Suebob's Red Stapler

I was with a group of women yesterday. We ranged in age between 35 and 55, about. Some married, a couple single, some divorced. We were standing around eating snacks and drinking wine or lemonade (yeah, of course as soon as I get done drinking, I get invited to a party in a wine shop OF COURSE).

Some of the women work together and one was telling a story about a guy who didn’t like her because she’s a single mom. Long story, details not important.

One of the other women said “I wonder what he think of me if he knew I were a lesbian?”

Everyone laughed and kept talking.

Later, I thought how she couldn’t have said that without a major shocked reaction 50 years ago. Even 25 years ago. 10 years ago, that sentence probably would have led to some discussion of whether people were ok with that or whether she should have said that or how we were all really ok with that and how we support her “choices.”

Yesterday, it was just part of the flow of conversation. Yay for progress, when once unthinkable things become normal and people can just live their lives.

I quit drinking, which is worth doing just as an emotional Rorschach test for the people you tell. Drinking and the quitting thereof are just incredibly fraught for so many people, including, I suppose, me. The reactions varied from “Oh, yeah, right, you’re quitting” sarcasm to “Oh, ok, you can always get a Coke when you come out to the bar with us” nonchalance.

But despite the sarcastic responses and the friends who told me I could “just cut back,” I’m serious about quitting, done, no backup plan, no “special occasions.” I quit for good, and I would be truly disappointed in myself if I started again.

I don’t suppose I would quit drinking altogether if I didn’t have a drinking problem. But I didn’t have, and don’t think I ever would have developed, what we think of as classic troubled drinking behavior.

I have never had a hangover nor a blackout. I have only been drunk a handful of times and most of those were more than 25 years ago. I never missed a day of work, never drove drunk, never got in fights or fell down or whatever Lindsay Lohanesque behavior people usually imagine when they say “problem drinker.”

And yet, drinking was a problem to me. I drank nearly every day, a couple glasses of wine, maybe three. I’m affected disproportionately by alcohol. I’m the proverbial cheap drunk. So what might seem like moderate drinking to other people is more serious for me.

I’d often think “This is stupid, I should stop.” Then I’d vow just to drink on weekends or when I was out with friends, but those resolutions would quickly slip away.

Here’s my problems with drinking, as I see them:

• Drinking stole my motivation. Even one glass of wine makes me much less likely to do anything productive.
• Drinking covered emotions that I should have been feeling and dealing with. Not just bad emotions, but it dulled my good emotions, too.
• Drinking took away my free will – I did it because it was a habit, not because it was bringing me any good things.
• Drinking led me to eat more because my inhibitions were lowered and my resolve was weakened.
• Alcohol is a depressant. It struck me that this may not be the best treatment for someone who experiences pretty severe seasonal depression.
• Drinking made me boring, even to myself. My brain just didn’t work as well after even one drink.
• Drinking is expensive. I could have drank cheaper wine, but I liked wine to actually taste pretty good, which costs money.

And on my list of reasons for quitting completely, not just cutting back:

• I wanted more from life. I knew I could accomplish more and stretch further if I didn’t have alcohol in my life.
• I wanted to be free to not have to think about it anymore. The way to ensure I’m not drinking too much or too often is to not drink.
• Most of the people I truly admire are non-drinkers. These are people who are living really full, rich, authentic lives filled with risk and reward and goals and accomplishments. They inspired me A LOT. People like Schmutzie, Ellie of Shining Strong, Heather of the EO, Marius, Cindy Hitsman, and on and on. I want to be like them, not like Team Drunky.
• I don’t want to be buzzed. I want to be present. Something just suddenly flipped in my brain to make that possible. It’s perfectly acceptable in our society to spend a good part of your adult life in an altered state, and I’ve been thinking more and more why that isn’t something I want to do, why that doesn’t work for me anymore.

Ah, that felt good to write. I have been struggling with this for a long time, and to have made this decision and to be on this path feel so good.

I don’t plan to become an alcohol-free Scoldy McScolderson. Feel free to continue boozing it up in front of me. I have passed many happy hours with drinks and wine and friends, and I don’t want to change any of that, except for the me drinking part.

It’s not tough at all, not right now, though who knows? That may change. If it does, I have Marius’s number. He let me know I could call him anytime I felt like drinking, which is a nice ace-in-the-hole. Maybe I’ll even go sit on a metal folding chair in a church basement with him if I feel like I need it. I know help is out there.

At times, I feel a little sheepish, quitting without developing a big, life-threatening addiction. But then I realize that life-threatening is a continuum, not an all-or-nothing proposition. I want a bigger, more free, more interesting life than I had with a head full of alcohol. All I have to do is leave fermented grape juice behind. I think I can do that.

I can sit at the counter at my favorite restaurant, watching the chefs cook.

Shem runs the place with a quiet, funny authority. He knows what he is doing. The way he moves shows it. No wasted motion. All the best cooks are like that. He’s cooking chicken parts, flames shooting out everywhere.

No one else gives him crap, but I do.

“You need a better vegetarian special,” I opine. “Linguine al pesto is so weak. What is this, 1987?”

To rub it in, I show him photos of my almond & parmesan crusted portobellos I made for lunch the other day. The sous chefs are impressed, but Shem just turns back to his chicken.

Lucky me – it’s grease-trap cleaning night. David sits the gunky full trap down in the sink, right in front of me.

“Mmmm, tasty,” I say.

“Fat is flavor,” Shem says.

“You got that right,” I reply.

My friends and I went to the Jewish Film Festival to see “Hava Nagila.” Highly recommended. Opens in Los Angeles at the Laemmle theaters and Encino Town Center next week.

We’re standing in a slow-moving shuffling line to get out of the theater. The man behind us says “Funny, you don’t look Jewish.”

He’s right. We’re caught. Ish is clearly brown and CC looks pretty Latina. Me? My friend Jim described me as “The most goyish looking person in the world.” Huh. I thought Jessica Simpson had me beat.

“Just fans,” Ish says.