Skeletons 2.2 – My Recovery Review

**Disclaimer: As mentioned in my About page, this blog has morphed into way more than I thought it would and with that has come various changes over the past 3 years.  I’ve updated the Home Page again to reflect those changes so check it out if the mood strikes you. Wanna know what else I did? Obviously that’s a rhetorical question because of course I’m going to tell you whether you want me to or not. I decided that I need to stop insisting new readers start reading from the very beginning; especially since this is Part 2. If I need to reference something from Part 1, then I’ll just link to the referenced post; just like I did in this paragraph…twice…and in the first sentence under this disclaimer. Simple as that.**

Review: KISS – “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

In June (2018), it will be 20 years since I graduated high school. As you already know (and if you are a new reader, then you don’t; so if you are curious, click the link above) I became ASB President by default, not by choice. This meant I gave the graduation speech and (basically) was committed to planning our future reunion(s).

Since I planned the 10 year* I knew that everyone would automatically assume I would do the 20 year and I was procrastinating. Honestly? I really didn’t want the responsibility. I was kiiiiinda hoping it would just pass by and no one would say anything. But I know myself. I would then feel bad and start wondering if I let people down, sending me into this little rabbit hole of “what ifs” and “what do they think of me? do they hate me now?” etc.**

But someone did say something and the more I mulled it over I was like “fine! I’ll do it. But not by myself,” and an event page was formed.

Here’s the thing though: I’m a perfectionist.  I obsess over finite details and complicate things for myself. Like, all the time.  So now my brain is getting a smidge overwhelmed by all the ideas popping into my head – the whos/whats/whens/wheres of the whole thing. The more I think about it, the more daunting the task feels….ugh…but then I remember, ‘oh yeah, I’m not doing it alone this time. Phewf!’

The same can be said about my recovery. I have made it waayyyyyyy harder for myself than it needs to be because I have allowed myself to believe that I need to do it perfectly. I have listened to countless shares in the rooms of AA and compared my recovery to everyone else’s. Simply put: my alcoholic, codependent, perfectionist thinking told me that my recovery had to look a certain way in order to be considered (and remain) sober.

Before I dive in to WTF happened that finally forced me into a new life without alcohol, let’s review what my recovery has looked like, as laid out in Part 1; in chronological order, of course :

  • I’ve been lying and carrying around a BBS and I’m sick of it.
  • I was a dry drunk feeling bad for not working a program the AA way and have spent a lot of time reconsidering my AA membership.
  • Aside from a few relapses in early recovery, I have reverted to thinking and behaving alcoholically and I blame this on not having put more effort into my program up until this past year. So essentially, I’m still a “newcomer” and learning.
  • I’ve had 2 sponsors in recovery and have been without one for almost 3 years. I’m not 100% clear on if I will ever have one again. I also have never sponsored anyone and I’m not 100% clear on whether I ever will either. (THAT has changed. You should follow me so you can keep reading!)
  • At (almost) 9 years in recovery and being in and out of the rooms of AA the entire time, I have discovered two things:
  1. I AM an alcoholic and should stay sober from alcohol for the rest of my life and
  2. While I no longer have a drinking problem, I still have a thinking problem that I need to work on with the help of outside support.

Just like becoming ASB president wasn’t my choice, neither was recovery.  I started my journey with support, but wanted to be left alone.

Just like not wanting any part of planning the reunion, I wanted no part of recovery. I started my journey alone but didn’t want to be IN it alone.

And just like accepting my role as reunion planner took me a few, so did accepting my alcoholism. I started my journey a hard core dry drunk and the road to getting where I am today has felt somewhat lonely.

By choice.

That is, until God intervened.


Skeletons 2.1 – My Recklessness

Recklessness: “Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.” – Albert Einstein (so it is written.)

Suffice it to say, I brought upon myself a multitude of consequences in my 14 year drinking career – physically, emotionally, mentally, financially and legally.  I also dodged many bullets in between all of the ramifications that I suffered.

