Vicarious Rising

Zoltar Says I Sleep Too Much

Alrighty, so, here's some pics from my L.A. trip., starting with the view from my hotel room of the Grauman Chinese Theater. A couple are from the L.A. zoo, Universal Studios and one is of the restaurant Cicada where we had dinner our second night. For those of you into movie scenes, this was a setting for at least two movies I know of: Mr. & Mrs. Smith and Pretty Woman. The night we went was some sort of speakeasy night. Very fun, although we didn't know we were supposed to wear flapper gear. We gawked instead. My photo of the Betty Boop-like singer came out crap, so I didn't include it.

Zoltar (famed by the movie Big with Tom Hanks) was on Santa Monica Pier. He really did say that if I kept sleeping in like I do, life would pass me by. Stupid fortune teller.

My son wouldn't go near Zoltar. Hee.

He did, however, gladly feed the hippo.

The foot and handprint in the cement are from the late, great Humphrey Bogart. I adore him. My husband took a picture of me with my hand in his handprint on a different camera. *Happy sigh*

Contentment Content

I haven't been feeling like blogging lately. It's funny how when things are going well, the need to gab dries up. I think some of it has to do with my inclination to keep my good news to myself, but generally speaking, I think most people tend to not gush on and on when life is good.

At any rate, spring time has begun on the top of my little hill here. I'm enjoying the changing of season and my amateurish antics at gardening and furniture assembly.

I still want to put up pics of my LA trip. We got to feed the hippo and rhino at the LA zoo because my husband's cousin has a friend who works there. It was the coolest thing and I got great photos of the animals.

In other news, my sister is getting married in October. I am happy for her. I think. I haven't met the guy. He can't be worse than the last guy she married. Right?

Hollywoodized

I'm back from my trip to L.A. It was fabulous. I'll try to get some of my photos posted this weekend if anyone is interested.

L.A. is a really interesting place. Its vibe is not really what I expected: anorexized, plastic and cruel. People were friendly and seemed upbeat. I liked it. Can't say I'd want to move there, but I wouldn't mind spending more time hanging out.

Speaking of hanging out, my son spent about 15 minutes lounging around in the lobby of our hotel about 10 feet from M.C. Hammer and had no clue who he was until the hotel staff told us. No parachute pants to tip us off. Some megawatt white Nikes though. My son is so bummed he didn't get to touch M.C. Hammer. I told him he can still tell his friends he hung out with him.

Mr. Hammer was waiting for the valet to get his car and for the rest of his posse. Yes, he did have a posse. They all seemed like pretty well behaved posse people, including the Hammer-man himself. They all drove off in a big black hummer with the license tag "LOOK 3Xs". No comment about that cause it would be rude to say anything about flagging careers. It would've done Mr. Hammer good to introduce himself to the 13 year old to get a fan in the new generation.

As if.

One funny thing that happened was when we drove up to the Hollywood Roosevelt in our chauffeured car (with a license plate that said DIVA, no less), a bunch of college guys were peering into the tinted windows trying to see who was in our car. I sat there giggling thinking how disappointed they were going to be. Considered throwing a jacket over my kid's head and rushing him inside. When we stepped out, one of the college kids said, "aw, it's just some chick." This made my day because I am very glad to still be considered a chick. He could have said, "aw, it's just some nobody" or "it's just some loser" or "it's just some slag/troll/cow/hag/bitch." I'll take chick with a big smile.

Oh, and because I failed to mention it, this wonderful adventure was the grand prize for a Burn Notice drawing. For those of you who missed the television show Burn Notice's season one last summmer, they just started rerunning the program on Thursday nights on the USA Network. It starts season 2 in June. I can't wait. My massive crush on Michael Westen has been soothed a bit by winning this prize, but I've been irked by having to wait so long for another fix of the show.

