Day 34: The Pilgrims Were Fascists Yo!

Today is July 4, Independence Day. Independence from what? From whom or what are we free and in what sense do we claim freedom? We may have fought for our independence as a nation, separate from the British, but are we not still tethered to the bigoted traditions and narrow-minded morals that we so desperately fought to sever? Yes, we have our own flag, our own dialects, our own slang, our own laws, but we kept a few things I wish we’d have shrugged off as thoroughly as we did proper speech.

The husband will tell you that I am not a patriot. Kind of funny given that he has dedicated the last 18 years of his life to defending our nation. I am more of a humanist. I believe in the rights of all people, regardless of race, creed, stature, class, gender and any other label with which one can be saddled. I do appreciate that I live in a country that allows me to state my beliefs, while simultaneously denouncing it’s foundation. I get the irony, but I am also widely traveled and know there are more than a few other places I could live and still enjoy full use of my big mouth and opinions.

America is a teenager. We are arrogant and believe that we have all the answers. Our willful behavior around the globe shows us to be not the Superpower we claim, but a spoiled, belligerent child out to prove itself. We pick fights, we insist on butting into issues in which we have no business being a major player. We do not know what is best for the world. We barely make any effort to familiarize ourselves with other cultures. In a nation that is home to such a diverse population, we barely scratch the surface of understanding what diversity means.

We are a prejudiced nation. We opened our borders to people from religions and culture the world over, and yet expect them to speak English, to dress like us, to assimilate. Not everyone in the world wants to be a melting pot. As mutt of uncertain origins, I wish I had a culture to call my own. That ethnic heritage is a gift, just as your religious beliefs are deeply held, so too should be our commitment to welcoming the very diversity this nation came to represent so many years ago. Why is it we defend the right of freedom to choose only so long as those choices do not offend us?

Wear whatever attire you like, worship or don’t worship, speak the language of your people, love whomever you feel drawn to. What right do we have to regulate these things? The pilgrims that came to America were fleeing religious oppression and then came here not to build a free society, but to create a society that thought just like they did. In a way, I suppose, our very prejudice is more American than any of our supposed freedoms. We were born a nation of ignorance and intolerance and we have yet to shake off the shackles that constricted the religious practices that once brought us here.

Instead, we enslaved the native people of this land, my ancestors on my biological Father’s side. We abducted and enslaved Africans. We imprisoned Asians. We cast out homosexuals. We are the nation we were born to be and we have no one to blame but ourselves. My rights are not threatened because someone who thinks, acts, or looks differently has the same rights. Where is our freedom to be who we believe ourselves to be. Why must I feel like I have just murdered a baby every time I state that I do not believe in a God. Why can two people who love one another and want to spend their lives together not have that choice simply because their bodies do not look different enough to please the bigots. Why is one person more of a threat because of the color of his skin or manner of dress?

If America were truly as great as she could be given our tremendous influence and resources we would use that power for more good. We would lead by example, revealing a path of tolerance and acceptance, a willingness to spend money and energy to help the downtrodden and not just the resource heavy. Why do we not have a more significant presence in Africa which has a long history of racism, oppression, disease, and genocide? Because what does a place like the Sudan have to offer us? Why should we care if poor people or gay people or uneducated people are suffering? What could they add to our coffers besides more trouble and debt? So if this nation is truly powerful and great, where is the greatness in only helping those that can help us back?

Now before you all start lashing out at me, I will also point out that Americans are capable of great kindness and generosity. The people here are good for the most part and most who are not, err out of fear and ignorance. Very few among us are truly evil, even when we do evil things. As a country, we are capable of great acts. The Bill of Rights, for instance, is a wonderful example of the kind of benevolence and tolerance for which our nation is capable. We offer opportunity and resources unmatched by most nations around the globe. I love our freedoms, I love our idealism, and I love our hope. I just happen not to be blind to the fact that we are also capable of great ugliness and hate.

