Please Cut It Out, 2011

My father passed away last week. I was flying home from my business trip, and when I got home my mom gave me the news. Anytime your mom calls you at 11:45 pm, you know it’s not going to be good.
We’d been preparing as a family for the inevitable, but no amount of preparing does you any good when you actually hear it. I’m still trying to make sense of it all, but I just hope my family can make peace with his death and the cause of it.
My mom, sister and brother all flew to Boston so we could at least gather and give each other a hug in person. In a way, the repairing that happened over Christmas prepared us a little more for this, but it also sort of felt like another family gathering he wasn’t present at.
I’m not sure if the gravity of his death will really be felt until we gather once again this summer to scatter his ashes. It’s been a really rough week, but I’m very grateful to have such amazing friends checking on me every day. My apartment is filled with flowers right now, and also an amazing, chocolate-filled gift basket from Zabar's. I’m so lucky to have a wonderful family and amazing friends to take care of me when I need it.
I really need to have a heart-to-heart with 2011, because it wasn’t listening to me very well when I asked it to please be kind. 2011 is kind of a dick, and while we have a lot of work to do to make it better, it’s getting easier day by day.

Had Myself A Merry Little Christmas

Words have yet to be invented to accurately describe how terrible Christmas was last year, and this year has kindly steamrolled that further away from my memory. I had SUCH a pleasant holiday.
I flew down to my brother's house in Texas last Tuesday, and we hung out in Houston to wait for my sister's flight to get in a few hours later. I was nervous to see her because over the last few years we have not gotten along at all. It's frustrating to look at someone who has the same face and voice as me, yet couldn't be more different.
She recently started working her first job, and I think it's starting to change her for the better. We did not fight once over the break, and actually enjoyed each other's company.
As a family, we went to the movies twice (it's $4 to see a movie in Texas - amazing!) and saw Black Swan and True Grit - both highly recommended. During True Grit, a man was sitting in front of me chewing and spitting tobacco. How very Wild West of him!
We also went wine tasting and glow-in-the-dark mini putting where I got THREE holes in one! Speaking of "That's What She Said", I taught my mom what that means over the break, too. When we were waiting for True Grit to start she noticed that my wallet was sticking out of my purse and asked, "Do you want me to help you put it in?" I started laughing, and asked my brother if it was OK if I said TWSS to my mom. I explained to her what it meant, and she tried to start using it, but she's still learning. Even during Christmas Eve dinner, she pointed at the roast beef and said to my sister, "Go ahead and lay some of that beef on here." My brother and I started laughing hysterically, but she's still a little slow with it. It'll be nice to chart her perverse progress.
We do all our celebrating on Christmas Eve, so Christmas Day we just hung out and I cooked our big dinner. I made a southern meal with a delicious turkey, mashed sweet potatoes, collared greens, cornbread stuffing and, for good luck in 2011, some black-eyed peas. It was delicious! Later, I made my own turkey stock for the first time, and it turned out pretty well, too.
On a serious note: there was obviously a hole in the family with my dad not being there, but he's chosen to pull away. We haven't really talked in a year, and I obviously want him to start a new life for himself, but it's out of our hands.
There's no easy way to transition out of that seriousness, except for three words: Indoor Gun Range.
Texas is a really interesting place. I can't think of another state that has as much pride and guns as they do. There is an indoor shooting range next to their Starbucks, in case you need to blow off some steam after getting overly-caffeinated. Also, the whole town shut down on Christmas. My brother and I drove around that morning just looking at how deserted it was. Everything was closed, except liquor stores and churches, of course.
I came back on Sunday evening, surprisingly. The East Coast was slammed by a blizzard, and my flight was the last one being let into Logan Airport. The landing was the scariest I've ever experienced, but the cab ride home was worse. I gave the driver a $10 tip for not killing me.
Thankfully, yesterday my office was closed, too. I got a bonus vacation day and hung out with some friends in my neighborhood.
Anyway, I hope everyone had a lovely, stress-free holiday. It's been an interesting year for me, to say the least, and 2011 has a LOT of pressure on it to perform. Let's just hope those 5 black-eyed peas I managed to eat do the trick.

We Interrupt Our Regularly Silly Program

I usually just write about funny things that happen to me (see: falling down in front of coworkers at LaGuardia, almost getting into a fist fight in Queens), but there is something decidedly unfunny going on in my life right now.

My father is an alcoholic. He always has been, and continues to make drinking his mission. Right now, he’s in the hospital after my mother had to call 911 because he was breathing shallowly. Once there, they said his blood alcohol level was 6.1 - my mom said anesthesia is at around a 4.

