Prescription

Being laid up with a gimp leg doesn't give one much exposure to the outside world.  Since we have been back from our trip, I have left the house exactly once - to see my therapist.  Isn't that kind of creepy?

"My name is Rebecca and I have only left my filthy little hole once in the last five days, and even that was just to see the crazy doctor."

She advised me to try and get out more.  Thanks, Doc.

Seesaws suck

Dieting sucks. It sucks the big one. I don't give a rats ass how good thin feels, wine and chocolate feel much much better.

I did the South Beach diet phase 1 induction into hell, and miraculously lost 10 pounds in two weeks. Of course, we all know that that was just a fake out. Five of those pounds gleefully returned within days and I spent the next three weeks losing them again. The real way. The painful way. The lots of exercising, portion contolling, and booze minimizing way. Lame.

But all in all, 10 pounds lost in 5 weeks is a great thing. Too bad that is not even a chink in this chunky armor, but I will take it. Gladly.

Then I went on my trip. I knew dieting was not really an option on the trip. I live to live. I mean, I was not going to go to France and England and not inhale cheese, swim in wine, munch on crisps, and douse myself in Stellas. It was just not an option. I figured I would just try to walk a lot. Delusional much?

When I got back, chocolate crumbs still smeared down the front of my shirt, my Wii Fit delightfully informed me that I had gained 4 pounds. Goddamnit.

It's alright though. Back on the wagon I go. Except....well shit, I can't exactly get back on the wagon because I sprained my mother fucking ankle! Oh well, more Stellas for me then.

Bleary Eyes

Too much Stella, too much pinot, and too many time zones makes this chica bleary eyed. Oh, but it is good to be home. Even if it is a shit hole with mice, no laundry, and a monthly rent that is enough to make even the meanest bitch cry.

There is nothing like going away to make you appreciate your own shit hole. But there is also nothing like going away to make you realize that you live in a fucking rat's nest. Don't get me wrong, I love my over priced 600 square feet of Brooklyn that I get to call home, but at the same time...this is ridiculous. I get that many people move here for the tolerance or the opportunities or some random dream from teenage hood in Ohio - but I am not one of them. I can work from anywhere. I never wanted to live here in the first place. I am from the most fucking tolerant place in the world to begin with. So, what keeps me here? Damnit, I am a mother fucking cliche. I am here for love. I don't need the things that NYC offers, but that damn (lovely) husband does.

Notes and lessons learned

Note to self: One should always be on the look out for curbs when one is walking. Especially when dark and one has enjoyed a few too many glasses of cheap white wine.  

Another note to self: Once one has fallen on one's ass do not proceed to "walk it off" and continue out for another drink.

Another note to self: When one finally does decide to return home, it is probably best to wake up one's family for assistance rather than crawling on one's hands and knees through the front door and up the stairs to bed.

Lessons learned:

1. While some grandparents do not have ice in the house, they are likely to have frozen vegetables, and broccoli florets work well in a pinch.
2. If one does decide to massively sprain an ankle while on holiday, doing it at one's elderly grandparent's home is quite beneficial.  Chances are one of them has an extra cane.
3. Injuries that preclude one from walking do get one out of going to church.
4. If one gets injured but then proceeds to go out and party anyway, do not be surprised if one's husband has very little sympathy for said injury upon one's return.
5. Getting wheel chair service at the airport is surprisingly not fun and does not get one better treatment on the flight.
6. Getting wheel chair service at the airport does however mean that one can be sure to get one's ass cheeks and geesh felt up by a stranger.

If it aint broke, don't fix it

Last night I had my first Budvar beer. For those not in the know, Budvar is the original Budweiser. And unlike the fizzy piss that Budweiser is in the States, it is lovely. It is a delicious pilsner brewed in the Czech Republic. It's got a mild hoppy taste to it and a nice, almost bitter finish. Good stuff.

But it is hard for any beer to not taste good when being poured down my gullet in the Lake District in England. We are on day 9 of our trip and we made it to the Lakes yesterday afternoon. The Lakes are are a very special place - you all must come here at least once in your life - but this place means even more to us because we came here on our honeymoon four years ago.


This time around, we are not only reprising our visit with my favorite aunt (the typical cool and hip "wish you were my older sister" type), but we are here with my mom! After our trip to the Loire Valley last week, we met up with my mom at my grandparents house in Chester (which is about 30 minutes from Manchester). After a couple days of memory making with the best grandparents in the world, we headed out for the great mother-daughter-husband road trip of 2008!

We rented a little car and hit the road for Wales. After visiting Beaumaris Castle, we headed for the coast and drank some pints in a little pub by the road. We then descended on my aunt who lives on Anglesey (an island off of Wales) for an evening of food and wine and family gossip.