We may be free from the rule of another government, but we still have not quite learned how to free ourselves from prejudice. I want to be proud to be an American, but right now I’m more proud of what we’re capable of, than what we actually are. I think we will get there. Today we are mired in the stages of puberty and it’s bound to be a little awkward. One day maybe we will mature and learn to use our power and resources more for good. Our influence will come from a more humble and helpful place. I long for that America, because when she grows up, I will be proud and we will truly be free.

Day 33: Single Without the Benefits

I am learning an important lesson with every day that passes. It’s not easy to be alone and it really kind of sucks to be lonely. Don’t get me wrong, I am married and love my husband very much, but he’s in Iraq for a year. I am here in another new town, trying once again to make new friends, find a new job, and build a new life. I have been alone much of my life and I’m actually pretty good at it, but this is different and it has taken me by surprise to discover just how difficult a year alone in a long-distance relationship can be.

There are things in our lives and parts of our personalities that we allow ourselves to forget. I am a fairly independent person and did not expect to have such a hard time when Jeff deployed to Iraq. In fact, I really believed that in a way it would be nice to rediscover my individuality. With a new condo to decorate would I discover that our merged tastes were different than my own? What hours would I keep? What would I eat when no longer considering the tastes of the two of us? It was kind of exciting really, how many couples get the opportunity to be on their own again without losing their relationship?

What I did not count on, was the loneliness. For a while, I didn’t let myself acknowledge or feel that I was lonely. I spent a great deal of time watching football, hanging out at my corner pub, drinking wine, driving for hours – though not after the drinking part, of course. I focused on socializing and doing exactly what I wanted when I wanted, without having to worry about how it affected anyone else. When you are in a relationship even the smallest choices can have an impact on your partner, so in a way, this was very freeing. The problem with hiding from your reality, however, is that it’s not real.

I thought I was fine, that my strength and independence were getting me through, with the help of a little self-denial and avoidance, of course. What we don’t realize when we’re single, is that regardless if we are single by choice or by happenstance, we know that there is hope. Maybe today will be the day that cute girl at the grocery will notice you and laugh at your practiced line about buying wine at the Harris Teeter. Every time you go to a bar or a friend’s party it might be the night the guy you can never quite seem to find, finds you instead. The possibilities and hope is what makes being single exciting and manageable.

Take away the hope and what you have is a person living alone and just waiting for time to pass. These days, I try to fill my daytime hours with activities and my nights with whatever friends, or friendly people are available to hang out. It is tough to force friendships not built on daily interactions like work or common interests. For that matter, how do you even find friends as an adult? I’m pretty sure that sitting down at a table with a couple of other girls who look nice and saying “Hi. Would you like to be my friend?” would be a bit weird. Making friends in a new town can be hard, but when you have no friends, no family, and no love interest to spend time with, life can be a bit oppressive.

So you get creative. I bake, I write, talk to the cats, watch way too much TV, go to movies, take drives, work out, talk to myself, try different hairstyles, wander around Target for hours . . . you get the picture. No matter how active you are, at the end of the day you come home alone and it’s really fucking lonely. I know how to be alone. I know how to be single. Hell, I moved to NYC on my own, without knowing a soul or having a job and I made a life for myself. This is different. I can’t just flirt with some guy at a bar and go home with him if I’m feeling really lonely. I am single, without the benefits and I’m not sure I know how to be that girl.

I am beginning to understand why so many Army wives pop out children like it’s their job. Having kids distracts you, it keeps you busy, you talk about Mommy or Daddy (depending on which parent is absent), and they are somehow able to busy themselves enough that the time passes before their will power and sanity reach a breaking point. We don’t have kids, and I am glad for that, but when the distractions of whatever I happen to be busying myself with finally fades away, all I am left with is an empty place where my partner used to be. People always say, how hard it must be for me and I do appreciate their sympathy, but it doesn’t help. Because no matter how difficult you imagine it might be, it’s worse. I am an independent, strong-willed, capable women and I am drowning.

