So I survived my annual family reunion.  Dad's side of the family.  It was a 5 day event, camping at one of Oregon's beautiful lakeside campgrounds.  My husband and I showed up for the last 3 days.  It was a beautiful drive.  We arrived in the early evening, pleasantly surprised to find my older brother had grilled a huge batch of marinated chicken for the entire family.  What a sweetheart.

It was all downhill from there.

My mother made an absolute ASS of herself that night.  My niece and nephew had choreographed a little dance recital with neon bands all over them.  Reminded me of a rave (ah the 90s).  I don't remember their playlist, but they had picked it out special for their dance.  Suddenly into the first song, my mother jumped up and started shouting PLAY YMCA!  PLAY YMCA! (she spends a lot of time on cruise ships).   She pounced on my brother's iPhone.  Ever the good son, he had no choice but to indulge her.  YMCA started blaring.  The kids kept on going with their dance (consummate professionals at age 6...Auntie Pam was so proud...of them).  At this point my mom had joined them onstage and was completely spazzing out, picking them up, trying to throw them up and down.  My dad's family watched in bug eyed horror (they're very low key).  There were a lot of hands on mouths and shaking heads.  One of my hot cousins came over to me.  That's your mother up there.  [sigh] I know.

My brother turned off the music and put his kids' playlist back on.  He actually said to my mom (in his nice way) no more.  The kids had chosen this playlist for their dance.  My mom sat down next to me.  What's in that coffee mug, mom?  Tea.  Just tea?  Yes!  Uh huh.

The next morning my husband and I had plans to get the fuck out of there and go to Bend.  We'd nearly frozen to death the night before and wanted to buy a camping heater.  Also, I had forgotten to pack toothpaste.  As we sat in our car in the Target parking lot brushing our teeth, a shopper walked by, looked at us, elbowed her husband and pointed.  They both laughed.  So did we.  We looked ridiculous.

Feeling slightly better, we continued on with our original, wonderful plans...a tour and tasting at Deschutes Brewery.

Their tasting room was an oasis.  3 sips (gulps) into my first IPA and I was playing grab ass with my husband.  We didn't have reservations for a tour and they were fully booked all day (July 4th), but they were kind enough to squeeze us into the next one, giving me 30 minutes to drink.

To start off, if you can find the entrance, both the tour and tasting are FREE.  So free, in fact, that they offer 4 free 4 oz. tastes per person PER DAY.  Yes, for free, you can get 16 oz. of Deschutes beer everyday.  I tried 4 different IPAs plus 2 of my husband's.  The other 2 of his 4 were their fresh brewed root beer and ginger ale, which were delicious and so interesting on the palate...like what you'd imagine they would taste like if they were made at the soda counter of a pharmacy back in the days when cocaine was legal.

My favorite was their Fresh Squeezed India Pale Ale, and  I was delighted to find out this is their current best seller.  (IBU 60 ABV 6.4%  $10-$12 per 6 pack)  Also worth mentioning...their Black Butte Porter is the best selling porter in the US.

With nice buzzes on, we began the tour.  Our tour guide was a happy woman with great energy.  As we started, she asked our group what we loved about beer.  People came back with the politically correct responses of THE TASTE!  IT'S REFRESHING!  Only I had the balls to say what we were all thinking...BEST THING FOR A HANGOVER!  The group cheered.  Cowards.

I learned more about beer on this tour than I have on any other, thanks to our very informative tour guide (and I figured out the reason for her happiness: all Deschutes employees are co-owners who are forced to drink a pint after every shift).

Deschutes Brewery is the largest craft brewery in the Pacific Northwest and 8th largest in the country.  If you love craft beer and find yourself in Oregon, THIS WAS AN INCREDIBLE EXPERIENCE.  And some of the BEST beer I have ever tasted.

Here's why.  Not only do they use the glorious water from the Deschutes River, the water has been burtonized (they add minerals to make it harder), to make it like the water in Burton-upon-Trent, England, where IPAs are thought to have begun or at least been perfected.

Story time.  One upon a beer keg, the English were having quite a conundrum (nothing changes).  Their beer was spoiling on it's long voyage to their troops in India.  Luckily hops, the plant that gives an IPA it's classic bitter flavor and aroma, are not only a natural antioxidant, they're also a great preservative (and a relative of the cannabis plant!).  They added extra hops to their beer, which allowed it to survive the voyage without spoiling, and the India Pale Ale was born...and the troops lived drunkenly ever after.  The End.

I also learned that Deschutes gives all their used barley grains to a local cattle farm.  The cows eat the barley, then Deschutes buys the beef from the farm and serves it in their fantastic pub, which we ate at after.  Confession time: I had a burger.  It was the best burger I've ever had.  Oh yeah, I went back to eating beef.  Later.

We returned to the campsite to find many of the elders had started drinking hard liquor.  I saw a large mint julep in my mom's hand.  Oh Jesus...  Against our will and better judgement, we joined everyone around the fire.  My mom made her way over and stood in front of us.  She was getting loud and sloppy, and about to start a long rambling conversation at us.  I said I needed to go to the bathroom.  Oh goodie!  Let's go together!  Actually, mom, I prefer to pee in the woods because that bathroom grosses me out.  I turned and saw my sister-in-law with her new toddler.  Miranda!  We haven't had a chance to talk to Miranda yet.  Come on honey.  I speed walked over to her mouthing HELP ME HELP ME HELP ME, husband in tow.  She laughed.  As we hugged and caught up, my 18 month old niece walked up to my husband.

Hi!

Hi.

She pointed to the ball at his feet.

Soccer!

No...football.  (okay he didn't say that last part, but he wanted to).

We survived the final night, both by the fire enduring the drunken pontifications of my uncle (until he went to the dark side.  My husband had us out of there just as my dad and his brother started a debate over whether or not I would ever come back to the family reunion.  Fucking Crown Royal), and sleeping in our tent, having been lent 2 goose down comforters by merciful, prepared relatives.

The next morning, as everyone was packing up and saying their goodbyes, Yoda actually went up to each relative and said his goodbyes, too, getting a pat on the head from each one.  He was the rock star of the reunion, with his adorable buzz cut and star spangled bandana.

Feeling a lot like Roy Scheider and Richard Dreyfuss at the end of Jaws, my husband and I were quiet for most of the drive home.  Finally he spoke.

They get drunk and try to provoke you, and if you respond, you're the crazy, drunk one.

Yeah...and I always take the bait.

Well now you have me, and I won't let you.

My hero.

Aw...

I can't wait to go back to Bend.  Wasn't that a great town?

Yes it was.

You can go left, you can go right, all roads lead to beer.

Yes they do.

Hey...what day is this?

It's Wednesday...uh, it's Tuesday, I think.

You think the tide's with us?

Keep kicking.

I used to hate family reunions.

I can't imagine why.

[cue John Williams]

Isn't it funny how the sight of a wonderful wine can bring you back to a miserable memory of your past?

I was in the wine section of a fancy pants grocery store (which I'm no longer intimidated by because they tend to have good wines at EVERY price point, even $10 or less) the other day and there it was...the wine that got me through the worst weeks of my life on vacation in Estonia.

Before we go to the dark side, I want to say that Chilean wines are one of the best kept secrets in the wine industry.  Wine by the glass lists often feature many of them as the quality is high and the price is low.  I love Cono Sur wines so much I've decided to manifest a trip to Chile just to visit their winery.

www.conosur.com

The European vinifera grapevine was first brought to South America by the Spanish conquistadors.  Like Washington's Columbia Valley, Chile is one of three places producers can plant on their original vitus vinifera rootstock, the other being Tasmania (Incidentally, my folks are considering buying a winery in Tasmania.  Remember when I said, 'Who the fuck goes to Tasmania?'  Me.  Apparently me.  Weed had better be legal...).

Chile has very little precipitation, making fungal disease less of an issue, while the snow capped Andes Mountains provide the vineyards with all the irrigation water they want.  Combined with plenty of sunshine and no phylloxera, Chile is a viticultural paradise.  These conditions also make organic viticulture easier (hooray!).  Cono Sur has an organic line, but to be honest I prefer their sustainable ones (shhhhhhhh...).

So here's why the vacation was so bad...

I'm a bipolar bear (I hate when people say 'She's bipolar.'  What the fuck does that even mean?  Do they say 'She's depression?'  'She's schizophrenia?'  No.  But for some stupid fucking reason, 'bipolar' is used to describe the person, as well as the illness.  It makes more sense to say someone is a manic depressive.  That at least describes a person.  I am no longer in a state of disorder.  So why am I still 'bipolar'?  Whatever.  Til we figure it out, I'm a bipolar bear.  Where was I?  Oh yes...)