I mean, seriously? I don’t know how I am still alive to be completely honest.  My drinking took me to some pretty low places with some pretty low people.  You know that song by Garth Brooks “Friends in Low Places?” Yeah, see, all of those “friends” were never really my friends at all.  No, they were only my friends for the following reasons:

  1. NGL, I was pretty fun to party with. If I were you, I’d want to party with me too. But only for like an hour, 2 tops.
  2. They had something to gain from me – physically, financially or both – I’m talking about the opposite sex people, do I really need to explain this one? I alluded to my history with these DUDS in the last post of Part 1 and elaborated even more in the final asterisk of that post.
  3. They were friends with one of the winners referenced in #2.

My “drunkalogue” is jam packed with stories of embarrassment, humiliation, shame, remorse and then some.  I couldn’t possibly recount every single one of them for you in this post, nor do I even want to.  That being said though, Part 2 is all about WTF Happened, so in short, here’s a list of some of the consequences I suffered as a result of my drinking.

  1. Physically – hangovers that felt like death sentences,  a severely bloated face and midsection, bruises spread out all over my body, terrible sleep on a nightly basis, and in the final years of my alcoholism, it jacked my reproductive system.  There’s more but that’s enough.
  2. Emotionally – I binged on the weekends which left me with major “booze blues” come Monday morning.  Depression set in and took me down for days. This is where I’d make grandiose promises to cut back or quit for a certain amount of time. However, I never made promises to quit all together. I mean, that was unfathomable – never drink again? – yeah freakin’ right.
  3. Mentally – I had zero control of how I was going to feel on any given day and had no idea on how do life like a normal person.  To this day, 9 years later, I’m still working on this piece but now that the obsession to drink has been removed, I can actually acknowledge that I DO need extra help in this area and I’m taking action to improve my mental strength.
  4. Financially – DUDS took advantage of me for their own financial gain.  Now, let me say this: I have ALWAYS been over trusting and codependent. Even if I wasn’t drinking, I’d likely still have made the same poor decisions. However, I’m sure if my head wasn’t so foggy and I wasn’t so concerned with being liked or needed by these guys, I would have “seen the light” and dropped their sorry asses a lot sooner.
  5. Legally – as previously mentioned, I’ve seen the inside of a jail. More than once. And all I’m going to say about that is this: alcohol made me make really bad decisions when it was time to go home at the end of the night.

Soooo, that’s that. I’m sure I’ll elaborate on some of the items above because, well, you know, I can’t help myself.

Here’s what I know: I don’t ever have to suffer consequences as a result of reckless drinking ever again if I don’t want to. It’s my choice to make.

I wasn’t really given the choice 9 years ago.  As far as I was concerned, I was forced into early retirement from my drinking career, hence why it took me so gosh darn long to get to this point in my journey.

Today, Iiiiiiiiiiiii choose my recovery. No one else can make that choice for me.

So there. 😉


A Rebel is Resisting Change (of her Closet)

Okay, I’m done telling you when this was originally published. I’ll tell you when I’m “up to date.”

Remember my very first post about purging my closet?

Wait, before I continue, if you are a rebel like me and didn’t start from the beginning like I told you to on my home page, then you best click here and catch up. This post kicks off Skeletons Part 2: What the F*&$ (Has) Happened. Oh, sorry, some of you may not have been to the Home page before. My bad. Know what, no, read this post and then decide if you want to start from the very beginning.

Anyway, remember how I was all proud of myself for the progress that I had made in there and my shoes – those damaged, used, discarded, shoes? And how I still had some things to sort and sift through? Wellllllllllll…

It didn’t last. Along came the holidays and with that came presents. Lots and lots of presents. I barely had any floor space and had to move things around to access my “shtuff.” It was really annoying but I told myself that once Christmas was over, I can resume the “transformation” if you will.

Yeah right.

My closet was slowly returning to the chaotic disaster that it once was and next thing I know I’m promising myself “you’re doing it this weekend” or “you’re doing it on your days off while A2 naps” blah blah blah blah, never following through. Because it hadn’t gotten THAT bad yet. It wasn’t like it was before so I didn’t have a sense of urgency to do something about it.

See, I’m one of THOSE people. The one who will wait until an illness or pain is bad enough to go see her doctor. The one who will not wash her car until it is beyond filthy before getting it washed or who (sometimes) waits until her car is basically running on fumes, barely making it to the gas station to fill up.  I could go on but you get the gist. I procrastinate on pretty much EV-ER-Y-THING.  Things have to be bad enough or the pressure has to be ON to light a fire under my stubborn, lazy ass.

