WHAM

Oh, how I wish this post was about George Michael. You have no idea how much I'd love to tell you to wake me up, before you go go.

Nope. This is a crappy post. Like, maybe keep some kleenex nearby.

I went over to CN's last night to watch tv with him. He's been a little down lately, because of his dad's poor health. I wanted to see how he was doing and besides, I missed him. (Yes, I miss him after 18 hours. Shut up.)

"Hi Babe!" I said, walking in the front door.

"Hi!" he said from the couch. He was watching tv.

Then, I went over to explain to him why I was at his house, instead of making him a peach cobbler like I told him I was going to do. It's because I can't keep the fresh peaches longer than 6 hours before they rot (I have no idea what is up with that, but it's very frustrating). After three tries of using fresh, local peaches, I had given up and decided to use frozen peaches. I had originally planned on baking the cobbler on Sunday, but we had been at the hospital all day and the defrosted frozen peaches had rotted in the fridge and yadda yadda yadda...

That's when I noticed he had a Bible next to him.

Not that this is totally out of the question, because he and I have talked about God before and we both pray before we fall asleep at night, and I do want to start going to church again. But he and I don't really crack open a Bible at the end of the day, either. This was out of the ordinary.

I knew it had to do with his dad. Something was up. Which stinks, because he's the kind of guy who doesn't like to talk about crappy stuff, like sick parents. Basically, we are opposite in this way. Which leaves me not really knowing what to do. Do I ask and make him uncomfortable? Do I make him talk about it, because I know it's good to talk about this stuff, even if it isn't exactly a picnic? Or do I allow him to remain quiet and lost in his thoughts? Should I just STFU and watch tv? To be honest, I haven't exactly learned what to do when it comes to Serious Crappiness Relating to The Boyfriend. I am sort of trying to learn what to do as I go, and hoping that I don't upset him or piss him off in the process. I will be the first to admit that he and I are still learning how to communicate with each other in certain situations. [See post from earlier this week...]

I decided to just ask.

"Have you talked to your mom?" I squeaked, hesitatingly.

"Yeah."

And that's when he told me. His dad is getting radiation all week, and going home on Friday to recuperate. If the radiation doesn't work, the doctors are giving him 6 weeks to live. If it does work, they are giving him 8 months. Eight months. Best case scenario. Fuck. Actually, you know what, "fuck" doesn't even begin to express how much this sucks. For him. For CN. For their family. Stop and imagine how it would feel if you got this news. "Hey, by the way, that person you love very much? That person you have known your whole life? Yeah, they won't be here next summer. This is a good time to take that vacation you've always talked about."

Kinda puts stuff in perspective, huh?

The doctors want his parents to sign all the end-of-life paperwork. Which is not fun to fill out, because it asks questions like, "If you are unable to breathe on your own, do you want the doctors to resuscitate you or not?" and "Would you want to be on life support? Have feeding tubes? Be in a permanent vegetative state? Or do you want us to pull the plug?"

As you can probably tell, it's not looking good. And unless you've been through this type of shit with your own loved ones, you are not fully grasping it, let me tell you. I helped my mom fill out that form when my dad was really sick. He died a month to the day after we filled out that paperwork. When the doctor told CN's mom he wanted her to fill it out, I knew what it meant (oh shit, that's not good), but I could tell that CN and his mom did not fully grasp it. The look on their faces was more along the lines of, "That's just a precaution, right? Right?"

I was filled with flashbacks. If you are in the club, too, you are probably having flashbacks of your own loved one's illness right now, as you are reading this. What club am I talking about? The Grief Club. Not exactly a club I was hoping to be a part of. Anyway, until you have lost a close relative or loved one, you cannot understand what it's like. You think you do, but you don't, trust me. When I was in your shoes, I thought I could understand what grief was like, too.

Grief is like a brick wall of sadness. And you hit it, face first, at about 95mph. Again and again and again. All day long. Every 2 minutes. Until further notice. It could be a week. Or a month. Or a few months. Or the rest of your life. It's like being trapped on a scary rollercoaster, wanting to get off, but never being allowed. You can't talk. You can't think, unless you are thinking sad things. You can't look people in the eye. You want to be alone, but at the same time, you want to be surrounded by people. It feels weird to laugh, but you want someone to tell a funny story about that person so badly, even if you cry and laugh at the same time. You definitely do not feel like yourself.

And then one day, you are ok. You start to feel non-zombie again, and you start to do normal things again. Like eating. And sleeping. And not crying every second of every day. You can go to the grocery store, and actually make it home before you burst into tears. This is good!

Every day gets a little bit easier. You are thinking, "Ok, cool. I made it. It's all going to be ok." And then WHAM it hits you again out of nowhere. Like when you see something that reminds you of that person. Or when someone's dying in a movie. Or when you pick up the phone to call them, and realize that you can't. WHAM. You're back on that rollercoaster.

Right now, I have volunteered to get back on the rollercoaster. Because I can't watch CN's family go through all of this without thinking about my dad. And I can't just opt out of being there for him during all of this. Heck, at this stage in my life, I practically have a PhD in Grief. I'm exactly the person who should be with CN right now. He needs me. And as difficult as this is going to be for me, I have to be there for him. It's part of my Official Girlfriend Duties. *salutes*

As we pulled into the hospital last Sunday, I said aloud without thinking, "This is the first time I've been in a hospital since my dad died." WHAM. CN doesn't know this, and I hate to admit it, but part of the reason I didn't go with him on Saturday was because I knew this would happen. I knew all the grief feelings would well up inside me again. And it's a sickening feeling. A helpless feeling. A sad feeling. And I know it's selfish of me, but who wants to sign up for feeling like that? I knew that if I went with him, I'd have to go there. To that painful place, full of tears and emotions and memories. I hate going there.

As we walked up to the room where CN's dad is, all I could think was, "Please don't let there be tubes coming out of his face. Please, no tubes. I can't handle tubes." Thankfully, there where no tubes. And the hospital didn't have that "hospital" smell. Which was a big relief, too. I hate that smell. It smells like sterile cotton pads, mixed with body fluids, cafeteria food and stale air. Seriously, if you work in a hospital, and you are reading this, can y'all buy some damn febreeze or something? Cuz you are just used to it, trust me. It smells like ass where you work.

I did ok during most of the visit, but it definitely had its WHAM moments. The beeping machines. The bags of fluids. It was a lot to take in, without much mental preparation. I did ok on Sunday, but ever since then, it's been a long descent. Back on the rollercoaster. I have been carefully repairing myself these last three years, putting all the grief feelings behind me. It's like I have been building a brick wall, one brick at a time, very slowly. Not that I would ever fully brick it up and close it up. That's impossible. It's with you always. But I had built a wall high enough that it didn't hurt anymore. It was starting to be ok to talk about it. Even feel happy about the time I did have with my dad. I felt ok putting it away. Way back in the long term storage area of my brain. Like a cherished toy from childhood. Not that it's not important to you anymore, but somehow, in a way, you have moved on. Enough time had passed. Life goes on. He's still there, with me, inside my heart. Death is part of life. It has taken me 3 years to get here.

And now, all the wounds are split open again. I get to experience it all, from the beginning stages to the end. Only this time, I am on the outside, mostly. It's like having an out-of-body experience. I am experiencing the same feelings, but in a different way. I know what's going to happen. I know there will be urgent phone calls and moments of hope that will be dashed to pieces. I know there will be lots of crying and exhaustion. I could probably predict every moment right now. But this time, there is a new element. I get to see someone I love very much deal with a whole lot of pain, and there's nothing I can do or say to prepare him for it. I can't stop it. I can't do a whole lot to make him feel better. This time, in addition to feeling my own grief well up inside of me, I have to watch someone I love feel grief for the first time, which is almost as painful, because I can't fully feel what he's feeling. I can only feel a ghost of my own grief. It's like sympathy pains. Kinda.

I know what is coming down the pipe for him and his family. It's like going to the doctor, knowing you are going to have to have a shot. You know it's going to suck, and there's no way out of it. Only with grief, it's like, 1,000 times worse. And I can try to describe it and warn him about it all I want, but I will never be able to. It's something he will have to experience with his family. The most I can do is be by his side. We will ride the roller coaster together.

Monday, Monday

Well, it's certainly Monday. Let's see. Where should I begin? I think I will ease into it with something funny.

I have told you how my little sister, Smurf, is a horrible driver. Well, despite a year's worth of practice, involving a learner's permit, driver's ed and much practicing with family members, she is no better today than she was the first time she got behind the wheel. Somehow, this did not stop the Virginia Department of Motor Vehicles from issuing her a driver's license last month. Do not ask me how on earth she passed the driving test, but she did. So she got her license in mid-July. That was only a few weeks ago. She now has THREE tickets. She got them ALL on the same day: speeding, running a stop sign and driving on the wrong side of the road. "It was only for a second," she told me. "And there was no one else on the road." I told her that apparently, there was someone else on the road. She says she's learned her lesson, but I doubt that will be enough to convince the judge that he should not revoke her driver's license, which is probably what he will do. My poor mother and her insurance rates....yeesh.

This weekend, CN's dad had to go back to the hospital again. "Do you want to go with me to visit him?" CN asked me Saturday morning. I asked CN why he was in the hospital. CN was pretty vague. So I declined because...
1. The request was phrased in a way that made it seem optional.
2. It was my weekend off.
3. The hospital was an hour away.
4. I was having a dinner party that night for my girlfriends, and needed to prepare.
5. When my dad was sick, he was in the hospital a dozen times before things got serious.

By now, you have probably realized that "No" was the wrong answer. Unfortunately, I am not nearly as bright as my readers. Because I should have realized that CN isn't the kind of person who would say, "Look, I am really worried, and I really want you to come with me." Because if he had said that, then yes, I would have dropped everything and gone with him. But I am dense, and he downplays things, which leads to misunderstandings and people being upset. This is not the first time he has downplayed something important, and I was too stupid to figure it out.