Par for the course, I had stopped taking my meds 2 years earlier, thinking I could solve the problem with bioidentical hormone replacement therapy (I love you Suzanne Somers), supplements, yoga and meditation.  They helped a little bit, but didn't solve the problem.

I wasn't sleeping, my bro and I weren't getting along ('You became an asshole after you got your tits done.'  'Hey...fuck you...I was ALWAYS an asshole').  The physical pain was excruciating.  I don't know quite how to describe it.  Just know that shaving my head and jumping off a balcony would've brought relief.  When I saw the Cono Sur wine the other day, I actually FELT the pain again.  Then I bought it, drank it, and the pain went away.

It is beyond frustrating no one ever seems to know the cause of bipolar disorder (not even my shrinks!), they just focus on the symptoms.

Luckily, the men in my chat room (and life) had been driving me so bat shit crazy, I picked up a copy of John Gray's 'Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus'.

And I'm so glad I did.  First of all, it was nice to finally have permission to acknowledge men and women are different.  Thanks to feminism, I've been taught my whole life that men and women are equal.  This may surprise you, but I'm good at math.  Got 700 on my math SATs.  Equal means the same.  HOW CAN WE BE EQUAL???  WE ARE NOT THE SAME!!!  We have different bodies, different brains, we don't fuck the same way, we can't drink the same way (motherfucker), but I digress...

I found this on his website.

http://www.marsvenus.com/blog/john-gray/what-is-bipolar-disorder-or-manic-depression

Armed with this new information and his encouragement (twitter), I made it home (barely), got back on my meds (not lithium), and am feeling better.  Eventually, I can head in the direction of his treatment plan.  I know I'm not out of the woods yet (dammit...now I have that Taylor Swift song stuck in my head), far from it, but I'm out of the danger zone (GODDAMMIT...now I'm picturing Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer playing shirtless volleyball...competing with Sylvester Stallone and Carl Weathers frolicking in the waves for gayest scene ever...).

Aaaaaaaaand now I have the Rocky theme in my head...and the overwhelming urge to watch Predator.

Oh!  That reminds me.  The best portrayal of bipolar disorder I have EVER seen is Claire Danes in Homeland (Predator...Arnold Schwarzeneggar...Terminator 3...Claire Danes).

She is BRILLIANT.  So many times my jaw has hit the floor and I've looked around for cameras. Whether she's having a meltdown in her closet, or washing her meds down with chardonnay, she masterfully illuminates the highs and lows and everythings in between that make up the daily struggles in the life of a bipolar bear.

And if I could ever meet Carrie Mathison in person, I'd only have one question for her.

Have you tried Chilean wines???

Happy 420!!!

A year ago today I was in Amsterdam for the first time ever.  Oh yeah...

But let me back up a bit.

After that fun weekend in London, I continued on to Estonia with my brother, where he resides.  I should've been headed for home to get back on my crazy pills, but for personal reasons I just deleted, I couldn't.  I had to stick it out another 4 weeks.  He'd bought us plane tickets to Amsterdam for 4/20.  I had never been.  We ARE the Wonder Weed Twins.  It meant a lot for us to finally go together.

Estonia is located on the Baltic Sea, north of Latvia, west of Russia.  It consistently ranks high on the lists of most alcohol consuming countries (right on!).

Old Town Tallinn is charming.  Takes you back in time.  Very Game of Thrones.  So many fantastic restaurants to choose from.  My favorite and highly recommended pub is The Third Dragon.  It's located in the town square, where the Christmas market is held every year.  They have the most delicious (and ridiculously inexpensive) elk jerky, elk stew, meat pies, sausages, homemade pickles, fresh cider and homemade schnapps (theirs was a neutral grain spirit flavored with what I'm guessing was apples and infused with cinnamon).

Going to buy weed, though, was no fun.  We had to walk many kilometers in the freezing cold to a section of town that looked like the Soviet Union in the 80s.  The weed was 100 Euros ($113) per quarter (I pay $50 here in Oregon) and it was TERRIBLE!!!

Somehow I made it to the end of the 4 weeks without shaving my head or jumping off my brother's balcony (both were starting to seem like good ideas) and got on a plane to Amsterdam.

And WOW was it worth it.

After we got checked into our hotel, we went to a nearby coffee shop, ordered lattes and eighths, grabbed some rolling papers and sat at an outside table, facing one of the canals.

What a beautiful city.  Beautiful people with beautiful bodies on bicycles who were more aggressive than New York City cab drivers.  Every time I hear a bicycle bell now I clench my butt cheeks.

We finished our coffee and celebratory smoke, braved the bikers and made it to a gourmet grocery store with the cutest little wheels of cheese I have ever seen.  Bro grabbed us a 6-pack of Heineken, a baguette, a wheel of Gouda and back we went to the room for a proper breakfast.

Heineken, known by it's signature green bottle and red star, is a local Amsterdam lager sold in over 170 countries and is considered to be the world's most international beer brand (23 IBU / 5.4% ABV).

www.heineken.com

We had the best time at The Heineken Experience, a tour of their big brewery a few blocks from the center of the city.  For 16 Euros you get the tour and a tasting of seemingly endless beer.  I got shit faced AND learned some stuff...

There are 2 types of beer: ales and lagers.  Ales are fermented warm (like red wine), are made with a top fermenting yeast and tend to be darker in color with a fruity taste.  Lagers are fermented cold (like white wine), are made with a bottom fermenting yeast and tend to be lighter in color with a crisp taste.

Lager is the most popular style of beer in the world, accounting for over 90% of all beer consumed.

Heineken is a lager made in the pilsner style.  Pilsner isn't a type of beer, it's a type of lager.  The name pilsner comes from the town Pilsen in the Czech Republic, where it was first produced in 1842.  Heineken calls their beer a pilsner, but acknowledges the only true pilsner is a beer from that region.

I'm so glad I went to Amsterdam when I did.  Marijuana was legalized here in Oregon on October 1st.  To go to Amsterdam now would almost be pointless...

I say almost because I'd still really like to get a blow job lesson from a hooker.  Tried to.  I'd talked my man into it, saying it was adventuresome and think of all the things she must know...

He'd joined my brother and I on our last night there.  After a full day, my bro needed to lay down for a nap (pass out), so my guy and I went on a thorough stroll through the Red Light District looking for the perfect teacher.  Not an easy task.  Maybe it's because I was baked to the gills, but all their little "offices" with their dark red velvet curtains reminded me of coffins, and most of the women with their heavy makeup looked like vampires.  It was freaky.

Eventually we found a happy looking blonde in a florescent pink bikini that didn't seem miserable, coerced or dead inside.  But my man immediately chickened out on the bj (with a condom of course) and said he'd rather just feel up her boobs.  Fine.  Can I at least suck your cock during or after and get a few pointers from her?  Um...yes.

Unfortunately, I love amusement park rides...particularly the one with lots of swings that go round and round in a circle as it raises you up for a few minutes, then comes back down.  Feels like you're flying.

Well, we found a mini carnival, they had the ride, it was night time and I thought it would be fun to go on it before my fellatio tutorial.

I should mention I'd chosen to try magic mushrooms (legal in Amsterdam) for the first time earlier that day.  My bro and I wanted to trip whilst walking through the fields of flowers at Keukenhof Gardens (which was freaking AWESOME).

The shrooms hadn't completely worn off yet.  As the swings rose up they kept going higher and higher and higher...at least twice what I was used to.  I cannot describe the terror that swept over me.  My hands turned to water faucets and kept slipping off the safety bar.  So much adrenaline surged through my body I almost threw up.  My husband sitting next to me was having a blast watching me completely freak the fuck out.  We snapped before and after pictures.  I didn't tweet them.

As I staggered away from the ride trying not to hurl, we headed back to the Red Light District in search of Blondie.  When we got there the noise, lights and smells made me feel even more nauseous.  Honey...we gotta get out of here.  I'm gonna be sick.

Luckily, we made it back to the room without me demoting myself to the rank of amateur, but of course NOW my husband was bummed.  Tell a man he CAN'T have something...

So I WILL be going back to Amsterdam.

Besides, I have another date with the tulip fields.

Now I totally understand why bitches choose to be trippin'.

Tot de volgende keer...

So I can't blog about Redhook Brewery without mentioning the behemoth next door, Chateau St. Michelle.

http://www.ste-michelle.com

I LOVE THIS WINERY.  Grew up going to concerts there.  I have such fond memories of walking around the estate and feeding giant fish in ponds stale pieces of Wonder Bread (my apologies to those fish).  My folks still go.  Every summer us kids can count on a drunk dial from Mom with jazz blaring in the background.