As he’s always been an alcoholic, I’ve seen the levels of severity over the years. When I was 12, I found a bottle on the couch downstairs at our house in Connecticut and confronted him. He cornered me and begged me not to tell my mom what I found. When I was 8, I caught him drinking in the garage from a water bottle. He acted weird and surprised when I saw him doing this, so when he left, I smelled the stuff in the bottle. Naively, I asked my mom if water ever smells like rubbing alcohol. She’s a nurse, so I figured she would know these things. (And, yes, I hung out in the garage when I was younger - that’s where the Barbie Dreamhouse was, ok?)

In addition to a few more incidents like that, my dad had a basic schedule: he would come home from work and start drinking Coors Light and just be, I don’t know, generally creepy. He’d sit in his arm chair, not reading or anything, and just stare at whoever walked by.

I assume this was the source of much of my parent’s fighting when I was growing up, and they fought a lot. One fight in particular that I remember was my mom trying to lock my dad out of the house. The problem was he was already halfway through the door, while she was trying to close it. It was really frightening seeing my dad trying to come through the door while screaming at my mom. Not recommended.

Over the years, to deal with my father’s drinking, my mom started drinking as well. She’d have a bottle of wine a night, along with a lot of food. She’d gained quite a bit of weight, while both my parents slipped deeper into their depression.

But, then, my dad disappeared for a few days. We never talked about where he went or why, but when he came back he wasn’t creepy. He had stopped drinking. I found out later that his work had sent him to a mandatory detox because there had been complaints that he smelled of booze and was showing up to work still drunk.

So, after years of his drinking, my mom was finally saying, “This is the man I married. I’m so happy you get to meet him now.” And she was right, he’s pretty awesome. Those were the years I found out how funny my dad is, what a crazy life he had when he was younger - basically I found out he was a person, not someone who just lived at my house.

A few years after he stopped drinking, my mom did, too. In retrospect, I had a lot of anger towards my mom that she continued to drink while my dad was in “recovery”. At the time, I thought stopping drinking was as easy as not buying it anymore. I now know that’s not the case.

Cut to four years ago. I was living in NY and in a really bad work and relationship situation, so I did what any sane person would do: quit my job, packed up my apartment and drove cross country home to Los Angeles in three days! I thought it’d be a good place to recharge my batteries, save some money and figure out what my next move was. My parents have an apartment at the beach and a spare bedroom - what could go wrong?

Within a week of me being home, my father’s mistress calls my mother. He’d been having an affair for some time with a woman he worked with. The fighting was astronomical. She kicks my dad out and he moves to a depressing apartment 20 minutes away and I’m tasked with helping my mom pay rent at their apartment. So much for living out my freeloader fantasy of being an unemployed beach bum - and yes, I’m aware this makes me sound like a spoiled brat who demands bean feasts. But, I assure you, I’m not.

At this point, he had to have started drinking again. For someone who’s never been to a formal rehabilitation program (outside of a detox), he didn’t have the tools to cope with his actions. Consequently, my living at home did not last long as I became my mom’s sounding board, and heard things no child (no matter how old) should hear about their parents’ relationship. Given everything he’d done, she still took him back.

So, I decided to move back to NY to give the relationship I’d left another shot because he had “changed” and “loved me”. So, my dad was going to be my co-pilot on the drive back to NY.

While grateful I’d have company on the long drive, by this time it was 100 percent obvious he was drinking again. He’s always hidden alcohol, but there are always a few signs he is drinking again: taking a lot of walks, and also, strangely, ordering non-alcoholic beers at restaurants. I think that’s almost a charade to say, “Look! I’m not drinking SO MUCH SO that I order non-alcoholic things - and ENJOY them!”

It was confirmed me though, when I was supposed to fly to NY for an interview at my now job. My dad dropped me off at the airport only for me to find out a few minutes later that my flight had been canceled due to a snowstorm on the East Coast. I called him to come pick me up (my parents live literally 5 minutes from LAX), and when he got there 20 minutes later, he was drunk. I should have told him to pull over and let me drive, but something happens and you revert back to being a little kid who’s afraid to upset their dad. We made it home in one piece, but that made me so anxious about the impending cross-country drive.

Armed with father/daughter anti-depressants, we set off on the road where at every hotel stop, he’d go on his walks and then just go right to sleep. I always offered to do most of the driving because I wasn’t sure if he was still drunk, and I could also drive at 90 mph to get me to NY sooner.

