There is this diner in Covington, KY called The Anchor Grill. It’s been open a long time.
I tried, you guys, I tried googling how long The Anchor Grill has been open, but I couldn’t find it in under 3 minutes. There is only so much a human can endure. Trust me, it’s been open a long time. I’m going to guess it opened in the fifties, but I don’t know for sure. Look that up for me, would you? (70 years – ed.)
Anyway, bear with me because this post is going a couple different places.
First, I want to say that I’ve been thinking about my anxiety posts. Many days I feel pretty good. Most days, I might feel some swells of anxiety, but over all, I am good and shit doesn’t suck. I don’t write about those days so much because those days aren’t the days that make my brain itch. Anxiety days make my brain itch and I write about it. If you go by these anxiety posts, then it seems that I’m all anxiety all the time which isn’t true.
Then I thought, if my anxiety had a mission statement, it would be “We may doze, but we never close”. The phrase made me
think of The Anchor Grill’s neon sign that says the same thing. Or at least they used to. I assume the sign is still there.
I haven’t been inside the Anchor Grill in 15 years or more. It was kind of stinky and they have this rock band up on a shelf made up of Barbie dolls. Or at least they did the last time I was there. They have goetta omelets that fucking rock.
Oh, goetta. You probably don’t know what goetta is. You pretty much have to live in the greater Cincinnati area to understand what it means to have a relationship with the best breakfast food to have ever existed. Next to bacon. I mean, let’s be reasonable here, nothing beats bacon.
Here is where we switch gears.
I started thinking about anxiety and ended up thinking about a conversation that Randy and I had earlier this evening. I told him that I wanted to be who we used to be. We used to take funky little spur of the moment weekend trips, or make a point to visit a museum, exhibit, or a festival. We don’t do much of that anymore and I want to.
He agreed. We even came up with a few possibilities.
Randy doesn’t know this yet, but I want to start now. Tomorrow morning, when we wake up, I want to get in the car and make the 30 minute trip to just barely south of Cincinnati, Ohio and eat breakfast in the stinky Anchor Grill. We can consider that the opening ceremony of getting back to ourselves.
Or we might just watch TV.
Hold on, we’re switching gears again.
Anyway, after putting it off for literally years, I finally have a Zazzle shop. If you guys have any suggestions for cards or mugs that would work there, let me know!
Also, here are a few memes from Rubber Shoes In Hell’s Facebook page. The spirit animal one upset someone because her dad was animal control and he hated euthanizing animals, which I totally get, but…but…I said spirit animal. And they’re not real.
Man! Anxiety that goes away!!! Are you ever lucky. Here’s where I’d go into a long diatribe about me but I’ve come to realize that NOBODY CARES. That’s all right too. I hope you have a good stinky breakfast if you go.
I don’t know..people care. I mean, connecting and sharing experiences that we can all relate to makes people feel less alone. In either case, I’m always happy to see you here.
You are so right about what it takes to get yourself back to who you used to be. Not just as a couple, but individually. Deep thinking, thoughtful contemplation to rediscover what brings you joy. And it can be and usually is simple things, things that can be done at any age. Looking like we did 30 years ago, having the same energy we used to have, having fewer problems, having a bigger house, those things will not bring joy. Spontaneous little trips, casually planned adventures, how fun- and you might be the luckiest girl in the world to have your husband say O.K. That, to me, shows how much he loves you.
Thank you..and there is no doubt that he loves me. He has made me feel loved every day for over 21 years now.
I think anxiety is a common issue for those whose parents have a personality disorder. We survived by keeping ever vigilant – always on the watch for the next disaster eruption. For temporary relief copious amounts of alcohol can work. Anything that sedates I guess.
Yes, I find covering it up works nicely. I mean, it can’t be an every day solution, at least not for me, but I don’t mind escaping through altering my perception from time to time.
Cole,
Through therapy I’ve discovered that it can be genetic too. Nothing you can do but eat tons of pills over your lifetime. For me, my disorder was caused, most likely, due to my Mom being 48 and my Dad 50 when I was born. There’s a higher incidence of my mental illness type among folks with older parents. Nothing can be done about it.
your comment resonates for me…
Gotta is AMAZING. Now I want some…
Yeah..me too.
Goetta…stupid autocorrect…
I dunno..gotta can be awesome, too.
There are people who care and there are people you can trust. I know this because I care and am trustworthy and figure I can’t be the ONLY one out there like that. What it comes down to is that most people are just busy trying to get and keep their own shit together in this crazy world of random, face-eating attacks and all this other crap that happens (in my neck of the woods, at least). At the end of the day, it’s all we CAN do, because no one else is responsible for us but US. Unless we truly ARE batshit crazy, in which case the state might be able to assume responsibility, but if you can avoid that, I would at all costs. Talk about people who don’t care! Haha!
Michelle, I think it’s a brilliant idea to get back to the basics of life—isn’t that part of the “Luckenbach, Texas” lyrics? I don’t know, I’m probably paraphrasing, but anyway I agree that rediscovering each other on these road trips can only lead to cooler discussions between you and Randy and therefore, very cool blogs to come. And maybe even a surprise bun in the oven? HAHAHA!!!!! I’m sorry! Did I just make you anxious? 😀 At the very least, if you discover some really funky boutique with vintage clothing, you need to buy something for the two of you that’s very reminiscent of Nick and Nora Charles. No, I am not giving up on that fantasy, don’t make me, I don’t wanna! XO
HAHAAHAHA…a bun in the oven. My oven is for show these days. It is no longer functioning.
Pinhead oats? We used to sell McCann’s Irish Steel Cut Oatmeal at the warehouse I managed, but I didn’t know what pinhead oats were. I only knew that inside each case of oatmeal there was a little ticket, like a raffle ticket or an old-time theater ticket, that said “export pinhead” on it. I used to collect them, whenever we had to break a case of that oatmeal, I would steal the ticket out of it and take it home. I probably still have a few of them somewhere. Later, I learned what pinhead was referring to, but before that they seemed pretty bizarre.
Anyway, good luck with your diner-trip and your anxiety, and really, if you’re still down with the spontaneity, you’re probably miles ahead.
Export pinhead is awesome. I love that so much! hahaahaha
I get those wishful moments too, only the tv always wins. It’s too powerful! Please elaborate on the deliciousness of that omelet.
We are heading out in just a few minutes for the Anchor Grill. I’ll tell you about it when we get back. Unless I order something else. You never know.
OK you’re too slow. I had to Google. I even saw the creepy-doll band. 67 years. Dinner food…yum.
Are you there RIGHT NOW? Eat something greasy for me!
And I get you. I ended up on a divorce bulletin board once, and some guy was trashing me for writing about how horrible my divorce was all the time. It wasn’t everything I wrote about, but it was a lot. So I took it as constructive criticism and stopped writing about it so much. And then people started asking for it….so…
The point is you can’t please everyone all of the time. So stop writing for them. Write for me. I’m good with it.
OMG I WAS right there when you commented. It wasn’t as stinky as it used to be. Still awesome, though.
HAHAHA..okay..I will write for you. I hope you like tomorrow’s post.