I took a blanket and a bottle of wine and a pack of cigarettes to the beach. I was determined to walk into the icy waters of Puget Sound and either freeze or drown or both. It was past midnight. I chose the most beautiful part of Alki beach.. the very private and lovely Lowman Beach. On a very secluded street, I parked in front of the Rubber Ducky Museum, which is a favorite landmark amongst locals and my daughter especially.  It is extremely precious. Sidewalk fountains adorned with rubber duckies of all styles, tiny water slides into a little pool, a shrine for  the rubber ducky. …. amazingly never touched by vandals.. I thought of how my daughter loved that place  as I parked there planning my exit from the world.

I sat on the beach for a while, drinking straight from the bottle. Smoked a cigarette. And then proceeded to walk into the water. It was amazingly NOT cold. I swam out pretty far from the shore. I turned onto my back and floated, looking at  the night sky and the moon. It was beautiful. Then I remembered why I was there and tried to force myself below the water. I could not. I kept emerging. My self wouldn’t let myself annihilate myself. I floated for a long time. It seemed like hours. Time was frozen. The tide carried me down the beach. I became disoriented. I swam to shore but I was now in an unfamiliar place on the beach. Nothing but rocks and craggy sharp edges. I could not stand. I think my muscles had frozen from the cold. I kept falling and cutting my hands and legs. Hitting my head on the rocks. I tried to crawl. I was getting nowhere. I laid there and decided I would just die from exposure. Then I started crying out for help. There were houses up the hill. Nobody was around. I was alone and cold and wet and bleeding.  I gave myself one last push to find my way back to where I had started and somehow crawled and stumbled back there.

A couple was sitting on the beach by the driftwood logs with bottles of liquor. The girl wanted to help me. The guy seemed incapacitated – he could not get up either…funny…and he kept telling me to come lie down by him. I just sat there crying. The girl had a cell phone and asked who she could call to help me. I had her call my ex husband. I tried to find my purse and blanket which were nowhere to be found. I had no cell phone, no nothing. I figured the tide had taken them out to sea. Time had no meaning. I was lost.

After making the call, the couple decided they’d better get the hell away from me. Certainly I was trouble. They gave me a towel and left. I was freezing. Frozen solid sitting on a driftwood log. I decided to try to go to the street to see if my ex was looking for me. A resident of the hood  was walking down the sidewalk ,  all well dressed and handsome. I can only imagine what he thought seeing me stumbling around the sidewalk with soaking wet sandy clothes and a towel wrapped around me. He asked what I was doing and I told him I had tried to drown myself. He called the only two numbers I could remember. Again the ex husband and the ex boyfriend.  No answers. He called 911. He called his wife to tell her he had found a woman who had tried to kill herself and he had to stay  till help arrived. I went back to the shore to look for my stuff. I couldn’t see or feel my limbs by this point. My glasses had somehow managed to stay on my face but I still could see nothing in the dark. There was nothing.

Eventually my  husband arrived and explained to the good Samaritan that he would take me home. No 911 needed, although they were on their way. He drove me home. He left me alone in my apartment. I took a really long steaming hot shower and then put on my warmest pj’s. It took hours to warm up.

I brushed myself with near death. Stupid. Selfish. Self-centered. Wanting out of the struggle. But then I couldn’t do it. I am still here. And write here for your entertainment. Feel my pain. I want you to. Things will be better in the morning. I’m sure of it.


It’s been 15 days since I last consumed alcohol. I find myself aternating between mania and narcolepsy.  But I’d have to say I feel pretty good.  There’s certainly the boredom that I face nightly between the hours of 5.-10 pm when I would normally be swilling wine and telephoning friends, blogging madly, or going out to look for some form of excitement. Now I find my moribund entertainment  in actually cooking dinner and eating it, watching tv shows and remembering them and god forbid, actually thinking about my future (which is not really entertaining).

Where is it that I want to be in 5 years? Just laboring part-time in the library only to pay down my ridiculously high consumer debt? Let’s not even think about the grad. school loans.

