THE TAKEAWAY - 2011 Edition

One of my goals, my resolutions, my promises to myself at the beginning of 2011 was to write more, to tweet more, to update my blog regularly.  Sometimes, life hands you a different gameplan.  In February 2011, I lost my father.  I was, and always will be, Daddy's Little Girl.  I was, and remain, heartbroken.  

I'd already been struggling over how I wanted to use this forum, what to blog, what tone to use, what voice to give it, what topics to cover... but I knew I didn't want to use it to reflect on such a personal subject and, to be honest, I didn't have it in me to write at all.  For a long time.

Then I got sick. It was a long summer & fall of medical misery.  In October 2011, they took my gallbladder.  And nothing about this experience was anything I'd want to write about and share (not even on Facebook among "friends.")  So, I cut myself a break (something I very rarely do) and accepted that 2011 was an "off" year for me writing-wise.  Eventually, I'd return to the keyboard.

2011, to be blunt, was a shitty year.  There have been a few highlights, some big revelations, some hard lessons, some hilarious realizations, and a whole lot of sadness and light.   To quote Truvy in Steel Magnolias, "laughter through tears is my favorite emotion."

So, here's just a smattering of what I'm taking away from 2011 before I kick it to the curb:

I am your biggest fan.  And I will always have your back.

There's really nothing you can do about it.  It just is the way it is.  So deal with it.

I'm not a Jersey Girl.  I'm not from New Jersey.  (Really.)

I'm from Long Island.  South Shore.  Where the cool girls are found.

(But I do wish I spent more time in NJ with my dear friends who do live there.) 

I suffer from Seasonal Martha Stewart Derangement Syndrome & will do marathon sessions of covering pretzels in chocolate and decorating them for each holiday.   An intervention might be necessary.

If you can't figure out how to use punctuation, you're just not trying.  

Tavern On Jane has re-established itself as my go-to homey, neighborhood joint.  

Health Insurance Companies are the devil.

My father had two songs that he sang to me.  "Lavender Blue" by Burl Ives and "You Are My Sunshine."  I keep seeing wall art, school accessories, trinkets with "You Are My Sunshine" painted/embossed/printed on them.  I choose to see them as reminders that my Dad is still keeping an eye on me.

A standing room only funeral on less than 24 hours notice is still achingly sad.  But a beautiful testament to someone's life.

Everyone should have a friend who comes to your father's funeral and back to the Shivah House focused on taking care of you with her Sherbatzky Bag in tow.

My mother's friends from the synogogue swooped in and took over running the house during Shivah.  If we airdropped these women into Afghanistan and Iraq, we'd have those places cleaned up in two weeks, garbage on the curb, and enough food in Tupperware to carry them through next Arab Spring.

I really love the friend who, on the first night of Shivah, over vodka, complains that SHE had the "worst day ever" and in 2.4 seconds realizes what she's said, to whom, in what setting, and instantly cries, "I'm a dick!" and throws her head into her lap.  I love you mostest.  

I was heartbroken but heartwarmed by the outpouring of love and support and sympathy.   And those who failed to even acknowledge the loss, thank you for showing your true selves.

 

I really hate hospitals.

I really hate Michael Stipe.

I really hate caraway seeds.

I really hate chicken soup from Ben's Deli.

I really love the chicken noodle soup from Wo-Hop.

And I especially love my mother's.  I lived on it for months.

There are some people who are overbearing bullies, with limited social and people skills, quick to be blunt, abrasive, and offensive with seeming impunity.  When said bully sets out to create himself a "mini-me," all the usual obnoxious communications/behavior you write off as "par-for-the-course" from the original oaf, is just condescending and creepy coming from junior.

If you don't have a bestest friend ever who will sing "Soft Kitty" to you, you ain't got nothing.

If you have nothing but a bestest friend ever who will sing you "Soft Kitty," you have the world.

I don't trust people who watch Survivor, The Apprentice, or any reality/competition show which relies upon alliances, backstabbing, deceit, lies, infighting, betrayals, and nastiness.  I already lived through Woodland Junior High School (and the music industry.) It wasn't fun the first time.

Memorial Day Weekend To-Do List:

  - Driving through a tornado-laden storm. Check.

  - Primanti Brothers cole-slaw & French fries stuffed sandwich at original Strip location? Check.

