Accidental sobriety and the baggage that comes with it.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
I have taken this show on the road. . . . by on the road I
mean across the country to San Francisco.
The West Coast is very different than the East Coast.
Here are a few things that I have noticed . . . . .
1 One out of every 3 people is eccentric or downright
crazy. No joke. The most normal person I have met is the girl with Down
Syndrome who bags groceries at the Safeway. She is pleasant, fast, efficient and
can carry a conversation about organic frozen foods. My head doesn’t spin after
talking to her and I don’t think I have hallucinated our conversations. A
bagger at Whole Foods in Sebastopol (the hippie capital of the world) took it
upon himself to tell me about his night terrors.
2 Wine is cheap. Like seriously fucking cheap.
Like bring a tear to your eye cheap. Like I go to the super market at pay $5
for a bottle of wine I used to pay $13 for. Needless to say my cost of living
has dropped significantly
3 Everyone drives a high-end luxury car (BMW,
Mercedes, Lexus and Porche). There are so many Porches. There are more Porches
than Hondas. No joke.
Shit closes early and people get up early. Most
people (including myself) get up in the middle of the night (or what I consider
the middle of the night) but they also go to bed early. i.e. Liquid lunches are
a biweekly occurrence and drinks actually happen at 5pm. None of this show up
at 7pm or later shit
5 Everyone does yoga, including me. Yes, I am
better for it. Don’t judge
6 You have to go out of your way to buy food with
preservatives here. Everything is organic and if you don’t know it is organic
by the branding or the giant organic sticker there is lady outside asking you
to sign a petition to make it more obvious that your food is organic
7 In the midst of all the health freakiness there
is a parade called the “Butter and Eggs parade” in which my yoga instructor ask
that we march in. Ironic?
Ok, ok, ok. So here we are the Tuesday after my sister’s birthday and I have not committed to my 50 days.Fifty days of sobriety will not be back; my readers and friends blatantly shot down that idea. Apparently my recollection of sobriety was much different than y’alls. The sobriety idea went to shit once I decided to have wine at lunch and beer at dinner that day.
I think I’m leaning toward 50 days of running or 50 days of the gym. I would have started it already however I contracted a nasty stomach virus, which left me in the fetal position for 3 days. I emerged from my illness today only to find that I have herniated diaphragm muscles from the intense vomiting.Sexy, right? No.
So in the past year and a half I have gained 29lbs. How and why? I’m a stress eater. I also think I have a compulsive eating disorder. Of course I couldn’t get anorexia or bulimia. My cousin told me I’m just not white enough to get either of those eating disorders.Aside: I notice that I never get the good stereotyped traits from either of my ethnicities. I have gigantic thighs accompanied by a big but, no anorexia or bulimia, and I sunburn. WTF?
Why: We covered that in the last post.
I don’t want people to think I’m hopping on the health bandwagon because I got fat. I mean that is part of it but the ultimate goal is to get back on track with challenging myself. As some of you might remember, there were some rumblings last year of 50 days drunk with my co-conspirator Capps Corleone. The 50 days drunk was supposed to kick off at our first annual $1000 Tab at Café 210 but it never happened. This year we are going to repeat our $1000 Tab at Café 210 in June which will kick-off 50 days drunk.No ifs, and or butts.In order to be properly drunk and assure your body is metabolizing alcohol at the most optimized levels your body has to be a lean-mean-drinking machine.
So, tomorrow I will initiate 50days of working out.
The rules: 30mins of cardio every day for 50days (until April 14th).
Exceptions: If I become ill, are stranded in an airport or some other weird occurrence that might hold me back from my 30min work out I will need to make up the workout session on another day. If I do make up the session it cannot be tacked on to that day’s work out meaning that I will need to go to the gym twice in one day. The workouts have to be separated by at least 2 hours from finish to start.
My alarm is set for 6:20am to assure I get my ass to the gym for a solid work out.
Ok . . . here goes.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
It’s about that time again . . .to begin another bout of sobriety and see where it lands me. The last time I ventured out into the world with out the helping hand of alcohol I ascended to one of the best times in my life. Instead of drinking and ending up in a pool of my own vomit or in some debaucherous situation I threw myself into playing soccer and spending more quality time with people that I care about. I also lost about 20lbs as a side effect.
