Just kidding. My laptop worked gloriously for several weeks in a row before deciding it needed space and told me it wanted to see other writers. So here I sit while it slowly makes sweet, sweet love to it’s Microsoft Office updates. Nitro cold-brew coffee and The Duncan (roasted Italian pork, provolone, spinach, hot peppers, o & v on a soft baguette) at #StElmosCoffeePub. I’m getting eaten alive out here by gnats and God knows what else. That sweat isn’t from any exertion little buggies, might not be worth your time. The fact that I walked here on our 1000% humidity day is a miracle in itself. But a bonus day off from the bar is a gift, and I’d be dumb not to open it.

So I realize this a blog about a writer who presumably drinks, hence all the drinky-related titles. I’m a bartender, and a damn good one at that. I’m also older, seen that, drank that, and until I can afford to regularly drink expensive champagne and Burgundy’s on the regular, I’ve toned it down. So many great writers of the past were lauded on their heroic feats of consumption, swigging away at romantic cafes and pubs now featured on Trip Advisor as hotspots for literary-lovers. I’m just glad I snagged an outside table on the main drag of my neighborhood where I’m glad I haven’t been ousted (yet) for swimming against the tide of babies-strollers-dogs, repeat. I do wear yoga gear on the regular, because real pants can suck, and these Lululemon stretchies are fantastic, almost like maternity wear for the muffin top blessed.

But enough of my plush physique, what’s my focus here? My drinking? My opinions? My adorable office mates who’ve taken ownership of my Tempurpedic pillows? I’ll let you in on something about me…I love books, all the books all the time. They’re on and under my bedside table, they’re in my many bags I use on the daily, they’ve cramped up my shelves, they’re waiting in my cart on Thriftbooks and on reserve at my library. And, as usual, it’s impossible to read them all fast enough. I want to review books for a living, I want to publish books for a living, but truly I want to write books and stories for a living. Until then I will write for pure pleasure of it, and hopefully afterward. Why should you care about my opinions, what my tastes are, and how I failed to stop eating after I attempted and successfully made a healthy dinner? Well, I can’t answer that for you, so keep reading my friends.

Aged rum, ginger syrup, lime, bubbly. Killer HH to boot makes for a little sunshine on this otherwise crap weather day. On my first of three, rare, days off I got to nerd out on one of my favorite pastimes- sitting at a horse show. At least there’s covered bleachers now instead of drowning on the sidelines getting fence-butt.

If I didn’t get to indulge in this favorite activity of mine (horse shows), living here wouldn’t be worth it. The DC area has gotten tired for me, nothing to truly inspire within the walls of it’s Beltway. But…the countryside, the wine and horse country just a bit beyond an hour’s drive, make up for a lot of shitty nonsense I deal with on a daily basis.

“I know things, and I drink”- Tyrion Lannister

Former intern learning the ropes of on-desk interference, outdoor avian interlopers, and regulating snack time.

 

 

Former intern now learning the ropes of how to coordinate desk interference, security of outdoor avian interlopers, and regulating snack time.

Back in the days of being a research fellow and writing a very large annotated bibliography.

I’m tired. Really tired. I should have written hours ago when I had the mojo going. I have a tough time with motivation once it gets past a certain time. I think I’m just ineffective between 5-9pm, which oddly enough, is when I am “on” at my regular job of bartending. Mentally I feel vacant, and it’s probably from the large quantity of cheese I just ate, and some chips, and some ham steak. Can you say ‘random’? No wonder my stomach is a little sour. I got some news earlier this evening that my boss is stepping down to take a different role with our company. His reasons are great, to spend much more time with his family, have some normalcy, to be a more present dad. For that I am happy for him, as we are also longtime friends. I’m sad though, we’ve been a team for so long with our unofficial “contract” to always work together. I guess its not really ending, I just have figure out how to get the next GM to bend to my will and let me get away with murder.

I have my office assistant, Thor, assessing my progress and watching my every move. Thor is also my one-year old giant kitten. Okay, I realize he’s not really a kitten anymore, but he grew so big so fast, he’s my giant kitten forever. I lost his brother, my Loki, a little over a month ago to FIP, which if you don’t know what that is as a cat owner or lover, look it up. It’s horrible. Absolutely horrible, a fast-moving wasting disease not unlike AIDS but on fast-forward. My sweet little king was gone in a month from diagnosis, and I am far from recovered from losing him. See, less than a year earlier I lost Omar, my greatest love, also another boy cat. Another black male cat, I love black cats. Omar passed from we finally realized was GI (gastrointestinal) cancer, after several years of battling IBD (irritable bowel disease). He was not yet five years old. I spent every minute I wasn’t at work watching his every move, spending every dollar on vet bills, a sonogram, the highest quality diet, litter, etc. Losing him took a very large piece of me. I don’t have human kids, I have cat kids, and losing them has shaken me to my very core. I am not the same, and I have recognized something very valuable has changed in me, about me. Losing two very precious babies had caused me to retract into myself, be more cautious of others, and I feel myself receding from normal human interactions. They just don’t satisfy me any longer, don’t hold the weight they once did. For those who don’t understand this type of feeling for an animal, I am not judging you, we are all different. I don’t think my writing is for you however, my thoughts, my feelings.

I am happy to be off from work, at home, with just my two remaining cats for love and company. Thor, my office assistant mentioned above, and Betty, my office manager, and best friend of ten years. My new ‘office’ is really the enclosed sunporch with my former patio furniture for a desk and chair. Swanky, I know. There’s a lovely trout waiting for me to sauté, potatoes I will roast and most certainly overeat, and a bottle of red.

Sadly, not a screw top. Quelle horreur!