  - Seeing Fallingwater.  Check.  (Frank Lloyd Wright may have been a nasty, short, volatile, anti-Semite with Napoleonic tendencies but he was a visionary.)

 - Visit West Virginia for the 1st time: Check.  Put feet in the Shendandoah River: Check.  

 - Visit Harper's Ferry: Check.  And John Brown's barn: Check.  Dork out on US history: Check.

 - WeinerSchnitzel & Spatzle & Paulander Pils at Schmankerl Stube Bavarian Restaurant in Hagerstown, MD:  Yah! Check

 - Returning a rental car that smells like a frat house after a weekend bender because the growler of Applachian Brewing Company beer spilled all over the floormats?  Check.

When people ask you what your secret to weight loss is, tell them, "chronic illness!" and give them two thumbs up.  The look on their face? Hilarious.

If you are wheeled into surgery as the sedative begins to take effect, and the operating room doors burst open to reveal a room full of professionals in scrubs while Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again" is blaring over the soundsystem, you should totally take that as a good omen, give them the devil horns, and declare, "I have a good feeling about you people!" (Side note: when the last words you remember hearing are "Tawny Kitaen," it's only funny if you come out of surgery and live to tell the story later.)

I really, really, really enjoyed my Vicodin.  I was hoping to maybe have a Matthew Perry-esque relationship with my Vicodin.  Sadly, the words "no refill" were typed on the bottle. 

My mother is the strongest person I know.  She didn't deserve anything life handed her this year.

I am now one of those people who regularly eats maybe half of the food on his/her plate.  And orders things steamed.  Or grilled.   And sauce on the side.  Food no longer fun.

Men are like the conch shell in Lord Of The Flies.

If you're not holding and blowing it, you have no say.

Keith Urban kicks ass.  So much rock 'n' roll ass.

You are such an awesome young man.  I really hope you know that.

You are incredibly talented.  Don't for a second doubt yourself, your creativity, your ability, your vision, or the fact that you deserve everything good that comes your way.

Hurricane Irene = two day Hurricane of Boredom in Manhattan.  

You deserve to be worshiped by your family, your spouse, and your spouse's family the way we worship you.

The word "accommodating" is being removed from my vocabulary in 2012.

Please plan accordingly.

Your sorry, drunk, delusional, classless, beach-hick fat ass will be kicked so hard if you ever - EVER - come near me again.

Spending the day in Amish Country is a great surprise for kids.  But not if they've figured out the next surprise stop is HersheyPark.  Then?  Well, then Amish Country is merely you intentionally torturing them by keeping them from only the most fun ever.  You ruin everything.

You need to teach your toddlers the Devil Horns, people.  I really can't stress this enough.

Pinky up.  Pointer Up.  And your thumb holds the middle two down.  (You're trying this now as you read this, aren't you?)

If you walk the walk, you don't need to talk the talk.  Your actions will speak for themselves.

My first ever Renaissance Faire in Sterling, NY was eye-opening.  The people-watching divine.  I was parched and sweating in cotton shorts, t-shirt & hiking sandals -- watching the revelers in their velvet and fur and dresses and corsets and leather... the heat rash and chub rub alone is unimaginable.

I don't think the people I know who think they're so spiritual and religious and spout said spirituality and religion on Facebook realize they don't behave that way.

It's a baseball team.  It's a football team.  It's a rock band.   You have your personal identity and value and validation so tied up in the team/artist you support... it's kinda sad to witness.

I'm so happy that the people I know who are pregnant and expecting babies in 2012 are all some of my favorite people.  The world can use more of them.

I'm sorry you (willingly) remain such a hate-filled, angry, ill-informed, barely-able-to-keep-your-rage-surpressed person.  I worry for your health and safety and, most of all, your sanity. You need professional counseling. Desperately.

Loved my weekend in Westerly, RI with my cousins.  Loved my weekend in Syracuse, NY with my friends and family.  Loved my weekend visiting cousins in Chapel Hill, NC.  Loved my Memorial Day Weekend girls getaway to PA-WV-MD.  Loved my weekend in NJ in late Fall.   But seriously?  That is way below the standard amount of travel I need to do on a yearly basis to feel fulfilled.  I know 2011 was an off year but 2012 needs some serious compensation travel to balance it out. 