The next day (yesterday) we headed for the Lakes. We tried to get my mom to play two truths and a lie with us, but she was absolutely terrible. Here was her first go, see if you can spot the lie:

"Ok, let's see. In my life time I have smoked a cigarette, umm....smoked tobacco out of a pipe, and ummm...ummm...hmmmm...ummm....and smoked crack cocaine."

Good one, Mom.

Last night we hit up not one but two great pubs. No one does a pub like they do in the Lakes. At the first pub, perched high on a hill overlooking the rolling hills crisscrossed by rock walls and dotted by sheep, there was an honest to god Jack Russell Terrier wandering through the rooms greeting guests. My family is a jack russell family, so I was in heaven scratching this little girl's tummy and getting my doggy love quota filled for the day. Two imperial pints later, we stumbled to my (favorite) auntie's house where we promptly headed out to another pub for bad wine and bad food but great conversation. I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it is to be surrounded by my favorite people. I feel so isolated in NYC sometimes and trips like this help ground me in who I am and where I come from.

After dinner, we headed home for Budvar and laptop lessons. We have been teaching my mom how to use her new Mac and she is getting very Skype and iPhoto happy these days. While we were teaching my mom how to use Skype, she gets a call from some strange guy trolling the internet looking for hookups. I had to grab the laptop from her so I could tell this guy off while my mom screamed with laughter. I thought we had to protect our children from creeps on the internet, but apparently we also have to protect our 57 year old mothers!

Much much more later....

9 hours...

...until we leave for the airport and I get wasted and pass out on the flight.  Flying sucks, but flying coach to Europe is even worse.

I was up until 3 am.  I worked for the man until 11 pm.  Then I worked for the woman, as in the bride, until 3 am.  Needless to say, I am bleary bitch with no bra on, a head full of cobwebs, and mouth that feels like sandpaper.  At least the memory book looks good (a scrapbook of photos of the bride and her friends and various memories written up).  I still can't believe I am hosting a party in France, and I don't speak French!  But I know Bridey will appreciate her bachelorette party/bridal shower all rolled into one!

Like Sunday and Monday, I am a woman racing the clock.  I have an old friend from college in town today and she was kind enough to come to Brooklyn so we could squeeze a lunch in around my hectic schedule.  What did I just do?   I canceled.  Goddamn, I am loser.  I just can't fit it all in!  I am working today and I still need to pack. Schisse!

Passing Go

I am so far passed go I don't even know where I am heading anymore.  Saturday was a blur consisting of a 5 hour drive up to Boston, 4 hours of bliss and tears as I watched my best friend from graduate school marry his perfect match, and then another 4 hours of driving back to Brooklyn in the dead of the night. Yes, we are nuts.  We just couldn't justify the $200 hotel room though we desperately wanted to stay.  It was one of those amazing weddings where you made new friends, chatted with the old guard smoking cigars out back, laughed at the groom doing the cha cha with his mom, cried as your best friend cried his way through the vows, and reached for your honey's hand over and over because everywhere you looked you were reminded of love and how important and special it is to commit to another person.  It. Was. Amazing.  And I am one who is not all that into what the bride wore, etc.  But holy god stop the presses.  Her dress was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.  It was spectacular.  And she wore the hell out of it.  I am beyond happy for them.

After crashing at 4 am, I dragged my ass out of bed Sunday to...have brunch? Meet friends? See a movie?  Oh, hell no.  I had to fucking work!  There is just something not right about having to work harder, and on the weekends, so you can take a vacation.  It is fucked up.  I think my boss is being incredibly lame.  He essentially asked me to move heaven and earth before I go so we don't get behind on our projects.  It is called a vacation, asshole!  A vacation I planned 8 months ago.  The point is to NOT work.  Not to do all the work for the next couple of weeks in advance of me leaving.  Lame!

And of course on top of all that, I was also trying to get my act together for the upcoming trip.  Confirming flights, checking rental cars, printing directions.  The whole she-bang. Oh, and putting together the various accouterments I need for the bridal luncheon/bachelorette party/bridal shower I am throwing on Friday.  By myself.  In France!!!!

Ok, so I can't really complain.  We are going to France and then to England for two weeks.  We will spend our wedding anniversary drinking fabulous white wines and tasting goat cheese in Sancerre.  Then we head to the central Loire Valley to stay in a...ahem...Chateau, for the wedding of my oldest friend.  From there we fly to England where we meet my mom (coming in from San Francisco) and visit with my grandparents and my ten thousand relatives.    We are even road-tripping to Wales and the Lake District.  I am a spoiled, spoiled bitch.  

One armed typist

I've lost the use of my left arm.  I'm desperately trying to reach all the keyboard keys with one hand.  It is not easy. So, I will keep this short.

I had another night terror last night.  I have written about these before but it is too much effort to link to it at the moment.  I think I lunged out of bed to fight my attacker, but all I know is that I came to, crying in the bed, clutching a seriously injured elbow.  It really fucking hurts!  I think I whacked it on the dresser during the fight.  It is red and there is a little bit of broken skin.  

