It's the most wooonderful time of the yeaaarrr.

Well kids. It's the holiday season again.

I love the holidays. Any holiday that makes a special drink equipped with alcohol so you won't kill your family is an alright season for me. Come to think of it ..that's every season for me...but I digress.

Garrison Keillor once said "A lovely thing about Christmas is that it's compulsory, like a thunderstorm, and we all go through it together." And go through it DO I.

This holiday season kicked off much in the same fashion it does every year. J and I usually have a strict schedule we adhere to the entire 2 months of November and December. It is strageized and carefully catered to our liking- plan. One that takes the other 10 months to plan out. We sit down at dinner like we are writing the next Declaration of Independence. This is the one time of year where we will allow blackouts without explanation. All throughout the season we will cheers to each other with one word.."Holidays."

There's a BIG event that launches us full speed- mass flying- rutter pointed forward into the spirit of the holidays. This year we decided to skip Thanksgiving with the familys..because the holidays are about us.. and go hunting and from there head to the Iron Bowl. A true spectacle.

As I've previously said in past blogs...we go full stealth mode. We took a day off of work to prepare. Get our minds right if you will. Much in the same way Rocky trains for a fight. Hunting is not for the weak. And neither are our holiday celebrations. After loading the cooler down with our holiday specials we were headed to Memaw's house.

Memaw's house is exactly what it sounds like...in the middle of the country..where deer roam free and unaware. J and I ready for the hunt.. decide to call it an early night and head to the back room for some shut eye. Little did we know that the holiday Grinch would try to throw us a curve ball.

The scene was this: 2 a.m. Both of us are sleeping restlessly..Thinking about the tree stand no doubt. When J seizes up..scratches furiously and rolls over. Odd.

Then my hand was on fire. FIRE I tell you. We both ninja flip out of the bed and immediately turn on our night vision and throw up our Marine hand signals.

Bathroom is what J's hand says. Shit on a Mulberry bush is what my hand reads.

The hair on my neck stands up...someone is trying to sabotage my holiday spirit. We turn the light on and discover a wasp. In our bed. On a mission. I made up cuss words at this point.

15 minutes later.. tobacco and barbie band aids on our stings we are nestled back into bed.. like live wires waiting for the enemy to strike again. I said "Self..if this messes with your shooting range...I will choke a wasp."

5 a.m. Thanksgiving Day. Despite the set back.. we are surprisingly alert. And ready. Stealth mode is on standby as we trudge out to the tree stand. Jingle Bells is playing in my head because...it's the holidays.

9 a.m. Nothing. I didn't even see a leaf move. At least we'll get to go back to Memaw's and everyone will be at the community center getting ready for TDay and the bathroom will be free and we will have nice hot showers.<---I also allow myself to dream whimsically during the holidays as well. It's the season of hope.

11 a.m. J and I are screaming out new cuss words and singing "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" as we wash each others hair in freezing cold water. Memaw has limited hot water. 30 people went before us. I would have boiled some hot water on the stove if only I had known. Survival 101 guys.

12 p.m. pop a top again cause it's five o'clock somewhere. You gotta be on point if you wanna hang with us. Turkey is being served and we're kicking it off right. Later on in the day we're feeling extra spirited and volunteer to take the knee high children on a nature walk. With beers in our hand, we taught them all about the importance of a nature walk stick and what kind of tree a Christmas tree is..and team work.

As we sang our last rendition of "Proud Mary" around the camp fire and our cooler is in desperate need of a full up...we decide to head to Auburn for the iron bowl.

After I get us to the AU using a map and a pencil..my skills run so deep...we waste no time mixing drinks and getting this football party going. After party hoping..Lil Wayne sing-a-longs and explaining what real liquor tastes like to the poor college kids..it's 5a.m. again.

J and I...like the Vietnamese soldiers we are..have stayed up a full 24 hours. Why stop there? Lets pull for 48. We've got that illegal speed in the car. Always reach for more children.

Tailgates and power hours later we're inside the stadium mixing drinks and heading out for a hearty War Eagle game. The game I screamed and yelled and almost passed out at..and that is true life.

As the weekend wound down to a close and we took a moment and survayed our accomplishments. What we realized was that real dreams do come true! I will list them in a bullet format below.

• Lost our voices. <---We make this a point during football season. If you still have your voice you obvi didn't yell loud enough at the refs. I'm not sayin, I'm just sayin.


• 48 hours up straight. No sleep. No lie. We go so hard.


• 72 hours of straight drinking...a continuous buzz was going at all times.Ccollege kids were in awe. That's just how I roll.


• 7 dollars left in my checking account. Sad day on this one. At least it went to a worthy cause. Alcohol and football.


• Feel asleep while farming on Farmville at 4 in the morning.


• Used our Marine techniques to shimmy my car out of a nearly impossible road block.


