My Alcohol Shame

Hi all, miss me? I’ve been very busy. This evening the pressure is off, all the deadlines have been met, and I have a few days, maybe a week free. I am going on a toot. To the un indoctrinated a “toot” is a bender, a drunk, tying one on, sort of thing. I was just interrupted by a phone call. I had to explain the whole “toot” thing again. I tried to engage my phone-calling friend in some extra curricular drunk-tivities. She wasn’t buying, but said she would call me back later when I was further along into Toot Ville.     
I had to question her about the office gossip at her end. I was her date to a bar association party last weekend. Bar as in legal and lawyers, guns, and money party. My friend seated me between a divorce attorney and a single lawyer from her office. Was she trying to tell me something? I thought single lawyer was being nice, polite, and friendly. Then he apparently asked me out on a date. The whole I’m married thing didn’t seem to dissuade him at all.  Of course, the whole asking me on a date was rather lost on me also. As I have stated earlier I’m am a little slow on the up take when it comes to men. Anyway, this guy met me last year at another party. I attended that party with my spouse. My hubby silenced the crowd late in the evening by calling me a slut. To his credit, he thought he was paying me a compliment. Single guy has had a year to ponder his move. He doesn’t have a moral dilemma with dating me considering the whole slut comment from last year. He thinks my husband is an ass, so in his mind I’m up for grabs. I wondered where he got this idea. My friend has been feeding the flame, or pimping me out; whatever suits your fancy to call this type of encouragement. I didn’t accept the date. I really felt my husband would not support my dating. I do not understand why actually, it’s not as if he’s still interested. It must be a guy thing. I’ll have to ask Swarthy Pete about it, he’s sooo…enlightening. Swarthy Pete tells all about things like this, guy rules, or Swarthy Pete rules. I love so many of these rules I keep promising to include them in my blog. Well, here’s one of my favs.

Swarthy Pete rule # 1, “Never turn down celebrity pussy. It is a rule; you jump on that shit like it’s on fire. Stop, drop, and roll baby. Let me put you out with my fire hose.”

See don’t you feel enlightened now. Aha, the mysteries of the alpha male revealed. I’m all a tingle.
     I have to call Boobs and Notorious A. The last I heard there were some rumblings of a party. I’m ready for a party, then I’m always ready for a party. I want to wear glitter and sparkly clothing. That’s what the holidays are good for, being shiny.


…………………….     Now children this is what happens when you drink and drive on the information super highway. I’m just now weeks or week later discovering this draft of a blog. I apparently got too tipsy to continue and just stopped in mid blog. I am going to punish myself and here is the punishment, “You must publish this blog and show the world your alcohol shame!” Thank you Mistress Sheffield, may I have another. Yes, yes, blog me, blog me until I can’t stand any more. Aghhhhhhhh.

Christmas Wrapping

Happy Holidays All! Did you make merry? I know I did on several occasions. The holiday season is a very inspirational time for me. I am constantly surprised at the behavior of my fellow human beings. I like to refer to the behavior change as, “Tis the Season of My Moral Superiority.” How do I know certain individuals feel morally superior, because they don’t hesitate to tell me just how morally superior they are in comparison to me. Oh and by the by, I am not made of wood. I have feeling. No, that’s not a type-o. I said feeling. You see I only have one feeling left in my little wooden heart. All the rest were killed by the callous comments of others over the course of my lifetime, so go easy will you. I have a sense of humor. That’s does not qualify as mean spirited. If you think I am mean spirited, well you obviously have a very large bug up your ass. I recommend lots of holiday cocktails to free yourself of that particular infestation.
     Small children make the holidays fun and can cure most of your festive blues. If you don’t have or know any, go rent some, they are terrific. I took an open-air train ride around the base of a mountain in twenty-degree weather to see Christmas lights. I held my 3-year-old niece on my lap. We were bundled up and wrapped in a blanket, but I didn’t really feel that cold. She and I  had a blast, and I was sober. That’s saying something folks, trust me.  
     Bell ringers say what you really feel. I worry that most of you guys will have ulcers by the end of the season. I mean you let me slide when I enter a store because you assume that I’ll give on the way out. When I exit and I don’t donate that bless you or Merry Christmas always sounds like you mean something else. I know you want to say, “Hey, you pagan tightwad I bet the poor would like an I Pod.” Please call me out on it, call everyone out on it. None of us has a good excuse and it would be entertaining for all concerned. Imagine having to really think outside the box during the season of mass consumerism. I can’t go to the mall until I have a good explanation for not giving to the poor. The unprepared would either stand there tongue-tied or scurry off to their cars in shame. I’m giddy with just the thought of such exchanges. Damn, I might just be mean spirited.

