Nice Balls!

I was sitting at lunch today with the kid, who’s not quite 17, has gorgeous hair down to her butt and is still as concerned about people being kind to one another as she was back in preschool.

At the table behind us were three college guys. One of said college guys was bragging about how he loves to cat-call girls and laughing about the fact that they get so mad about it. He even went so far as to say women like being cat-called and that their complaints are phony. One of his friends tried to argue with him, but Cat-caller was having none of it.

“It’s a compliment to yell ‘nice tits!’ to a chick,” he added.

Clare had stopped eating so she could focus more on eavesdropping (weird how that works – the inability to both eat and eavesdrop at the same time).

“Mom, that’s bullshit,” she whispered to me.

“Yep,” I replied. “Dude’s a bit of a douche.”

“What he’s saying contributes to the rape culture.”

“Yep.”

“I want to say something to him.”

“Go for it.”

The guys all rose to bus their table. When Cat-caller walked past us, Clare sat up straighter and said, “Excuse me.”

Cat-caller turned around, looking a tad surprised.

“What you were saying just then—about cat-calling women. I have to tell you that I disagree with you. In fact, I get kind of scared when men yell stuff at me about my body.”

Clare had begun to tear up so I jumped in to add my two cents.

“It’d be like me yelling, ‘Nice balls!’ at you,” I said, staring at his crotch for added impact.

Okay, admittedly not as diplomatic as Clare’s approach. Need I remind you that I am originally from New Jersey, while Clare grew up in Boulder? Thus, our communication styles on sensitive issues can be quite different.

Cat-caller blushed. Looked really embarrassed, uncomfortable even.

“When you cat-call women it contributes to the rape culture in this country,” Clare added, finding her voice again.

Cat-caller was, mercifully, rendered speechless.  And then he did something quite unexpected. He apologized.

“I appreciate that,” Clare said.

Cat-caller and Friend #1 walked out. Friend #2, the guy who had argued with Cat-caller about his warped views on verbal harassment, stayed behind. Slowly, almost deferentially, he approached Clare, his gaze lowered a bit, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Can I ask you a question?” he said to my daughter.

“Sure,” she replied.

“So if I said to you, ‘you have really nice hair,’ would that be okay?” There was nothing sarcastic or caustic in his tone. Just a genuinely honest question.

“Yes it would,” Clare said, “because that’s a nice compliment.”

“Ok, thanks,” Friend #2 said. “Because I think you have really nice hair.” And then he slipped away to catch up with his pals. I watched them all pile into an SUV and drive away.

“Well done,” I said to Clare, giving her a fist-bump. “You handled that beautifully. Didn't even lose your cool.”

“Well, when you’re trying to change someone’s perspective, yelling or being rude doesn’t really seem to work.”

“Good observation,” I said, feeling a bit guilty about that Twitter account I recently opened for the sole purpose of letting a certain someone in the White House know how I feel about him at least five times a day. Sometimes, closer to ten.

“What do you want to bet those three guys are talking about us right now?” Clare said, smiling.

“Pretty sure they are, honey. You gave them something to think about. And that’s a good thing.”

This girl. She makes her mama proud. 

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Download a PDF of the first 4 chapters of Lauren's memoir, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances, free.  Click here and go to the link below the "Buy the Book" button.  Zuzu's Petals is also available on Kindle and Nook.  Hardcover signed and inscribed copies are available at  www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy reading!

A Few of Her Favorite Things (APIWATWOL #10)

#10 in my "A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Or Less" series. (For a description of how this series works, see Installment #1.)

The Video Station: Mom's Home Away From Home

For Mom's birthday three years ago, my sibs and I decided to treat her to some of her favorite things. And Mom has definite opinions about what constitutes her favorite things. And Mom is very loyal to her favorite things.

Among these favorite things are:
     (1) Video Station (DVD rentals, great recommendations and fun conversation),
     (2) The Rio (Great margaritas, passable food and fun--probably due to great margaritas),    
     (3) Ozo (Great coffee, nice baristas and the place she always meets up with her pal, Anita)
     (4) Big-screen Movies (because sometimes you just can't wait for the DVD release)

With my sibs all living out of state, I volunteered to drive around and get gift cards for Mom from all of us. At each stop, I asked the folks working there to also wish my mom a happy birthday, the photos from which would be made into a giant card.

Over the years I've learned that Mom isn't big on surprises. (Case in point: even when traveling, she likes to know in advance exactly what size bed she'll find in her hotel room. Queens only. No doubles. No kings. I'm not kidding.)

