Vicarious Rising

Expectorating My Heart

My younger sister is getting married in a little more than a month. This will be her second marriage. The first one ended badly, with her ex cheating on her with another woman. The divorce and ensuing child custody battle have been ugly and striking a toll on my young nieces, both under 10 years old. While I naturally side with my sister, she has not been 100 percent correct in the fight. There have been many times when I wanted to step in and wring her neck, tell my parents off and generally storm in like a saving goddess and make everything right.

But I have held my tongue. I don't know that it is for the best. But it has kept me the sanest I've been in a very long time. However, my heart breaks for my nieces, regardless of how helpless I am to come to their rescue. The good news is that by not being outspoken on my views of how poorly I think everyone is handling the situation, I still have access to the girls. If I so much as hinted disapproval about how my parents or sister were doing things, even something as small as saying one positive thing about their father, and I get put on the shit list and it's "bye bye Auntie Judith."

I've made a lot of peace with the status of my place in the family. I'm still a bit of a black sheep, but my wool has faded in their eyes. I've opted out of friction. In many ways, it appears I have given up, but the reality is that I have put myself at a safe distance from the fracas. I don't allow myself to get pulled into the dramas they are so in love with. I finally realized they were not searching for solutions but rather vindication for their bizarro righteous anger that was whipped up out of fear. I wanted peace and common ground. They wanted to be right. Why it took me so long to get this makes me cringe. Sometimes I think my need to be loved by them so overshadowed my good sense that I was numb to the punching bag I'd become. I stopped noticing that they didn't see or hear me at all as a person, but rather took the blows as a sign I still existed to them in some way.

I am not feeling the least bit maudlin as I write this, but I did feel like I needed to write a bit of background before talking more about my sister's upcoming "nuptials." (I put this in quotes because this is how my mother refers to it and for some reason it makes my eyes roll in my head with distaste). As you might guess, I have not spent a great deal of time with my family in the past 15 years or so. Since getting sober, I have been working on relationships, but they have been on my own tentative terms. Which have also typically been for brief punches of time. My sister's wedding will make things, well, a bit more complicated.

I like to try to find the positives in every situation, so I will examine those first. One is that this is a second wedding and I don't have to do the bridesmaid thing. In fact, I have been blissfully unaware of much of anything to do with the wedding other than being informed of the where and when. It is going to be at a nice restaurant and, from what I was told, done not too differently from how my husband and I got married, which was pretty low key. Another positive, my nieces will be there and I get to hug them. My husband will also be with me, and he has no problem with playing the bad guy if things go south and I need to get out of the scene. My mother intensely dislikes my husband to the point of not even acknowledging him in a room (the specific reason for this is unknown to me or anyone else). My dad is kind of weird about my husband. But my grandparents love him. So, we've got whatever going there. My husband's a trooper and he loves me. So, a big positive there, as will be the presence of my son -- always a treat for everyone to see. My kid's on everyone's A-Plus list. I also had the foresight to book a hotel room for us so that if someone feels like they need to be polite and offer their home for us to crash at, we already have plans that are pre-paid (actually, they are not, but most of the time these days they are, so I can fib a little if necessary). Will will not be anyone's awkward house guests. I will have a safe place to escape.

Ok, then the neutrals. I haven't yet met my future brother-in-law. I might be jumping the gun, but my guts tell me the reason for this is that my sister thinks I won't like him. And if I don't like him, he is probably yet another one of her schmucks. The good news is, I guess I don't really care if she hooks up with another schmuck. She is not my responsibility (let me say that again: SHE IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY. SHE IS NOT MY RESPONSIBILITY. SHE IS NOT MY... do I believe it yet? getting there)

The negatives: my whole freaking family will be there. A good chunk of them I like, but I do feel kind of like the prodigal daughter. Eyes will be on rehab-chick (although to tell the truth, I don't know how many people in my family were informed about my fall from grace. I do, however, know I have no intention of not mentioning it if it seems appropriate, so I hope my parents haven't kept people in the dark). I also am aware of this whole false image that is presented to all of the extended family of "aren't we the great-got-it-all-together perfect family"? It makes me a little sick because it is such a lie. And every time I see an uneasy look on  my mother or father's face of "will Judith be good and be quiet?" I will have to try not to be resentful. I don't think I will be resentful. It just will not feel good.

