So, even though I am still a tiny ass little fish in the big blogging sea, somebody likes me and I got an award!
Before I write anymore I should tell you. I’m drunk.
Well, good and buzzed anyway. I did it on purpose.
See, one of the potential requirements of accepting this award was that I get drunk. Ok, it was only ONE option, but as anyone who knows me IRL, you would know that I would have picked that one.
Here are the rules:
ONE: Get really excited that you got the coolest award EVER!
TWO: Choose one of the following options for accepting the OMB award:
a. Get really drunk and blog for 15 minutes straight or for as long as you can focus. I can totally do this. One, I’m from Texas. Two, I have a journalism degree. I was drunk when I wrote about Bush getting elected for the second time. Yeah, I know. What Democrat wasn‘t completely wasted drunk that night?
b. Write about your most embarrassing moment. Most embarrassing moment? Well, they would likely involve me being drunk, so why not just go for the purity of getting drunk and blogging at the same time?
c. Write a “Soundtrack of Your Childhood” post. Really? Now that would be embarrassing.
d. Make your next blog a ‘vlog’/video blog. I thought about doing this, and naming is DRVlogging, but my Flip camera is low on batteries and to be honest I’m not sure how to recharge it. Yep, I’m old. Fuck YOU.
e. Take a picture of yourself first thing in the morning before you do anything else [hair, makeup, etc.] and post it. That’s just stupid, what is this, the 1980s? Sorry if this offends anyone. In case you weren’t paying attention, I’M DRUNK! And, for some reason I can’t turn off the bold font. Screw you. I’m DRUNK!
THREE: Pass the award on to at least 3, but preferrably more, awesome bloggers like yourself. Don’t forget to tell them!
This is the hardest one because I have so many to pick from!
Ok, since I’m drunk I’m going to be a sap and give the first award right back to the person who gave it to me because even though I’ve never met her in person, I think we’d totally be buddies. I LOVE YOU MAN!
1. Soy Mami Y Mas. I have no fucking clue what the name of her blog means, but she’s open, honest, sweet and dedicated. I also think she has balls. I like women with balls.
2. MamaTrue: This is my IRL friend Sonya. She’s going through a divorce right now and blogging about it as honestly and as respectfully as one can share their innermost thoughts and feelings with people who don’t know her.
3. Late Enough. Late Enough is my newest favorite read. She’s a mom, an ex-Marlboro Light smoker, a SAHM, with a doctor hubby and from reading her about page, I’m guessing she’s gone through some sort of spiritual metamorphosis, which is very cool in my book. She’s also funny. I’d wax more on this, but remember, I’M DRUNK.
Anyhoo, so on to the more important part of this post, (which I can tell you has gone on quite longer than 15 fucking minutes), the part where I blog drunk.
I’m one of those people who sway between super funny and super serious, or just pissed off when I’m drunk. DO NOT, AND I REPEAT, DO NOT LET ME DRINK TEQUILA IF I AM PMSING.
Okay, now that I’ve gotten that very important PSA out of the way, I’m going to get all serious and shit on you because I don’t have an audience to moonwalk in front of and I’m not pmsing.
I have often wondered what exactly my relationship with alcohol is. I grew up in a very Christian-like family. My maternal grandfather was a Church of Christ preacher. My maternal grandmother would have been a preacher if the CHURCH wasn’t so fucking sexist. (My words, not hers, she’s probably rolling over in her grave right now.)
I spent most of my childhood wondering if I was on the path to eternal salvation and making deals with G-O-D. I often daydreamed about dying just for a minute so that I could ask God if I was on the right path, if I was going to the right church, if I was for sure going to make it to heaven.
Then I went to a Christian university.
It didn’t take long for me to start drinking.
Getting drunk for me back then was like, well, holy shit, I can take a fucking break from all this worry and guilt and shit. Who the fuck wouldn’t want that?
Then I did a lot of shit that I may or may not share with the blogosphere at some future date, then boom, I’m married. To a guy who is total straight edge. So, I spent several years not drinking, much.
Then we got divorced.
That’s when I realized I may or may not have a grown up alcohol problem.
Before I could just blame it on college life.
But now, here I was in my late 20s, nearing my 30s and most of my best memories involved me getting drunk, peeing in public, running from cops, or women who were mad that I had snatched flowers off of their lawns, smoking to cover my breath in front of cops and passed out pictures of me in front of bonfires, or getting into beds with my friends who were sleeping naked.
I spent a lot of years drinking. Which is my point. I stopped basically because I had a kid.
I don’t have a hard time not drinking. But once I start, I don’t want to stop.
My paternal grandfather was, according to my mother, a big time alcoholic. When I was in my late teens the current train of thought was that alcoholism skips a generation.
Today, science has “proven” that there is an addiction gene.
I don’t know if I buy any of this. I used to drink because it numbed my pain and my guilt and my anger and it helped me feel connected to people because when I was sober I was so busy hiding behind my shell.
Now that I have a child I have less pain and guilt and anger because she brings me joy and I don’t have time for self-centered angst. I feel more connected to the world because I have a child who has forced me to get with the program.
I wonder if this whole addiction thing is real. I wonder if bad parenting is part of the equation. I wonder if I will pass on my problems to my daughter or if my experiences will help me decipher her teen angst and worry and maybe I will be able to pass on enough wisdom that she won’t feel the need to drink and do drugs and party like I did.
I just wonder.
I sway back and forth between worrying that my problems will be a hurdle or a stepping stone for my daughter.
I could go on and on about this, but that would involve more thinking and to be quite honest with you, I just want to go to the store and get some tacos and cheetos and then pass out.
So, in case you are thinking that this post is way to cohesive and there are not enough spelling errors, remember, I’m a Texan and a journalist at heart. Being drunk has never impeded me from getting done what I need to do.
Ok, I’m going to go eat some fuckking tacos now. Laterzioooooooooooooooooooo
P.S. 15 minutes? Try 2.5 hours.