My closet cleaning sabbatical was short-lived though. After things settled down, I went back to work on the transformation. I must say, I am quite pleased with my progress. And no, this isn’t what it looks like now. I haven’t gotten there yet.

Get it? We’re talking about what happened, not what it looks like now. Don’t get it? It’s okay. Click here and then you will.


So that, my friends, is also the story of my life when it comes to WTF happened that sent me on this long AF path to recovery in the past and what’s been happening along the way.

And I’m going to tell you allllllll about it.

Buckle up bitches, you are in for quite a treat.


My Rebellion and Recovery Rekindled

This was originally published on March 4, 2018.

Rekindled: Friends walk in and out of our lives but the good ones always find their way back or never leave to begin with.

**Disclaimer: This is the last post of “What the Hell it Was Like” and it is long AF. The topics include nicknames and roommates (and it has a lot of asterisks!) 

Excluding my husband, I have had a total of 7 roommates in adulthood. All of these roommates have experienced me at various stages of my drinking career and it’s safe to say that I still owe some of them amends. Of these 7, 3 are still in my life today. 1 is my sister and the other 2 are friends for 20+ years – I love them so much they might as well be family.

I’ve gone by numerous nicknames given by these 3 individuals. Most fizzled out and others I answer to to this day. In fact, one of the names with my sister (R2) that we both STILL answer to stemmed from a non-word an ex-boyfriend would add to the end of people’s names.  15’ish years later and we still call each other this 3 letter non-word-nickname.

My very first roommate, R1, was one of my BFFs from high school. You know WTF you are. We were connected at the hip.  We did everything together – wore each other’s clothes, spent the night at each other’s houses, made embarrassing music videos, shared a couple hook-ups, went to the same college, shared a dorm and of course, discovered our fondness for alcohol together.  Our high school shenanigans and silly nicknames long gone, we were embracing this new freedom of living on our own; and with that came a lot of fun for us novice party girls. Remember, we graduated from a relatively strict school – a school that parents would send their kids to if they were up to no good at their public school.* So going from our conservative backgrounds to a very large public university in another state was like an episode out of Season 1 of “Breaking Amish.”**

Sophomore year we shared an apartment with 2 other girls we met through a mutual friend. At this point, I was now in an exclusive relationship with my first long term boyfriend – the previously mentioned “loser of all losers” – and my grades were suffering. I was infatuated to the point where I just wanted to be back home closer to him. Selfishly, I ended up subleasing my room out to a total stranger and moved home.  That’s when our friendship changed. While I try not to wish to change or regret the past, I do have remorse for how that made R1 feel.

Post college life, we both went on different paths in different states.  She settled down earlier in life with a career and family while I just partied and cruised with no plan or direction. There was never a definitive “end” to our friendship, per se.  Things just never were the same and eventually I let it go. I always loved her, thought of her often and wished her well.

Years passed and once again, God knows exactly what and who I need in my life at the right time. His perfect timing, not mine. I heard from this friend about 6 months ago, at a time when I was experiencing “valleys” in life. One online communication led to another and next thing we knew, we’re chatting daily via the Marco Polo app. We had discovered that we each had something valuable to offer the other and our friendship rapidly rekindled.  Both of our lives have changed drastically since God got us back together. We’re just scratching the surface and finding out what we are capable of as re-kindred-spirits. He works in mysterious ways, I tell you. Mysterious ways.

My sister, R2, was my roommate my entire childhood up until I left for college (obviously.)  We didn’t live together again until about 5 years later. Considering what little information I have just provided you, all you need to know is this: girlfriend has seen some shit. Especially when I was living with R3, my brother by choice (BBC.)

I’d known R3 since 7th grade and we ended up being in the same social circle in high school.  I hooked up with his friends and he hooked up with mine but we never were like that with each other. We’ve always had a brother and sister vibe going on. I’ll never forget back in 2005, another BBC and I met up with R3 and his best friend, the same guy I lost my virginity to on high school graduation night.***I can only recall snippets of that short visit to that downtown drinking establishment (I talk about those snippets in the above asterisk,) nor do I remember going to bed. I do remember the morning after though. R3’s mom woke us up and I was in his bed….WITH him…(GASP!)…fully clothed (PHEWF!)