Man, I have problems.

Now, how on earth do I explain this to my boss?

is there ever a right side of the bed?

Good neighbors are key to happy living in NYC.  No, not key, essential.  We all live on top of each other.  Not a one of us has enough space.  And we can hear way too many details coming from our respective living quarters.

We live in a brownstone building that has been divided up into three apartments.  We are in the middle.  Of course we are.  Besides from my downstairs neighborhood grossly violating the code one day when she dared to pass judgement on my wine consumption, we have it pretty good, all things considered.  

Our upstairs neighbors are an adorable young couple with a baby.  When we first moved in we were actually scared of this superhuman twosome because they were so gorgeous.  Too pretty for us anyway.  They are very nice people though and do their part to stick to the NYC neighbors code.  Except...well...except, we have taken to calling them the "Clompers."

Husband and I pride ourselves on living by the code.  We expect that you will make some noise sometime, but we won't complain and in return when we are laughing like hyenas at bad reality TV after midnight, you are not going to come a'knockin.  That is the deal.

So, I really really really don't want to complain to the supermodels upstairs.   You see, every morning around 7 am (we don't get up until 8:30 am because we are lazy sacks of shit) they start clomping around.  They make far more noise at 7 am than any other time of the day.  Our only guess is that they are getting ready and walking around in hard soled work shoes or something?  I have no idea.  It also sounds like they are constantly dropping things. Over and over and over.  I just don't get it.  Babe and I routinely jolt awake and grope for earplugs.  But, hey.  This is NYC.  I can deal. 

Except now, the noise is getting worse.  This morning I couldn't even sleep with the earplugs in, they were so loud!  My highly educated guess at this point is that they have put there almost 1 year old baby in some kind of device that allows him to roll all over the place.  I thought those things were illegal now or something, but it sounds like there is a 200 pound baby zigging and zagging all over the place up there.  That is, in between dropping balls and doing impromptu tap dances.  

I just don't get it.  

But, will you please shut up!!!!

Wii Fit Awesomeness

We got it!  We totally got it!  We got the Wii Fit this morning!  

I have been wanting this ever since I heard about it last year sometime.  Who knows how cool it will actually turn out to be, but I cannot wait to find out!

When the Wii came out, I was one of those crazies that waited in line the day after Thanksgiving (like a week or so after it came out) at 5 am!  It wasn't for me, but for Mr. Babe's birthday.  I drank tea and huddled in the cold with hundreds of strangers in a line that wrapped all the way down the block and around the corner.  Since it was NYC and we were at Rockefeller Center, it really wasn't so bad.  I met this really cute teenage boy who was there with his mom and sister.  He schooled me on the Wii and coached me on what I needed to buy and what games were cool.  Thank you cool teenage boy!  Even though it was terminally early, it was a lot of fun.  Especially when Nintendo World employees starting counting off the line and I knew for sure I was getting one!  There was so much excitement in the air and I did not care that some may think me dorky - it was awesome!  Plus, it was literally the day of Babe's birthday so I was able to surprise him big time.

Now it is my turn.  I have been jonezing for that Wii Fit.  And of course, they are impossible to get now that they are out.  We called our local stores daily but no luck.  Finally we'd had enough and decided to pull the patented get up at the ass crack of dawn and wait in line at Nintendo World in Manhattan.  Yes, it is freakish, but you can be guaranteed that the Nintendo World has new stock that they give out each morning.  So, last Saturday (Saturday, people!) we woke up at 6:30 am and were on the subway to Manhattan by 7 am.  When we got to the store the line did not look too bad but I was a little nervous.  Who knew how many they had?

After an hour and a half a ripple of anticipation went through the crowd.  The Nintendo people were out and counting off who would get a Wii!  We scrambled off the piss and gum covered New York sidewalk to eagerly wait our turn.  They were coming down the line handing out little blue tickets.  They were getting closer and closer.  Oh my god they are getting to us....Oh my god.  Oh my god!

But then.  A mere TWO FUCKING PEOPLE in front of us, they stopped.

"If you are here for a Wii Fit we are sold out!  I repeat, we are sold out.  If you don't have a blue ticket, please leave and come another time."

What? No.  Say it aint so.  NOOOOOOOOOO.  Two freakin people!  Can you believe it?

We trudged home and promptly slept the day away.  No Wii Fit in hand.

But then!  Today!  Babe had a meeting in the city at 10 am!  Babe owes me!  Babe gets there at 6:45 am and is the 10th person in line.  Babe gets a Wii Fit! YAY!  

Now, he just needs to get his ass home so I can play it!

My friends have become my enemies

Remember when I started the South Beach diet?  Remember how it totally worked but mostly because even the thought of another salad with grilled chicken breast made me want to yarf into my hat?  Well, believe it or not.  I made it.  I made it through the entire 14 days of phase 1 - otherwise known as hell.  And I didn't cheat once!  I am still in shock over this.