The impressive gift shop is laden with the ultimate (expensive) wine and cheese picnic baskets, and every kind of wine accoutrement imaginable.  As you make your way to the back, they have a beautiful tasting bar, with tastings starting at $5.  I went with one of those as my husband dove into the nearby plate of oyster crackers.  "Honey...those are palate cleansers, not hors d'oeuvres."

THE TOUR IS FREE!  As our wine educator started with the winery backstory, a guy behind us was being very rude, having a full volume conversation with his female companion while the tour guide was talking.   I actually turned around and shushed him.  I was wearing a boob top, so he shut the fuck up.  The power of tits.

Their fermenting and aging rooms are equally impressive, as is their gigantic bottling room.  They make and bottle all of their wine on sight, but most of their vineyards are on the other side of the Cascade mountains in the Columbia Valley.

At the end, they taste you through 3 wines!  Wish I'd known about that last part before paying for a tasting, since I was going to be drinking my husband's three.  Pretty sure one of the commandments on that stone tablet Mel Brooks dropped in History of the World was THOU SHALT NOT WASTE ALCOHOL.  And you know...once a Catholic...

Every time I visit my family, I have to go to a tasting there.  My folks belong to the fancy pants wine club, so we go to a super special monkey lounge to taste all of the reserve wines.  After this blessed communion, they pick up their wine club release, take it home, and hide it from me.

First time I had a Chateau St. Michelle wine was at the very enjoyable restaurant Cutters in Pike Place Market.  I was with a group of actors from the musical I was in.  I was 16, but didn't look it (I'd stopped getting carded at that point and I was NEVER carded in NYC).  I ordered a Johannesburg Riesling.  It paired perfectly with the meal I was having...clams steamed in white wine with shallots and a toasty, buttery baguette.  Mmmmmmmmm...

In all my years of traveling, whether it was NYC, LA or Estonia, in every grocery or liquor store, I was always able to find a bottle of Chateau St. Michelle, see the familiar label, and feel less homesick (a chronic condition for military brats).

 I like ALL of their dry whites and reds, but my feature this week is their merlot.  They have several at different price points depending on which of their different vineyards the grapes came from (this one is around $15).

Fun fact: Sales of merlot dropped significantly after Paul Giamatti's famous line in the movie Sideways.

Certain regions are known to be THE place for different varietals.  For Washington, it's merlot, the most widely planted grape in the state.  Notice what it says at the bottom of the label...100% Vinifera Rootstock.

A little wine geeky grape farmer stuff...

It is believed wine production and consumption began in the Middle East (Persia) 5000 to 6000 years ago.  Vitus Vinifera, the original species of grape that is most often used for wine production, is native to a region just northwest of Iran.

But there are only 3 places in the world where they still exist.

A long time ago, in a vineyard far, far away, before customs and fruit declaration, disaster struck the wine world in the form of a root louse, phylloxera, native to the Eastern United States.  Similar to an aphid, a phylloxera is a small, sap-sucking insect that feeds on roots and leaves.  It was brought to France on a merchant ship carrying grapevines native to North America.  Within 20 years, it had spread throughout the country, destroying nearly all of France's vineyards.  It continued to spread throughout Europe, threatening to wipe out their entire wine industry.

Luckily, someone learned how to graft.

And our rootstocks, being native to the region phylloxera is from, had evolved to be resistant to the pest.  We sold them to Europe and saved the day!

Actually, it's more like we gave the wine world crabs, but only WE had the medicated shampoo, and sold it to them.  I would make a Bush/Cheney/Halliburton/Iraq joke right about here, but I wouldn't want to insult pubic lice.

Where was I?  Oh yes.  Pylloxera don't like sandy soil and icy winters, both found in Eastern Washington in the Columbia Valley (which happens to share the same latitude as Bordeaux).  So their wine is made from original vitus vinifera rootstock (the other 2 places are Chile and Tasmania...I know.  Who the fuck goes to Tasmania?).

It is debated by wine experts and enthusiasts if this makes a difference at all in taste or quality.  I've been drinking Washington wines for years.  Honestly, I can't tell the difference.  I just know I love Washington wine.

On the beer front, my quest for the perfect amber ale continues.  I have yet to find one that knocks Redhook ESB out of the #1 spot.  I accidentally bought 2 red IPAs, thinking they were amber ales.  Would've helped if I'd read the label, but I saw the word red and assumed.  They'd have been fantastic if they were what I was craving.

I tried an organic amber ale from California.  Tasted like weak tea.

But I will not be discouraged.  Got my next contestant all lined up for this week's baseball games.  SO much fun getting back into baseball.

Thanks to Robinson Canó I've been hearing a lot of my favorite sound.

Now if only Manchester United weren't touring China this summer...

GO MARINERS!!!

So a funny thing has happened since Dryuary.  My alcohol tastes have COMPLETELY changed.  In both beer and wine.  Suddenly I can't stand my beloved sauvignon blanc, chardonnay or [gasp] rosé.  My face puckers so much my husband has suggested using a blow job test to determine tartness by suction.  Nice try, honey.  Now I crave reds only.  This may have something to do with the weather, as it is still pretty chilly here in Oregon, but I think 30 dry days killed the white wine beer loving yeast monster inside me (changed my gut flora and therefore cravings) and I have a new yeast monster that only likes reds.  I'll keep you posted.

In keeping with that I'm delighted to report a departure from IPAs!  Too bitter.  I'm much happier and hopeful these days.  I want a beer that is lighter and reflective of my new outlook on life, but still has a strong personality.  An afternoon/late morning (Manchester United) beer you can drink without guilt, something that'll make me sit still when there's a Mariners game on.  And what I've been craving is AMBER ALE (which so should've been my stage name).

On my quest to find the perfect amber ale I think we need to start with a beer very close to my heart...and childhood house...Redhook ESB (5.8% ABV / 28 IBU)

redhook.com

I grew up in the shadow of this brewery.  Twice.  I'm an Air Force B.R.A.T. (Born Raised And Transferred...no, not really).  The most difficult question I face is, 'Where are you from?'  'Um...???'  Cricket.  Cricket.  'Everywhere?  Nowhere?  Got another question for me?'  We did 2 stints in Seattle, Washington, the second being when my family retired and settled there.

Changing schools halfway through high school SUCKED (but it wasn't as bad as having to change dance studios, though that certainly prepared me for what I was about to face in the strip club and chorus girl dressing rooms of NYC.  Bring it bitches).  I remember the first day of school eating my lunch in a bathroom stall...like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls.

Whenever I drive past my old high school my stomach hurts.  My chest hurts.  When I'm out and about I hope to Goddessoursallah (God/Goddess/Source/Allah...run 'em together and it sounds like a dinosaur, right?) I never run into anyone from high school.  I didn't go to any of my reunions.  I lost track of the few friends I did have.

Elementary school was awesome, though.  Kids are so much kinder before puberty.  Girls are the friendlies.  Boys are the enemy.  And tetherball is the great leveler.

A while ago, I was parked outside of my old elementary school.  It was August so school hadn't started yet.  I was baked to the gills and mourning my childhood, having had a colossal fight with my mom the night before.  Yoda was wandering around sans leash.  There was a new fence around the playground, so I couldn't get to the old tree I used to play on.  A nice looking guy in his mid 40s came out of the building.  "Is that a corgi?"  Yoda will always believe he's a rock star.  "Yes," I said wiping my tears.  "Sorry.  A little emotional today.  I used to be a student here."  I mentioned my first grade teacher.  "She just retired."  "No!"  "Yes.  Would you like to come inside for a tour?  Usually no dogs are allowed, but this is a corgi.  I love corgis."  Enchanting little dwarves.  Oh I can say dwarf.

It was surreal, seeing the high tech renovations that had been made, remembering what it used to be, watching Yoda run up and down the hallways...hey...he's the closest thing to a kid I'll ever have.  "It's always nice to get a visit from our alums, find out what they're doing now..."  I wanted to say, "I'm an adult entertainer," but I went with something less shocking.  After our tour I thanked him, put an exhausted corgi in the car, and continued revisiting the ghosts of my childhood.

What a wonderful place it was to live and go to school.  The child part of my childhood was actually really happy.  Fun fact: Kevin Spacey's parents rented our house between Seattle stints 1 and 2.  His mom would always send updates of his theater career in NYC, before The Usual Suspects.  At 16, I wrote him a letter asking if it was better to go to a regular university drama program or a performing arts school in NYC.  He didn't respond.  To be fair, I never respond to anything.  Stoner.