Being alone teaches you a lot about yourself. I have certainly learned some things I didn’t want to know as well as a few things we’ve been hiding from and now need to face. There is good and bad in everything, but when events in your life happen that force you to confront the good and bad in yourself, things get a bit more complicated. At what point do you stop identifying yourself as a spouse and become simply a woman or man? When I am out at a bar, I have to constantly show my ring and advise people I am married. After so long, I wonder when I stopped being a woman and just became a wife?

We have a little less than five months before Jeff comes home and I hope I can get my shit together before that time. He deserves me to be a whole person, healthy and happy and I deserve that for myself too. Being apart is teaching me that happiness gained through the relationships in your life is not the same thing as being a happy person. When the marriage is over or your children are grown, do you really know who you are anymore? Do you want to know? I am not a fan of marriage over simply committing without the legality. My argument has always been that marriage makes you property, but it is more than that.

Any relationship that takes over such a large part of your life becomes a part of who you are as a person. Take away that relationship, whether through divorce, death, deployment, or college age children and your life is bound to change in unexpected ways. We let ourselves soften and merge from being an individual to being part of something larger. I now realize that there is no way around this. Even if I did not marry the husband, he would still hold that place in my life. His absence would still be felt and I would now still be trying to rediscover myself without once again becoming solely Ame. I signed on to be part of something bigger and its absence has made me smaller and more empty than I ever imagined.

So here’s the lesson: I cannot escape my marriage. A ring, a legal contract, a ceremony are just symbols of the larger fact that my life is bound with another’s. I am lonely and missing the comfort of a partnership, but also the excitement of something new. I need to grow as a person. Only through expanding who I am and working to become a happier individual, will I be able to achieve a more solid sense of self even when alone. Because for me, while I can do single without missing a step, I cannot seem to figure out alone and married. The two are oxymoronic concepts and yet ones that I need to reconcile. Since I can’t fill that void with anyone else, I’m going to have to learn to be enough all by myself, and that scares the hell out of me.

Day 32: MJ Lives . . . at Least in Print

Move over Farrah and MJ, there’s real news in the world! I know what you’re thinking, how can anything be more important to your immediate well-being than hearing more about funeral details for the latest not surprising deaths in Hollywood. I say not surprising because Farrah was gravely ill and MJ has been abusing his body for decades. I visited three sites today in search of news. On Yahoo, the top stories were MJ, MJ and something relating to MJ. On CNN we had MJ, and a story about the AirFrance flight, that while yes, it is global news it didn’t really tell anything of note. Finally, on NY Times online we had . . . drum roll please . . . actual news! Hooray for a news outlet telling a story other than one revolving around a celebrity.

Check almost any news site any day of the week and the one thing you will not see is a story about the war in Iraq. These stories are buried and sometimes, more than buried, they are nonexistent in American media. We like sexy stories, we like shocking stories, we do not like hearing how those stories turn out. The news is full of things for which you will never hear a follow-up. I often wonder how a story I read about played out, but apparently no one else because those stories do not seem to exist. That is, unless something new happens.

The war in Afghanistan was old news for years, but now that things are heating up again it’s possible to actually read about it, imagine that. Iraq, on the other hand, is very old news and since it’s nowhere near as violent as it once was, the media has almost dropped it completely. I hear about casualties from him because when a soldier is killed they cut off internet and phone access until the family is notified. Once I hear about it from him, I will start scouring online sources for any news in the ensuing days and it is almost impossible to find. Most of my friends don’t even realize we are still fighting a war there, let alone that soldiers are dying.

