Whee!

mama got new running shoes today! Hurray! what a huge difference.

eBoy and I had our 4 year anniversary yesterday. Of course, we didn't realize that until lunchtime today. oops.

I turned in the final documentation today for my internship. (heh, the first time I typed that, I typed "internshit"). Anyway, *83* fucking pages of pointless busywork later, I get to have my diploma. There was some dispute with my internship class, as our section was required to submit all these papers, while every other section just had to smile and wave and go to their internship and voila - graduate. We took it all the way to the Dean - who literally just smiled at us blandly and remarked, um no, I just don't see the difference. My classmates were apoplectic. I just very passively aggressively refused to work on it until I had nothing better to do. So now, fine, it's fucking done. Here's a 20-page paper on antisocial personality disorder. Here's a 9 page paper on an ethical dilemma. Here's four 10-page assessments/treatment plans / case studies that are in no way correlated with the actual work I was doing at the jail. Seriously, I just had to make the shit up. And here's 14 other pages of case notes and whatnot, just so I can get the three fucking credit "C" (not even a real letter grade, just C / NC) that everyone else got just for showing up.

That should have been my fucking commencement speech.

Nonsense....

I have had my "new" laptop for 11 months now. I still consider it brand-spanking cutting edge, although I'm sure the technically savvy amongst us would roll their eyes and point out that the keyboard is larger than a postage stamp, so it's not really all that.

However, I have noticed that the "N" on the keyboard has been completely worn off, and the "O" is just about there also. What the hell have I been typing??

NO no no no no.....

Nothing, nothing, nothing....

Nosebleed, nosebleed, nosebleed....





In other news, I had dinner with some girlfriends the other night. One of them is sort of having a mid-30's crisis concomitant with her husband's on-again, off-again divorce threats. So, she's taken up chain-smoking, goes out to bars to hang out with 20-something boys, and has made an appointment (seriously? an appointment?) to get a tattoo. This seems to be a common reaction among many of my peers when divorce looms. However, what seemed a reasonable and understandable reaction when I was 30, is now somewhat unsettling as we reach closer to 40. And I have to say, over 100 credits in undergrad and graduate psychology later, I'm still no closer to understanding it all or feeling like I can help in the slightest way. And I've lost too many friends when I've tried to help.

But here's a new twist - my poor friend, who really does seem to be falling apart, bragged that she had gotten stoned with another friend of our's 18 year-old daughter. I'm not okay with that in the least, although it's really none of my business or my place to say anything. And I wonder if I would have had a different reaction before I became a drug and alcohol treatment counselor.

All I know is that spending time with her has become extremely uncomfortable and ....truth be told, somewhat boring. She left the dating world at 25 or so to get married, and now she's trying to re-enter it at the same point. She's trying to be her own person again, but she's trying to be the person she was, rather than the person she's become. She's getting counseling, which is a great idea; but from what I've heard, her counselor is a total nut job who's more interested in balancing her chakras than helping her examine her beliefs and actions.

Sigh.

Random thoughts....

- I really like my job, but it's incredibly frustrating and often feels like I'm trying to get blood from a stone. But I really really like it. It's an odd thing. Many, and I mean, MANY of my more addicted clients are relapsing or simply not able to get any significant amount of clean time under their belt. And I sometimes feel like, shit man, this is their LIFE. Don't they deserve a more experienced counselor? Maybe they would do better if I were less incompetent? I'm not trying to take full credit for their struggles, just as I can't take full credit for their success. But surely greater experience in this job means greater ability and skill and therefore, a better outcome for one's clients? and it's frustrating that a LOT of what I need to learn/develop at this point can only be built through time and experience. There's just *not* a book on it. You have no idea how this fucks with my reality.

- One of my seemingly sure-footedest (?) clients relapsed on her 90th day clean from meth. Relapse is considered an integral part of recovery, but it's still pretty heartbreaking to witness the lead-up and aftermath.

- I have gotten all out of wack with my own diet, exercise, and thesis/GRE programs. My own self-discipline is so fragile.

- I think I found my wedding dress. Stay tuned.

busy weekend....

Harry Potter arrived on my doorstop at 12:00 yesterday. And PattonJanice is visiting - so a trip to wine country was in order. And now today, we shall exercise a little bit, try to find a horcrux or two, head out to the Pearl for Mani/Pedis, and then more consumption of libations. Sigh. My liver and colon doth protest.

