Getaway. March 1, 2007

We’re going to wine country this weekend. No, not that wine country. Long Island wine country. Oh, you didn’t know it existed? (Confession: neither did I.)It’s a good friend’s birthday and since she loves a) wine and b) wine and c) her friends (a distant third, but still), she has coordinated a mini-getaway, which – seeing as it is March and people are feeling particularly itchy to get away, as if trying force spring’s hand – is more than welcome.M has booked us overnight at a quaint hotel. Normally I would insist on paying because my momma taught me never to rely on no man (and also, it’s my friend’s event, so I feel it should be on my dime). However, seeing as today can officially be considered the tail end of my third week at my new job and I still haven’t gotten paid, I am f-l-a-t broke. Not, of course, broke enough to curb my insanely expensive Starbucks addiction, of course. But broke enough to realize that the cost of “quaint” as opposed to “Howard Johnson’s” is far more than I can afford at the moment.

Tangent: Dear Major Huge Conglomerate Company That I Work For: Not cool. Just. NOT COOL. Love, The Employee That Actually Filled Out A “Tell Us!” Card In The Cafeteria Asking For The Chocolate Chip Cookies To Be A Bit Softer.

I’m looking forward to getting away. Mainly for the wine (4 vineyards! And a limo to take us to each one!), but also because a change of scene might do M and I some good. We seem to be falling into the trap that we always fall into when one or both of us is stressed: home, unhealthy dinner, crappy reality TV, going-through-the-motions sex, sleep.

He actually sat through an entire two hours of the America’s Next Top Model premiere (as a fellow casting producer, I tip my hat to the brave souls who courageously sift through thousands of applications and auditions to find casting gold like mail-order bride Natasha and mom with abs of steel Renee) and he didn’t complain once. That’s when I knew something was wrong.

It’s the book, of course. I know I’d be the same – in my own head, anxious, wanting anything, even my significant other’s worthless choice of television, to take my mind off it - if my first book was about to be released, especially if it was a tad controversial and could piss off some people in the industry who one may not exactly want to piss off.

So, even though he doesn’t drink and will be toting his own Diet Coke to each vineyard, wine country will be good for M. Less time to worry about that looming date in mid-March, more time trying to hold up a drunk girlfriend as she teeters around in high heeled boots.

The only negative is that while we’re out wine tasting, we’ll be missing my little brother’s championship basketball game. My father coaches the team and, as much as he loves law and loves politics even more, his heart is truly in shaping young lives through basketball. (And trying to get those young lives to play zone defense, damn it.) The team they’re up against is one of the best. They’ve beat them before, but only after 3 overtimes and about that many heart attacks for my mother, who gets a tad too involved. My father wrote me an email this morning and concluded with, regarding the game on Saturday, “In the words of Han Solo, ‘I have a bad feeling about this.’”

I don’t have a bad feeling, because I know the team and the coach and I know what they can do and I know that even though their point guard separated his shoulder in last night’s semi-final, they’ll pull through and I’ll receive a phone call while we’re at our 3rd or 4th vineyard and then I’ll have another glass of wine, in celebration of their victory. (Go (recreation league) Bulls!)