My husband is in Iraq. Today he sent me a link to a blog about an attack that seriously injured a Lt. Colonel he knows and the related death of another soldier. The husband was part of the force that went in to help. The story was depressing obviously and tragic, but what struck me most is that it was a BLOG. This should be news. We still have thousands of troops in Iraq, most of whom are now living in poor conditions because they’ve had to move out of the US bases in the cities to makeshift barracks on the outskirts. Yesterday, he killed a rat in his room with a brick, then came back from a meeting to discover a second rat on his bed. Things are not really that great in Iraq, but you’ll never read about it.

I read celebrity gossip from time to time and if I’m at a friend’s house and see a copy of a People or inTouch I will definitely pick it up, but it’s like candy for me. Hard to resist, but not something I buy. Britney, Paris, Angelina, these are names most people in America can identify immediately, but do you know who the Secretary of State is? Do you know who the Vice President is? For that matter, do you even know who your own state Governor and Senators are? Do you know that there was another plane crash just the other day or that the unemployment rate just hit 9.5%? any chance you know what’s happening in Iran? Probably not, and it’s not all your fault.

Anyone who seriously follows global events is familiar with the fact that the American news media are not nearly as unbiased, thorough, or comprehensive as they should and used to be. I find more news about Iraq on BBC. We shouldn’t have to hunt for real news about the world behind articles about Neverland and the top five ways to be an internet star. Shouldn’t the news be news and the fun stuff be what we have to look for? If I really want to find out what Megan Fox and Michael Bay’s war of words are, I’ll happily turn to the entertainment section, no need to put it on the front page.

Maybe I will start including a little news in my blog everyday for those of you who might not have had the time to read beyond Jon and Kate, MJ’s last rehearsal, or the hairstylist to the socialites in NYC. I know there is a lot of temptation and we get lazy when confronted with having to do all that searching for real news. Thank whiskey for Jon Stewart or none of us would know a damn thing about the world.

Day 31: You Talkin' to Me?

It is a thinly veiled secret that people talk to themselves. Usually, this is done at home or when one is alone and typically consists of a few random, mumbled words or possibly an entire sentence. That’s not to say that you won’t catch a distracted shopper talking to themselves in the grocery as they hunt down the organic, whole wheat, chocolate filled cereal on special at the Trader Joe’s (which by the way is totally worth the hunt). Talking to oneself is not that unusual. Unless, of course, you’re me. I take the talking to yourself habit to an entirely new level of crazy. The best part is that I don’t even consider it talking to myself, I’m just discussing with the other voices.

This is a habit I don’t really remember starting, but it’s been with me at least for a couple of decades. What I do isn’t so much a mumbling or thinking out loud, though certainly I think out loud all the time. In fact, I have been guilty on more than one occasion of saying something out loud without realizing it. This never happens say, in a positive, “well, my goodness your delightful baked goods are wonderful” way, oh no, when I think out loud it’s always more of a “holy hell could you walk any friggin’ slower” sort of way when trudging behind a complete stranger. I warn people all the time that if something pops into my head, chances are, it’s going to pop right out of my mouth.

Anyway, I digress, I don’t just talk out loud, I have entire discussions complete with answers and varying opinions. Now remember, the varying opinions are actually all still just me, and yet I will listen to each one as they volley back and forth, working to persuade me to their way of thinking. And there I go again. Now, they aren’t just voices, they are capable of thinking separate thoughts. Before you ask, I will go ahead and tell you, that no, I do not use different voices when talking aloud to myself. My reference to the “voices” is a generic term for the other sides of my personality, all of who feel it somewhat necessary to express themselves when considering any given topic.

Because it is nearly impossible to reconcile and quiet all the thoughts coming at me from within my overpopulated brain, I sometimes try explaining to people why it’s not always easy to remain quiet or keep my opinions to myself. It is no longer just one opinion or one thought process I must quiet, it is an entire Seinfeld episode of slightly askew personas that I am trying to keep at bay. A perfect example, and one that several people have witnessed about different topics, is when asked a simple preference. For instance, should you ask what my favorite food is, the answer will go something like this: “mashed potatoes . . . donuts . . .popcorn, hot fudgepeanutbutterpizza . . . mushrooms! They all start to chime in, faster and faster. The husband witnesses this one a lot and has learned to elongate his pauses to allow for all of me to sufficiently answer.

