Archive for July, 2009
Listen, not everything in sober-living-land is all pink puffy clouds, rainbows, unicorns and methadone. No, there are plenty of adjustments to be made, life decisions to be contemplated and funny to be kept up despite not always feeling so hilarious. So lest you think I’m not struggling just a bit, here are some major downsides to life without wine:
People seem more irritating at the gym – then again, people have always seemed irritating at the gym. For instance – what is with wearing street clothes on a Precor? There’s a reason we wear running shoes and not moccasins when we work out. And that reason is to not be an eyesore to me.
People seem more irritating in traffic. But again, traffic is irritating and it’s not like I whipped out a flask everytime someone didn’t go right away when the light turned green back when I was boozing. Or did I?
Despite the fact that I said I wouldn’t be the type of person who looks around and thinks everyone has a drinking problem, I’m looking around and suspecting that quite a few people may having a drinking problem. Hi Paul.
In-laws refuse to take into account my newly sober status and still insist this would be an appropriate time to visit for a week.
Replacing alcohol with sour Jelly Belly sours seems like a better idea than it is – my tongue hurts. On the other hand, they are deliciously intoxicating.
The only thing non-alcoholic beer is good for is making you pee a lot.
Swearing isn’t quite the stress reliever I had hoped. Hang on let me try. “God Damn TWAT WAFFLE!” Nope. Still irritable.
On the upside, since I don’t drink, I will probably never get a tattoo or eat at Denny’s at 2:00 a.m. or write a drunk blog post that I regret the next day and I could easily walk in high heels (if I owned any).
Before you go, check out the review of my book
by Black Hockey Jesus at Mamapop. And when you’re checking out the review, treat yourself and buy the book, find out crazy shit against me and then gossip about me to your friends.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on July 31, 2009 9:23 pm
is afraid of flying. She held my hand during take off from LAX and screamed “Please don’t take me, Lord. I’m too young. I have too much to live for! I haven’t met Black Hockey Jesus yet!” Okay, maybe she just teared up a bit.
My Kizz never gets tiresome even after four straight days of togetherness.
The idea of someone having a business-like orgasm isn’t as funny to other people as it is to me and Kizz and definitely is confusing as a Facebook status.
The clublounge on the 33rd floor has a lot of cheese. I like cheese very much (I didn’t just learn that part but I hadn’t known that the lounge would be serving so much of it).
Apparently, announcing that Chelsea Handler is a whore is not considered “take-away information” when leading a blog-to-book panel. (P.S. if you are someone with a Google alert on Chelsea’s name, it was said in jest after giving her credit for my own book deal, but…let’s face it, she is a whore.)
Lulu is awesome in person. Kizz, Lulu and I immediately became the three muskateers only with bigger tits.
Black Hockey Jesus is a real person and he saved my sanity on more than one occasion. If he really quits blogging there will be serious hell to pay. Seriously, BHJ, don’t mess with me.
You can buy the beds in the Sheraton (which seemed like an excellent idea for about an hour but after an entire night it became obvious that owning one would lead to back surgery within a month).
Turns out that a photo op with Carson Kressley is not a good enough reason to go to an off campus party (Heather, can you back me up on this?)
Some people don’t find the idea of starting a Twitter rumor that Carson Kressley and Stedman Graham are having an affair to be all that amusing (Heather, can you back me up on this as well?)
The Bloggess cannot teach you to be funny. But she will be hilarious trying.
Xanax is the new party drug among middle-age, socially awkward women who are used to spending quality time in front of their computers in the safety of their own homes. Therefore, if one were to let’s just say, happen to have some Xanax left over from an old prescription, one could charge a pretty penny for it at BlogHer.
The term “grandmother’s hands” may be the funniest term for a certain type of writing style that I have ever heard in my life. Thank you for that Alexa. You made my trip.
Catherine Connors, Heather Spohr, Mike Adamick, Wendi Aarons and Black Hockey Jesus should read posts every year at BlogHer.
The drunk redhead whose hair did not handle Chicago humidity well and who shoved her business card at me three different times on Saturday night slurring, “I’m a real writer. Look me up, bitch” made my decision to not drink much, much easier.
Carolyn…Online looks exactly like Cameron Diaz and has a very dry sense of humor and if I were gay I might’ve been hitting on her a little. I know, what do I mean if?
There is really no reason to leave for the Chicago airport three whole hours before your flight unless you really enjoy sit down Mexican cuisine at 10 a.m. on concourse B.
Offering to tongue kiss each and every person who attended my book signing may have been a bit desperate.
You can get herpes from kissing.
I will be attending BlogHer next year.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on July 27, 2009 11:33 pm
So BlogHer. Leaving tomorrow. Social anxiety is kicking in. Who’s going to be there?
Tell me in my comments if you’re going and what your “real” name is and whether or not you are going to come to the BlogHe bookstore -located right in the Sheraton on Friday at 4 to get a signed copy of my book and help me not feel like a loser. Last year I sat next to Stephanie Klein who smiled beautifically while fan after fan came up to get a book. I picked at my cuticles and tried not to look like a junior high school girl getting my feelings hurt while Steph’s fans gave me and my lack of a line pitying glances. Let’s not have a repeat of that.
Seriously, I’m so excited to meet all of you! See you tomorrow night!
Also, check out my friend Jane’s blog, Lights, Camera, Diapers. She’s a director, hilarious and a new mom who is really unaccustomed to all the new momness of it all. Help a sistah out with a few words of encouragement will you?
