Off the Wagon

Here in the city, there's actually a bar named Off the Wagon, so maybe I should have gone there for my inaugural drink last weekend. Instead, I celebrated seven days of sobriety at a new Irish pub in my 'hood (not my usual hangout, the Bar that Shall Not Be Named) that has karaoke on Sundays. I sipped my Bud Light draft(s), chatted up some interesting fellows at the bar, including a fabulously good-looking chef, and sang the following songs:

"Black Velvet," by Alannah Myles
"My Favorite Mistake," by Sheryl Crow
"Why," by Annie Lennox (kind of a downer, but the crowd was sweet and attentive nonetheless)
"Don't Stop Believin'," by Journey

I felt my night was a rousing success and a fantastic entree back into the world of booze. It's my goal to respect the drink -- to harness its power and keep the abuse to a minimum. In the week that I've returned to drinking, I've only done a couple of dumb things -- namely frequenting the Bar that Shall Not Be Named a couple of times and sending some ill-advised text messages to a certain Brazilian bartender who's not having any of it.

But I'm working at getting past this awkward life stage.

I am trying -- as hard as possible, after this breakup and during this new life that I'm carving out for myself -- to be normal, which, for me, Jane, is sometimes hard. Much like the drink, I'm learning to respect my individuality and my quirkiness -- to understand when it works for me and cut it off when I go into overdrive. It's exciting, being single: I have new interests and new likes that I'm not sure would have been possible had life not been stripped down to its barest: just me.

So (because I'm such a huge fan of lists) here is what I'm digging right now -- what I've discovered now that I'm on my own and learning to get along with that:

New favorite bar: the Russian Vodka Room
- Stepping inside is like transporting yourself into the 1940s -- or the 1950s, at the very latest. They have a piano player who sings songs in Russian and a sweet veteran female bartender who will bring you a new drink, no questions asked, if you accidentally spill yours. (Not that I would know this firsthand.)

New favorite musician: Feist
- Check her out on iTunes. I'm listening to her newest album for the first time as I type this, and it's fantastic.

Old favorite musician who's going to blow up huge in no time flat: Sara Bareilles
- I saw her at the Bowery Ballroom a couple of weeks ago, and she's rapidly developing a fanbase that will preclude her from appearing at any more small venues for the rest of her career. I'm happy for her, but I'm sad that she's not my obscure little piano gal anymore. She's opening for Maroon 5 this summer, and I consider that a nail in the indie coffin.

New favorite vacation destination: Miami
- Can't remember the last time I took a vacation that didn't involve going to see relatives. A girlfriend from work and I are buying our tickets tomorrow for a trip to a place I've only fantasized about going. And the hotel looks beautiful and inviting.

New favorite TV show: Mad Men
- There are so many amazing things about this show that I can't enumerate them all here. This is AMC's original series about Madison Avenue ad execs in 1960, and it leaves nothing untouched, including the rampant sexism and racism of the period. Love the costumes, love the actors, love everything about it. It reminds me a little of one of my favorite books, The Best of Everything.

What fun things are you guys obsessed with right now? Do share if you feel so inclined.


And, of course, listen to Blogstein and me keep on rockin' in the free world Tuesday night at 9 on Blog Talk Radio. We'll be expecting you, so show up on time, pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes.

On the Wagon

So, um, some of you who read this blog on a semi-regular to regular basis may have noticed that I enjoy the drinking. And by "enjoy" I mean "love." In a good way, of course. A genial way. A totally not trashy-and-yelling-at-bartenders way. Really.

Despite that, due to several drunken...shall we say "incidents" this past weekend, I've decided, dear readers, to put myself on the wagon. For how long? Dunno. I've been dry since Monday. Here's hoping I can make it until Sunday at least.

Here are a few thoughts I've had about being a drunk girl who's trying to stay dry, holding fast to that last little plank of the wooden wagon before a nail gives way and I tumbles onto the red clay:

-When you make a pledge to "not drink," "drinking" becomes one of the only thoughts in your head, even if you've only previously drunk on weekends. Ordering a sandwich at the deli? A beer would go great with this ham on rye. Stressed at work? Lord, I need a shot of Jack. Have a spare 30 minutes in your schedule? Man, the bar would be a great place to kill some time.

-When you're a drinker who makes a temporary sober pledge, it becomes your mission to tell everyone, regardless of whether they care. A coworker of mine asked me if I wanted a beer the other night (we have a pretty laid-back work environment). I could have easily said, "No thanks, man." What I did say -- quite happily and brightly, I might add -- was, "No thanks! I'm on the wagon!" and then I actually skipped away.

-Even if you're holding a nonalcoholic beverage, you shotgun it. I was at a bar with my buddy the other night after a concert, and I was swilling that Diet Coke like it was the lifeblood that would sustain me. He finished his whiskey and soda, and I said, "I'd be happy to get another with you." And another crisp, clean DC with lemon I sure did order, and I downed it within minutes.

-"Sober" can mean "time ticks by like it's molassses." I think to myself, as I'm home and clean at 10 p.m. on a Thursday night, that I would normally be into the wine or into the Bud Light or into a deep, drunken conversation. And then I have another thought: This is where my novel has gone.

Maybe these non-drinkers are onto something...?

Sad, but True

I was drinking at the Bar that Shall Not Be Named this past weekend (surprise!), and I found myself in conversation with a gentleman who was asking me too many questions. I'm realizing more and more lately that I don't want to schmooze. I don't want to flirt. I just want to down my beverage, pay, and leave.

"So, what are your goals?" he asked. Please. I was so not in the mood to go there.

"I've met all my goals already," I said. "I'm going to drink myself to death, like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas."

He looked down at my glass.

"But you're drinking Miller Lite," he said.

The man had a point.


To hear more of my booze-soaked stories as well as my attempt at witty banter with Blogstein, tune in at 9 p.m. EST Tuesday night to Dr. Blogstein's Radio Happy Hour. You might want to grab a Miller Lite first.

Summer of Sam

Every summer, I get obsessed with a food product, usually something summer-specific, like peaches. When I'm in a food phase, I prefer foods that incorporate that flavor above all other foods. Peach cobbler. Peach pie. Peach martini. Frozen peaches. Canned peaches. Peach jam. Peach sorbet. Deeeelish.

I'm done with fruit, though. This summer is going to be my Summer of Sam Adams Summer Ale. I'm not trying to shill for the company (though if you're listening, publicists, I could totally use a free case), but I had a draught of it at a bar for the first time on Monday, and then again from the bottle at a rooftop barbecue I went to, and it was nice -- a refreshing blend of wheat and citrus. Though I prefer Boulevard when it comes to my wheat beers, or Hoegaarden if I'm not in the Midwest, I'll take Sam Summer Ale any day of the week. Or every day of the week. Because in the summer, who's counting?