I broke my fast Monday night.  It had been planned the entire duration of phase 1.  Remember when I ran into my dad's prepubescent ex-girlfriend?  Well, we made plans for Monday night.  There was no way in hell I was going to have that dinner without my buddy booze by my side, so I made sure to delay it until I was out of phase 1.  I was all set to see her, but then I got in an argument with my boss...and...fuck...shitty fuck fuck...I CRIED!  Could the earth just swallow me up right now?  One of my worst professional moments of all time.  At least we were on the phone and not in person, but still!  It was horrible.  Once we hung up I did the guttural sob thing.  Not because I was still upset but because I was so embarrassed that I cried!  

Anyway, after that I did not feel like going out in the 100 degree weather to booze it up and talk about my Daddy issues with a teenager.   So I cancelled.  I'm seeing her tonight, so don't worry - there will be gossip soon.   Even though I cancelled, I still wanted to reunite with Rebecca's little helper, so at 6:30 I closed the laptop and planted myself in front of my wine collection - conveniently stored in my defunct fireplace.  As I looked through the options, it became obvious that tonight was the night to open the $65 single vineyard Gary Farrell pinot noir that I received as a birthday gift (actually, I got two but that is because I am a spoiled brat!).  

I opened it with Babe.  We got out the good Ridiel glasses.  We smelled.  We swirled. We smelled again.  We sipped.  We savored.  And finally we swallowed.  Awesomeness in my mouth.  Sweet.

We split the bottle but I had more than Babe because he had a gin martini at one point.  This in and of itself was a strange occurrence.  I can't remember the last time I shared a bottle with Babe and then didn't grab a second one!  After some drunken wrestling and some advil for the headache I already head, we climbed into bed and passed out.

OK - what the fuck happened to my tolerance?  I woke up HUNG OVER!  Not fair.  I slept like ass.  I woke up exhausted and feeling like shit.  This is not right. This is just not right!  Wine, why have you turned on me?  I even drank you the way responsible adults are supposed to drink you - with mother fucking dinner!   Dammit, wine.  How could you let this happen?

Shit.  So I spent the day battling a mooshy brain, a dry tongue, and a pounding headache.  Not cool.  Especially because ever since day 6 or so of the diet, I have been pretty high on life.  I am not kidding.  I have felt great!  Like supercalifragilistic great!  If I weren't enjoying how great I was feeling I would be pissed that all those teetotaler, no sugar and flour dirty hippies might actually be on to something.

My best friend, Pinot, has officially turned on me.  I always knew she was a bitch.

But what happened last night was even more shocking.  After a day of NOT eating the hangover foods I was desperately craving, I did something bad.  I wasn't really hungry at dinnertime so I decided to swap my dinner calories for ice cream (I know!).  I ate my ice cream and then headed off to bed.  The plan was to get a good nights sleep so I could get back to being high on life today.  Except, the sleep gods had something else in mind.  Or, maybe I should say my little buddy, chocolate peanut butter ice cream, did.  Basically, I was sick to my stomach but no relief was coming from either end.  I spent all night facing a nausea dragon and woke up this morning to more stomach pains.

Damn you ice cream!

So there you have it.  My two favorite things in the world, wine and ice cream, have turned against me.  

Bastards!

Excessive Heat: Sizzling in NYC

From the national weather service:

"AN EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING IS ISSUED WHEN HIGH HUMIDITIES ARE EXPECTED TO COMBINE WITH HOT TEMPERATURES TO MAKE IT FEEL LIKE IT IS 105 DEGREES OR GREATER. DRINK PLENTY OF FLUIDS...STAY IN AN AIR-CONDITIONED ROOM...STAY OUT OF THE SUN...AND CHECK UP ON RELATIVES AND NEIGHBORS."

Mother of God! Lord help us all!

But seriously, just stay inside! Don't run that errand at lunchtime. Don't visit that friend downtown. Don't keep that appointment. Just say no!

Offline and offroad

I did it.  I went offline.  I actually met someone - in person! - who I met through this blog.  I have to admit, I was damn nervous.  I didn't think she would kill me or anything, but shit.  Making friends as adults is hard!  And this was like a blind date but worse.  I don't let my friends and family read this blog so I can have complete freedom to blab and whine about whatever I went, yet I was willing to come face to face with someone who reads about my drunken escapades at airports and dreams of being a sex blogger?

Thankfully, Miss Adventurous just laughed at my nerves and made feel comfortable right away.  We had brunch at this awesome diner in Prospect Heights.  I even stuck to my diet!  Which was really easy because Miss A knew all about it from my blog.  Maybe this blogging buddies thing is the way to go?  I had a great time and I hope we get together again soon.  And I hope she doesn't move to Williamsburg! 

