Ironed Linen Napkins. Mmmm.

Dudes. I have such issues. You know what I just caught myself doing? I was about to complete the Williams-Sonoma website survey and I had one of those moments of clarity where I realized that the reason I was going to do it was because I thought it would make Williams-Sonoma like me.

Holy shit. I am so desperate for approval that I am willing to waste time telling Williams-Sonoma what I think of them hoping that it will make me seem like a nicer customer. Know what else? I wrote Crate and Barrel to ask them to stop the barrage of catalogues that crowd our mailbox on a weekly basis. And not once. Twice. I reassured C&B that I loved them and shopped there continuously, but that I was just worried about the environment.

I am so ready for my share in tomorrow's Al-Anon meeting.

Anyway. That wasn't what this post was supposed to be about. The reason I was on the W-S website was to grab an image for the post on my current white light list. Yep. I'm that person.

My fantasy right now is to have a Miele Rotary Iron. I'm already planning how I'm going to have to sell my current dresser on Craigslist and replace it with an Elfa system to accommodate my new iron. I'm also white lighting having a housekeeper to use my Miele Rotary Iron for me, but I'm willing to work it out myself until I get there.

My napkins would be ironed every time they came out of the dryer. Oooooh. Makes me crazy just thinking about it.

Obviously, needing corporate website approval isn't my only issue.

Shoes for Rent

Remember when I was all excited about the Heidi Julavits c/o "The Believer" mail in my building's foyer? Well, thanks to my nosy neighbor and E's co-worker, I've uncovered some more information.

Turns out, sadly, that Heidi Julavits does not live in my building. (There go my bumping into Nick Hornby fantasies.) However, the explanation for why "The Believer" mail showed up is that Dave Eggers used to have a store/writer's workshop in my building. I'm not sure about the name, but I think it was Weird! A McSweeney's Store in Brooklyn. According to my sources, this was a place where you could rent shoes for an hour, pay to sit at a table in the store and peruse a huge chest of drawers that would have strange things in them like little nature scenes. Do you know how much it kills me that it's now a dry cleaner's? Though, a dry cleaner's is way more convenient.

Luckily for me, Dave has another store in my neighborhood. The Brooklyn Superhero Supply Company. According to the website, they can help you with your nemesis problem.

I can not wait to go. Sarah Vowell, you may not be necessary after all. That's nice though because now when we meet, I'll be excited to meet you for you and not for who you can introduce me too. And that's a much better way to start a friendship.

Grazie per il consiglio.

HeatherJeanne.

Grazie per la trasmissione me alle riunioni. La mia vita ora è così tanto migliore.

Ti voglio bene! Baci e abbracci.

La Principessa

Pretend I'm in Mexico.

Hi people. I fell down again. Honest to Smoking Baby, I fell down. Again.

This is my knee:I was walking home from my Al-Anon meeting and I stepped on one of those plastic folder things you put in a Trapper Keeper. It was just like the skating incident but slalom. A nice boy poked his head out of the bodega door to ask, "Lady. Are you okay?" (Fucker. It was like when I went back to Italy and the waiter called me Signora instead of Signorina.) The three kids behind me giggled for about three blocks. Not the point of the story. Just thought you'd like to know.

So. I get home tonight (with my broken head, ass and knee, in order of altitude) and I'm in a pensive mood. A and V left today after a four day visit. We spent almost the entire time not speaking about Mom, except for E's occasional slip up about something crazy Mom did or how we had a wacko family or something. Something about V makes you forget that she's a kid. She's acts as if she's much more mature emotionally than she is and you start to talk around her as if she's an adult. Then there are times when you're talking to her about how crazy things have been lately and she'll break your heart with, "Oh, I'm so used to it by now. I've seen it all."

Sorry. Is that too sullen a thought? I had a friend tell me recently that my blog was too heavy for him. (But without the hip verbiage.) I can't help it. And I don't think of my stories as sullen or morose. It's just what's going on.

Anyway, I came home tonight after my meeting and I asked E for a night alone. I assured her that it was only because I just needed to process some stuff on my own and I took off. (It's my first time ever asking for some space in the five years we've been together. I am learning so much!)

