Writer Interrupted

At last; a chance to write from "home."  Isn't it funny how some routines are so important to our overall sense of happiness and well-being? Even a simple routine as waking up, brewing coffee and blogging? 

It hasn't exactly been the easiest task; wandering around from one end of the city to another looking for a place to write.  Most coffee houses are packed with fellow writers or simply a dozen or so people with little battery life.  The outlets are a hot commodity to come by; as almost every person wants to charge... something. 

I would attempt to write from my Mini i-Pad from a crowded Starbucks or other local spot offering free wifi.  But unfortunately, that is not always the most ideal environment.  And I have yet to find my own little writers corner... my spot.  Furthermore, I am always in between appointments or am off to the grocery store, catching a train, fiddling with my new work materials or simply lying down to catch some much needed zzzzzzzzzzs. 

So today, I finally feel comfortable enough to brew coffee and write from the apartment I am sharing for the month.  It's quiet this morning and I don't have to go into work until 8 p.m. tonight. 

You see, I was in in a terrible funk the past two days; unable to find a place or a good time to write.  I am just the type of person who really enjoys a certain amount of structure.  So when I knew I had pretty much the entire day to myself before heading into the city to work, I jumped at the opportunity to write: still in my pajamas and sipping pumpkin spiced coffee from Trader Joe's market.  

In some ways, I can't believe I have only been in New York a week.  I've been training at a new serving job and reconnecting with friends who live here.  Almost every moment has been filled in some way, even if only by the long walks I would take around Central Park.  

I realized something just before falling asleep last night; constant creativity produces more creativity.  It isn't something that dries up.  Creativity is rather like a muscle that only gets stronger the more it is flexed and exercised.  And so, I must continue my creative pursuits.  As steady as ever, I must nurture creativity as best as I possibly can.  

This is such a creative place.  And everywhere I look I am surrounded by the people who are actually "making it."  

If only that were me.  Another bottle of Champagne please... 

This is all part of serving the bigger picture though. And from the bottom of my heart, I wish to get there one day: sitting at the table rather than standing before it.  

But for now, I am on my way to writing a new chapter; a new story.  

This past week of moving and getting a job has most certainly interrupted the steady flow of creativity that I suppose I had, in some ways, taken for granted.  Let's just say I was a writer interrupted.  

But I believe that now, more than ever, is the time to protect and serve creativity as best as I can; establishing a sense of structure in an otherwise volatile but thrilling moment in time.  

Today:

Gin Rickey

1 1/2 oz Gin

1/2 oz Lime Juice

Splash of Soda

On the Rocks in a Highball Glass

What's Just Around the Corner

Last night I had the opportunity to catch up with an old friend over some great drinks and a very long walk.  It was a warm night, and there was just something so incredibly poetic about the entire experience.

I didn't know what to expect, as this encounter was more than unexpected.  So we just let the conversation flow as naturally as possible.  And I began connecting the dots, between his experiences and my own.

Perhaps because we are both writers and a little prone to emotional indulgences, we both ate up the nostalgia as if it were the most delicious main course in all of New York City.

But then, just as sudden and unexpectedly as the moment we ran into one another in a crowded market just a few days ago, the gravity of the situation hit me and I came to a startling realization; we never truly know what is just around the corner.

Isn't that absolutely magical?

I have to tell you that the past five days have been like something out of a movie.  There are young couples strolling hand in hand around almost every corner, kids blowing perfectly round bubbles the size of grapefruits along the paths in Central Park, and each scene is perfectly scored with some kind of pure and equally enchanting source music.  It's frightfully wonderful.

Every corner unfolds some depiction of life, love, survival, creativity, work, struggle and yes, the ever impressive American dream.

We are all in this place because it is feeding something within our hearts that is down right demanding to be heard.  In fact, the buildings themselves are demanding in their own right.  They stand over us; towering and impressive.  They have their own unique voices and dresscode.  The buildings provide me great company.  They are my beacons, my mile markers, and my way of navigating from one corner of the map to the other.

All these people I see around me have completely overwhelmed my senses.  And I find myself struggling to find the words to express what I feel each day as I walk through the countless blocks and stretch of concrete.

I can't very well explain it.  I can't really figure out how to quantify the countless moments I catch myself in awe.

And I know that this feeling will inevitably fade over time as I too, am cast alongside this wonderful hit show that is Manhattan.  But for now, I still catch my breath each time I turn a corner and am presented with granduer and wonderment.

Tomorrow I start my job.  And then, I will have officially taken my first big bite of this 'Big Apple.'  I will have my own routine and semblance of a life as a proper city girl.  Who knows what is waiting around the next corner... maybe the best is yet to come.

Until then, this corner is looking pretty good.

Today

Lil Nicky

1oz Vodka
1/2 oz Pama Liqueur
Splash of Soda
On the rocks with a lime wedge.

Road Warriors and Multi-Taskers

Imagine every annoying encounter you've ever had while commuting to and from work.  You're sitting behind the wheel of your compact car, listenening to the radio, and tapping your hands on the dashboard in hopes that your constant vigil over the endless sea of cars ahead of you will enourage the momentum to inch along just a little bit faster.  Then, for no logical reason whatsoever, some silver hybrid cuts in front of you as if that that extra five feet made all the difference in their drive time.  But you're no fool.  You know you're all stuck and not going anywhere fast.

Now imagine a similar scenario, but instead of being surrounded by countless cars, you are simply surrounded by hoards of people.  Now let me tell you, foot traffic is far more entertaining than car traffic.  

What I have whitnessed upon entry in New York City, would make any person feel a twinge of anxiety. These people are hysterical... comical really. 

I mean, who continues to read their novel while walking off of the subway and down a flight of stairs while people attempt to merge around you, beside you, and in front of you??? From what I gather so far: several dozen NY women.  