By Sunday morning, he was pretty angry with me, and I could tell something was wrong. He told me I had really let him down and that he was really worried about his dad. I instantly felt like a candidate for Worst Girlfriend Ever, apologized and explained my reasoning to him. He agreed that he should have explained things better, and I canceled all my Sunday plans and went down with him to the hospital yesterday.

Not long after we got to the hospital, CN's mom took us to lunch, where she explained that CN's dad had been acting funny lately, which was part of the reason she had put him back in the hospital. She just had a hunch something wasn't right. So the doctor gave CN's dad a MRI (or was it a CT scan?) and we were waiting to hear the results. The doctor called when we got back from lunch. And the news was not good. CN's dad has prostate cancer that has metasticized all over his body. And the MRI showed that he now has lesions in his brain and they are bleeding. So he's being put back on radiation again today. It's not looking so hot. Because the doctors have actually had him on a break from the chemo/radiation treatments because his body can't really handle too much more. So I don't have a good feeling about all of this.

Obviously, I won't be skipping any more hospital visits, either. I am thinking I should maybe quit my Dildo's job, so I will have more free time to go with him to the hospital.

Then, at 2am last night, I was awakened by my roommate, E, again. She and her boyf broke up (again) and so instead of being at his house all the time, she's now at my house all the time. Which would be fine, except for the fact that she has insomnia, so she gets up all through the night, which wakes me up. She has woken me up just about every night for the last 2 weeks. It's getting old.

Anyway, at 2am last night, I awoke to the sound of her giggling. I got up to shut the door to my room, only to realize that there was a 2nd voice -- a man's voice -- giggling with her. In the shower.

"Great," I thought.

I was already upset about CN's dad and I had to get up early this morning for work. So I had a difficult time falling back asleep. I tossed and turned for at least an hour, furious at her inconsideration. When I got up this morning, I noticed that this random guy's car was still outside. This kind of annoyed me. I mean, if you want to hook up with random guys, fine. But do it on the weekend and make sure he's gone by the morning, you know?

I started to get ready for work, and as I'm getting ready, I hear my roommate quietly slip out and leave. That's unusual for her -- she usually asks me if her outfit looks okay every morning. And I didn't hear a man's footsteps following her. Hmmm.

I finished getting ready, trying to give everyone the benefit of the doubt. But when I went to leave, I saw that the random guy's car was still parked outside, and my roommate was gone!

I. Was. Furious.

I threw open the door to her room and woke up Mr. Random.

"You have to leave. Now." I said, fuming.

"Ok," he replied, groggily.

I just stood there, waiting, with my hand on my hip, as he shuffled around, trying to get dressed.

"Let's go! I'm late for work! I'm leaving and you can't be here!" I yelled.

"It's not what it looks like. E and I have known each other for years," he said, trying to explain.

"Yesss," I hissed. "But I don't know who the fuck you are, and this is MY house, so you have to get the fuck out of my house. NOW."

Apparently, I communicated my rage very clearly, because he left the house in nothing but his boxer shorts! He carried the rest of his stuff and didn't even put his shoes on fully! LOL

"Did you see his wiener?" CN asked me later.

"No. And he's lucky, because I would have ripped it off!!!" I replied.

E and I are going to have a loooooong chat this afternoon, when I get home from work.

Wow. I was a total bitch this weekend, huh?

Crap!

Well, crap.

Ok, remember how I was waiting to hear if I got to teach a class this fall? And if I got to teach the class, I could quit my part time job at Dildo's? And then I wouldn't have to work weekends anymore? Well...

I didn't get a class.

So now, I am stuck at Dildo's. Unless I can find another part time job. One that doesn't suck. I hope it's soon. I am getting really tired of Dildo's. And there's no way I'm working there over the holidays. I have worked retail during the holidays before, and it's a nightmare.

Y'all, I am really bummed about this!!! I guess I got my hopes up. I knew I shouldn't have done that. Because you know what happens when you do that. Counting chickens, etc.

It's not like this is the end of the world, but I'm starting to get really burned out and was really looking forward to having more free time. But now, after paying off about $2,000 in credit card debt, I'm kind of hooked on watching my balances go down, you know? I don't want to quit now. I'm just starting to make a big dent!!! 25% of my credit card debt is GONE. That is a good feeling!!

I can quit whenever I want. Yadda yadda. But it's hard to quit when you want to pay down debt. And it's really nice to have that extra money around when little emergencies come up (example: my car battery died the other day) or when you want to treat yourself to gorgeous handbags*. I can pay for these things without breaking a sweat. Since I have budgeted paying $500-600/month on my credit cards, but my Dildo's job sometimes pays more (because they work me to death), I usually have an extra $100/week to spend on crap. I like buying crap. Crap makes me happy. Not the dammit-will-I-ever-get-to-quit-this-stupid-job crap, but the look-how-freaking-fabulous-my-new-bag-is crap.

Ugh, this is such a blow to my morale. You have no idea how much I have been day dreaming about sleeping in on Saturdays, lazy Sunday afternoons where I read a book on my couch, weekend trips, a clean house, having time to work out again...*sigh*

I guess I will just have to keep my eyes peeled for a better part time job, and maybe cross my fingers that I can teach a class in the spring.

At least now I won't have to worry about whether or not CN and I will take a trip over Labor Day weekend. Dildo's settled it for me: I will get to work extra-long hours that weekend, thanks to our Labor Day sale.

Crap!!!!! This sucks donkey balls!!!!! Please leave me cheery and encouraging comments! I am bummed out!!!

* I have this purse, in a beautiful pearlescent white leather, on hold at Dildo's right now. Thanks to our kick-ass sale going on at the moment, instead of $248, I can buy it for $87. WOOT!

My Little and How Camp Traumatized Me

I was recently matched up with a Little Sis from Big Brothers Big Sisters. YAY!!!

Her name is V. She's 11 and about to start 6th grade. I was really excited to hear that she is this age, because middle school was the most difficult time for me when I was a kid. That's when I was picked on by bullies and when I felt at my most awkward -- glasses AND braces. To make it even worse, I was the first girl in my class to hit puberty. It was a rough time. So I am excited to be there to support her and be someone she can talk to, because I know how mean 12 year olds can be. I'm hoping that I can help her have enough confidence to weather the storm, you know?

She's really nervous to start 6th grade next week. I told her that the first couple of weeks might be a little sticky, but after that, she'll be a pro. Luckily, lockers don't seem to phase her. I, on the other hand, would have daily battles with the lock on my locker throughout my 6-12 grade years. My stubborn locks caused me to be tardy many times. I never did get the hang of combination locks, and I still avoid them to this day. So I was relieved to hear that she found them to be of no concern.

Her concern is more about getting to the right classroom at the right time. I can totally understand. A natural rules follower myself, this was my secondary concern when I was a student. (The first, of course, being those g-d combination locks.) So I told her that the teachers usually give everyone a break for the first week or so, until you get your little routine down. I told her by the third day, she will feel pretty comfy with where things are. She seemed relieved to hear this.

V and her little (biological) sister live with their mom and grandma. They just got a dog who looks like a pit bull mix. Her name is Zoe and she's very sweet. What I think is really cool is that the mom, the younger sister and V are all cloggers. And apparently, pretty good at it -- V just tried out for the competitive team, and she made it! If you are not familiar with this part of the country, you might not know about clogging. It's like....Riverdance. Kinda. But more country-music oriented (IMHO). And there's outfits. Colorful, sequined, knee-length dresses with crinolines that they wear for their recitals and competitions. This is right up my alley -- bring on the girly-girl stuff!! Let me see if I can find a video so you can see clogging in action. It's pretty cool! Take a look at an example:


Other than clogging, V is into Hannah Montana and The Jonas Brothers. So I am rapidly becoming acquainted with this whole pre-teen phenomenon. Apparently, there's a lot of albums and 3-D concerts on the Disney Channel. Oh, and Nick is the hottest Jonas Brother. That's what I've learned so far.

V and I hung out last night. We took Sammy on a walk in her neighborhood and she told me all about camp. She just went to camp for the first time, and she loved it. I was very relieved to hear this, because I. HATED. CAMP. I thought it was the most horrible idea ever, and begged my mother to never ever take me there again. The Czarina, always the penny-pincher, was happy to oblige this request. So aside from one horrible week the summer after 5th grade, I was spared this experience.

Why did I hate camp so much? The main reason was that it seemed everyone brought their best friend with them to camp. I apparently missed this memo and arrived solo at Camp Merri-Mac, which is located near Asheville, NC and is probably a wonderful camp, if you are not 11 year old VB. But I was a naive 11 year old, so when I was being dropped off at camp, I was a ball of excitement, ready to pack my days full of all the fun activities you find at camp.

I remember that all the cabins were named after celestial bodies: moons, stars, planets, etc. I remember getting excited about the fact that my cabin was called "The Milky Way", because that is and always has been my favorite candy bar. "This is a good sign," I thought. So I got to my cabin, greeted by my super nice counselor, Jodie. Jodie, I would find out later, was from Michigan, which at the time seemed as exotic as India to me. (I didn't get out a lot.) The first thing Jodie did was give me a "fun size" Milky Way candy bar. So far, camp ROCKED. I remember thinking, "Ok, Mom, you can go away now!" (Actually, I think this a lot...but anyway.)

