Let’s take a step back from these self-acclaimed accolades for a moment, shall we?  Yes, I am VERY proud of myself and all that I’ve accomplished, these last two months.  I can safely say that I’ve worked harder and more diligently in this position than I have ever before. Not that I was always phoning it in, but I just never really HAD to work that hard.  Even WHEN I was a high functioning alcoholic, I was still pretty darn capable and did a decent job for most of my employers.  Save the last two, I’d say, when the shit was getting ready to hit the fan, or more accurately, the liver was about to hit the floor.

Anyway, my point is that even as dysfunctional as I’ve ever been, I’ve always been a bit of a rule follower and good example, when it came to job function.  Now, this is NOT to say that I haven’t come in a little worse for the wear over the years and I DO have one of my BEST EVER drinking stories that overlapped into a work morning that was pretty epic and I was told by my best friend  that she could SMELL ME when we shared the elevator.  Now that’s impressive, no?  This story also involved Juliette Lewis and an open bar tab so I feel like just living to tell the tale was really accomplishment enough. In fact, that may have been the exact night Cirrhosis decided I could possibly be a host candidate.

At my new job I find myself super stressed and ridiculously uptight when I make a mistake, which is pretty often. As I mentioned, there is an insanely large curve in my learning these days. Tiny mistakes happen all the time, right?  RIGHT.  Well, sometimes you might make a WHOPPER of a fuck-up.  As in, an incredibly large mistake that is so horrid and grotesque that you are left only to send up a flare for help and hope for the best.

Well, that exact thing happened to me recently and it was ghastly.  I made a mistake that took a good two hours to unravel and required the help of THREE higher-management co-workers to find a solution.  It was, I was later told by one of my favorite co-workers, a “douche parfait” in that it had many sticky and terrible layers to it. Indeed it was. Naturally, I tortured myself about this for the remainder of my day at work, and then my obsessive brain decided that wasn’t enough self-induced torture, so I took the whole experience home with me and dedicated my entire evening to self-flagellation, lament, and woe.  Super healthy and productive?  Notsomuch.

Fast forward to the next day.  I got to work with the measly optimism that at least I wouldn’t make THAT mistake again, and that was the one bright spot in this debacle.


I did the exact same thing again the next day.  Admittedly the worst thing that could happen in my opinion, at that exact moment. . . AND IT HAPPENED.  Now, I won’t pretend there wasn’t some “feedback” regarding the second unfortunate instance because, well…DUH, but I will also say it was handled with a level of grace and understanding that surprised me. I was assured that indeed it does suck and indeed it happens, and will more than likely happen again, at some point.  Hopefully not the following day, of course.

Since then though, I’ve adopted a freer attitude about my mistakes and failures, if you will.  The “worst” thing happened.  Oh yes, it did.  And you know what?  We all walked away from it, mostly unscathed. Another co-worker shook his head laughing at my self-deprecation and said, “well, kid, you’re trying, and the only way you’re going to learn and get any better is to keep throwing yourself out there.”  So that’s exactly what I’m doing.  Every single opportunity that presents itself, I’m the first to jump in, sometimes blind, but I figure it out.  Or someone helps me.  Or I just have to be honest and say, “I don’t know”.  What an incredible gift, to just be able to say “I don’t know” and then find the answer, or solution.  It really is that simple. What’s more, is now I’m being recognized for those actions; being “fearless”, jumping in to help, learning on the fly, asking questions.

Recently at work I told another kid that I was feeling anxious and fearful about the day ahead, and how busy we would be.  He smiled and said, “Remember in Finding Nemo, when Dory said “just keep swimming?!” think like that!  Just keep swimming!” And that, indeed, is good advice.

However in the interest of full disclosure, he also said, “You’re kind of like Dory, you know, because you ask the same questions over and over, like you have short term memory loss!” and we laughed and laughed.

I love my job, but I think I hate millennials.


Leap and the net will appear (in theory)

jesus even this photo gives me angina

I’ve been struggling with unemployment for over a year. I’ve been filling in as a Temp here and there, but nothing has really worked out.

Until now.

Lemme back up a sec and mention that although I do enjoy a little mystery here and there, I’m not so good with uncertainty and my life has seemingly been filled with it since being laid off last summer. Turning fifty and starting over (in any capacity) is challenging, of course. It’s a reality check to be sure, and somewhat of a surreal experience. I don’t think it’s inaccurate to say that I’ve worked some pretty shitty assignments and have eaten my share of humble pie. And you know what?  That’s okay. Life is full of highs and lows and this frustrating limbo has become a daily reality for me, albeit a somewhat unpleasant one.  Like most small children, I do better with structure and consistency. And snacks.