I stand behind these marvelous multitaskers and think, are you really going to read that book while going down a flight of stairs??? Really lady????? 

Just like the rules of the road, there are most certainly pedestrian rules as well.  The foot traffic rules are as followed; don't text and walk or read a book while going up or down a flight of stairs in the subway, DO pick up after your dog, and gladly step aside to double check the Mets scores, and please, under no circumstances engage in small talk.  

I find myself knocking over old ladies, getting impatient with tour busses who block the crosswalk when the go light is on, and moving almost effortlessly around the slow moving texting-walkers. 

All in all, I definitely feel like I am in the flow of the legendary pace of the daily walkabouts that I've always heard about.  New Yorkers do walk fast... but I walk faster.

Oh wait... this is a commute, not a race... 

I will have to remember that the next time I am merging with distracted pedestrians... It's not a race, it's not a race, it's not a race...

Yesterday, as I rolled my luggage down the eleven-block stretch of concrete that spans between my two friends' apartments, I couldn't help but notice that I was still mowing over everyone else!!!

I don't know... Maybe the pace they set is one of the multi-tasker.  But don't count on me writing my blog while walking through Midtown.  No sir.  

I'm just not that stretched for time... Thank God. 

Today:

Screwdriver

1 oz Vodka 

Splash of orange juice. 

A Case of Cold Feet

You can be sure it is going to be a rather stressful day when every thought that crosses your mind upon waking ends with a question mark.  

When am I going to come back from NYC? When am I going to see my dogs again? Will they miss me when I am traveling? Or will they forget all about me?? Where will I get a job? If I get a job, will I end up staying through the winter in New York? Or will I go back to California in January? How long before my funds run out? Am I making the wrong choice? Is this a crazy plan? What if...? Where to...?  How much...???? When??? Why??? How??? Where??? 

I have to tell you, this is not a great way to start out the morning.  I sat in bed for nearly an hour as these questions ran through my mind; similar to the way the numbers on the stock market ticker race by with endless flux. 

And I couldn't help but ask myself one last question before getting out of bed: 'Am I getting cold feet?'  

I've had months to plan this excursion.  I have had ample time to carefully deconstruct every nagging fear or question.  And yet, out of nowhere, I am suddenly overcome with nerves.  

With nearly one week left to go before my impending journey, I feel more anxious than ever about taking this trip.  I know it is going to be such a good thing for me to experience, but the weight of the unknowns is a heavy burden to lug around... along with my huge suitcases. 

All these questions simply cannot be answered until I get there.  

And so, with that in mind, I am trying to look at it as a long vacation...  I have no clue what I will want to do after I arrive.  I am not sure if staying for more than a month or two will pan out.  But how can I know? I simply can't from where I sit right now.  

I guess this is just how life goes.  You have to take some chances and just hope for the best.  We can't always have all the answers laid out perfectly before us on a silver tray, but we can do our best to handle whatever may come. 

I'm just going to have to double up on the socks and slippers this week, suck it up, take a deep breath, pack my yoga mat... and try to keep my feet roasty and toasty...

Getting all worked up over the many variables isn't really doing me any favors.  Time to live and let go.   Let go and let God.  The rest are just the details. And who needs them anyway? Oh shoot... another question mark! 

Guess my feet are still a little chilly after all. Oh well... Better just enjoy what I have right now in front of me; two warm little dogs who love nothing more than to make every moment count. They are the zen masters of living in the present moment. Their paws are always nice and warm. 

 Today:

Absolut Stress

1/2 oz Absolut Vodka

1/2 oz Malibu Rum

1/2 oz Peach Schnapps

Equal Parts Cranberry

Pineapple and Orange Juices

On the Rocks!

Lost in the Fog

I'm stranded on a remote island near the North Channel... No really, I am.  I woke up this morning to a thick white blanket of fog, engulfing the entire expanse of the surrounding waters and distant shores.  Okay, stranded might be a small stretch of the imagination, considering I hadn't really planned on leaving the island anytime soon anyway.  But the reality of the preventive conditions remain; even if I wanted to leave, I simply couldn't until the fog has lifted.    

It is quite eery to sit here along the harbor's edge and not be able to see beyond the shoreline.  Somewhere, echoing upon the surface of the lake, is the murmuring rumble of a presumably small engine.  I have no real gage of where it is coming from, or for that matter, where it is going: as everything if muffled by the enclosing fog.  

As I thumb through the index of my mind, a great inventory of memories emerge from my very own precarious condition: the 'thick-as-soup' mental fog that engulfs a few dozen great shipwrecks of the past.  I sing to myself a haunted old tune of a fog horn whistle blowing Into the Mystic. 

I don't even know where that little tune has been hiding all these years... 

Just as soon as I disappear momentarily Into the Mystic, I am encountered by a very inquisitive snake.  Yes, that was a literal statement, and not a metaphor...  Although I can plainly see the irony... 

This island has a way of bringing about thoughts and curiosities you may not have realized existed.  But I don't mind.  There's nowhere to go even if I did... 

The fog is lifting before my eyes, and I have come to realize a few benefits of immersing myself in the island experience.  Reflection, patience, stillness and surrender: this is what losing yourself to an island escape can procure.     

I realize that I can flip through the index of my mind and feel perfectly at ease.  The fog has lifted there too, and it's a comforting feeling to be able to see clearly once again.  I can rest assured that safe passage is now in sight, whenever I choose.  

That snake is hanging out on the other side of the deck, just sunning himself and enjoying warmth of what promises to be another beautiful day.  

When I do leave this island, I will be faced with a few difficult decisions.  My summer in northern Michigan is coming to an end.  And my time served behind the bar is nearly up... for now. 

