The end of 2012

I think I may start a new blog. Something to do with my life right now rather than updating an old one. Things have changed so drastically since my last post. I am now married and 4 weeks away from giving birth to my first child. The desire to write is still burning brightly within me. My follow through is lacking intensely. My journal pages stay blank. I'm online quite often each day, so perhaps online journaling is more practical.

Picking up the check

When I was waiting tables in Oregon, there was a shabby lookin' dude eating breakfast all alone and there were two very well kept business-like women eating at a booth a few tables away. When I gave the women their check, one of the ladies asked me for the man's check as well. She explained that she wanted to pay for his food but wanted no recognition, so I was to wait till they left before telling the man about it.

When the women left and the man asked for his check, I broke the good news. What came next was totally unexpected.

The guy was at first confused. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He wanted to know who they were and why they did such a thing. Then his confusion turned into anger, and he started going on and on about how someone shouldn't do something like that without an explanation or without giving him a chance to say “thank you”. Then he blurted out “What, do I look like a damn charity case or somethin’!? Do I look like I need my meal paid for by some woman?!” I tried to be sweet and told him while smiling that they meant no offense –just the opposite really- and he should look at it as a random act of kindness. This seemed to make him sad, and he sat there looking around like a lost puppy. When I came back around to his table to tell him it was ok and he could go now if he wanted he just mumbled "but why would someone do that?”

I remember thinking that the guy probably never got a gift in his life and couldn’t understand the concept. After that incident I couldn’t help wondering if the guy would have been better off if those ladies never paid for his meal. He seemed so afflicted by it.

Regardless of the person’s reaction, I think random acts of kindness are somehow more rewarding for the person who does the act rather than being the recipient. It no doubt has a ripple effect and it can’t really go wrong. I imagine that guy I waited on years ago has had many meals alone since, but has learned to appreciate what happened that day, rather than harbor anger for the unanswered questions that arose as a result.

2009 and counting

I'm back. Call it an intentional hiatus, but I call it forgetfulness.

Things have been very real for me lately.

During the course of my online silence, there was an eruption of noise coming from my day to day activities. It all started out innocent and well intended (as it does), but ended with a crashing devastation. My sobriety took the back-seat when I got my new job and quit smoking and things started looking up. I forgot that I had those things because I was sober. And there I was, just barely 30 days sober, bartending like drinking was never an issue for me. So what did I do? I drank--ON the job. One mimosa for the customer, one for me. Quickly and without room for hesitation is how it happened. That's how it usually happens. I don't want any thoughts to interupt that desire I am so close to feeding.

By the end of my shift I was drunk from 2 mimosas, 2 bloody marys, and 2 Guiness beers I managed to smuggle into the bathroom stall in my apron.
I didn't get very far with this behavior, though I'm sure that's a big shocker.
I carried on a few more shifts with this same routine, the only thing changing was the types of drinks I was making for myself.

One night in particular I left the restaurant at 10pm and headed out to a party at an old friend's house. I planned to just stop by to say hi to friends I hadn't seen in forever, and then go home to much needed sleep since I was due to open the restaurant the next morning at 7am.
Long story short, I began to mingle with old friends as I drank from the many bottles of wine that the hostess kept filling my glass with. By 2am I was in a full-on drunken stupor, banging on bongo drums in the middle of a drum circle. And I am not a drummer.
I passed out in one of the spare bedrooms, waking up at 9:30am. I was supposed to be AT WORK at 7am. I panicked completely, but was still drunk and in a haze. I looked in the mirror and it was obvious to me that I had been crying the night before, but I don't remember doing so. I begin searching for my phone and can't find that. So I freak out and just leave, driving in a wild panic back to my place and collapse next to my boyfriend who is still in bed asleep.

Instead of calling work to explain, I drink more. For 2 days I stay drunk. I finally call to give my apologies and work out my last paycheck. My phone was still missing. So all in all, I lost my sobriety, my phone, my job, and my over-30-day mark without a cigarette. All in a matter of days.

It's taken me a few trys before getting some days in a row of being sober, but as of today I have 15 days. I still don't have a job, but I am diligent in my searching. Smoking is a one-a-day-if-that sorta habit. And after 2 months my friend found my phone and I just retrieved it 3 days ago. I am earning my keep once again , only this time I am actually going to meetings every day, and I have a sponsor and my network of people in the program is growing.

Shit, I'm gonna be late for class. Gotta go.

Synecdoche New York

I went to see Charlie Kaufman's new movie and directorial debut Synecdoche, New York yesterday. Being from Los Angeles, it was amusing for me to hear how all the people in front of me in line couldn't pronounce the word Synecdoche when buying their tickets, and neither could I. I decided to spare the poor guy working the box office and just asked for "two for New York please". I'm assuming this is a regular mispronunciation for those who do not live in or around the N.Y. area, but sometimes it has a humiliating effect on my ego when I don't know how to pronounce something.

Anyhow, back to the movie...

I'm quite the follower of Kaufman's films. I find his work to be extremely entertaining and thought provoking. Not only are the concepts original, but the characters are realistic and complex. His characters are usually troubled...somewhat flawed and pathetic, but not cliche in the usual "tortured artist" depiction. I always know if a character is realistic by how embarrassed I feel for them.

I found the premise of the movie to be really bizarrely original. At least with "Eternal Sunshine" , "Being John Malcovich" and "Adaptation" there was a driving force -or point- that the movies seemed to be driving toward, but with this one I felt a little lost by whether or not there was a point I was missing, or if this was indeed just a depiction of a man's life and relationships as he grows older, attempting to capture it all in a play for some voyeuristic meaning he has yet to understand.

Overall, the movie was definitely worth the watch, and worth the contemplation that will inevitably follow.
I remain a devout Kaufman admirer.

Captians Log: 001

Today is Day 11 without a cigarette.
Today is Day 22 without a drink or a drug in my body.
I've even switched to decaf coffee in the mornings now, which surprisingly I can't even tell the difference.

I don't have work today. My new job as a bartender/barista/cashier/hostess/floater (a.k.a. restaurant bitch) is only 3 days a week right now, until after Thanksgiving.
Today I go to school instead.
My journalism class is officially half-way through. I'm considering switching my major come this winter. I'm thinking Anthropology. Journalism was never my intended major anyhow. It was just a class I knew would involve writing, which I love. But the news? I can hardly stand to watch it on television, yet now I'm studying the various methods of reporting and devious ways of gathering information (often from unwilling sources). It's all too invasive for me. I prefer the introspective process of writing. The mysterious writer vs. the hungry inquisitor. I enjoy creating words from inspired thought, not from strangling a source for information.
But that's just me.