Here we are.

I said this numerous times recently on my way to see Streetlight Manifesto at the house of blues. The traffic, the lane changes, the lights, the absolute ass-backward bullshit that is driving in Boston… It was suitable then and it is now. Lets just hope this doesn’t turn into a bunch of ass-backward nonsense as well.

Here we are.

I’m going to start this fairly lighthearted, though absolutely disgusting if you have a sad, weak stomach like my own.  We’ll get through this together, I promise.

I’m not much of a drinker. I like to drink, it has never been a secret. However I am also the first person to admit to being absolutely godawful at it. When I say that I don’t mean I drink the tiniest bit and fall asleep before everyone else. I don’t mean that I drink too much and start fights. (I am actually a pleasant drunk, sliding along the edge of obnoxiously happy at times.) I don’t mean that I break shit (anymore) or blackout (anymore) or puke in peoples yards (anymore).  I just mean that I drink fast and do an absolutely wonderful job of making myself miserable. I’ve given up on vodka, I won’t touch tequila, and rum is awful. Wine has put me through some of the most tremendously awful nights and even worse were the following mornings.  I like gin alright, but it doesn’t seem to like me. (Damn those clear alcohols to hell!) I still love whiskey, I will always love whiskey. Whiskey is good, delicious even. I will drink Jameson at any temperature, with a chaser, without a chaser, mixed, on ice, right out of the bottle. But I know myself, friends! Clearly- because I have a seven fifty at Aj’s parents house that I haven’t been able to finish for the life of me and a half gallon at a friends house that I received for my birthday. I have made a safe decision to stay far, far away from hard alcohol (with perhaps a single exception for my trip to California- all the cool kids are gonna be doing it).

Where does this leave me? I’ve nearly always hated beer, but for the last six months or so I’ve been stumbling across some kinds I find myself thoroughly enjoying. I’ve trained my taste buds, taught them that not all beer is awful. Most recently I’ve discovered a love for Sierra Nevada’s Pale Ale at the Streetlight show I mentioned earlier. I had two and they were crisp and perfect, right off the House of Blues’ tap. They were so good in fact, that last night I bought myself two twenty four ounce bottles of the shit. (Yes, I know that’s only four beers technically and that seems a little pathetic and pales in comparison to the bottle of dry wine I used to put away in under an hour on a good night.) Aj got himself a six pack of the same and we made our way home. The woman behind the counter didn’t have to ID me this time, I was excited- it was going to be a good night.

I have the worst eating habits. Nothing is consistent, I don’t eat meals when I should, I wait until I’m extremely hungry, and then I eat crap that’s absolutely crappy for me, and makes me feel like goddamn crap. But, hey! At least it only takes three minutes in the microwave! Score! That being said, even a three minute fake meal in the microwave would have probably done me good last night. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a silly, silly girl who is without a doubt, a bit of a moron. I ate peanuts yesterday. While I was drinking. That’s what was floating in my stomach after forty eight ounces of beer. Beer and fucking salted peanuts. I don’t know who told me I was unstoppable and a force of nature, but I’m not. I drank Aj’s last beer in his six pack like it had my name on it the whole time.

I think we all know where this is going, but I’d like to draw it out some and give you some filler to build up the first post in this silly thing. Stick with me, mon frere.

I was lucky enough to see my best friend while playing  the part of fucky the drunk clown, which meant we were going to smoke cigarettes. We like cigarettes and we like each other, so we smoke cigarettes together and it’s always one of my favorite moments of every other day. I’m really lucky to have the friend I do and I say that now because I can’t even imagine how he put up with how loud and exploding with babble I was, but he did. Excellently. However, all of that being said, this is where I kind of screwed myself so very, very hard. I inhaled so much not-oxygen that I started to get those lovely things called the Spins, but I held it together. I was able to say goodnight to my friend and see him off into the night as well as make it inside to the bathroom  totally incognitos.

