Tell Me Again Why I Don’t Want A Drink

I didn't blow it last night but I didn't abstain as I had planned either. An expat American couple cook in one of the local hotels down here and every once in a while they host a special dinner and all the expats attend. The expats down here have divided themselves into groups according to the village or neighborhood they live in, nationality (ie. British, Canadian, American and Texan), special interests such as karaoke enthusiasts and karaoke despisers and so on. Last night all of our peeps stayed home and although we knew practically everybody there, they were with their chosen groups and the cap'n and I were desperately alone with each other. So I had a beer just to make myself more comfortable in my surroundings. Then I had another one before the cap'n even finished his first. Then I had a third one just for the hell of it. Finally some of our friends showed up. I ordered a glass of wine but it was so horrible that I couldn't drink it. It's probably the only time I can remember walking away and leaving a full glass of alcohol on the table. Karaoke started up and we quickly made the decision to head for la casa. Don't get me wrong, I love karaoke. Karaoke doesn't love me. I'm one of those drunks who know full well that I can't sing but I'm still hogging the mike and caterwauling away. And since my goal was to remain forgettable last night I knew I had to get out of there before I started channeling my inner Janis Joplin.

Our friends joined us at our house for a last glass of wine but by that time I had been able to put the brakes on and I sipped my diet Sprite while they enjoyed their vino blanco. So not a total disaster but not a total success either. I made the vow to try abstaining again today and it's almost 7 pm so I think I'm going to make it although there were a couple of hours earlier when I really wanted one. What kept me from breaking my vow? There was a post on one of the message boards today from someone asking if anyone else had noticed that their anti-depressant medicine worked better when they quit drinking. I've never been on anti-depressant meds but I have noticed a marked mood elevation when I've been off the booze for about a week. Duh! Alcohol is a depressant. I guess I thought the effects only lasted as long as the booze was in my system but now I believe it has lingering effects. Or maybe I just feel better about myself and that makes me happier. Whatever works for me.

So tonight I'm out there trying my best to find my way to happy.

Blew It!

My piety didn't last long. I'm not much of a beer drinker but there are times when an ice cold beer sounds too good to be ignored. Friday afternoon was one those times. Beside the two bars that the gringos down here frequent the most there are several locals owned bars. One of our favorites is Comote's. It's cleaner and it doesn't seem to be crumbling as much as the others and it serves great botanos. Botanos are appetizers down here in Mexico and they're free. Comotes serves up about half a dozen botanos which include ceviche, refried beans, a fish dip, a pulpo dip (octopus), a potato dish. You get all of this and chips and they keep them coming for as long as you're sitting there. It was a beautiful sunny day and we were with some of our best buds including my friend who was giving me grief about not drinking. She was relieved to see that my wagon ride didn't last long. We had two beers and then we left and went home, which would have been fine had I stopped there but nooooo….I had to have just "one" Jack Daniels….and then I started playing DJ and then cap'n and I sang and drank the night away. By some quirk of nature, I didn't have a hangover the next day so I drank again on Saturday, all day. But I took it slow and basically nursed my drinks and I didn't have a hangover again this morning. I'm not sure what I did to deserve this reprieve from hangover hell but I'm not testing the gods again today. So I'm abs'ing today. Tonight one of the restaurant/bar is having a rib dinner which will be attended by most of the expats and I'm determined to not drink. I figure if I noticeably abstain at some of these public events it might negate the times I have made a public nuisance of myself. Yeah right. Peoples' memories are very long when you act like an ass and very short when you don't do anything memorable. But I'm going to try anyway.

So today I'm out there doing my best to be totally forgettable.

Friends In Low Places

I walked into the bar last night and Carlos, the owner, was very proud to show me the bottle of Jack Daniels he had purchased. He doesn't usually stock it because it is so expensive but he knows that is what I like to drink and for the past month I've been having to lower my standards and drink Jim Beam. Then my friend who also loves to drink Jack Daniels ordered each of us a drink. I thought, "What the hell? I'll just have one." I've sung that tune a few too many times. Luckily, I was able to have a quick question and answer session with myself before the drinks got mixed (this is Mexico, they don't do nothin' in a hurry down here). I asked myself why I was ordering that drink and the answer was because someone else expected and wanted me to have that drink. I didn't want it. I really didn't. Plus Gaby, my girl Friday, was giving her designated driver (moi) the evil eye. I cancelled the drink, much to the chagrin of my drinking buddy friend.

