blaugra

Wine. Whine.

I like drinking alcohol.

I really do.

Summer is summer with a gin-n-tonic or vodka gimlet in hand. A good dinner is made great by a bottle of wine. Baseball games are synonymous with a cold beer. A buzz is a good thing.

Not drinking is hard. Drinking a Diet Coke at a happy hour when friends are taking advantage of drink specials sucks.

When you order that Diet Coke and the bartender throws up his hands at you and says, "Diet Coke? Why Diet Coke, come on!" That just adds to the challenge. When this happened recently, I responded to the bartender, "Work with me, here!"

My therapist advised me to order fun spritzers! Cranberry and club soda, for example. I tried that. All I could think was "What a waste of calories. No buzz."

I'm a social drinker. However, admittedly, I've overindulged a few too many times. Most recently, some of the indulgences were to counteract the symptoms of the bipolar disorder that the medications weren't taking care of. Self-medication. Admittedly, these times were really fun.

Now that I'm getting stabilized, the point has been made to me that I ought not drink. The alcohol interferes with the medication.

Every once in a while, though, I have a Guinness. Guinness is good. Or a glass of wine. The doctor said a glass of wine would be fine. But wine no longer tastes good to me and I get a little nauseous. That's a crying shame because wine is one of God's great creations. Diet Coke is not. 

I don't want to go through the rest of my life without drinking. I'm just going to say it and I don't care if I sound like I'm a whining baby when the world is full of heartache and hardship. I really don't. I would like to feel that buzz and taste that -- as one of my friends calls it -- nectar.

I know I could go searching for a natural high from a fucking green smoothie or a rigorous hot yoga class instead but I'd honestly rather have some cool Hendricks gin and sparkly tonic with a slice of cucumber on a warm sunny day.

Are you on the wagon? Tell me how you do it.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming

Last weekend after feeling a bit drained by media coverage of the Boston bombers terrorizing my friends' neighborhoods in Watertown, Salty D. and I ordered Chinese food and watched Finding Nemo.

Two grown ups, no kids around, quietly watching Finding Nemo.

It's a really good movie. I adopted Dory's "Just keep swimming" song this week as my own motto. In a world gone mad, just keep swimming.

This weekend promises to be full of excitement. Here's what's going on:

• Attending a Weight Watchers meeting
• Eating a lot of pizza after the meeting, because I have points left and I'm freaking hungry
• Watching the Duck Dynasty season finale
• Working on setting up my will
• Supervising my mentally deficient brother in his job as my landscaper
• Dragging shit to the compost center
• Shopping for cheap clothes that fit my changing body
• Eating at a Chipotle for the first time ever

Are you dazzled by these plans? Oh, there's even more fun on the schedule that will just have to stay offline.

It's good to have lists and get shit done, to just keep swimming.

Why I think Oprah 'should' suck it

I read an article in the New York Times a few months ago (I know, I'm really timely and relevant - but wait, I do have a point) about Oprah Winfrey being at a crossroads.

Well, maybe she's not, because after all, she's OPRAH. But her media empire is at a crossroads. Was. Whatever.

She's showing signs of strain and fear of failure. I don't feel sorry for her; she's a strong creative woman, she'll make it work.

Her magazine was floundering just a little bit. To solve the problem she, just like Martha Stewart, wants a younger audience. Women in their 20's and 30s. How's that going for you, Oprah?

Oprah wants to bring younger women aboard to shape their minds because we 40-somethings should have it all figured out by now.

She says she wants "to be able to reach people when they are looking to fulfill their destiny.” She added, “By the time you’re 40, 42, you should have kind of figured it out already.”

"should have kind of figured it out already?"

It's that word "should" that makes me crazy. Like it's one of Oprah's rules that I have it figured out. If I knew my destiny, I could fulfill it. Maybe I am fulfilling my destiny and I just don't realize it. But a "should" isn't going to make it happen. Maybe I should have read more issues of the magazine in my 30s.

I'm 45 and I haven't a clue as to my destiny or my life plan or what I want to be when I grow up. I don't have it even kind of figured out, already.

Don't steal my sunshine!

It's only Tuesday, but so far, the week's been pretty great. I started out thinking about sunshine and rainbows and how good things are right now.

That's a big improvement.

This morning I checked one of my Twitter accounts, one I hadn't logged onto in a month. The last thing I tweeted from it was something about what I would do if I had to pay more money in taxes.  It was in response to the White House asking...so I had honestly, naively, tweeted that when I pay more taxes, then I give up vacation, restaurants and home repairs. 

Maybe I didn't play right.

The replies to that tweet were flaming and I just read them, a month later. Uh-oh.

They said stuff like "Oh, poor baby!"  "Vacation? I haven't had a vacation in 10 years!" "Try buying fewer candles for your house!" "Looks like she should just drink less!" "At least you have a home!"  "Idiot!" "sounds like #whitegirlproblems." Shit like that.  It all upset me. Especially the candles comment. Why...

I really let them get to me.  I'm not thick-skinned at all. It ruined my day. I deleted the tweet. I felt ashamed.