Redhook is 5 minutes away.  I'd been there countless times, but had never taken the tour until that visit.  So glad I finally did.  They have a massive brewery (all their beer is brewed and bottled on site) and restaurant in Woodinville, WA (which I nominate for alcohol capital of the Pacific Northwest).  Tours are $5, you get a souvenir glass, a 5+ beer tasting (wish I'd known that before I'd downed a pint at the bar), and a tour guide who won't stop practicing his mediocre stand-up comedy on you.  Afterwards, I highly recommend you stay and enjoy their delicious pub grub and spacious outdoor patio, though I prefer to sit indoors at the bar.  A good bartender can make any date feel like a threesome.

Every time I visit my folks I'll make it a point to go to Redhook.  As I crack one open right now I'm transported to Safeco Field, or Ivar's Fish and Chips, or water skiing on Lake Washington.

I don't say go home.  It isn't my home.  It's where I spent 5 years of my childhood.  After 17 years in NYC and 3 in LA, I still didn't no where to call home...until I ended up here.  Oregon has grabbed a hold of me like the tentacles of the Sarlacc.  I've never felt more at home in my life.  The weather.  The trees.  The air.  The people.  The water.  The wine.  The weed...I feel like a salmon coming home to spawn and die...except for the spawning part.  These are crazy eggs.  The world does not need more crazy people.

Speaking of, it's so nice to be able to say I have an aunt, uncle or cousin in EVERY city in Oregon...Eugene, yes.  Bend, yes.  Corvallis, yes.  Salem, yes.  Portland, yes.  Roseburg, yes.  Coos Bay, yes.  North Bend, yes.  Medford, yes.  Grant's Pass...um...wait a minute...no one I can think of.   Almost every city in Oregon.  Both of my parents were Ducks (University of Oregon...not actual ducks...I haven't completely lost my mind).  My family roots run deep here.  The land I'm on goes back to my great great grandparents.

Today when people ask me where I'm from, I cannot tell you how healing it is to finally have an answer.

I'm from Oregon.

Now hand me that awesome beer from Washington.

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Another drinking holiday, like New Year's Eve, that is often referred to as Amateur Night by us hardened drinkers.  I wish I could say I was making a corned beef and cabbage and drinking a Guinness, but I quit eating beef and I'm not a fan of stouts.  Plus, cabbage makes me fart.  Sorry.

I'd be having a Jameson on the rocks, but I prefer single malt Scotch whiskeys to Irish ones.  Fun fact: the porn star Jenna Jameson took her stage name from the whiskey.  I actually really enjoyed her autobiography, "How To Make Love Like A Porn Star."  They sure don't make them like her anymore...

Originally observed as a religious holiday, held on the anniversary of the death of Saint Patrick, the foremost patron Saint of Ireland, it is now mostly associated with drunkenness and bigoted parades.

My husband is half Irish.  I'm nervous to meet my in-laws.  My husband still stands by his thinking I'm NOT an alcoholic because of these people.  They live on Baileys, Murphy's, Boddingtons and Bulmers, though one uncle only drinks Jack Daniels.  Go figure.

I have Irish roots on my mom's side.  Never done that ancestry.com DNA test, but with (formerly) natural red hair and family names like Campbell and Highly (which I should've taken as a stage name...how do I do anything?  Highly.  Sometimes drunkenly.  But always highly), I'm gonna bet on green.

It's funny, the last time I attempted AA, the women's group meetings I attended were like redhead, redhead, redhead...seriously what the fuck is with the Irish?

My mom's family is hardcore Catholic.  When the priest sex abuse scandal broke, her response was, 'Well, what I want to know is...who's going to hold these children accountable for their sinning?'  Yes.  Really.

I SO would've loved to make her watch Spotlight, but knowing her, she'd have me rooting for the pedophile priests by movie's end (and feeling REALLY guilty about masturbation.  Oh irony).

But hey...how great is it to have Michael Keaton back???  How many of us have said in the past year...'WOW.  I forgot what an amazing fucking actor Michael Keaton is." ???  BEST.  BATMAN.  EVER.

One St. Patrick's Day I will never forget was my final call back for my first Broadway show.   I was on tour with some disastrous musical and we were playing New Haven, Connecticut.  I woke up at the crack of ass to take the 2 hour Amtrak train ride to Grand Central Station.  When I got there the cab stand was packed with nary a cab in sight, so I had no choice but to walk 3 cross town blocks while dragging a large suitcase.  As I turned to walk north on Madison Avenue a 20something guy stumbled out of a pub door and threw up all over the sidewalk in front on me.  It was 9am.  Amateur.

Disgusting as it was, it must've been lucky.  Like when a bird shits on you.

Because I got the job.

Coincidentally, I was wearing all green.

Enjoy your hangovers amateurs!

Good Morrow!

One year ago today I was headed for London...to celebrate my brother's birthday and to kidnap my TBNH (Then Boyfriend Now Husband) and bring him back to America.

It almost didn’t happen.  I had been off my bipolar bear meds for 2 years and was falling apart, barely hanging by a thread.  I hadn't been sleeping, couldn't function and therefore hadn't packed.  I called my brother, sobbing hysterically and told him I needed to cancel the trip.  I wasn’t well and NEEDED to stay home and get back on my medication.  Unfortunately, he somehow managed to convince me to get it together, get in the car and get up to Seattle in record time.  A yellow jacket had decided to hitch a ride with me.  I almost crashed the car trying to get it out.

Made it to my parents house, tearfully kissed Yoda goodbye, jumped in my mom’s car and made it to SeaTac with 3 minutes to spare.  I rushed up to the British Airways check-in desk.  The lady looked me up and down, stopped smiling and raised her eyebrows.  "Did I make it on time?"  She looked at her clock and gave an inaudible response.  She genuinely wanted to tell me I hadn't.  I threw my bags on the scale.  Her smile returned as she informed me both were overweight.   I took laptops out of each and said I'd be giving them to my mom who was outside waiting to see if I had made it.  Luggage weighed in perfectly.  She silently put luggage claim tags on my bags, then handed me my boarding pass.  "Which gate do I go to?"  "S15"  "Thank you."  Gate S15 is in the International Terminal, which you have to take a train to.  Nice of her to mention that.

As I went through security the male TSA agent checking passports looked at mine and said, "Wow.  What a beautiful photo!"  "Is that your way of telling me I look like ass right now?"  I tend to travel without hair done or makeup on.  He laughed.  "No! Not at all....Where are you going gorgeous?"  "London."   "Mmmm...have fun."  I couldn't help but laugh.  Those last 5 minutes pretty much sum up my life experience.

I found Starbucks, then went to duty free.  I braved walking through the toxic cosmetics and perfumes (almost gagged) and headed straight for the hard liquor (which is also toxic...but let's pretend we don't know that).

And there it was...my first booze love...


                              


I picked it up, looked at the beautiful blue bottle and the memories came flooding back, not only of strip clubs and silicone, but of the exquisite combination of flavors that make up Bombay Sapphire.  I’ve never tasted its equal.  The list of infused botanicals is displayed on both sides of the bottle...juniper berries, lemon peel, coriander, angelica, orris (wtf is orris?), grains of paradise, cassia bark, almonds and liquorice. This baby was coming with me.

The flight was easy.  Friendly service (male flight attendant), delicious meals and FREE WINE!  Going through customs, however, never easy.  They only had one person working.  I said in a loud voice, "You're kidding me. One person working? Welcome to London y'all."  Someone in a uniform glared at me as four other people slowly crawled out of nowhere and took their... huts? cubicles? people aquariums?  Whatever you call those things they sit in.  Then I saw signs everywhere saying ABUSE WILL NOT BE TOLERATED.  Guess I'm not the first loud, rude, hungover American to come through there.

Somehow I managed to make it through without getting arrested or deported.  My man was waiting by the luggage carousal with dread (I'm female...of course I had a lot).  He looked good.  Hadn't seen him in 4 months (hallelujah Skype sex).  We then embarked on the longest fucking cab ride ever.  LONDON TRAFFIC.  Ugh.  When we finally made it to the hotel (The Radisson Blu in Leicester Square) it was surrounded by construction, so we had to be dropped off 2 blocks away and drag our luggage to the hotel.  My husband is a saint.

The hotel lobby was packed with beautiful people pouring in and out of their restaurant and bar.  Prince Charles was hosting a party (Yes, really).  My little brother had just arrived and was in the room waiting for us.  He was so happy my guy had brought the weed and I had brought the gin...the exact brand he wanted!  The mini bar had tonic water.  The usual yellow label crap.

And now for the point of the blog.  I HATE THE YELLOW LABEL CRAP!  And you should too...oh wait...I'm not supposed to say "you should" anymore.  So I won't say you should never be mixing your expensive beautiful potions (liquor) with cheap high fructose corn syrup laden CRAP.  But I HIGHLY recommend you try...

These 2 amazing wonderful much better for you tonic waters:

www.fever-tree.com

Sweetened with cane sugar, except for the Naturally Light...that's made with pure fructose (from fruit).