High Life

If anyone remembers a post from about two months ago, I won a trip to L.A. thanks to one of my favorite television shows. Welp, my son and I are off for our vacation tomorrow. The trip was supposed to include a meet-n-greet with one of the show's stars, but because of the writers strike and some other timing issues, that part of the grand prize will not be happening. Kind of a bummer, especially since I have a minor crush on the show's star. However, we will be staying at the Hollywood Roosevelt and dining at some rather excellent places courtesy the show and the USA Network. This chica is mighty excited.

Perhaps not so ironically, I didn't really want to share my good fortune with my family. I feel like they have this idea in their heads that I am "lucky". Or, perhaps better put, that I have an imbalance of too much good. Which is not to say they are deprived because they are far from it. But they have a way of making me feel terribly guilty when nice things happen to me. So, I tend not to tell them about them.

Actually, I tend to not tell them about much of anything. It seems safer to ask them about themselves and cluck at the appropriate times.

One of the big changes through recovery has been to allow myself to enjoy when good things happen to me. To not expect the hand of god to reach down and punish me for feeling joy and pleasure in the nice things around me. To indulge in the idea that maybe, just maybe, I do deserve a nice life for no other reason than that I am a nice person.

It really isn't funny how much time I spent destroying myself for every good thing that came my way. I really was my own worst enemy. In some ways, I got worse as I got better in my early recovery. I wonder if others have experienced that struggle. I'm sure many have. As I began to recognize reality and separate myself from what I had been told about myself, there was a real internal war going on that at times I wasn't sure I was going to survive.

It's too bad my family cannot share in my happiness. It would be nicer for me if I could share my life with them. But I have adapted, if not quite accepted.

Now, off to the land of make-believe. I'll try not to gawk like a total tourist. As if.

Because I am So Superspecial -- All About Me

The other day I declared myself positively boring on this very blog, so maybe I can debunk my own claim by filling out this self-absorbed meme. The amazing Lea Jacobson of Geisha, Interrupted tagged me. For those of you who haven't been to her blog, you should visit her droll diary of experiences as an expat in Japan. Also, Lea's memoir, Bar Flower, will be published in a few weeks. Click here to order it from Amazon.com. I pre-ordered mine ages ago.

Lord knows why Lea'd want to know anything about my upstate New York mom-of-a- teen-boy life. But, hey, I'll take any compliment I can get because I am that deprived and pitiful. Now that I have sufficiently lowered expectations, here are the sordid details of my secret life as a horny housewife:

What I was doing 10 years ago

Living off crazy South Street in Philadelphia and attending the Wharton school for my MBA. My son was 3-years-old and I was one of only three mothers in the grad program. This was out of a total of 750 enrolled. We three were the most exhausted of any of the students, and I am not saying this for dramatic effect. All the men with kids had wives who stayed at home with the kiddos during the program. My husband and one of the other mother's husband was also in the MBA program. The other woman commuted daily from Princeton, NJ so her daughter could stay in school there and her husband could keep his NYC job. Some days we three ladies would just bleerily eye each other and mumble, "no one else understands."

I hated, hated, hated business school. My drinking became an increasing problem. Everyone kept telling me I would never regret getting an Ivy League MBA, that it was a terrific opportunity and my ticket to the big time.

I should have listened to my inner voice that wanted out. Ten years later, all I have is the student loan payments (although those are nearly done, but Ivy League tuition? Pricey. Especially when you follow it up with quitting your first job out of school within 3 months and not ever stepping foot in the corporate world again.), an impressive diploma and dubious bragging rights that I drag out every so often to remind myself that everyone else does not know better than me what is best for me, no matter how pretty the credentials look on paper in the eyes of people who don't see through mine.

I did love Philadelphia, however. I miss the food there. Not the smell of South Street on Sunday morning, though. And I missed the Easter Zombie Pub crawl this year. Bummer.

Later in the year, went for a semester abroad in Milan, Italy. Was the only thing that made going to grad school remotely worthwhile.

5 years ago

Living in the middle of New Jersey (shoot me) and selling US made handbags to vendors in Japan, Taiwan and Korea on eBay. Was a surprisingly entertaining venture, although I spent all my earnings. Had stopped drinking for a year, but not in a program. Buried up to my eyeballs in pretending normalcy. Would pick up again in about a year.