Oh yes, and I led my first Saturday group yesterday. I actually think I may have done a decent job at it. But the odd part is that one of my clients is Korean and has to bring his translator in, so she's sitting there talking in Korean the whole time i'm talking and when I stop, she stops. When I start talking again, she starts talking again. It's incredibly distracting but also fascinating.

In other news, I have completed my interview to become a WW leader and will attend my first training weekend in August. Very exciting - although it's being held at a hotel here in Portland, and I'm required to stay at the hotel for the entire time. eBoy feels that's a little cult-like. I also got my first paycheck from WW! $35.00 whole dollars.

Okay, off to the gym now. More later.

Happy Birthday to ME

Check out MY new cookbook from my parents! Time to put that KitchenAid Standing Mixer to work!*


*eBoy made cupcakes the other night and hand-mixed everything because he's, and I quote, "terrified" of the standing mixer.

Finally!

I have finally found a restaurant in Portland that I truly enjoy. Actually, that's not quite accurate. I really have enjoyed Lucy's Table, and Roux, and Alberta Street Oyster Bar.

It really was only Paley's Place (routinely regarded as PdX's finest offering) that was a total disaster (mostly in terms of service and setup).

But - and I'm not really going out on a limb here - Wildwood is going to have to be my new favorite. We had a lovely dinner there last night for my birthday, and it was *perfect*. I enjoyed the seared albacore tuna, while eBoy had spatzle (not my favorite, but that's what you get when you order spatzle). eBoy likes to order whatever item he is most unfamiliar with - as in "what's spatzle? I must have it."

Anyway, we had a lovely evening, with interesting conversation and much laughter. eBoy only referred to me as "ridiculous and stupid" once (I got my pen out out and wrote it down, saying, wait, let me make sure I get that right...."ridiculous AND stupid?" okay.) Of course, that was in response to my new idea that everyone convicted of a crime in the US should be immediately inducted into the US Army, thus serving as an effective crime deterrent and resolving US Army recruiting woes. He also called me a republican.

Now, my friends, you know me. I may be ridiculous and stupid, but I am NOT a republican.

the annual shaving of the cats....

'round this time each year, i begin to notice we're wading knee-deep in cat hair each morning. So it's become the thing to do - humiliate and terrorize the felines in one fail swoop: Grooming. Lion's cut to be exact.



It has the added benefit of pissing Abigail off enough that she wants NOTHING to do with us for at least the rest of the day. Ah, a little peace and quiet.

fuck you guys!

Look what I came home to last night.

Yay eboy!!!

(There's 15 cupcakes. Apparently the recipe makes enough for 25. eBoy was slightly green around the gills and had that same guilty expression on his face that the dog gets when she's eaten the cats' food).

Don't try to kid a kidder....

Let me put it this way. I have, at points in my life, been the laziest, lyingest, lie-by-omissionist, most-reluctant-to-make-an-effort sort of person. I have smoked, snorted, and ingested a *variety* of substances, extensively, and I know what they look like, what they do, and - most importantly - what someone who is on them looks like.

So when you come to see me and I look you in the eye and ask are you high on coke right at this minute? It's not really a question.

I have chosen to work with a population that somehow thinks they're fooling everyone - but just because someone doesn't call you a liar to your face, doesn't mean you've gotten away with something.

eew. I thought I was so clever back in the day - or I didn't even think about it so much, I just wanted to do what I wanted to do and I didn't want anyone hassling me about it. I don't know if it was substance abuse so much as I was just addicted to my own laziness. Dodging and weaving, shucking and jiving. I didn't fool a soul - and with every lie, every time I flaked on someone, every time I lost/quit/got fired from a job, I would want to think that the only person I was hurting was myself. But that's not true either. It hurt my family, it hurt my friends - at least anyone that cared about me, or anyone who was inconvenienced or irritated or confused by my enveloping self-involvement that left no room for a true relationship with anyone else.

Speaking of self-involvement....sheesh, I can get into my own head, can't I?

What I'm trying to say is that my clients think they're smarter than I am - and some are; and my clients think they're fooling me - and some are. Although I have the advantage of not currently operating under the influence, so my frontal cortex is actually switched On. But the point is - and there is a point - if you're going try and fool me, or try and lie, or get past me on something: FINE. But please do it well. Take some pride in it. Because if you're bad at it, it's just insulting and irritating and it makes it a challenge to have empathy for you. See again about Stanford Prison Experiment. (this is a difference between my Mormon-Republican-Cop/Lawyer sister and I. I think - I *know* she gets off on this sort of disciplinary power-over sort of thing. It just makes me feel uneasy and abusive).