OR...

qtonic.com

Sweetened with agave, not sugar (same plant family they make tequila from - blue agave).

I've had both, I love them both.  PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE...(I'm sobbing again)...DON'T LET HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP NEAR YOUR COCKTAILS!!!  Sorry.  Cocktails are sacred...unless you're using them as warfare.

So back to London.  I needed a toke of weed, a gin and tonic, a shower and a shag.  In that order.  My little bro was gracious enough to go buy Book of Mormon tickets after we smoked and drank.  My husband had a coke...not some coke...a coke (he doesn't do drugs).  A quick side note...sodas in Europe and everywhere else BUT the US are made with real cane sugar, not high fructose corn syrup, which I believe is the more evil of the 2 evils.  At least the tonic water in the mini bar was made with sugar, as was the coke.  It tastes so much better.  I'm starting to see a lot of cane sugar versions of popular brands on US store shelves.  Yay!

So after he gave me a good rodgering (I'm learning English), we met my bro downstairs and headed to the restaurant row next to the hotel.  I wanted fish and chips and a pint of Guinness (hadn't discovered IPAs yet).  The waitress brought me the pint.  I took a sip and was not happy.  It was warm...and FLAT.  I flagged the server.  "Hey there.  May I send this back please?  It's warm and flat."  She walked away shaking her head.   My brother and husband started laughing.  "It's SUPPOSED to be that way."   "No."  "Yes."  She brought me another one.  It too was warm and flat.  Dammit.  Now I had to drink it.  My bro went off to buy cigarettes and my guy went off to buy a Sherlock Holmes hat.  We were planning to do a photo shoot that could get us arrested.  Sitting by myself al fresco, people watching, suddenly a very slow motorcade went by.  In the last town car I saw a familiar, dweeby silhouette.  PRINCE FUCKING CHARLES.  "Was that Prince Charles?"  I asked the cute uniformed guard walking behind the car.  He nodded.  My husband came back.   "Did you see that car?"  "What car?"  "It was Prince Charles."  "Really?"  "I know!  Cool, right?"  "I've lived here my whole life and have never seen a royal.  You're here an hour and you see Prince Charles."

It was a great weekend.  Saw Book of Mormon, Wicked, the Tower of London.  Had a lot of sex in bathrooms.  Clean ones.  Like the single handicap loo down one flight from the hotel lobby.  I wonder if Prince Charles peed in there earlier that day…Bro had just gone up to the room.  I was feeling very randy (English).  We spread my coat on the floor and went at it.  Missionary.  My foot was in the air enough to grab onto something.  I didn't realize it was the alarm pull for actual handicapped people to use if they're in distress and need assistance.  We got a knock on the door.  "Everything OK in there?"  "Yes," said my husband.  "Yes!" I chimed in.  Dammit.  Now they KNEW two people were in there fucking.  I lost my hard on.  We gathered ourselves and dove for the nearby elevator, which thankfully was on the same floor so we didn't have to do the walk of shame past the lobby desk.

The other bathroom was our hotel room bathroom.  Bro was passed out on his bed snoring loudly.  We were safe...and silent.  Fun fact: men can't cum and laugh at the same time.  I was on my knees, about to take a load in the face for the big finale, so I took a deep breath of air and made squirrel cheeks while closing my eyes.  He started laughing.  He came, but there was no shooting to say the least.  Hey...I'm used to older guys.  They cum samples.  These young guys shoot Costco gallons.  Best to take a deep breath AND KEEP YOUR EYES CLOSED.

After that event, I filled up a clean, empty Starbucks cup...half Bombay Sapphire, half tonic.  Bro was still snoring.  Because of my skin and other reasons that would make you roll your eyes, it's better for me to sight see at night.  I put on sneakers because I wanted to be comfortable.  We were going to be doing some walking.  And once the gin kicked in, we got to do our naughty photo shoots (though we didn't have time for Sherlock).  If you want to see the pics check out my twitter.  Needless to say, I wish I'd brought along heeled boots.

We almost got hit by one of those red double-decker buses, we did get kicked out of Westminster Abbey.  Turns out Big Ben is a boob man.  And so yeah, that was last time I had Bombay Sapphire.

Until right now. Only question is...which tonic water???

And the lime better be organic.

Cheerio!

Hey drinking buddies!

This week I'd like to give a shout out to the Oakshire Brewing Company in Eugene, Oregon.

oakbrew.com

Tours are on the first and third Saturdays of the month.  $10 gets you the tour, a souvenir glass, a pint or flight to start, and a pint or flight to finish.  EAT FIRST.  They don't serve food.

We arrived a few minutes early and took a seat at a table.  A youngish guy came up to me, looked at me intensely, and said slowly,  "Are you Pamela?"

The color drained from my face and my stomach cramped.  Entertainers usually like to be recognized.  Not cam models.  It's bad enough to know they've probably screenshot your lopsided labia or have seen you wildly humping a pillow with a glass toy up your ass.  Now you're worried they're going to ask if they can motorboat you or at the very least ask you to take a selfie with their penis.  I gulped and nodded.

"I'm the tour guide.  Here are your drink tickets.  You can start with a pint or a flight at the bar.  And you'll have another after the tour."

He walked over to the next couple.  My husband started laughing.  "Your face..."

"Yeah."  Big exhale.  "I'll be needing that pint now."

We got our souvenir glasses and headed to the bar.  I asked the sexy bartender who seemed to dislike me before I sat down about the IPA selection.  She said there were four, plus a red one.  "I'll take whichever has the highest IBU (remember...bitter as fuck)."  She asked my husband (with a smile) what he would like (bitch).  He went for their fresh brewed root beer (breweries almost always have fresh brewed ginger or root beer).  It was delicious.

People often don't know what to make of our age difference (11 years).  I've come out of many a ladies room to find some 20 something bartender draped all over him (an English accent in a small American farm town WILL get you laid).  To be fair, men have hit on me right in front of him (wore a Manchester United jersey in an English pub once...never been hit on more in my life).  At Oakshire, there was a guy sitting next to us who was drinking the same IPA I was.  He started to engage me in conversation, ignoring my husband in the middle.  I squeezed my husband's thigh and kissed him on the cheek.  Message received.

Does it bother me that my husband doesn't drink?  Hell no!  I married a designated driver.  Does it bother him that I drink?  Let me put it this way.  He forbids me to do another Dryuary.  Three sips of wine and I'm cooking his dinner and fondling his balls.

The tour guide rounded us up and herded us outside.  There was a yellow short (are we still allowed to say that?) school bus parked outside.  My hubby was very excited (they don't have yellow school buses in England).  I didn't have the heart to tell him about short buses, but there was no need. The minute we got on, the jokes began.  Oh well.  We're all going to hell.

BUT FIRST...we're going on a brewery tour.

They have a big brewery a few blocks from their bar.  After a few of these I'm finally starting to learn how to make beer!  He had us do a tasting of the ??? stage (don't remember...no short term memory).  It was very sweet.  Tasted like cereal milk after Cheerios.  Oakshire and many others are now aging certain beers in used wine barrels.  Not my preference.  I want my beer to taste like beer, my wine to taste like wine and nary the twain shall meet.  But they taste good.  Certainly worth trying.

After the tour they brought us back to the bar.  I was drinking for 2 so I tasted 10 beers.  No I didn't drink them all.  Only the IPAs.  But I did taste everything.  Enough to know they make fantastic beer.

I fell in love with their Drop Bear IPA.  7.3% ABV / 91 IBU  It's made with Australian hops (it is SO amazing how much hops looks like weed).  Tried to pick up a 4 pack from there today, but of course, it's seasonal.  Winter only.  Poo.

Their year round beers are Watershed IPA, Oakshire Amber Ale and Overcast Espresso Stout.  They have too many seasonals to count/taste.  Whatever your preference, I'm guessing they brew it.

There was a group of Hank Schrader clones outside on the patio, learning how to improve their home brewing skills, kind of like a yoga intensive, but for brewers.

I’ll be keeping my fridge stocked with my favorite beers from now on.  Fun fact: red wine and sports don’t mix…except in Seattle.  Went to a U.W. Huskies football game.  The parking lot was full of tail gate parties serving smoked salmon and Chateau St. Michelle wine.  Niles and Frasier would've been pleased.  I tried having a cabernet while watching a Man Utd game this week.  Never again.

It’s hard for my brain to slow down sometimes. (Really?)  Having a beer allows me to slow down, sit down, truly enjoy a game, and drunk tweet.

I’ll be getting back into the Mariners this season.  Loved them in high school.  Back then we had Alex Rodriguez, Ken Griffey Jr. and Randy Johnson!!!  I followed the Mets when I lived in NYC.  Bobby Valentine was manager, the starting lineup was Ricky Henderson, John Olerud, Mike Piazza and the dreamy Robin Ventura.