• Hissed at bitches and almost got to fight one.


• Have not taken a hot shower since Tuesday..it's now Saturday.


• Left behind a legacy. My cooler gets a standing ovation when we enter a room now. I've never been more proud.

A success? Check. Welcome to our Holiday Extravaganza. It keeps on poping until the ball drops in the New Year. Then we just call it our life after that...

Stay tuned. You'll definitely wanna see what Crazy gives me this year and how drinking can bringing everyone closer.

Happy holidays. Stay alive.

And this is why I am such an inspirational person. I am the Joel Osteen of alcoholics.

I'm not the blogging type. I'm the stroy telling type. I wish I could put my hand motions and animated face in blog form. Like at this moment I would toss my hands up and jester forward to the right alittle and squint one eye and tilt my head to the left. True life..you are missing out.

Regardless of the lack of hand motions and actual animations the internet can't provide for you.. unless I get inspired by a true life event..I can't blog. Won't happen. I will sit and stare and eat peanuts and nothing will be blogged. I get death threats and skittles thrown at my windows because I haven't blogged. Seriously getting bear traps next week.

That being said..true life hasn't really impressed me lately. It goes without saying that I've been drunk and funny shit has happened. Like smoking weed for the first time and seeing unicorns and cheetos...it's football season. Things always get out of hand. But nothing that inspires a blog.

Until last night. My birthday was on Wednesday. I usually just make skittle vodka..and toast myself..I may say something like "Hot bitch you are fine again this year." or "Heres to you and not being in rehab this year." or "Celebrate good times come on!" while I electric slide across the patio.

I decided a quiet dinner with some friends would be rewarding. Only my friends are anything but quiet. And dinner..usually consists of more liquid than actual food. There's an old saying "You are who you hang out with." and it's no different in my circle. We drink whatever you put in front of us. We talk constantly about weight gain and botox. If one of us is doing it..chances are we're all doing it. We have unhealthy obsessions. The latest phases to hit us are boob implants and latin dance class. We are loud, rude and ruthless. We're mean and can roundhouse kick your nose in. These are my bitches. We ride togther. We die together. And that's true life.

So after work we all head over to Conners steak house. As soon as we sit down the waiter is over asking what we want to drink. Common folk would say "I'd like a water" or "I'd like a coke." We however have our IDs ready and are spitting out our first choice of alcoholic beverage for the night. I ordered a whole bottle of Pino Grigio. Keep it classy San Diego. Poppy always on her toes says "Let's just go ahead and start off with two bottles of Pino Grigio." I like a fast drinker..er thinker.

Party starts rolling..old people are shaking their heads. We're swapping sex stories and laughing so hard we're snorting. The waiters love people like us. We come in ready. Poppy is snapping photos while I'm animating a story with my hands and odd facial movements. You can always tell when we're getting tipsy by the number of times we say "Real talk right now.." followed by some sort of idea/drink order/insult.

"Real talk" is flying left and right. We're making fun of each other and yelling swears. The waiter has just brought over a birthday shot of Ketel One. MY kind of restaurant. No singing..no double double chocolate lava cake..or off beat clapping that requires me to knee kick everyone to the ground. A DOUBLE SHOT OF ALCOHOL. My soul is singing. The quickest way to my heart is through alcohol.

By this point it's safe to say we are drunk. We've gone through 4 bottles of wine between the 4 of us. Not to mention the shots we took. The fact that we were able to walk out of the restaurant and make it to the club across the sidewalk is the work of an angel.

I'm told I made sure everyone knew it was my birthday. The bartender handed me water instead of the vodka I ordered. I was cut off before I even started. Definitely a new high.

I wish I could tell you how the night ended..but I can't remember. I would like to point out that the drunk me is so cute taking care of the sober me. I managed to get my face washed, teeth brushed, contacts out without losing an eye, and a glass of water by my bed for the morning. Drunk me is so thoughtful.

Next year I'll be 25. I'm planning on shutting the block down and having a street party. We're still partying the whole weekend for my birthday. It's like hanukkah. I'll post first thing Monday morning if I survive.

Alcohol is my way of life.. and I aim to keep it.

Oh vodka. I could write you a sonnet.

Hello my little fat cherubs and heavenly harpists.

As you all know..I'm ADHD and I drink alot of vodka. Therefore I've left you all blogless for far too long. Blame it on the mojito season. And beer pyramids that won't make themselves..lets be real.

As I reflect back on the month of July...I realize very quickly that most of it was a drunken blur. Just how I like my summers... and every other season for that matter.

July is by far my favorite month of the year. It's the hottest..so I can really embrace my mexican heritage. It's also when our nations Independence Day takes place. Two things I don't screw around with in the summer...the limit I can push my body in terms of sun and the highest alcoholic level I can achieve...and the fabulous excuse to light shit on fire and drink yourself into a coma and blame it on our nations birth. Terrific. Well planned fore fathers. I tip my hat to you.