So here we are. I have landed a job in seasonal retail sales in a field I know nothing about. Now, while this shouldn’t sound all that daunting, I’m suddenly full of fear and self doubt. The confident accomplished woman inside of me thinks this is ridiculous, but unfortunately, she’s not the one I’ve been listening to.  A wise friend of mine is fond of saying he has two small dudes that stand on each of his shoulders, much like the popular angel/devil scenario.  However in his case, one of the them manufactures and sells bullshit, and the other one buys it. I totally get it.

I have all of the tools and resources to be a success in this role, and I know that once immersed in the position, I will intuitively know how to handle situations and be a solid asset. I’m a people person, and I’ve always found sales to be more about people than products, anyway. I know all of this but yet I’m still letting myself spiral into the unhealthy behavior of predicting and choreographing hypothetical ridiculous situations and disastrous outcomes. Now, some of this is legit, at least in my mind. I am literally decades older than most of my coworkers. This excites and terrifies me at the same time. I have always been lucky to have a vast age span in my friendships and we all know I have the maturity level of a 7th grade boy. However, in this situation I’m letting myself be intimidated by the likelihood that these millennials will know a helluva lot more about everything than I will.


Oh, God. In the immortal words of Charlie Brown, I’m doomed.

some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next.  delicious ambiguity . . .

-gilda radner

I lamented this exact thing to my pal Carol yesterday and in typical Carol fashion, she predictably put her own spin on it, and gave me a brilliant analogy. “It’s like you’re on one of those rope bridges,” she said. “You’re mostly supported, but you can’t see the other side and it’s all wobbly and unsure, and your footing feels somewhat unstable. You’re pretty sure you’ll make it to the other side, though, but it’s genuinely scary. You just have to find your solid ground.”

Solid ground.  Isn’t that what we’re all looking for?  Isn’t that the desired end game?  To feel sure of ourselves and steady and supported? Again, I don’t mind mystery, it’s the uncertainty I can do without. Life is uncertain. There’s always a first day of school. No one wakes up knowing exactly what the day holds.

So with that comfort and knowledge I will get in the shower. I will put on my proverbial big girl panties and face my day with a confident smile and willingness.  In my final interview, they told me that they can teach me the skills, that I just have to have the will.  The will to learn, and to be taught. The will to learn from my mistakes and not take things personally. Suit up and show up, folks, and the rest will fall into place. Life is change and if you’re lucky, growth. These are also the promises recovery has taught me, so I feel like I’m in a bit of a full circle moment, you know?

So, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

And if I could do exactly that, without explosive diarrhea, well that would just be great.

Hear me roar

I admit, these days I’m playing a wee bit loose and fast with my posts while searching for gainful employment that doesn’t make me want to drink myself onto another transplant list and/or hang myself.  Blurgh. However, I must pull my cranium outta my rectum and get on the bus for the month is closing in on us and I still haven’t covered Step 4 in my monthly series.

To recap, we’ve covered honesty, hope and faith so far – step four, simply put, is courage.


Nelson Mandela

I’ll be the first to admit that when it came to courage in MY story, I’m not sure that I possessed it, but I wasn’t really given a choice.  One could argue I was given a choice and I could’ve chosen to continue to drink myself to death in the summer of 2015, but I guess the universe had a different plan for me.  I guess I also had a different plan for me – I really didn’t want to die. I don’t know if that’s courage or survival instinct or just stubbornness, but I do know that giving up wasn’t ever an option and I’m genuinely not saying that because I want a slap on the back, I’m saying that because it’s the truth. Also, in absolute candor, I don’t think I realized just how sick I really was back then. I know – you would think that lying in a hospital bed having your abdomen drained repeatedly after having a shunt inserted INTO YOUR LIVER that you’d think perhaps a problem was afoot.  Not this dumbass. You couple a slow learner with a late bloomer and you’ve got…well, me.

Of course, courage doesn’t always have to be so grandiose and epic. Courage can just be getting out of bed some days, amirite?!?  I recently shared a fantastic life-affirming breakfast with a dear friend who I don’t see nearly enough.  We covered the usual topics, i.e;  what we’re reading, our current president quite possibly being the antichrist, and incorporating trans fats and avocados into our daily diets. As we were chatting she expressed some anxiety over a new water aerobics class she had just signed up for. We both commiserated about just how nerve-wracking it can be to try something new. Especially alone.  Now, let me just remind you that we are two grown-ass accomplished women, as if that matters. I shared with her a recent story from my own experience.

Since returning home from my GOLDEN JUBILEE (read:  50th birthday extravaganza) my yoga practice has been reinvigorated and it’s really about time. I had let it slip down the priority chain as finances are abysmal fleeting these days.  In an effort to try different types of yoga and additionally save money, I found a hip and highly regarded yoga studio in my city that offers donation-based “Karma” yoga. Perfecto!  Well, kinda.

As I drove up to the studio I noticed a gaggle of young and taut gals decked head to toe in trendy yoga wear heading into the building.  They were smiling and laughing and EVEN THEIR PONYTAILS WERE PERFECT.  Instant insecurity made my stomach plummet and my throat tighten. I started sweating and pitting out in my generic yoga-wear.  I quickly glanced at the clock HOPING that somehow I was late for the class and therefore it would be RUDE to interrupt it and I’ll just come back some other time when I’m feeling a little better. Like in fourteen years.