Then there is the fact that I have not seen my younger brother in about 10 years, since he accused me of trying to kill him as a four-year-old. (I was eavesdropping on him and my mother, so this is not a public declaration. If asked direct, he just clams up. My mom and brother have/had this weird conspiracy thing going for a long time. It is/was creepy as all hell. He accused one of my exes of trying to drown him in the swimming pool when the guy dunked my brother while horsing around. To this day, my brother still claims it was an assassination attempt.) He's 30 now. He is an asshole and drama queen and a paranoid fuck. I read recently it is bad for your immune system to force yourself to smile. I wonder what the best way for me to handle the not so little shit is going to be. Trust me when I say I have tried my best to try to work out what the hell is my brother's problem with me, but he refuses to talk to me or even tell anyone else (including his wife) why he has a problem with me. IT'S BECAUSE HE IS MAKING IT UP. Yes, I was a lousy big sister and I picked on him. But if I tried to kill him, he would have at least needed a band-aid. Shit, if he just plain hates my guts, man up and say so. But enough with the "she tried to kill me" crap.

And last, but in no way the least, there will be alcohol at this shindig. I know I will not want any. Good lord, I can't think of anything that would make being there worse for me. However, the lovely people who are my family will be partaking. They don't do overimbibing well. My father forgets where his hands are supposed to be. My brother gets boisterous and says nasty things about my son. These are not friendly happy people on a good day, and then their lips get loose.

Although I can hope my grandmother drinks the sparkling water and declares it bad wine again, like she did at my wedding. My dad realized her mistake and told her, "Sorry, Jesus hasn't stopped by to change the water into wine for you yet." That was classic. Almost as funny as our gay neighbor hitting on my grandfather, asking him when he was going to "get rid of the old bag" (referring to my grandmother)? When our rather tipsy guest left, my grandfather, who I thought would be offended by homosexual interest, crowed: "I still got it!"

Maybe I will have fun. It is possible.

I think I am going to be alright through it all. Mostly, I am not looking forward to it. There's just this sad hole in my chest that I keep thinking has nothing left in it, but seems to have a little substance in it that they manage to drain. Or maybe I gift it to them still. Even now. 

Just 'Cause His Wife Digs "Big Love" Doesn't Make Him Openminded

News just broke about McCain selecting Sarah Palin as his running mate. I take back what I said about being somewhat intrigued about him as a Presidential Candidate despite being a registered Democrat. In my defense, my piqued interest came from reading an interview with McCain in which he talks about the TV shows that his wife likes. Seriously. Maybe I should rethink my intincts for voting strategy. I think I read things the wrong way -- perhaps he has a bigamy fantasy and his wife is oh-so-very-understanding? A woman can be strong in a marriage even when her man is screwing around or has other chicks? Is that the message I should have read into it instead of "wow, older chick watching show about alternative lifestyles?" Damn, I am naive.

Palin seems like an anti-woman woman. A traitorous figurehead. *shiver*

Damn, That Straightjacket Was On Tight

Yesterday I returned from my adventure in DC. It was a spur of the moment thing. My husband had business there and our son was off with grandma for his last week of summer. Monday morning my husband came into the bedroom, flopped down next to me and asked if I would come with him on his trip. The only catch was I had to be ready to board a plane in two hours.

Oh, hell, yes I could.

So, Tuesday while he worked, I wandered the city. One of the things I took time to do was sketch a bit, which is something that is difficult to do when you are with other people who are less enthusiastic about dawdling when eating is not involved. This pic is my rendition of the Jefferson Memorial. It's been a very long time since I have done any sort of artwork, but I thought this came out kind of cute with my Crayola colored pencils.

One place we visited that I'd never been to before was the FDR Memorial. I highly recommend it. It is a sculpture garden that is set up in four "rooms" that represent FDR's four terms as President. It has beautiful granite walls and fountains. Plus it has one of my all-time favorite sculptor pieces, "Bread Line," by George Segal, which depicts men in line during the Depression. I'd seen it cast in plaster before, but this one was cast in bronze. Both the Jefferson and FDR Memorials had few visitors, which made them great, contemplative places.

I also ate extraordinarily well in DC. Monday we had mezza at Zaytinya (Turkish/Greek/Lebanese food). Tuesday I ate lunch at TenPenh, an Asian place. For dinner we ate at Ristorante Tosca (Northern Italian), which was one of the best Italian places we've been to, and that is saying a lot. Oh, how I love tomato season - especially when it comes to summer food. I had a tomato tart with basil gelato for dessert that almost made me cry it was so good. That was after a start of an heirloom tomato salad that I could've easily eaten for dessert or breakfast or, heck, married and called Joe.