Now (if you’re still reading), he’s at the lowest point of the disease. He was laid off from work at 61 years old, and couldn’t deal with it. Christmas was terrible, and, for now, I’ll leave it at that. My mom and brother spent New Year’s Eve in the hospital with him, and now my mom’s dealing with him in the hospital again. He has pneumonia and his pancreas is shutting down, and if he ever drinks again it will be so painful for him that he won’t last much longer.

With the length of time I’ve known my dad as an alcoholic, I’m having a hard time feeling anything about this last hospital stay.

I called him after his New Year’s hospital stay and asked him to go into rehab. I told him I wanted him to walk me down the aisle (if I ever trick a man into marrying me), and that if I have kids, they should have a granddad. I said all this through tears in a convention center in Atlanta (not my finest moment). I mean, that is some Hallmark heavy stuff to say, but it was met with no reaction. I know it’s the disease, I know he’s depressed, but that’s sort of where the switch got turned off for me. I said if he wanted a relationship, he’d have to call me sometimes, too. He’d have to say “I love you” first before I did sometimes. I haven’t heard from him since.

So now, when I found out he was in the hospital I probably should have been upset. But, honestly, I’m protecting myself from getting too disappointed or too hopeful. It’s embarrassing to say, but the Time Warner Cable guy came to my new apartment to install internet/cable and it didn’t work out for some stupid reason, so now they can’t come for another THREE WEEKS to try installing it again - after he left, I cried (I mean, don’t they realize it’s the last season of Lost??). All that to say, I’m not a robot, and I probably needed that release.

To be clear: my callousness aside, I truly do wish my father would get the help he needs, I really do want him to get better and be my dad again. So, any good thoughts my way are appreciated, and I promise soon I’ll write about how I accidentally farted in a meeting, or how tired I am seeing the “Look at me I’m comfortable being naked” ladies at the gym. I wasn’t sure if I should have written this because it’s pretty personal, but I need to work on opening up - apparently that also includes on the Internets. Anyway, I know this is all pretty heavy stuff, and I know it’s not very funny, but it’s real and it’s what’s going on right now.

Question

Say you know a diabetic. Say this diabetic may or may not be related to you. Is it "recommended" to eat or drink 7 (full-sized) powdered donuts, a quart of chocolate milk, a medium Coke, medium French fries and two chocolate fudge sundaes from McDonald's and another bowl of ice cream with a few more cans of full-sugar soda in about 6 hours?

Really, this is a rhetorical question, but isn't that horrifying?

Thanksgiving

I've just spent the two days on detox from Thanksgiving. It was a good time, don't get me wrong, but it's nice to sit in silence for a few days after being around extended family. The highs were, of course, spending time with my brother. Our drive up had NO traffic, which was amazing. (Not amazing? Me accidentally taking the wrong exit for the Mass Pike with a 16 mile detour. Oops!) And, we even did our bi-annual stop at Friendly's where we ate disgusting (read: amazing) sandwiches with BBQ-drenched fried chicken, bacon and cheese on fried bread. (Although, my body was definitely rejecting the honey BBQ delight; I could feel it in my throat for a few hours. And, yes, that's also what she said.) We both "ran" the 5K Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving morning. I'm proud of my brother for running the whole thing, even though he's been sore ever since. That's what happens when you never exercise and your diet consists of Centrum Silver (it's on sale!) and Spaghetti-O's.
Another high was seeing a friend of mine from college on Friday night. We went out in Portsmouth, NH to a brewery. We didn't stay there too long as it got really crowded with bros. By then, I guess you could call it a BRO-ery – ha! (Please click here.) Besides the bros, there was also a girl who was negotiating with the bartender about putting more vodka in the TWO vodka cranberries she had ordered for herself. Part of the negotiation process involved leaning over me, too. But, sadly for her, it didn't work. Unrelated: is anyone else REALLY excited about the Jersey Shore House TV show that starts this week on MTV?
On actual Thanksgiving, my aunt and uncle had some friends for dinner along with my grandma. When they arrived we were in the middle of watching a photo DVD which had pictures of my parents before they were married, my grandparents when they were younger, me when I was adorable, me when I most definitely was not (light-washed jeans, hairsprayed bangs and braces? AT THE SAME TIME?!) I figured when their friends arrived, my uncle would turn off the DVD, but no such luck. They had to sit through quite a bit of the 45 minute DVD, poor things. At this point in the slideshow I had, um, gone through my developmental stage. So, there was one picture of my sister and I where I was wearing a V-neck dress and leaning over. My grandmother then blows up my spot and says, "Wow, look at that crease!" Thanks, grammie! That's the closest thing to a compliment I've gotten from her, and it was all about my boobies.
Overall, it was a good break, but I'm always happy to be back home in my now supremely-organized apartment.