There are ways to break this shit down.  My friend Mike is working on a Master Plan for my life but for some reason I’m not sure he’s the one to do it,  as the first thing on his agenda is that we take ballroom dance lessons together.  Considering he is partially crippled and gay, this could be the thing to do … perhaps it will crack open another little chip in my facade and let the rainbows come spilling out from deep within me where I am sure they must be hiding.  He also insists that I get my piano back from the ex, which is something I really need to do. And then there are those divorce papers I have to file, or find, or at least look at. I might have mentioned that the ex is somewhat impaired in the brains department so the burden falls upon me to get those wheels in motion.  It’s only been 2.5 years since we separated. Let’s not rush into anything okay? Besides, I’ve been impaired myself for quite some time.

On the good news front, spring is slowly coming to Seattle although today it is snowing lightly. We are all anticipating more daylight hours as our vitamin D deficiencies are taking us to new depths of despair. I have to answer a questionnaire for a “profile” feature on the library’s teen blog and the questions are impossible to answer. “Why Teen Services?” Truthfully? I think I was hired by mistake. There was a rush to hire a stable of Teen librarians back in 1999 and somehow my resume got thrown into the bunch. I was looking for a Children’s Librarian job, but then got a call that I was in – just like that – for the job that I currently inhabit.  I never even wanted to be a Teen Librarian. But I have to come up with something a little more positive I guess. Something cheerful and chirpy. “Teens are awesome! Especially the boys between 17 – 18… hot!!!”  Then there’s the “What’s the best thing about living in Seattle?”  Even harder to answer. It’s where there’s a job and I’m kind of stuck here. I don’t like the weather, I don’t like the beaches (cold, rocky, uninviting) I don’t like the way the city has extorted money from taxpayers for projects that never pan out (monorail…… how much money did we throw down the drain on that one? – sports stadiums we voted down but still they built them). The best thing I can say about Seattle is there are no giant flying cockroaches here like there were in the South.  I’m not into hiking, snow sports or kayaking so,  really, what can I say?  I like sailing and there’s a million sailboats out here but the water is so fucking cold you would never want to go in it… even in the deepest summer month that we get.  I said “month”.  Also,  I have to provide a photo of me “then” (as a teen) and “now” (as the Mary Kay Letourneau of the library).   I’ll scan in my first high school dance photo. Oh the sheer innocence!!! The hope!!! The hideous date!! With a name like J.T. Bigalke, yes he was a football player, how can you go wrong??? The 70’s!!!!  I’ll update here later with a link.  Sorry J.T., wherever you are today. I’ve got the entire other story to write about you. Later…..  “Mamie and I Race to Lose Our Virginity”…..


The title is a lyric from a song I wrote about 13 years ago. It was another soggy, sad Christmas as I recall.

You say it’s snowing? How unusual. It’s been 25 days since I realized I’d just made one of the bigger mistakes of my life by taking the basement apartment of my “friend with benefits”.  Not anyone’s fault really. Just bad judgement all around. I discovered I’d been lying to myself for a long time about my ability to live in an open relationship.  So after three days of “living” there…. hah….. I packed up my kid and the bare necessities and I moved into my ex-husband’s house, which he shares with an unemployed girlfriend with serious drinking issues and her very cool 18 year old daughter.  What a happy little family we all were hunkered down together at the end of the world.  Much craziness ensued. I fell down the basement stairs there and have been ailing ever since. My whole body is wrecked. My face sustained no injuries but I still look like I’ve aged about 10 years in the past 3 weeks. Stress can do that to a person. And drinking, smoking and taking god knows what variety of sedatives.

I managed to find a pretty nice place and actually got moved (for the second time in two weeks) on day one of the great Seattle Snowlacost, thanks to the help of some brave friends who drove the U-Haul for me in the blizzard and ice.  I paid them for their work but probably not enough.