Most Sundays, if I am not working, I get the Sunday blues right around noon and then spend the rest of my Sunday in a wine fog trying to cram as much fun into one afternoon as possible.  This is like chasing the dragon, and we all know it doesn't work.  All it does is ensure I start the week off with a hangover.  

But since I am off the sauce for at least another week - that was not an option.  This Sunday I started getting anxious and ancy even earlier than usual (since I am not boozing and eating healthy I am finding my evenings really boring and I am going to bed early like a memaw and then getting up too early for a weekend).  I decided that I had city fever and needed to break out!  So after convincing Husband that yes we could afford it - think of how much wine I have not drunk this week! - we rented a car and got the hell out of dodge.  We hit up the cloisters in Fort Tryon Park and then headed for the open roads of the Hudson River Valley.  We made it all the way to Bear Mountain State Park were we picnicked by a lake that may or may not have been manmade. 

Oh, and then I got cha cha and had to run to the public restroom in the park and foul that cesspool up even more.  Yummy.

But it was an awesome day.  Even our wrong turn that landed us in suburbia next to a strip mall.

"Wait, what's that?  Is that a Bed Bath and Beyond"

"It is!  Pull over, we are going.  We have a car and we can get stuff!"

You decide

I can't decide whether I am pathetic or chic, but I am going to the Sex and the City movie tonight.

And I can't fucking wait.

I can't believe my husband agreed to go.  I can't believe I got tickets.  Here in NY, they are selling out faster than Gray's Papaya hot dogs after last call.

I can't believe I am this excited about it.

I know why the South Beach Diet works

South Beach Diet, I have you all figured out.  Yes, I do.  You work.  You really work.  Follow phase one to the "T" and you will see results.  I know I have.  I am only on day three and already I have lost five pounds.  Granted, it is almost all water weight I am sure.  But seeing the scale move down is a huge motivator to keep going.  That is your first big secret.  Instant results = less likelihood to quit = more results.  Got it. 

But you have other dirty secrets.  Oh yes you do, South Beach Diet, and I am not going to let you get away with them anymore!

The first two weeks of the South Beach Diet are all about "breaking your addictions to carbs and sugars."  I put that in quotes because I always hear a booming voice in my head saying that to me.  Anyway, that means that the dieter spends two hellish weeks eating no bread, pasta, cereal, rice, fruit, sugar, etc.  Fruit! Oh, but don't worry the diet promises, you can eat all you want of yummy healthy lean proteins like chicken, fish, and egss and consume as much veggie material as you can stuff into your mouth.  You can even have olive oil!  Aren't we a nice diet?

Ok, here is the big secret.  You aren't just going to lose weight because you are cutting calories and sugar, nope, you are going to lose weight because after one day of all you can eat chicken breast  and salad, the thought of putting one more vegetable or piece of protein into your mouth is going to make you want to hurl.  I am dead serious.  

Rebecca, do you want a bun-less turkey burger?  

No! Gross. 

What about a yummy omelette with feta cheese and spinach  

Nasty!  Get me a puke bowl!  

Really? Okay, how about some almonds then to tide you over?  

What do I look like to you?  A fucking squirrel?

Once the diet has made you sufficiently lose your appetite, the other secret kicks in.  Eating....wait for it...makes you sick!  Half way through my chicken salad or vegetarian chili, the nausea sets in and I can literally not eat anymore.  Not one chickpea, not one kidney bean, and certainly, please god, not another bite of chicken!

The other secret to this evil, evil (but effective) diet.  Is that it is so restrictive in the beginning, that it literally becomes a game.  So many things are off limits that I spend all the time I would be using dreaming about croissants and baguettes trying to figure out how to make another meal out of lettuce, lentils, and lean fucking protein!  It also has the added benefit of tapping into everyone's inner anorexic girl from middle school and bringing her out to play again.  See little anorexic girl, see how good it feels to manicly obsess over every morsel you put in your mouth?  Don't you feel so in control?  Doesn't this compensate for all the other parts of your life that are spinning out of control?

So, there you have it.  The South Beach Diet works.  But it is evil.  It makes you lose your appetite, makes you want to barf when you do eat, and encourages all your slumbering eating disorders to come and join the party.  Good stuff.

Poopy pants has left the building

Alright.  I will stop.  I am sick of all my therapy, life crisis posts too.

In body loathing news:  I decided to start the South Beach Diet today.  I have never been a fan of fad diets.  The only times I have lost weight are from the tried and true exercise more and eat less.  Oh, and when you eat, eat lean proteins, whole grains, fruits, veggies, etc.  Blah blah.  Boring.  Anyway, I have not been able to get my groove on in the last year or so though.  And since I've never used a fad diet, I figured what the hell.  Since eating healthy and working out is not working I may as well try this.  Okay that is lie, I know I am not working out enough and I know I am eating too much.  But, I figured having a strict plan might help. Plus, I need to dry out (when do I not?) and this might help me not get wasted all the time.  In other words, I will be no fun for the next two weeks.  Sorry.