So I have gone from a great ascent to the zenith of my life to now -- rock bottom. My descent was marked by my relationship with a narcissistic leech that sucked me dry financially and emotionally . . .but don’t your worry his well-gelled hair is perfectly coifed. That bad decision Sundae was topped with the cherry of my older brother being diagnosed with lymphoma and losing his life a mere six months later.
Rock bottom --what does that look like? Well, like any normal half-Irish American I am treating these failures with a steady dose of bourbon, wine, beer, high calorie foods, carbs and sex. Of course once I get on the scale this morning to confirm my suspicions of a 40lb weight gain I’m sure the sex-crutch will come to a grinding halt. My new boyfriend is going to be pissed! I’m sure you have gathered that rock bottom is not pretty . . . at all.
50 days sober began in March of 2009, the Sunday after my sister Terry’s 40th birthday. After waking up with a pricker in my foot and no recollection of where my dress or car keys were . . . a change needed to be made. Terry’s birthday is this Thursday . . . . I might start early . . .or just start now and go the 50 days.I sure the fuck am not doing more than 50 days sober.I’m a mess not crazy.
So here goes. . . . . I’m plunging face-first into the ice water. . . .
I’ll leave you with some classic posts. . .to bring you up to speed . .
Ahh, I can breath. Yes, there has been a hiatus in my blogging. Long story –short; I ended up in a relationship with the wrong guy. I felt suffocated and nothing at all like myself therefore unable to write. Now I’m back . . . raring to go.
So after being blissfully single for almost 6 months, I strongly felt that I was well over due for sex. Especially since my co-work did a drunken walk of shame through my office on Friday morning to pick up his sun glasses (In comparison to him I’m failing at life). After some thought, I had no idea where to start in my quest to find an acceptable sexual partner.
Anyone who I had a chance with before I dove into my ill-advised relationship is most likely in a relationship, seeing someone else, I’m not interested in or they are not interested in me. Of course it doesn’t help that I am a stress eater and let’s just say that for the last 5 months of my relationship I was really stressed. So with an extra 20lbs on my frame (I swear 10 of it went right to my boobs) my prospects are limited.
So after pondering my asexual fate; I decided that the only way to get back on the proverbial horse is to continue to hit the gym hard core. Today after work I took a nice hour-long jog. Being that I spent most of Sunday on the couch nursing a two-day wine hangover, the run took a lot of out me.
All day I’ve been feeling like a bottomless pit. To fight the starving feeling, I came home and ordered a pizza.I haven’t eaten pizza in over a month and I felt that it would be the perfect antidote for my hollow feeling.I cracked over a bottle wine (don’t judge. haters) and waited for my 12” person plain pizza to arrive.
I eagerly housed 3 slices and felt like a new women. That urge to have sex quickly faded.
Moral of the story: who needs sex when there is . . . Pizza.
What fucking happened to me? I got all wifey-ed up. I’m in a relationship with a very nice, great guy who doesn’t get my sick sense of humor. Nor does he really appreciate me sharing my thoughts about our life together.
So after 5 months of suffering in a job that wasn’t quite for me I have made some changes. Got a new job that is way better. However I managed to gain about 25lbs in 5 months. In my quest to figure out what I want to be when I grow up I used bacon to patch the holes in my soul that my job at the time created.
So now I’ve committed to 50 days of no laziness. What does this mean?
Sticking to my weight watchers regimen
Hitting the gym everyday
Today was Day 1:
7:15am: Alarm sounds...... Bullshit! Ok. 7:15 isn’t really that early however I can get up at 8:15 and be at work before 9:30. You see the struggle?
7:30 am: I get out of bed and head down to the gym
7:45 to 8:15 am: Cardio while holding 10lb weights
8:30am: Having a very difficult time blow-drying my hair because my arms are so tired
9am: Walking to catch the bus . . . . . is that bacon I smell.
7:30am: Plopped down on the couch with a huge mixing bowl of arugula with olive oil and vinegar. I’m kind of obsessed.
9:00pm: Polished off a bottle of Indaba. Tracking my points on WW online.
It has been quite some time since I have “blogged”. In that two plus months life has happened all at once. One of the most drastic life changes I have made was moving in with my boyfriend.
After five months of dating I moved in with the adorable Yugoslavian man who stopped me on the street months earlier.