Unlike many a’dirtbag I unfortunately wasted my time on, he was a perfect gentleman and did not take advantage of my vulnerable state while severely under the influence. Within a couple of months, at the suggestion of R3’s best friend (and my future husband,) I was moving in with him and another guy I did not know.****I had a boyfriend at the time so this living arrangement was purely platonic.

Sidenote: Yes, I had just cheated on said boyfriend (BF) with said future husband (FH.)*****

Yes, BF suspected said indiscretion and I totally lied; shamelessly convincing him I was telling the truth so that he’d stay with me. Never mind the fact that I did not love this dude AT ALL, nor see a future with him, I simply just couldn’t be alone and just HAD to have someone. (eye roll)

Remember, I said to expect brutal honesty and when it comes to men…I mean, guys…wait no, boys…the good, bad, mean and obscene…they are a huge part of my story. So huge that they will get their own page.******

Anyway, R3 and I discovered we both enjoyed the effects of alcohol so much that it became our favorite past time. We frequented dive bars, snuck into hotel pools, took a gazillion pictures for MySpace and “bit the hair of the dog” more times than I can count. My alter ego was born and R3 gave me the name Pixie. This period of my life stands out as one of my most alcoholic times and memories from that chapter are bittersweet.  I was on the path of self-destruction AND falling in love with FH at the same exact time.


R3 gave this to A1 a couple Christmas’ ago…clearly I decided it belonged to me.

The longer I lived in this home by the bay, the worse my alcoholism got and I started to suffer consequences (again.) At the end, FH was now my boyfriend exclusively and we agreed R3 and I were bad influences on each other.  Telling R3 that I was moving out was hard and I think he was pretty mad at me at the time. R3, you know WTF you are. I have more to say and you can read more by going to the Letters page.

When I decided to embark on this anonymous project, it only seemed appropriate to rekindle my former alter-ego and use Pixie as my “pen name.”  It’s safe to say that I now have grown attached to it and even considered using it in “the rooms.”  But then B1 talked me out of that one saying people might think I was a little crazy.

Which, I am. I accept that. But she’s right. Just because I embrace the crazy doesn’t mean I need to unleash the crazy. Being in recovery has helped me practice mindfulness and self-awareness to recognize when my thinking goes sideways. It also helps having people in my life who inspire me to see past the one thing that gets in my way of living happy, joyous & free and that one thing is this:




Skeletons 1.9 – My Ridiculousness

This was originally published on Valentine’s Day 2018.

Ridiculousness: One drink is too many and a thousand is not enough.

Weddings. Oh how I love weddings. I’ve attended and/or participated in many but I’ve only NOT drank at 3 of them – 2 of them I wished I could drink and 1, the thought to drink didn’t even cross my mind. The rest though? The mere thought would have been laughable at the time.

Like bachelorette parties, weddings meant overshooting the mark with my alcohol consumption.  Well, except for my own wedding.


Seriously, it’s true. I don’t know how but I did NOT blackout or make a complete ass out of myself.  Nor did I wake up hungover. WHAT? I know…believe it!

As for the rest of the weddings I attended during my drinking career, there are a myriad of things I wish I didn’t do while bamboozled at these momentous occasions. Want me to share a few of them? Of course you do:

1) 2003 – Baltimore, MD: After an entire 6 pack of Michelob Ultra Lites to myself, I thought it was a good idea to spend money I did not have to follow my boyfriend (whom I had just broken up with) to a wedding on the east coast.  I was kicked out of the after party for being too intoxicated and not allowed back in. Ridiculous.

2) 2005 – San Diego, CA: At the reception, I confronted the maid of honor for something she said about me to her fiance (over the phone as I pretended to sleep) at the bachelorette party (the one of the two I had to remove myself from.) She wasn’t necessarily lying to him at the time but rather, gossiping and exaggerating something she got wind of which WAS true. Ridiculous. Hm, wait a sec. That sounds like something yours truly has been known to do in the past. I owe her an amends for that. **Update, I learned this woman is also in the program, I made amends and she quickly became one of my birdies**

3) 2006 – Lodi, CA: I brought an old guy friend as my date to a wedding. At the rehearsal dinner, I told everyone we were betrothed, practicing my would-be new signature on cocktail napkins. He never spoke to me again after that weekend.*Ridiculous.