Chris Whitley died.

A friend called from Wyoming a few minutes ago. I assumed the call had to do with the holidays being upon us, and it’s a good time to touch base. I was wrong. She said she called because she knew I would be upset. Chris Whitley died, she said. I feel like a disloyal ass for not knowing about his passing the day it happened. I don’t know why I’m surprised about hearing the news from a friend; it’s not as if Chris’s death would make the national news. It should make the national news but that’s just my anger talking. With all the crap that passes for music today. Chris’s death is unbelievably sad and a loss that unfortunately many will not experience. They won’t experience it because they never heard Chris’s music. Too many people listen to musicians who would sell their soul along with their art for commercial success. CHRIS WHITLEY NEVER COMPROMISED!
Shame, shame, on you, if you call yourself a music fan or a musician, and you never heard of Chris Whitley.
I knew Chris was sick and I suspected cancer because Chris was a chain smoker. The last show that I saw, Chris was smoking less and he was wearing a nicotine patch. When I heard of shows being canceled for health reasons, I suspected the worst. Fans speculated over the reasons for some bad performances and the canceled shows. Some blamed alcohol, some blamed drugs. I never joined these discussions, because of all the many times I saw Chris, I never saw him drunk or stoned. He was always soft spoken and generous. I’m staring at some of the cd’s that Chris signed for me and that wonderful artistic scrawl he made out of my name. I’ve always treasured them, now; I just don’t know what to say about them.
I started attending Chris’s shows when he was touring behind Living with the Law, sometime in the early 1990’s. I was privileged to see almost every tour Chris was on since that time. I am happy that I was able to meet Chris Whitley, and tell him how much I admired and respected his work, not many fans get to do that with artist they truly love. I remember being surprised at how soft Chris’s hands seemed to be for someone who played with such force. What a gentle soul.
I really hope there is a heaven. Anyone who knows me well, knows, that God and I are not on speaking terms. If God exists, I hope he is taking care of Chris Whitley. According to Chris’s brother Dan and his daughter Trixie, Chris died peacefully in the arms of his lover, Susanna, and surrounded by those he loved most. I am grateful for that knowledge, and if you had to go Chris, I’m so glad that you went enveloped in love. I am just a fan, nothing more, but I will mourn you like a friend.

Boobs Mahoney's Birthday!

Boobs Mahoney’s Birthday!


