Forgive Our Trespasses

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."

In church on Sunday, I said a prayer for someone whose name I don't know, but who made me very angry nonetheless. I had thought about him entirely too much. I prayed for his soul, for him to find spiritual strength. It was the Christian thing to do. Forgive and be forgiven.

Friday, BF and I had met some of his co-workers for happy hour. We all laughed together as they recounted the details of their "field day" (kickball, sumo wrestling), as one of them revealed a secret crush. It was the first time I had met them but we quickly became friends. It was a sunny summer Friday, perfect for beers and bonding.

The trouble started when I went to the bathroom.

There are two private, one-toilet bathrooms, one labeled ladies and the other, gents. Really, it seems that it doesn't matter which is which because, like I said, they are private.

The ladies was occupied with another girl waiting. The men's, as usual, empty and no line. I asked the girl waiting if she wanted to take it. She said no. So I went in.

When I got out, there was a guy standing there, who I assumed to be waiting for the men's. I smiled at him. He told me I shouldn't go in there and that if I did it again, he would tell the bartender. I thought he was joking -- he looked like a customer -- so I sort of laughed, and the whole thing seemed very light-hearted. I went on my way without thinking another thing about it.

As we readied to leave, I went to the bathroom again. This time, it became very apparent that the guy from before was actually a bouncer, and he really did work there. When I came out, he was with a couple of other employees, telling them that I had told him to "f*ck off" when we talked before. They wanted me to leave.

"I never said that to you!" I said, disbelieving that this was actually happening. My friends later said he called me a bitch (or was it stuck-up bitch?). I had no idea what I did to cause such ire in this individual, and worse that he would actually lie about me, about something I never said. The last person I told to f*ck off was an old boyfriend, and it was about three years ago. It's not something I say to 300-pound bouncers I've never met, and especially not ones I thought were joking with me.

It bothered me for the rest of the night, the day after, the day after that. Obviously, today too. BF pointed out, quite correctly, that I was giving this situation far too much power. But BF will also say that I am always all about "the cause," and what is fair and just, even though life is seldom fair or just. He is right.

Maybe the bouncer's girlfriend just dumped him, and maybe she looked a little like me. Maybe his life wasn't going well otherwise. Maybe he's just a jerk who doesn't like women. Maybe he was mad that I didn't properly "respect his authority." I won't ever know the answer.

"Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

I said a prayer for him.

Can't Clone Love

I can't say I'm against cloning. I think cloning, say, human organs would be a good idea if it would mean that people waiting for donations wouldn't have to wait as long, or at all.

But a feature on today's Good Morning America pointed out a trend I find outright disturbing: cloning your pets.

As I've written here many times before, I adore all three of my kitties. If I just pause to think about the inevitable day when I'll be without one of them, I actually start tearing up. My love allows me to look past vet and food bills, daily litter box cleaning and prolific shedding. They are a joy to me and I think they're about the most precious creatures alive (next to BF, of course).

But that said, I wouldn't clone any of them.

I've had cats my entire life, eight of them at last count. Each of them was unique in their own way and that's what was so lovable about them. Like people, they have personalities, and none of them are the same. I can't imagine not experiencing each of them.

There was a man on GMA from the company that does the cloning. He extolled its virtues, how it's like always having your most beloved pet even though you'll likely outlive him or her. And probably what galled me the most was the fact he said the company would soon be offering an auction on its Web site for people to bid for this service. Unconditional love goes only to the highest bidder.

Meanwhile, thousands of animals get put down each year because they can't be placed in a suitable permanent home, because so many people think they're "too good" to take on a rescue or shelter pet and nothing less than a pure-breed will do. (For the record, every cat I have owned has been a stray or shelter animal.) And we can thank such intellectuals as Paris Hilton for starting the "collect little purebred dogs like they're knick-knacks" trend.

Perhaps I'm too emotional on this issue -- after all, I either leave the room beg BF to change the channel when that Pedigree dog food commercial comes on, the one that shows the poor forlorn doggy in a shelter hoping to be adopted. Oh, and that ASPCA commercial with the Sarah McLachlan song. I honestly can't bear to watch it.