I love baseball.  It’s like math and ballet rolled into one giant metaphor for life.  I think the most beautiful sound in the world is the crack of the ball against the bat for a home run.

Except for maybe Ryan Giggs putting his balls in the back of my net…

Bottoms up!

OK so I gotta blow off some steam.

I'm into an organic lifestyle, green and all that.  Very popular here in Oregon.

My dad was ON BOARD with us going organic (the vineyard).  He bought up all the metal poles left in Oregon at the time (organic can't use wood because the wood is treated).  My husband and I were going to do all the legwork (mostly my husband), rototilling, weed whacking and pulling the weeds around the base of all 3160 pinot noir plants by hand.

Let me take you back to April 2015.

I'd like to submit an entry for worst dinner party ever.  I walked into the kitchen, back in Oregon after 5 miserable weeks in Europe (later).  I felt my aunt staring at me with so much negative energy I couldn't even look at her, I just focused on talking to my mom.  The aunt promptly told me my dog was fat.  It was true.  He was.  My dad had fed him double his daily food portion, with no walks, plus giving him popcorn.  I said in a comedic tone..."I'd like to refer your complaint to the person who's been taking care of him for the past month...double the food, none of the walks."  Everyone laughed.  She kept up her scowl/glare/smile (to hide the first two...ah women).

Later at dinner my uncle asked my husband what he thought of illegal aliens.  My aunt immediately went on a tirade about Mexicans, border control and how we should deport them all.  My husband's and my eyes widened as we pressed our legs together under the table.  Then my uncle made some comment about having curry once (my husband is half Pakistani).   It was so horrendous and so funny in hindsight I wish we'd secretly filmed it and put in on YouTube.  Someone should start a site like YouPorn, but for relatives behaving badly.

After dinner we moved outside to the fire pit.  Somehow they got onto the subject of spraying the vineyard with herbicides for weed control.  I looked at my dad.  "Ok...so organic is out?"  My uncle said in a loud, angry, drunk voice "90% of people don't care about organic."  "Where did you get that number from?"  "I made it up."  "Uh huh."  My aunt chimed in, "Yeah, well I won't do it."  As if it's HER FUCKING VINEYARD!!!  I started to loudly, angrily and drunkenly reply, but my wonderful husband stood up to go (the English are way too proper for this kind of American bullshit).  As I made a mental note to fuck his brains out later that night, I gratefully stood up with him, glared at my aunt and uncle, and in the most sarcastic, bitchy tone I could muster said, "Thank you all for a LOVELY evening."  I wish I'd said to my aunt, "You sure know how to make a last impression" (she's dying...oh please...she's been "dying" since I moved here 2 years ago...with no diagnosis...can't eat but is huge ???).

My husband and I grabbed Yoda, jumped in the car and left for the park, where he fucked my brains out on a picnic table under the stars, which is the only way to be arrested for nudity in Oregon, which explains a lot of my outdoor photo shoots where I seem to have an aversion to clothes.

I haven't spoken to my aunt and uncle since.  Until they apologize I'm going to make things REALLY uncomfortable for them every time they think about coming over.  When my aunt finally does cross my path I will speak my truth (let her have it).

Fade out fade in...last month my folks were coming down to show my husband how to rototill, because organic was back on the table (I always was the family lobbyist).  I was camming the night they arrived so they stayed with the aunt and uncle.  Yes they know what I do for a living.  I've been a professional entertainer since 15.  This is just my current "theater".  They don't need to hear about the sets, the costumes, the choreography or the props.  Though I think they'd like my music choices.  And my cooking show.  But they are sexual Kryptonite.  Big time boner killer.  I couldn't work knowing they were nearby.  Ew.

So after spending the night with those 2 assholes, suddenly we're back to spraying chemicals.  When my mom and dad broke the news I could only say, "Okay" (in more of an icy cold tone, not as bitchy) because it's their vineyard.

They left and my husband started spraying.  My mother had instructed him to saturate the ground, my dad said just barely, but the Queen is the most powerful piece on this chess board, so he drowned those fuckers.  He didn't wear gloves at first and the chemicals got into his hands.  We had to keep Yoda inside for his safety, as the chemicals could make him very sick OR KILL HIM.  I started to feel that yuckiness/edginess that comes with using toxic cosmetics or cleaning products.

We had to go to the farm store to get more.  You don't realize what "conventional" means until you walk down the aisle of chemical herbicides, pesticides and fertilizers.  These huge multi-gallon vats are filled with such poisonous stuff they have skulls and crossbones on them.  I'd love to shake some over ice and serve it in martini glasses to my aunt and uncle (garnished with a toxic grape).  I wouldn't pour a shot into their food, because cooking is sacred to me.  But I have no problem using cocktails as warfare.  Then I hear Dr. Phil's voice in my head saying 'Take the high road.  There's a lot less traffic out there.'  And then I remember Buddhism saying something about Do No Harm.  Grrrr.

The only ray of sunshine here is our vegetable garden is ours to experiment with.  And we are going organic all the way.  Found a nice spot on the property my folks would let us tear up with a rototiller.  When we started searching for YouTube videos on organic gardening, this was the first one to pop up:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OiGof48XVCQ

At first I was so turned off I turned it off.  I'm not a fan of Evangelicals.  My dad is one.  But as I started another video I kept thinking if I could get past the Bible quoting, that looked like a real cool video, and that guy seemed like a really cool guy.  A high vibrational being for sure.  I just loved his energy.  And HOLY CORGI not only did he change my life forever, he made me realize we believe a lot of the same things, we just speak different languages.  I love what Marianne Williamson says..."God doesn't care if you get the words right."

Paul's (we're on a first name basis) techniques and practices make so much sense and save us SO MUCH WORK.  Instead of brutally tearing up the ground with a rototiller, I gently place down 4 sheets of newspaper onto beautiful grass as my husband shovels and dumps a pile of mulch onto it.  It's much more spiritual than it sounds.  I want to convert the vineyard.

One of the best lessons I ever learned from my dad was, "It's better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission."

So we're just going to fucking do it.  Mulch and wood chips, one plant, one row at a time.  We'll still follow my parents' instructions regarding spraying chemicals, but maybe in a year or two they'll see they don't need to.

Like my great great grandparents, great grandparents and grandparents (who lived here), this land was here long before them and it'll be here long after I'm fertilizing a marijuana plant...OH!  I'm growing my own this season!  My first plant Fergus just sprouted!...where was I?  Oh yes...I'm a steward of the land.  No one owns land.  You take care of it for the short time you're here on this earth.  And this land needs some healing.

I drink a lot.  (Really?)  When I have wine I drink the whole bottle.  If I drink an organic or old world wine, I get no hangover, no headache, no Advil is needed.  A little black coffee and weed the next morning and I'm good to go.  If I drink a conventional bottle, the insomnia is for hours, the headache is excruciating and all the Advil, coffee, and weed in the world won't help me.  Walking through the chemical herbicide/pesticide/fertilizer aisle in the farm store I GET IT NOW.  If you drink a shot of that stuff you'd be in the emergency room.  If Yoda goes outside it could kill him.  DO YOU REALLY THINK IT ISN'T GOING TO END UP IN THE GRAPES?
  
And though my folks only want to sell their grapes, I have this strange vision.  I've never taken a chemistry class in my life.  But my husband who doesn't drink has, and is good at it.  How funny would it be if he turns out to be this AMAZING wine maker but never actually tastes his product?  (I call taster!)...like Walter White.  Guess that'd make me Pinkman...or was it Badger?  Mmmm...he would be the best stoner sex ever.  I should come up with a Breaking Bad themed wine line...Walter White Wine (sauvignon blanc), Skylar White Wine (riesling), Pinkman Rose (pinot noir), Gus Framboise, Hank Chardonnay...Mike ???...I got nothing...

But if we don't end up making wine I hope we can at least sell the grapes to Badger Mountain (remember my favorite pinot noir?).  Guess I have a thing for badgers.

But REALLY I want to sell them to this week's feature, King Estate Winery in Eugene, OR.

King Radio was a manufacturer of aviation avionics (the electrical systems used in planes).  They're still found in planes today.  I thought this was a sign.  My dad is a test pilot.  He knew of King Radio quite well.  Has their equipment in his personal planes.

They make all their wine at the impressive estate.  In addition to using estate grown grapes, they have 35 contracts with growers in Oregon and Washington.  The estate is 100% organic.  We're talking solar panels and a raptor program...TO EAT THE BIRDS WHO ATTEMPT TO EAT THE GRAPES.  Another one of those hardcore things that blow my stoner mind.  BUT...their wine is not organic because they add sulphites.  ???  I know.  I'm confused too.  Taking a toke.

