Facing Death Daily

On Celebrating with and through Pain:

I met my very best friend in the entire world, Tracy, when we started in graduate school at the same time at the University of South Carolina, in August 1997. I won’t go into the unpleasant details, but my time there was not the happiest period of my life.

Things did improve, though, and I made friends both in school and in the city. Not the least of them being Tracy.

One of the first things we created was “Tracy and Sally Face Death Daily!” This statement refers to the fact that we were always barely dodging some form of automobile-related death. As our friend Jason said: Tracy knows traffic laws, and chooses to ignore them. Sally isn’t aware that traffic laws exist.

Beyond all of the unpleasantness of my first time around in graduate school, she became the sister I never had. She and I had our good times and bad, and we made it through all of them. We lived together for four years, and when we made the decision to live separately, it was honestly like we got a divorce. But, like all good couples who are wonderful together, but who are just not meant to live in the same residence, we came back together later and are stronger than ever.

She was there for me through my mother’s illness and death; she was the maid of honor at my wedding (and she even gave a toast, under duress; I'm looking down her dress in the next photo);

and she was there when I was almost arrested for the illegal transportation of an easel.

She is the only person who can dole out tough love to me, even though my husband attempts it. When he does it, it manifests as him yelling at me and me telling him to stop being mean. Then he apologizes, and I go back to doing whatever self-destructive or ill-advised thing I was doing before, because he’s afraid to stop me. She, on the other hand, can talk me down out of any tree.

For our 10^th anniversary, she told me that we were going to re-create our first bonding experience: we spent the Saturday before Labor Day in Charleston, SC. The first time she and I hung out, it was on the Saturday before Labor Day, in Charleston, in 1997. There were other people there, but one of them I prefer not to speak to, another I’d like to see but can’t find, and the other I’d rather never see again. 

But I digress.

For our 10th anniversary, though, we were going to go to Charleston for a whole weekend. We were going to stay in a nice hotel, and we were going to eat nice meals, and we were going to shop.

Most importantly, there was a spa in our hotel, the venerable Francis Marion, and we were going to do Spa Things.

Most of that went well. We ate a delicious dinner at Slightly North Of Broad (S.N.O.B.); we shopped on King Street; we wandered around the city.

And we did Spa Things.

We each had two procedures: we each got some sort of wrap, both of which went well.

And Tracy got a scalp massage. And I got a hot stone massage. Those didn’t go as well.

I’d never had a hot stone massage before, but I was entranced by the idea: warm, smooth stones are placed in strategic places on your back, thereby turning your muscles to butter, and making you feel nice and relaxed. Sounds lovely, right?

I’ve since been told by others that what I experienced was not normal. And if it is normal, then I’m pretty sure it was created by the Marquis de Sade. And even he found it uncomfortable.

The first three rocks the guy put on my back were blisteringly hot. And I do mean “blisteringly.” They left gigantic rock-shaped blisters on my tailbone and lower spine. When he put the first one on, I really did think it was going to melt through to the towel I was lying on. I gasped, wincing through tears, “That’s really hot.” He said, “They’re supposed to be.” Next Phoenix-in-August asphalt sphere, please!

By the time he’d gotten to the end, my nerve endings had shorted out and I’d reached this strange sort of pain-induced nirvana, so it actually felt good. When the wrap began, I just went to sleep. I now understand that I was probably in shock.

I came out, a bit dazed and wide-eyed, in this uncomfortably euphoric state, and found Tracy paying, and looking annoyed.

Sally: How’d it go?

Tracy: Fine. Let’s go.

Sally: Okay . . .

Out on the street, she turned to me and fumed:

Tracy: I can’t believe I got a scalp massage!

Sally: Why?

Tracy: I basically just paid someone $45 to rub my head for 10 minutes. With oil. So now my hair’s dirty, and I need to take another shower.

Sally: Okay.

Tracy: Are you okay?