1 year ago

Probably about what I am doing now, hanging out in West Palm Beach, Florida and blogging. My son keeps asking me to play games with him and I keep refusing despite the massive guilt trips. Yep. Same scene. Not a bad scene.

Yesterday

One change in this year's agenda was that I got to see my husband's grandmother from Iowa, who is visiting. That was a treat. She's a phenomenal person. She still handwrites letters, writing things as simple as: "It's 5 a.m. and there's still frost on the ground. The brown squirrel has been searching for nuts, but has given up for the morning. It might snow tomorrow. Made a batch of snickerdoodles and thought I'd send some to you. Made a pie too, from some cherries Wendi and I bought at the Barnes store, but pie wouldn't ship well, now would it?" I adore her.

5 snacks I enjoy

1) Popcorn (not microwave popcorn)
2) Wint-o-Green Lifesavers
3) Rolds-Gold Pretzels
4) Swedish Fish
5) Cheese and fruit - all kinds, even if I can't pronounce it - either the fruit or the cheese. I'll take jams, jellies, compotes, crackers and fancy breads too

5 books I like

1) My big, old dictionary that my husband rescued from being recycled or trashed (sacrilege!)
2) The Stand, Stephen King
3) Drawing from the Right Side of the Brain by Betty Edwards
4) Any fairytale or mythology book from any country, especially by Andrew Lang, Ruth Manning Sanders, the Brothers Grimm and subsequent updates by Neil Gaiman, or any books with gorgeous illustrations, plus Roald Dahl
5) J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter books (this feels like a cop out, but I did love them. there are many, many other books I have loved. I have a rather large library)

What I'd do with 100 million dollars

1) Pay off all my debt.
2) Finish doing all the stuff to my house and yard that I want to get done.
3) Get a new car. Probably a Mini Cooper. My 1999 Toyota 4-Runner has over 100,000 miles and is great here in snow country, but the CD player died about a month ago. That won't do.
4) Set up some sort of investment to live comfortably on and possibly generate some extra money to continually....
5) Give the rest to various charities and environmental concerns, local farmers, small business loans to developing nations, etc.

.....because $100 million won't be enough, but maybe in perpetuity I can do some good. But a girl's gotta live.

5 places I'd love to run away to

1) My Dream House (of course!)
2) Emilia-Romagna, Italy
3) Provence, France
4) Fiji - why not? Actually, I'd probably rather go some place in Asia or maybe back to Turkey. But not permanently.
5) Someplace beautiful I've never seen, but I'll know it when I see it. It's there. I know it. I need to travel more.

5 bad habits and pet peeves I have

1) Pet peeve: bullies
2) Pet peeve: people who write the word "then" when they should be using "than"
3) Pet peeve and bad habit: people who interrupt/interrupting people.
3.5)Pet peeve: being poked to get my attention
4) Bad habit: staying up too late and sleeping too late
5) Bad habit: picking at scabs

5 things I like doing

1) Writing, reading, learning
2) Drawing and painting
3) Cooking and gardening
4) Torturing my son
5) Just being

5 things I would never wear

1) Lilly Pulitzer clothes
2) Fur
3) Birkenstocks or Tevas
4) A blouse with a big bow at the neck
5) A t-shirt with hateful images or sayings

5 TV shows I like

1) Buffy the Vampire Slayer
2) Burn Notice
3) House
4) Angel
5) Dexter

5 movies I like

1) Moulin Rouge
2) Gladiator
3) Heathers
4) Jaws
5) Casablanca (anything with Bogie)

5 famous people I'd like to meet

1) Freddie Mercury
2) Joss Whedon
3) Angelina Jolie
4) Queen Elizabeth I
5) Jesus (and not because I am a believer, but, man, am I ever curious)

5 People I'd like to see fill this out

1) Confessions of a Serenephobic
2) Mantramine
3) Pat of Child Lost
4) Slutty McWhore
5) Syd of I'm Just F.I.N.E.