After talking with my mom for a minute, Jodie took me inside the cabin and announced my arrival and introduced me to the other girls in my cabin. They all said "Hi" and then went right back to what they were doing. The bliss of summer camp all came to a screeching halt when I realized that all the other girls in my cabin were already paired up, because they had gotten that "bring your best friend or camp will suck donkey balls" memo. And they had no interest in me whatsoever. They were gathered in pairs, talking excitedly as they unpacked. I was being ignored. Not that I am an attention-seeking person, but I was old enough to realize they were intentionally sending me an unfriendly vibe.

Since I was new to the whole camp idea, I had a lot of questions for the other campers. Where do I put my toiletries? What time do we get up in the morning? My questions were met with one word answers. I got the impression that they all just wanted me to leave them alone. And since I was extra-super shy and possessed the self-esteem of a homeless crackhead prostitute at that stage in life, I didn't do anything about it. So I spent the week alone, silent and shunned.

I definitely got a very snooty vibe from the other girls. I remember one of them looking at me with disgust when I told her that I hadn't started shaving my legs yet. I still remember what town she was from: Jupiter, Florida. She had long blonde hair, subscribed to Seventeen and shopped at some mysterious place called "The Gap". She already looked like a teenager. I, on the other hand, still had baby fat and secretly played with Barbies and wore clothes my mother picked out at Stein-Mart. She watched 90210. I watched Disney movies. Forming a picture in your head yet? Yeah, it was kind of sad, really. This Florida Girl was sort of the ring-leader and enabled the snootiness to percolate in the cabin for the entire week. I can still see her face when I close my eyes. Brown eyes, bangs, a turned up nose.

My counselor, Jodie, was extremely nice and I believe, totally clueless about how Florida Girl treated me. I still like the name Jodie because of her. Jodie = fun size Milky Way bars. It's a good association to have.

Anyway, there was only one other girl in the cabin who shared my fate. Her bed was directly under mine. We shared a bunk because we were the only two girls who hadn't arrived with best friends from home. I can't remember her name, either. But I remember she had frizzy brown hair and big red Sally Jessy Raphael glasses. She liked animals and she talked too much. So she was an even bigger dork than I was. She was easy pickings for the snooty group in our cabin. By default, she and I hung out together for the week, despite the fact that I didn't really enjoy her company. But I do remember sticking up for her when someone said something mean about her.

Ah, pre-teen girls.............they are possibly the most evil and cruel group of humans on Earth.

Where was I? Oh yes. The rest of camp was not very memorable. I remember lanyards and archery and swimming and Shepherd's Pie. But mostly, I remember feeling rejected, extremely lonely and homesick. It was the first time I had ever been away from home longer than a night. It was the first time in my life I had no one to talk to or "play" with. (Remember, I am from a big family, so being alone is a foreign concept to me, and very scary, actually.) I remember crying quietly into my pillow, so the mean girls wouldn't hear me and make fun of me. It was horrible!

By mid-week, I was counting down the days until my mother would arrive to pick me up. Finally, she came! I have never loaded my stuff into any vehicle so quickly in my entire life. Then, she and I did the COOLEST thing that almost erased my traumatic week at camp: we stayed in a bed & breakfast in Asheville and went to Biltmore the next day before we drove home to Virginia. I don't think my mom knows how much better this made the whole experience for me. If it hadn't been for that portion of my time in the Asheville, NC area, I would vow never to near that horrible part of the country again.

To this day, I have a tendency to go out of my way to make new people feel welcome, or at least not lonely and shunned. And I also have a tendency to hang out with people who are alone, even if I don't enjoy their company. Weird how things that happen to you in childhood stick with you.

Did you go to camp? Did you like it?

Annivesary Present??

Thanks, everyone, for all the supportive comments (and emails) on my last post. It is really comforting to get some reassurance on that! Every once in a while, my normally great mother turns into a total wack job. Ugh. Mothers.

Anyway, let's move on. I have a dilemma and I need your help. I have two weeks to figure out what to do to celebrate a one year anniversary with CN. Yes, it's been that long. It feels like it's only been 6 months.

The problem is, I am having a rare moment of indecisiveness. At first, we talked about taking a trip somewhere for the weekend (Labor Day weekend is basically our anniversary). We talked about maybe Charleston or Asheville, but it seemed so expensive, so I told CN that we shouldn't do all that.

"Oh, sweetie, that's too expensive. Let's just stay here in town and go out to a nice dinner," I said.

"Ok, how about The Melting Pot? You've always said how much you love it, and I've never been," he said.

"Yes, I do love that restaurant. But it's so expensive. Like, you will drop $100," I replied.

"So?" he said.

Anyway, our plans are kind of up in the air, because I can't decide what I want to do, and CN is basically down for whatever. I really would love to take a weekend trip, but it's expensive and the traffic will be horrendous (it will be on Labor Day weekend). But it would be nice to share an experience like that together. We've been talking about taking a weekend trip somewhere for MONTHS. I guess we could split the cost 50/50 and that would make it simple. And then we wouldn't have to worry about presents for each other.

Staying here just seems kind of...ho hum. And once we are done eating at Melting Pot, that's it. It's over. No photos. No memories. No keepsakes. Just a bloated and sleepy feeling from eating too much (seriously, y'all, I stuff myself SILLY at that place). So I'm not totally loving this idea.

Then there's the problem of what kind of a gift to get. If we do go the Melting Pot route, I need to get him something. Do I get something sentimental, like a photo memory book? Or should I just get a regular gift? I could get tickets to an event for us. Or a conglomerate of small gifts that I know he would like...

ARGH.

You see, about a week ago, I had it all planned out: We were going to do Melting Pot and I was going to give him tickets to a USC football game. This would have been the perfect present because the first time CN and I hung out, we tailgated at a USC game. So it was a gift that is sentimental, something we could do together and it would be a memory-making experience. Bingo!

My friend's dad was the guy with the tickets for sale. He was selling them at face value, which is unheard of. But by the time my friend asked him about the tickets, he had already promised them to someone else. DANG!

So now I'm back to the drawing board. USC tickets are like $100 a piece, if you can find them at all, and that's for the bad seats! So it's a little out of the budget for me.

Do you think I should get/do something that is a joint activity? Something romantic? (Yes, he's the kind of guy who might actually like that sort of thing. I mean, not like flowers. But he's a really sentimental person.) Or should I just get a regular gift and leave it at that?

I have been pouring over RedEnvelope.com, FindGift.com and the Atlanta Falcons website (he's a major fan) all morning. And I've got nada.

Does anyone have any ideas? Have you ever received/given a kick-ass anniversary present? Keep in mind that CN is not into any of the following activities:

golf
playing sports
wine
hard liquor
cigars
adrenaline-junkie activities like cliff diving
dressing up (so cuff links are out)

This eliminates like, 80% of the gifts out there. He's basically into beer, Hooters, the Falcons, the Braves, the Gamecocks, his Jeep, music and his Playstation 2. Guys are so hard to shop for!!!! I asked him what he wanted, and do you know what he said? He said he wanted a hooker. I told him no.

I have already gotten him tix to a Falcons game in the past, so that's out. So is an iPod shuffle. And I can't afford one of these, or one of these, even though I know he'd love to get one. Besides, they aren't very romantic, and I'd rather spend that kind of money at Christmas, anyway.

Anyone have any ideas???? At this point, I'm considering going back to the original weekend trip plan, and we split the costs. Hmmmm....... HELP!

The Mother of All Lectures

The other day, I got an email from The Czarina. "Call me. I haven't talked to you in a while," it said.

You are thinking, "Oh, that's nice! She misses her daughter. VB, shame on you for not calling your mother!"

I am thinking, "DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!!"

Since you are not her daughter, you wouldn't know that my mother's email message is code for: "Get ready to be lectured. Topic TBA."

So I decided that a good time to call her would be the next day. I wanted to just get it over with. Besides, if I called her in-between leaving my main job and going to my part time job, she could only lecture me for a maximum of 45 minutes. This was good. I would have an excuse to cut it short, if necessary.

Unfortunately for me, the next day was filled with lots of work-related stress here at the library, which I won't get into right now. So by the time I left my main job, I was already frazzled and on edge. I called The Czarina anyway -- again, just wanting to get it over with. I would not rank this decision high on my list of lifetime achievements, let me tell you.

The lecture topic? Why CN and VB Have No Business Dating, Let Alone Ever Get Married.

Not exactly a topic devoid of emotion, at least on my behalf. "Oh Jeez Louise!" I thought. "Not this! Not today! Why did I call her??"

She started with a rather insulting premise: "Now, I like CN. I really do. He is a sweet boy, and he treats you like a queen. And if you were to call me tomorrow and tell me that you two are engaged, I would be so happy for you. But let me just play devil's advocate here by saying..."

What followed was a litany of reasons why she thought he and I are incompatible: I am too domineering (which isn't good, since "the man must run the show"), he doesn't have enough ambition, I haven't had enough serious dating experience, he will be boring...yada yada yada.

Nevermind that:
1. I have never at any time called her to express any doubts about CN. At all.
2. I am nowhere near as domineering as she was towards my father, and they were happily married until the day he died.
3. This isn't 1955.
4. If ambition were important to me, I would never have dated most of the men I've dated over the past 15 years. In fact, all the lawyers and ambitious guys I've dated have either been pompous assholes or incredibly boring. Besides, I don't want someone who is married to his job. Funny, but I would like to see my man at the end of the day.
5. Last I checked, it is not necessary to turn down multiple marriage proposals before accepting the right one. (Mom would feel better if I had "already broken off a few engagements". Because that's a goal to strive for!)
6. CN and I have yet to be bored. Ever. Actually, he and I never lack for fun ideas of things to do together. We like to do all the same things: antiquing, shopping, exercise, reading, travel, etc.

And let's not forget the most important point I would like to make: CN and I have never talked about marriage, proposals or anything closely related to that. We haven't even been dating a year! For Pete's sake, I just got the guy to say the "L" word only about 6 months ago! UGH!