To be lost in the fog isn't such a bad thing.  I have lost my sense of time, of worry and even correctly catalogued a few misplaced memories.  

In fact, I've created a new folder where I insert all the memories that used to make me sad.  I'm no longer sad singing that song.  I can't recall when the sorrow lifted; it's a little foggy. 

But I do know one thing for sure: the best chance for survival is to momentarily surrender to the elements and patiently wait for the fog to lift... because when it does, as it most certainly will, it will be time to set sail into the great unknown.  

Sometimes the greatest gift of being lost in the fog is the inability to to see beyond wherever you stand; forcing you to close your eyes, look within and just be right where you are at this very moment in time.  

Today:

Gilligan's Island

1 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Peach Schnapps 

Equal parts Orange and Cranberry Juice

The fog this morning...

Sneaky Snake...

Finally able to see.

 

 

     

Cents and Sensibility

The other day I came across something I hadn't ever seen before: a 1943 Wheat Penny.  As I plucked it out from the pile of loose change jingling around in the bottom of my purse, my fingertips glided across the worn face of old "honest Abe." The coin itself has seen better days, but remains in fair condition.  Just by looking at it, you probably wouldn't guess that it is seventy years old, except for a few worn edges and the exposed base metal.

I did a little research because I am, without a doubt, a bit of a romantic when it comes to antiquities.  What I discovered surprised me a little.  1943 Wheat Pennies were minted with a different base metal than the traditional copper pennies created the previous and following years; they are unique.  Even more curious, is that some of these pennies minted in 1943 were accidentally minted in copper rather than the base metal originally intended; these are extremely unique.  

In the same excavation of my oversized purse, I found a few more wheat pennies that sparked my curiosity: 1944, 1941, 1952 and even a well worn penny from 1911.  Unbelievable.  

Now, I am well aware of my giant nerd status and I am pretty sure, upon reading this post today, you will be too.  Perhaps it isn't a big deal to find wheat pennies.  I wouldn't really know because I am quite an amateur coin collector.  In fact, I am hardly a coin collector at all.  But, I would say I know a lucky penny when I see one.  To me, the 1943 wheat penny is the golden ticket.  

You see, that was not the only unique face of American sense minted in 1943. It was also the year a true American ambassador was born: my father, my hero. 

These two particularly uncommon sojourners are worth more than words could ever possibly express.  How does one measure something or someone's worth?  How can you possibly begin the tedious process of examining the quality, the origin, the circulation, the condition and place a set value accordingly?? 

Like I said, I am quite a novice when it comes to the business of antiquities.  I do however have a keen awareness of value and rarity.  And in 1943, I can assure you, the two most rare faces of American values, were minted.  And today, I am fortunate enough to be in close proximately to both.  

Perhaps you'll just have to take my word for it.  But I believe that in time, both of these 1943 treasures will be spoken about for decades more to come. And I will have been the lucky benefactor. 

Seventy years may be a long time for a wheat penny to circulate from person to place, but is not even close to enough time to measure its inherent value.  And to my dad, I say the same is true... 

1943 was a good year.   

Happy Birthday Dad.  The value of one cent and a whole wealth of common sense is what you've instilled in me: cents and sensibility.  I can't even begin to know what all to give back to you.  But here's an idea... How about a 1943 penny for your thoughts?? 

I think that would be a good place to start...

Today:

Amaretto Sour

1 oz Amaretto 

Splash of Sour mix

Serve on the rocks!

  

An Ode to Mondays

Thank God it's Monday.  No really, I love Mondays.  Several years ago I took my first job in a restaurant.  It was a huge transition from the Monday through Friday hamster wheel I was accustomed to.  The schedule varied wildly from week to week as well as my income.  Working every weekend and holiday was a major adjustment as well.  But when the going gets tough, the tough get going: I was tough.

Fairly early on, I had come to a realization.  I needed a day off to get caught up around the house, and more importantly spend time with my friends.  Since most of my friends were in the service industry as well, most weekends were impossible for us to have off.  So, after a small deliberation, we settled on Mondays.  They were typically slower days at the restaurant, so it was easier for us to request off each week.  Dinners, happy hours, movie marathons, yoga, coffee, and as much Sex in the City as we could possibly absorb; these were the hallmarks of our Mondays.  

While everyone around us despised and dreaded this day, we celebrated, indulged and delighted in it. It was the perfect day to do absolutely nothing but sit around with a nice glass of wine and catch up with the best friends a girl could ask for.  

A couple years have gone by and the Monday fun has continued right along with the passing of time.  I'm still in the service industry and my Mondays are as sacred to me now as they have always been.  Even though I have recently moved a thousand miles away from my friends in Nashville, I still feel that connection to them whenever Monday rolls around. 

I sit here today with my coffee (of course) and remember the great Mondays of the past.  I am quite sentimental, so even though I do not have my friends nearby, I have continued the tradition of preserving my Mondays as my much anticipated day off.  

This past weekend was much longer than normal for me.  I typically do not work on Sundays as well as Mondays, but I decided to help someone out who needed it off.  So I picked up his Sunday night shift.  It was slow, hot and windy.  The entire night I had one mantra that got me through: Monday, Monday...La La La La Laaa, Monday, Monday.  

I peered across my bar top to the tiki hut where my fellow bartender was struggling to pour, count cash, catch flying napkins and entertain guests amidst the fierce and relentless wind.  If you recall my post from earlier in the week, Mama Said Mama Said,  I spoke of an epic bad day behind the bar: battling extreme wind that forced the keg handles to release beer all over... everywhere.  Well, it happened again last night, and I could hardly contain myself. 

This morning, I am relieved.  I feel the wave of Monday wash over me and along with it, the momentary sense of calm relaxation and happiness. 

