Belly Full of Pasta and Lebanese Wine

This post happened in Acadia.

A friend called me while on this trip wanting to know how one makes money blogging.


I can tell him a lot about blogging and making money.

You get started blogging by setting up a WordPress or Blogger or Square or whatever account and then spend all your time writing and taking pictures. Or you open an account, announce that you’ve started a blog, post for two weeks and then never touch it again.

That’s how you blog.

How do you make money blogging? Write a blog and get a job … doing something else … that pays. Like a real job.

Seriously, I’ve busted my ass blogging and got a giant boost of exposure when Aimee Heckel (thanks Aimee!) wrote about me in the local paper and then again in Reader’s Digest.

Still no money.

After a while of entertaining the dream of hitting the jackpot, I decided that I love to write and it makes me so happy that anyone out there would take time out of their day to read what I have to say. But even if they didn’t, I enjoy going back in time and knowing what was on my mind.

So for you, my dear readers (all four of you) I attempted to drunk post while on the road.

We spent the day cruising around Acadia and returned to Chris and Rich’s house to find the most wonderful dinner along with three bottles of a ridiculous Lebanese wine.

Technically there were seven of us at dinner, but it was really only me, Loony and Chris drinking heavily so we got a good one going.

Rich and Grandma had enough to tip them over the edge of not caring what the hell we were talking about. The kids, however, were damn sober (OF COURSE) which kind of put a damper on it.

After drinking really good scotch in the boat house, swilling more wine, and then having a nightcap of even more Scotch while Chris played Chopin and Gershwin on his gorgeous grand piano, I was ready to write.

The problem is that Testiclese was reading over my shoulder. This is all I was able to write with him watching.

  • Cadillac Rock, Sand Beach, Power Flusher
  • Please, let’s take the scotch to the boat house. Pretty please.
  • The legs on this bench are far too close to the center which is why I fell off.
  • Belly full of pasta and Lebanese wine.
  • Q: Why is suicide illegal?  A: So the police will come.
  • Why do my kids like Monk?
  • What’s a drunk post? It’s a happy, giggly, party post.
  • A whale tail is when a person’s tiny panties stick out over their waist band. Oh, you mean an actual whale tail? Never mind.
  • Truck stop strawberry rhubarb pie and ginger ice cream.
  • Don’t tell a good host how to run the evening, or even try to help. Trust me.
  • Chopin’s mood swings and Tiffany lamps
  • What a crazy, beautiful life.
  • Les Mis and Scooby Doo
  • My kid is reading over my shoulder so it’s time to put him to bed.
  • Sleeping in a twin bed next to daddy isn’t the same as sleeping in the same bed with him.

Here’s the reconstruction.

We arrived home after touring part of the island, seeing Cadillac Mountain (not rock), Sand Beach and Thunder Hole, which turned into the Power Flusher in my state of mind at the time.

Chris sent us to the boat house for a cocktail and I had to defy my host in order to bring the bottle of Lagavulin down. He assured us there was booze at the dock but I was dying for a snoot of the scotch we brought, given that we would never buy it for ourselves unless pretending we are buying it for our hosts but not really.

The scotch was good but Rich was a little alarmed when I immediately fell off of the bench. I maintain that it was the bench’s fault and had nothing to do with me power drinking.

Back at the house Chris made the most perfect dinner of pasta with bottles and bottles of glorious Lebanese wine.

Given that our hosts are artists, I started talking about the only artist I know much about, Francesca Woodman–whose father I modeled for–which led to us inevitably talking about how she ended her own life in her mid twenties.

I swear, I didn’t realize where the conversation was going until it was too late.

The boys wanted to know more about suicide which is tricky to talk about but I usually take a straightforward approach to all difficult subjects. Attempts to talk around the subject always draw the conversation out way longer than I’d like it to.

I could tell that Chris and Rich were nervous about the subject matter so we changed it to the kids’ favorite TV show, Monk, which they thought was pretty weird, too.

“It’s like Encyclopedia Brown, for adults,” I explained. “Hopefully they will adopt Adrian Monk’s penchant for neatness and careful observation.” Except for tonight. I really wish they weren’t listening to us quite so much.

Especially when I was all Woo! I’m gonna drunk post tonight! and Testiclese was like, “Mommy, what’s a drunk post?” and I had to come up with a sober answer really quick.

Chris came to my rescue with, “It’s a happy, giggly, party post.”

Thanks man. I owe you.

Then one of them asked what a whale tail is (I have no idea why they asked me) and I started to explain that it’s that skanky look when your g-string sticks out of your pants when Loony cleared his throat loudly and I switched gears. “The tail of a whale. Duh.”

We served up the truck stop strawberry rhubarb pie and then I had to act as a human shield when Loony and his mother tried to clear the table.

Chris is the master of his domain and really didn’t want us messing with his stuff. I could tell. He was all, “No, really. I would rather you just left it.”

Loony: I’m really good at doing dishes

Chris (bristling): I’m sure you are but I prefer to do it myself.

Grandma (stacking): I’ll just take these to the sink.

Chris: Please don’t (taking the dishes away from her) I like doing the dishes when I wake up in the middle of the night.

Loony (oblivious): Dishes are my specially.

Chris: Just. Don’t. Okay? Don’t.

Which is when I had to physically intervene by taking the dishes out of Grandma’s hands and giving Loony a job: get grandma settled in the living room and pour the scotch.

I swear, it’s like I have to do everything around here.

The rest of the evening was a blur of music and art appreciation. Chris and Rich have a wonderful art collection and we wandered the many rooms taking it all in. Chris is a very accomplished pianist and treated us to Chopin and Gershwin.

He taught music and theater to children for years and in his own drunken, grand piano playing way, he played segments of music to illustrate Chopin’s famous mood swings.

The kids were rapt.

I mused on what a fortunate and beautiful life we have, giggling a little at Testiclese’s Scooby Doo PJ bottoms coupled with an estate sale Les Miserables t-shirt.

We hustled the boys off to bed and drank as much water as possible before retiring to our respective twin beds. Fortunately, where there’s a will, there’s a way.

This isn’t my most spectacular drunk post but I consider that a very good thing. I would have really regretted getting belligerent with an 80 year-old artist. I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities to embarrass myself for your entertainment.


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