This fourth I spent it with my boss. She's good soul people and she never lets you down on the alcohol. Her family was joining us from the deep south and I knew I was in for a real treat. I got up early that day..drank an Amp Overdrive followed by some more alcohol because I needed to be alert and ready.

I realized I had stumbled into something special when the grill back fired and her aunt dove behind a chair and told all of us to get down because there was a drive by. She was about 3 days drunk when she got there...so you can imagine what great friends we soon became. She stumbled around with her words...but because I speak fluent drunk ...we had no language barrier. I also owe my deviled egg skills to her. I hope you come by my house on Christmas.

Every weekend in July my friends and I would lay out by the pool. Popping tops at 9:30 AM and staying well into the afternoon. Nothing like the scorching sun rays to help dehydrate you and get you drunk faster. Ahh summer..how I wish you could stay...we bought a beer portopong float and we stole an octabong (an 8 person funnel..it's great for under water). The cops have been called on us twice and I believe UAB has moved me up the liver transplan list. After laying out ALL day, we'd drink some Amp Overdrives and head out into the downtown oasis for more drinks and some hardcore bump and grinding on the dance floors.

After a month of building up our tolerance levels to Britney Spears and Lindsay Lohan rehab worthy.. we decided to celebrate with an all girls beach trip.

Three days. 12 girls. Coolers full of alcohol. The octabong. The portopong. And luia decor. There's not awhole lot I can say about this trip because there's not awhole lot I can remember. What I do know is..we put our SEC college drinking skills to the test and came out victorious. We drank some frat boys under the table and danced til 4 in the morning. I remember testifying to the band singing "Purple Rain" like it was my life's theme song. J and I discovered that you get more free drinks when you say you're twins and that you just turned 21. I'm pretty sure..someone sang happy birthday and dedicated a song to us. I take pictures so I can remember what happened the night before...

Like I said. July was one big drunken blur...and if that's how my summer was...I can't wait til it's the holidays again. So come on and help me out Ketel One..if you have a drink please put it high in the air and repeat after me..Bring on August. I'm planning to do alot of outdoor adventures drunk.

You stay classy readers.

Dave.

So I decided that AA may not be the best choice for me. After I discussed it with Ketel we came to the conclusion that rehab is for quitters. Also they frown upon "Slipping" more than twice a week. I felt like if I had to get up everyday and say "Hi. My names B. I've been sober for.. *looks at watch*.. 34 minutes..and now.. how to make the perfect mojito." I might cause the whole class to slip. And not everyone is a happy and experienced drunk like me...which would result in broken limbs..a stab to the eye or maybe a swift kick to someones lower extremities.

I did however decide that it would be a good idea to write a book about me and Ketel. We've had such a happy life together since I was 12. I feel that I owe it to him. Oh, Ketel One..let me count all the ways that I love you. The day my dad found alcohol in the back trunk of my car when he was going to NASA..you were there. I was only 16...what a day that was. Didn't really turn out like I expected.

I was sitting in my room piecing together the previous night when Dave said "Can you come downstairs?" Ihad to think quick...usually my parents would come upstairs if they needed me..I only went downstairs when they had incriminating evidence against me. My childhood home operated much like a prison. You only have to see the warden when some shit went down. I said "Self...what did you do last week...cheated on two tests...fooled around with my boyfriend in his car in the school parking lot..got caught by his coach..ate some bad lettuce..drank on all the days that ended with Y. Lets see....I blacked out friday from a party...what could it beee?"

I rounded the corner thinking this has got to be about me not changing my oil last week. Dave's a stickler for changing the oil. He even made me write down how much gas I put in my car in a small booklet. That didn't last. Not only because I hate the word booklet but because I have ADHD. You can't ask me to focus on more than one thing at a gas pump. There would be a fire and small children crying. Dave still carries one in his pocket. Ask him about it...make sure you have a spoon to pluck your eyeballs out with close by.

As I got to the kitchen he was standing..odd..waiting for me.."Come with me." Hmm he must have got the note I left him about needing a John Deer gator. They can hold at least five coolers. But to my surprise..it was my cooler he had a question about. He flipped it open..and to my complete enjoyment there sat, glistening with small beads of water dripping down the side..3 bottles of Ketel..two empty bottles of Ketel...a few Mikes Hard Lemonade, two bottles of wine, a 12 pack of Bud and a bent and soaked condom box.

"What's this?" .."I think they call it alcohol Dave."

"Did you just call me Dave?..and not the alcohol..the condoms?" My dads very gifted at staying calm..especially if you can act nonchalant about a situation. I think he appreciates that I can talk to him like a colleague.