Usually, I find that after the first incredulity and shock that I actually turned down a drink, most people lose interest. As long as I'm not bugging them about their drinking, what do they care? This was not the case last night. After several comments and queries, I caved. No, I didn't actually order a drink but I took a few sips of my friend's drink and made comments that I'd probably be off the wagon soon. Just trying to fit in with the in crowd. What the hell? I'm 48, not 14. Was I trying to make them feel better about themselves or was I afraid I wouldn't be included anymore? Blacklisted.

Blacklisted is when somebody gives up drinking and all of a sudden they're not invited to any of the gatherings anymore. They're voted off the island, cast out of the inner circle and ostracized. I've been guilty of doing this myself. One winter we returned to our sailboat in the Bahamas to find that over the summer one of our buddies had gone and sobered up. Well hell, cross him off the sundowners in the cockpit list, we sure are going to miss him. The next winter we came back and he was drinking again.

Why do we do that? The cap'n even suggested that I fake that I'm drinking. He said with my personality most people can't tell the difference when I'm drinking and when I'm not. WWhhaatt?! One of my main purposes for not drinking is so that people don't think of me as a drunk but I should go ahead and act like I'm drinking so all the other drunks will still like me. Just a wee conflict of interest there. No wonder I drink.

I don't have any answers tonight so I guess I'll just figure it out as I go along. Unlike most everybody else at that party last night, I didn't have a hangover today so Na-na-na-na-boo-boo, I'm sticking my tongue out at you. And I didn't have a drink today so no hangover tomorrow either. Now I'm starting to feel almost pious, which may clear up the mystery of why ex-drinkers don't get invited to parties.

So I'm out there doing my best to stand by my convictions and remain my humble self and thanking God for hot packs and broad spectrum antibiotics. (I'll never tell).

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I guess I should have qualified my remark yesterday that every morning could be like yesterday morning if I chose because it's blowing like stink this morning. I guess my Co-Writer wants to show who is in charge. Last night I attended a monthly fundraiser for the kids in the next pueblo. There was alcohol served but I refrained. It was pretty easy since drinking is not the primary motive of this get together and it is one of the few events down here that is not held in a bar.

Like the song "I love this bar", there are very few bars I don't like. Maybe because I've spent so much time in them, they hold a feeling of home for me. Your friends are always there to welcome you and hell if they're not you'll make a few new ones before the night is over. I find acceptance in bars. A sort of comaraderie among reprobates. But I really don't want Barfly etched on my tombstone. I don't want my bar life to define me. A week after we got down here one of our local bar regulars died. You know him/her. The guy or gal that has their personal barstool and even if they're not there hunched over their drink nobody sits in their seat out of respect. And the sure knowlege that they'll be back to claim it pretty soon. This lady left the bar one afternoon to go home. Her husband followed an hour later. He found her dead. She had bled to death from ruptured esophageal varices. In case you don't know, esophageal varices are usually found in alcoholics. Of course, we held her wake at her favorite bar and only when her son gave her eulogy did I get a glimpse of the "other" person she was. I missed out. Of course, all of us down here sat around the bar after the wake and swore we were all going to turn that infernal leaf over and drink less amid cries of "Hey, who's turn is it to buy the next round?"

The problem down here is that everything takes place in bars. I haven't had a drink in a week but I've been to the bar three times and today is another birthday party at another bar. You can't avoid going to a bar unless you lock yourself in your casa. Even in the states, when you walk into most restaurants the first thing you see is the bar. The problem with that, one recovered alcoholic told me, is that going to the bar when you are trying to stop drinking is like going to a barbershop, eventually you're going to get a haircut. Of course, we were sitting in a bar when he delivered this somewhat confusing analogy to me. So the bars aren't going to go away and I'm going to keep walking into them. I've just got to channel the "other" me and make sure I don't stumble out.

So I'm out there today doing my best to find my "other" me. Now where did I leave her. I'll let you know how I fare at the birthday party. I've kind of hedged my bet by offering to take my housekeeper/girl Friday with me. She doesn't drive and I told her I wouldn't be drinking so she'd have a safe ride home. She probably has fond memories of the last birthday party she attended with me when she had to pour me into the car and then help the cap'n drag me into the casa. God, you better be riding shotgun with me today. I better start practicing saying "Coca Light, por favor."