I initially wanted to say I'm sorry I have a job and I take vacations and I have a house.

Wait - no, I'm not sorry.  I worked very hard for all these things. I pay whatever taxes I have to pay to support whatever programs need to be supported.  I'm an important part of this whole economic system at work. I keep contractors in business. And I'm well aware of the role luck plays in this equation.  I'm not ashamed of my life. I bought candles for the first time in years, so what?

I shouldn't have let them get me down, but I did, for a little while.

I'm never playing that game again. 

My Three Words

Taking another cue from Michelle over at Opinions for Nothing, I decided to come up with three words for 2013 that would provide a framework for my actions for the year. It's based on this but I have chosen to not delve into it that deeply and to go with a Cliff's Notes version.

Light

This is not about finding my inner light, or not hiding my light under a bushel basket, or running towards the light.

This is about two things.

One, I'd like to be light rather than heavy. I need to lose some weight again. I was starting to kick ass with a personal trainer at this time last year and I just stopped when my mental problems got really difficult. Two, I need light rather than darkness. Life got very dark in 2012 and I think I'm at the point where I have more control over what I see. I can't really articulate it more than that.

Flip

I started flipping after I got into it with my new therapist. Flipping my thinking. When I feel down about something, I think "Flip!" and I turn it upside down. "I hate life." Flip! "I'm grateful to have wonderful friends." A little dorky, because I actually do say the word "Flip!" to myself. This is a new practice I'll carry into the new year.

Just the mental motion of flipping helps, even if it's not related to the thing I'm down about.

Want

Want is a very important word. I want to focus on what I want to do rather than what I feel I should do. I give "the shoulds" a lot of power. "I should go to grad school for my MBA" was one should that didn't work out except to show me that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and to cross that off the life list.

Now when I'm asked what I want to do or be, I don't know how to answer the question.  But this year I want to think about what I want rather than beat myself up with what I think I should be doing.

Wait, I'll answer the want question right now. I want to live simply, I want to eat well, I want to feel safe and secure, I want to see light in my life.

Eventually, I'll know about other things I want.

Do you have a word, or three? 

Winter Vacation, day 7

Oh, what happened to day 6? I was so busy with reading a great book (title to come) getting a makeover (photo to come) making an amazing meal from scratch (no sauces from a packet for me!) and going to a cocktail party (with a fabulous drink called The Snowflake!) that I just didn't have time to blog.

Let's get real. The highlight of my day yesterday was arriving 2.5 hours early to my hair appointment because I messed up my calendar. My therapist cancelled our appointment which is good since I screwed up the hair appointment. When I finally went to get the hair colored at the right time, I got some fun panels of red in it, then I went home and made a mediocre uninspired dinner of chicken and pasta.

So I skipped ahead until today. Tonight we're going to go see The Hold Steady, the tickets for which were one of my Hanukkah presents. Before we go, I've just been filling my day with boring errands and appointments.

 

Winter Vacation, day 2

As with most resolutions that I make, I usually forget about them immediately. I'm like a goldfish. Something tonight made me remember that I had resolved to blog each day of winter vacation, right before hitting the pillow. Oh yeah...

We were expecting some guests today, some old friends. They called just as I was expecting them to show up from the next state over, and just as I was removing the brunch casserole from the oven, to say they hadn't even started their journey yet, and they were bringing more people, more old friends.

My anxiety kicked in. I nervously started dusting. I refrigerated the casserole. I hadn't seen all of these friends in a while.  Surely they'll judge me. I had brunch food to offer but not lunch food. Whatever would I do.

They arrived, and the boys went to a gun show while the girls went shopping. Over coffee, we started talking about how our year has been. I unsurprisingly started crying, which I'm not even ashamed of doing in public anymore. We talked about my phobia (how I can't drive on the highways) and how I've just had a hard time dealing, even though life seems to be getting better these days. We talked about their anxiety problems. How one of them gets very stressed out behind the wheel. How the other one was hospitalized for intense physical pain associated with anxiety. 

Then one friend said to me, "Laura, I'm going to give you some tough Cuban talk."  She's Cuban. "You can't sit around feeling sorry for yourself. There are people who have it much worse than you. And everyone's a little bipolar." 

I wasn't insulted.  I didn't think I was feeling sorry for myself, but I hadn't seen her in a while and this was her reaction to me, to the way I was presenting.  

We talked about regrets, we talked about fear for the future, and how hard it is to live in the present.  And we laughed,  too.

Then we had some wine at a restaurant and the guys joined us after their gun show extravaganza and we decided we were definitely going to get together again on New Year's Eve.  

Winter Vacation, day 1

I have 11 1/2 days off for the holidays. How will I spend them? 

I resolved to blog each day. Then you can see how boring life has become for a 40-something, married-with-no-kids, slightly mental woman.

First, on my half-day, I met with my financial adviser (dad) to update him on my retirement planning. Because at 40-something, if you're employed, you definitely need to do that. It's never easy thinking about it and planning my demise but I did it. 

Today, Saturday, is officially Day 1  of break. I started the day off right by waking up 4 hours later than normal, thereby throwing off my meds schedule and blowing off the gym. Way to go! But it's cold and windy outside.  Whine. 