My mother is INSANE. The whole time she was rambling on and on, all I could think was that she was grasping at straws, looking for reasons to say why I was making The Biggest Mistake of My Life and totally wasting my time. There were moments when I honestly felt like she was just simply making shit up!

Of course, the realization that she is totally bonkers was overshadowed by the following thoughts inside my brain: "OMG what if she's right? What if she's totally wrong? How dare she say all of this, when she hardly knows him!! Why is she saying all of this, when I've never once come to her with complaints or concerns about my relationship? I am not feeling quite as concerned about all of this as she seems to be. But maybe I should be. After all, she has a 28 year marriage under her belt. I don't."

Fighting the urge to plead with her about why she seems to be interested in making me miserable, I tried to keep an open mind and remember that The Czarina has a tendency to think that

1. I am her mini-me. Which is simply not the case.
2. I am a moron who cannot think for herself. Thank God I have my mother to think for me!
3. Everything is more important than it actually is. (Can you say "high strung"?)
4. It is 1955.

So with my head spinning, I managed to get off the phone before I burst into tears. I was totally confused, not to mention upset that she looks at CN and sees flaws. But I have never been happier in my whole life than I have with CN. When I think about the future with him, I get butterflies, not worry or dread. I really don't have any major concerns, and I can't imagine him not being in my life. Besides, we haven't even talked marriage yet. But I trust my mother's judgement. She is, and I hate to admit it most of the time, almost always right.

I had to make sense of this. So that evening, I did a lot of thinking. And since I was stressed out and upset, I did what always makes me feel better: I talked to CN. I guess maybe I shouldn't have brought up that whole conversation with CN of all people, but my poker face leaves something to be desired. He could tell I was upset about more than just work that day. So he dragged it out of me. I told him about what The Czarina said and told him that I was confused and didn't know if these were her issues or if they were my issues. He was upset because he felt like The Czarina hates him. (And I can totally see why....which makes me feel really badly about bringing it all up...) He's also afraid that he's not what I'm looking for. As soon as he said that, I knew something didn't feel right. The Czarina's concerns just didn't sit well with me. They weren't meshing. The whole time she was talking, I never once thought, "That's a good point...I have actually been worried about that myself." All I could think was, "I'm not really getting where she's going with this."

I know it sounds stupid, but maybe it's a daughter thing. Or an oldest child thing. But even at my age, I crave my mother's approval and trust her completely. And you'd think that after moving away, going to grad school, buying a house and being financially independent, I would learn to trust myself a little more. But one lecture from my mother can make me doubt myself totally and without question. She could make me doubt that the sun rises every morning.

Luckily, as I have aged, there has been a little voice in the back of my head. It says, "You cannot live your life for your mother. You have to live it for yourself. Only you know what is best for you."

And the voice was there. And I listened to it. I am not exaggerating when I say this might be the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my whole life. Just trust myself. Believe in myself. Such a simple concept, right? But so terrifying.

If there were a resume for this sort of thing, it would be impressive. I listened to no one when getting my dog. I adore him. I picked out my house without the help of anyone else. I didn't even get a 2nd opinion before signing on the dotted line, and I have loved every minute of it. When I graduated college, it was my idea to try teaching school. It ended up being the only job I've ever loved. These were all big decisions and I was perfectly happy with all of them. It's so easy to forget that I've already done a good job in this department.

My mother was just crazy, that was all. I could ignore her. Nod and smile. Nod and smile. Cut the phone calls short. I can do that.

But why on earth was she doing this in the first place? Most of the time, our phone calls are jovial and relaxed. We talk about decorating or books or travel or our family. We trade exercise tips. But every once in a while, The Czarina will call me and I swear it's like her whole goal is to remind me of how I am screwing up my life! And it makes me hate her!

It wasn't until the next day that I had an epiphany. I realized there was a pattern to these horrible lectures. They tended to happen after I hadn't talked to her in a while. I used to be better about calling her once a week, and if I did call more often, the lectures would either be very mild or totally absent from the conversation. I don't get the lectures when I go home to visit her.

It seems that I get the lectures when too much time passes. It's like she sits and stews and thinks up all these things to advise me about. But by the time we talk, she's about to boil over, so it all comes gushing out: wrong boyfriend, wrong job, wrong diet, wrong town...you name it!
And since my dad passed away, the lectures have gotten worse. They are more frequent and longer.

Which leads me to my conclusion: When I don't call, it makes her feel like I don't need her anymore, which scares her. This causes her to grasp at straws, trying to think up reasons why I might need her. So she starts to make mental lists of things I am probably not thinking about or doing correctly, and then dumps them all on me at the next phone call. And now that Dad is gone, too, she has even fewer people to lecture, which is why she's been lecturing me more often.

After 29 years, I finally figured it out.

Some people are amazed and even heartbroken to hear how far away I live from my mother. But after phone calls like this, I want to move to a remote region of Siberia. And have no telephone.

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

This past weekend, for the first time since May, I had ---> ** AN ENTIRE WEEKEND**<--- free of work. It was great! I slept in. I went shopping. I cleaned my house. I baked a cake. I made pancakes for my boyfriend. I watched a movie (ok, most of it, because I fell asleep). I made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I went to dinner. I tried not to think about work. But I did. A lot. It hung over my head all day yesterday. Back to the grind. Back to the stress. I need to finish up my Huge Project here at work, but it's one of those things where you could sit and look at it for the rest of your life and never really feel like it's done. I could spend weeks tweaking it. This is partly because the directions are EXTREMELY vague, thanks to all of the educationese. I have spent at least 7 days trying to figure out exactly what the hell a "learning resource" is. ARGH.

And thanks to higher property taxes (which translates into a $30 increase in my mortgage) and all the shopping I did this past weekend (WHY do I need three watches???), I can't afford to quit Dildo's. Yet. So I still have to head in there this week, and probably the next week, too.

I still have at least 2 more weeks of suckage. Unfortunately, the weekend off didn't really make a dent in my need to de-stress and relax. 2 days just isn't enough. I need a week. Or two. It never really felt like I left work at all, actually.

Oh well. I just have to put my nose to the grindstone and get back to it. At this point, I just want to get everything over with, you know?

All of this hard work reminded me of a scene from one of my favorite movies, Ben Hur. I'm starting to relate to Mr. Hur a lot more than I used to.

That's me, 2nd from the left. Ramming speed, indeed.

Timelines

Well, after three verbal requests and a nasty email, I was a little pissed to see that my manager at Dildo's was still ignoring my request for a weekend off. When I got to work on Wednesday, she hadn't even so much as given me a courtesy reply to my email. Not even a "I will have to see about this. I will talk to you later about it." -- I got nothing. Nada. [insert rage and frustration here.]

I knew she hadn't left work yet, so I paged her. No reply. I knew she was ignoring me. [insert more rage and frustration here.]

About a half hour later, I see her, trying to sneak away by taking the long way around the jewelry department. It was raining, and she even had the nerve to sort of hold her umbrella in front of her face. As if I'm not going to know it's her!!! ARGH.

"Heather!" I shouted, accusingly. She was so busted. She stopped, put down the umbrella, and glared at me.

"I need to talk to you about my schedule," I continued, unfazed. "I'm tired of this. I need a weekend off. And why didn't you reply to my page?"

"Technically, I'm not here right now," she snapped back. Ohhhhhh, no she didn't!!! I have talked to her numerous times, and she keeps blowing me off, and NOW she's copping an attitude with ME??? That little fresh-outta-college snooty ass bitch! She is going DOWN. I am so sick of her making time in her day to flirt with one of the other managers but never making time to do her fucking job.

Then she told me that I need to realize that not everyone gets a weekend off every month. Some people just don't get one, sometimes.

I replied, "Yeah. I know. I'm one of them. But I need this weekend off."

I did not appreciate her attitude or her bullshit. Almost everyone else in the department gets their weekends off with no problem. But for me and a couple other people, we have to pull teeth. It makes no sense.

"Fine," she said, halfway rolling her eyes. "Just take it."

"Thank you," I replied. Heather left.

I was so pissed off at the way she had just acted, I almost walked out right then and there. If it weren't for a special sale going on today, I probably would have just quit on the spot. But there's some jewelry I want to buy...so I will work tonight.

Over my luxurious weekend off, I will think about whether or not I will return to Dildo's on Monday. I might. I might not. Maybe I will "forget" to come in. Or perhaps I will, but I will "technically not be there." AAAARRRGH.

I am really crossing my fingers that I will hear SOON about whether or not I get to teach this class. I don't know how much longer I can put up with Dildo's. Maybe I can hang in there for two more weeks...

Speaking of timelines, I talked to The Czarina the other day. Now, a lot of people have a hard time understanding why she drives me nuts, but if they knew the crazy things that she says to me, they would understand. This is basically how our phone conversation went:

Mom: So, how is CN?

VB: He's fine! Wonderful as usual.

Mom: That's good. He's such a nice guy. I do like him.

*Relief on my end of the line.*

[Little do I know, she's just setting me up. That was her idea of a warm up to what she really wanted to lecture me about.]

Mom: So, have you two talked about marriage yet?

Oh Jezus. Here we go....

VB: *trying desperately to think up an urgent reason to get off the phone.* Not really, Mom. No.

Mom: Well, you know, you might want to put him on a timeline. You don't want to waste any more time. I mean, if he's never going to pop the question...you might just want to break it off.

[Nevermind that doing so would make me totally miserable, but apparently, this is beside her point. And I love how all the time I've spent dating him has been a 'waste' of time.]

VB: Mom, we're fine. We have had a couple of conversations in that direction. He asked a lot of questions about my roommate's engagement. And we talked about kids once.

