. While some are sitting, a lot of the Pool Circle people are standing...I mean, the Fixx is singing "One Thing Leads to Another" and why would you sit? I tell her I came to dance to the *four dance bands* so that's what I'll be doing. "You're forcing me to stand." No. I'm not forcing her to do anything. "Well, we can't see because you're standing up and others are sitting down." I tell her I came to dance and have a good time.  She says more things. I don't. She walks away. I keep dancing.

For the rest of the night, she and her friend(s) hurled insults at me. Psh. Whatever. I'm above that. But, I have to admit it was annoying. "Fat ass! Bitch! I think the B52s are onstage but I can't see!" And then she says it. The one name that hurts me more than any other.

She called me 'Lurch'.

To understand this, I have to go back to elementary school. A group of boys at Mountain View Elementary School tormented me relentlessly. They always seemed to find me on the playground. 'Jolly Green Giant' was the collective favorite. Innocently, I would counter that name with "I'm not even green!" which would cause much laughter. One day, the group found me and started the ritualistic teasing. One boy called me 'Lurch' and the collective laughed louder and harder than I'd ever heard. I had no idea what the word was or why it was so funny. Too bad I found out. That name stuck with me throughout elementary school and into part of the 7th grade.

When that grown-up mean girl called me 'Lurch' the other night, I had a physical reaction. I was going to throw up. I balanced myself against the chair to stop from trembling. Tears sprang to my eyes. I was in elementary school. Wow. I've said the word, I've heard the word, I've watched the show. But, when tossed at me, I couldn't get out of the way.

The rest of the show was spectacular ~ I danced and sang off-key and made new friends, who were sincerely supportive throughout the evening. I definitely got my money's worth. And those women got to see me enjoy myself. What was I supposed to do? I was supposed to do exactly what I did.

Janis Ian's 'At Seventeen' shuffled onto my iPod about 45 minutes ago. And I had a good cry. I just needed to get this out.

today

I awoke feeling oddly motivated. The ideas on just how to channel this motivation came fast and furious.

First, I joined Weight Watchers. I'd done it before, with moderate success; but, money was tight and something had to go. My sister joined last week; The Gentleman joined a month ago. Feeling inspired by both and oddly motivated, I found myself sitting in a meeting at 8:30 on a Saturday morning. A lot of information to take in. A lot of changes to be made. This is going to take a lot of motivation, inspiration and support. The Gentleman said "You can do this." My reply "I can and will." So, here I go...

Another feeling that overwhelmed me this morning ~ I am fucking sick of this fucking clutter! A friend asked to stay with me tomorrow night as he's 'in transition.' "All I need is your floor for one night." How pathetic it is that I can't give a piece of my fucking floor for a friend. I'd happily share my bed with him but he'd have to come IN to my apartment. Yeah. That ain't happening. This fucking clutter. Completely of my doing. I've been good with tossing as I bring in. That just keeps things status quo, doesn't get rid of anything. I put the clothes piled on the shoe rack onto hangers then hung 'em on the clothing rack. I stared at them for a long time. A very long time. Then, I shoved most into a black trash bag. I was completely honest with myself - I will NEVER wear that again, I have NEVER worn that, this doesn't fit. There were a couple of items I rescued. I looked at them, again...then tossed 'em out. The feeling wasn't the same as when I've tossed before. This time I was fed up! It just has to go. HAS TO GO! And, so one bag did.

Tomorrow is a new day. There are two storage bins that will be empty before the morning is over.

I'm doing it. Alone. But I have GOT TO GET THIS CRAP UNDER CONTROL!

Dear Lane Bryant...

Santa's good.

Two days before Christmas, I received an email from Lane Bryant heralding their day after Christmas sale. Bras and jeans on sale. I made a mental note because, really, when bras are 'buy 2 get 2' I'm all over it.

Lo and behold on Christmas Day, what does little Reesie get? Gift card to Lane Bryant. Well played, Santa!

So, off to Burbank I go the day after Christmas. I know, I know. Crazy Reesie out with the other crazies at the maul mall. I got into Lane Bryant by 8 o'clock that morning. I was out of the mall parking lot by 9:15 a.m.

I was the lone crazy person shopper in the store. Kid in the candy store, money burning a hole in my pocket, I looked around, wide-eyed at all that lay before me inside Lane Bryant. Like the responsible adult I am, I tell the girl I need bras and jeans for sure and maybe something fun if there's enough leftover.

I get measured. I try on. I select. I set aside. Moving to the wall of jeans, the gal asks my size. "4 yellow tall" [Lane Bryant has this 'Right Fit' way of measuring for jeans based on your shape]. "Oh, we don't carry talls in stores anymore."

You don't carry talls in stores anymore?! Huh? Wha?

"How am I supposed to get jeans?"
"Just go online and order!" She was a bit too cheery about this.
"How will I know if the jeans are long enough?"
"You can return the jeans to the store if they don't fit."
"So...I have to BUY jeans, WAIT 4-8 business days to get them, then TRY THEM ON?"
"Yes!"
"No!"

I have to buy jeans that may or may not fit, wait for them to arrive, then return if they don't. That just doesn't seem right. And, I tell the girl. Sorry for her. Why can't I go into the store and try them on, ensure they fit, then purchase? I was livid. The sales gal had me try on 'average' size jeans "for the fit" and then guessed how long the talls would be. Ai yi yi! A lot of stores increase the rise of the jeans and call them tall. Uh, my legs are long. I need length!

Later that night, I found Lane Bryant on Twitter (@lanebryant). Dear @lanebryant, Why did you take tall jeans and pants out of your stores?! I got a DM (direct message) saying all I had to do was order online.

Dear @lanebryant, I have to BUY jeans that may or may not fit?
Yes, then return if they don't fit you. Thanks!

Are you kidding me?! What a tremendous pain! These messages went on for 3 or 4 more rounds, each with a line that has nothing to do with anything, really - have them shipped to the store! There is no demand for talls! You can easily return to a store!

I have to spend money in hopes that the jeans fit? I've shopped like that for most of my life! Many is the number of times I've been tremendously disappointed when something I adored in a catalog didn't fit. It's frustrating. It's disappointing. And it pisses me off!

NOW where am I going to find tall jeans?

*sigh*