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.