Hi!

My sponsor, let’s call her “Nelissa”, had the brilliant – BRILLIANT!!! – idea that I start a new section of my blog  – an advice column! I can’t decide if it should be called “Dear Alkie” (get it?) or “Dear Slushkitty”, so I’ll leave that up to you. Address me as you please. My only request is that you call me anything but “Drunky So-and-So”, “Shifty-Eyed Motherfucker” or “Psycho Bitch” – I’d like to leave these pet names behind me along with the rest of the wreckage. Anyway, I will answer all your questions related to love, recovery, cats – hell, anything you care to ask me, me – a well-adjusted recovering alcoholic and addict with a solid, decades-long history of good ideas! I hope my sage advice will wow and inspire you! Since I do not have your questions yet, you may want to imagine my answers will resemble those willy-nilly answers of the Magic 8-Ball (the Magic 8-Balls you find in Urban Outfitters, not the ones you find… on Craig’s List. What did you think I was going to say?). And like the Magic 8-Ball, if you get the reply you want, your day = made. If you don’t like the answer, just re-phrase, shake it baby!, and ask again until you get the right answer!

This is going to be so much fun! Please ask your questions as a comment to this post, or send to my personal email Cara02127@rocketmail.com (I think it’s OK to post my email, right?).

Write back soon!

Xoxoxoxox to infinity… 

Hi!

My One Year Anniversary in CK is in t minus 2 days on Friday, April 13^th, 2012. I have a few thoughts on the matter, as you may imagine. But instead of being all mushy and sappy, and oozing my gratitude and love true love for all of my new friends who have carried me this year and have each in their own earnest and gentle way (and may not even be aware that they did so) saved my life a hundred times, up and down, all over the place, I’m going to start a little “Then and Now” series describing some changes that have taken place in my early sobriety with regards to some totally arbitrary stuff in my life.

Then and Now – Part One:

Facebook (Part One):

My participation as an Active Alcoholic ~

A long time ago, I refused to join Facebook because I tip-toed through it once, and it kindly suggested some people I might know and may want to add to my friends list. They were ALL kids from high school. I cancelled my account immediately.

Now, high school was fine, despite a couple of humiliating and traumatic events that still haunt me today. Now, the high school reunion? Not so fine. Aw Lawdy, did I get drunk. I’ll give a quick summary and spare both you and me the magnificent details. I was a nervous wreck, so to calm those nerves, I had a few (7) drinks at home first. I was wearing unreasonably high heels, fell down the stairs holding an arrangement of flowers, got soaked, evidently had my picture taken a million times (they were posted on my class’s web site and I have no idea who most of these people are but we looked pretty chummy in the pictures – thanks, booze!), and I made it home but lost my cat. And my dignity.

Back to Facebook. I joined a couple of years ago, a little late in the game, after caving to the persuasions of my Facebook junky friends. As expected, I got a deluge of friend requests from these same kids from high school. I was so embarrassed but then I thought, “Hold the phone! YES! I can redeem myself from the reunion horror show with my witty, fun-loving posts about my fulfilling and rewarding, rich rich life! I’m carefree and can, at a moment’s notice and on a whim, pack up and move cross-country! No ball-and-chain on me, no kids, no stuffy 9-5 holding me back! A perfect plan! Cyber Salvation!”. That didn’t happen. What happened is more like this morningtime IM with my BFF:

BFF: So, are you ok? What happened to you last night?

Me: I don’t remember. Can we just leave it at that?

BFF: You might want to take down that FB update.

Me: FML. Don’t tell me what I wrote. Will you take it down for me?

BFF: Yup. Is your password still P L E A S E P U T M E O U T O F M Y M I S E R Y?

Me:  Yup. Did anyone comment on it? Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

My participation as a Recovering Alcoholic ~

Me: Does anyone give a shit about anything on FB?

BFF: No.

Me: Cool.

Public Transportation (Internal Dialogue):

My experience as an Active Alcoholic ~

Here comes the train. Please don’t be packed. Please don’t throw up. Please don’t be packed. Damn it, it’s packed. Should I squeeze on? What if the door closes on me? I will definitely die of humiliation. What’s everyone else doing? What would a normal person do? A normal person wouldn’t get plastered on a Wednesday night. Stupid stupid stupid!!! Maybe I should just walk to work – I so cannot deal with this. It’s 3 miles. I’ll never make it. I swear to God if I manage to get on this train and anyone is wearing too much perfume, or is audibly eating something or is eating any type of pungent pig product or eating anything at all actually, or is screaming into their fucking cell phone, I’ll repay them for their courtesy by throwing up on them, instead of near them. I’m never going to make it.

My experience as a Recovering Alcoholic ~

I think I’ll go for a walk outside now, the summer sun’s callin’ my name, (I hear ya now), I just can’t stay inside all day, I gotta get out get me some of those raaaaaaays, everybody’s smilin’, sunshine day, everybody’s laughin’, sunshine day, everybody seems so happy today. It’s a sunshine day…. . Yay! The train! Yay! A seat! Wait. Hey, asshole – did that backpack of yours pay for that seat? What’s the fare for backpacks these days anyway? Speaking of backpacks, you, hot shot, oblivious lumbering lummox behind me, do you feel that resistance? Yeah? That resistance is your backpack pressing against my head. I know I am short, but I am not Smurfette – I am life-sized, very real, and very tempted to push you onto the tracks, you and your backpack. But since that is very un-Hanna-Barbera-like, and very un-AA-like, I’ll just give you dirty looks instead.