It’s been hard to think about it all, much less whine on the blog about it. Snowbound for a week with a broken ribcage and a broken spirit. Huh. Go figure. And I still find myself missing my friend. The definition of insanity according to Benjamin Franklin:  doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Insanity should be so simple. Insanity for Dummies.

I started this post days ago. It seems rather worthless.  Today, Sunday the 29th of December I am back at work and the sun is shining and the sky is blue.  I’m still injured but will address that tomorrow with further medical care.  As to my mental state, I have a plan.  And the plan includes stepping up, getting up, and stopping the madness.  Stopping all my bad habits. And taking the pain and facing it head on.  It will be hard. It will suck. But in the end I’m told it will be better. 

I’m thinking about our little microcosm here in Seattle and how we were all inconvenienced by the blizzard and food and gas running out due to said blizzard and I’m thinking about my nephew in Afghanistan who, on Christmas eve,  picked up the remains of his platoon leader and put them in a body bag and I’m thinking about the Palestinians who are being slaughtered as I type.  We gotta take the pain and face it head on.  It will be hard. It will suck. But all we have left is hope that in the end it will be better.

 Happy New Year.


The topic of the day. Let’s all say a few Hail Marys and begin shall we? First off, I’m really sad. Really really sad. I thought I had a handle on the relationship with the boy. Sadly, I think I have just been fooling myself. And making a fool of myself at the same time. Sad is a word I might tend to overuse in this post. I’ll try to think of synonyms like morose, bereaved, bitter, blue, cheerless, dejected, depressed, despairing, despondent, dismal, doleful, forlorn, grieved, heartbroken, heartsick, languishing, lugubrious, morbid, weeping, woebegone. And stuck in the pathetic fallacy.. okay that doesn’t really fit but I do like the way it sounds. And the pathetic fallacy is something I am totally into. 

I went to a party last night. A friend’s 50th birthday. He had rented a performance hall and had all his musician friends there playing. The group was a distinct split between middle aged men and 20 something goth boys and girls (birthday boy’s kids and their friends). First I wowed the middle aged men with my hilarious verbocity, my performance of my famous hit tune “Daddy Fucks Dobermans” and my dazzling good looks.  But then I found myself drawn to the 20 somethings with their purple hair, multiple piercings and tattoos.  The truth is I made an ass out of myself. As is often the case, when faced with a somewhat uncomfortable social situation I really crank up the “oh I’m so special” routine and unleash the ego into overdrive.  I gave the host a hug and left.

When I got home I called the boy about 50 times, after having called him about 50 times from the party where I was unceremoniously making a total fucking ass out of myself.  The boy was in a bar in a seedy part of town and not too thrilled with my idea of humor in calling him an asshole and having my new buddy at the party call him one too. But we were kidding.  Sorta. Anyway, after the additional calls made upon my return home, the boy relented and came over.  We listened to some Steven Wright and laughed but then the conversation turned to who he was doing the night before.  I realized I am right back in the same boat I was in back in October and that boat is a stinky, leaky piece of crap.  It’s dark, there are no oars, the engine’s blown, there is nothing but bleak echoing emptiness in that boat.  And a howling sea tosses it mercilessly against the rocky shore.

This story goes downhill from here so I think I’ll just stop while I’m ahead and say today I am at work and have to excuse myself from dealing with the public because if anyone even looks at me funny I am going to cry and vomit and fall on the floor flailing my limbs or clawing at my eyes……  it is that bad.


Where DOES it all end? Obviously it ends after all is said and done. After the fat lady sings. When pigs fly, when hell freezes over, when you move into upper management, when you’re marinating in soil and worms, when you’ve moved into shart mode, the jig is up, the farm is bought, the hellish sensation that you’ve been there before sets in, tax season grasps you by the balls and nails you to the desktop, the seratonin uptake inhibitor is neither uptaking nor inhibiting, in fact you are exhibiting on the downbeat, and the symphony is playing on and on. You’re toast. You’re so yesterday. Your mold is showing, your eyes have seen the glory of the coming, you bet the farm and your dog died too. You’ve gone to the dirt archives. The cat is on the bed. You’ve put the smack down on it all, you eat the big one, you eat the little ones too, and then they eat you. Repeat.