What else?  Oh yeah, I picked two huge fights with my husband this weekend.  Isn't he a lucky guy?  Sorry, babe.

Oops.  I think this is turning into a therapy, life crisis post again.

Does anyone know any good sexy times blog?  I need to find something to fill the void left in my life now that Val from Life of a Valley Girl is no longer blogging.  That seriously sucks.

I had another celebrity siting last week.  I had a business meeting in the W Hotel in Union Square.  During the entire duration of my meeting in the lobby, Ann Curry was sitting directly across from me.  She is skkkkkiiiiinnnnyyyyy!  She seemed friendly though.  She was discussing photography with some dude.

Riveting.  I know.

trouble

I'm in it.  Big time.

It is only 11:30 on Monday morning and already I want to cut my fingers off and plug my ears with them so I don't have to work anymore.  This is not good.  Just reading e-mails from my boss makes me freak out.  Talking to him makes me want to kill myself.  This is so not good.

I just need to make it to January.   7 more months.  I've got a plan.  But in the meantime, what do I do to remain sane?

Family therapy

I finally called everyone back just now.  I have been dodging the calls for some time.  

Family, I love you, but leave me the fuck alone.

I don't have one of those families that calls you all the time to find out how you are doing or hear about your latest news.  I have one of those families that calls me to talk about themselves, to ask me for advice, and to get sympathy from me.

For years, I have been all too happy to give it.  

That role feels good to me.  It is safe.  It deflects away from me.  It also makes me feel powerful and smart.  They are all coming to me...so, I must have it together, right?

Wrong.

Therapy sucks because once you are done crying about what happened to you as a child, you have to start taking responsibility for now...and making changes.  For me, that means changing how available I am to my family...in every sense of the word.

I've also been depressed lately (what else is new, I know) - which just makes it worse.  I don't want to talk to them.  I don't really want to talk to anyone.  I hate feeling like no one understands me or what is going on in my life.  I know I have to ask for what I need and be willing to share....but...that sucks!  And it's hard.  I want them to seek me out.  Draw out my feelings and offer solace.  I don't want to demand support.  I want them see my pain and help me.  Give me the help that I don't know how to ask for or what it looks like.

If I knew what it looked like, I would ask.  

I'd like to think anyway.

I know I can't expect that of them.  I know I have to make the hard changes.  But. It. Just. Feels. Like. So. Much. Sometimes.

And my Dad's girlfriend is a dumb, psychotic bitch.

That sucks.  

It sucks even more that I stoop to calling her a bitch.

New York is still a very small place

Read part one below or click here.

I knew I wanted to talk to her.  I knew I had to talk to her.  I gulped the last remnants of the dry red wine in my glass and tried to look confidant and nonchalant as I walked over to her table.

"Oh my god."  

She jumped up from her table to hug me.  I was just glad she recognized me so I didn't have to do the whole "remember me" bit.  

She was exactly the same.  

I don't know what I expected, but seeing her earnest ways, her precocious mannerisms, and her much older dinner companions, just brought me right back to our dinners of 2003 and 2004.  

Introductions were made.  Shock was bouncing off the leather banquettes.

"This is Henry's daughter!?"

Holy shit - her dinner companions knew who I was.  They knew who my Dad was.  So so weird.

My hands were literally shaking as I tried to punch her number into my cell phone.  I kept pressing the wrong buttons and having to start over.  

I still don't know why I was so nervous.  After all, I know I make her nervous.  And I could tell when I saw her too.  I am two years older than her and believe me, I did not make it easy on her when she was dating my Dad.  I spent far too much energy on my wedding day making sure she was not in any pictures and my favorite thing to do was win verbal wars with her over expensive bottles of wine.

But still, she had loved my Dad.  He loved her too.  For a time anyway.  Of all the women he has been with, she is the most like me.  And towards the end of their relationship, the last time I saw her, she opened up to me about him...and what can I say, I learned a lot.  

I spend most of my therapy hours dissecting my father and most of my other hours trying to get over not feeling loved and supported by him.  Our relationship is painful for me and I have spent way too much time trying to figure out why he is the way he is.  I know that I cannot change him, but it is really hard to let go of all my girlhood wants.  I am working on it, but it is fucking hard.

I think that is why I wanted to talk to her.  Why I meant it when I said, "I would love to get together and catch up properly."  She seemed eager to talk with me too.  

It is probably ridiculous unhealthy of us, but I think we are both looking for a little clarity when it comes to my Dad.  And we are both thinking that the other might hold information that can help us.

Besides, she really is a cool chick and I could definitely stand to make some new friends.  AND she lives in Brooklyn.

She texted me yesterday.