Living with a man is an adjustment, well a man that is not technically a roommate. Male roommates understand boundaries, and with roommates there is no expectation of sharing or the “what is mine is yours” assumption.When you first move in with the person you plan to share your life with there are a few things that may come as a surprise:
Men don’t diet; they just eat less of something and lose 10lbs or take a walk and lose 5lbs (bastards)
When you move in with your significant other don’t expect the good leftovers to be there when you go back for them
It’s always best to be sick when you have someone to take care of you (even if they are trying to cure your kidney infection with “remedies from Montenegro”
Men should not be allowed to use bleach, unless pink is becomes the new white . . . . literally
Men take longer to get ready than women
Men like cheesy reality shows . . . a lot
Putting a dish inside an empty dishwasher is apparently not common sense
Snoring . . . . .VERY LOUD snoring
Nocturnal flatulent
Men are always better drivers than women even if they suck at driving worse than anyone ever alive
Men do not replace the toilet paper roll . . . ever
My boyfriend is awesome really though.He cooks and cleans and rubs my back :-)
Two years ago today I learned that I truly know nothing.
In my short 28 years on this earth I have seen a lot. I had seen and experienced many unfortunate realities all before becoming a high school graduate. So in the fall of 2007 I was sure I had it all figured out. I most certainly knew the “formula” of life, which meant that if “X” happens in your life there is no way “Y” and “Z” will happen. Um, that formula is shit and that is all I really knew. No formula was going to save me from life, or make things predictable. Life is certainly unpredictable and you can’t keep life from happening.
Two years ago today my life changed for the extreme worst however I was able to learn from it then change my life for the better.
Two years ago today many great people and I lost a wonderful person in our lives. His name is WES. He was vibrant, fun, comforting and perfect. If you met him, you knew him and you never forgot him. I could write a short novel about how wonderful WES was but I won’t. There are really no words in our paltry language to truly capture him and since I don’t speak another language I will leave it at that. However I will talk about what I learned from him.
WES taught me: Laughing is the best way to spend time with a person you care about People are important You have to let someone in You cannot live by a clock Having fun should be a priority You should love what you do for a living It is ok if you are not a morning person You should always say what you need to say The most beautiful people are broken You have to forgive, even if you are doing it for someone else
Everyday I think about WES and I will everyday for the rest of my life (or as long as I can see my left shoulder). Which brings me to the most important thing that I have learned from WES and that is – Don’t fuck it up. No matter how scared you are, how close someone gets or how hard it is – work it out because you may never have a second chance to fix it.
Feel free to share your memories of WES.
Make donations in loving memory of Warren E. Schnetzer at www.americanheart.org.
How am I living with Buddy Holly and dating Elvis you ask? Well if you have ever met my roommate Jake you would understand the reference and my boyfriend’s name is Elvis. Yes, as in the king. . .or at least he thinks so.
I met Elvis in a relatively unconventional way. After a long day of drinking I was walking home from a bar in Murray Hill. I had my head phones on singing Evanescence at the top of my lungs while walking down 3rd Ave. In the middle of “Bring me to life . . .” I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn to see a guy trying to get my attention. I figure he is going to ask me for directions so I pull my ear buds out. He asks, “Can I buy you a drink?” I politely respond with, “No, fuck off,” and continue down the street singing “Wake me up inside, call my name . . .” I get about a half a block and he is tapping me on the shoulder again. I take one ear bud out proclaim, “What?” “Please, just have one drink with me.” I looked him up and down, it dawns on me that he has what sounds like an Italian accent. On his forearm there is a tattoo that reads ‘<>’. I tell him that he is a gangster wannabe, no good bad news m-f’er that needs to leave me alone. This charade went on for about three blocks until I finally gave in and had a drink with him.
The next morning he made me breakfast. As I was walking home I texted my cousin, “I think I met someone.” I pretty much new he was great right from the start.
I told this story to my soccer teammates. One of my teammates responded with this. “Tell your boyfriend to fuck off for me. By the way, I’m sorry to have to tell you this but just because he stalked you for 3 blocks at 2 in the morning while you were drunk doesn’t mean he loves you. I mean, if I were him the very next day I would have called you at least 50 times and hung up. So don’t fall for his psychologically unhinged romantic act because he doesn’t truly love you until you have to get a restraining order on him. Besides that though he sounds like a lovely guy” – Thanks Jon!
I have known Jena Girouard for almost year now. Jena G, as I so affectionately call her, is one of the best people I know and I can’t imagine my life with out her. I have never laughed so hard around one person in my life, especially when she told me to get out of the car as we were driving 60 miles per hour on route 78.