I shrugged and looked at my fingers. I noticed for the first time I had a white bandage that took up my two last fingers on my left hand. I would need to call and get some answers later. "Me and my friends blew them up and stuck them in Steve's truck..."

"So these aren't for what I think they are then?"

"Jesus Dave I'm not 12. No they're not for SEX." Yet. With that Dave shrugged..closed my cooler and patted me on the back. "Good..I thought I was going to have to ground you.." and with that he left to go eat more peanuts and read time magazine on how to save more money on gas.

Huh. Nevermind the amount of alcohol that could have caused a small explosion. Dave just didn't want my cherry popped anytime soon.

And that's when me and Ketel become inseparable. I truly believe I owe not being put in the D home or Bradford..at age 16 to Ketel.

So I'm writing a book... about our adventures together. We'll call The Vodka of Life. Because life...it gave me vodka..not just lemons. And it's been happy sailing ever since.

Epiphany.

Sometimes shit happens in your life that really makes you contemplate the choices you make. For me my epiphany came this weekend. In the form of Long Island ice teas.

I love to drink. You may or may not know this about me. Most of the time my drinking consist of high priced vodka..and I don't like to waste it all on one night...unless there's promise of a trip to the lakehouse and the hot neighbor down the street following me around in his boxers while he serenades me.

This year for Father's Day I thought I wanted to do something extra special for my dad. So a day early and after we sang camp fire songs around the table and held hands as a family..he left for work to take care of some "top secret NASA project." I tried to get him to let me in on the secret..cause NASA is signing me next week and I need to be in the know. Maybe I can impress some top guys with my knowledge and get a window seat to the moon. Who knows. After an hour of getting NOWHERE with Dave...I decided to hit the bar.

I settled in to my usual seat with Red and started up a conversation about 1950's trucks. This is where I went wrong..way wrong..once you start with Red...he won't let you stop. Pretty soon I found myself 3 beers, two white russians, and a pitcher of Long Island ice tea in. Yes I said pitcher. Then because I put $5 in the jut box worth of music I convinced myself to stay and have another pitcher of Long Island...to finish out the songs of course.

I'm not sure when the course of events went from chill to out of control...but three things happened at once. My brother called and needed me...J was flirting with random guys so I had to act quick on her behalf or she would be making out with the whole bar...and some one in a back corner was yelling "Chug Chug Chug." So a half full pitcher of Long Island was handled in under 10 minutes. Red in all of his glazed over glory looked us dead in the eyes and said "A chip off the ole block." I'm pretty sure this was our proudest moment.WTF. This is what my liver was saying.

I don't remember much after Red peed in my mom's rose bush. I do know I woke up the next morning. Naked. The vodka was gone. The rum was gone. And I was 90% sure I was going to need Plan B. I also needed answers. Why was the rum gone? Who poured beer into a shot glass? And why on God's green earth were all of my underwears laying on the couch like a Victoria Secret semi annul sale?

I'm pretty sure I begged J for a cigarette (I don't smoke)..at some point I remember running around with a beach towel and nothing else..and licking vodka off the kitchen counter...while singing the Maxwell coffee commercial theme song. I also tried to convince everyone that the autobots were coming to save us. And that I could get them the hook up at NASA.

I was also fairly certain we lived in the Dark Ages and kept demanding to be called "Good Sir." It wasn't until I begged my brother to let me hang out with him and his friends..cause I like em young..to which he replied..."Ok but you can't act like you did last time."

I'm confused. I was fairly certain I hadn't cussed anyone out and I even managed to hug his girlfriends...this is huge deal. I don't hug. I don't hug girls. And I don't hug girls that want in my brothers pants. He quickly corrected me and said..."No. You were crazy ass drunk." My 21 year old college brother told me I was a crazy drunk. Rock bottom?

AA got its newest member that day. Hahaa no not really ...Jesus can you imagine? Lol. I am however, working on the 12 steps. I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I get to step 8. I'm a natural bitch so this will really take some work..I'm going to pick up some hobbies that prevent me from drinking quite so much...for example sky diving..rock climbing...shooting range..knitting...all of which would be difficult in a drunk induced state. Unless it was knitting.

I'll keep you posted.

Did that just happen?

There are few things in this world that really put rainbows in my belly. Rosies on Friday nights..BB King soul music..a nice steak..Anchorman and making fun of people. To name a few.

I also enjoy ring and runs.. replacing the salt shaker with Goody Powder PM and of course alcohol.

I'm sure some of you have similar hobbies that are equivalently joyous. Maybe a nice bath or scrap booking..I can even imagine some of you gardening...maybe even riding a bike.

The other night trusty J asked if I would go with her to a "meeting"..she promised we would get a couple drinks before and then head over..it is blasphemous to refuse free drinks. So naturally, I agreed. I'm sure during our conversation she told me all about the meeting but I have ADHD and the attention span of a small pea.. so I was squirreling around thinking about ..alcohol or Butterfingers.