4) 2009 – Breckinridge, CO: Newlyweds for 2 months, I shared an intimate moment with my husband (H) by the upstairs elevator in the reception hall and then yelled down to the crowded room below and told them what we had just done…(GASP!)…calm down, calm down, not a single person heard me…(PHEWF!)…seriously, not a single head turned in my direction, I remember…this was about 30 minutes before I entered a complete blackout. Not surprising considering I’m holding not one but 2 glasses of wine in this photo below. Still though, ridiculous.


Okay, one of them had to be H’s but I do not put it past me to have drank out of his as well just because I could.

5) 2011 – Rancho Santa Fe, CA: At the reception, someone asked me to help direct people to the “photo booth” so my drunk ass went and took the microphone from the DJ to direct everyone’s attention to ME instead…. “Heyyyyy, I just want everyone to know….” Ridiculous.


6) 2012 – Bend, OR: Took responsibility of a toddler because I deemed her parents too messed up to take care for her themselves. Meanwhile, I was also sneaking glasses of wine that I wasn’t supposed to be drinking and thinking it was perfectly acceptable to be the DD at the end of event. Ridiculous.

Crazy right? The more my alcoholism progressed, the more ridiculous I got.  Had things not gone down the way they had, I likely would have made even more of a spectacle of myself or worse, not made it to my cousin’s wedding at all.

Had I not accepted my alcoholism and remained a dry drunk, I would have attended with a chip on my shoulder and sat sulking in my “self-pity party of 1” making everyone around me uncomfortable. I’m so happy I finally chose recovery over misery because 6 years ago, I wanted no part of it.

One drink.

Just one.

That’s all it would take for me to lose EVERYTHING because of this one simple fact:

We are without defense against the first drink. (BB pg 24)


Skeletons 1.8 – My Recovery Rejection

This post was originally published on February 3, 2018.  Things have changed since I wrote this.  I am no longer in AA, as I have decided to enmesh myself in church.  It was a conscious decision that I had made several times but this time, it’s sticking.  I will forever be grateful to AA and its members.  I wouldn’t be here without it.

Rejection: “Keep coming back, it works if you work it….because you’re worth it.” 

I went to my home group meeting last night. I call it my home group but it’s really my ONLY group. I have gone to many a’meeting in my recovery, although, not as many as I’ve been told I should. I’ve taken long sabbaticals from all things AA multiple times because either a) I had a baby or b) I was over it all. However, I’ve kept.coming.back.

This home group was not my first home group. I had 2 before this one, just like I have had 2 sponsors. I have been going to this particular meeting for the past 3+ years, off and on, and have not had a sponsor, a sponsee OR a drink the entire time. On March 30th, I will not have had a single sip of alcohol for 6 years (now almost 9!)



I know a lot of women who have more time than me and others who have less but we are all alcoholics trying to get sober, stay sober and help others do the same. Have I considered myself an alcoholic this whole time? Nope. Have I wanted to “pass on the message” as suggested in Step 12? Nope.  As you know, there was a time that I refused to accept my alcoholism, hated AA and had zero desire to “carry the message to the alcoholic that still suffers.” (Tradition 5, BB pg 562)

Today though? I fully accept my alcoholism, I NEED a sponsor and I want to help other women. I truly think it is one of my main purposes in life.  Never did I ever think I’d feel this way.  I seriously have wanted to abandon AA so many times. I have sworn I’d never get a sponsor again, nor will I ever sponsor another alcoholic.  I have numerous explanations for this but I don’t want to get ahead of myself; ‘cuz, you know, I tend to do that. I’ll get there though, I promise.

Tonight, I met a woman who seemed desperate. When she walked into the room, I’m ashamed to admit, I judged her – thinking she was sure to be drunk, on drugs, or both. I watched her off and on during the meeting and felt like God needed me to talk to her but would I? After the close of the meeting, I overheard her ask another woman if she was sponsoring and she was told no. Kindly, not rudely, of course. But the searching woman slowly walked away, taking one final glance around the room and exited. Go, Pixie, go after her. That’s exactly what I felt compelled to do and I did. I introduced myself, reached out my hand, she took it but didn’t tell me her name back.  She expressed a strong desire to find a sponsor and I wanted to say “I will!” but I couldn’t.