I e-mailed her this morning.

We'll see.

New York is a very small place

There is this crazy phenomenon in New York.  Despite being filled with millions upon millions of strangers, you will inevitably run into people you know.  It is the strangest thing. 

I was out to dinner last night with the boss man and a co-worker.  Thank god we were "celebrating" because I don't think I could have handled this encounter stone cold sober.

I'm just finishing up my veal ricotta meatballs (and yes, they were amazing) when I spy this woman across the restaurant.  She looks really really familiar.  Too familiar.  Could it be?  No.  Wait.  Could it?  Is it?  Oh my god.  It is! It is! It is my dad's ex-girlfriend!

And not just any ex-girlfriend.  The ex-girlfriend my father started dating when he was 51 and she was 21!!!!!!!!!  Twenty fucking one!  And they were serious!  He even brought her to my wedding!  At least she was 22 or 23 by that point.  But, holy shit!

I was so nervous I didn't know what to do.  I hadn't seen her in almost 4 years.  She was all grown up now (smirk smirk).

The weird part is that I knew I had to go talk to her.  In a way I had missed this crazy tween girlfriend by Dad had for two years.  My Dad likes the younger ladies, and she was definitely the youngest, but after her, he started dating "older" women.  Meaning they were were around 40 now.  

Here's the issue though.  When he dated women in their twenties - women my age! - they tended to be really smart, ambitious, cool women.  I of course had to loathe and ridicule them on principle, but in my private moments, I would sometimes concede that if they were not dating my father, I might be friends with them.  

After this last tater tot girlfriend, his taste in women seemed to shift.  He started dating washed up models and actresses.  Sure they were older...but they were dumb!  Very dumb.  And often times, mean.  Dumb pretty girls who get to the age where life has knocked them around a few times can be pretty fucked in the head and the heart.  Mean, dumb bitches.  Great.  Just what I need.  After dating a few of these, he picked one and has been fairly settled with her for the last three years.  In those last three years, I have often thought about this last child bride and wanted her back.  She was at least smart!  She was at least feisty!  She didn't have a black heart yet!  Sure, I had my issues with her - but she was also fun to banter with across the dinner table.

And then last night, there she was.

to be continued....

Drunk at the airport

Oh this is not good.

Since I am deathly afraid of flying but required to do so (frequently!) for my job, I have developed my own process for getting on the plane.

1. Get to the airport extremely early to mitigate airport stresses like traffic, long security lines, etc.
   
2. Wait inline for counter service and plead my case for a bulkhead seat.  If there are not people with more severe debilitations or issues than mine (e.g. old people in wheel chairs or little babies) I can often beg my way into a bulkhead seat.  I like sitting there because I just stare straight ahead the whole flight and don't have to be freaked out by the visual of all those people crammed into a flying tin can. The worst is watching everyone bounce around during turbulence - it makes me want to barf.
   
3. Once through security, I proceed to drink alcohol.  Two beverages is the ideal amount but this can vary depending on the stress levels that day.  Before the liquid restrictions, I used to bring my own.  I preferred  vodka with whatever juice we had lying around the house.  After the liquid bans, I started getting to the airport even earlier so I could park myself at the airport bar (yes, i am one of those people) and down two beers or preferably wine, but usually the airport wine is so vile I can't drink it.  This strategy has its risks though, as as airport bars are not always open at 6 am or 11 pm.   These days, I have a new strategy.  I bring little vodka miniatures in my quart size plastic bag of liquid carry-ons and then spike snapple or whatever else I can get my hands on once I'm through security.  Switching to powder based rather than liquid make-up has helped this strategy a lot.  Otherwise I don't think I could fit it all in that tiny bag.  (As  a frequent traveler, I never check luggage).
4. At one hour before flight time - and hopefully one drink in by now - I pop a Xanax.  Sometime 1.5.  Again, depending on the stress level.  Now there is 30 minutes before boarding.  If all goes well, I finish up my drink and eat a little something. 
5. Get on the plane.  At this point I am feeling pretty damn good.  I may be a bit loquacious at this point too.  Don't worry if you are ever seated next to me though.  I am generally charming and in about 5...4...3...2...1...
6. I pass out
7. Wake up thirsty as all hell.  Get some water.  Maybe do a little work.  And start preparing to be normal Rebecca again.

That is my strategy.  It works for me.  I am not saying anyway else you should do this as we all know mixing booze and xanax is bad.  But this is what I do.

Unless I get thwarted.  

Like I am right now.  

The worst wrench you can throw into my strategy is the flight being delayed.  If you travel a lot, you too will know that they don't delay the flight an hour or two hours before.  Oh no, they delay it about 10 minutes after you were supposed to board.  Or in Rebecca words, about 20 minutes before I am supposed to be passing out!  

So, I am sitting in JFK.  Delayed.  Fuck me.