Phoeni-X Files

For the last few days, I've been in Phoenix, Arizona for work. My parents flew out from Los Angeles and stayed with me in my (never going to be big enough) hotel room. I can safely say I will never move there, but the scenery was beautiful. The weather was really hot, about 98 degrees, but at least it was dry heat. Here are some scenic shots from a day trip to Sedona, Arizona:
Here is the best part, besides, of course, seeing my family. In Sedona, there are a LOT of psychics and vortexes (vortices?). According to fact (read: Google), the vortexes in Sedona are not created from wind or water, but spiraling spiritual energy. My source says, "It is not easily explained ... it must be experienced." Well, go no further than Ye Olde UFO Store. Apparel:

"What's Probed in Sedona, Stays in Sedona."

Oh, hi.

Wheelz.

Anticlimactic Car Accident Post

This weekend I went to Newburyport, Mass. where my aunt, uncle and grammie live. If you live in the Northeast you know how beautiful the weather was this weekend; if you don’t live in the Northeast, well, the weather was beautiful.
On Saturday, my aunt, brother, grammie and I went to Salisbury Beach to sit outside for a little while and bask in the sun and watch boats putter about where the Merrimack River meets the Atlantic Ocean. On the drive back from the beach to my aunt and uncle’s house, we were rear-ended pretty hard. My grandmother was wearing a pink Boston Red Sox hat that flew off her head and I screamed loudly because I do not deal well with surprises – like, not even a little bit. I’ve had freak-outs so bad that I’ve needed to be slapped.
Thankfully, we were only going about 15 miles per hour, at most, and everyone is ok for the most part. The girl who hit us accidentally accelerated when she was trying to break in order to tend to her toddler son in the backseat. That was her first mistake. Her second was not driving with a license. Her third was not having up-to-date insurance, and her last mistake was being British (U-S-A! U-S-A!).
We called the cops to make it all official, and really, there’s not much to this story except I definitely have a sore neck and was a little shaken up. So, feel sorry for me, ok?

Grandma-rnier

I have very cheap hand soap in my bathroom that I think smells like tequila. Last night, I had a friend over for dinner and after washing her hands she said, "This soap smells like my Nana." I'm just saying.

This is the story of my red, right ankle.

I've re-injured my ankle.
Last time I hurt it, I was doing laundry, fell down (three) stairs and launched into a major panic attack that I was going to die alone at the bottom of the stairs. This time, I hurt it by exhibiting behavior in preparation for dying alone: I was desperately trying to get my cat to pay attention to me.
I got home to California on Wednesday and was alone in my parents' apartment for a few days. My mom and sister were in Colorado, my brother hadn't made it to the West Coast yet, and my dad was working during the day.
So, while catching up on my Maury one morning, I leaned forward on the bed and tried to reach the family cat, Jelly Bean (note: I did NOT name her). As I was commanding the feline to "look over here" and "why don't you love me? I feed you!" I leaned back on my legs and all my weight hit my right ankle strangely and I heard that familiar pop I heard last time.
Many hours later, when my mom and sister came home, I started to whine that my foot hurt - but mostly to get that attention my jerk of a cat was denying me earlier. My mom and sister told me I had a contusion; I trust their knowledge as they are an on-disability nurse and a frequent patient, respectively.
My mom wrapped me up, iced me down and smoothed my hair. Despite asking for an amputation last night, I think I'm going to live ... and not die alone.

Green thumbs

You could say my parents are plant enthusiasts. This is what they got me for my birthday:

We've always had a beautiful garden full of flowers, and when there was the room, vegetables.

A few years ago, when my parents were starting to become real, actual people, not just boring old parents, we went out to dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. The conversation switched to drugs, naturally. My dad said, "Well, there's a reason I don't order mushrooms on pizza."

That was funny, but I wanted more. What other drugs had they tried? How old were they when they first smoked pot? Did they smoke when we were asleep? I shared my experiences and learned a few doozies about them, but this was the best one of all:

When I was in high school, they thought my brother was a major stoner. So, doing what parents do, they started snooping through his bureau. They found what they thought were pot seeds. You'd think they'd react how you're supposed to, right?

No. My parents decided to put their green thumbs to use and try to harvest their own supply of marijuana in our backyard. Much to their chagrin, weeks later beautiful marigolds popped up instead. My brother had gotten the seeds from an insurance company's promotion and they had probably spilled out in his drawer.

As of two nights ago my dad won't confirm nor deny the story to my brother (who, in high school, was just shy - not a druggie). But, would you really trust anyone who got stoned halfway through his wedding and is featured wearing sunglasses in half the photos?