After a couple good drinks and some killer conversation with an Old man named Red about lawn mowers....J tells me we gotta go. I lick the last ice cube..kiss red and hop on out of there.

We pull into a church parking lot and head up the walk way. I'm starting to feel funny..not rainbow material. My senses go into overload and I'm starting to think I should probably pull out my night goggles. Just in case.

We go into a back room with chairs and people all around. My third eye says this is a trap. It's a trap. Run. But before I can stealth mode out...I'm swept up into a bear hug. I go into immediate shock..which usually consists of my eyes bugging out my head and my body falling limp..ollowed by a swift kick to the lovetarded person doing the hugging.

Two things you should never do to me. Sneak up on me in the night. And hug me without my knowledge. I hate touching..how do you think SWINE 2009 broke out. Idiots.

Before I can react the door is shut and I'm ushered to a chair..with pamphlets on it. To my absolute horror...it's pamphlets about alcoholism and the "merry go round of denial." WTF.

My eyes shoot to J to see if this is some sick game...only to find she is equally horrified. At this point touching is allowed..because I may thrust my ninja hands into someones throat if I don't have anything to center me. Trusty J sensing my panic reaches out and grabs my hand under the table. We make eye contact for one second and her eyes tell me only one thing. WTF

The meeting starts ...once again lovetard feels the need to express herself by talking about how much love is the room..I swear I thought she was going to break out in song and dance. Then she does the unthinkable. She starts talking about her alcoholic ex husbands and how she will never drink.

Now there are two kinds of people I don't trust. People who don't drink..and people who collect coins.

At this point I am reading ever bit of information in front of me to find out if we are in the 7th circle of hell..cause I swear if I get the stink eye one more time from Loving-Me-McMuffin for trying to whisper to J..I will drop kick her.

The room has filled up and I have discovered that this meeting is for friends and families of alcoholics. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. Shit..I don't have many emotions..or feelings but some of the people in there are really messed up all because someone couldn't say when to the Ketel One bottle. Don't drink and drive.

Everyone is going around the circle talking about this is this and that is that..and we're suppose to share. WTF. I'm raking my brain for what happened last episode on the Tudors...what did I have for lunch something ..anything.. then I have it...I'll just tell them how to make the perfect Ketel One dirty martini.

I'm staring off into a corner thinking about squirrels or peanuts..when it's time to close. And before I know it I'm swept up again..and I'm holding hands with some stranger..gross. And we are reciting the serenity prayer. HELL. I am in hell. This has got to be hell.

J drags me out by my collar before I can kick a bitch and we are running to the car. We both get in and slam our doors. J lights one up and I'm searching my purse to see if I have a miniature..a Goody PM...hard drugs. Nothing. I was so disappointed in myself. I turn to face her and we both have stunned looks.

J says "That was not what I was expecting.."

"I need a drink.."

"Me too...same time next week?"

"Yea."

It's not a diet..it's a cut back.

I love drinking. True. Life. But there are certain things in my life that I feel provoke said drinking.

A few of those things are..grandma..whom you already know as Crazy. My 62 year old talking 3 year old. Shopping with my mother. Auburn games. Mexico. Anytime Dave feels the need to talk "budgets." And the one that never fails to have me turning to the sweet nectar of the gods...my kitchen sink disposable brother Jon. -see above picture-

Jon...is a rare breed. He's full blooded Mayan indian..which I love because I believe that makes me one step closer in landing a position as a Guatemalan government official..I hear they get free tequila.

Tequila!

He's also the state's two timing national weight lifting champion. Since he won this title I see it only fit to introduce him as such to everyone.."This is my brother Jon. He's the two timing national state weight lifting champion."

Much like my title will be one day when he introduces me "This is my sister Bekah. She's heir to the English throne and has recently been in relations with a Guatemalan government official ..she gets free tequila."

Tequila!

Jon can eat whatever he wants. I did not realize to the extent of this until this weekend. Now I understand maintaining your status as the boss and preparing for certain triathlons and being called the next Hercules provides pressures and a certain extremes. This I am very familiar with. Very similar to the extreme measures NASA is making me undergo before I can fly on the next mission.

As I'm sitting at the kitchen table re-reading my Calvin and Hobbes collectors book, Jon decides he needs to "refuel."

I sat in full stun stare as he rummaged through the kitchen. Here is an example of what I looked like..same hat and everything.

Clearly. Utter shock.

Jon cooks the following for his first meal.

Twelve eggs equipped with cheese. A whole pot of spaghetti and meatballs.. a whole loaf of bread. Some chili concoction left over from last week..couple baked potatoes. All the bananas. Apples. I lost count. Unknown substance. And a gallon of milk.

Then he is apparently what the children refer to as "amped up" and heads out to work out for 2 hours. This is just a warm up.

