Two nights in a row of drinking.  Two morning of shame.  If I had a dollar for every time I have embarrassed myself drinking is have that lakehouse and I’d be sober enough to enjoy it.

I spend my mornings wondering what secrets I spilled, who I offended, what I posted on social media or published here. It’s wondering who I need to apologize to, when will I do this again.

Then the why. Why do I continue to do It? It’s all really pathetic truthfully. 

Posted in #beer, addiction, anxiety, depression, drunk, lonely, mood, Single mom | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments


In Kroger today and, yep the pretty pink and sky blue box did it, it peaked my curiosity. I was going with the low-cal Miller Lite just in case I didn’t like it, but it obviously the pink and blue in a sea of brown, green and deep blue, you can’t help but notice it. It did what it was suppose to do and caught the attention of this woman.

I read it. Pineapple and apricot. But still a wheat ale. Golden Road Brewing, Los Angeles.

Made in LA. Like, duh. Of course, it’s made there. It like totally makes sense. California is the birthplace of male rompers, male capris, and skin tight jeans for men that will clearly hinder future reproduction production. They’re trying to be trendy and jump on the craft beer wagon and then appeal to women or gay men???
So I bought it, Miller Lite, and the rest of the shit I needed to make Smores with the boys tonight. Not really sweet. You can taste the pineapple but I think the apricot is leading the show. The pineapple is hardly noticable until the aftertaste makes an appearance.
I Googled it. Even Google plugged in the automated search options the of the list being calories. 144

Like, duh, if you want to catch chicks, or the health conscious peeps of the West Cost, you have to be lo-cal, duh. Forget the 4.8% alcohol content, the fruity additions, pretty can and popular birthplace. Not gonna fly with the ladies. 

Overall, I drank half of it and forgot about it. I was needed to kiss a booboo. My youngest shut his thumb in the sliding glass door. By the time I saw it (and he quit wailing, 10 minutes layer I believe, it really hurt him!) it was warm and I wasn’t going to drink it.

I started mixing my homemade margaritas. Afterall, I squeezed fresh limes myself, and while the drink isn’t low calorie, it is made with fresh produce, which is totally tending these days. 

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Her Mind Works In Melodies

Under-rated  for my moods:

Any Winehouse – To Know Him is to Love Him

Any of her songs but Rehab really. What a loss. So gifted. 

Solange – Crain in the Sky

Too relatable. God damn is it ever. 

Paula Cole – Feelin Love

Sexy af.

Any song by Jason Isbell

If we were to find aliens on another planet they’d worship him. They’d be that much smarter of a species. And chances are they found us and sent this gift of his soul to us.

That is all for now. My eyes are heavy. Could be the beer but the boys are down and, fuck, why not?

Posted in #love, addiction, anxiety, Bourbon, boy mom life, depression, mood, music, Single mom, strength, strong women, weird | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Wants Vs Needs

I need to go to Lowe’s. I need to go to Kroger. I should probably go to Wal-Mart for an air pump for the boy’s bike. Yeah, I didn’t think about that.

However, last night was a margarita/fire night. I think I’ll keep bourbon for serious thoughts and cold nights and introduce this clear tequila into my list of alcohols that cure my problems.

Did I mention I’m suppose to abstain for three months? We’ll talk about that later. 

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Parenting Rule No. 5

Always know where your children are at all times. 

Lock the son with the memory of an elephant out of the house one fucking time….

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Fridge Half Full

The best thing about watching how much I drink is knowing I don’t have to stop to buy beer on the way home because I have some still in the fridge at home from the last time I bought some!

Now tomorrow is another story and I bought that six pack yesterday:(

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On the Drive In

Coming in this morning traffic had to move to allow a children’s hospital neonatal pediatric ambulance with its lights line through our crowded interstate. I thought for a second how that baby’s parents might feel. I was lucky enough to not have children that were born with grave problems but Jackson was removed from the cut in my stomach, his head place by mine, I kissed his closed eye and he was rushed to the NICU. I didn’t hold him for 2 days. He didn’t come home for 46.

I know a lot of people go through this and worse. We all have our stories and they’re all very emotional. It’s a taxing event on one person.

I think about all of this and realize I’m crying. The people driving that ambulance. They people caring for the child in the back. It’s not their child but they care. They made this their profession. They are responsible for parting traffic and getting that child to a better team of doctors, better equipment, a possible better outcome.

And it’s moment like that when I question God’s existence. Maybe He does exist. How else can you explain that love and dedication? Who else would you turn to in the moment as the parent? The nurse? The doctor?

I found myself wanting to say a prayer and I remembered that I don’t really believe in that. But I wanted to say something and I wanted to feel like I was being heard. I wanted to believe I could take part in making that child survive. I wanted comfort and that family needs it.

Regardless, my thoughts are with them all.


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