Chickens, Otherworldly Omelets, Going Off Half Cocked & Things That Seem Too Good to Be True

I'm knocking on wood and throwing salt over my shoulder the last couple days. I'm really not even all that superstitious. But, yah know, a couple days after saying some less than nice things regarding The Powers That Be, and some strange HooDoo's been going down in my usually boring little world.

Mind you, not complaining. Just in the Realm of This Stuff Doesn't Usually Happen to Me.

Oh, it's really not all that big a deal. I mean, aside from the whole delay in closing on the house, I won the Grand Prize for a trip to L.A. that I'd entered way back last summer for kicks. Airfare, swank hotel, dinners, a little spending money. Sweet.

Yes, I am 99 percent certain it is legit. But that's where the knocking on wood and TGTBT comes in. Who really wins these things? Not me, anyway. And it includes a meet and greet with one of the cast members of one of my absolute favorite TV shows. I guess it does pay off to be a goofball fan and sign up for things on their official websites.

And then there's that my husband may need to go on a business trip to Paris in the next couple weeks, and if he goes he has invited lil' ole me to go along. I love Paris. I can definitely be soothed about the delay in moving into my house by a trip to Paris. The other two times I went to Paris I was still drinking, although I can safely say I have never been drunk in Paris. Still, the idea of being 100 percent sober in Paris seems sort of invigorating to me also. Plus, there's all that Parisian food. Have I mentioned I like food? Oh... and baguettes, just baked and warm... heaven. My personal opinion is that French bread kicks Italian bread's butt. But I'd rather have espresso in Italy than coffee of any sort anywhere else. Mmmm... getting off track, but I do love food. Hence the kitchen and pantry in my house. My husband and I both love to cook. Which reminds me, I need to get some gym equipment for the rec room. I'm getting to an age where my metabolism isn't what it used to be.

I have no issues with The Powers That Be or The Cosmos and I am not counting eggs or chickens before they hatch or putting any of them in one or even several baskets. I'm not messing with any of the poultry products, and it's not because I am one big scaredy cat. I'm just thinking it's Thanksgiving time come early for me, and I might be one of those Presidentially pardoned turkeys.

Closer to Free

My horoscope is all over the place lately, telling me my head and heart and intuition are not in cahoots. I'm supposed to listen to my head and not my intuition, ignore my feelings, follow the advice of the guy in a red hat or some such nonsense. WTF? I think I am going to ignore horoscope man. He's going to paralyze me into hiding under the covers.

Said covers are not exactly a bad place to be... I am officially homeless. Yep. As of December 24, we were run out of our temporary townhouse living arrangement. And our new home is not yet finished with construction. The days leading up to Christmas Eve were complete chaos of moving shit out and into storage, cleaning up our former living space and hauling ass to Connecticut to see my mother-in-law. We missed Christmas Eve dinner. We made it onto Mrs. Claus's bad list. I would've skipped going to her house altogether if I didn't think she'd guillotine us all if we tried. Bad list is much better than headless.

Mrs. Claus-a.k.a. my mother-in-law also has her birthday the day after Christmas. We did the obligatory hoo-ha for that, and hauled ass back north to supervise the continuing saga of our home building project. Our homeless shelter is one rather elegant structure that pretty much is an upgrade of anything we'll ever live in. I'm not exactly sufferring.

At any rate, I've been too busy to do more than cursory blog reads, but I want to catch up with everyone. I also, fortunately, have not been crying in my cornflakes about best friends who I have finally realized were kind of lousy people all along (why I ever doubt my first impression of people is beyond me. It always ends up to be the dead on truth in the end.). It's amazing how little you miss someone when you realize you were creating all the good elements of their personality out of your own fertile imagination.

But I am not kicking myself for the pretty delusion. I required a knight in shining armor. He was the lucky recipient of my needful dreams. I can't hate him for not being Sir Lancelot. I can't hate me for wanting a man of honor, principles, loyalty and integrity in my life. I had a hard past filled with people I couldn't trust or love. I needed to believe in something, someone, better. He served his purpose. Now the fairytale has ended. Now, I can believe in me.