They do free tours at 1pm, 2pm, 3pm and 4pm.  My hubby and I just got back from one.  It was just us so we had the tour guide all to ourselves.  It was like having our own personal organic viticulture coach.  We learned that Paul's technique of mulching and wood chips is the way to go (I want a compost pile!).  Also his pruning.  And we can use sheep!  For fertilizing whilst mowing the cover crop.  They won't destroy the grapes like goats.  Adding a flock of sheep to my pet wish list.  Hey...I knit.

The tasting was $10 for 5 wines (waived with a $60 purchase).  They have wines at every price point, with three lines: Acrobat, NxNW and King Estate.  The King Estate pinot noirs consistently make the top lists in Wine Spectator, Forbes, Cigar UpYourBeaver...this one pinot noir, called Old School, is grown by a farmer who uses Clydesdales and a plow!  I wonder if they watch the Super Bowl with him for the Budweiser commercials.

We learned more stuff, like cover crops (oats, radishes, peas), what we can spray with (elemental sulfur).  They have a fancy pants restaurant.  Next time my folks make it down to Oregon (they live in Seattle) I'm going to be dragging them there.  I'm still the family lobbyist, and I will not accept defeat.  The trees need me.  However, our tour guide did tell us if we choose to make our own wine, we'd get about 600 cases from our 3 acres.

I'm going to start calling my husband Walt.

Thank you for letting me rant.

Story Problem:

If Pam drinks 4 days per week and is dry 3 days per week, how is her drinking window 72 hours and her dry window 96 hours?

Answer:

'Cuz she starts drinking Friday evening but is done by the same time Monday evening leaving her dry from Monday evening through Friday evening.

I know.  It blows my stoner mind.  Like the time my yoga teacher said, "Yoga is the journey of the self, through the self, to the self."  Still smoking that one.

So my last post led to some great chats in my room this past weekend.

Isn't fish meat?  Yes.  I consider all animal protein meat.  Eggs too, which are not dairy.  The grade school pyramid was wrong.  Dairy comes from the milk of an animal.  Some would call me a vegetarian, but I disagree.  Pescetarian.

I don't think vegan or vegetarian or pescetarian or paleo is morally or nutritionally better than the other.  Different animals and sexes have different nutritional needs.  I can't exactly go up to Yoda and say, "Here.  Have some grains and vegetables.  Mommy's a vegan now," without getting a peg legged slap across the face.  My husband is a male human (because a sheep turned me down).  He does much better on paleo, having beef, lamb, poultry, fish and eggs, with fruits, vegetables, seeds and nuts.

Here's how I see it.  In an end times scenario, let's pretend the dollar has tanked, the grocery stores have been looted, it's every Pam for herself.  I wouldn't be able to take down an elk or deer or bunny rabbit (they're delicious), kill, gut and clean it (but I can suck the cock of someone who can...pretty sure that's how blow jobs came about).  There are some women who are that in touch with their inner amazon, but they're probably deployed somewhere in the Middle East.  Actually many of them live here in Oregon.  The hottest 19 year old barista EVER saw a deer on the side of the road that had been hit by a car but was still alive and suffering, so she pulled over, took out her machete (we all have at least 2) and slit its throat.  That's some hardcore shit.  I could dig you some clams, but that's about it, though in a survival situation I could probably start a fire without matches or a lighter.  Most stoners can, as well as turn any piece of fruit into a pipe.

I really am going to take up fly fishing for food.  Ned Stark said it best...the Pam who passes the sentence should swing the sword.  If I can't catch, kill, gut, clean and cook it myself, then I shouldn't eat it.

But I am going to add a small amount of dairy back into my diet...specifically FETA.  Not from cow milk, but from goat (I've read that goat milk is easier for humans to digest than cow, and I believe it. Thank you cystic acne).  The time I missed drinking the most during Dryuary was when I was preparing dinner, having bread (I bake my own now!), kalamata olives, wine and feta.  But if I'm going to do that, I need to know where it's coming from, the farming practices, how the goats are treated, everything.  Thankfully, my favorite goat dairy is just a stoner road trip away, not too far from Napa Valley.  I'll be visiting them during their next open house, and swing by a few organic wineries for tastings.  I LOVE the hippie dippy west coast!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iYpfK-GXJ9c

My mom won't let me have a pet goat.  Says it'll eat the vineyard.  Which really sucks because I would love to make my own feta and Greek yogurt.  I would name her Tzatziki...get her a husband named Melvin.  I used to have pet goats...Lesbian Nubians...Sally and Gertrude...we got 'em to clear acres of blackberries.  Those cute little tractors can swallow anything [insert goat porn joke here], which means my mom is right (grrrrr).  No pet goats.  But they're SO CUTE!!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLTwTsh9FfI

I'm looking forward to my Mediterranean picnic...homemade bread, fruit, olives, feta and so much wine that Alex Trebeck starts to look hot...

This week's feature will go nicely.  I discovered it last weekend.  It's getting a callback.

Chateau Routas Rosé, a dry rosé from the Provence region of France, made from the varietals cinsault, grenache and syrah.  I have so much fun looking at where a winery is on Google Maps.  I'm manifesting a French wine tasting vacation for "research purposes".  This winery would definitely be on my visit list.  That makes 2 so far...Gerard Betrand in Languedoc and now Chateau Routas in Provence.

http://www.chateauroutas.com/files/7314/5035/0807/RouviereRose2015.pdf

I wish I had descriptors for you, but I was enjoying it so much I forgot to write them down, and my short term memory is shot to shit (will have them for you next week).  It was definitely a standout.  I've had 2 other rosés in the past 2 weeks, but they did not make my list.  Both tasted like church wine, which reminded me of Sunday Mass.  I suddenly had the urge to be kneeling, which happens even with good rosé, but for other reasons...the kind that'll get you a side of elk...

Au Revoir!

Back in the saddle again.  I had a glass of rosé at a wine bar on Friday with my husband after yoga, a bottle of rosé Friday night during my show and another during Saturday's.  THEY WERE AMAZING.  Like the first time you have sex after a 2 year dry spell.  Had a 22oz. beer (Ninkasi Total Domination IPA) on Sunday during the Super Bowl, followed by a bottle of tempranillo during my evening show (not my best idea...won't  be doing that again...got to pick one or the other).  And on Monday I had a 22 oz. beer (Ninkasi Tricerahops Double IPA) for my day off.  Didn't drink Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday.  I love my dry days.  And I love my drinking days.  Thank you Dryuary!  Suck it AA.

This week I'd like to give a shout out to Ninkasi Brewing Company.  If you ever find yourself in Duckburg (Eugene), Oregon and you love beer, YOU MUST try their FREE tour with a complimentary  5+ beer tasting (Thursdays @ 1pm).  Book online.  Wear close toed shoes.  We spent the first five minutes of the tour waiting for some wedge sandeled idiot to strut back to her car and change her shoes.  While everyone else sat basking in the sunlight at a picnic table hearing the backstory of the brewery founders, I clung to a wall like a gecko for the only 6 inches of shade anywhere, trying not to let my skin sizzle like one of the Dark Seekers in I Am Legend.  But other than that, it was a glorious experience.

Their facility is quite large.  Biggest game in town.  The tour guide was so friendly and informative (Ninkasi is the Sumerian goddess of beer).  He turned me on to this Discovery Channel documentary, "How Beer Saved the World."  If you have 43 minutes (no commercials!) and love beer, I think you'll enjoy this.

https://vimeo.com/23278902

Ninkasi's flagship is Total Domination IPA  6.7% ABV 65 IBU  $10 per 6 pack

I remember the first time I tasted it this past summer.  I was taking my English husband to his first county fair...

I hadn't been to one in a long while, but grew up going to them.  As a kid my favorite part was looking at all the livestock, seeing who had won the blue ribbons.  I loved petting the sheep after they'd been shorn, the cows, the pigs, the rabbits, the chickens.  I loved eating corn dogs and whipping fudge, going on the rides Octopus and Zipper.  My dance studio had us performing every night.  It was awesome.  Then.

Since then I've been exploring Buddhism.  Suddenly I'm very aware of and sensitive to suffering.  I feel the life force of EVERYTHING (I have a spider relocation program).  This time at the fair, in all the livestock pens and cages, I saw how much all the animals were suffering.  Except for the goats.  They were happy.  Probably because we don't eat them in our culture, we just keep them around for lawn mowing and cheese.  But everything else was miserable.  Being in those cages for DAYS.  Auctioned off for food.  The blue ribbon thing suddenly looked like the most sick and twisted beauty pageant ever.