This is probably a decent moment to tell you that I usually choose to drink three beers at most (of course this varies, depending on the percentage of alcohol). Three beers and some of those wacky cigarettes- and I’m golden. That’s all I need. But I’m trying like hell to flex this quickly diminishing drinking muscle of mine in time for California- so I wrecked myself on five beers in an hour and a half. I am classy, I’m a lady, I hugged the toilet in my parents house for what felt like just as much time.

If you didn’t catch that-

It took me just as much time to fully get rid of the beer I drank as it did for me to consume said beer. I threw up my money and it smelt like sour salted peanuts. If you don’t think this sounds bad, I suggest experiencing the straight murder that peanuts are on your throat. Unless you pulverize them between your chompers until they’re a paste- you’re going to be in pain. And when you’re puking into a really cold bowl and they pass through your nasal cavities- you’re going to be in much more severe pain.

At some point my sick turned into dry heaves and my head began to clean itself up a bit, organize the wobbles in my noggin and I was able to find my nearly useless voice. What an awful time for that to kick in because guess who not only was drunk and smelly now, but also sad suddenly? Oh yeah, I was a real blast.

[For those of you that have been wondering why I’m leaving facebook, this will answer that for you.]

I admitted to Aj through all of the puke, all of the tears, and all of the panting that I was sad. I wasn’t sad with myself and I wasn’t sad because of him. I was sad with the world and it was starting to make me nervous, uncomfortable. All of the consistent stupidity. All of the anger. All of the negativity. All of the people breeding hatred. Just crying and probably expressing myself more verbally than I have to anyone in a bit. Writing has always been easy for me, but talking to someone about why I’m feeling the way I feel? Forget it. Awkward. I don’t want to look anyone in the eye as I tell them that I am still as vulnerable and frightened as I was back when I was a ten year old and everyone thought computers were going to crash ultimately causing the world to do the same. I’m not good at those moments. I’m a much better listener.

And then, after my breathing relaxed, after Aj had pushed my hair away from my sweaty-sweat covered everything and put it up (rather pathetically, but I appreciated it), after my tears and words had ceased, and after I could finally close my eyes without still seeing the green and white bathroom spinning behind my lids, I thought to myself-

Here we are.

And I fell asleep, my arm slung across the toilet bowl, my chin resting on the disgusting porcelain, my forehead on my arm, and all I could fucking smell were sour peanuts. I woke up probably only moments later with peanuts still in my nasal passages and teeth. I sent aj off, I composed myself, having at some point gotten half naked due to the sweat that was all but drowning me, and I flushed it all away.

I managed to get upstairs, all be it clumsily and loudly, with help I needed. I poured myself into bed and fell asleep hearing my phone vibrate once, twice, three times before passing out with a plastic bag beside me. Along with a glass of water that I didn’t bother to drink. All I could think about is how I needed a change. I was brave enough to admit to Aj that I was scared for the world and even braver to admit that it made me sad. But what’s the point of being brave if you don’t continue to be?

I needed to do this for myself I think, this blog. It wasn’t my idea, I’ve never contemplated just a blog, but the more I think about it- this is what I really wanted. A place to write as much as I want without annoying someone who can’t be assed to read more than three sentences per person, per post. So, after that lovely story, I guess I would like to take this moment to say thanks. Thank you guys for reading, for shoving me to continue writing, and taking the fucking time to tell me I rule in person! You’re absolutely beautiful and I couldn’t be more thankful to have a good group of solid, positive people in my life in a world where I see that quickly disappearing.

Keep your heads held high and I’ll do the same.
Over and out.

P.s. to those of you that were under the impression that I was in bed sick this morning due to food poisoning. I apologize. Sometimes you just can’t admit that you don’t know your limits as an adult.

2 thoughts on “Here we are.

  1. This was a fun trip! I had a similar one with some homemade wine and an empty stomach. It didn’t end the same, but not for a lack of effort on the wines part.k

    Liked by 1 person

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