the habit of being

I’m wearing the Jennifer Sweater. The Jennifer sent it to me.

I first met the Jennifer Sweater back in the summer of 1998, the first time Jenny and I met in the non-Internet world. That was a long long time ago. She had red hair then, and it was short. Her hair is brown and long(er) now. My hair’s always pretty much looked the same. Brown and frizzy and curly and dry and long.

Jennifer left the the Jennifer Sweater at my house back in ‘98. It was hiding under the bed. At the time, she was rather fond of it. She wore it so much it became known as the Jennifer Sweater. I didn’t just make that up.

She wanted it back.

I took my time about getting it back to her. I wore it to school once. It’s a really good sweater. Plain and black and soft. I didn’t want to give it back to her. She said she’d be really mad if I kept it though, so in, I don’t know, a month or two after she returned to Maryland, I got the sweater in the mail. It was painful.

I didn’t here much of the Sweater after that. I knew it got safely home to it’s owner, who was probably disinfecting it to get any traces of Georgia out. She wasn’t obsessed with Southern belle-ness at the time. It was a long long time ago and all. She said Georgia smelled.

The last time I was up in Waldorf, in August of this year, I noticed the Sweater in her closet. It wasn’t quite so loved anymore. She’d acquired a pink sweater. The poor Jennifer Sweater was being neglected. The Jennifer even said she’d GIVE IT TO ME. Wow. I was happy.

Somehow the Sweater failed to make it down South with us. I whined. The Jennifer said she’d mail it to me when she got home. I started planning which outfits I could wear it with.

She went home. Still no Sweater.

No Jennifer. No Sweater. It really sucked.

In some phone call between August and now, the Sweater came up. I said I wanted it. The Jennifer offered to give me the pink one instead. Argh.

I did finally get it though, in all its sincere Jenniferly greatness. Today. So it’s a happy day for Katharine. She sent me other things too. A necklace and an Edward Gorey book and a pocket-sized book of Emily Dickinson’s poems and a lovely photograph and some mint milano cookies. Smile.

Jennifer’s a lovely thing. She writes good essays too.

On the way to Atlanta we played the Cowboy Junkies/Marti Jones mixed tape. I’m pretty sure we listened to the whole thing twice. One and a half times at least.

“Ruby” by Marti Jones is the most beautiful song. Once I put the phone next to my speaker so James could hear it when he called me. I don’t normally do that kind of thing. I had a friend in middle school who did that all the time when I called her. Usually I’d wind up listening to tapes of her singing. Not that she’s not a good singer, but still, it annoyed me to no end. James said “Ruby” was pretty, I think.

The woman who checked us in to the Ritz Carlton, Buckhead had such an amazing voice. She was certainly not from around here. I’d have paid her to read me a good book.

When children of the North had the misfortune of being forced to move to Statesboro in their elementary school years, they were further tortured by their new little Southern schoolmates like me making them say words over and over again. Words like “ten” and “pecan.” It would just crack us up.

After we took our bags up to our room on the fifteenth floor, Mom tried to sneak into the maid’s closet to steal Ritz Carlton toiletries. She heard a noise and we went running down the hall to the elevators. I doubt the maid would have done anything to us if she’d caught us. For $200 a night we should get all the Ritz-y toothbrushes we want.

Back downstairs we took two devilishly comfortable chairs in the Lobby Lounge. Mom ordered a martini and I got some fresh fruit juice. I’m not sure what kind of fruit it was, probably a combination of flavors, but it sure was good. There were spiced-up green olives and many kinds of nuts and little cheesy crackers in a silver three-bowls-stuck-together-with-a-Ritz-lion-pick-up-thing on the table. If one spun the …thing clockwise nothing happened, but if one tried spinning it in the opposite direction a noise similar to that of fingernails scratching a chalkboard resulted. I asked if we could take the …thing, but Mom said they’d charge us for it. Damn. I took the plastic thing mom’s martini olives were speared on though. It’s still in my purse.

