A Parking Lot Story, or Why I love My 30's

My coffee pot broke last night. Not the actual maker contraption, but the glass carafe thing. Now, if you are a regular reader you know that in my house, in my life, this is a problem of major proportions. I mean, even the idea of getting up and not having that fresh, steaming, delectable brew waiting for me is enough to give me the no-caffeine-jitters, so you can well imagine my chagrin when I bumped the spout on the faucet while filling the carafe and a huge chunk broke off. It was 10:00 pm, too late to just run out and buy a new one, plus a new carafe is not in the budget right now, so I was in a mild panic. Upon closer examination, however, I realized that I can still make just over half a pot of coffee without it spilling over the broken part-good deal. There is just enough in the pot, then, to have two cups when I wake up and then fill my tavel mug to take to the office. I felt like my life had been saved, and then just had to laugh at myself. How ridiculous, really, and also a little embarrassing to admit how much I love my coffee, and how willing I am to act in a desperate manner in order to get it. It reminds me just a little of how freaked out I used to get when I was drinking and didn't have any alcohol handy-though of course with much less disastrous results.

Speaking of laughing at myself, I have to say right up front that while I am a great driver, I totally suck at parking. I drive a mid-size SUV, so it was a little bit of a challenge to learn how to park it in a somewhat reasonable manner. I have been used to driving smaller vehicles, the little four-door sedans, so to turn this vehicle. with it having a much longer and higher hood than I was used to. Thankfully, it really does turn on a dime, and once I got used to it, I found it just as easy as a car. Before long, I was whipping in and out of parking spots like I was in a Ferrari (not that I would really know what that was like). So the funny part is this: when we were in Seattle up in the space needle, I was taking pictures of the view from different spots, and I looked down and there was the lot where I had parked the Blazer. After we left the lot and walked over the place we were meeting our friends, someone else with a white Blazer (because it is such a rare color, you know) came and parked right next to ours. Can you tell which one is mine? I had to take a picture of it because it made me laugh out loud all day at what a dork I really am. I don't know which is funnier, my horrible parking job or the fact that I thought it was amusing enough to take a picture of it:

I actually have a point to all of this. I am 36 years old, 37 rushing toward me at a lightning pace, and I tell you, I have been loving my 30's. I did have a hard time turning 35, but it passed quickly and the rest of my life has been-well. Let's just say that at 16, when I got into a car for the first time in my Driver's Ed class and backed over two trash cans, I was mortified and skulked around the halls with my head hung low for fear that I would be the laughingstock of the school (turns out I was, but it had nothing to do with my Driver's Ed class; I was just one of those misfits). At 25 when I got all liquored up and ran into the back of a semi that was stopped in the middle of the road to turn left, I was ashamed and mortified, and even, perhaps, earlier in my 30's I would have looked down at my car from the top of the Space Needle and hoped like hell no one would know it was mine. Life is so much funnier to me at 36 years old, so much crazier and wild, and I am happier than I have ever been. Taken as a whole, of course; there are bad times, a lot of ups and downs, but that seems to be the very nature of living. I laugh at myself all of the time now-not in a bad way (and even though I joke about what a dork I am, I don't mean that in a "I am such a loser I am going to kill myself because nobody likes me" way), but just in the sense that life is really, really funny to me most of the time.

Over the weekend, Steve and I got into a discussion about life and how you can either choose to be happy or not. You can either get up off your ass and work toward making a better life, you can choose to be content where you are, or you can lock yourself in the house and drink yourself into oblivion (or whatever mode of escape you use) and let it all go by. He was a little bit man about it; "You mean to tell me that you really believe all that shit? You CAN'T tell me that you are really happy!" And yeah; yeah, I DO believe all of that. I do believe that we-I-have to look at life as a work in progress, to take the steps necessary to make my life better. Not in terms of money, but in quality of living. And yes, I am happy. The difference between the two of us, though, is that I was willing to do the work in AA in order to begin to see progress. He, on the other hand, can stay sober for a time but doesn't do the things suggested, so his life doesn't get any better, so he drinks again-it is a vicious cycle, and one I can't help him with. I can tell him until I am blue in the face what he could do to start to see positive changes, but he doesn't want to hear it-and I can't waste my precious, precious time trying to convince him that there is a better way.

What I CAN do is just keep living my life. Regardless of his drinking, Steve is and always will be part of it. I love him, plain and simple. Now, we will never be "together" in the accepted sense of the word, as I am not going to move in with or marry someone who is an active alcoholic even if he wanted me to, which he doesn't. But in time, maybe he will start to get it, start to become a little more willing to see that the stuff that is suggested is a lot easier than dealing with the snowball effect of alcoholism-I don't have the answer to that. But for me, I am 36 years old and I think life is fucking hilarious and I am just going to keep living it, keep laughing, keep doing everything I need to do to either eke out every possible drop of joy during the good days, and at least keep my head above the water on the bad days.

Today is another new day. My application got accepted for BlogHer Ads, so that is cool-maybe now I should actually post something over there on occasion, right? I was able to talk to my friend in trouble yesterday afternoon, and she got some really good news (and said, "See? Obama has only been elected for one day and already things are looking up!" THIS is one of the many, many reasons I love her) which takes the pressure off a little. I was able to call someone I was supposed to meet with from AA last night and be honest with her in saying, " I just don't feel up to meeting tonight," without any real fear of making her angry or causing future problems. And the blessing in being honest and open is that good things happen. She said, "Oh, good, I was working in the polls until late and could really use a quiet night." It worked out well for both of us.

And I agree with my friend: for years I have blamed everything on George W., from the rising cost of gas the the decline of the public school system to the fact that the goddamned dog keeps climbing over the fence, I have been able to find a way to blame him. Now, I get to work on finding a way to give Obama credit for good things happening. Really, it's a win-win situation.