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on July 22, 2009 8:32 pm
Today marks 60 days on my sober calendar (which is a lot like the Chinese calendar except that no one’s birthday is the year of the cock). If that makes you think I’ve been doing this with the help of a 12-step program, you’d be right. I may be a cynical, sarcastic, non-joiner-upper type, but it doesn’t matter because above all else I wanted to quit drinking. And it’s working.
A lot of you have asked me questions about ditching the sauce in private through email (chickens) and I’ve answered every one of you. Because that’s how I roll! Non-drinking style! If you are someone who’s wondering how it’s going but didn’t want to email me and ask, I’m going to tell you: it hasn’t been easy. Wine, for me, was a friend, a lifestyle and (I thought) a choice. It’s difficult to explain to someone else why a few glasses of wine every night was a problem for me. Maybe if you could just see the every night part. That was the part I didn’t want to see but it’s also the part that was nagging at me. Why couldn’t I just go a night or two without that crutch? Why, even when I had a cold, a peaceful day, something pressing to do the next morning could I still not find a reason not to indulge? I didn’t know. Also, there was the whole unpredictable part – thinking I’d have a glass and having four.
The truth of the matter is that I’m sure I would’ve continued on but the wine wasn’t working that well anymore anyway. I thought I was dulling the anxiety of the day but I wasn’t feeling nice and safe and relaxed unless I had more and more wine. And even then not so much.
I, very simply, was unhappy and couldn’t see things getting better the way I was going.
Since I’ve stopped boozing it up, I’ve heard a lot about alcoholism being on the rise in mothers -either in the news or on Lifetime movies I can’t be sure. I believe the statistics are there but at the same time, I have a lot of trouble accusing parenting for my drinking habits or anyone else’s. I truly feel that there has to be some level of predisposition to any addiction. I’m no Dr. Drew Pinsky, but I don’t think that becoming a mother in itself can cause someone to become an alcoholic. Can stress push someone to drink in an unhealthy way? Sure. Stress can also cause someone to eat an entire triangle of double creme brie in one sitting or to momentarily consider buying a David Cook CD (I mean, not me!). But there are no 12-step meetings for people who crave ex-Idol albums – although, there clearly should be! We need to keep those people off the roads lest we accidentally hear Jordin Sparks blaring through their car windows.
I guess my point is that parenting is hard. But so are a lot of life conditions.
I’m not trying to downplay the role having premature twins, a toddler, and a good dose of post partum depression had in causing my unhappiness but at a certain point I knew that I was going to have to change something up and stop waiting to miraculously feel better about my circumstances.
It’s getting easier. I feel better, happier, clearer and best of all, a tad skinnier. Although, I have a raging cold right now and I just realized I can’t have Nyquil – my favorite pain go bye bye juice. I have a sneaking suspicioun that Dayquil just isn’t the same. Damn.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on July 21, 2009 7:23 pm
So I brought Sadie in to see the surgeon who placed her g-tube for another follow-up hoping that she would need a larger size button. We’d been doing some wishful thinking over here imagining that when we lifted her up from her crib she felt soooo much heavier. Not so much. In fact, her weight was lower in the surgeon’s office than it was the last time we saw our nutritionist. But, then again, she’d puked three times on the way over – apparently she gets car sick – and everyone knows the best time to weigh yourself if you’re hoping for a low number is after a good bout with puking.
I know what you’re thinking, how about a less blowing chunks chat and a more pictures – yeah, yeah, yeah, we’ll get there but right now we’re going to hear more about Sadie’s weight so deal with it or scroll the hell down and stop being such a bunch of harpies. Now, as I was writing, the doctor told us that we needed to put some more pounds on her. Really? That’s great advice! We hadn’t thought of that. Oh, wait, yes we did. That’s why we had YOU place a god damn fucking g-tube! (I’m not sure the exclamation point was entirely necessary when that was already in italics but whatever – I was pissed -get it?) The doctor wondered if she was getting the right amount of calories.
I explained that Sadie, ever conscious that this is bikini season was currently doing the South Beach diet and really kicking ass. The hardest part for her is the “no alcohol” which I completely understand. He didn’t think it was funny but the nurse chuckled – then someone (another nurse or resident or random dumbass) commented “Wow, she’s the size of a ten-month-old” and I left my body for a few minutes, quietly had a panic attack, talked myself down from it, came back to earth and smiled vaguely while calling her a cocksucker in my head.
The doctor did say that Sadie looks healthy and “a hundred times better than when he last saw her,” although I didn’t know she looked bad back then. It’s kind of like if you started going to the gym, lost five pounds and someone was like, “Whoa, you look amazing! Did you lose twenty pounds? You look a hundred times better. I bet you can almost wear a bathing suit!”
God, I take things personally don’t I? I realize I have issues.
So I got home and emailed my nutritionist who immediately emailed me back and sternly told me to calm down. I love her.
Truthfully, Sadie is actually eating better. She’s getting her speech therapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy and we’re feeding her more in the tube overnight. That’s about all we can do. I know I’ve said I accept what’s going on with her, and I do, I really really do. And I know it will all work out exactly how it’s supposed to. But that doesn’t mean it’s not a tad aggravating when doctors say dumb things. And I don’t care if you do work for Cedar’s.
That’s a cute face.
As is that.
Sorry, can’t let you leave without another hit of cuteness. My God, it’s like they’re simply BEGGING to be models. It’s all I can do to restrain myself from signing them with Eileen Ford petites. I have a feeling these twins were born to be exploited.
Posted by Stefanie Wilder Taylor on July 19, 2009 6:34 pm