Aside from the overwhelming commentary of the voices, I have discussions with them. As I walk around my condo, I speak out loud freely and then answer, and then sometimes contradict. It wasn’t until one day when I actually referred to myself in the third person while talking to myself, that I realized I might have a problem. Possibly all my years of living alone or talking to my cats has encouraged this behavior, but whatever the initial cause, it is now SOAP or standard operating Ame procedure. Something else I noticed happening was that my once very attentive and listening husband stopped listening. Turns out, he just go so tired trying to answer when he heard me talking, only to find out that I wasn’t talking to him (despite no one else being home) that he just kind of tuned it and all of me, out.

I’m sure that one day I will find myself as the crazy cat lady we all hear stories about from time to time, living alone with 14 cats and talking to them day and night. I guess that’s slightly better than straight up talking to myself, then again, can you really blame me? I mean, some days the dialogue I have with myself is the most intelligent conversation I get all day. I live in the South, the husband is in Iraq, I have sporadic and unreliable friendships, and two super needy cats. A girl needs to talk to someone on a regular basis, and some of those voices are pretty damn entertaining.

Day 30: My One Month Anniversary & Thank You!!!

Today marks the end of the first month of a 12 month journey to find out who I am through writing and self-discovery. This blog is my way holding myself accountable, something I insist others in my life do as well. I want to use today's blog to thank those of you that have come along with me on this ride I am taking. It means a lot to know that others care enough to want to read it, let alone take the time to tell me that they like it or that it resonates with them. Writing for me, is a labor of love, but it takes discipline to write everyday. Not until this blog did I find the kind of structure and work ethic necessary to actually sit down and write on a daily basis. So far, I have not finished that novel that's been kicking around in my head for years, but I hope when I do you will all want to sign on for that ride.

I have learned a lot since beginning this blog, including that I have things to say that others may and may not want to hear. I've reconnected with friends from the past that I didn't really know that well, but am so happy to have back in my life. I've also picked up a few strangers, which is fun. If you're reading this feel free to drop me a note or comment on a blog. I would love the opportunity to hear what you're thinking. The same is true for all of you who read this. Please join the community and become a "follower." You will automatically get a link to the blog each day, so that when I get lazy or FB stops being cool you will still know I'm writing even without my FB reminders.

Coming up with new topics to write about is actually pretty easy, but I don't always feel writing about a specific one on a given day. Lots of blogs are started, then left midway, to be picked later. I try to write about things that are of interest to me, and that might be entertaining to others. Staying true to my original goal of revealing truths about myself, however, is getting more difficult. A friend mentioned that it could get boring and I agree, so in the next few weeks I am going to start tweaking my blog a little. I want to find a way to blend my original purpose with more commentary and observational writing. Think David Sedaris meets a emotionally open crazy woman.

That's it for today. Just a quick blog and thank you to everyone who has taken time out of their busy days to read a little bit about mine. I do believe we are all interconnected and everything we put out there affects everyone else in some way. I am working to put out more positive than negative and sometimes venting and expressing helps to work through our issues. This blog might serve to help me both get my act together and hone my writing skills for a possible new career. So saddle up and join me and please do not be afraid to tell me what think, good or bad. Don't worry, I can take it and if I can't I'll just blog about you later!

Day 29: You Say Potato, I Say Fuck You

Perception is a funny thing. We all look at the world through our own subjective lens, but we do not always recognize that as the reality. What you see may factually be the truth, but the emotions it invokes in you might be different than those experienced by another. Today is my 29^th day of writing this blog and I am surprised at the reactions I have gotten from various people. True, what I write is very personal and for many people confiding intimacies to friends and family is unusual, take it to the level I am going and it is an entirely new frontier of openness. When I began this blog I was aware that I might be revealing more than my friends (dangling preposition alert) might be comfortable with. Reconciling my personal choices and direction in life on a public forum is a bit extreme, but I don’t write for you, I write for me.