But I've learned that some surprises are okay, such as, say, being serenaded. So I rewrote the lyrics to "My Favorite Things" for the waitstaff at The Rio to sing to Mom when Clare and I took her there to celebrate on the big day. And sing they did! (Based on their performance, I suspect some of them may've dipped into their renowned margos beforehand.)

“My Favorite Things”

The Loretta Version

(Original Score from The Sound of Muzak)

"Happy Birthday, Loretta!" (Now can we get back to work?)

Lattes at Ozo with my pal, Anita

The Rio with Clare and a cold margarita

That stack of more napkins that Blake always brings

These are a few of my favorite things!

DVDs and wine with the local Larsen Clan

Dinner and the big screen with my good bud-dy, Nan

The praises of movies that Bruce often sings

These are a few of my favorite things!

When the news bites...

When it's too hot...

When I'm feeling sad...

I simply cash in on the gift cards I got

And then I don't feeeeeeel...so bad!

When we got home, we gave Mom another gift (below) with a card that read: Today's your birthday and we should do special birthday things like eat pie and swear.  And so we did...

Nothing says "Happy Birthday" like pie and swearing.  

If you haven't figured it out by now, we are not a normal family.

Food for Thought (APIWATWOL #9)

#9 in my "A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Or Less" series. (For a description of how this series works, see Installment #1.)


A shopping cart of food. Why the hell did I take a photo of my shopping cart of food? When I randomly pulled this photo for my APIWATWOL project, I asked myself this question...and again was tempted to pick a different photo. But rules are rules, so a shopping cart of food it is.

The date stamp on the photo file indicates that this was my first grocery shopping trip after returning from a family reunion six years ago. We hold our week-long reunions at the Jersey Shore every three years, and anywhere from 80 to 100 Worthingtons gather to sit, talk, laugh, drink, eat and float in the ocean together. (Relatives who go to a gym during reunions are shunned.)

The shore isn’t exactly known for its health food, so the menu for the week is heavy on cheesesteaks, pizza, sticky buns and beer. During our last reunion, I discovered that a vegetable juice bar had opened in Stone Harbor and when I walked through its door the first time, I practically bowed at the owner’s feet in gratitude. After chugging my green juice, I grabbed a slice at the pizzeria across the street. Hey, just because an old dog learns a new trick doesn’t mean she forgets her old tricks, right?

There are things in the shopping cart above that I didn’t even know existed in earlier years. Growing up, I thought there was one kind of lettuce and it was iceberg. Imagine my shock when I discovered the existence of romaine and arugula, both in this cart.

Avocados, bought regularly now, were something I didn’t discover until moving west of the Mississippi in my early 20s. Because Jack-in-the-Box—aka Jer-Mex—didn’t offer guacamole. Probably because it can’t be deep-fried.

See those two quarts of kefir in my cart? Until about eight years ago, the only kefir I knew of was Sutherland. Now kefir is a staple grocery item. I use it to make my morning shakes, another mid-life discovery. In my 20s and 30s, morning shakes were simply the bi-product of a great party the night before.

Next to the kefir is a bottle of kombucha “tea”—one of the nastiest and healthiest drinks around. Tea is a bit of a misnomer though. More like funky mushroom water. Kombucha will always hold a special place in my heart because it was the excuse Jeff used to ask me out on our first date. In a fit of health-crazedness, he had begun growing his own kombucha mushrooms (basically, blobs of mold in giant bowls covered with dish towels) at the media studio he owned in San Francisco when we met. After our first business meeting, Jeff invited me to his studio to try kombucha tea. Fortunately, our relationship lasted longer than his fixation with growing kombucha mushrooms. Now, we’re down to the occasional pre-packaged bottle of flavored kombucha tea. Usually as penance for food crimes like a week spent eating crap food at the Jersey Shore.

In the bottom of the cart I see my usual bushel of organic cucumbers, jumbo bag of carrots and a few bunches of kale. If you’d told me when I was a kid, or even a teenager, or even a 30-something businesswoman who regularly ate fast food, that I’d one day be jamming the likes of cucumbers and kale and parsley through a masticating machine and drinking what was spewed out, I would’ve laughed. Or run away. Fast.

So overall, I’d say the theme of this trip to the grocery store was Reform. When the most decadent item in the shopping cart is a bag of organic blue corn chips, you know you’re in for a fairly boring-but-healthful week ahead.

Food, like life, has its ups and downs, its crazy out of control times and its periods of smart decisions. And the beauty of food—and life—is that we get to choose.

What’s in your shopping cart?