Our last meal was an early lunch at an Ethiopian place called Etete. Yummy, spicy made our noses run finger food. I love the bread that you eat traditional Ethiopian food with in lieu of silverware, injera. It's made out of this microscopic grain that is super-healthy. Ethiopian is one sort of food I've never tried to make myself. I'll have to give it a go.

One interesting thing about dining in Washington -- it seemed to me that alcohol was hardly pushed at all. In fact, I noticed that many of our fellow diners did not have drinks with dinner. When we went to Tosca, our waiter mentioned right away that he'd get rid of the wine list for us if we weren't interested. Not that I feel tempted by wine lists and drink specials, but it was a definite different vibe. I'm not sure what it is about, but I sure liked it.

People were friendly in Washington. People almost always said hello to you as you passed. Being a New Yorker, at first I thought this odd, but it happened again and again no matter the neighborhood. And people just seemed kind of in good spirits. Or maybe I just was tickled when one hotel worker told me and my husband we were a really good looking couple for no apparent reason.

Just for kicks, my husband and I took pictures of this spider my husband spotted in a red light by a parking garage near the Department of Labor building. I dubbed it "DC's Arachnid Dude" (take that Marvel Comics). Ok, so I'm a little odd and I am stopping to snap pics of spiders instead of smelling the roses. But I like that I am digging being the girl I am.

A Little Bit Dichotymus

Guess what I've been up to? Strangely, despite my aversion to the current state of politics, I love DC. Colonial Williamburg is also one of my all time favorite places to visit, as is Boston. I think the birth of our nation is one of the great stories of human history. What the hell happened? Well, the weirdest thing to me lately is that despite my usual democratic party bent, I am finding myself increasingly compelled by McCain. I really need to pay attention to the election campaigns in the coming months. Regardless or my partial inclination to stick my head in the sand. Voting is a privilege I should never take for granted. Our founding fathers worked too hard for me to shit all over that. And I do so love my home.

Life is What You Make of It

I have roughly half a dozen partially written posts, primarily recovery based, scattered in notebooks, on my iPhone, on my computer, in the margins of grocery lists. I've scrawled them in the middle of road trips, preparing dinner or waiting for a movie to begin. But I haven't pulled together a complete post.

You know what. One will happen when it happens. I think I am on summer vacation. This may be the first one I've really ever experienced in my whole life. Good gracious. That's my hair. I've let it down.

It's been a long road to this place where I don't feel like every muscle is tight as a piano wire. I sleep at night and dream of things other than being eaten, stabbed or molested. I actually dream about something different than perpetually falling down rickedy staircases, then laying broken at the bottom, vulnerable and knowing something has been waiting for me to tumble. It isn't that I am not tripping and stumbling on occasion still - it's that I have the knowledge that I will get up and those demons will not consume me. I'm not even sure those monsters are all that interested in me anymore. Maybe that is right-sizing? Humility? Eh. I think it has to do with not worrying about what other people think of me so much anymore.

I don't know how many people who are addicts that carry much hope around with them. It seems to me like that is the province of codependents. Perhaps because I was shaped by some form of codependence in my youth, my aching desire for my parents' affection, to fix the ills of my family, to make things right that I nurtured the kernels of hope despite the raging negativity that surrounded me. When I turned to alcohol, it was after I left home. A desperation to change things that had not changed. I was stuck and numb and the drink unearthed things in me that laid dormant. Alcohol grabbed hold of my hope and made it bloom. It also tapped into my hidden despair and anger and everything else I'd suppressed while I tried to be the "right" daughter.

Maybe it was because I was so focused on people and things outside of myself that I never fell into a depression. It's hard to feel sorry for yourself if you aren't really thinking about yourself much. To tell the truth, I don't know why I never lost hope, but I certainly had cause to on many occasions. There were many times when an excess of hope caused me additional heartache because it placed me in front of the same damn runaway train that was intent on squashing me. I put myself there thinking I could stop the train if only I got things right this time. What I didn't realize was that the train being off-track had nothing to do with me. My frustrated attempts to save my world would come out in self-destructive ways that I somehow didn't connect to my ridiculous behaviors. Still, I am glad that I kept the attitude of "what can I do" rather than focusing on my helplessness. It was more a matter of realizing I was worth saving from the train collision.