I started this blog to get honest with myself and sometimes the only way to truly do that is to hold myself accountable in a public forum. I can rationalize and deny to myself, but once I put it out into the universe, or the blogosphere, there is no going back. Life is tricky and I’ve never been one to back away from that. Rather than play the game we all get so comfortable buying into, I choose to just . . . be . . . me. True, sometimes it does offend people, or at the very least make them uncomfortable, but I cannot take responsibility for the emotional response of others. I am who I am, and that’s kind of the point.

Through my writing I have both gained and lost fans. For some, it is too much and it makes them uncomfortable to know such intimate details about me, but for others, it helps to know there are other flawed people out there bumbling along. We are all quirky. My quirks may differ from yours, but their very existence is comforting in a “we’re all in this together” sort of way. I make no effort to hide the fact that I am a flawed woman. I have real issues, baggage, and neuroses to deal with. Even so, I think I’m kind of ahead of the game that at 36, I am learning not to make apologies for them. This is me. I am the woman the husband married, the daughter my Mother raised, the friend with whom my peeps choose to hang out. I cannot be any more than I am, and I am learning not to try. Yes, we can always strive to be better, but we cannot necessarily be different. Learning the difference between the two is the trick.

Our perceptions exist in everything we experience. A large part of how we learn is based on observing behavior and perceiving the intent behind it. We watch our Mothers and Fathers, siblings and playmates, teachers and co-workers, we watch so much in life and it is the seeing that helps us to determine what is acceptable behavior. Maybe I just had my eyes closed and missed some of those lessons about propriety? Then again, maybe I see it all more clearly, recognizing that it’s only proper or improper because WE say it is, not because it is inherently wrong. Last night I met a girl who was honestly one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen up close. So I told her so. Rather than being flattered or even saying thank you, she seemed to get mad. I think she thought I was hitting on her and suddenly she broke into her best Ann Coulter impersonation. Spouting a few questionable comments and making it clear that I no longer fit the category of suitable talking companions.

Her perception apparently, was that I am gay and trying to hook up, my perception is that she is an insecure, bigot who clearly only looks good on the outside to make up for the ugliness on the inside. As my husband says, “you say potato, I say fuck you.” So we don’t all see things the same way, it doesn’t make my way wrong or your way any better. You want to live out your life keeping your stuff to yourself, be my guest. I still have a few dirty little secrets of my own, but for the most part I think life is funny and tragic all at the same time and if we all walk around ignoring it, then it’s going to be one huge lie after another.

I joke about the perception of little things mostly, but there are plenty of bigger examples we can look at. To this day, many people perceive minorities as less than. The same holds true for women or lower income individuals. Obesity, physical unattractiveness, and getting older are all seen as flaws in our society. So let’s flip things around and get out of our society. In countries all over the world, whites are the minorities. In many cultures having heavier, more rounded and voluptuous bodies is considered desirable. Asian cultures, for one, respect their elders, holding them in high esteem, not as burdens or out of touch. Our perceptions are only ours because of what we learn as we grow up and what by what we are surrounded.

Personally, I would very much like to perceive a world in which mass genocide is not okay, where ignorance and willful stupidity are the main criteria for being “less than.” Emoting should not be seen as a weakness, in my opinion, strength of character is built not on what you are able to hold inside, but what you are able to express and experience. Hiding is easy, but to truly feel and to expose parts of yourself to the world takes strength and baby that’s one thing I’ve got in spades. I may not always make the best choices, I’ve hurt some wonderful people in my life, and I do have a penchant for running when I don’t want to face things, but in the end, I know I’m strong. I perceive the world as a place of great evils, ignorance, and suffering, but I also see the joy, the hope and the good in people. Maybe the difference is that I believe it can only help the world to put ourselves out there in it somehow. Writing this blog isn’t going to change the world, but it might help someone feel like it is okay to say the wrong thing, wear the wrong dress, or think out loud. I know I am not everyone’s cup of tea, but honestly, I’m okay with that.