I don’t know why we celebrate this day but I’m glad we do cause the library is closed and I have the day off. This is a momentous day in the tiny little world of this librarian. Having been the high bidder on the auction package titled “Mayor of West Seattle”, I garnered some questionable “prizes”. A couple of tickets to the local mini-theater, a once a month free mac n’ cheese at West 5 for a year (supposedly great mac n’ cheese but it makes me wanna barf), booking bands of my choice for one night at a local bar (they don’t pay the bands, I don’t know what the value of this prize really is….) and last but not least the famous mezzanine party at Mission Restaurant and Bar which will be tonight. The party was advertised as 50 cent “beverages” for up to 50 people for an afternoon. The “beverages” turned out to be PBR.  I don’t even drink beer. I was a little disappointed. (see below for the post-party recap)

But this is also a little anniversary of sorts for me and the so called “boyfriend” who I refer to that way for lack of the time and energy it would take to call him my friend with benefits. Because for a short period of time he actually was my boyfriend. Then there was the painful disentangling that was chronicled right here on this very blog. Now we’re into the “when you find the time” come over and screw me please phase.  And that works for the most part.  The fact that he is openly open to screwing other women is sometimes problematic. But if I had anyone else in my life I’d probably be doing the same. I finally realized I have not one fraction of what it takes to carry on a real relationship. I am lacking the genetic makeup, my psyche was trounced on at an early age, I’m selfish and self-centered. And a little more than crazy a lot of the time. So I should be just fine accepting that T4 is not to be the “one to watch ANTM with me” as he put it during our split.

I started this post before the party. It is now 2 days after the party and I’m still not recovered. It was a great time I must say. The “boyfriend” was only there for 30 minutes, having forgotten that he had to pick up his daughters although we had been talking about the party for what? 3 months or so? Anyway, he was also oblivious to the anniversary portion of the celebration, despite my having talked about that on more than one occasion as well….  but I was fine with it. There were tons of hot boys there, all waiting to do the Mayor’s bidding…. we had a private bar, big screen tv showing Project Runway, 4 excellent draft beers to choose from (just a buck for a pint!) and as Mayor, I got a decent chardonnay for a dollar a glass. A bottomless glass.  About 35 people showed up, we had runway walk-offs, food, a blast. The evening ended with some karaoke at the sleazy Chinese restaurant across the street and a sleepover at my house with TC, HC and a guy who I will not name in order to protect the innocent. Nobody felt very good the next morning but we were relieved that we did not engage in group sex as I was suggesting at about 1 a.m. just before we all passed out.

UPDATE ON THE PERSONAL AD: I took it down. I was obviously not going to get anything approaching normal out of that. I did make contact with Brad,  the old bf, but he is practicing Public Health in the remote villages of India and I don’t think he’ll be back anytime soon.

Blah, blah blahdie blaahhhhhhhh


New Year’s Day. Woke up at 10. Drank coffee. Watched the marathon ANTM all fucking day. Can’t stop. Dragged myself to the gym for a quick workout. Back home. More ANTM. The brain has stopped. Altogether. Can’t stop…….. watching……..

I know what the problem is. Now fixing it is another issue. Need sunshine. Need a hobby. Need to get out of the fucking house. Need to give up the vino. Need to go to an ashram, a monestary, back to school, SOMETHING!!!!  Blow up the computers. And the TV.

What a pig. Beating a Sikh cab driver in what MIGHT (????) be a hate crime. Hell yeah it’s a fucking hate crime…. I say we hang the asshole. Police asked the cab driver to pick up an “intoxicated” football fan after he was ejected from the sports event. Since when do police arrange cab rides for drunken assholes? Why wasn’t he just arrested for public drunkeness?   Attention minority cab drivers: NEVER pick up intoxicated asshole, testosterone-driven football fans… EVER.  I encourage everyone to track down this jerk and make his life a living hell for as long as possible.