I recently met Jena’s brother Mark. They are two peas in a pod and he is just as wonderful as she is. He looks and speaks just like Woody Harrelson and has a quick wit delivered with a southern drawl that will drive you to tears.
Here are a few conversations that have taken place between the Girouard siblings and me.
A phone conversation one spring day at work: Me: Jena, I know why we (Jena-a Gemini, me-a Taurus) can be such great friends but never date.
Jena: V.A., please tell me, aside from the fact that we are not lesbians, why can we never date?
Me: Well we are both standing at a ledge about to step off, but we are at different ledges so that way we can talk each other off said ledges.
Jena: Yeah, because if we were dating we would be holding hands jumping off that ledge together, for sure.
My first meeting with Mark: Mark: I new you were 60/40 lesbian! I could just tell.
Me: But I have a boyfriend
Mark: Nope 60/40.
Jena and I leaving a soccer game Jena: I’m driving Darren’s lesbian car
Me: I’ve never heard anyone call a car “lesbian”. What kind of car is it?
Jena: A Subaru Outback.
Me: I love that car!!! That was my first car when I got my license. I miss it so much!
Jena: Yeah, exactly, that’s cause you’re a lesbian
Gotta love the Girouards. I have yet to meet the older sister, but apparently she loves lesbians so I’m excited to be inducted into the family.
I have written about my biological father in previous posts as some of you might recall. He is a bit of a crack-head with the hiv and other diseases he has contracted through intravenous drug use. However over the past 8 years my brother and I have spent some “quality” time with him, although not by choice.
My form of quality time with my father came after a drunken arrest. My incarceration was directly and solely related to my father and his criminal past.I hadn’t spoken to my father in the months prior to ending up in court the day after Christmas. I’m sure I’d seen him on Thanksgiving which probably yielded some small talk but nothing significant or poignant.
I arrived at court in my Sunday best or as my co-defendants exclaimed “looking like a school teacher”. We were all sitting together in the court room when my father walked in. I shrunk down in the back of the court pew wondering what the fuck he was doing here. I assumed he had caught a case himself and was present for the hearing. Of course Josh and Jody (my co-defendants) loudly say, “Isn’t that your dad.” I said “No,” they said, “I know you don’t see him much but that is definitely your dad.” I said, “Fuck.” He spotted me and walked over. I said hello, and made small talk and asked what he had done to end up in court. He said nothing and that he was here to walk me through my first court hearing. My father has never shown up to a school play, sports event, recital or a milestone birthday but he decided to show up to the one event that I really didn’t need him for, especially since I have a B.S. in Criminal Justice.
So we make small talk. He tells me about the Hep-C drugs he is talking. I suggest some others that might be less abrasive since that is my field.
After hours of sitting in the court room they call my name. I go up and plead not guilty while my father stands proudly behind me. Most of the court staff knew him by name; they asked how he is doing and if I was his girlfriend. I damn near smacked him. Do I look like I’d date a crack-head? After my plea we proceeded to the back room where the lawyer that both my father and brother have on retainer asked if I need representation. I kindly declined. I spoke with the prosecutor who found the charge of resisting arrest peculiar, so he dropped the case; I just had to pay a $50 court fee.
I think they knew spending the day in court with my father was punishment enough and that I cannot be faulted for genetics.
MY BROTHER
My brother was not so fortunate to spend just a day in court with my father. Hell, he was not so fortunate just to spend the day in court, period. He had the opportunity to spend a few months in lock-up with my father as his roommate.
Recently during a family gathering the size of my father’s penis had come up in conversation. Over the years my sisters and I had heard stories of his mythically large penis. My brother confided that while they were doing time together that he discovered that indeed our father’s penis was huge, so much so that he felt gyped. Needless to say hysterics arose. Out of extreme curiosity I asked my brother to describe exactly how big he was talking. My brother’s eyes lifted and he tilted and shook his head struggling to think of the words to describe my father enormous penis. As he stared off into a corner he slowly said, “It’s like two coke cans”, we busted out in an uproar of laughter. We were all laughing so hard but my brother was still staring into the corner like he hadn’t finished thinking. Slowly our laughter died down and my brother announced, “And a muffin, it’s as big as two coke cans and a muffin.”
Hysterics ensued.
This was the explanation to one of my earlier posts. See Day 47: Alistair is a Cunt!
So today we were walking home from a dinner at Al Capone's old haunt Joe's Cold Stone Crab Shack, which was delicious, when my brother decided to share with us the fact that all the walking has chaffed him.