Day 28: It's Totally My Fault, I Was Drunk!

Sooo, just re-read my blog from yesterday and came to a pretty obvious conclusion: drinking and blogging do not mix. I still got my daily post up, but maybe I should have done it earlier in the day before I partnered up with a few cocktails. It's funny how it's not just our judgment that can be compromised when under the influence, but even our wants and needs. Which brings me to today's blog, when your inhibitions are lowered is your behavior altered due to a chemical influence or are you simply revealing your true self?

Alcohol can affect your desire for small things. Beer makes me less hungry because it fills me up and makes me feel bloated. Wine makes me want fruit, cheese and bread. Mojitos and margaritas make me want to be on vacation . . . you get the point. It can also convince you that you are happy or sad, that fighting with your husband is a good idea, or that driving past an old flame's house is necessary. We all do crazy things when we are under the influence, the important thing is to find a balance between doing truly stupid things and just eating the entire box of Cocoa Pebbles. Yes, it can affect these things, but it certainly didn't create my love of all things cereal.

I have never suddenly developed a new ability while drinking, though the ones I already have might be compromised. I drove drunk once, years ago and ended up in a ditch. Luckily I didn't hurt myself or anyone else, but that was the last time I ever made that mistake. I've woken up a few strange places, most recently my closet, but those episodes were mostly when I was younger. I have lost shoes, coats, glasses, and who knows what else from being careless after drinking, but so far I've never lost anything important. I came close a couple times to ending relationships due to my quick temper and penchant for belligerence, but luckily, or unluckily depending on your perspective, I'm not very good at drinking and do not drink all that often, despite my jokes to the contrary. Point is, I knew how to drive before I drank and I lose shit all the time.

These days alcohol is looked upon as an excuse or a weakness. People are fond of waving away their own poor judgment because they were not in complete control of their faculties and believe their behavior was less choice and more accident. Once out of your twenties people view drinking as more than a college-aged indulgence and see it instead as a dirty little secret. I said all this before in my first blog. Yes, I like wine, I like tequila, I have drank vodka, and I would make love to whiskey on a daily basis if I weren't such an inherent lightweight. Is this worse than being addicted to coffee or cigarettes? Am I stumbling down a dark path because wine at dinner makes me happy? I do not drink at home unless I am cooking and feel like a little wine, but it's usually just a glass or two.

When on the town in a social capacity, I am more likely to have a couple of drinks and this is when the judgement slips. The husband will tell you I flirt too much, the friend will tell you I stop listening, the bartender might tell you I pick fights. All true, all decisions made from a place of impaired, but not necessarily unfamiliar judgment. I flirt, interrupt and yell at strangers routinely. Drinking doesn't change this, but suddenly people around me think the the drinks I've had put me over the top. We all do this. Most of us drink socially and yet most of us are also quick to judge when someone else says or does something that to us would be out of character. They must be drunk, we think, but what if they are not? What if this is just who they are?

Our lowered inhibitions do not necessarily mean we are going to choose to do things we otherwise would not want to do. We are certainly more stupid and our reflexes are slower, but last night's little episode of being appalled at the behavior of a police officer still pisses me off today when I'm totally sober. I just might write more intelligently about it now. The things that anger us do not change, but our reaction might. I tend not be a yeller when I fight and I am certainly not violent, but get a few drinks in me then piss me off and it might be a different story. Why then, do we seem to behave so differently when we are drinking if underneath all the proper social behavior that is who we really are?