If you know me in real life you know that I have never been late in the entire capsulation of my existence. I’m dead serious, and if you DO know me in real life feel free to comment below with one of the times I made you damn near murderous because of it.  So, I knew before looking at the clock that tardiness was not going to be the case so I quickly began reciting the litany of other reasons I could tell myself why I wasn’t going in.  As I started to spazz out I realized my reaction for what it was;  fear – plain and simple.  I’m too old, too fat, too uncoordinated, too farty and entirely too out of style to join that yoga class.

I looked at my reflection in the rear-view mirror and I could see the miserable and familar panic in my own eyes, and just like that, I was sick and tired of being afraid. The reality of the situation hit me and in a flash of mock bravery I opened the door to my Jeep and before I knew it I was standing in front of yet another beautiful gal with cheeks the color of pink rose petals and eyelashes like the open wings of angels, asking me for my name and donation.  “Jesus Christ, what is this . . .yoga for supermodels?!”, I asked, only half-way joking.

“I know, right?”, she replied. “You should try working here, it’s enough to give anyone an inferiority complex!”  I let THAT SHIT sink in for a moment and said, “well then, I’m obviously in the right place”.  She nodded vigorously in agreement and we both laughed.

Guess what happened?  NOTHING.  Well, yes, something DID happen – I went to said 90 minute yoga class, met some other kick-ass gals, LOVED the teacher and walked out of that hip and trendy bonsai-zen-incense burning studio with my head held high and my body energized. If only I had a mic to drop, I would have dropped it. That’s how good it felt to conquer that insecure and scared voice inside of me.  I can only imagine how it might feel to live your LIFE that way, and I’d like to think that some days, I’m on that path.  I relayed this story to my sweet friend and she and I too shared a laugh at how NO ONE feels completely self-confident and cultivated and proficient and has their SHIT TOGETHER all of the time.

I received a note from her yesterday. She went to her water aerobics, despite the voices in her head that tried to convince her otherwise.  She admitted she was fearful but she plundered forward and you know the rest, don’t you?  She enjoyed the class, met some other fantastic ladies like herself and can’t wait to go back. COURAGE, guys.  It doesn’t have to be thunderous and monumental. It can be the quiet and sometimes fragile voice inside of you that is just one damn ounce braver than your fear. Courage is changing your trajectory.  Courage is being honest with yourself, and your addiction.  Courage is facing down your demons and confronting what needs to change, head on. If nothing changes, nothing changes. Courage is recognizing the patterns in your life that aren’t serving you anymore.

So, if you have a chance sometime soon, step out of your comfort zone.  I promise you won’t regret it.  You may even have fun, or learn something, or discover something new and wonderful about yourself, or the world.

But remember, there’s a very fine line between courage and stupidity.  Please don’t cross it.


Write what you know.

Over the years I’ve received a lot of tips when it comes to writing.  Advice, guidelines and multiple do’s and don’ts.  As a burgeoning young writer I would read and write voraciously and desperately wanted to write a novel of my own.  As I got older I kept journals and wrote short stories.  When blogging became a thing, I thought it would be the perfect foray into my writing The Great American Novel.  Now, I just needed subject matter.

I did a lot of research and one simple quote from Stephen King kept coming back to me time and time again.  “Write what you know”,  was his advice to wannabe writers.  Sounds easy, huh?  So I asked myself…what do I know?

Not so easy.

Well, let’s see.  I could write a dissertation on the cultural impact of HBO’s “Sex in the City” on modern women and dissect each episode in its entirety.  There’s that.  Ummm…I could write about running a half marathon.   Well, I didn’t really “run” it, I guess.  It was more of a bouncy walk really.  I could totally write about the perfect ratio of the chocolate syrup/magic shell combo onto a big bowl of Extreme Moosetracks.  I know a little about a lot I’ve always said.   That does not a book filleth.

Two years ago I almost lost my life to alcoholism.  I had life saving surgery on my liver and have been slowly getting my life back in order and transitioning to sober living.  I am grateful for the second chance, which led me to my somewhat obvious epiphany.

Drinking, I know.  Inside out and backwards and forwards.  Like a dirty threadbare blanket that’s stained and smelly but yet you grab for it every night to envelop yourself in its false security.

I know drinking.  I know shame.  I know fear.  I know the isolation that comes with it all.

I know what it’s like not to remember.  I know what it’s like to go from the life of the party to the laugh of the party.  I know what it’s like when the folks at work don’t believe you anymore.  I know the pity in their eyes.  I also know that it wasn’t always awful.   There were countless good times and happy memories.  I know that one day, maybe even tomorrow, I’ll want to feel that way again.  This I know.

I also know it will kill me.

So, I’ll write.