I love Mondays.  However, I'm sure in time, I won't always be able to enjoy this day of the week as I have over the past few years.  Circumstances will change.  Schedules and work opportunities will present a revised outlook on the day.  Even still, I am sure of one thing, no one can ever take away my Mondays.  Mondays are nostalgic and represent one of the most cherished aspects of my life: time spent with true friends.  

To my friends in Nashville.  My heart is with you today, and every Monday.  Have a Margarona Monday (rocks and salt of course) ya'll. 

Today:

Margarona AKA Coronarita

1 oz tequila 

1/2 oz triple sec

Sour mix

Tip a mini corona bottle upside-down 

and immerse into the margarita.  Enjoy! 

3-2-1- Time Bomb

As most of you probably know by now, Fridays for me are more like Mondays for you.  It's a mad rush to accomplish everything I need to do come Friday morning, before heading off to work an extra long shift behind the bar.  On Fridays and Saturdays I open an hour earlier, forcing me to wake up, moderately function, write a blog post and suck down nearly an entire pot of coffee in record time.

It's a hustle.  The alarm goes off and almost instantaneously, the countdown begins.  Gotta get up! OH NO, IT'S FRIDAY. Yuck! As the clock ticks relentlessly, I roll out of bed, stagger to the coffee pot, fire up a few brain cells and sit down to write. 

Write about what?? Oh gosh, who knows?? The truth is, ideas pop into my head just as soon as I wake up.  They are spontaneous little bursts of wonder and analysis that I surrender to each and every day; all the while, keeping one watchful eye on that damn ticking clock.  

3-2-1 FRIDAY

I must admit that lately, I have been unable to silence the little voice inside my head that is counting down the weeks, days, hours and minutes to liftoff.  Only two more Weekends to serve at this job before... Oh I don't know, whatever else is next! 

Decisions, Decisions... I've had it in my heart and mind to go to New York come fall, and as the slightest hint of the changing season casts a rosy hue to the very tips of the maples, I am reminded of one thing: the ever oppressive passing of time.  I look at the date on the calendar, and then to the hour this Friday morning and I sigh: Yes, I do believe it's almost time...

And for as much awareness that I possess of the passing time, I do however, attempt to live for the present moment and enjoy the here and now.  

Is there any way to get my hands on a little more time in a given day?  When looking back to generations past,  didn't they just seem to have more time?  Great authors, painters, philosophers and homemakers alike, created masterful works within a seemingly small measure of time.  Yet, the daily allowance for time remains the same.  So what gives? 

I woke up today and thought: two hours to write, respond to some pressing emails and phone calls if I have time, thirty minutes to get ready for work, thirty minutes to drive to work, and wait... Don't forget to eat lunch today! And then, as if the shot was fired high into the air, I was off and the race began.

I'm trying desperately to accomplish everything I need to do each day, but sadly, am finding less time to eat, sleep, drink and be merry.  On more than one occasion, I have been known to not have enough time to eat a proper meal before work.  And that my friends, is not a good thing.  

Is our ability to maximize our time each day directly correlated to measuring (with skilled precision) each and every waking moment between rest and waking? Or is it possible to strike a balance and lose track of time, without also suffering the loss of productivity?

Shall I continue to sprint out the gate each morning as fast as humanly possible? Or, is it wiser instead to pace it out and take the long view? I wonder...  

All I know is that the hyper awareness of the unforgiving passing of time and the process of distributing it according to each task, is utterly exhausting.  

Why not just stop or slow down you might ask?  Well, I guess it's like this: for as much as I aspire to achieve in my life, I fear that there just isn't enough time.  It's the ultimate time bomb...

Time to create, time to enjoy, time to share, time to earn a dollar, time to move forward.  It's about that time...  And so with that, the countdown continues. 

Today:

Irish Car Bomb

1/2 shot Bailey's Irish Cream

1/2 shot of Jameson Irish Whiskey

Drop the shot into a pint of Guinness 

And lose track of time completely...

Photo credit: physicscentral.com

Times Square.

Wishing it wasn't time to go to work... 

Mama Said, Mama Said

You ever have one of those days?  You know, the kind of day where everything that could go possibly go wrong, does?  Of course, I say 'everything' as a somewhat relative term, but you get my drift.  But it just doesn't happen very often that I find it necessary to write a play by play of my eight hour shift behind the bar.  However, in the case of last night, trust me: it is.

Wednesday: 3:00 PM 

I arrived at work and began the tedious process of opening the up the bar: filling the ice bins, wiping down the counters, stocking the liquor bottles, and counting the cash drawer.  You know, business as usual. 

Having been assigned to the tiki bar, I was mentally and physically preparing for a steady stream of guests and hopefully, a profitable night.  But something was in the air yesterday... literally, that shook the very foundation of my otherwise positive outlook.  It was windy: extremely windy.  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is not an exaggeration.

Allow me to paint a picture for you.  A tiki hut/bar is typically comprised of four standing posts and is open to the elements on all sides.  Three of the four sides are lined with barstools, while the back side provides an exit strategy for yours truly.  There is a roof, room for a couple kegs, and a small liquor well.  And in the middle of this little island of booze, stands the bartender, ready to serve and protect.

Okay, so you can see it right?  Before the bar is opened, there are four heavy canvas drapes that protect the otherwise exposed counter to ceiling areas of the hut.  When they are down, and it is windy, they tend to catch the breeze so perfectly, you'd swear they were at full mast, about to set sail.  

I typically do not raise the drapes until I am officially open: so as to discourage guests from walking up every five minutes before I am fully equipped to serve and take payments.  

Here begins the chaos... 