Needless to say we were a little confused as to why my skinny ass brother was getting chaffed from walking. This is when he explained to us that the chaffing was relatively close to his testicles.
Upon further discussion he informed us that he pulls the hair from his balls to his asshole out, by hand. When asked why he does this he said that he watched a documentary on monks who pull all of their hair out. So he deducted that he could do this to his junk. He says that the ladies like it.
So to to truly understand where his chaffing was occurring he pulled out two quarters and dime to show us exactly where the chaffing was taking place. At which point I asked "your taint is chaffing?"
Needless to say hilarity ensued and we were all laughing so hard. So I told him to put some Palmer's Coca Butter on his taint. He asked if his Vaseline Intensive Care with aloe would be better. I told him it would burn his balls.
As Sarah, Paulie and I laugh hysterically he said, "What? I like getting my ass licked."
I figured I may have to ease a little bit back into drinking but that it would be a little like riding a bike. You hop off the wagon, have a drink or two and you are back in the fast lane. NOT AT ALL.
On my first night of non sobriety I sucked back a Petrón Martini. I got a little tipsy but my biggest gripe was that my stomach burned. I had coated my stomach with six perogies before I left Queens just a few hours earlier. That was more than sufficient to set the stage for my first drink . .nope! The tequila burned right through the perogies lining my stomach. I was not that into it.
The next night I took it easy as well. At dinner I had two glasses of chardonnay, an Irish coffee, a Chocolate Love Martini and an Apple Martini.I was slightly tipsy but again my stomach burned. I was not a fan. It will be slow road to alcohol redemption. I feel like I have one ankle stuck on the wagon and I’m being dragged along side it.
Um, so I had my Petron Margaritini at 12:01 am and it made my stomach hurt. I also got a little tipsy off of one drink. It's 9 hours later and my stomach still hurts.
I'm so fucking lame I hate myself.
I knew the universe would not let me get by unscathed. My make-or-break "date" with the Gemini has led to the a break. Guess I gotta move on. My sobriety was a high with a huge disconnect from reality. I know how things go down and optimism won't change that. But on to the next one.
Thanks for tuning in to my angst ridden sobriety. Now that balance has been restored and lambs are no longer being sacrificed to the alcohol gods I will need to get on with life. Should I reinstated my quest to be a raging alcoholic or shall I abstain for the eating of cheese for 50 days as one friend suggested.
I'm going to leave the experiments to Morgan Spurlock.
I honestly would slit my wrists if I couldn't eat cheese for 50 days.
Today is the last full day I will be sober. FUCK YEAH. I'm sort of tearing a little. I can't wait to take a sip of a delicious margarita.
I'm much less angsty and bitter than I was but don't let that fool you. I have learned a lot about myself in my sobriety journey.
11:45 PM - In a few short minuets I will take my first sip of alcohol in 50 days. However, it will be bittersweet. There were several hopes hinged on today and I think they will be dashed. . . . . . but at least I will have alcohol to cushion the blow.
Sobriety ends and my short stint in La La land is over . . . . back to reality.
Mahdi is the only person I know who does not drink that I do not have a heavy disdain for. Usually those who don’t drink preach to and judge those of us who do. (Note: Darren this does not include you . . . you are the best non drinker)
Mahdi was accepted to Columbia University. This to some may not be a big deal but for someone who has come from so little, fought the odds of men in his demographic and made something of themselves, this is huge. I am so proud of him.
Lately things in my life have been going unusually well. The universe is typically trying to screw me so this is a pleasant surprise.I'm starting to wonder if there is something to the scary movie formula where characters who abstain (don't drink or have sex) are the only characters who survive the hockey masked serial kill. Spare the virgin!
So I have two days left of sobriety. I’m pretty excited about this. My first drink, after what will technically be 49 days of sobriety, will be a Petrón Margarita with salt at the Raw Martini with my boy Jody.
Recently an unlikely source has forced me to really take a look at how I approach relationships. This unlikely source is my roommate Guy*. Yes, the man who has the “ho train” running through his sheets actually has on point insight into love and relationships. He explained to me that playing games, being elusive and witty is not going to get me what I want or let someone know that I truly do care about them. He said if you don’t open up and continue being afraid you will push people away. Needless to say this strategy plays well into my commitment phobia. So after a long and very loud discussion on what I should say in response to a text from a special someone, I gave in . . . . sort of.We met in the middle. I responded in a way I typically wouldn’t. I never show my hand or even flash a corner of a card and now I felt like I was laying it all out there. To my surprise, he was right. The text led to a great conversation and which made me realize a lot.You have to give a little to get a little even if you might get hurt.
