Friday, March 19, 2010


I distinctly recall a point in the not-so-distant past when I wasn't anywhere nearly so whiny on this blog. I'm aware that I am the one responsible for setting the tone here (unless one chooses to believe that The Almighty/the universe has taken a particular interest in my life and how I perceive the events therein), and I'm really working to get back to a place where I have more fun here, and don't just vent the pain and frustration.

In the grand scheme of things, I'm happy to admit that I have a pretty awesome life. My husband is my best friend and fantastic in ways I will leave to the imagination. I live with a crew of loving (for the most part), amusing, and interesting critters. I am lucky enough - knock on wood - to have the care and feeding of the aforementioned spouse and pets as my "paying gig", and therefore am able to sleep on the inconstant schedule my body sets for me, with few repercussions.

I think a big part of me rebels against talking about the good stuff. Like doing so will resemble bragging, or jinx things. I have enough Russian and Irish in me that I tend to be fastalistic and almost pathologically avoidant of situations and statements that might attract universal irony. I'm seriously itching to delete the above paragraph for exactly this reason. But the alternative - only airing the painful and depressing shit that's already out there - is no option for me. I don't want to be a pessimist. Or a downer. There is a lot to enjoy during our time on this planet, and I want to write about that as much as (hell, more than) the painful-but-important things.

First item of fun: a drink! My mom invented a sinfully delicious new drink recipe recently, which I shall share forthwith.

Apparently there's a new trend of honey-flavored whiskey. The one she likes (which I tried) is Seagram's 7 Dark Honey. A quick internet search led to the discovery (for me) that there is some controversy surrounding this particular booze, because they are apparently attempting to circumvent the FTC blogging regs (which I, for the record, feel are a fucking joke considering that they hold bloggers to a ridiculously higher standard than people in print media. But I digress...) by having people (PR people, it looks like) comment on blogs without disclosing that they're basically spamming anyone who mentions the product.

My points in mentioning all this are that 1) I refuse to link to the aforementioned product, since they seem to be doing just fine coopting the internets via blog posts, and while I enjoyed said product, I am not their whore; and 2) because apparently I have to disclose the source for products I discuss in a remotely review-ish capacity, here it is:

MY MOM BOUGHT SEAGRAM'S 7 DARK HONEY AND MADE ME THIS DRINK, AND I LIKED IT. If they want to track her down and reimburse her for her bottle, more power to them!

And for anyone out there in copyright-land, this is her recipe that she created. It's fan-fucking-tastic, all her own, and something I know my Gramma would have given her stamp of approval. Steal it and I WILL hunt you down.

The Promised Land
1 oz. Seagram's 7 Dark Honey
2 oz. fat-free half-and-half

This is like a whiskey-based white russian, or something similar. The dairy cuts the burn of the alcohol down to almost zero, so you're left with a rich "milk and honey" drink that will give you a sneaky buzz very quickly. Perfect for a nightcap, or as a "drink" for those who don't like a boozey burn. And who doesn't like fat-free?

For anyone with raised eyebrows, I was hesitant myself. I generally am not a whiskey fan, and only drink it in the occasional sour. As for ff half-and-half, until now it was reserved for coffee. It never occurred to me that it might be a drink base, despite all the Hungry Girl drinks based on ff ice cream, ff syrups, etc. This is way more simple and delicious than most other "diet-conscious" concoctions out there. And no, I have no idea what the nutritionals are on this and no desire to find out.

In other alchohol-related news: Chris told me tonight that on his way home, he saw that our local Rita's Water Ice is open for the summer. With a warm weekend approaching, I'm declaring open season on bbq and Rita's 'Ritas! Yay, tequila!

Friday, March 12, 2010


I was getting caught up on my DVR recordings tonight. Last week's episode of "Numbers" was a sort of throwaway about a group of boys who had been molested by a teacher and who all became different people as a result. At the end, one character said that he wouldn't have become the man he was if it weren't for the molestation, and that registered. As painful as periods of my life have been, and as difficult as it still is for me to work through the repercussions, I often feel the same way.

I like myself. Hell, I love the person I am.

It isn't easy living with my brain, but I make it work. But I have a VERY hard time reconciling my current state of self-acceptance with the abuse I suffered. I feel like being happy with ME means being ok with the things that made me who I am. And that it's wrong to accept my flawed state of being, because it means accepting the terrible things that led up to it.

Do I think I might be a better, more healthy, more productive human being had I not been abused? Absolutely. But a part of me wonders how compassionate I might be. How accepting I might be. How forgiving I might be. I hope that my positive traits aren't solely a result of the abuse. I hope that I would have developed into someone similar without the trauma I suffered. But there is no way to know for certain. Not that anything in this life is knowable. I just get irritated that as a natural second-guesser, I was dealt an especially tricky hand.

And then, as someone who believes in some greater Something out there, I am reminded of Neil Gaiman's statement in Good Omens (I guess it could have been Terry Pratchett's assertion; stupid collaborations): "God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players [i.e. everybody], to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who smiles all the time."

I have to believe that someone knows what the cards mean. I'm mystified.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Careless Whispers

Yes, that "Careless Whispers" (by Wham):

I feel so unsure
As I take your hand and lead you to the dance floor
As the music dies
Something in your eyes
Calls to mind the silver screen
And all its sad good-byes

I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool
I should have known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

Time can never mend
The careless whispers of a good friend
To the heart and mind
Ignorance is kind
There's no comfort in the truth
Pain is all you'll find

I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool
I should have known better than to cheat a friend
And waste this chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

Never without your love

Tonight the music seems so loud
I wish that we could lose this crowd
Maybe it's better this way
We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say
We could have been so good together

We could have lived this dance forever
But now who's gonna dance with me?
Please stay

And I'm never gonna dance again
Guilty feet have got no rhythm
Though it's easy to pretend
I know you're not a fool
I should have known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I've been given
So I'm never gonna dance again
The way I danced with you

(Now that you're gone) Now that you're gone
(Now that you're gone) What I did's so wrong
That you had to leave me alone

It isn't entrely appropriate/applicable, but whenever we lose a baby this song invariably works itself into my mind at some point during the grieving process. And tonight, just a few days after we helped Harriet to the Bridge, it came into my head while I was washing the bedding she last slept in.

I know it's my personality that makes the guilt ingrained, but I have yet to have a pet death that did not evoke that response. I always feel there was some avenue I should have explored, or maybe just that I should have done something sooner. I always imagine there was something I could or should have done to stave off the inevitable.

And the fact is that our lives with our pets - and other humans - are dances. Every relationship is different and special and irreplacable. So whether or not losing Harriet was even partially my fault, I know that I will never dance with anyone the way I danced with her. And I'd have given anything for her to stay, even just a little bit longer.