Mom: *hissing* Well, don't bring it up! You want it to be his idea! Let me tell you, you don't want a man who doesn't have to marry you. All that stuff should be his idea! It all needs to come from him! He needs to really really want to marry you.

VB: Ok, Mom. I get it. Yes, I agree. I don't want to browbeat him into it or anything. I'm not really an ultimatum kind of girl.

Mom: Ok, well stop bringing up wedding stuff. Don't even mention it around him.

VB: *rolling my eyes* Ok, Mom. We haven't even been dating a year yet. Everything is fine.

Mom: Ok, well, I love you, hon. I'll talk to you later.

VB: I love you, too, Mom. Bye.

Is anyone else wondering how it is fair to put CN on a "timeline" without informing him about this timeline? Doesn't seem quite fair, does it? It's like she's saying, "He needs to marry you soon. But don't talk about marriage." WTF? That doesn't make any sense! That's like yelling at someone for not taking out the trash, when they didn't even know the trash was full in the first place. Even though you knew the trash was full the whole time. It's like expecting someone to read your mind. And it's not fair.

And nevermind that he and I may not be ready for all of that yet! I love how she never asks me how I feel about this idea. Apparently, I don't need to think about it or decide anything for myself. It's all about how CN feels. A marriage conversation is totally one-sided, I guess. We know there would be no hold up on my end. I must be ready. I'm a girl. I want to be married yesterday. (Ok, I guess I can't really argue with the last statement...let's be honest, here.) But good grief! Like I need any pressure from my mother!!! We'll get there when we get there!

She's acting like women have to trick men into marrying them or something. And that's not what I'm all about. At all. If CN turned to me today and said, "I don't want to get married for another 8 years." I would be ok with it. Obviously, I wouldn't be super excited about it, because I would like to get married before I'm 40, in all honesty. But that's not something I would break up over. I would still want to be with him, even if he took his sweet ass time. I'm trying to enjoy the ride, not set an egg timer.

Jeezus! What is with her advice lately?? This is almost as bad as the time she told me I should go to medical school:

"Why, Mom? I don't want to be a doctor. I don't even want to be in the medical field. That's a helluva lot of debt. And besides, I have a weak stomach. Why on earth would I do that?" I replied.

"Duh!!! So you can meet and marry a doctor, Virginia!" she replied, frustrated. I swear, if she had been sitting closer to me, she would have thunked me in the head.

Do you see what I have to put up with?? My mother is crazy!

Groundhog Day

**WARNING** There is an obscene amount of whining and bitching in this post. Skip if you don't feel like listening today. Don't worry. I won't have time to notice a lack of comments.

Groundhog Day.

Have you seen the Bill Murray movie? I haven't, but based on what I've heard, I probably should. Apparently, it's about a man who has to re-live the same day over and over.

Oh, how I can relate.

Ironically, I don't have time to watch it. I'm too busy living my own Groundhog Day.

CN told me about an old "In Living Color" skit about the Hedleys, a family of Jamaicans, caught in a one-upmanship of employment. But the end of the skit, their claims are pretty outrageous:

I can relate to that skit, too: "I don't have time. I have to go to work." Sometimes, I feel like I work 12 jobs.

My full-time job is on the same schedule every week. My part time job is on the same schedule every week. With a few small gaps, these two schedules mesh perfectly together all week long. My house isn't so much of a home as it is an extremely dirty hotel room to me. I hurry between my bed, my main job and my part time job, only to repeat it again and again and again. Day in and day out, with each job session connected to the next, like a circled chain. I feel like I'm stuck in the pilot episode of an extremely popular dramadey: "Broadcast tonight with no commercial interruptions."

You have no idea what I would give for a goddamn commercial interruption. Time to sleep, time to clean, time to sit on my couch and BREATHE. Time to do laundry, time to cook a real meal, time to actually SEE my friends, instead of just texting them sporadically. Time to play with my dog and wander around Target.

My schedule is so strict, that if I don't get an errand done early Thursday morning, it doesn't get done. Period. I have to plan when to fill up my gas tank. I forget to go to the bathroom, only to realize I needed to pee 3 hours ago. Or I am baffled as to why I'm suddenly so thirsty, only to realize that it's 3pm, and the last thing I drank was the 6am coffee that morning. I am so concerned with the "OMG! I'm late! Where am I supposed to be? What am I supposed to be doing?" that I'm forgetting to do little things, like water my yard, return phone calls or make deposits at the bank. I find myself really looking at my priorities: unload the dishwasher or shave my legs? Iron the clean shirt, or dig through the dirty clothes to find something that will pass? Sleep or eat?

And lately, with my brain's dial set to the "Go! Do! Now!" setting, I'm having a hard time turning my body off at the end of the day, no matter how exhausted I am. That means that now, I am starting to get insomnia.

Hoo fucking ray.

Btw, this is on top of the constant headaches and gastro-intestinal issues I've already developed, thanks to my super fun new schedule.

And if you are someone who is good friends with/dating/married to someone who works two jobs, you would be The Most Awesome Person in the World if you would offer to run errands for that person. Or vaccuum their living room. Or cook them a meal. Or throw their clothes in the dryer. Instead of saying things like, "Yeah, I'm going on vacation to your most favoritest place in the world! Wish you could go with me! But you have to work, right?" or "My day? Oh, I just sorta watched tv today. Went to the gym. Took a nap. Not much." Saying these things might get your head ripped off, instantly and without apology.

So much for the Public Service Announcement portion of this blog post...and yes, CN did say that 2nd one to me the other day. But I was too exhausted to do anything more than whimper. Thinking about it pisses me off. A lot. But how can you ask your boyfriend to vacuum your living room for you, when getting the 2nd job was your idea in the first place? *sigh*

You can imagine how much fun I am to be around. Let me tell you, I am a *peach*. If I had my wish right now, I would scream at a stranger, and then have a good cry and a nap. It's sort of what I imagine being pregnant is like. Exhaustion, frustration and hopelessness. It's not going to end for months. And months. What have I gotten myself into? Why did I think this was a good idea? Is it too late to go back to the good ol' days?

Those of you who are mothers, work two jobs or have otherwise absurd numbers of juggled balls in the air, I salute you. Seriously, how the fuck do you do this without either losing your mind or turning into a supreme mega bitch?

I know what you are asking. "VB, why not just take a sick day? Call in, take a day off, you will feel better!" To which I reply:

1. I need much MUCH more than a day off. I need like a week off. Complete with clean sheets, a massage and fruity drinks. A pile of books, a big TV and a totally blank calendar. One day off wouldn't be a drop in the bucket. I had last Sunday off. It wasn't enough. It was nice to cook, don't get me wrong. But it wasn't enough. I need a Decompression Period.
2. I can't take a day off from my library job. I am working on Super Massive Huge Project, remember? And it's due on August 1st. I am about 85-90% done. So until it is done, no can do. To be perfectly honest, I have no business typing this blog post right now. I don't technically have time. But I have to do it, or I might kill a kitten or something.
3. I can't call in sick to Dildo's. First of all, it would only give me 3 hours off, and 3 evening hours isn't enough, either. Besides, they tend to fire people who call in. Not that it matters. I might quit today anyway.

Too bad my poor Dildo's manager has no idea what's coming for her at 6pm tonight. It is I, in all of my exhausted rage, and I have every intention of getting in her face and being a total bitch. Without warning. This is why:

1. Every employee gets one full weekend and one additional Sunday off per month. To date, I have had one weekend and two Sunday off. Over a 3 month period. Also, no Dildo's employee is supposed to close every Saturday. I have. So I think I've been getting screwed. This is not making me happy. Especially since that ONE weekend off was spent at my mother's house. So think about aaaaaaaall the stuff you have done in the last 11 weekends. I have not had that time at all. It was spent standing on my feet.

2. I have brought up the fact that I am not a machine to my manager, who replies with either, "Sorry, that's Dildo's policy." or "I didn't give you that day off? I'm sorry! I will fix it!" -- Both replies piss me off. Because they both communicate the same message: "I don't care!" It's bad enough hearing this message from any manager. But when it comes from the mouth of a 23 year old bimbo who spends most of her time at work doing nothing except flirting with another manager, you pretty much want to rip her face off.

This past weekend, I became fed up. After asking my worthless Dildo's manager for a weekend off this month THREE times, she "forgot" to change my schedule before she called in sick for a three day weekend so she could hang out with her boyfriend. So I had to work all weekend, AGAIN. If you are looking at a calendar right now, you will see that there are 4 weekends in July. Three of which have already passed without her fixing my schedule.

That means, there's only one weekend left. It's inventory weekend. No one is supposed to have that weekend off. So I know she's going to tell me I can't have this coming weekend off, either. And that's when I will punch her in the face. My goal is to break her nose in the process. I think that under the circumstances, the judge will be merciful.

"Give me Friday, Saturday and Sunday off, or I quit. Now." -- is what I will say. I know it doesn't sound like much of a threat, but that's because you don't know she's had some major turnover in her department lately. (My guess is because she never gives anyone any fucking days off.) So she is MEGA short handed at the moment.

And if she doesn't go for it? Fine by me. I was planning on quitting soon, anyway. Because I just cannot take this any more. At this point, maybe being in debt is worth a little sanity. Who knew how important weekends are to your psyche?? I mean, yeah, I'm making $150-200 a week. But at what price? I feel like shit. My house smells. I haven't exercised in three months. I am exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally.