Last Saturday was Ms. Mahoney’s birthday so a gathering of tribes was in order. We met, me, Boobs and Notorious A at an Italian restaurant. After much food and drinks, it was time for to rendezvous with Swarthy Pete for more cocktails and perhaps a film. The plan was to have a quiet evening with Swarthy Pete’s two dates and us four friends. Yeah, you heard me, Swarthy Pete wanted to bring two dates. We thought it mighty brave of Swarthy Pete daring to expose his women to us. Didn’t he know us? I mean, “We weren’t going to be ignored, Dan.” If you get the Fatal Attraction reference, you can imagine the plots that were discussed prior to his arrival.
Surprisingly, Pete showed up solo explaining that his dates were sleeping until movie time. Apparently, the three of them had had a big day. Rock on Swarthy Pete, we want details. It was a confusing tale. They both wanted him, one had had him but the other didn’t know, they were friends, who broke up with boyfriend, ex boyfriend was stalking, Swarthy Pete was threatening, Swarthy Pete is #1 the devil and #2 a home wrecker. I JUST WANT A BATH!
One thing was very clear; the whole affair fell under the bad idea category. It was time for an intervention. DITCH THEM SWARTHY PETE! Let’s go to a dive on the Westside and drink, screw the cinema. They can meet us at the bar if you have to have them Swarthy Pete. He said they weren’t old enough to get into the bar. Collective groans filled the air. I love you Swarthy Pete and I’m glad you are a friend to the youth but geez man is the crack of dawn safe from you? The voices of reason prevailed and after we had shots of something blue, we headed downtown.
When we walked into the bar, Jim Carroll’s All the people Who Died blasted from the jukebox. Aha, felt like home. We played pool and drank some more, which put everyone in rare form. Notorious A was in sort of a drunk funk that made her unusually mellow. Swarthy Pete claimed that he wanted to make out with some random girl because he was in that kind of mood. SWARTHY PETE SEZ, “YOU MUST BE THIS DRUNK TO RIDE.” You go Swarthy Pete!
The place began to fill up about 2am and we decided to leave around 3:30. I was standing near the bar trying to pay a tab when I was approached by two guys. One was really drunk and the other was, I guess, his friend so he could humiliate him. At least that seemed to be his purpose. Anyway, Mr. NotSoDrunk said he was a writer, a published writer no less. I remember thinking could it be that we have traveled so far just to in up in a writer’s bar. Mr. NSD kept up the 20 questions interrogation of me and I tried to discourage him by dropping the M word but he wasn’t buying. He started saying that anybody could write a book and he started talking about his, of course. Boobs came up just in time to hear the anybody can write a book crack. You know you shouldn’t piss Boobs off on her birthday. At this point If Notorious A had been on top of her game things could have gotten ugly. I can hear her sweet voice now, “AS YOUR EDITOR, I RECOMEND YOU KICK HIS ASS.” I didn’t feel violent at 3am so I followed the only other evil option open to me. I decided to fain interest just to watch him run around the bar looking for a pen. He found one and began to write all about his book and himself on a napkin. I thought there really is a lot of crap on that napkin. Is that your library of congress number you arrogant fuck? Now you fellow writers out there might be thinking, OH SHIT! was that me, was I in a bar last Saturday. Of course you were in a bar last Saturday, you’re a writer. The only way you weren’t in a bar is if you’re a poet. If you’re a poet, you stayed home, got drunk, masturbated and felt sorry for yourself.
Aside: Brother Poets I didn’t mean any of that, I was just trying to be funny. Forgive me. I know you are a sensitive lot and that was cruel of me. So, please don’t shoot me, I know most of you carry weapons. Love and Kisses, Shef
Anyway, Mr. NSD is right anybody can write a book and in his case not a very good one. I should mention his book here but I don’t want to give him any free press. I wonder if he is waiting for me to email him. NOT GONNA HAPPEN!
I got home about 4:30 and tried quietly slipping into bed. I heard an angry male voice say, “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN.” Oopsy! Did I mention the M word stands for married? Well, that’s another story.

My first post

I feel like I may have given birth to an ugly baby. My friends will look at my blog and say oh what a sweet blog, what a cute blog, but then when I am out of earshot the truth will spew forth. Why the hell did she bother. I know its not very interesting right now but just wait. I promise to write something sexy. Today nothing sexy happened unless you count my trainer's comments about my ass. He's really very sweet. He quietly told me that he didn't want to offend me, but he thought my ass was great. I can't remember his exact words, something much improved blah, blah, blah. Then he took a picture of me while I was working out. He said he was going to post pictures of gym members on the bulletin board. So, I'm choosing to take him at his word that my ass does look great, much improved blah, blah, blah. And you know my ass should look great. I work out out 6 hours a week and it's about time someone noticed, besides my girlfriends. Hell someone else may have noticed. According to my sister, and some friends, I seem to have lost the ability to tell if a man is paying attention to me. I guess I'm distracted or something. Swarthy Pete, that's a friend of mine, was telling me about women having to spell out their interest in him because he 's man and didn't pick up subtle hints. He and I have discussed my internal maleness, so that might explain my failings in the I'm making a pass area. I notice men, and I'm open about my interest, if I don't feel I have anything to lose. The truth is if I have a genuine interest, I do my best not to show it. A while back, I may have missed a golden opportunity because, well I'm crippled by inaction. I spend way too much time thinking about Mr. Missed Opp. I keep thinking that I should do something about it, like contact him again. Boobs Mahoney, that's another friend, she thinks I should get in touch with him. She made an interesting point. She said, why is it that a man can pursue a woman and people say, oh he's in love, but let a woman pursue a man and she's a psycho, stalking bitch. She's right you know. She ended that part of our conversation by saying, besides he started it. I thought that was very funny and she almost has me convinced.