* OK, not much improvement there. I hear there’s some Step that addresses my hatred for mankind (JK), but until then, I shall remain the Bitchy but Silent Subway Etiquette Police.

* OK, just re-read that. I swear I am not a sociopath.

New Patient Questionnaire, Question 7 – “How often do you drink?”

My answer as an Active Alcoholic ~

“Sometimes”. (Read: Sometimes I drink before work. Sometimes I don’t. Sometimes I drink at work. Sometimes I drink alone. Sometimes I drink 300-lb. men under the table. Sometimes I drink and wake up knowing where I am. Sometimes I drink and wake up inRevere. Sometimes I drink cooking wine – ok. once, but I didn’t realize it until after I drank the whole bottle. Sometimes I drink and pretend I’m having a conversation with my boyfriend Jason Priestly about life after 90210. Sometimes I drink and my boyfriend Jason Priestly tells me there is no life after 90210 worth living if I am not in it).

If you answered “sometimes”, answer questions 7a-e

7a. do you drink socially? – “yes” (sometimes)

7b. if yes, how many drinks do you consume? – “yes” (sometimes)

7c. do you drink alone? – “no” (I have 3 cats)

7d. do you feel sick or uneasy after a night of drinking? “no” (as opposed to what? I feel normal. I don’t know what you’re talking about).

7e. when you drink, do you drink beer, wine, or liquor? “yes” (are beer and wine not liquor? This changes everything).

My answer as a Recovering Alcoholic ~

“Never”.

If you answered “never”, skip questions 7a-e, and move on to question 8.

Booyah!

Hi!

In super early sobriety, when describing or talking about myself, I used every mean and hurtful name you can imagine – no experience or feeling or body part was spared from my wrath and self-battery. I didn’t even realize I was doing it. Everyone said, “Listen to yourself. Would you ever call anyone those names?”. To which I replied, “Yes?”. Oh give me a break – not to their faces! I’ve come a long way – really, I have. My heart now bleeds for everyone, almost to distraction. But lately, in light of recent personal affairs, I am catching myself using such names as – damn it!!! damn it!!! damn it!!! damn it!!! (Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue). I am actually still talking about names I call myself (riiiiiight). So, starting today, I am going to try to replace such mean and hurtful names with “sweet angel from heaven”, including, and perhaps especially, when referring to myself.

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been pondering what the difference is between a hopeless romantic and a psychotic. When you think about it, isn’t it tomato tomahto? Why is hearing and seeing only what I want to hear and see any different than hallucinating and hearing voices, in both cases, absolutely certain everything I’ve heard and seen and experienced is factual, despite evidence and logic to the contrary? I am trying to accept that fact that My Truth is not necessarily The Truth, and these truths may have little resemblance to each-other. In my little world, My Truth saw the relationship only as love songs and roses, then splat! But when the relationship ended, My Truth saw the relationship only as stab wounds and mind fucks – period. In sobriety, I’m learning (the hard way) that The Truth is probably somewhere in-between those extremes. He also has His Truth which justifies his behavior as a sweet angel from heaven. He’s not perfect. I’m not perfect. We together are a nightmare, so I really am trying to close the book on this. I heard everything I needed to hear yesterday – I get it, I get it. Like an innocent but bitchen babe surfing a gnarly wave of out-of-control emotions in an ocean of tears, which is a hell of a lot better than an ocean of booze (drama intended), I wipe out and get eaten by a shark. The end.

The End (cont’d): Speaking of hopeless romantics and mental illnesses, if you are looking for true love, beware the sweet angel from heaven who claims to be a “hopeless romantic”. In addition to taking your anti-depressants, you may also consider taking heed. It may behoove you to ask them up front to define their terms before you get swept away by thinking that your ideas of “hopeless romantic” jive. They very well may be polar opposites. You might swoon at their claim and be expecting a future of, yes, love songs and roses, but wind up inconsolable, alone with that dire obsession to drink – not because the anguish is too much to endure, but because you need the empty bottles to smash through their windows. I am TOTALLY kidding. (You’ll never be alone in AA).

My sweet sponsor is looking on the bright side. She said that this is good practice and that I am handling this well – staying on track with meetings, reaching out to other women, not drinking. This has happened to me before, you know. You don’t say! My sponsor asked me how I handled these situations in the past. Umm… I recall a scene back in ’01 (maybe?) where I burst into the dude’s house drunk and wailed uncontrollably. He calmly said something like, “what the hell?”. I turned around and left, walked home, wailing. I made a much bigger scene on my commute than in his house. I was very composed and mature this time. I didn’t go to his house, beat my chest, and wail like a Latin American soap opera star. Instead, I beat my chest and wailed like a Latin American soap opera star to my sponsor over the phone in the privacy of my (lonely lonely lonely) bedroom until 2:00 this morning. I’m actually kind of proud of myself. Amazing what sobriety does for one’s self control! I feel jilted and angry (and used, murderous, disgusted, and so on), but this time, only 1% of my crazy got off the leash. The other 99% I managed to keep in the kennel. Sit, Ubu, sit. Good dog.

Another volume of “When Love Attacks” down the disposal in order to protect the guilty and ensure what better be the mother-load of all pay offs. Another annoying suggestion reluctantly taken…

Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue. Nothing pays off like restraint of pen and tongue.