As I was counting the drawer, I was suddenly sprayed with ice cold beer.  What in the...??????? Oh no!!!! I turned around to discover a rather shocking scenario. The ropes from the drapes had somehow blown ever so perfectly toward the taps, wrapping themselves around the handle and releasing the draft to rush out.  And to make it worse, the wind blew the beer all over the counters, floor, and yes... me.  I struggled to untangle the ropes as quickly as possible.  But needless to say, it was a sticky situation and a rather peculiar start to the day. 

Approximately 4:10 PM

At almost exactly the same moment I had finished cleaning up the great draft spill of 2013, I heard a coworker shriek, "AAAAH SHIT!"  And shitty it was, all over the soles of her shoes.  Where did that come from??? Apparently, someone had decided to let their dog wander freely around the place unbeknown to us all.  And to add insult to injury, the owner did not clean up after his furry friend. 

Obviously, this was way out of the scope of our job description.  But when the shit hits the fan, or the soles of your shoes, you must do everything within your power to carry on.  And that we did... 

Here goes round two of our major cleanup effort: bringing out the hose, buckets, brooms etc.  Can we just get back to serving some drinks already???

P.S. IT WAS STILL EXTREMELY WINDY

It was 5:00 Somewhere... Which means one thing: business.

Incoming!!! With the bar top filling up fast, I was busy enough to lose track of time (which is a good thing).  And freakishly, over the following three hours, my computer froze, a guest walked out on his tab, and a small woodland creature emerged from the nearby tree, scurrying around the feet of a frenzied crowd, causing absolute and utter chaos as ladies sloshed their drinks high in the air in complete disarray.  

It's a mouse! No, it's a small squirrel!! No it's not! It's a vole!!!!!!!!!  Let's get it!!!!!! 

Everyone was frantic.  As I stood within the confines of my four post cell, I looked around at the chaotic scene that was completely out of my control, and I began to shake my head and laugh.  A few guys who'd been enjoying their night out, caught a glance of me laughing to myself as I continued to work steadily through the chaos,  and they erupted in laughter as well.  

They were amongst the first guests to arrive that afternoon, so they had already witnessed the dog debacle and a few other hiccups of the night.  

And honestly, at that point, it was (kind of) funny. Oh and yes, it was still windy. 

What was happening??!!??

At approximately 8:00 PM,  it was too much. 

Everyone sitting at my bar turned in unison to witness a woman screaming at her cocktail server to "Get the hell away."  The server, defending herself, refused service at that point, and had to simply walk away.  

And then, after being asked out by a guest, literally ten times, I too, had to take a break.  I'd had enough.  Maybe it was closer to 9 at that point, but regardless, I had met my limit. A fellow bartender was kind enough to take the wheel from me so that I could discreetly slink away and hide... and hopefully, recover.  

I sat in the back alley for about five minutes, where no one could see me.  And when I looked up and saw my own reflection in the window, to my horror, I saw that almost all the strands of my hair were standing straight up on all sides of my face: the result of standing in a wind tunnel for the past five hours. 

Whatever... At this point, looking like a damn clown was more than appropriate. 

I walked reluctantly back to the bar to hear, "Adriane!!!!!! Yo, Adriane!!!!!! We were waiting for you!!!" Oh goody.... they are still here.

And that is when the lightning began to strike.  Huge bolts flashed, illuminating the night sky.  The wind howled, thunder cracked and I knew at any moment, it was about to break loose. 

And it did. 

The rain sprayed my face as it fell, gusting along with the relentless force of the wind.  And all I could think of was that song from the fifties... You know it... "Mama said there'd be days like this, there'd be days like this, my mama said. Mama said, mama said..."

After all of that, I left work wearing a half smile and a crazy ass 'fro atop my blonde head.  I didn't really see it as a bad day to be honest.  It was just one of those days you never forget.  

Tested by the elements, exhausted and dampened from the downpour, I clocked out and called it a night. 

I have no idea what was in the air.  All I know is that when it rains, it pours... and if God has a sense of humor, well then I had experienced a truly biblical comedic sketch. 

It's a brand new day.  I survived the storm, the unidentified woodland creature, the draft spill, the meanies, as well as a handful of overly friendly gents.  It was an epic night behind bars.  And I just felt that it was noteworthy enough to report.  

I think it's important to remember that nothing in life is promised to us.  The weather can't always be sunny and still.  The people we encounter may not follow the rules, get the hint, or clean up after their dog.  But one thing we can be sure of is that Mama said there would be days like this, and all we can do, is all we can do.  

And if gets to be too much and it's just not funny anymore, take a minute to walk away and look at your own reflection.  What you see may surprise you: even, make you laugh. 

Today:

Nameless Deliciousness

1 oz Cherry Vodka

Splash of Pama Liqueur

Finish with Lemonade.

MAMA SAID: WATCH THIS HILARIOUS VIDEO AND SING ALONG!!!!!

Shifting Gears

There's no experience quite as simple and gratifying than that of driving down the Pacific Coast Highway along the Southern California coastline in a standard shift sports car.  For a cool hour or so, and just a short stretch of blacktop from the Venice Beach boardwalk up to the dramatic cliffs of Malibu, the salty wind blows against your cheeks sending chills down the back of your neck.  As you head North, the afternoon sun casts a golden hugh across the windshield as it sinks into the vast expanse of the ocean, directly to your left. The road curves and the pace accelerates; it is truly a joy ride.  

This was the picture I had locked in my mind as I stood before my dream car: a hot little royal blue Mini Cooper.  With tricolor leather interior, a jamming sound system, and a huge sunroof, I could honestly say it was perfect.  I sat in the front seat, and for just a moment, I felt like a true road warrior.  I glanced up into the rear view mirror and adjusted it to my liking.  Bond, James Bond.  