Today I feel good. Just plain good. Nothing more, nothing less. I feel ready to write, no urges to drink. I also want to write a couple posts about my mom's reaction to the necklace and about my husband breaking the no gift rule (naughty boy. one of his gifts is the Raw 7 tee to the left with argyle and a motorcycle on it. defnly me. i love it. weird it happens to be the exact same color as the everybody lies tee).

But not yet. Right now, just going to enjoy not feeling heavy. I'm glad you're here.

Fostering My Inner Dweeb

Several pop culture magazines, blogs and other sources have been declaring nerds and braininess the new cool. I suspect this is wishful thinking on the part of nebbish journalists typing feverishly at their keyboards, but I rather like the sentiment. Except for the idea of being different becoming commonplace. Kind of an oxymoron if it becomes just for the sake of being odd. Or just annoying.

I haven't heard anyone use the word "dweeb" in a long time. I'm not sure it is used in a colloquial way any more, but my mom still uses it. For some probably misplaced nostalgic reason, the word seems right today. Better than "dork", "nerd" or "geek". Just a little anachronistic, a little off. Like me.

I heard the word "wicked" used in New Hampshire this past weekend. I know this is a word frequently used in New England, and one I picked up in my early teens when I spent summers with my grandparents in Massachusetts. My grandmother uses the word wicked, but in the "evil" context of the word, yet almost in the way that it makes it cool to teens. Such as, "the dress that girl is wearing is just wicked," in a scandalized tone. Hilarious. My grammy will be 80 this year. I think she's wicked cool.

Dweebishness is a trait I've never tried to hide, although I wouldn't say I am especially vocal about it. I was a quiet kid with my nose in the books, I loved museums, the ballet, historic villages, puzzles. But I wasn't one of those kids persecuted as a dork. Maybe it was because I was so quiet or because the popular crowd generally liked me and sometimes tried to include me, although I was very wary of them. So, I've never felt any particular shame about the joy I feel about my geekish pursuits.

Which is why I wonder why it took me so much by surprise when my all-too-brief road trip through northern New England felt like such a euphoric release to me. While my meditative state at the lake was necessary, the subsequent journey through the winding roads, with stops at antique shops and cabinetmakers, Shaker Villages and maple sugar candy stands filled me with such youthful glee and wonder that I can't believe I haven't taken a vacation since June of 2005.

What the hell can I be thinking? I love getting out there and seeing the world, learning about it, not just from behind my laptop and through books. On Friday, I sat at the Canterbury Shaker Village with an older woman who taught me how to hook a rug in the old way that seafaring men used to when on long voyages. It was so fun. Meanwhile, two other ladies were spinning wool from their own sheep. My son was giving them advice on mixing the dark and light wools, and they very patiently pretended they hadn't thought of it themselves. I ate beef pot pie. I can't remember the last time I ate beef pot pie. I also keep forgetting to check out how exactly it is that the Shaker's were a celibate group. It does explain why the Canterbury group's last member died in 1992, but it doesn't explain the mystery of how they lasted since the late 1700s. Well, they were great craftspeople. How they focused their energies is, perhaps, none of my durned business.

On Saturday, I had the opportunity to meet Thomas Moser, who is the founder of Thos. Moser furniture headquartered in Maine. If you have not seen his furniture, you should check it out. Many call it the finest made today. I certainly agree. I've long been an admirer of his furniture, but affording it is quite another story. My 12-year-old son fell completely in love with the stuff. He was utterly star struck when he met Mr. Moser. It was really charming to see him talk to the guy and tell him how he hated furniture shopping but absolutely loved everything in his store.

My lesson from this quick jaunt is that I think I need to get out of the house more. I've been telling my husband we should take a vacation for ages, and he just keeps telling me "what for"? He doesn't seem to have the same need as I do to get out there. It's not that he doesn't enjoy it when he goes, it's just that it isn't one of the things that feeds his soul. I'm thinking I'm done waiting for him to get on the same page as me. I think that's a case of my expectations being all wrong. Perhaps I need a solo trip. But that makes me feel a little afraid too.