Fuck. I'm late. I gotta go. I was supposed to go to lunch 45 minutes ago. Sorry about all the bitching and whining. I will try and be funner tomorrow. :\

Thursday 13

Holy cow, have I had some serious writers' block today. I have been trying to think of something for at least an hour now! But since I'm working so much, not a whole lot has been going on. And I didn't feel like whining about my lack of a life today. Plus, I'm tired, so it can't be anything too mentally involved. So this works pretty well, and I promise I won't be gross:

Thirteen Scars on My Body

1. Left side of my jaw -- this is what happens when you play violin for 10 years. Please, warn your children now.

2. Upper back, on left (?) shoulder blade -- I had a mole removed when I was about 10. It was big, so there were stitches. A plastic surgeon was brought in to prevent a huge scar from forming. This was my mother's idea. She was worried about my wearing a backless prom dress. Nevermind that when I grew olders, I was never allowed to wear a backless anything...

3. Left shin -- A big, scary dog was barking at me. So I did what any 7 year old would do. I tried to climb up a bookcase to get away from it. I sorta hit the corner of an iron flower pot on the way up. Trauma ensued. Weird trivia fact: CN has a scar in the same place, and it looks JUST like mine.

4. Right forearm -- Burned my arm taking a giant cheesecake out of the oven. It was worth it.

5. Left elbow -- Bike wreck at my 8th birthday party. I had only recently learned how to ride a bike, and participating in a race on a looped gravel driveway seemed like a good idea. More trauma.

6. Left eyebrow -- I was a baby. Dad was babysitting me for the first time. The phone rang, and Dad left me on the bed, alone, while he went to answer it. I took this opportunity to fall off the bed, hitting a table on the way down. A couple inches difference, and I would have knocked out an eyeball. Needless to say, Dad didn't babysit me anymore after that. I now have a thin, horizontal scar which ended up working out really well -- it's perfectly aligned to where I tweeze my eyebrow!

7. Belly -- In addition to other places, this is where I have a prominent chicken pox scar. Unfortunately for me, I came down with the chicken pox just in time to miss Nikki Arnold's 8th birthday party. It was close to my own birthday, if I remember correctly. But I was more upset about missing Nikki's birthday party because she was the most popular girl in our class.

8. Left shin, just below the flower pot scar -- a terrifyingly loooong scar from what I like to call The Disposable Razor Incident. *shudders*

9. Left thigh -- In the 2nd grade, I had a stonewashed denim purse. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. I kept a pencil in it. One day, as I was getting out of a car (or was it a bus? I can't remember) to go to school, the tip of the pencil had worked its way through the fabric and poked me in the thigh. You can still see the pencil lead in my leg!

10. My ass -- MRSA. If you really want the details, do a search for MRSA on this blog. I don't wanna talk about it.

11. My bottom lip -- Another baby story. I was holding a bottle in my mouth. I was busy walking around and didn't feel like using my hands to hold the bottle, so I just clamped down on the bottle nipple with my teeth to hold onto it. Aah! My hands were free to help me balance! Too bad it didn't work. I fell, face first. The lid on the bottle cut my bottom lip. I still have the semi-circle scar.

12. Fingers -- From a summer spent at the neighborhood pool when I was in middle school. I was trying to learn how to dive, but I kept scraping my fingers on the bottom of the pool, because I hated opening my eyes under water, so I could never actually see the bottom or sides of the pool. And in case you've forgotten: scrape + chlorine = ouch. I don't dive anymore.

13. Lower back -- A souvenir from Dr. Nazi, the evil dermatologist who removed a small mole from my lower back (yes, I am a moley person) without any local anesthetic. She basically melon-balled me. OUCH. I do not recommend. Definitely ask for the novocaine.

Now that I have just written this, it sounds eerily familiar. Have I already written this same post?? I don't know. I'm too tired to go look. If I did, I apologize.

Share some scar stories with me!! Nothing gross, please. Do you have any interesting scars?

A Slap in the Face

I went to the dentist on Monday afternoon to discover that I have not one, not two, but THREE cavities. When I get them filled next week, I have to shell out $500. And yes, that IS after insurance, in case you're wondering. And although needles and cavity experiences aren't one of my main phobias, they aren't exactly a walk in the park for me, either. I sweat buckets and tense up anytime I sit in those chairs. It's what I would call a high-stress situation for me.

Because that's what I need: more stress and less money.

"I'm sorry. You must have the wrong mouth," I wanted to reply when the dentist broke the news to me. But unfortunately, my mouth was full of his gloved fingers and a small mirror. So I was unable to do more than whimper.

I was shocked to hear this news. According to The Czarina, I inherited her excellent teeth, rather than my father's disgusting and sad excuses for teeth. I have only had one teeny tiny cavity in my whole life. So what was this?? I mean, I can understand ONE. But THREE??? What did I do? Too much candy?? Not enough flossing?? I do have a bad habit of not always brushing my teeth before bedtime. I guess it caught up to me.

My coworker provided an interesting theory: I may have caught CN's mouth bacteria from kissing him. Since he has bad teeth, he may have spread his cavity bacteria into my mouth and made mine worse with every smooch. My boyfriend is giving me cavities. Great. What a jerk.

Well, at least I don't feel so terrible now about what happened the other night. He and I are kind of even now. This is what happened:

MJ got a new cell phone. For some reason, her new phone hasn't been communicating well with mine. When she sends me a photo, I receive it about 6 times. Over a 6 hour period. So when it's 2:30am and you are being awakened by your cell again, only to see that you are getting something you've already received four times, it's a little aggravating.

I know what you are thinking: Duh, VB. Turn your phone to silent.
To which I reply: My cell = my alarm clock, so I can't. Back to the story.

So the other night, I spent the night at CN's. I was totally exhausted. I had been getting that repeat photo from MJ, but figured it had stopped at three copies. I fell into what was a very pleasant and extremely deep slumber.

And that's where I stop remembering things. I was THAT sleepy. According to CN, this is what happened around 2:30am:

My phone beeped. (It was the same stupid photo from MJ again. And can I just state right here how much I hate Motorola? Because their phones will beep until the cows come home when you have a new message. You are not allowed to ignore it. You MUST deal with it. NOW. This is the stupidest design flaw I've ever seen. This Motorola phone will be my last.)

I woke up, and in my sleepy stupor, reach over to shut the damn phone up. The beeping also woke up CN, World's Lightest Sleeper. He starts cuddling and kissing on me. I reply:

"GET THE F**K OFF OF ME OR I WILL SLAP YOU IN THE FACE!!!!"

Taken aback, CN apologizes and moves away, telling me I am mean.

For some reason, I half-way comprehend what has just happened, and I go over to kiss him and apologize. "Kiss?" I say.

"No! You're mean!" CN replies, half-joking.

"Fine. Whatever," I reply.

Then, I proceeded to roll over and immediately go back to sleep.

I have absolutely no recollection of this entire event. But I can assure you, CN isn't letting me forget it. Anytime I touch him, I have to hear "Get the f**k off of me or I will slap you in the face!"

Which is fine with me. I can't afford a fourth cavity, anyway.

A Light at the End of the Tunnel

This month is going to suck. Not only do I have to finish up the Big Suck-Ass Project here at the library by the end of the month, but Dildo's is still working me over 20 hours per week, and it's not going to change. And my dumb manager got my schedule wrong -- I'm supposed to have one weekend off from Dildo's per month. Right now, the schedule says I have 0.

Which means the only day this month where I do not have to work at all is: July 13th. Gee, thanks.

Ok, ok, I shouldn't complain. I am paying off my credit cards like mad. I think I will pay off about $700 this month. Maybe $800. It's almost worth not having a life. Almost.

That's why I'm so freaking excited about some news I recently got: I am going to be an adjunct instructor and teach a college-level class here where I already work, starting in August. This is extremely awesome because:

1. It's only 1-2 nights during the week, so no more weekends!!
2. It pays a lump sum of about $1200, which I can just forward on to my credit cards in a big lump sum, instead of juggling around money between all my bills and two jobs and five paychecks like I am doing right now. It gets confusing, especially when the Dildo's paycheck is vastly different from week to week. And my electricity bill is all over the map.
3. I love love love love to teach. Anything. To anyone. Even this class, which is a sort of Welcome-to-College-Here's-How-Not-to-Fuck-Up class. Seriously, teaching is definitely on the short list of my passions.
4. Since I will already be at the library, and therefore already on campus, I will not have to use any gas to get to my night job. Woot. And I think it will end around 7pm-ish, rather than 9:30 like Dildo's.
5. There is nothing to buy while I am there. I have spent at least $100 on jewelry since I started at Dildo's. Oops. I guess it's like an alcoholic working in a bar....kind of dumb to get a job at the mall, now that I'm looking at it....
6. I will get to totally avoid the Hell that is The Holiday Mall.

The class runs from August - mid-December. If you are number crunching right now, you are correct: this is not going to pay as well as Dildo's, where I am earning about $500/month. BUT I will have a life again! I can go to the gym, cook, see my friends, sleep in on Saturdays......ahhhhhh. I can't wait.

So I'm thinking I will quit Dildo's at the end of the month, enjoy a 2 week semi-vacation where I only work one job, and then my class will start. The cool thing is, once you start teaching this class, they usually have you teaching it every semester. So I'm good to go.

In other money-related news, CN got his economic stimulus check. Since he is smart and doesn't have oodles of credit card debt like his girlfriend does, his options are limitless with this $600 he just got from Uncle Sam. I asked him what he was going to do with it, and he made a joke about eating it (don't ask) and then promptly changed the subject. Hmmm. That's an interesting reaction......to my admittedly semi-nosey question. So a couple days later, when the topic of the Uncle Sam check came up again, I got the same answer.

Is anyone else thinking what I'm thinking? No? Just me? Ok. Moving on.

Btw, he and I celebrated our 10 month anniversary by.....(drumroll please)...eating leftovers and passing out on the couch in front of the tv. What an exciting couple, no?