I know I have mentioned ad nauseum that Queen's song "Under Pressure" is my all time favorite song. I like to credit it for helping wake me out of my stupor. Something about the lyrics "why can't we give love one more chance?" finally dawned on me that the person I was supposed to be caring about wasn't the conductors of the train. Thank you, Freddie.

I've given myself time and space to uncover who I am. I suspected who I was. I had ideas of who I wanted to be. But what I really wanted, what really drove my heart - I had to live it to know for certain. And I had to live it clean, as honestly as possible and take my freaking time even if it pained me to do so. You cannot rush this sort of thing. It took me over 30 years to get lost. Part of the joy is that I get to keep discovering me. Now, life isn't a mess to be cleaned up. I think it is amazing that today I can sit still and breathe and notice the sound of my great horned owl screeching outside my oasis of a home every day  and think:

This life is enough. It's bloody fantastic.

If you could see my grin, you'd feel it too.

The Book of Lies

Being the comic book, all-around nerd that I am (and Joss Whedon uberfan), this trailer would have appealed to me (the book seems to be a fictional conspiracy about the creation of Superman as it relates to the Biblical tale of Cain and Abel and the secrets of immortality). But also, a close friend of mine directed this piece, so I wanted to share because he's cool and my son idolizes him. I don't know if the book is any good, but the concept of making internet commercials for fiction with high profile commentators is a new one to me.

Oh, and all hail Joss Whedon.Did I mention I have a t-shirt that says "Joss Whedon is my master now"?  

Brad Meltzer's BOOK OF LIES exclusive trailer!

Getting Life All Over Me

This has been a fabulous summer. Not because of any particular moment or event or trip, but just because I feel (oh, god I can't believe I am using this word) mindful of the world around me. I feel in life, not just observing it. And it feels marvelous.

This includes letting myself be annoyed or peeved by things if the mood so strikes me, like in the last post. Of course, along with such indulgences, I also moderate myself by questioning what bothers me about such things. I really hate the thought of someone's idiocy not only taking up my time, without turning it into something productive for myself. I'm funny that way about wastefulness. With that in mind, one of my conclusions is that I think the blogger's attitude strikes me as "if everyone acted more like me, everything would be perfect." I have a problem with this because I believe the blogger has trouble with seeing reality as it is, and that, my friends, has been a big bone of contention in my past. So I see this blogger, yap yap yapping away about how compassionate and openminded they are while what I really see is someone willfully ignoring the true issues staring them in the face. I see someone who takes credit for all the good things in life and none of the blame for the bad (although this person will superficially accept blame for things, knowing they are not truly to blame but rather because they are superior and know they can make the world a better place by being the martyr - and won't everyone love them more for it?). I see someone who thinks if you act as if everything is wonderful and that the issues facing your family are absolutely commonplace ("everyone's an addict or a codependent, aren't you?"), the world will be full of sunshine.

Yes, I've seen these behaviors before in my family and I see them as dangerous and unhealthy. Therefore, they tick me off. They especially tick me off when I see followers kowtowing to writers who spout this nonsense - the blind following the willfully blind. My urge to rip the blinders off is foolish and won't work for those who insist on kidding themselves. I say to myself: "Judith, let it go."

Just because some people want to live in a lie doesn't mean I have to go with them. I have the power to be free of other peoples' insanity, if I wish it.

What I need to do is just stop reading the damn blog. And I will. Soon. *rolling eyes at self*

Meanwhile, I've been keeping busy with all sorts of goofy things. My son survived camp, but not without a zillion phone calls and texts swinging from "I hate it here, come and get me" to "Just ate two hot dogs and they were great." By the end, my husband and I showed up for the last two days, as parents were invited to watch the "world cup" tournaments held late in the day. As soon as my son saw we were there, he became extremely disinterested in us and much more interested in camp. Dismissed! Ah well. My husband and I had a great couple days in Lake Placid. For those of you who may not know or remember, the Winter Olympics were held there in 1932 and 1980. It was fun being in an Olympic town during the Olympics. The lake picture above is actually Mirror Lake in the town of Lake Placid. As for the photo of the snow, I have no idea why they do this touristy thing, but obviously some moron likes to take pictures of snow in August. Ahem. I did cut off the bottom part that was all dirty and doggie-peed. You're welcome.