On a similar note, a distinct lack of Girls' Day Out adventures this year.   WTF?

This must be rectified in 2012.  It's a moral imperative.

It's more likely I'll visit Australia than it was I'd visit Jordan but 25+ hours and $2K for a plane ticket?  You're just messing with us all now, right?  

"You break my heart.  Then again, you break everyone's heart."

I respect your decision.  I know it was a tough love situation.  You were going to get shit no matter what decision you made.  I didn't like it.  But I understood it.

I don't understand how/why untalented, star-fucking, ass-kissing, name-dropping, hack directors (who also think they are photographers) continue to get work.  

You do know that I keep you hidden on Facebook so I don't actually have to read, or even see, the drivel you post, right?

Just because you have 'Rolling Stone Contributing Editor' on your resume and you insist on having it as part of your official name/credit, does not mean you are a good writer.  Period.

2011 was the year I discovered the glory, the genius, the joy that is Phineas & Ferb.  Perry The Platypus rocks. 

Of course I'll be at the hospital if that is where you need me to be.  Why?

   i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
   my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
   i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
   by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                  i fear
   no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
   no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
   and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
   and whatever a sun will always sing is you

   here is the deepest secret nobody knows
   (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
   and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
   higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
   and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

   i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

You are a wonderful man. All heart.  All soul.  So talented.  I really want nothing but the absolute best for you.  You are my Ambassador of Kwan.

Why did they let you have kids?  And why can't you parent them properly?  Are you sure there wasn't some sort of Learning Permit you skipped?  Some license for which you failed to apply?  Is there anyone I can contact for some sort of review or recall?

Please, stop and think about what you're doing & the potential consequences, before you get hurt and you hurt others.

You are the most negative person I know.  You have to be right, all the time.  Your opinion is fact.  You will go out of your way to find a dark cloud, point out a flaw, trump someone else's positive experience by negating it with your own alternative version.  You'll trash talk people (even your 'friends' on Facebook) -- you're a very unhappy person.  I feel better when I spend less time interacting with you.  So, there's a goal.

I don't really miss you at all.

I missed you more than I ever thought I would.  And that scares me.

Sometimes, a long overdue (by 5 years) face-to-face sit-down conversation (over 8 hours) is what has to be done to move forward.

Your shit does stink.   I know you don't think so.  But trust me.  You want some Lysol.

THE BOOK OF MORMON is the most hilarious, blasphemous, brilliant, vulgar, imaginative, depraved, inspiring, offensive, joyous piece of creative genius I've ever experienced.  

If something is so freakin' difficult to coordinate and plan, walk away.  It's not meant to be.

Try again next year.

"Everyone has their bullshit. You can simply decide whose you’re willing to tolerate."

God Bless You, Jon Stewart.

God Bless You, Stephen Colbert.

God Bless You, Craig Ferguson. (You too, Geoff Peterson.  And Khloe Banderas)

God Bless You, Jason Segal. (And Kermit.  And Walter.)

God Bless You, Aaron Sorkin.

God Bless You, Colin Firth.

God Bless You, Eddie Izzard.

God Bless You, Daniel Craig.

I love you Amy Farrah Fowler.  You get cuh-ray-zee.   I heart you too, Shelly Cooper.  

I love you Pritchett/Dunphy Family.  Luke at the baby Jesus. It's Sleep Clowning. That. Is. Awesome!

I love you Ted, Robin & Barney.  Welcome to East Meadow, Lily & Marshall.

Detective Jane Timiny, I'm really sorry NBC is canceling you because you kicked ass.

U.S. Marshalls Mary Shannon & Marshall Mann, I anxiously await your return.

These pants are too big.

We're worried about you.

Friendship is a two-way street.  I'm tired of being the Wandering Jew.

If FedEx arrives at your door and you sign for a package containing a great note and a very expensive, cool watch...  Just say THANK YOU.

I know you think I'm a joke.  I know you talk about me amongst yourselves and it's likely not in the most flattering light but that's OK.  I'd still rather be authentic me than the fakes you are.

Sometimes the best way to show your love for someone is to back away.

Bazinga!

I like the certainty that when Simon LeBon, Roger Taylor, Nick Rhodes and (especially) John Taylor are within a 200 mile radius my two best friends will dork out like the 14-year-old flaky bandits they've always been.  And likely drunk dial & drunk text me from the show.  

