Sun of a Beach

I’m the one on . . . well, you know which one I am

So despite the irrefutable facts of not having any money or even my having a job, we’ve decided to take a long weekend trip to the beach.  Well, it’s sort of the beach, we’re staying at a Super 8 off of the interstate about 43 miles away from the beach but they have cable so there’s that. Despite my years in California, I have never been what you’d call a “beach gal”. I guess that’s because I was always at some local dirty bar with some pun-y name like “Squid Row” getting drunk with a stranger claiming to be a pirate, and doing shots of Fireball at 9am, instead of appreciating the majestic gifts of the ocean.

Don’t get me wrong, I adored getting drunk AT THE BEACH, I just never really wanted to be ON THE BEACH.  I mean, c’mon, think about it. The heat ruined my martinis and have you ever walked for any length on a beach?  It’s a horrific sandy trudge that will almost sober you up, and that’s uncalled for, isn’t it?  Unless you get right down by the water, and no thank you. I have an arrangement with the sharks – I stay outta their ocean, they stay outta my yard. So far, so good.

local law enforcement didn’t care for my “seahorse” impersonation

I’m grateful my dead friend Ben isn’t here to regale you with all the ridiculous beach stories from our checkered past. Back in the day we trolled South Beach, Key West, the Santa Monica Pier, and Venice Beach, and I think we’ve been forcibly removed from half. Once, on mopeds. That was great fun for everyone involved, except the Key West Police Department. The more we giggled, the madder they became, which naturally led to more giggles. I miss Ben.

just once for the love of god can I please be this gal?

So it is with trepidation and some terror that I approach this trip. I am sober, sure.  But there are also teenagers that will be there and I will have to be an adult, I imagine, and y’all know I hate that shit.  Speaking of adulting, I mentioned up there that I am still job hunting and can I just tell you guys that I have been up for consideration OF AN ACTUAL JOB, but it’s been somewhat challenging and I’m not really sure why.  I have had THREE interviews in the last THREE weeks.  I have met with The Dude that Runs the Show. It is a receptionist position and I know that receptionists have it hard everywhere, but come on, I’m not expected to split any atoms sitting there, right?!  Anyway, they were said to be weighing out their options when yesterday (again, after three weeks) they contacted my Temp Agency and asked for references.

this is exactly how I’d like to “express myself” as well, Joanna

REFERENCES.  For a receptionist position in a run-down building where nothing actually seems alive except maybe the mold around the bottom of the ancient wood paneling. Really?Remember back in the day when there were “party lines” and shit like that?  I wish they still had those but I’m pretty sure you can still get a porn number, can’t you?  Porn number? I don’t even know what they’re called.  You know, where you call a number and someone talks dirty to you?Please tell me those are still out there because I am putting Ron Jeremy as my top reference and please, by all means, won’t you call him!?  And what’s MORE . . . I’m a godforsaken TEMP, you ASS CLOWNS.  I’m already VETTED by that exact process, you know, IN ORDER TO SAVE YOU TIME.

I just can’t imagine why I don’t have a job.

I’m hoping that I can survive this trip to the beach with two teenage girls and my husband,  WITH MY SOBRIETY INTACT, and without driving for seven hours like Meryl Streep in The Bridges of Madison County where she clutched onto that door handle willing herself to jump out in the pouring rain at the red stoplight. She chose not to, for love of course,  but I’m thinking that a rough landing at 75 mph in a muddy ditch sounds like a good trade-off at this point.

I’m still grateful for John Cusack.

My Granny just told my Mom that her dressing looks like cat litter.OH FOR GOD’S SAKES I’M ALREADY BEHIND.  I had such high hopes to be on the ball this week with my Thanksgiving posts and coping strategies but . . . oh hells bells, y’all . . . the holidays are upon us. Again. This is a SUPER FUN time for folks that struggle with alcohol because, well . . . isn’t it obvious?  Family. Stress. Holiday guilt. Political divides. There are a zillion reasons to get twitchy around the holidays, especially if you’re trying to protect your sobriety AND your sanity. I’m by no means an expert, this is only my second year of sobriety. I’m still baby stepping and navigating the land mines myself.

I’ve had some funky Thanksgiving’s.

One of my most memorable ones was back when I was living in Hollywood.  Me and my gay mexican BFF Jerry (this was my dead friend Ben’s roommate and how I met him, incidentally.  YES, BEN AND JERRY.) decided to say fuck it and go to a bar, (surprise!) and avoid all things turkey. As we sat in the dark solace of The Frolic Room on Hollywood Boulevard, I noticed John Cusack sitting at the end of the bar. He’d been out riding his motorcycle. We chatted and I was even on the receiving end of a delightful Jagermeister shot. He wouldn’t let me return the favor. “I’m not drinking that piss and getting on a bike”, he said. Smart dude.

One year my live-in boyfriend of two years broke up with me promptly after our dinner with family. Was it the brussel sprouts, honey? I proceeded to get Yeltsin drunk and after a hysterical phone call my Mom came over and helped me start packing. THANKSGIVING NIGHT. Moms are awesome like that. She also “accidentally” spilled an entire bottle a wee bit of her red wine on the very light beige carpet that evening. Oops.

One year another friend of mine made me an impromptu Thanksgiving dinner. Incidentally, he has one arm. The only thing I did all day was open some evaporated milk with a old school manual can opener. Remember those? You really need two arms.

Another year a casual friend of mine invited my Mom and I to her house for Thanksgiving and due to some plumbing problems she had all of our dishes and prep work in her bathroom and was using her tub as the “sink”. It wasn’t so much disconcerting as it was vomit inducing. I remember bringing jello shots as my side dish. I can’t even make this up.

Reminiscing about these Thanksgivings makes me realize just how much things have changed. How this path that I’ve chosen or that chose me has led me here. This year more than ever I’m thankful for family and old and new friends. I’m thankful for an asshole cat. I’m grateful for a husband that supported me in the fight for my life AND in this writing endeavor. . . and he still makes me laugh every single day.

And of course, thanks to you guys for reading. I’m just getting warmed up.