After this he returns to the kitchen to eat what I like to call "round two." This consist of:

A whole pizza, three boxes of ice cream, more spaghetti, a plate full of sandwichs for what looks to be 35 people, box of mac and cheese, whole box of instant mashed potatoes, which he separates and makes some sort of heman dish. Two steaks, three pieces of grilled chicken. The food in the entire bottom refrigerator door and a muffin.

I witnessed with my own eyes. 3% of me was in pure admiration. 58% was hating and 21% was working on my Jedi power to get him to burst into flames.

I now realize that all the food in the garage, the freezer and extra three refrigerators aren't just because EngiDave thought the Y2K was coming..it's simply to store a weeks supply of food for Jon.

This is what drives me to drink. Here I sit with one lettuce leaf on my salad and carefully portioned water.

I dare you to live a day at my house and not allocate a significant portion of your paycheck to alcohol.

You say potato.. I say vodka.

No. You can't go to grandmas.

So. I'm not one of those parents that blogs about their childs life..but since this is hysterical and provokes drinking..here I sit.

I'm 23 and my daughter is 3. We're more like sisters so I'm told. We constantly argue and she usually wins with a very strategized five- part debate equipped with essays and research topics to back it up.

There are countless stories I could tell and usually do when I have a drink handy because it calms my nerves. I'm hoping she becomes famous one day so I can hook up with Britney Spears' mom and figure out the best way to write a book on my recovery process.

Today we had to go back to the dermatologist for the third time in a 4-6 week process of removing the bumps she has on her neck and chin. They showed up when she was 1..they told me they would go away and they lied. So here we are burning them off.

By the third time she has a pretty good idea of what is going on. Taking her to the doctor is like wrestling an alligator. And by alligator I mean full blown southern Florida should be previewed on the Crocodile Hunter vicious alligator. It takes 4 nurses the doctor and me to strap her down...I have to strap one leg over hers pull her arms behind her and restrain her like a drug lord.

I sweat bullets. Because she fights and fights and screams and kicks...all the while she is negotiating with me about letting her go.

I decided it would work better to lay her down and force her chin up so the doctor could get those bumps. In the midst of the struggle..my three year old yells out like a truly rugged sailor.."Stop touching me goddamnit!!" Thats right.

My three year old cussed out the doctor.

I'm floored. Time stood still. The room went silent. Everybody held their breath to see what I would do. It took me a good minute to gain composer and spank her. The nurses are trying not to laugh. We finally finish and the doctor.. while laughing.. hands me her chart and tells me I have to come back in three weeks. Terrific.

As I head to the waiting room where Sharon sits..out of harms way...I tell her "She just cussed out the doctor."

Sharon laughs and said "What did she say?"

Breathlessly I say "She said GDit!!"

Sharon.."Hahaa. I hope she didn't hear it from me!"

I'm spent at this point. I look like I've been running 10 miles with my hair down and just decided for kicks I would try 4 hours on the elliptical. My three year old cussed out the doctor and my supposed Beaver Clever angel like mom just said she cusses.

Don't ever have kids. Ever. And if you choose that hell to travel..don't let them hang out at grandmas.

That Caught Me Off Guard.

Hellooo Class.

Today i would like to introduce you to a character in my life by the name of Sharon.

Sharon's your typical spaced out home improvement crack addict. If you can picture a butterfly high on sugar water you can picture Sharon.

Sharon is not unlike myself in that she has goals..she's not quiet as focused..butterfly sugar water..but she still reaches for the stars. Bless her heart.

I usually encourage these goals.. but when they involve me..I'm not such a team player. I mean, I am a tiger. I vicious roaring tiger..I don't have time to run with strung out butterflies.

This weekend she approached me about her newest goal. Sewing. Clothes. Sewing outfits to be worn. You can sense my apprehension I'm sure. At first I resisted..but she of course lured me in with false hopes of food and shoes.

We arrived at the Hancock fabric store at 12:00pm on Saturday. I was blissfully unaware of what awaited me inside the glass double doors.

I was thinking about rather or not to get the peep toe pump again or maybe a winter boot for next year when the doors swung open and all hell broke loose.

Let me draw a picture for you: Old ladies. Fabric. 50% off.

The store was packed out like Best Buy on Black Friday. Now I'm not a fan of buying fabric but I immediately went into hunt mode. It's my nature to naturally want to defend the pack and fight for the last piece of meat.

I was grabbing up random pieces of cloth and stuffing them down my shirt as I sprinted to the next rack. Ribbons were flying everywhere. Words I didn't understand were being screamed from all directions. "Elma! Get those fabric scissors!" and .."Rose!! ROSE! Grab that blue velcro!" I can only assume they were speaking German as my Spanish and French are at an advanced level. I wanted to fit in so I shouted "Drive drive we shot a man!!"