Oh! Some more exciting news: I have a Little Sister (as in Big Brothers Big Sisters). We haven't met yet, because I'm trying to schedule our meeting, but my schedule is not cooperating. Argh. So I'm playing phone tag with the Big Brothers Big Sisters rep, who is playing phone tag with the girl's mother. It's crazy. But the mom wants to get the ball rolling ASAP, so we may meet up as soon as this weekend!!!! Yay! So exciting.

Tomorrow is the 4th. I will be working. Shocker! I'll be at Dildo's all day. But it won't be an entirely suck day: they are feeding us lunch (hot dogs and burgers), which is nice. It would be nicer to get time and a half, but whatever. (New employees don't get time and a half on holidays, which is probably why they have me working all day long.)

After I get off work, I am going to see a semi-pro baseball game downtown, where I will eat more hot dogs (seriously, I'm in a phase) and actually --*gasp*-- hang out with some friends! I seriously only see MJ twice a month now, and it's killing me. Text messages and emails only go so far. Most of what she knows about my day-to-day life now is via this blog. That is sad.

Oh! If you are wondering about Miss MJ, since her blog is now defunct, here's a quickie update:

She sorta dated this guy who works for her company, but lives in Florida. He was in town for a couple of months, and was rather smothering, then he was a bad kisser, then became a good kisser. I'm hoping to get more details soon. Also, she is now in a co-ed soccer league, and their first game is tonight.

And I have dubbed myself Unofficial Team Mom, because A) I don't have shit else to do. LOL and B) any excuse to bake something is awesome for me. So I managed to squeeze out enough time to bake some cupcakes this morning, and after I get off work here in a few minutes, I'm going to take them to MJ and her teammates.

Then she and I are going to have some much needed girl time. Until I have to go to bed so I can get up early for work. *sigh*

One more month. Then I have a life again.

I'm a Survivor

I was hoping to have a bunch of awkward and hilarious anecdotes to share with you about the trip up to The Czarina's. But nothing really happened! Everything went really smoothly. CN likes Mom, Mom likes CN. The end.

CN really enjoyed teaming up with The Czarina to tease me, which caused me to exclaim more than once, "Hey! Whose side are you on, anyway?!" to him. They thought this was hilarious.

I have to say, I think Czarina was on her best behavior. Not once did any of our baggage-laden, touchy-subject issues come up in conversation. She didn't even speak a word about my obvious weight gain!!! And it definitely helped that she had a party to host, because it really wasn't in her schedule to sit down for a heart-to-heart with him, asking about his intentions. She was much MUCH too distracted. WHEW.

Her distraction was so great, in fact, that not even 30 minutes after lecturing Smurf about her abysmal teenage driving skills, she was pulled over by a policeman for running a stop sign. Whoops. To make it even worse, Mom was so oblivious to his flashing lights that she just proceeded to park her car and get out to go do her business as if nothing were wrong. CN and I, who had already parked in our car and were waiting for her nearby, saw her get out of her car and so we began yelling, "What are you doing??!! He's going to pull a gun on you!!!" and then we busted out laughing when we saw her realize what was going on. Then we called Smurf to tell her that Mom just got pulled over for blowing a stop sign. And that she could have been shot for getting out of her vehicle. The Czarina will never live this down.

CN was a paragon of perfection, if I do say so myself. Fat Dog was not around to help Mom with the party, because he was in his best friend's wedding and therefore, out of town. Fungus arrived with a painful back injury, so he was also unable to help out with party preparations. So CN stepped up to the plate and moved furniture, set up tables and carried lots of things around for my mother. I was very proud, and The Czarina was very grateful. He earned lots of points.

Aside from one guest showing up FIVE HOURS EARLY to the party, despite the invitations CLEARLY stating the party started at 6pm*, everything went really well, party-wise. There was plenty of leftover food and alcohol. I got to see many friends of the family. CN made a wonderful impression on everyone, but at the same time, he said he never felt pressured or overwhelmed the entire time he was at The Czarina's. In fact, he said he had a great time and thought everyone was wonderful. I wish I could say the same thing -- not once, but TWICE during the party someone whispered very loudly to me, "So, do you think he's the one???" when CN was barely out of earshot. This made me want to whisper loudly back, "I don't know! Maybe you should ask him, since he's standing right behind you!!"

Argh. I should have spent more time avoiding the loud whisperers, rather than just trying to stay away from my mother.

* This is pretty typical behavior for this guest. Last year, he refused to drive to the party himself, and my poor brother was stuck driving him on the 3 hour trip to my mother's house. Keep in mind that this particular guest is a sweaty, creepy old man who is very nosy, particular and irritating. And he wears shorts with black knee socks, a source of much amusement for the under-40 crowd at the party.

Wish Us Luck

Tomorrow morning, CN and I leave for Virginia to go visit The Czarina. And my little sister Smurf. And my younger brother Fungus. And a ton of other people. The only person he won't get to meet is Fat Dog, because he will be out of town, a groomsman in a good friend's wedding this weekend. Which is unfortunate, since Fat Dog is really fun and easy to be around.

We will be up in my hometown for four days. This Saturday is the annual BBQ held in honor of my dad's birthday. The Czarina has hosted it every year at her house since he passed away 3 years ago.

We have a big buffet of BBQ pork and all the fixin's. We have fireworks. There's lots of drinking and story telling. It's such a mix of people, too -- not just my immediate family, but all of our family friends...and everyone brings their kids.....and dogs......so I would say that the age range here is anything from 80-something down to newborn. But heavy on the 60+ crowd, all of whom are very conservative, highly educated, staunch Republicans. (I swear, most of them are fun after their 3rd scotch.)

I really look forward to this annual event. Good food, family, good friends, a nice summer evening in the country under the stars...what's not to love? Sounds like a great time, right?

Unfortunately, since I am someone my boyfriend describes as "always excited about something", I think I went a little overboard this time. When I invited him to go with me a few months back, our conversation went something like this:

VB: Ok, guess what!

CN: What.

VB: Every year! at the end of June! my mom throws a huge party! and everyone comes over! and eats BBQ! and drinks all day! and then we watch fireworks.

CN: Oh yeah?

VB: [growing excited] Yeah! And I thought it would be fun if you came with me this year! It's a huge party and it's so much fun! Everyone will be SO excited to meet you! [eyebrows raised expectantly] So....you wanna go?

CN: Sure, babe. How many people are we talking about?

VB: [slightly confused as to why that question is important] Oh, like a hundred or so. [switching back to the high-pitched excited voice] Anyway, my mom will be SO excited to meet you! And so will Smurf...and my brothers....hey! You wanna shoot guns with my brothers while we're up there? They love to do target practice! And you can meet Howard, and the P family and my mom's cousin, and...

CN: [I'm not sure, but I bet this was the point where his eyes started to glaze over.]

VB: [undaunted, I am now on to all the activities we can do on our long weekend in my hometown]...and I can show you where I went to elementary school! and we can visit the college where my dad used to teach! and I can show you this supercool store downtown! OH! and we can drive out to the old house where I grew up! It is so cool. It was built in 1840 and--

CN: [Stopping the verbal excitement gushing from my big mouth] Hey, hey, hey. Wait. Um, ok. That sounds cool. We can do that. It's just that based on what you've told me about your mom...

VB: Yeah, yeah. I know. My mom is Queen of Loaded Questions. I am a little worried she will chew you up and spit you out. Ugh, she can be so judgemental. And close-minded. And snooty. Sometimes. Hopefully, she won't be like that with you. She will love you. Maybe I can just answer her questions for you....

CN: That won't be necessary.

VB: OH! I have a great idea! Here's the thing. She will be running around like a chicken with her head cut off, because of the party. So she probably won't even have time to really have a major heart-to-heart with you! She'll probably talk to you for like, 30 minutes, and that will be it! Yay!

CN: Yay...? Ok. [He is laughing at me now]

VB: Oh! You know what would be really good? You should offer to help her get ready for the party. She will LOVE that. And remember, don't put your feet on the furniture, don't sleep in, and don't leave dirty dishes all over the place. Those are her pet peeves. But we can go all over this again in the car on the way up there. OOOH!!! I am so excited to introduce you to everyone!!! There are so many people who will just love to meet you!

CN: [giving a deer in headlights look] *gulp* How many people did you say were coming to this thing?

VB: [again, confused as to the relevancy of this question] Like a hundred. Maybe 75. But at least 50. It lasts all day and all night. Sometimes, people even come over for breakfast the next morning. Don't worry. I'll keep you away from all the people who only talk about politics. And the people who will ask nosy questions about our relationship. I need to remember not to wear any of those shirts that old people mistake for pregnancy clothes. Dear Lord, that's the last thing I need...OH! And before I forget, you will be sharing your room with 3 guys.

CN: [slightly panicky] Share? Three?

VB: Yeah. My mom's house only has three bedrooms. [with sympathy] Oh, I know, sweetie. I know how you can't sleep with strangers in the room, and you can't sleep through snoring. And just so you know, Fungus is kind of a night owl, so he will probably be in and out of the room all night...but you can bring your ear plugs and Tylenol PM, right? You should be fine with that, right?

CN: I hope so. Are you forgetting?

VB: Oh probably. Let me think...what else should I tell you...*thinks about how else to describe our trip to my hometown*

CN: No, I mean you are forgetting things. Like...I don't like parties.

VB: [quietly] Oh. Yeah. Right.

CN: Or lots of attention and fuss all over me.

VB: [even quieter] Oh. Ok.

CN: Or people.

VB: [whispering, at this point] Oh.

*I look at my lap*

*realization sets in*

VB: So, everything I just told you is...bad? And I just freaked you out?

CN: Pretty much.

VB: I'm sorry. Sometimes, I forget that you're not a social butterfly like me, babe. Crap. See, I forget about that stuff, because you always seem to enjoy going to parties with me. You had fun at Mr. Bill's. And at my Lasagna Night.