Sally: Yeah. My butt sort of hurts.

Tracy: What did you have done, exactly?

Sally: Hot stone massage. Does my back look okay?

Tracy: Holy shit! That’s blistering!

Sally: Oh. Let’s go eat.

Tracy: Are you okay?

Sally: Yeah. (I wasn’t.)

So this Labor Day, for our 15^th anniversary, we’re Facing Death Daily again, in Spa form. We couldn’t make it back to Charleston this year, so instead we’re going to the Charleston of Northern Virginia: Old Town Alexandria.

Go ahead and start sending flowers to the burn ward at Inova Alexandria.

About a Glass

My mother loved beer. She never wanted to drink a whole bottle all at once; that wasn't ladylike. Instead, she wanted to drink it out of a little fancy glass.

Whenever I came home to see my mom, I would call to ask her what I needed to pick up on the way. Once, we had the now-classic conversation:

Sally: What do you need?

Mom: [Various groceries]

Sally: Anything else?

Mom: Cigarettes. We're out of cigarettes.

Sally: Okay. Got it.

Mom: Hold on. [confers with Dad off-phone] Your dad says you should buy some lottery tickets. He thinks you're lucky.

Sally: Has he met me? Okay, lottery tickets. Got it.

Mom: Oh, and beer. We don't have any beer, so get some.

Sally: Okay. So: cigarettes, lottery tickets, and beer. Would you like me to get you some hookers, too, Mom?

Mom: No, I think we're all full up here.

Anyhoo, I'd buy her the beer of her choice, and then she would drink a 6-pack, measured out in fancy little glasses.

When I brought Curtis home for the first time, she was delighted to have a partner in her beer-drinking; I'm not a beer fan, so I never wanted to share beer with her. Aunt Connie was a wine drinker. Dad would sometimes indulge her, but he had died a year and a half earlier.

Curtis, on the other hand, was happy to. This was how they bonded.

Scene: Curtis and I arrive at my mother's house. We bring up all of our luggage, and Mom enthusiastically tells me how hot he is. Curtis is unpacking the groceries, and he asks if I want a glass of wine, and he asks Mom if she wants anything to drink.


Mom: What are you having?


Curtis: I'm having beer. Sally can have her stupid wine.


Mom: How about we split one?


Curtis: Sure!


And she shows him the little glass she drinks beer out of, the little fancy one.

And every time Curtis and I went to see her, they split beers, Curtis drinking out of the bottle, Mom drinking out of the little fancy glass. She tended to like lighter, gentler beers: lagers and pilsners. 

Mom and Curtis bonded, and I often suspected she liked him more than she liked me. When she was in and out of the hospital over the course of a year and a half, he went with me every time to see her.

And when she died in 2009, and we cleaned out her house, he made sure he took one thing.

Here's to you, Murm. Drinking a glass of  Tilted Smile Imperial Pilsner in your memory. We love you. We miss you every day.

CorgiWatch: Day Two

On Important Things in London, Where There Also Appears to Be Some Sort of Track-and-Field Event:

Curtis: What are you doing?

Sally: [looking at laptop] Looking at the corgis. Thinking about what they might be doing right now.

Curtis: How long have you been up?

Sally: About an hour.

Curtis: I'll bet you thought about them all night.

Sally: I did.

Curtis: I thought you were going to take it easy today.

Sally: I am. Why?

Curtis: Well, I'm just afraid you're going to get yourself all worked up over the corgis.

Sally: I can lie down if I get tired.

Hello, Pot? This is the Kettle.

On Bad Taste in Internet Matters . . .

Curtis: What are you looking up?:

Sally: I'm trying to find a site about taxidermy classes in DC, for Jill. I found this. *

Curtis: I really need to keep you away from the Internet.

Sally: But first, look at the site we talked about before, that you really wanted to see. The chat forum from my hometown. Maybe start with "Anyone no when the next ged tests are?".