A bit before the Lake Placid trip, I spent an afternoon in Parsippany, NJ at Craftsman Farms, which was the home of Gustav Stickley for seven years. Stickley was one of the founders of the Craftsman (sometimes called the Arts & Crafts) movement in the U.S. Our new home here is designed on many Craftsman principles, so it was neat going to the home of one of the movement's founding fathers. I also came away even more convinced that we should do our front and back entry steps in native stones that look like we cleaved them off the property, even if we didn't. I like the rustic look.

Everything for the home and landscaping was built from materials found on the site. We didn't do that with our house, but we did try to use local whenever possible. I really like the craftman ideal of nature and home melding together in practical yet beautiful ways. I'm glad it is a movement that has been revived due to green practices. It's interesting to read about too. It's not just about a "look" but really a lifestyle.

I've also seen no less than five rainbows in the past 10 days. I did manage to get one of them on camera. (Don't tell anyone I was driving on the highway at the time. Well, traffic was kind of backed up merging and all.) When I was a kid, rainbows seemed so elusive, but it seems like I get the opportunity to see them all the time now, not just in the lawn sprinkler (which was its own kind of magic).

And, of course, I couldn't resist putting in a couple pictures from the harvest in our garden. These are ground cherries in various stages of ripeness. We have some sort of critter - probably a squirrel or chipmunk - who's been eating them, so we've collected some before they were ready to eat. The berries need to be a nice yellow to taste their best. If they are really green, they're quite bitter.

There's my update. Oh, and btw, to my evil twin in sobriety -- I hope you are reading this and I sent you an email. Thanks for the comment (three years - holy moly, we're good!) Lots of love to you!

Swatting Gnats

There's a blog I read on a fairly regular basis that has been increasingly getting on my nerves. To the point where I wonder why I go back to read it anymore. It's author seems to be enamoured of its own voice and intellect, thinks they understand the reasons for all the world's ills (which just happen to be the same as the underlying problem that they are dealing with, so gosh darn, you should listen to their experience, strength and hope because they've been there and are surviving with grace, wisdom and compassion, by god!) and always has their heart in the right place.

Yes, it is enough to make me want to puke.

I didn't always feel this way. I used to enjoy this blog a lot and thought the writer had an interesting voice. I liked it better when it seemed more accessible, when the author didn't try to define and label everyone's issues, public and private, for them in order to make better sense of the writer's own fucked up world. I'm sure it makes the author feel less alone and more likely that their own situation has hope. Perhaps gains some control over an otherwise unmanageable situation by becoming a defacto authoritative voice for victims. But *sheesh* enough already. Everything does not fall into neat buckets just so that you can feel more normal in your dysfunction. Sometimes you do have a freak thing going on. And sometimes someone needs to be accountable and it ain't some ambiguous biological "not their fault" thing. Sometimes people really are getting away with shit because they can, and it might be a societal issue or they were taught piss-poor morals as a kid, but it doesn't have to spell d-i-s-e-a-s-e.

But perhaps a better question for me to explore is why this person's crusade bugs me so much. I suspect some of it is because I have strong feelings about being responsible for my behavior despite being an alcoholic. I think the buck stops and starts here. No amount of compassion from others is going to keep me from drinking if I choose to go back that way. Yes, it is preferable to be treated nicely. But if my sobriety hinged on how people treated me, I would be dead by now. Frankly, negative consequences are far more powerful, and those can even fail in the face of addiction so long as the payoff for the addiction still holds some sort of value to the addict. But it really irritates the piss out of me for everything in the world to be boiled down to an addict's inability to control their impulses, be they for alcohol, sex, drugs, food, etc. It just seems like utter bullshit to me. Maybe I am scared of that sort of powerlessness or I just flat out don't believe in it. I'm not sure, but I am sick of hearing that we addicts can't help it.

Fuck, yes we can. If we want to.

So, enough with smacking the addict labels on everyone who behaves badly. It doesn't help. It just gives people more excuses to continue on without accepting accountability for their actions. I don't accept that we humans can't do better than that. What will the world look like if we accept that people are only doing the best that they can as they are now? I'm sorry, but I expect more of myself and, I guess, of other people too. Even us addicts.