This is a journey I've not yet taken.

A Matter of Who or Where

When I was actively drinking, but not yet all the way into my cups, one of my favorite ways to start my buzz was with a book or a notebook in a crowded restaurant. I liked to sit in a good vantage point to view the rest of the patrons. My favorite memories of this activity are from when I lived in Philadelphia and I could either walk back home to my row house or take a cab. Once, I ate alone at the amazing Le Bec Fin the evening before a final exam in grad school. I'd studied hard all semester and rewarded myself with a five course dinner with wine pairings. The wine sommelier and staff were quite lovely. I eavesdropped on all the conversations around me while pretending to read a trashy romance book.

Maybe this sounds like I am romanticizing the drink. I suppose I am to a degree. But I also recognize that some of this sophisticated set up is part of the lie I told myself that kept me in the downward spiral of alcoholism. I was either doing research, reading some important literature, writing my latest poem, being cerebral in one way or another. Because I was out yet confident enough to dine alone, I thought I was the consummate aspiring writer. I felt I was somehow above and outside the average people dining together, those I was watching and preparing to expose with my witty observations.

It's funny how you can hide in the big wide open.

What I couldn't escape was the hollowness that comes from always just watching and not being a participant. Maybe I had traveled the world, eaten in some of the finest restaurants, seen some of the finest art, but I was still just someone plunked down in the scenery of life. It didn't matter so much where I was, it was how engaged I was in my surroundings. What that meant was being truly involved. Sometimes that does indeed mean communing alone, as in with nature. But other times, it involves relating to people within places. It means a lot of things, but it doesn't mean sitting in a room with a notebook, just inactively peering out like some sort of peeping Tom. It's relationships to the people, places and things that are significant, not just where you happen to find your feet.

I don't want to be just a tourist in life.

A Place to Become

I have impeccable taste, if I do say so myself. I am just tickled to death today with the purchase I made for myself. My sponsor told me to do something special for myself last week when I was feeling so blue. I didn't then - I felt too down to do anything. But this week I feel better, so, boy did I do it in style.

I've been searching for a desk for some time now. I've had a series of workstations that were more or less "make-do" desks - serviceable, and suitable for the space they were to be in, but nothing more.

I was thinking of getting a Davenport desk. These are desks that originated as ship captain desks, designed primarily to be compact and practical. Of course, they are not really practical for a computer as you need to lift the top to get into the top of the desk. Plus, there really is no extended desktop to speak of, so spreading out papers is not possible. While I found many beautiful desks, I just couldn't get real excited about any of them.

Then the other day I found the perfect desk for me. It's got plenty of space to spread out, plenty of drawers, sturdily made, yet not bulky. And plenty of character. It's a Chinese Scholar Writing desk from the Qing Dynasty, made circa 1900 in Shanghai. I just love it. It has some black ink spots on the top that are supposedly from some student calligraphy seeping through the parchment. I think it is cool.

I went to Shanghai in February 2004. I wasn't drinking at the time; it would be a few months before I started drinking again for what I hope will be my last time. I thought the city was fabulous and the people friendly. I explored the city with my son, who was nine at the time. The people we met thought it was wonderful that I took my son on vacation to see their city, and often patted him on the head in museums as he sketched different things he saw there. They were a little fascinated by us. I was thoroughly charmed. I had someone lead me through the old city and took formal tea atop a tea house where I could see red roofs give way to the growing skyscrapers. He also took us down the backstreets where the people lived with multiple families in small homes. The spaces were tiny but clean, people cooked out of doors, laundry hung on lines, nothing smelled bad despite close quarters. It was so old, it was mind boggling to me. The bathrooms were a quite a walk away for most families. I bought a lot of pearl jewelry and some really beautiful original watercolor paintings.

It was an amazing experience. I would so love to visit Shanghai again.

I cannot wait until I get to sit before my new desk and lay my palms flat on its surface. Inhale. Then begin to tell my stories.