Weekend update: It's just a can opener

Can or Can't Opener Sunday I kept my word and met up with a group from my church to play soccer.

Nothing makes me realize how unfit I am like praying that I was chosen for the the Shirts team in Shirt versus Skins and then trying to hide astonishment at the chiseled ab-ness of some of my fellow parishioners (there's something hot and unholy about that).

While huffing and puffing up and down the small soccer field, I started doing what any cake-loving kid would do and began dreaming of the meal that I would eat later that evening. Of course, it was going to be healthy. A lean protein like fish or shrimp.

After it got too dark to play, Aggie and I drove to the HEB to pick up some food stuff. I've heard before that you shouldn't go grocery shopping hungry or after a workout and I understand why. Everything looked like a flipping jelly doughnut. And I was wanton for a jelly doughnut, you-know-what-I'm-sayin. Anyway, I got this crazy idea as I walked into the store that I would make my meal for less that $10. Activate anxiety. Activate Mission Impossible music.

I'll buzz through the shopping part as it wasn't exciting. I settled on shrimp (to be turned into baked coconut shrimp), rice and fiesta bean salad blend in a can.

I was at J's place doing laundry, so I knew that I was limited in my cooking tools. I knew that he didn't have a can opener. That's a lie. He has an electric can opener and I've battled that thing before and decided that I wasn't up for fight it tonight.

So, I bought a $2 manual can opener.

I brought my bounty to the shortest checkout line (for once in my life I was able to stand in the 15 items and under line). The cashier's look screamed, "I play Dungeons and Dragons, wear ironic graphic boxers and live with my mother." You know, male, low pony tale with hair parted straight down the middle and small glasses. Looks like he might program software in his downtime.

I finally got up to the front of the line and the guy began checking out my stuff - er, groceries. As he comes upon my can opener, he says "oh this won't do."

I returned a small, strained laugh.

"Yea, I know."

It was a piece of shit-can-opener. I was well aware. The type of can opener that you through against the wall after you mangle a can lid into a murder weapon. If you're laughing, you've been there. We all have.

It was this can opener or the $15 KitchenAid. And that shit would have blown my budget. And (of course) I've got my KitchenAid can opener at my house.

"I mean," he said, "I used to work in a restaurant and I had this boss that every two weeks would buy me a new can opener (what the heck is ponytail guy doing with can openers?). And this just won't work. It won't last."

"I just need it to open one can," I said, realizing that I had boob sweat stain prominent on my University Democrats shirt. A thrill, I'm sure.

"Oh, it'll do that for sure. Probably 20 cans. But not much more than that."

"That's fine," I said. Paid and carried out my shrimp, other stuff, and less-than can opener.

Thanks for your concern HEB guy.

Other Stuff This Weekend

J was out of town in Chicago with his sister. She was in charge of planning the trip and did not invite me. Okay. I see how it is.

I had a church leadership retreat Friday and Saturday. Came home carsick as all get out Saturday and slept until Sarah Neill (who was watching Aggie) knocked on my door and woke me up (and the litttle dog jumped on my bed and really woke me up).

Sunday I had church and gardened. And then played soccer and did laundry at Jarrod's place. It wasn't until hours into my laundry doing that I realized that the heat on the dryer was turned to low and finally understood why my clothes wouldn't dry.

Hanging with friends, helping out neighbors

J and I went out with my Flow-Cal colleagues tonight because the receptionist is leaving our office for greener pastures.

Over pizza, I got to talking to my friend about giving back. OK, I told her I was getting tired and needed to get some sleep because I was getting up early, but whatever, we got around to the topic.

She told  me that she was on a giving-back kick as a part of a self betterment thing she'd been doing since the New Year. I'd say seven months of success is pretty successful resolution, right? She said that every time she goes to the grocery store she does two things: she brings recyclable bags (because we waste so much plastic) and she picks up one of those pre-packaged Houston Food Bank bags. She said she figures that with the money she saves with her grocery loyalty card, the $7 or so it cost to buy the bag is negligible.

I was really moved by the conversation. I think what I came away with is that I can do something to help. Even when I'm busy or broke, helping people gives me worth and confidence and on some days, perspective.

Some friends and I (even J came!) had the opportunity this morning to give some time to the Heights (my hood!) Interfaith Ministries Food Pantry. They were celebrating their 50th year of serving the community and we were chosen (or I chose...) to man the clothing giveaway booth.

Performing this service was really neat. There's something about giving people the clothes that they will wear or the food that they will eat. There's something about giving without asking questions, about respecting someone's autonomy and dignity.

As time went on our piles of clothes would swell with donations, then shrink as people claimed items. But all throughout, some items, particularly some decade-defiant garments like the ones we're wearing in this picture, stayed behind. Why?  Well, I think I figured it out when four tween girls lept at the opportunity to bag a trendy lace top - people, all people, want to look good. They could have been shopping at the Galleria and it wouldn't have been any different. I think we'd all rather go naked than look like fools.

I remember one time seeing a Goodwill billboard that read, "donate what you'd want to buy." That's tough for me as I tend to want to hold onto my stuff with a death grip. And it's a tough call. But I can say that at the couple of places I've sorted clothes, we trash clothing with rips and stains. Also, just toss that old g-string and matching bra, really. Though I really do wish that I'd gotten a picture of my friend Dan wearing that blingy-bra. That woman was either drag queen, a stripper, or someone who really liked to dress up at home - the bag was full of similar items. It was like a 1994 Victoria Secret fire sale.

When we were unloading things from the storage unit today, we pulled out a car seat. Before we could wheel it over to the giveaway area, a young mother came up and asked if she could have it for her son. Yes, of course.  I can't know that woman's struggles, or why she needs assistance to buckle up her son, but I can be the one who puts that in her hands.