I gracefully sank deeper into the driver's seat and imagined the drive.  Then something occurred to me that nearly drove my little imaginary joy ride off the cliff... I don't know how to drive a stick!

The car salesman didn't seem to be overly concerned about my lack of experience. "I'll teach you.  We'll take it for a test drive,"he volunteered. 

Is he delusional? No way am I going to take a brand new car off the lot without knowing how to shift gears!! He must have had a big plate of crazy for breakfast!

But somehow, with the subconscious image of James Bond as my alter-ego, I agreed to the challenge.  

It was horrifying.  I am pretty sure I stalled the car three times before even making it out of the lot.  First gear to second, push the clutch, shift, and release. The jarring forward motion was far from the vision I had initially fantasized: heading effortlessly down the highway.

The salesman seemed to take some twisted satisfaction from his temporary role of Driver's Ed teacher because no matter how many times I stalled that Mini, he patiently coached me through the process of getting all of us back to the dealership in one piece. 

The second time around the block was a little smoother.  By the third turn around the block, I was hooked.  This switching gears thing is actually kind of fun! Woo hoo!!  I'm taking it to third now... I'm such a bad-ass! 

As we pulled into the lot, I had experienced a type of bonding I hadn't ever known possible to share with an innate object.  And probably at the same moment, the salesman and I both realized something that made us both very happy: there was no way I was leaving without that car. 

Though barely broken in, I was ready to ride.  

Slowly, with the passing of time and a few hundred miles, switching gears was a process that felt like second nature to me.  From behind the wheel, anything was possible. The curve of the road, the peddles, the wheel, the gears, the pavement all felt natural: like we were one.  And I knew it was finally time to take the drive down the Coast Highway. 

It's funny how some fantasies really can come to life. 

Today, I set out on the open road yet again as a novice.  The process of shifting gears in life, is one that takes years of practice to perform with grace and ease.  It is an awkward experience to stall out, just when you thought you were about to kick it into high gear.  

But I believe that it's true what they say about this road we call life, 'It's a journey, not a destination' (or something like that anyway). 

Getting out of the passenger's seat to behind the wheel, I've learned a thing or two about switching gears: roadblocks, detours, fast lanes, slow lanes, turnouts, U-turns, and yes, even a few unfortunate accidents all led to the intersection I am at today. 

Though I'm not exactly stalled out, I have pulled over for a minute to study the map.  Which road should I take?  How much will it cost to get there? How much time will it take?  What if I get lost along the way?  

I realize, oftentimes it's perfectly okay to take the long way around.  The scenic route offers a perspective that short cuts may not.  And if switching gears is too awkward, remember to be patient with yourself when you are trying to master something new. 

One way or another, you'll get there.  And when you do,  you'll smile because you'll remember that first awkward moment when you first began shifting gears, upon hitting the road and never turning back.  

Just don't be too proud to ask for directions if you feel little lost.  That's how people end up right where they start: stalled in neutral gear. 

Today:

007

2 oz Vodka

3/4 Highball glass full of 7 Up

Splash of Orange Juice

Serve over ice. 

    

Seizing Sunday: Rx Trading Spaces & Places

You know that feeling; when you just don't give a rat's ass?  When the cares of the workaday worries melt away into the furthest corners of your mind... until they disappear completely.  Are you with me so far?  Okay good...  

Well let's just say that when I woke up this morning, I hadn't quite surrendered to Sunday.  In fact, the rat's ass was front and center in my mind's eye.  Similar to the way smoke from a campfire has the bizarre super strength of permeating into your skin for days on end, so too had the remnants of a few stressful days behind the bar penetrated every pore and every molecule of my being.  I woke up exhausted and tense.  So tense in fact, I actually threw my neck out and have been unable to enjoy full range of motion as a result.  

The feeling is similar to that of being hungover... except you didn't get to experience the fun part preceding the impending headache.  So perhaps that is a poor example.  Okay, the feeling is more like a mental ass-kicking and the headache is the proof that you just barely made it out alive.  Yes, I do believe that adequately surmises the week I had. 

I woke up and almost instantly thought of all the things I had yet to do today.  I need to make that phone call.  I have to catch up on some laundry.  I am so hungry.  When am I going to have the time to sit down and write today?? The documentary screening is at 7:30 tonight, which gives me 7.5 hours to accomplish x,y and z...  Shower, coffee, phone calls, schedule some meetings... sit down and write. I need to write, to write, to write... Sigh...

STOP.  Seriously.  Just stop!  It took about an hour and approximately two and a half cups of coffee to snap out of the oncoming anxiety attack that was in full swing.  As if I was about to give myself my own mixed martial arts mental ass kicking on what should be a very restful and relaxing day off. 

After a long exhale, I decided to prioritize my 'Sunday Funday.'  And I decided that a long overdue phone call to my best friend took precedence over everything else: writing included.  

I have become quite regimented in my daily writing exercises; right down to the minute I begin and end.  And to a certain extent, this process requires a certain commitment level and discipline.  

But on the other hand, I've also realized how critical it is to practice what I preach.  

If I get so caught up in the To Do's of the day, I might deprive myself the joy of allowing life and creativity to flow freely from within.  The beauty of the writing process is how relaxing it is to get lost in the story, the words, the thoughts, the moment.   

So today, much like hitting the snooze button and sleeping in, I hit the snooze button on my To Do List...

And I am so glad I did.  At this moment (a few hours past my normal blogging schedule), I sit here with my laptop and my second mimosa: writing, sipping, thinking and smiling. 

Talk about killing two bird's with one stone!  

For most of the week, I stand behind the bar: serving, pouring and mixing.  Today, with gratitude, I have traded places with the bartender and sit happily on the opposite side.  It's a perspective that I need to indulge in, at least once in a while.  