There is nothing wrong (really) with being a little tipsy at 1: 30 on a Monday.  The problem is that I need to stay awake, and in my walking xanax coma, until we depart AND I need to be ready for a working dinner tonight and a couple hours of practicing my talk for the morning.  LAME.  

All that aside, it is kind of fun being a drunk chick at JFK...typing away. 

What are you guys doing right now?

Cha-cha-cha

Another week.  Another trip.  Another meeting.

Now, if I just didn't have diarrhea.

TMI?  Sorry, but that is what is going on in this household right now.  We've both got it bad.  We are trying to figure out what gave it to us...but there are a lot of candidates right now.

I had a *hard* weekend as I continued to battle my angsts.  The upside?  I saw Eliot Spitzer going for a run on Saturday.  Shit, my life isn't that screwed up compared to that mess of a man.

I also tried out some new behaviors when little sis got to me yesterday.  Therapist would be proud.  So, I guess that despite the emotional upheaval, I am not just throwing in the towel.  That's good because I only have one left (the rest are at the laundry place).

Do you have any idea how much I hate not having a washer and dryer?  Why is it that practically every rental in this fucking city doesn't have laundry.

Anyway.  If you can spare a good thought or two - send them my way as I am drugging myself and flying to Texas today.  I will be there a scant 16 hours total and then I will be back on the winged machine heading home again.  Wish me luck with the flying and with dealing with this weird co-worker and with my final client presentation tomorrow!

Depleted

I had a complete and total breakdown yesterday.  

It started when I woke up severely hungover, and just progressed from there.  The anxiety and depression just totaled me.

I cried while walking through Prospect Park.  

I cried on my way to therapy.  That was a first.  

If anyone say a dark haired woman crying somewhere in Brooklyn yesterday.  It was probably me.

I want to write more about this, but I am nauseous as all hell right now and trying to put together a client presentation for a big meeting on Tuesday.  Gross.

I really hate my job.  I am not afraid to make changes.  I jumped ship from my fancy post grad school job 8 months in.  But the problem is that I hate all jobs.  There isn't a job I want.  Unless someone is hiring a celebrity gossip blog reader or a reality TV watcher.  I'm good at those things.

My therapist tried to talk to me about the job thing.  All her advice just seemed so stale and trite.  Talk to a head hunter?  I don't think so.  Hire a career counselor?  Doubtful.  I don't want anything  I am qualified to do.  And I don't want to start over or take a pay cut.  So....  ???  

I have worked in the private sector, the federal government, local government, non-profits, and universities.  I have worked in finance, strategy and operations consulting, health care, public policy, and research.  I write articles and research papers, I develop quantitative models, design data collections instruments, interview folks, analyze, read, create presentations, advise clients.  

I don't want to do any of that.  I don't want to do anything I have done in the past or am scheduled to do now.

When we were in Mexico, Husband asked what was up next for me in terms of a career move or goals.  All I had for him were hot, salty tears.  This is the first time in my life I am not working towards anything.  Standing still and living in the moment is fine, but that is not what I am doing.  I am giving up.

The best maybe's in the world

I just got off video chat with my sister.  I couldn't wait to tell her all the dish from my trip to mother fucking Cabo San Lucas.  And what did I have to say?  A whole lot of nothing.

Don't you hate that?  You are just dying to fill in your best buddy or little sis and then, right when you have your glass of wine full and the computer cam set up at a flattering angle, nothing.  

Maybe the sun cooked my brain.

Maybe it was the cerveza with lime.

Maybe it was the Mexican pastries I ate for breakfast every morning.

Maybe it was the OCEAN VIEW from my FREE mother fucking SUITE!

Maybe it was the two for one happy hour at the pool.

Maybe it was the sex.  The DAYTIME sex.

Maybe it was the tequila....or the rum...or the vodka.

Maybe it was my favorite goddamn pinot noir that I found at the City Club (which is like a Costco) there.

Maybe it was how sexy my tits looked in the halter swimsuit (focus on the things you like about your body, Rebecca).

Maybe it was because, despite flying coach (like normal), I had bulkhead window the entire way there and back.

Maybe it was drinking my own beer, out of my own purse, in the security line at the airport.  And waving at the security guards as I chugged it.

Maybe it was because I walked to dinner along the beach, ate dinner with my toes in the sand, and then made out with my husband in the surf on the walk home.

Maybe it was because we did that twice.

Maybe it was because everyone called me Senorita when I am undoubtedly a Senora.

Maybe it was because I did not use a computer or a phone (except to call room service) in 7 days.

Maybe it was because I saw old drunk ladies flashing tits to friend's husbands.

Maybe it was because I smoked a cuban cigar (okay fine, a quarter of one) at sunset from my private deck looking out over the ocean.

Did I mention my FREE OCEAN VIEW SUITE.

Maybe it is because I am a damn lucky woman.

See you later, suckers!