Remember, I don’t have a sponsor; and when finding a sponsor, it is suggested that you work with someone who also has a sponsor. Even though I am a rebel, my conscience won’t allow me to disobey that “rule” because working together isn’t really an option within the confines of AA.  I still wanted to be of service so I gave her B3’s number because I know she’s ready to take on sponsees. The woman was abundantly thankful, embraced me and I hugged her back. I wasn’t sure when she’d let go but I let her do it first. It felt so good.

I found myself crying on the way home, sad at the fact that I can’t be her or anyone else’s sponsor at this present time.

Then my sadness turned to anger. I was angry at the reason why and that is this:

The last person I asked to be my “temporary sponsor” while I sorted my whole BBS and AA out, told me she would not sponsor me UNLESS I was willing to work with her on her terms. Fair enough. I’m not angry at her. I still think she’s awesome…and still wish that she’d be my sponsor (you know WTF you are!) I reached out to another woman to just TALK about finding a sponsor but she misunderstood me and also told me no, she would not sponsor me. I don’t carry a resentment towards her either. She’s a radiant human being and she still inspires me.

No, I’m angry at the evolution of AA and how its members have defined sobriety and recovery. “Their Way” would suggest that I am not “qualified” to be considered a sober, recovering alcoholic who can be sponsored and sponsor others.*

“They” would say I think I’m unique.  As a human being, yes, I am. We ALL are. There is not a single person out there who is exactly like me. God made me ME. Just like he made each and every one of “them” (and you too!) unique in their (your) own special ways. But do I think I’m unique when it comes to the disease of alcoholism? Helllllllll no. For me, “to drink is to die.” I used to hate it when people said that in the rooms. I’d roll my eyes if I knew no one would see me. But today, I accept that as my truth and have no issue talking about it with anyone who wants, needs and/or deserves to listen.

Everything that I just shared has been weighing on me for the longest time. Where do I go from here? I pray daily for God to direct my thoughts, words and actions. I turn my will over to the care of my loving HP and know “the answers will come if my own house is in order.”

I THINK my prayers have been answered.

AM I worth it? I think I am, but do they?

Will they?


Skeletons 1.7 – My Replay

This was originally published on January 30, 2018

Replay (past): “Playing back the tape” never fails to set me straight.

Bachelorette parties. Man oh man. I’ve planned and/or attended many and it’s safe to say, there were no shortage of drunken shenanigans when it came to my participation. As my alcoholism progressed, so did my “hot mess” status at these shin-digs. In fact, I cannot believe I wasn’t at my own party almost 9 years ago. Wait, was I?

Okay, fine, I cannot remember every single detail. But I remember A LOT. Enough that I know I was never in a complete blackout….ehhhh, okay, I don’t remember much about the strippers and was completely oblivious to one of my bridesmaids going off on one of them. Nor do I recall passing out next to said bridesmaid at the end of the night. But I do have THE most flattering picture of above mentioned “slumber party.” So hot.

10400070_1059517180873_1064813_n - Edited (1)

So not! 

Annnyyyywayyyy, what I’m trying to say is that I was tame for my own bach. Tame compared to others. There are 2 in particular that I literally had to remove myself from because I was far too wasted and knew I had to get the F into bed before something bad happened. The last bach of my drinking days was the worst. So beyond…I can’t.

I cannot.

But I will.

In a list…of course:

  1. Arrived in Las Vegas already drunk.
  2. Spoke very obscenely in a room full of chicks that I did not know, except for 2 of them.
  3. Paid $20 for buffet meal that I couldn’t eat because I needed to puke but couldn’t (sick!)
  4. Somehow rallied and made it to the male entertainment club where I made a big stink about no one paying for the bride to get in. I paid for her and proceeded to complain to one of her friends about it for a good 10 minutes.
  5. Spent too much money at such an establishment.
  6. Lost my purse at MY final stop for the night.  Couldn’t find it anywhere and when I did, it was literally in plain sight. That’s when I decided it was time to go.
  7. I mouthed off to the my cab driver.
  8. Got lost trying to find our room and proceeded to sit in the floor lobby area calling people and crying.
  9. Somehow reconnected with friends and we went to get food.
  10. Couldn’t sleep so I left for the airport thinking I could get on an earlier flight.
  11. I could not and found myself at the bar with a bunch of strangers, making “friends,” and crying again.
  12. Called my parents balling and confessing that I had broken my “personal detox.” (That’s right, I was meant to be sober at this party…what a joke.)
  13. Finally arrived home only to drive my car a far distance to my house. Drunk.