If it's five o'clock somewhere, then honey, I'm there... And my worries? Well at this moment I just don't give a rat's ass. And if only for this one day a week, I have seized Sunday and followed my very own prescription for fun: trading places.  

Next stop... the beach.  The laundry list will have to just wait. 

Today: 

Top Shelf Mimosa

3/4 Glass of Champagne

Splash of St. Germaine Liqueur 

Splash of Orange and Pineapple Juices

Fear Factors

I used to be afraid of the dark.  Terrified, actually.  When the lights went out, mysterious shadows would morph into the frightening shape of a stranger lurking in the corner of my room.  Just outside my bedroom door, eery footsteps ever so quietly crept up and down the antique metal staircase.  I would lay in bed and study every sound: the creaks and moans as the house settled over the years seemed to mimic that of an old woman, aching in pain.  And somewhere, out in the distant hills surrounding the fences of my childhood home, packs of coyotes yipped and howled upon hunting their prey.

At night, I would face these fear factors as best and for as long as I could; often surrendering in defeat and would make the terrifying lap through the house to my parents bedroom.  Yes, for much of my childhood, I was so very afraid. 

It's funny how those memories stay with me.  I've been on my own for a long time now.  And as an adult, I have come to understand certain overcoming fear-factors that have stamped out the paralyzing grip of terror that plagued me for so long.  

I realize that turning out the lights actually improves your ability to see in the darkness.  The uncomfortable momentary blackness gradually dissipates as your eyes adjust.  In fact, any small trickle of light actually impairs this process from happening.  

And the creepy footsteps I heard tip toeing up and down the metal staircase?  Upon a thorough investigation, I realized that the air conditioning vent was directly above it, causing the stairs to shudder and vibrate each time the system kicked on.  It made that sound all the time in fact, I just hadn't noticed it in the light of day.  

As for those pesky coyotes? Well, they still yipped and howled through the night, but I realized that those fences were actually pretty sturdy and as a matter of fact, so too were the creaking walls of our home.  

I faced these fears and overcame each one as I empowered my senses to seek out and destroy the various forces that I had initially perceived to be indestructible.  

And I was no longer afraid. 

There are dark forces that we face throughout our lives.  The unfortunate part of life is the inevitable way fear creeps back in.  Once you stamp out the fears of your youth, a new wave of fear comes lurking at your doorstep.  Perceived fears can be just as debilitating as the ones you might encounter in some back alley, walking alone in the dark. 

But there is one thing I know without a shadow of a doubt to be true: if you empower yourself to see things for what they actually are, rather than whatever you perceive them to be, you will then have enough facts to face them head on and stamp them out if necessary.  

If you are perceivably stuck in an abusive situation: whether it's a certain abuse of power in the workplace or in the home, you can empower yourself to safely and effectively locate the nearest exit and take the necessary steps to walk through it. 

When someone abuses the authority or leadership you have entrusted them with by demeaning, shaming and/or outright bullying you, I say that you have a choice to face this fear monger head on and decide your fate: you can empower fear, or you can empower yourself. 

But make no mistake about it, you DO have a choice.  You can either live as a hostage because you are too afraid to confront the spider, or you can ambush the little bastard and eliminate the threat of being bitten.  Either scenario is quite scary: but only one releases you from the grip of fear. 

I'm not suggesting that the perceived obstacles you might face are not real factors to consider: oftentimes they are in fact the most difficult to overcome.  What I am suggesting here is to examine the root feelings associated with each one and gather up all the facts.  Then, when your eyes have adjusted and you can see through the darkness, you'll be ready to confront the monster lurking in the shadows.  Even the smallest object can cast an enormous shadow; it's a matter of perception. 

Respect yourself enough to adequately measure your worth: the quality of your life, of your health and happiness.  If what you are being served isn't serving that aim, then I suggest that you face these fear factors head on.  

Removing the factor of fear from this equation could most certainly equal an outcome far greater than you had ever imagined possible.  Life is far too precious to be confined by our fears. 

Bullies, abusers, thieves, spiders, monsters beware: I can see you creeping in the darkness, but I'm not scared because I know that you are right where you belong. I have made my choice; so be afraid... be very, very afraid.   

Today: 

Frankenstein Cocktail

1 oz Black Haus Blackberry Schnapps

1 oz Midori Melon Liqueur 

1/2 oz Pineapple Juice

shake and strain into a martini glass

  

Just Wanted to Say...

I talk to myself... a lot.  The words do not necessarily come out of my mouth, but shuffle one on top of the other, like numbered balls rolling around inside of the bingo wheel.  This inner dialogue keeps me from saying things I might regret.  But unfortunately,  keeping things to myself might also deprive others from hearing something that they might actually like or need to hear.

I like how she did her hair today.  Has she lost weight?  Ugh oh...He has a bean cap on his front tooth. It's right in front too.  I should say something right?? Bingo!!  Wait a minute, don't take that road home tonight, the traffic is a disaster. 

I never really thought too much of it; until yesterday. 

It was just another typical Thursday: coffee, blogging, walk the dogs, then get ready for work.  Nothing too out of the ordinary for me.  After coming off the heels of a little four day vacation from the bar, I was neither in a bad mood nor a fantastic one.  I looked in the mirror and applied some mascara and a little blush and thought: wow, I look tired today. 

And then it began: the workday.  Clocked in and ready to serve, I looked out from beyond my counter to the people straggling in. 

"You look so pretty today," said a young co-worker.  Wait, really?? I do?? It was as if the compliment was lost on me and I must have looked like I didn't understand a word she had said. So she elaborated, "Your face: it looks extra pretty today." 