Sharon, in true cracked out butterfly form, was flying in and out of rows and screaming things at me as I sensed my stealth mode might be in need. "If ONLY I had my 30/30! damnit!!" I shouted at the ceiling while shaking my fist.

After the decisions had been made and the fabric picked and stolen from other carts...it was time to check out. I'm not sure if you've ever been to a fabric store..but there's math involved..and the only math I know is how much to tip when I tab out. (5 dollars if you were on time with my alcohol..10 if I know you and 15 if I want your number..20 if I'm wasted..cause you did your job.) I quickly decided this was not my scene and darted to the back corner and curled up in the fetal position.

3:34pm we left Hancock fabric. I have never been so exhausted in all my life. And that includes the time I thought it would be a good idea to fly to Italy and back in one day just for lunch. Talk about jet lag. I felt exactly like I did in vietnam when I had to carry two men on my back to escape imprisonment.

As Sharon chattered and flew around my head with a frenzy..all I was thinking about was the vodka in my fridge. I thought to myself.."Self..that is the last time we are letting Sharon lure us in with false promises"...just then Sharon said something that caught my attention.

"Why don't we go into Target for a minute and then we can head to DSW on Bridgestreet?"

"Mom..I'm pretty tired..I didn't know I was going into combat..that does things to a person...did you say DSW?..I'm game."

Victory so Sweet.

"I firmly believe that any man's finest hour, the greatest fulfillment of all that he holds dear, is that moment when he has worked his heart out in a good cause and lies exhausted on the field of battle - victorious..." -Vince Lombardi

Victory and success are like getting high minus the Mary J. You have to go in like a butterfly and sting like a bee.

There have been several times in my life when I have felt utter and complete success. For example..the first time I got away with drinking as a minor. The first time I got a tattoo and three months lapsed before my parents noticed. The time I was elected chief of a small African tribe. The first time I swam the English Channel without coming up for air...and the first time I shot a deer.

This past weekend I found myself up a tree once again hunting for food for Ma and Paw and little Timmy. Noone told me shotting guns and rubbing dirt on your face was so addicting. This time my handy sidekick was riding shotgun with me. Trusty Ole J. She's like a bird dog but sharper. And usually on her A game.

This time we were both handed guns and allowed to hunt together. Given that we had perfected our Marine hand signals and the ability to see through fire smoke and tear gas.

As we strapped the guns to our backs and headed out to the only place I've ever called home. I silently thought to myself .."Self. chances are you will shoot a deer." Because as my great mentor Muhammad Ali once said "It's lack of faith that makes people afraid of meeting challenges and I believed in myself."

It was still dark as we climbed in the tree stand. Silent like lions waiting for our kill. After two false alarms and the numbing of our extremities we started to lose hope. Failure. Again.

As we made fun of each other and how awkward we would look come spring time with peep toe shoes and our thrid and fourth toes missing, I spotted something to the right.

This is how it played out in Bad Boy 2 style. The distinct opening chords of "Welcome to the Jungle" was playing in the background as an excited rumble went through my chest.

I said ..."Hm. that looks like a deer. Hark it is a deer!"

I slapped J on the leg about fiftyeleven times and screamedwhispered "Look alive J Look alive!!!! The time is NOW"

As I was already standing trying to circulate blood flow.. I quickly cocked my 30/30. J posted up and we aimed in true killer form. I'm sure we looked just like a scene out of the Boondock Saints. Positive. Somewhere in the back of my mind Soul Survivor started to race through my mind and I knew what had to be done. Fire away men. And we shot. HIT HIT HIT PIMP DOWN PIMP DOWN. We leaped from the tree stand in a Tarzan swing and ran to find the victim.

Dead.

As I've said before. Success and victory...they'll make you high. I've never killed something with a gun before. Knife fight..spear throw...the occasional nunchuck to the head.. I was all skilled in. A gun. Well...lets just say..I hope you don't see me on the street.

Sudden movements will get you shot.

You Reckon.

I have several goals in life. As I've mentioned before. I know some of you have been asleep and drunk since then so I will revist a few.

For example being in a small movie role starring Kate Hudson and Brad Pitt were Brad Pitt plays my obsessive boyfriend and I am forced to repeatedly tell him to stop humping me. Also taking over the Jimmy Choo franchise. Getting completely sloshed while trying to do the macarena on a Jamaican island with the pool boy named Chico. And obviously perfecting my English accent.

Some of you should incorporate goals into your life plan as well. Even if it's as simple as making pancakes for your loved one.

This weekend I knocked one off the list. Going stealth mode while hunting for deer with my bare hands. I practiced a time or two on the unsuspecting dogs. The trick is to catch them off guard. like "Come here Lady..here girl" and BAM I layed her out. She was only startled for a brief second. Then she tapped out.