There were lots of women in that lobby with full-length fur coats on. People were smoking cigars and laughing. It was dimly lit. I saw the diamond solitaire necklace from that DeBeer’s commercial. I love that commercial. Dah-nana-nah, nah-nana-nah. The woman wearing it had a fur coat and a short black skirt covered with sequins and very blonde hair. I wonder if my step-father’s annual income would be enough to buy her outfit.

Something about that room made me very depressed. I was practically crying. Mom wanted to chat. I felt like I was ruining her trip. We decided to see a movie.

We’d gotten an Atlanta Journal from the concierge earlier. It took two whole pages to list all the movie theatres and their showtimes. The movie Mom wanted to see, “The End of the Affair”, wasn’t playing anywhere. It was 9:45. At Phipp’s Plaza, which is right across the street from the Ritz, “The Cider House Rules” was playing at 10:15 and “The Talented Mr. Ripley” was playing at 10:30. We’d see one of those.

I was wearing a short black skirt with nothing on my legs. It was freezing outside. My teeth were chattering very loudly within seconds of stepping out the door.

“The Cider House Rules” was sold out. “The Talented Mr. Ripley” was excellent. It was after 1 when we got back to our hotel room.

I was awakened the next morning by Mom saying we were going shopping in 45 minutes and I should get up and try one of the croissants. I dragged myself out of bed, downed a croissant in record time and got back in bed. Yawn. I soon dragged myself out of bed again and took a shower. The complimentary shampoo, conditioner, and body wash were all good. Mom called for our car.

The Lenox Square Mall is right across the street from the Ritz too, but not quite as close as Phipp’s. We got there around 9:30, I think. Shop, shop, shop. I think Mom spent the whole time we were there in Neiman Marcus. I went just about everywhere. I bought a couple CDs and a bracelet. I tried on the Perfect Shirt at Betsey Johnson. It was brown and plain. It looked great on me. It was $74. I didn’t buy it. Alas.

Mom insisted I was “very late” getting back to out meeting spot. Neither of us had watches.

We went back to the hotel, packed up our stuff, and checked out. I didn’t keep a key. I already have one. It was my second stay at the Ritz. We checked our bags and walked over to Phipp’s again. I was wearing a skirt and no tights again. It was cold again. My teeth chattered again.

I bought two pairs of tights at Sak’s Fifth Avenue.

We went to the 1:45 showing of “The Cider House Rules.” It was touching. I cried. Long movie. It was 4 by the time we got back over to the hotel to get our bags.

We were late getting back to Marshallville. When we got there, Ray and Wayne joined us for the ride home. I was stuck in the back seat with no way to stretch out my legs. My knees are bad. They make noises. No leg room is a horrible thing.

Oh I am tired. I’ve been crammed into too small a space for too long a time. No leg room is a horrible thing when one has legs as long as mine are. No leg room is a horrible thing regardless.

I just got home from Atlanta.

Shortly after I typed my list of Christmas gifts (below), my family and I loaded up our Volvo station wagon and drove to Marshallville, where my step-father’s grandmother’s house is and all his relatives were meeting for Christmas.

Ray’s family is nice. They’re about as different than my mom and I as possible though. I tend to be afraid of them. They’re short and simple. Nice though. Especially Ray’s sister, Terry. I like her a lot. The Johnsons may have a hard time remembering my name, age, and grade level, but they never forget to give me money. I get more holiday cash from them than from my own family. This year about $130 in all.

We got there and ate some food on disposable plates. There was some good spicy stuff with green rice. The rest of the meal was forgetable, I suppose, since I seem to have forgotten it. The caramel cake my mother brought was a big hit. Point for the weirdoes (us)!

Uncomfortable “relax” time. I answered about ten inquiries regarding school and what I plan to do in the future.