I suppose the prohibitive cost of cloning likely won't make this a widespread trend. But I still can't help but think that the world would be a really nice place if people didn't keep screwing it up.

On Weddings

Oh yeah, something happened to me recently ...

I'm engaged.

I haven't made a big announcement on this page because 1) hardly anyone reads it, and 2) I've been trying to notify family and friends personally. (Inevitably, someone will read this who didn't receive such an announcement, and for that I apologize. I've already drawn Emily Post's polite ire many, many times, and I haven't even got around to a complete guest list yet.)

The nuptials are tentatively planned for October 2009. That gives BF and me a full 15 months to make plans, change them again, gnash our teeth and wring our hands about how much all this costs, and, I hope anyway, not come out of the whole process hating each other.

I find that, in the case of our wedding plans, I'm seeing plenty of trees but no forest yet. For example, I already know I'm designing our invitations and I even have some specific ideas for them. Likewise, I've mentally constructed our centerpieces, and I know the style of dress that I want. We know the song for our first dance. I know the song I'd like to use for dancing with my dad. I should note, though, that we have yet to come up with a few minor details, namely the ceremony and reception locations, and — oh yeah — the date.

Meanwhile, it's a constant struggle to not listen to those who say wedding planning is an awful, stressful event. Even more important is not getting frustrated at everyone's well-meaning but rather annoying "vision" for what we should do: "Oh, you should consider this place (never mind the $10,000 site fee)." "I think horse-drawn carriages are SO romantic." "Have you considered gliding down the aisle on a float made of jujubes?"

Even better is when people find out BF is Catholic, and myself raised Presbyterian, and how we're working to find common religious ground so we can join a church -- not just for a wedding, but for the long term. A woman at the gym gave me a long speech about how I should go talk to her priest, and how having a Catholic communion at our wedding is absolutely essential, and if we join an Episcopalian church it just "won't be the same." Chalk it up to learning an important lesson about keeping my mouth shut.

But here's all that matters: We're very happy. We're in love. We're going to have a great life together. And we're getting married!

Best Compliment I've Received ...

... regarding my fashion sense.

Woman at business luncheon, musing on the lack of style in DC: "I really like your outfit. You're not from Washington, are you?"

Hungry

I just want — no, need — some reassurance.

First, it was a war that has no easy end, no victorious, triumphant solution.

Global warming became more than just scientific speculation.

Fuel prices went up, and kept climbing.

Now, people all over the world are going to starve soon.

The surge in food prices is highly unsettling. In yesterday's Washington Post, there was the story of a textile worker — I can't remember her location — who was living on tea for lunch, watery sorghum for dinner. Nothing more. "I don't know how long we can survive this way," she said of herself and her family. She is not isolated.

Climate is having an influence on food production, as a prolonged drought in Australia has far-reaching effects. It also seems that as credit markets tighten, speculators have turned to food to find fortunes. There is a fine line between greed and humanity. Which side will win?

Here in the West, we have the elixir of complacence, ignorance. We have Nutri-System, Weight Watchers because our comfort has led to widespread excess. But our supermarket bills certainly aren't getting cheaper. How bad will it get? Will it take the prospect of starvation for people to finally get outraged? To finally pay attention?

I can't help like feeling we're going headlong toward disaster. I just want someone to tell me it's going to be OK.

Earth Day

It strikes me that, when it comes to being good stewards for the environment, we are very much products of our upbringing.

One of my earliest memories is of the paper drive that used to happen in my home town. Since it only came a couple of times a year, by then we'd have a massive stack of newspapers piled in a corner of our garage, all neatly bundled within brown paper grocery bags. We'd take the load to the town supermarket, where a semi trailer would be filled with months' worth of newsprint, headed for recycling.

Years later, I can recall walking with my then-boyfriend along the road that led to our high school. I don't remember the exact incident, but I think it involved him tossing an aluminum can into a field. I scolded him and said he should recycle it. He dismissed me like this whole "environmental" thing was just a waste of time and energy. It wasn't the first time he'd prove himself to be a complete imbecile. The relationship was short-lived.