Repressing our baser instincts is a contributing factor to what sets us apart from children, teenagers, or other animals. Impulse control is a sign of maturity so we may not be very different underneath it all, we're just better at recognizing the consequences when we're sober. I still love Cocoa Pebbles, but an entire box is going to put me well over my needed caloric intake for the entire day. I am fond of saying I've never done anything drunk that I would not do sober. This is no longer true, these days what I say is that I've never WANTED to do anything drunk that I didn't want to do sober. The desires have not changed, just my realization that pursuing that course action is not the smartest non-choice I could make.

Day 27: Even I Know a DWB When I See One

***program note***

This blog is unfinished. I did my best to fulfill my commitment, but the late hour, a couple of drinks and lack of sleep the previous night are working against me. I will finish it tomorrow. Commitment is hard . . . wait, that's a whole other blog.

Tonight I witnessed something that previously I had only heard about. It seems fitting considering that I now live in the South, which happens to be the most black/white obsessed place I have ever been. There are things in the world that we know are true and yet, without first hand knowledge they are just topics of conversation. It’s not until you actually see such things that you start to really question what it means. This is how I feel tonight after witnessing what I can only describe as a DWB offense. That’s right, I saw a pretty damn clear “driving while black” offense.

It started innocently enough. I had a long day and a few cocktails to top of the night. I was not drunk, by any means, and the nice weather prompted me to want to go for a drive. So here I am, driving alone, at night, a couple drink under my belt and I happen to be on an empty road just behind one other car. I hate to stereotype, but this car was a clear stereotype of what many young, black men tend to drive. It was a Cutless or some sort of boxy Buick, I didn’t pay that much attention. What I did notice, was that it was in pristine condition, was jacked up on fairly high tires and had really cool rims.

In Charlotte, the speed limit is only 35 pretty much anywhere within city limits. This kills me. I love to drive fast and I love to not stop or slow down, so the traffic and incredibly ridiculous speed limits KILL ME. Even so, I do recognize that late at night, especially after a drink or two, it’s best just to slow and play by the rules. So here I am, driving on a fairly deserted road following behind the only other care I’ve seen in a while. The driver of this car passed me just a few minutes earlier and when he did, I looked over and saw that he was a youngish, black male. While I was looking at him, I happened to see a police car out of the corner of my eye.

Being a woman that tends to drive 20 miles over the speed limit wherever I go, I ALWAYS see the cops and I tend to look for them and notice traffic patterns that might indicate a police presence. Tonight, because the road was empty, there really was not an opportunity to do this. So when I passed the cop, I immediately checked my speed and ensured that I was being careful. Because I just so happened to be going the speed limit, I knew that the car in front of me, which had only passed me a few minutes earlier, was also going the speed limit. For the next three minutes or so, all was well, then suddenly, the cop car came flying around me, cut me off and pulled the guy in front of me over.

I suppose, given my proclivity for speed and consumption of a couple of drinks, that I should have been grateful that it wasn’t me, however, I was actually quite annoyed. The other car and I had been driving along together for several minutes and neither of us was speeding, driving erratically, or doing anything that might warrant a police presence. So when I was passed up and the other car zeroed in on, I immediately got suspicious. I know for a fact we were not speeding. I know for a fact, he was not driving erratically, I know for a fact, that he was black.

Is it possible, the cop somehow saw the license plate and called it in or that the car was already listed as suspicious, sure, that is possible, thought unlikely. More realistically, is the possibility that the cop needed a quota, a “black” type car went past at 2am and the cop thought it was likely this kid had been drinking and since he was black, who knows what else. I cannot speak to the state of mine of either party, but I can say that I was there and he was fine.

I immediately pulled over and called the 311 line which is the local community action line. No one else seemed as concerned about what I view as an obviously racist occurrence. True, maybe the description for thi s car was already on the police radar. Ther is a number of possible things this guy could have been guilty of doing to get him pulled over. The only think I saw, however, was a black guy in a car, that let’s face it, looked like it was driven by a black guy. The information line gave me a different number to call to file a report. I’m going to follow up tomorrow during regular business hours, but something tells me that by then it will not matter.