CN: Yeah, but I know you. And I know Mr. Bill. And your friends. Plus, there's beer. You are the one who gets excited about social interaction. I just get nervous.

VB: [excited expression returning to my face] So.....we should just get a lot of cold beer before showing up at my mom's?

CN: Yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Because right now, I'm really anxious and nervous, based on what you just told me. I will definitely need a beer upon arrival.

VB: Ok, we can do that. And if you need to get away, you can just tell people you have to walk Sammy! Or you have to find me! Or you have to pee! Ok? And I'll bring some Xanax, so let me know if you need one.

CN: Ok. I'll be fine. Just stop making a big deal out of everything.

VB: But babe, that's what I do. Duh.

Because of this conversation, and its subsequent additions (no, I can't help it), I have not brought up the trip home in the last 2 days, as a way to allow CN to relax and decompress before showtime. It's probably too late to convince him to relax, but it's better than nothing.

Meanwhile, my overactive imagination has been scheming up all sorts of horrible scenarios, many of which involve rudeness and screaming, leading to the resumption of my cigarette smoking. Gah. Just thinking about all of this right now makes me want to grab a pack on the way home, just to get warmed up.

The truth is, I have never brought home a boyfriend. Not like this. Not to stay for a weekend. And meet EVERYONE. So I have no idea how this is going to go. I guess if it goes horribly, I will have a good story to tell, right? Ugh.

Pray for me. And wish us luck.

One Day at a Time

Today is my ten year anniversary. For the last decade, I have maintained my sobriety 100%. My life has remained totally alcohol-free since the late 90s.

If you are doing the math, you are realizing that I did not drink on my 21st birthday. And that I quit drinking after my freshman year of college. I will add that I do not even sip champagne at New Year's or drink the wine at church.

A lot of people ask me how on earth I could have been an alcoholic at such a young age. The answer to this is that many alcoholics are born that way. In my family, it seems to be genetic: two grandparents, one parent, three siblings and several extended family members have all been afflicted with this disease. At least 2 have died in alcohol-related deaths. So whether I began drinking at age 16 or age 43, the results would have been the same: I have and will always have a problem controlling my drinking.

When I tell people that I really only drank for two years, they are even more confused. How did I realize I had a problem after only 2 years? After all, the majority of college freshmen are binge drinkers, especially on the weekends, and especially at large state universities. But by the time I was about 12, I had seen the effects of alcoholism on my family. Thanks to my mother's lectures and descriptions, I could rattle off the signs of an alcohol problem as easily as my multiplication tables.

By the time I was a senior in high school, alcohol was readily available to me, and like most young people, I was all about experimenting. Gradually, I began to see some bad signs...

Blackouts were my first sign that I may not have a normal and healthy relationship with alcohol. Yes, many novice alcohol drinkers have blackouts. But I was having them about once a month. And it wasn't like certain parts of the evening were hazy. I'm talking about the WHOLE NIGHT. Once, I woke up in my dorm room, dressed in party clothes, with a trashcan next to my bed and a concerned note from my friends. To this day, I do not even remember going out AT ALL. I have no idea what I did or where I was. Think about that. It's kind of scary to be that out of control.

If I wasn't blacking out entirely, I was drunk to the point that I had to be carried out of the party. At every party. Having "just two" didn't compute in my brain. Where's the fun in that? The whole goal of the evening is to reach the if-I-have-one-more-I-will-barf buzz and keep it as long as possible. Duh. But of course, I am an alcoholic, so the stopping point for me was always "just one more and I'll stop." Remember the girl at the frat party who was always found sitting on a step, slurring and crying and asking everyone for a cigarette? The one with barf all over her tank top and mascara smeared all over her face? Who had to be baby-sat by her girlfriends? That was me. Every weekend. And by weekend, I mean Wednesday thru Saturday nights. Alcoholics are always up for a party.

My ability to increase my tolerance for alcohol was frightening. By the end of my first semester in college, I could put down 10-12 beers. They were like soda pop to me. I weighed about 130 pounds. I was drinking this amount of beer in less than 2 hours. I'm no good at math, but it's pretty safe to say that I was far over the legal driving limit. I remember strategizing on Friday and Saturday nights, using complicated formulas to ensure maximum alcohol consumption: "Ok, if I don't eat anything between noon and six, and then eat as many breadsticks as I can an hour and a half before I leave to go out, I should be able to drink 2 extra beers before I barf." -- Who does that??? That is not normal!

It wasn't just the urge to drink as much as I possibly could, as quickly as I could. Just like any other alcoholic, I didn't give a rat's ass what the beverage was, I just wanted as much of it as possible, as quickly as possible. If you are a normal person, and you despise tequila, when you go to a party that serves nothing but tequila, you are probably going to drink water or soda pop all night. Not the alcoholic. They will think, "Crap. I hate tequila. This is going to suck." -- and then they will line up the shots and down ten of them before you can blink an eye! That makes absolutely no sense. It's like someone who hates broccoli eating 2 pounds of it, just because it's there.

One of the worst signs of an alcohol problem is a change in personality. When I was drunk, I became hostile and angry. I tried to pick fist fights with my friends. I literally wanted to punch the snot out of anyone and everyone. If you know me in person, this concept is laughable. I am such a wuss that I won't even do wheelies on a bicycle. I have some friends who have never even seen me lose my temper. But when I drank, I turned into a psychotic bitch with the shortest fuse you've ever seen. It would take nothing to set me off.

As you can probably guess, denial plays a huge role in an alcoholic's life. Example thoughts:
"I am totally ok to drive." (Um, no, you're not!)
"That guy is HOT." (Riiiight)
"She's not that pissed at me. (Um, you just made out with her boyfriend.)
I look smokin' hot right now. "(Is that why your hair is plastered to your skull and you can't walk?)
"My skirt is totally covering my butt." (You just flashed an entire room of total strangers.)
"This party is awesome!" (...if by "awesome" you mean that you are the only person on the dance floor because it's 4am and the party is over.)
"I don't know. I guess someone stole my keys." (Actually, drunk ass, you dropped them somewhere.)

I did something else that my just seem like strange behavior, unless you too are someone familiar with alcoholism: I became extremely possessive with my alcohol. If I brought my own alcohol to a party, I would label it with my name, patrol the fridge to make sure no one stole it, and refuse to share so much as a sip with anyone. You see, I have the brain of an alcoholic, and the thought of running out of alcohol was terrifying to me, especially when I was under 21. This is why you hear of alcoholics hiding bottles everywhere. It's because they don't ever want to run out. Of course, I knew that hiding alcohol was a sign of alcoholism, so I fought the urge to do this. If I didn't hide it, I must not be an alcoholic, right?

I used to (and strangely enough, still do) pressure my friends to drink as much as I did. To an alcoholic's brain, as long as everyone else is drinking like you do, that means your relationship with alcohol is normal. If everyone's jumping off a bridge, then it must be an OK thing to do. This is why it's common to see an alcoholic hang out with other alcoholics. Now that I am sober, I have watched other alcoholics grow visibly uncomfortable around me, especially when I tell them that I am sober because of my alcoholic tendencies. Other alcoholics will often stop talking to me or pressure me to drink, even when I have said, "No, thank you" several times.

And I can spot an alcoholic ten miles away. Some people have gay-dar, I have alcoholic-dar. Now, I'm not as adamant about it as my mother, who honestly believes every third person on the planet is a raging alcoholic, but there are a lot of them out there. Some are like me, and become alcoholics from day one. Others cultivate their addiction over a period of decades. A few, like my grandmother, wait until a life-changing event (in her case, the death of her husband) happens. They turn to the bottle to soothe themselves. But I can always spot them, sometimes within minutes. Their actions are so familiar to me, it's like looking in a mirror.

Ten years ago today, my family came home from vacation to find me blitzed out of my mind. I had remained at home, claiming I had to work at my waitressing job, when really what I wanted to do was throw a huge keg party and spend the majority of the week finding my next drink. (Lying to loved ones takes a back seat to booze when you're an alcoholic.) After the parties were over, I had to clean up the house before they got home. Part of this cleaning involved disposing of the leftover alcohol. So I decided to have "just one" margarita while I cleaned up the house. It would be such a shame to pour the tequila down the drain. By the time my family got home, I was slurring my speech as I mopped the kitchen floor. My mother, a recovering alcoholic herself, knew instantly what was going on. To this day, the look on her face -- a mix of fear, anger and guilt -- haunts me. At that moment, I knew that I could not keep drinking and have a good relationship with my mother. I could not bear the thought of making her feel that way ever again.

That was the last time I ever drank. I quit in a very unusual way -- cold turkey, and without the assistance of Alcoholics Anonymous. This is VERY unusual, actually. I have never even been to an AA meeting, although I'm not saying I will never go to one. There is no cure for this disease.

I would be lying if I said that I never want to drink alcohol. I never tried gin or Midori before I quit, and I think melontinis and gin & tonics smell wonderful. I know I would have loved them. And yes, there are certain times when I miss the stress-relieving and social lubrication benefits of a drink. Luckily, I have found that Xanax and cigarettes are excellent substitutes. And (non-alcoholic) beer is now what I crave when I've had a long day. I guess you can take the alcohol out of the alcoholic, but not the alcoholic out of the alcohol aisle. The worst times are when I'm out with my girlfriends, because I do miss getting a little buzzy (ok, a LOT buzzy) with my girlfriends. I never did like looking sloppy drunk around guys. Not that it ever stopped me, back then. And I still fight the urge to escape reality, boredom and difficult emotions with substances. (Hello, Vicodin!)

But somehow, I have managed to say "No, thank you" to alcohol for the last ten years.

Go me.

If you recognize yourself or a loved one in any of my descriptions above, you might want to look at this quiz. A score of 8 or more indicates a possible problem with alcohol. My score was 19.