DC recap

"Hey, just like in Forrest Gump!"

I heard this a few times in Washington, DC whilst visiting my brother last weekend. The first time was on the double-decker tour bus. A father - who insisted on speaking over the trivia announcements - was explaining to his daughter what is the significance of the reflecting pool at the base of the Washington Monument. I also heard a lot of references to the movie when my brother and I were walking from the reflecting pool to the Lincoln Memorial. "Jenny! Jenny!"

Another moment of patriotic ignorance happened when we were driving through embassy row in said bus. We passed nations from Africa, South America, Iraq's embassy which has since been shut down (someone remarked, "Uh, duh, I wonder WHY!?") and Asian embassies. While we were passing South Korea someone in the bus said, in a very thick Southern accent, "That there is CHI-nese." Yikes.

Despite these instances, the trip was really fun. I got to DC later than expected. My brother picked me up and we headed back to Sliver Springs, MD. My brother is subletting a room in a great house in a neighborhood that has lots of Ethiopian restaurants (we ate at one on Saturday night, and it was delicious) and a cute downtown strip.

His roommates were very nice and responded well to the cupcakes I brought for them from Buttercup Bakery. My favorite roommate was Penelope the hound. This dog is the friendliest I've ever met, other than my old puppy Summer. Penelope wags her tail, smiles and needs lots of attention and affection. If your hand stops scratching her back for a few seconds she rests her snout on your thigh and just sighs until you start up again. This pup is the canine equivalent of my neediness in the affection department.

Saturday morning we got up early and headed back into the city and saw SO much: Lincoln Memorial, Vietnam Memorial, The Mall, Georgetown, Smithsonian Air and Space and Natural History (dinos!), White House, The Capitol Building, Washington Monument, Arlington Cemetery, we at lunch at the National Gallery and walked through a Texas/Bhundi festival. Saturday night we got Ethiopian Food went to see Wall-E, which I really, really liked.

It was a really great trip and I love hanging out with my brother. We got very lucky in the family lottery.

Here are some photo highlights:
Mastadon at the Smithsonian Natural History Museum


The National Cathedral where MLK, Jr. gave his last Sunday sermon, and where there is a sculpture of Darth Vader.


The great emanicipator:


Even pirates (or Piratz, according to the name of the restaurant) need a break:


People soaked their feet in fountains all over the city. It was such a hot weekend, my brother and I put our feet in the fountain near the National Gallery and WWII Memorial fountain - my grandfather would be so proud he served to cool his grandkids' feet.

W a-s-h i-n-g t-o-n, baby, D.C.!

I'm off to DC this weekend to see my bearded big brother. He's living down there for a few months to do research for his dissertation.

I've never been to that city before so I'm really excited to walk around in the near 100 degree humidity it has to offer. I'm anticipating some swamp-like conditions, and I don't think brother has air conditioning either. But, he does have two roommates who apparently have a strict "No Shirt" policy enforced in their house.

To get down there I'm taking the Bolt Bus. My brother kept telling me it's such a steal, you can get fares for a dollar! I think he was living in a lands of a freaky, freaky dream. Forty-three dollars later, I will be zooming south in the lap of luxury and free wi-fi.

Our plan is to take a bus tour around the city, and hopefully we'll be able to stop into the Smithsonian or the Spy Museum at some point.

This weekend kicks off a few REALLY busy weeks of travel: July 7, business day trip to Atlanta; July 11-13 weekend business trip to Atlanta; July 15-16 business trip to Chicago; July 30-August 4, home to Los Angeles for a few days and then down to San Diego for good buddy's wedding. Phew.

Mama Bear

I talked to my mother last night who is in rehab. Not that kind of rehab, but physical therapy rehab. She's trying to learn how to walk again, she's learning how to dress herself again. I feel completely helpless in this situation because these are all things she taught me how to do and now I can't repay the favor because I'm out in New York getting into bar fights and walking on beaches.

This is a woman who has so selflessly taken care of everyone else around her and now her biggest fear is people abandoning her when she needs someone to return the favor. Speaking to her is so heartbreaking because she is very confused and groggy and her vocal chords may have been damaged through all of this. She doesn't even sound like my mother anymore.

Thankfully, she has not lost her sense of humor, and from what I hear, her craftyness. For Father's Day she made my dad a card from her lunch tray placemat, some crayons and some Littlest Pet Shop stickers she had.

Here is some vintage artwork I have hanging in my office:

In case you're a Philistine and need a little help, it's her hand (disguised as a turkey) wishing me a Happy Thanksgiving.