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Broken "Enough Meter"

March 27, 2010 in Uncategorized | 6 comments

One of my friends told me my Enough Meter is broken, and I think she may be right. In my past life, I thought one glass of wine was good, but more than one was GREAT. I can’t eat one M&M; I must eat the whole bag. Consuming just one bite of ice cream is impossible, so I just eat it right out of the carton until my stomach hurts. What the hell is wrong with me? How can I have a large closet packed with clothes and still never have anything to wear? And just how many bikinis does one person (who doesn’t live near water) need?
Further evidence is that I won’t even enter a contest I’m not going to win. When 3 of us were up for prom queen in high school, you would think that I’d be flattered by that. But I didn’t win, so it was just a bad experience. I remain Bitter, party of one.
I once got the best client survey in our entire department. All good comments, except for the one person who marked “Not Satisfied” on every question. Instead of being grateful for the good reviews, I was devastated that one person didn’t like me. (After that, I started to give everyone my evil eye, just in case they were the rat.)
My most hated holiday is New Year’s Eve. It is impossible to live up to the hype, no matter what I’m doing. Even if I’m at a great party, I’ll wish I were in Times Square. But I recognize that if I were in Times Square, I wouldn’t be close enough or warm enough. I would literally have to sit my ass on the Crystal Ball or Ryan Seacrest’s lap to be satisfied. But then I’m sure I’d be mad that the cameras didn’t get my best angle.
No birthday is ever wonderful because the world seems to go on without realizing it’s a very special day. (People can be so self-absorbed!)
If I help one down-and-out person, I don’t feel good about it. Instead, I focus on all of the other people I’m not able to help and then feel bad about being as spoiled as I am. Of course, this leads to beating myself up for not deserving my good fortune, which inevitably leads to depression – until I realize I don’t deserve to be depressed because those women in Darfur are the ones who should be depressed. I won’t even give myself the luxury of depression.
If I am ever truly happy in a moment, I ask myself if there’s anywhere or anything I could be doing that would be better. I think about that great couple’s massage M & I got in Jamaica where the breeze was just perfect, and not much can beat that. So then I have effectively wrecked my happy moment because, after thinking about it, I will have decided that it’s not happy enough.
Exhausting, right? I want to change and be grateful and satisfied with every little thing, but with this broken Enough Meter, I don’t know how to go about doing that. (Wait, am I sounding high maintenance again?)
But seriously, does everybody think this way, or am I just strange?

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Why I'm NOT High Maintenance

March 25, 2010 in Uncategorized | 5 comments

People have a habit of calling me “high maintenance”, and I’m being to think that may not be a compliment. So I feel the need to set the record straight. Rather than pleading with my public to change popular opinion, I will simply present the evidence. (Unless low maintenance people don’t have a public, then scratch that last part.)
1. I do my own nails. Mostly. I can’t stand to make small talk – especially when I can’t understand someone with an accent – so I’d rather do it myself.
2. I am too lazy to accessorize. I have worn the same necklace since 2004, and never take it off. Same for my watch, except I’ve worn it since 1998 or 1999 – it has enough soap build-up on it to bathe myself should I ever run low. I do wear earrings, but nothing crazy since they have to go with the necklace and watch. Also, I have a pretty nice ring, but I would have said yes to a pop top. My husband has never bought me a piece of jewelry, and I’m fine with that. I have enough. Really.
3. I sleep on Egyptian cotton sheets, but they could be any kind (as long as they’re at least 400 thread count).
4. I’ve never cried over a bad haircut. I just don’t care that much. (although I have cried over a bad spray tan, but that was only because it looked like I had poop running down the inside of my legs)
5. I don’t wear fragrance (but I’m not earthy – I do wear deodorant).
6. I’m not a label girl. I can be, but I’m just as happy wearing something from Target if I like it.
7. I only wear heels on the most special of occasions, and you couldn’t get me into a pair of pantyhose for anything in the world. I refuse to wear anything that I have to pull up, jerk down, suck in, or limp in.
8. I am a wine lover but I never drank expensive wine. I always figured I had enough expensive tastes, so why try to educate my palette when it would only make me a more expensive date?
9. I have never been the jealous type. I once had to drag a husband out of a strip club by his ear, but it wasn’t out of jealousy; it was because he was an hour late for our date and I had to go find him.
10. If you ask me to go somewhere, I can be ready in 15 minutes, shower & all. Unless you want me to look good – that would take longer.
Now that I’m thinking about it, I could be the lowest maintenance girl you know. What say ye, my public?