Before Waffle House is considered the "sober customers", I was up slapping on my camo..putting on my war paint and tussling my hair to give it the more rugged look. I nearly peed my pants when I was handed a gun. I was prepared to go Rambo on the entire forest so this just upped my chances of taking them by surprise.

As I climbed up into the tree stand to wait..a thought hit me. What if the deer had been warned about me?..I went stealth on Lady the previous night and lets be honest..we've all seen 101 Dalmatians and know how the dog bark works. Nevertheless I wait. And wait. Gun in hand. Eyes bugged out. Hat cocked. Ready. Slowly the day breaks. And it's time to come down from the tree. I'm hungry. I didn't see a damn thing thanks to Lady and I'm starting to reek of sober.

The day passes. I learned how to speak Marion. It sounds alittle like jumbled up syllables and you have to cut out all the proper grammar you know..and then slur your words like a drunk and combine them all like the local crack addicts. I finally got some alcohol in my system and I started to reboot. By midafternoon..like a team player..I was back in the forest eyeing everything that moved.

Leaves were tricking me out..I could hear the trickling of water and the scratching of small field mice. Bitches had it coming. And then BAM. A shot was heard. We gathered quickly in search for our food. A tornado was brewing. The storm was whipping at our hair. The rain was running down our backs. I was in fierce stealth mode searching in the pitch black of the night. All to no avail. The doe had escaped our grasps. The children would starve tonight. We would have to split one bean again.

After such a long barely successful day..I needed a real drink. We headed out to the bar. Of course here in Marion..they do things alittle different. They offer us a drink called Shackwater. I'm thinking...I drink vodka straight every weekend..pour me the Shackwater!

Three drinks in and I can't see straight. Two more pickle shots and I'm not walking. Part of the night is missing. At one point I remember trying to find where we were on a map and texting my baby daddy..."Out riding dirt roads. Be home when I get home." I didn't know up from down. And then we tried to go find the deer that escaped our clutches not so long ago.

I was home by 12. The earliest in my drinking career. It was by far the greatest weekend of my life.

You Belong in a Home

Good evening ladies and gentlemen.

My alcohol level for the holidays has reached Tara Reid level status. I trust you all did the same.

Between drinking and cooking..and baking and drinking..there were some presents exchanged.

Now I like a good present as much as the rest of the world. especially if they come from the local ABC store wrapped in a pretty slender box with a bow. Or hell I'm a cheap gift whore, you can even please me with a six pack of bud light from your loal Shell station and/or Exxon.

However when your gift giving reaches rock bottom extremes I am forced to make fun of you.

Victim of Choice: Grandma.

Now before you all start screaming you sick bastard slow your roll and read the

following bold below.

Grandma is a bag of macadamia nut CRAZY.

Let me break it down for you.

As a small child "crazy" (as ive loving nicknamed her) would feed me smaller helpings of food because I was fat. I would never get pie after dinner. And I love pie. As the years progressed she would send me small newspaper clippings about the latest diets and quickest ways to loose excess belly fat. Whenever I'd come to see her she would mention how I looked like I "put on a couple pounds". I took it in stride though and would wait til she went to bed to eat all of her pie.

Crazy still does this today with the clippings and the coupons of Slim Fast strategically placed in my room. Only now she moved from Montgomery to down the street so she constantly asks when I'm going to come jogging by her house in the morning. "To help tone my thunder thighs."

Now with the clippings and the coupons I'm sure you've concluded she probably gives shitty gifts too. Usually we get old toothpaste, a used pair of socks or if we've been really good, hotel shampoo. If not so good the shampoo is half used.

This year for christmas I got a bar of soap from Crazy. Now..usually I take my present and keep on stepping. Who doesn't need a half used bottle of shampoo? Let's be realistic ..times are hard.

But soap? Come on C?

Not only was it soap...but it was a USED bar of soap. I mean do you just look around your house and say "Hmm...this looks nice..I just used it this morning. If I wrap it in cellophane she won't notice."

Wrong. Wrong Crazy. You're wrong.

As I stated above..Iusually keep on stepping..but not this christmas. OH not this one. Usually there's not quite as much alcohol in my system..so in the true spirit of Christmas I did the following.

I slammed that half used bar of soap down and carefully pronounced each word so as not to slur. "I.DONT.NEED.YOUR.HALF.USED.BAR.OF.SOAP.I.PREFER.THE.COUPONS."

And spun on my heels to quickly go find my Ketel One I had left sitting on my night stand. I heard my brothers snickering to themselves and yelled over my shoulder "At least I didn't get used toothbrushes.." I heard the ripping of paper and the groans of disappointment as I rounded the corner to my room. Maybe Crazy hit rock bottom this year too. I would have gladly taken a can of peas.

It was a long holiday..thank God I have been asleep and drunk and I can't remember all the gory details.

Heres to 09. I hope I'm incoherent for most of the year.