Wherever the mirror is that I broke, enough.   My seven years are up so stop making my day-to-day feel like I'm trying to climb stairs made of marshmallow fluff.   Why does everything have to be so hard?

I really want to drink.  A lot.  But I've only had once glass of wine since the beginning of June.  I know I've reverted back to being a lightweight but I've realized I don't like the feeling of being out of control...  and I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

Anyone who actually believes there is a "War On Christmas" has clearly already lost the "War On Intelligence" waging in their brain.   I swear, the stupid people are growing in numbers.

I may take up a long-lost hobby of shooting fish in a barrel. 

I'm oblivious.  I got photographed by more than one paparazzi in SoHo and had no clue whatsoever.  Clueless. 

Anyone I'm friends with on Facebook, I actually know.  But I have a few friends who have thousands of 'friends' - because they're on the radio or have huge numbers of people following them on Twitter.  I gotta be honest.   It creeps me the hell out.

Three years ago, I was obsessed with pit bulls, due to volunteering a the NYC AC&C shelter.

Last few years, I was obsessed with French Bulldogs.

This year, I'm fixating on mini-Dauschunds.   2012 is the year of the Mini Weiner Dog.   (But seriously? Adopt.)

PRIORITIES.  WHO ARE YOURS?

I like that I have one friend ready to kick one in the knees, one in the balls, & one in the pearly whites.

I like that I have another ready to thump people on the skull with her steel skull ring. \m/

I like that I have one more ready take on anyone not good enough for me.

My name is Ilene and I am a bookaholic.

Yes, Boo-Boo.  I like Advil, too.  But Tylenol PM rocks.  And you owe me the stash you "borrowed."

I'm truly sorry.

The key to enlightenment is lightening up.   I need to stop taking everything so seriously.  I need to stop taking everything to heart.  What people do and say - with rare exceptions - is done without any clue whatsoever how it affects/impacts me and has everything to do with whatever personal ordeal he/she is sorting out.  Let it go.  Breathe.  Walk away.  Breathe.

The last batch of concerts I attended?  Keith Urban.  Sting.  Dave Matthews & Tim Reynolds acoustic.  And Darius Rucker.  I'm jonesing for an AC/DC show.   Bad.

I've always loved Tiffany & Co  and Coach.  But I now own items by Calvin Klein, Ralph Lauren, and Eileen Fisher.  And I wear French Manicures and diamond studs.  Who am I? Maybe the doctors did something when they went in and removed that diseased organ.  If anyone spots me wearing pearls, you are permitted to beat the cool back into me.

I want to open a Mexican Cantina called Iguana Don's.  Instead of chicken fingers, we'll serve dinosaur thumbs.  Mens' & Ladies' room doors will be for Dons & Donnas.  I think we're onto something there.  My best friend's kids will be my marketing advisory team.  I'm sure all the reviews will be two thumbs up. [This makes much more sense if you look up "iguanadon."]  Aunt Ilene still rocks.

Be yar.  Be yar.  Be yar.   

I still think this is the right approach.  Not so sure my doctors agree but I'll keep at it.

2012.  Let Obama Be Obama.

2012.  Let Ilene Be Ilene.

2011, in a lot of ways, has been the saddest and most difficult year of my life.

I can only hope 2012 is better, not just for me, but for all my friends and family who had hurdles to overcome in 2011.

In truth, I've never liked New Year's Eve.  I've always found it a depressing fake holiday for amateurs.  It's a socially imposed mile marker along life's journey, pointing out how far you've come and how little you accomplished and how much you've lost in the prior twelve months.  The only thing that cheers me is remembering and celebrating the highlights of the previous year and the people with whom they were shared.  And I still have hope for the year ahead...

THANK YOU to my friends and family who have shared 2011 with me and made an unbearably sad time a bit more bearable.  There are no words...

So, here's to 2012, a fresh start, a clean slate, a new year.

May yours be full of health (especially health) and happiness...

Full of friends and family...

Full of love and laughter 

('cause that's the only damn thing that will get us through whatever 2012 tosses our way.)

"And you asked me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days
'cause I don't need boxes wrapped in strings
And designer love and empty things
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days"

Love & Miss You, Dad.