I made red and green New Mexican chile sauces from the ground chile that my uncle just sent me from Santa Fe.  The brunch casserole I serve tomorrow to my friends can then be ordered up "Christmas."

I'm washing a new flannel duvet cover that I'm particularly excited about, especially since I got a great deal on it. It's wintry out, time for the big comforter.

Since friends are visiting tomorrow I am about to become a nervous white tornado in the house, up until the time we leave for dinner. We're meeting some other friends tonight at an Italian restaurant up in the hills of coal country. It's an annual tradition.

My Christmas presents are wrapped, but I'm thinking I may need to bake more cookies. My butt doesn't think so, but my brain does. I made these pistachio-white chocolate cookies last week. 

I'm now listening to Salty D. make a "mix" tape of every version of "Sweet Jane" that he has, including a cool one by Sweet.   Which is kind of fun to say, Sweet's Sweet Jane.

If you're you're on home holiday break, I'd love to hear what you're up to, too.

 

How to get out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner

I didn't start out wanting to get out of hosting Thanksgiving dinner.

As usual, in early October, my parents and my in-laws start asking about Thanksgiving. 

"What are we doing for Thanksgiving?" 

I remain annoyingly non-committal because the leaves haven't even started to change yet. I know it's expected, or at least anticipated, that I host my family and Salty D's family, together.

But preparing Thanksgiving dinner is such a pressure cooker.

It really should be just a fun dinner. Instead, it's an event that requires Help Lines be set up so people who are fretting about cooking times or table settings can call in for advice or validation.

Even though it takes something like 53 hours to plan and cook Thanksgiving dinner it's not the shopping and cooking parts that stress me out so much. It's the hosting and wanting everyone to get along and have a good time, and worrying about that while simultaneously timing all the dishes to be ready at once and serving them at a perfectly set table while also wishing I was a better interior decorator or that I had changed out of my yoga pants. It's not just putting out a tray of lasagna and a bucket of salad for friends.

It's opening up your home to being judged freely on the quality of your cheese tray or tabletop accessories.

Well.

D.'s mother can no longer prepare a turkey dinner.

My mother doesn't want to prepare a turkey dinner.

And I, given my anxiety of late, in October, didn't feel like I could successfully pull off a family summit without throwing hot gravy on the floor.

Salty and I talked about it and decided to make reservations instead of dinner. Problem solved, right?

Then his mother invited us to join his family at a restaurant. We declined. My aforementioned highway phobia (it's a 90 -minute drive over the river to their home) would really be in high gear on Thanksgiving. I'd be a mess. Not this year, we said.

Then I told my mother that we were going to make reservations for ourselves instead of dinner for all in our house.  To be fair, I said, D. and I were going to go to a restaurant, just the two of us. That way we wouldn't be with either family and also, I wouldn't be making a turkey for two. Nobody would feel slighted and I would have zero stress.

And then my mom jumped into action. She made reservations at a restaurant near her home and included us. She invited us over for appetizers before the restaurant and dessert after the restaurant.

My plan wasn't working out as planned. I kind of felt like a big jerk. I was also starting to feel guilty about eating in a restaurant on Thanksgiving. But I didn't have a firm alternative lined up, so I succumbed.

Now I'm negotiating with D. as to which segments we will participate in.  The latest settlement is that we won't have appetizers with my family, but we will meet them at the restaurant, and I will make a dessert because this restaurant's desserts are no good.

Now I'm trying to figure out what dessert to make, because half of us like apples and the other half like pumpkin and I'm not good at making pies so maybe I'll just go with chocolate.

*sigh* I miss drinking.

The last Thanksgiving I hosted I got so drunk before the two families dinner that it was a blur and I was staggering in and out of the kitchen. That's another problem with hosting.

Still, after discussing Thanksgiving IN THERAPY -- I mean who talks about Thanksgiving dinner in therapy?! This one! Right here! -- I found myself wondering if I could just put aside my neuroses, deep clean the house and pull together a two-family Thanksgiving dinner after all. It's just dinner, I keep telling myself. 

Well, next year I'll probably host. Or, go away. But this year, no.

Little Fires

A funny thing happened. My self-esteem moved up a notch or two. I was bolstered by a friend who asked me to come talk to some young people about what I do in my professional life.  No PowerPoint, just talking, the way I like it. The young, smart, positive, energetic people actually listened to me talk and *gasp!* said that it was helpful.

I left the hourlong meeting walking on air. I drove with confidence, not clutching the wheel of my little Honda or fretting about lane changes on my way back to the office. I went from sullen to chatterbox.  It helped that this was one of the first off-site meetings in a long while that I felt I could attend without first taking some little anti-anxiety pill.

I won't cross the line of talking about my professional life except to say that it has a huge effect on me. I've never been the kind of person who could successfully compartmentalize life. It's all integrated, work is intrinsic to my identity.

Anyway, it's important to feel necessary, and at that moment, I did.

I didn't feel like a liability feeding off of other people. I think I actually contributed some positive energy to the world. 

Small win.