You guys, how was I not raped, murdered or arrested for DUI or vehicular manslaughter? 1 out of the 4 of those things just mentioned had already happened during my “drinking career” and the rest are my “yets.” That’s where drinking had taken me. I repeat: incomprehensible demoralization.

Welllllllllll… happened again. This past weekend was C2’s bach and I had to call it a night before everyone else. I had a burning pain sensation just under my rib cage that had started as we left the hotel room for dinner and a show. It kept coming and going, increasing with intensity.*  I was not myself and you could tell but I wasn’t going to let it stop me from seeing some comedy with everyone else and of course, I did not want to disappoint the bride. I was miserable and went right to bed after. It was then that I realized: wow, I left a bach AGAIN but this time I’m not hammered but rather in physical agony.

Oh the irony.

It’s like a replay of those past bach events, played by the same actor under a different director. And for what purpose? To remember what it was like and be grateful I never have to live like that again if I don’t want to.

Recovery. What a gift.


Skeletons 1.6 – My Recovery Regroup

This post was originally published on January 26, 2018.

Regroup: Rock bottom or a life worth living? The choice was and still is mine to make.

Speaking of bottoms, just because I quit drinking doesn’t mean my life is all rainbows and unicorns spewing glitter out of their asses 24/7. In fact, it is said that once you quit drinking, life often gets worse before it gets better.  My life did get better pretty quickly when I quit but believe you me, I’ve walked through some shit the past couple of years. Considering how my recovery has looked, it’s a wonder that I didn’t drink.

So my birthday weekend didn’t go exactly as I had envisioned and resentments got to brewing.  Hardcore brewing to a boil. Which brought upon a funk that took me down for 2 days. I knew exactly what I needed to do to get out of it but I was stuck.  And now that I’m out of it, I think I was stuck because I wanted to stay resentful. I was pissed and I wanted validation and justice.

It’s clear to me now that I was subconsciously punishing myself for being so worked up over what now doesn’t seem that big of a deal. Had I told her what was going on and how I was handling it, I can hear S2 saying “and how’s that workin’ for ya?” And my answer would be: it’s not. My piss poor attitude was not only punishing myself but literally everyone I came into contact with. I found myself behaving “alcoholically” and briefly fantasizing about saying fuck it and drink AT the issues instead of picking up the tools that I had gathered in my recovery process.  I had a choice and I was choosing misery. Sounds insane, right? Who consciously chooses to feel miserable and make everyone else suffer with them?

Alcoholics and addicts, that’s who.  When it came to my drinking, I was faced with the choice to quit countless times.  In fact, I made multiple oaths to either quit for a certain amount of time or put the bottle down for good but they were all failed attempts and the the end result was always the same: pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization (BB, pg 30.)

Wanna know what’s even more insane? After that birthday night in 2012, I was in trouble with the law and was told I had to quit drinking. But I still did. I still got behind the wheel intoxicated. I even got a sick high from hiding my drinking and not getting caught. But that also stopped working for me and I was left with no choice…literally…I was forced to quit drinking. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Bottom line: I had to regroup last week.  I had to “get back to basics.” I had to have a talk with my HP (and a couple “peas in my pod,” you know WTF you are) and choose to press on with a positive attitude and accept the things that I couldn’t change and change the things that I knew I could.

It’s been a week since my funk and I’m back to my old happy-go-lucky-annoyingly-positive self.  Had I chosen to drink at my issues, I guarantee you I’d be in a world of pain.

Or in jail.

Or in rehab.

Or dead.

I think I made the right choice, don’t you?



P.S. By the way, I made some adjustments to the the format of the blog. You can read about it on my homepage. Go check it out by clicking here. (Or don’t and figure it out for yourself. I don’t know why you would choose to do that but just like all of us, our choices are ours to make and if you get lost in the process, then you have no one to blame but your own GD self. Namaste.)