I was so caught off guard, that I had to laugh at myself while thanking her.  It was nice enough for her to think it, let alone say the words out loud.  It was just a lovely start to the day.  And it didn't stop there.

About an hour later, a bar guest made a point to say, "I just wanted to say thank you for taking such great care of us. You have yourself a wonderful night."  Wait a second, I'm usually the one who says that...  I turned to my coworker and said, "Wow, that was really nice to hear."  

And on and on it continued: 'Thank you', 'Take care', 'Good Job', 'Great drink', 'See you soon', 'Enjoy the day', 'Have a good night' and so on.  It may not sound like much, but I will tell you, it was something to me.  And it got me thinking... 

When I got home last night, I read a comment from a reader a half a world away.  He didn't have to take the time to share his thoughts with me, but he did.  And I must confess, it was a dose of encouragement that I truly needed to hear.

Writing each and every day is a bit of a discipline.  But honestly, however taxing it may be, I do enjoy it.  But the truth is, it would not be nearly as enjoyable a process though, if people were not reading what I post each day. My thoughts are committed to written form so that they might be shared.  

Knowing that someone out there is getting a 'great deal of joy' from reading whatever I have written that day, truly motivates and encourages me to keep it all going.  It may not seem like much, but it was one of the best compliments of my life.  

Strangers, coworkers and loved ones alike, all made a noted difference in my life because they had something they just wanted to say... Just wanted to say great job! Just wanted to say goodnight. Just wanted to say how pretty you look today.  Just wanted to say keep writing... And with that, an ordinary Thursday afternoon, was made extraordinary! 

You may not know the profound affect your thoughts and words have on another human beings' existence.  But if you want to take my word for it, trust that they have the potential to make ALL the difference! 

Yesterday, as if reading my thoughts, a few different people said the exact words I hadn't even realized I needed to hear.  It is a pretty amazing thing, to know that you have the ability to make someone's day brighter: better. 

Today, as I prepare to venture out into the world, while pecking away at this keyboard and sipping my morning cup of coffee, I guess I just wanted to say thank you.  You may not have intended to make such a great impact on my day, on my journey, but you did.  

I hope we all realize how our words can strongly influence others.  Even the seemingly insignificant compliment, or show of thanks can truly add an extra skip in a persons' step.  So look in the mirror, and know that you are capable of changing lives for the better each and every day!  And honestly, what could be better than that?

Today:

Long Happiness

1 1/2 oz Vodka

1/2 oz Gin

Splash of Pineapple Juice

Finish with Ginger Beer

Serve on the rocks in a highball glass

photo credit: funlava.com

        

  

Not Homeless or Hopeless

Have you ever seen a deer in the headlights?  The animal stands frozen, paralyzed by fear and blinded by the headlights that are fast approaching.  Wide-eyed, motionless, with a blank expression, they do not know which way to go.  It is as if they are stuck right where they are: directly in front of harms way.

I have experienced this unfortunate encounter several times throughout the past five years since I left southern California.  And although I get so frustrated by these stealthy creatures for standing frozen in the middle of the road, I have to say that I can relate to the psychological paralysis that takes over, upon facing a fast approaching threat head on.

There is a question I am frequently asked, that induces a similar physical reaction to that of a deer in the headlights.  The question may be presented in a number of ways: Where do you live? Do you live in Nashville? Are you keeping your Michigan address? What about Los Angeles: you ever think about going back? Are you going to go to New York for good?  So, where do you call home?

All of these questions approach faster than I can anticipate; shining a bright, blinding spotlight directly on my face, and I am frozen.  The whites of my eyes reflect the oncoming collision and I stand there for a long, uncomfortable silence.  My mind goes blank.  I am motionless and short of breath. 

Where’s Home??

Uhh… ummm… well, yeah… I umm, love Tennessee… but wanted to be here in uhhh Michigan for the summer and uh my family. Sure I love California…it’s where I was, ummm born and uhhhh, raised. 

New York, mmm hmm yeah, eehh I love it there too. Hmmm I have no idea when or how long I will be in NYC. 

Where in NYC; the outer boroughs or in the city?   Sigh…

For God’s sake: It is a simple question.

But each and every time I am asked, I think: Gosh, I seriously need to come up with a better answer.  It has to be streamlined, polished and holstered for safekeeping. 

They say, “Home is where your heart is.”  And perhaps that is why it is such a difficult question for me to answer.  My heart is being pulled from the four corners of the United States.  It’s complicated.

My roots were firmly planted along the golden shores of the California coastline, and every time I return, I am brought back to myself.  California runs in my blood and is forever a part of me.  And yet, there is no place quite as warm and comforting than the South.  California may hold my roots, but Tennessee is where my arms grew stronger with each passing storm. My friends down South hold my heart in their hands, and for that reason alone, part of me will forever remain there. 

And in the great north, I am immersed: in the vastness of nature, of creativity, family time, and my little four shift a week job, working behind a bar.  It is a perfect summer: shared with my family, while simultaneously saving up and preparing for the move East. 

But how can I possibly say all of that when asked where home is?  The truth is, I don’t really know the answer to that question.  And I suspect, it will take a while longer to figure it out.  For now, home is wherever I am surrounded by love.

More often than not, I feel A-OKAY.  But when the question is presented to me of where my home is, I can’t help but feel a little displaced.  But even though I don’t have an answer quite yet, I think I will have a lot of fun finding out.

I may look like a deer in the headlights, but don’t worry: come fight or flight, I will find my way home. 

Until then, home is for me, an address associated with a certain state of mind; rather than confined within the walls of competing state lines.  

Today:

Lemondrop

2 oz of Vodka

1/2 squeezed lemon juice

Splash of sour mix (optional)

Dash of Simple Syrup

Shake and strain into a martini glass

Garnish with a sugar rim and a twist