* No, it's not in DC, but that's what came up.

Vanity, Thy Name Is Sally

On the subject of Spa Time . . .

Sally: When JB & TH come up, I think that TH and I are going to go do spa things.

Curtis: Okay.

Sally: I think you and JB should do spa things too. Like, he could get a pedicure, and you could get a haircut, at that fancy-man place in Old Town Alexandria.

Curtis: Do you think that JB and I are girls?

Sally: No.

Curtis: Okay, girls with penises, then.

Sally: No.

Curtis: I understand that you think that JB and I are going to go get pedicures and hairstyles and then skip around with shopping bags and titter, but that is not what is going to happen at all. We're going to go to a bar, and we're going to drink, and we might talk about stuff, but none of it will have anything to do with exfoliation.

Sally: Okay, fine. Can you help me with something?

Curtis: Most likely not.

Sally: I was looking over this menu of spa services, and I was wondering what you think TH would like best.

Curtis: I don't care.

Sally: Look at this list of four things, and tell me what you think we should do.

Curtis: This is all horseshit. I have no idea what any of this is. 

Sally: I think I might get the cellulite rub.

Curtis: Does that mean they rub your cellulite, or that they rub you WITH cellulite?

Sally: Forget it.

Curtis: Done.

Where can I NOT get one of these?

We love watching shows about animals, including Dogs 101. This particular episode we're watching now is about "Designer Dogs": Labradoodles, Cockapoos, etc.

In the beginning of the show, they were showing examples of these dogs: Pug + Beagle = Puggle, Chihuahua + Yorkie = Chorkie (which is one of the worst names ever). One combination caused us alarm, leading to the following conversation, "On a Worse Dog Than the Xoloitzcuintli, Which Is Now the Second-Worst Dog in the Entire World":

Dogs 101 Narrator: And there's the Border Jack, a cross between a Border Collie and a Jack Russell!

Sally: That is the worst idea ever.

Curtis: Seriously. I can't imagine who thought this would be a good idea.

Dogs 101 Narrator: It combines the intelligence and energy of a Border Collie with the intelligence and energy of a Jack Russell!

Sally: Wow. That is seriously a bad combination.

Curtis: That dog would move you out of your house and take over your bank account.

Sally: While jumping up and down and annoying the shit out of you the whole time.

Careful with that quilt, buddy. Also my wife.

In July, I'm going to get to see something I've wanted to see for years: the AIDS Quilt. When I saw that it was coming back to DC, I was thrilled.

What was even more thrilling? The opportunity to volunteer. Not only would I get to see the Quilt . . . I could touch it. I could help.

Excited, I volunteered to help set up. I told Curtis I was volunteering, and he asked what I was doing.

And with that, on the subject of mindful volunteering and avoiding nutjobs. . .

Sally: I wanted to be a Quilt Monitor, but I didn't think I would be able to on any days they would need me. So I signed up to set up.

Curtis: What's a Quilt Monitor?

Sally: You hang out around the quilt and make sure no one's hurting it, and--

Curtis: Don't do that. I don't want you to do that.

Sally: Why not? People could try to damage it, or steal it.

Curtis: There will be crazy people and homophobes out there, and I'm afraid they'll hurt or attack you, when you're just doing something good.

Sally: I'd be fine. There would be other people around. It wouldn't just be me alone with a giant quilt.

Curtis: No, I don't want you to do that. I'm afraid some crazy gay-basher will go after you, just to get to the quilt to damage it.

Sally: Well, there's more to the job. You're also there to give information, and you're on the lookout for people who are upset and overcome, to offer comfort and support.

Curtis: You'd be good at that, because you're a sweet baby. But I just don't want you to get hurt by some dumbass.

Sally: I'd be in the Smithsonian.

Curtis: Crazy people go to the Smithsonian every day. Please just set it up.

Sally: Okay. I don't think I can do it anyway.

Curtis: I just worry about you.