"Pretend I'm in Mexico. I'll see you later."
"Okay! I'll watch the L Word."

I do have to admit, I was disappointed in her lack of disapointment.

Anyway. I grabbed a bottle of wine, my laptop and I headed for the loft. I'm at the end of this seven-engine train of family shit and I'm tired. I have gotten through the intervention and the sister visit. I just left an eye opening Al-Anon meeting and I wanna just be alone. With all of you.

You know. I'm writing down all of this stuff you're reading, and I recognize that when I post here, I'm not making a journal entry. I truly know that I'm writing for an audience (of millions), but there's still this sense of anonymity that comes from the fact that instead of speaking, I am typing. And it is more anonymous than physically writing because you hit save or send and it's over. There's nothing tangible left over to prove it ever happened. And there's something about that that allows me to write freely about things I would usually never broadcast. Especially considering the fact that there are already members of my family reading on a regular basis, and as soon as that Oprah deal comes through (Oprah, can you hear me? Oprah, can you feel me in the night?), Mom will find out (if not earlier) and there's a part of me that is terrified of that. But there's also a part of me that feels that, as Dr. Drew said on Celebrity Rehab, "You are only as sick as your secrets." And, my people, I am tired of being sick. When I was in Georgia for the latest drama, I opened to my Mom up about things I've never confronted her on ... and in front of her brother.
It rocked.

Mom later told me, "I remember what you said in the hospital. I can't believe you would talk to me like that. And in front of B. I am so embarassed." I, enlightened Princess that I am, replied, "I am sorry that I hurt your feelings, but that doesn't mean what I said wasn't true."

Right on, Princess.

People, I am taking care of myself these days. And, to be honest, it's a fucking chore. Not only do I have a lot of family baggage to deal with, I am unpracticed at self-love ... however. Watch out! I'm on a crash-course and it's only a matter of time before I'm writing (and performing) cheers for myself.

So, thanks for reading. And, to those friends of mine who are only finding out what's happening to me through the blog although you've called and written, I'm sorry. I'm a little overwhelmed right now but am working it out. I'll holla at ya when I'll be more fun to talk to. (Or when I get the cheers ready ... Guh-oooohhh PRINCESS!)

Clear the Ice!

So, last night before my Wii-Mote damage, I was telling you guys a story.

After I explained that, yes, I needed assistance in getting my broken ass off the ice, the screaming started.

Everyone back off!
Everyone get on the rail!
Get First Aid out here!
Clear the ice!

One of the several hovering First Aid assistants explained that if I couldn't prove that my neck was alright that they'd have to get a stretcher. I told him that the wheelchair would do nicely, thank you. Meanwhile, there is one do-gooder kid there trying to help as well as a 10 year old pro skater can, by holding my left arm up over my head. I'm not sure why he was doing this, but he wanted to be part of the action and I was in no condition to argue with him. Maybe he knew something I didn't. Maybe when you have fallen full force onto ice with your head, the best thing you can do is have your left arm held above it.

So, there I am, lying on the ice in the dead center of the ring (Could I fall by the wall? No. Of course not.) surrounded by guys in blue jumpsuits waiting on the wheelchair. I get lifted into the chair and rolled off the ice and taken to the First Aid office where a very nice guy not only got me an ice bag, but held it delicately against the ever-swelling knot on the back of my head. He assured me that I was not bleeding and he traded in my skates for me. He was very nice. He didn't even laugh at me.

Now, last night when V., who was going for a home run in Wii Baseball, hit me mid-swing, E laughed her ass off.

You Will Love This

V and I went ice skating yesterday. Well, it was me, E (the lovah) and V (the niece). And things were going great. In fact, V offered, "We can go if you're ready."

Me: Let's go around one more time.

V: Okay! Let's go fast!"

Random People Hovering Over My Prone Body As It Slowly Freezes On The Ice: Are you okay?

Me: No.

R.P.H.O.M.P.B.A.I.S.F.O.T.I.: Do you need us to get the wheelchair?"

Me: Yes, please.

Oh. My. God.

I just got hit in the face with the Wii.

I am not kidding. I was sitting here typing and I just got smashed full-force in the forehead with the Wii controller.

I am bleeding.

To be continued ...