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Keep On Saving Darfur

March 24, 2010 in Uncategorized | 2 comments

Every once in a while, I try to do a good deed. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can count this post. See, I made a promise about 5 years ago and didn’t keep it. Not on purpose, but, you know, stuff happens. So anyway, I was a world away on a boat in Guilin, China when I met a couple from New York. I spoke with the wife for a while and eventually asked her about her green Live Strong-style bracelet. She gave it to me, and said my job was to pass the bracelet and the word about the genocide in Darfur on to another. I really wasn’t looking for a job, and I’d never before heard of Darfur. But I promised her that I would help, brought the bracelet home with me, put it in a drawer and never thought about it again until my little girl was playing with it the other day. Then the guilt of the broken promise haunted me a little, so that’s why I’m telling you all of this today. Darfur still needs help. Nearly 5 million people there depend on humanitarian aid, and 3 million who were displaced are still living in camps. To learn more or find out how to help, read here. I still can’t pronounce Darfur, much the same as I can’t say “liqueur”. But I can type it. And hopefully telling all of you makes up for the fact that I didn’t tell one single person back in 2005. Thanks for reading this.
P.S. They served wine on that boat that had literal snakes in the bottom of the jug. I’m still having nightmares.
P.P.S. Insecure ramblings & observations to resume tomorrow!

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Why Do I Do This?

March 16, 2010 in Uncategorized | 1 comment

Why do I write this blog every day? Sometimes I ask myself the same question, but ultimately I know my story can help other men and women suffering from depression and alcoholism. In addition, there seems to be a stigma about women alcoholics that doesn’t exist for men, so I think women hesitate to seek help because of that. The common belief is that soccer moms don’t drink. The reality is: YES WE DO – we just do it in our closets and would rather die than have people find out we aren’t the Perfect People we want them to believe we are. Case in point, when I left rehab I tried to find organizations with women like me who have substance abuse problems. Since I met a sorority sister in rehab, one of the first places I looked was to the Panhellenic (Greek women’s group) Council. I was surprised that they do indeed have programs to support women with substance abuse problems, and you could write a check to help THOSE WOMEN (inner-city, real live drunks). But there was no resource for sorority members (since, you know, we’re all perfect ladies and would never have a substance abuse problem). I am rolling my eyes as I type.
So that’s why I do this. If you read that even a messed-up person such as myself can live through rehab and recovery, maybe it will give you the courage to do it yourself. The first step is putting down the wine, ladies!
Oh yeah, I also write to take jabs at old boyfriends and others who have offended me over the years, but that’s just a perk of blogging.

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A Fickle Pickle Tri's it Again

February 25, 2010 in Uncategorized | 6 comments

Days like today are the ones I hate being an alcoholic (for more info click here). In case you don’t know (I didn’t), once you’re an alcoholic, you can never go back to drinking like a normal person again. The chemistry is all there, and although you might be able to do it for a couple of weeks, you’ll be brushing your teeth with vodka again in no time at all. That’s why they say, “once a pickle, always a pickle” – meaning you can never go back to being a nice clean cucumber. Kind of like virginity in that once it’s gone, it’s gone baby.

Tonight I’m having dinner with a bunch of sorority sisters I haven’t seen in over a decade. We’re going to a great restaurant and I’m sure the wine will be flowing for all but yours truly. I’m sure no one will question me when I order a Sprite. Non-alcoholic people don’t make it a point to notice what and how much everyone is drinking the way we drinker types do. They also don’t obsess over the half glass of wine that someone leaves on the table (is she going to drink it? why isn’t she drinking it? it’s just sitting there looking all beautiful and begging to be consumed. DRINK IT, BITCH!!!!!)

I have that same old anxiety creeping up on me like a blanket of suffocation. After years of not seeing these girls, I picture them being beautiful and perfect and definitely rehab-free. The old me would need a drink just to show up. The new me will do my best to look acceptable and then just have to deal with whatever happens. I don’t see myself spilling the beans about my life. I’ve got enough judgment from people who know and I don’t feel like adding to my list of potential judgers. Will I be able to carry on pleasant conversation? That remains to be seen. I may just stare as if in a trance at their wine glasses all night. But this is a step that must be taken. This is living life on life’s terms. I can’t expect the world to quit drinking because I’m a pickle, and I can’t continue to isolate in the safety of my own home. Am I scared? You’re damn right I am. Do I hate myself? Of course. DUH. But I’m getting better. (I think. maybe.)(Apparently the second-guessing and constant need for validation stops when you’ve been sane and/or sober for a while. Do you think I’m there yet? Do you???)

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