Skeletons 1.5 – My Recollection

This was orginially published January 25, 2018.

Recollection: “We shall not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” (The Promises, BB pg.83)

It’s been over a week since I posted and not gonna lie (NGL) I allllllmost decided that I was going to stop this whole thing all together.  I’m not going to go into why that was but everything inside me says to keep on going so that is what I’m going to do.  Again, my timeline for this whole project isn’t important anymore and I  don’t know why I keep getting “stuck” on it.  This kind of thinking is similar to when I get wrapped up in living in the past and “if I had just done it this way” self-talk nonsense. Sigh. FML. I can hear sibling unrest downstairs. Do I go attempt to assist or let daddy handle it? Why am I even contemplating, of course he can handle it.

It was my “belly button” birthday (BBB) last weekend and needless to say, my expectations were high.  I have always loved my birthday. I grew up in a family where birthdays were celebrated more than once (nuclear family, extended family and friends) and I was the center of attention (insert eye roll here.) Once A1 was born (3 days after my BBB,) celebrating me didn’t seem that important anymore – and not just because of her but also because of what happened on my birthday the year before in 2012. It’s because of that birthday weekend that year that I was extra excited for this year’s celebrations and also why I experienced a mini-let down when it didn’t go exactly how I had envisioned.

January 2012, Iiiiiiii had arranged for a little over-night birthday getaway with my girlfriends (just like I had arranged this year’s celebration, 6 years later.)  The day of my birthday was a Thursday. I worked, my husband was out-of-town for the whole day and evening. So of course, I took myself out to happy hour, a pedicure and shopping for an outfit for the weekend.  Dinner with my sister was to follow, and it did.  I was “3 sheets to the wind” by the time I stepped out of my car and proceeded to drink almost an entire bottle of Riesling with Thai food. Who drinks Riesling with Thai food?! Alcys like me, that’s who!!!  Post dinner, I took a nice little fall outside and gave myself a cut above my eyebrow.  I still drove my ass home, sister following, and realized I still had a good couple hours before I needed to drive a decent distance to pick up the hubs at the train station.  One would think this would be a good time to take a quick snoozer and sober up a bit but nope, not me. I said “bottoms up bitches” and on the road I went. You can guess what happened next.

I never made it to the train station.

I didn’t make it to work the next day.

I had to cancel my birthday weekend.


I was on my way to my bottom…fast.


My Recovery Rewind – Part 4

This was originally published on January 9, 2018.

**Disclaimer: I had a plan for my token posts. I had a timeline. But it wasn’t in line with God’s plan and since his plans are way better than mine, I’m not going to kick myself for failing to sticking to it.  While I’d like to say that I embrace change, that does not ring true all the time.  If someone or something gets in the way of my intended plans, I push back or just quit all together.  When I reflect on my recovery process, that could not be further from the truth.  Keep reading my blog and you’ll see why.**

img_847790 Days – 3 months: This token represents my 12 weeks of maternity leave with A1. I would totally give anything for that time back and I never thought I’d say that…

…and now I am crying…

…moving on…


img_84786 months (x3): #1: for the first 6 months of my mandatory 18 month program for my second DUI.* I had to take a leave of absence because my due date with A1 was coming up and if you’re a woman who has had children, you know that the last 4 weeks of pregnancy are miserable (much like the last year of my drinking career.) 

#2: for the 6 months I spent back in my counselors group and our 1:1 sessions. My counselor was one of THE coolest women in recovery that I have ever met and I was sad when our time together came to an end. To you, you know who the heck you are: thank you!  Thank you for seeing me for who I was when I didn’t even know myself.  You made our group sessions enjoyable and I hope that we can meet for coffee one of these days.  

#3: for the final 6 months of my program. New home, new county, new counselor(s), new baby…now thems are some good ol’days.

img_84799 months (x2):

For my 2 pregnancies** Yes, it took two people for me to get pregnant but I sacrificed my entire body for 18 months growing these little humans and if you add the 3 months of maternity leave for both, you’ve got 24 months. You seeing a pattern here? I am and it’s blowing my f’ing mind.