“I’m a junior… yeah, just one more year, I can’t wait… I don’t know… Whatever school will take me, I guess… I’m eligible for National Merit but I don’t know what will come of that… I’m not really sure yet… I don’t know… uh huh, 11th… I’m a junior…”

The Thing To Do at Johnson family events is play Skip-Bo. This is a religious-type thing with them, maybe. I’d never even heard of Skip-Bo until my first Christmas in Marshallville experience. It’s a card game made by the same people who make Uno. Easy to learn and easy to play. Good for groups of multiple ages. If you can count, you can play Skip-Bo. It’s not terribly boring either, in comparison to just sitting around feeling like a Black fellow at a Klan meeting. We played two games. Mom won the first and Ray’s mother won the second.

Before much longer Mom and I decided to announce our coming escape. People brought us Christmas gifts. I got a day planner with Teddy bears on the cover and some Vanilla Fields perfume. Oh, and that $130. Mom got two of the most hideous shirts ever to hit the shelves of Wal-Mart. She did an excellent job acting like she loved them. The woman has talent.

We left. Okay here comes the part where we actually get to Atlanta. I’ll write about that tomorrow. I’m about to fall asleep.

Night..

I’m incredibly happy. But that’s hard to explain in detail. Listing my loot is much easier.

What I’ve Gotten For Christmas:
Adobe Photoshop 5.5
Epson Stylus Color 740i printer
Artec 1236 USB scanner
most lovely art table
nice set of a acrylic paints and much BIG paper
CDs Boys for Pele (Tori Amos) Let It Roll (Little Feat) and the soundtrack from 9 1/2 Weeks
St. Jude relic medal
beaded shoes
Annie Leibovitz 1970-1990 Photographs book
a Gone With the Wind poster, Backstreet Boys single, The Shootist (w/ John Wayne!), an x-acto knife, and the loveliest phone conversation I’ve ever taken part in
4 scarves
homemade cookies
Urban Decay nail polish
various other hair and beauty goodies
lots of charcoal
flute notecards
bracelet with Chinese characters on it
$70

Christmas Eve night at Sam’s.

By “Sam’s” I refer to my paternal grandfather’s house, not the popular wholesale chain. Emma (half sister) and Ginny Lee (first cousin) are gorgeous. I have a pretty family. Sam’s house has the most amazing lighting in the world. I look better there than anywhere else I’ve ever been, excluding a darkroom at VSU. Maybe my family isn’t particularly beautiful, it’s just that I never see most of these people anywhere but in glamour-light.

I had my hair up in twin buns ala Princess Leia/Sailor Moon/Nelle on the most recent new episode of Ally Mcbeal. There were a couple feathers robbed from my Magenta (Rocky Horror) feather duster added as garnish. Sam decided huge wild turkey feathers were more appropriate, so I spent the night looking like a cross between a reindeer and a turkey and a rabbit. My black feather boa was along for the ride, so I was quite a sight to see. My younger relatives were highly amused. Tyler (step-uncle’s son?) started crying because he wanted feathers in his hair too.

This step-uncle of mine insisted I give him my URL. If you’re reading this, showing my website to my extended family is NOT cool.

My half-sister’s mother’s second husband (does this guy have any actual relation to me?) is the most interesting person at these get-togethers. He’s an english teacher, I think. I like him. I wouldn’t mind him reading my website. Not that I don’t LIKE the rest of my family, but surely someone out there understands just how personal a personal web site can be. Especially mine. I’m okay with sharing my intimate feelings with a bunch of folks I’ve never met and never will meet, but the idea of my family reading some of the things on this site is absolutely terrifying. brrr.

Rachael (half-sister with cool step-father) gave me two novels: A Clockwork Orange, which I’ve read, and On the Road, which I haven’t. She gives literature in the tradition of our late grandmother, Ginny.

Since returning home, I’ve been locked out of my room, finally allowed in to find a lovely new art/drafting table waiting for me(!!), put together my mother’s Christmas stocking, and stared longingly at my three wrapped gifts from James, wishing midnight would come sooner.