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.