Separation Anxiety

Yesterday we dropped our 13-year-old off for a week long soccer camp where he will be a boarder. This is his first time away from home that isn't with a relative. He wasn't very happy with me for signing him up, despite that he really enjoys soccer. He's been saying for awhile now that he was going to go to the local college so he could live home and not live in a dorm. I've been scoffing at that, telling him wait until he's 18 and he will change his tune.

We enrolled him in a local half day soccer camp run by the same folks as the sleepaway to get him used to the coaching style. He loved it and said it was the best soccer camp he's participated in. He began to look forward to this week. By the time we dropped him off at the camp yesterday afternoon, he was shooing us out the door. Man, was I proud albeit a little teary.

Much of the ride home was out of cell phone range. Because of this, it took two hours for me to get the text messages.

Camp sucks. I'm lonely. Come back and get me. I hate it here.

These were followed by phone calls, much tears and anguish, which only got worse after the first soccer game in which it became clear my son had already given up on trying.

How can I feel like the worst mother ever and like I am doing the right thing at the same time when I tell him firmly that it is not an option for him to come home, but here are the choices he has he can make to make this camp better for himself? I felt wretched. All I wanted to do is gather him in my arms and wipe the tears away. I simultaneously was frustrated and wanted to shake him a little. Especially since he would not do any of the suggestions, the main one being "please go find any of the coaches and tell him how you are feeling." Especially since he already knew and really liked the coaches from the previous week. I told him they were used to kids being homesick and they would be great to talk to about any sort of thing.

Honestly, I don't know who felt worse last night. But I suspect it was him. I remember those emotional days as a teenager and how it feels like the world will end and the enormity of your personal tragedy. I also wanted to snap him out of it. For his own damn good. And mine because I wasn't going to be able to take talking on the phone and texting him like this all week.

I had to call his cell this morning to get his tiny butt out of bed. He was making an attempt to sleep through the morning activities. But he still got up. I should mention he is a very good kid even with his surly determination not to have fun or at least give things a try.

At 11 o'clock my phone rang again. This time, it was a coach. He and I had a nice talk and he and I were on the same page. Not long after I got a text from my kid:

You were right about talking to the coach. Feel better.

We'll see what his report back tonight is. I really don't know why he doesn't listen to me the first time. Mama is always right. At least when it comes to taking care of his wellbeing. Hmph. He better not continue to threaten to get himself thrown out of camp. I told him last night if he got in trouble, I'd let him sit in the local jail with Bubba. He asked who Bubba was, and I said Bubba's the guy who is always in jail and he uses kids his size as toothpicks. And I suggested that my son have Bubba use his toenails for cleaning his teeth because Bubba has perpetual bad breath. And it was better to go with Bubba as his toothpick than hang out with the other guys in the jail who had even more nefarious uses for boys of his size. But that was just my advice, and he never listened to me anyway, so he was on his own if he took the situation into his own hands.

Gimme Gimme

... a meme!

Ok, so here's another one I saw some people posting. Since my days have been fun but non-crisis-filled and I am boring my readers. The gist is to type your name plus the word "needs" into Google then write down the first ten things that pop up.

1) Judith needs to speak up in class, Judith needs to improve in arithmetic, and Judith needs to finish her work on time (Egads! Mom is that you?)

2) What Judith needs right now is to get some real support and sympathy on her side,which is going to take a real miracle from a devoted PR person. (would that be Saint Jude of the Hopeless Causes taking up mine? Hope he doesn't charge much as a PR flack)

3) But the Church is unable to provide that which Judith needs. (Damn, so much for saintly assistance)

4) Judith needs to decapitate Holofernes. (Wah hoo, man. Decapitation is cool.)

5) It isn't Ideally, Judith who needs to find a person who is as strong-willed as she is, but who will not try to dominate or compete with her.to change, but those who cannot climb out of the mind-set that demands a woman throw her life's work by the wayside so she can look good standing by her husband. (Yah! More decapitations!)

6) Judith needs to attend a luncheon elsewhere on the ship.

7) Must be Judith needs her valets and chauffers back. (Definitely need those back. They can find me on the Lido deck by the buffet. What about my personal assistant? And that PR miracle man?)

8) Ideally, Judith needs to find a person who is as strong-willed as she is, but who will not try to dominate or compete with her. (Well, duh. Unless you want to lose your noggin)

9) Judith needs to work on her negotiating skills. (see #4)

10) If that's true, Judith needs to get herself a clue. (What?! I think I am offended. Where's the guilliotine? Ask Holofernes. I mean business.)