By then, curbside recycling had come to my town. My mother taught me the proper way to go about it: rinsing out cans and bottles, breaking down boxes, bundling newspapers, sorting everything as it should be. My father was the "energy cop," advocating use of the house's massive vent fan instead of air conditioning, and later putting CFLs in the condo he once owned long before it was the chic thing to do. To this day, he rarely uses air conditioning, prefers using a kerosene heater in the winter (at least, until it becomes intolerably cold) and has added massive amounts of insulation to his creaky, drafty, 1880s-era home. He's had an organic garden since long before Whole Foods was even a gleam in an urban yuppie's eye. He is a composting Zen master.

Living with BF has proven this upbringing theory in some ways. His pre-Baby Boomer parents are somewhat older than mine. While mine came of age in the era of flower children, his were more of the sock-hop set. Environmental concerns are not high on their priority list. So I've had to become a bit of an ec0-nazi in our household, digging recycle-worthy things out of the trash, turning off the faucet while he brushes his teeth, questioning whether it's necessary to run the air conditioning just yet. Yes, I am a pain in his ass sometimes. But the message has been getting through, and he admits he never knew much about recycling before he moved in with me.

So on this Earth Day, gentle readers, I implore you to do this: Teach your children. If you don't know everything you can and should do, educate yourself. Small, simple steps can mean a lot.

Pass it on.

Just Wondering

Having not enough material to do one coherent post ...

1. Whatever happened to Salon Selectives hair products? Used to be you couldn't go to any store without running into their stuff. It was heavily marketed. I was never a big user but that apple-scented hairspray could bring back memories of my big-haired high school years. Everybody, sing along: "Like you just stepped out of a salon ..."

2. When did Bethesda's "Urban Partnership" helpers start becoming Bethesda's Army? Used to be they were friendly folks in red T-shirts and black pants or shorts. Now they're walking around in combat boots (!) with their matching black cargo pants tucked inside, looking fresh from basic training. I had no idea walking around a leafy, affluent suburban enclave required such militance.

3. Is it possible to have beginner's luck with your hair? It seems every time I try something new (this week's experiment: duckbill clips at the roots while drying to add volume), it works fabulously the first time. Subsequent attempts, however, never seem to work out as well. Hmm.

4. Another question about my 'hood: What happened to the awful trumpet player who used to be at the metro station every morning? I even gave him money a couple of times in hopes he'd take some lessons.

5. Why would you let your toddler play in the middle of a freaking busy bike path on a Saturday afternoon? BF and I rode from National Airport to Mt. Vernon on Saturday. A couple was having a picnic a few yards away from the path. Their two-ish looking son was on the path, gibbering as toddlers do, and the couple was cooing back at him happily and not the least bit concerned. Meanwhile, I had just crested a hill and slammed on my brakes in case the tyke decided to step in front of me. Hello, peeps, bikes go fast, believe it or not, and you don't want your kid to take the hit, trust me. WTF.

Clinging

"Remember that time he spilled an entire drink in your lap?"

"Hey, remember last year? The cat hid from you then too!"

"Remember when she was such a bourgeois sorority girl? She's so bohemian now!"

The three of us talked a lot about the past. The best-friends-since-college talked about sharing a room in their sorority house, separating themselves in the library to keep from talking, the whereabouts of many people whose paths have intertwined and diverged from their own along the way. And we had our own memories since we've become friends -- beach trips, bad relationships, sketchy dudes, inside jokes.

I've been maudlin lately about the forward march of time. Maybe it's because I've spent two consecutive weekends with friends who moved away, maybe it's because I've never been especially good at letting go. Sometimes, I also think it's because that through a couple of big moves and lackluster efforts at keeping in touch, I'm just not that close anymore with most of my friends from "back in the day."

I don't think I'm one of those people who just can't grow up, and I'd certainly keep my 30s confidence over my 20s metabolism. But I just wish I could've appreciated the fleeting nature of that time. Sometimes I wonder what 32-year-old me would say to 19-year-old me, given the opportunity.

"Work harder in school. Keep going straight into graduate school. Make an effort to keep in touch with your friends. You won't always be 'the youngest one,' and there will come a day when you stop getting carded. And by the way, you and Andy aren't getting married."

Then again, maybe it's best if we can't know the future. Maybe it's best if we just enjoy the moments while they're here.