My player of a roommate is a hopeless romantic, who’da thunk it!
Although I still have this impending feeling of doom and that it is all going to blow up in my face I will enjoy it while it lasts.
I know I haven't posted in awhile. The clarity of sobriety and the reality of life have set in at Day 42.
I have made several realizations over the past few days about myself and who I truly am.
I realize that I have friends that resent me for who I am and who I have become. They judge me on their insecurities instead of my accomplishments. This has often frustrated me but now I realize that I have so many other friends who accept me for me. So those friendships will either slowly fade away or those friends will inevitably get it.
I realize that I also have many great friends. These friends make me go to facials, put me in a car after I’ve vomited on a table in a restaurant, exchange ideas with me, call to check on me, make me laugh, make me think, make me appreciate myself, keep me busy with painting during my sobriety, enjoy ‘80’s dance music as much as me, don’t judge me and most importantly, share my love of Anthropologie J and “The Mothership”. They are honest and lovely
I realize that I have finally found my place in New York. I have amazing co-workers who are true friends. They are “freaks” like me.They don’t fit into a box or conform to societal norms. They are good caring people marching to the beat of their own drums; as one can imagine our office is pretty noisy. They don’t put on a front; they don’t sweep anything under the rug. If someone is having a problem with a boyfriend, husband, partner or just an issue with how they feel about themselves they talk about it.They are messy, a little crazy and most importantly real. I know everything about my coworkers: from favorite sexual positions to hopes for their children.
I realized that I will always love him, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I was at the gym reading Time Out New York while biking. As I flipped through the pages I came to Dusk Bar’s Napkin Idol. It hit me like a kick in the chest. Déjà vu of how WES and I discovered Napkin Idol. Biking at the gym is no time to tear up. As I look up from the magazine I notice the girl on the bike in front of me has a shirt for an early prevention run, in large font: September 9th 2007. I’m overwhelmed at first, I can’t breath. Then I realize the coincidence and that Wes probably had something to do with this. Of course I’d prefer he visit me on my morning commute when I’m fresh faced and not sweaty. The gym is where I do most of my thinking, which is often about him, my life, and how to move on. Maybe this is his way of saying its OK. Does it make it any easier? No. Do I feel less pain when I think of him? Not an iota less. Can I make it through one verse of Pink’s Who Knew without changing the station? Not in the slightest. I used to like that song but now it just about ruins my day when I hear it.
I realize I may never get over it but I will accept it. Knowing him has brought so many great, wonderful people into my life. Although we no longer have him, we now have each other and that is a great thing. So in short, that last kiss I'll cherish until we meet again but I have to go and live my life so we have something to talk about when we do see each other again.
I realize that I absolutely cannot tolerate homophobia on any level. Unless you are hoping for a gay child, I’m seriously debating on whether I really want to be your friend. Maybe this stems from the fact that some of the most beautiful, fun, caring, awesome people that I know are gay. I actually have no toleration for any sort of prejudice. This is probably one of the reasons I will never leave NYC. I am too old to deal with ignorance.
So why was Gay Night so much fun and how did it bring me to realize all of this? During Gay Night I have never laughed so hard. . thanks to Os and Kellen. I had great conversations about my emotional crap with Jamie and Jena. Rebecca tried to set me up with a hot bartender. Dara made me realize that I am not the only person who hopes they have a gay child. Clark, Troy and Miss Monty give the best hugs and all have great asses. On Saturday I had brunch in Jersey City and ran into my good friend Katelyn. Then I headed over to SoHo to go shopping and stopped in at Burton to see my friend Adam. I love that I have become so connected to my community
So I am 45 days in. I have 5 days of sobriety left and yes I still want to drink. However, I don’t want to get shit faced right out. I want to make changes for the better and make myself better which I will do. Two-thousand and nine will be the year of V.A.
So I’m sorry that I did not have anything funny to say but I leave you with this. My friend Yuan sent this to me in an effort to make me feel better about my sobriety.
“Sometimes I feel like I’m the only non religious person who still favors the prohibition and secretly hopes that they somehow bring back the Volstead Act”
P.S. in honor of the fact that you can now download Jermaine Stewart's You Don't Have To Take Your Clothes Off
