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.