(which is my own challenge as a clinician: I need to find that spot of empathy for you EVEN when I find you irritating and stupid and a total waste of perfectly good cocaine).

In which i have batshit crazy PMS

See Lucy's expression? Seriously, three days out of each month, that's exactly what I look like - except for the saddle shoes.

I Can't. Get. Happy. Today. I can't even get not-pissed off at everyone and no one.

I'm about to kill eBoy, I've already shouted at the dog, I've threatened the cats, and all the coffee in the world isn't giving me enough energy to just pack up my bags and leave.

And of course, as xt used to counsel: I'm not supposed to make any big decisions during these three days each month.


eew I hate it. i even gave myself half a chocolate bar yesterday in hopes of making it better and I fucking *hate* candy. THIS is what it's come to.

I'll be fine in a couple days. Until then, I've locked myself in my office. Just slip some goat cheese under the door at mealtimes and we'll all be okay by Wednesday.

In other exciting news....

One of the things I haven't updated anyone on is wedding planning. I felt like I couldn't really move forward until one very important thing had been taken care of -which I did last week.

I'm pleased to announce that Ctrl-freak and El Jeffe have agreed to be my MEN OF HONOR. My Brides-Men, if you will.

Very exciting.

So the wedding plans have developed thus: The Wedding Party (us, eBoy's Best Men and my Men of Honor) shall all fly ourselves over to Barcelona, Spain at the end of next May, where eBoy and I shall have a small, private ceremony. Then the six of us shall go and eat/drink/dance our way through that city. After a couple of days there, the Wedding Party shall be set free to go run amuk through Europe as they wish, and eBoy and I will take the ferry to Genoa and then travel from there, down to Portofino, Cinque Terre, Pisa, and finally to Florence.

Now, the actual reception will be held on July 26th in Portland, and to that, all friends and family will be invited. It will probably be a casual event, maybe at our friends' wine bar. July 27th (Sunday) will be our 5 year anniversary of the day we met, so i like how that all ties in together.

Wee!

We drowned the vaccum.

And by "we," I'm sure you know that I mean it was eBoy's fault.

Seems when he cleaned the nasty hair & lint catcher from the washing machine (a knee-high stocking tied to pipe that drains out all the water into the laundry sink - and why in the year 2007 can't I have something a little more high tech than that?), he failed to actually remove the old stocking now full of hair and lint from the sink. So it clogged the drain. So the laundry room flooded with about an inch or so of water. Not very healthy for my 3 year old vaccum cleaner stored next to the washing machine. When I picked it up? water drained out of it for something like 30 seconds. That can't be good.

You know what all this means, right?

My birthday's a-comin'. Mama's gettin' herself a Dyson.

And it will *not* sleep in the laundry room. It will sleep in the bed next to me, on the other side from my KitchenAid standing mixer. That bed's gettin' pretty full. Sorry eBoy, enjoy the laundry room.

drugs are bad, mmmmkay?

Oh my god, I think I'm a (was a?) bigger addict than any of my clients.

Of course, they're all minimizing and lying, but still.

I'm very irritated with the person I replaced who'd been failing to do his job for the three months prior to his actually leaving it. The clients are all pissed that they're having to repeat some information and there are ZERO records about what's been covered, what hasn't, what competencies people have to complete, and what's already been done.

So I get to look like an asshole every day. And not just in the usual way.

Aside from that, I still love my job. The days just *race* by. I worked 12 hours today, and I barely even noticed. (I don't usually work 12 hour days, but I filled in for somebody else, so I had to go in a couple hours early - don't worry, I won't make a habit of it).

It's weird to have this sort of position of unintended power over peoples' lives and to be able to make them pee in little cups on command. there's definitely a Stanford Prison Experiment vibe that could take root. (look it up, but the gist is, when people are placed in positions of power, they tend to dehumanize and abuse those they have power over. See also: www.whitehouse.gov)

I'm visiting some friends out of town this weekend. There's a distinct possibility that I may have to put on a swim suit. Is it too much information to share that I'm not so worried about the cellulite on my thighs, butt, and stomach, but the STRETCHMARKS that so delightfully accent the little dimples? Oh god, and I don't even have an infant to blame them on.

Happy 4th!

Momma, she is a cookin' today.

Blueberry pies....jalapeno cornbread, grilled flank steak, grilled vegetable cous-cous.

Stay tuned for pix.

Yowza!