New Year

I'm back! After a rather long hiatus accompanied, of course, by several displays of public drunkenness, a lot of hangovers, and a few sober days, I have returned. I'll get to all that on a later date. I'm back in Mexico…

As the sun rose this morning a lone blue heron perched on the seashore in front of my casa gazing out to sea. He sensed me watching and spread his great wings and glided weightlessly over the water. The gulf was so still that the line between sea and sky was erased in the dawn mist. Later a band of tiny shore birds skittered in front of me, leading the way, zig-zagging as the water did its dance of advance and retreat. I wandered through our tiny Mercado and bought some fresh squeezed jugo de naranja. They put it in a plastic bag and tied it around a straw. Take-out Mexican style. As I made my way back home I stopped to talk to other beach wanderers. Three new friends and an old one.

This is how all my mornings could be, if I choose.

I'm out there doing my best to collect mornings like this.

Shoot, Shoot, Shoot and More Shoot

I finally checked my blog and saw that I had two more followers the other day so I feel obligated to write. You see I was going to wait until I could write that I had finally figured it out, that I had the answer and I had been living the happy life of sobriety for several months. Didn't happen. Instead life's been basically the same cycle since I started this darn blog. I do great for most of a month and then I go straight to hell for a week. The cap'n is fed up with me, I'm fed up with me. I've been off the booze for 3 days but I feel really sad. And then tonight I got bad news about a project I've been involved in, one that I thought was going to redeem me. Luckily I can't blame what is happening on my drinking but I feel like I'm being punished. I feel like I've been riding an undeserved wave of good luck for too long and now it's time to pay my due. I've used up my last chance and now I'm really going to have to prove myself before things get better again. Maybe that is the incentive I need. Plus I think I've developed an ulcer. Just one more thing to worry about. The cap'n says I love to worry. He is so, so wrong. I'm sitting here on this computer when I should be in bed because I'm trying to exhaust myself so I don't toss and turn all night. Or maybe I'm trying to make amends. God,I hope it works.

Good Grief, Charlie Brown!

Well, would you look who's back? I keep thinking I should wait until I'm in a better mood before I write this blog but God knows when that's going to happen so here goes. I'm not going to go into what happened. You've heard it all before. Same old rigamaroll, song and dance. Same old shit.
So last night I'm lying in bed replaying every embarrassing incident that I've had a leading role in in the last 10 years and I had this whole other blog planned but as you will surmise my co-writer had other ideas. I had just about cringed and mortified myself to sleep when this scene from my 1^st grade popped into my head. I swear to "you know who" this really happened.
When I was in 1^st grade I had this friend I'll call "Bertha", not because she was fat but she was bigger than your average 1^st grade bear. Anyway Bertha loved to play on the see-saw but because she was bigger than the rest of us, most of the kids usually refused. As most of us know, to adequately see-saw you kind of have to have an equal playing field. So Bertha, would go around to all the kids asking them to play on the see-saw with her and one-by-one they would all refuse her. Then she would come to me. By this time, me being me, I was feeling very sorry for her. Apparently, even at this young age without the aid of alcohol or drugs, I was already suffering from short-term memory loss. So on her "cross my heart" promise to play fair and not use her weight advantage unfairly I would gingerly crawl onto the see-saw. Things would go pretty well for the first couple up-and-downs and then Bertha all of a sudden would get this demonic smile on her face and gleeful look in her eye. I would start shaking my head and pleading with her not to do it but Bertha was past the point of no return by then. Instead of braking her downward passage with her feet, Bertha would put all her weight into it. When her ample butt would hit bottom, my upward progress would terminate with a mighty jolt. Unable to hold onto the sweaty handbars, up into the air I would soar for an all too brief moment before I crashed in a cloud of dust and gravel onto the schoolyard ground. And Bertha would just laugh and laugh and laugh her fat little ass off. And yes, I fell for this over and over and over. Kind of like Charlie Brown and Lucy and that f'ing football.
I'm sure we all can figure out what that sad little memoir is a metaphor of. Apparently, it has always taken me a long time to learn my hard lessons. I have no advice today and I'm still see-sawing on how I'm going to handle my drinking. I've been sober for five days now so that's a small comfort. I have been drinking a couple of glasses of red wine at night. I ask myself, "Why?" I don't like it. It's not enough to get me high. It doesn't even relax me. What's the point? I guess it's just fulfillment of some sense of entitlement. I deserve that glass of alcohol at the end of the day. Moderation may work for some people, but I still find myself thinking about that drink at the end of the day all day long. How I'm going to handle it, or whether I'm even going to drink that day. It takes too much of my brain space and it's exhausting. I'd really like to just abstain and be done with it but the pattern of my last 6 months shows when I try to do this, I usually decide to eventually get back on that see-saw with harder landings each time.
So, no answers and no plans. I'm just out there doing my best to avoid all the Bertha's and Lucy's. Today I'm thankful for a husband that softens my landings.