As I was petting a baby dairy cow who looked exactly like Norman from City Slickers, a few big bulls came out of the judging ring.  The blue ribboned bull was beautiful.  Huge.  Muscular.  Intimidating.  After he was chained up in his stall, he sat down and looked away from everyone.  The crowd dispersed and I walked up next to him.  He turned his head to me as much as he could (he had a large, painful looking ring through his nose chained to his stall).  I looked into his eye and could not believe the suffering I saw.  He was going to spend the rest of his days in a field fucking and making little baby cows, going off to live the American human male dream, but it wasn't worth this agony.  He looked back at me and actually stood up.  I wanted to cry.

"Look what they've done to you!  This is barbaric.  I am SO sorry."  My chest started to hurt.  "I promise, from this day forth, I will never harm another animal again."  He said nothing back to me, but it was a conversation I will never forget.  His pain was excruciating.

OK so the point of this whole story was after my life changing moment with Mr. Bull, we went outside.  My husband was a little taken aback by what he had just seen.  I was overwhelmed and desperately needed a chair in the shade and a beer in my hand.  My baby faced 28 year old husband forgot his ID so I braved the sun and headed for the beer tent.  I asked the nice tattooed dread locked white lady straight out of Portlandia if she had any IPAs.  "This one."  She pointed to Ninkasi.  "It's local.  It's their flagship."

Local?  IPA?  FLAGSHIP? (I love that word) I'll take it!!  She poured me a recycled plastic cup full.  I took several large gulps.  It was SO REFRESHING.  Absolutely delicious.  Strong floral aroma and bold fruity taste...specifically nectarine.  The much welcome buzz helped dull my very raw senses.  I sat down next to my hubby.  "I never really believed in your witchy powers until just now.  You actually communicated with that bull."  "I never realized how cruel our farming practices are.  I promised him I would stop eating beef and that I would never harm another animal again."

I couldn't keep my promise right away...or completely.  After I finished my beer I promptly went to the corn dog stand and devoured one (never again).  Over the next month I had 2 beef burgers, 1 pork burrito bowl at Chipotle, some Costco rotisserie chickens, but then completely switched to a Mediterranean Pescaterian (Vegetarian with Fish) diet.  I wish I could live on a vegan diet (tried 3 times), but that's not a good idea for bipolar bears.  We need animal protein for our brains that can sometimes be like Audrey 2 in Little Shop of Horrors.  The only creatures I eat now are wild caught seafood (I'm actually going to learn how to fly fish!).  No farm raised anything.  I fully accept that I will be reincarnated as an Alaskan salmon.  I was a bear in a former life, so I deserve it.  It must really suck to be a salmon.

So that's the story of how I discovered Ninkasi Total Domination IPA...and why I stopped eating creatures with feet forever.  Flippers only.

Stay away from the whipping fudge.

Day 27 without alcohol.  I'm genuinely shocked.  Can't even remember the last time I did that.  Pretty sure my age started with a 2, the year did not, and the Radio City Christmas Spectacular was to blame (I was a Rockette...that gig is 16 shows per week and my team started at 9am).  But since then, never.

I'm actually bummed Dryuary is coming to an end...for the following reasons:

Skin - My face is looking chiseled again.  No more puffer fish.  I don't dread seeing myself on camera or feel the need to stay far away from the lens.  A few small eruptions from either too much coffee or my skin is jumping in to help my body eliminate toxins.  Probably both.

Scale - Read 131.8 lbs...lost almost 7 lbs exactly, and I still have 5 days to go!

Sleep - Never better...and that's huge for a bipolar bear like me.  Not too long ago, I was in the throws of the worst manic episode of my life.  I was getting 2-4 hours of sleep per night for 6 months.  Before that I'd get 8 hours spread out over 12 (sleep 4, awake 4, sleep 4).  Insomnia will drive you insane.  There's a reason sleep deprivation is used to torture and break POWs.  Turns out the most important things in life aren't money and power...they're pooping and sleeping.  Ask Elvis.

Savings - I saved about $300... I know.

I wish I had it in me to go the distance, whether it's 2 more months for the magic 90 days or forever.  I probably do.  This has been very empowering (powerless my ass...never tell anyone they're powerless...unless you have them tied naked to a bottomless chair and are about to swing something at their nut sack).  But I don't have the desire.  I can't wait to have an IPA during the Super Bowl, or to have Champagne during the Oscars, or to visit a local winery with my husband to taste their pinot noir and pick their brains for growing tips.  I still need to do that blind taste test between Grey Goose and Oregon Spirit.  I really do want to visit every winery, brewery and distillery in Oregon (scoot over Julie & Julia).

Dry January is kind of like your parents coming home early to find you're having an out of control party.   "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!?"  The music stops, the lights come on. You know you're fucked.  "YOU...OUT! YOU...YOU'RE GROUNDED!  ONE MONTH WITHOUT ALCOHOL.  EVERYONE ELSE CLEAR OUT!  NOW!!!"

And after a month you swear you've learned your lesson, you'll never do it again, "Now may I please go play with my friend?"

"Fine.  But be RESPONSIBLE."

"I will."

"We'll see."

I look forward to this Friday (my first dry day was January 5th, so I have to stay after school 4 days in February).  But I'm going to enjoy the heck out of this last week.  I highly recommend Dry January to any and all who love alcohol.  No seriously.  Being high helps.

On a side note, remember that MindBodyGreen link I posted by Elettra Wiedemann?  In it she stated that without alcohol, her PMS symptoms were so minor she almost didn't notice them...yeah...that DID NOT happen for me.

NOW GET OUT.

Day 18 without alcohol.  Feels amazing.  The scale hit a plateau all week, but it finally read 133.9 today (I'm 5'7").  I have cheekbones again.  I'm sleeping better than I have in years.  I love being present in the evenings for my husband.  He likes not having to re-watch the same episode of whatever we're binge watching over and over and over again.  Dry January ROCKS.

The work weekend was hilarious.  One of my fans almost had a meltdown seeing me not drinking.  I finally put my lemon water in a wine glass to make him feel better (it worked).  One fan who takes me for long privates came in and asked if I was drunk yet.  I informed him of my Dryuary choice.  He said "Hmmm...I'll come back in February" and left.  In fact, 2 fans said and did that.  I had to laugh (a relieved laugh) and shake my head.  Why relieved?  Because the lesson learned is AWESOME.  Do what makes ME happy.  If I want to drink once a week on date night with my husband or drink during my shows or drink everyday or not drink at all, it's nobody's business but mine, my husband's, my corgi's, my doctor's, my nurse practitioner's, my therapist's, my yoga instructor's and my hair stylist's (cheekbones).  Everyone who drunk shamed me can go suck a dick...OR...they can get on a scale, take a picture of that number, tweet it, along with their naked picture from neck to navel, then get me a copy of their labs because I am DYING to see their cholesterol and glucose levels.  Then they need to give up red meat, dairy and sugar forever.  It's the ONLY hope for them.  Fuckwads.

I'm not a fan of Christianity, but I do agree with 'Take the plank out of your own eye before you worry about the speck in mine, man boobs.'  - Matthew 7 : 5

My husband who doesn't drink NEVER drunk shamed me.  Not once.  Even after horrific fights brought on by booze.  He was only loving and supportive, offering to get me whatever I needed, going without so I could have.  He's as surprised as I am by this Dryuary thing.  He's never seen me go this long without alcohol in the 2 years he's known me.   4 days was the most.  His abundance of support and lack of judgement were genius.  If you make something forbidden, you'll want it all the more.  If you have it shoved up your butt, you're happy to have a break.  I'm not saying he gave me a chardonnay enema, but considering what we have done, it's not too far fetched.

I admit that's very risky with alcohol (having as much as you want whenever you want...not using it as an enema...that's just fucking retarded).  It's kind of like putting an airplane into a steep dive to put out an engine fire, hoping you'll be able to pull up in time.  Not sure I would recommend it to all who are alcohol addicted, but it seems to have worked for me.

Witchcraft teaches us whatever we put out into the universe comes back to us threefold.  If I'm constantly being drunk shamed, it's my karma for being a judgmental, narcissistic bitch most of my adult life.  In my defense, I was raised by 2 judgmental, narcissistic assholes, so I have a lot to overcome.

I suppose this is the part where I should say we need to stop judging each other and start loving each other and ask you all to open your YouTube hymnals and join me in a chorus of 'Kumbaya'.

But I won't.  There is no 'we need to'... I can only speak for me.  I began exploring Buddhism BECAUSE I'm such a narcissist.  I'd finally learned to love myself and decided I deserved a better life.  And the only way to make it happen was to change my karma.  Not only in creating good, but going out of my way to not create bad.  Learning to have compassion for myself was a profound awakening.  Now if I could just get my head out of my ass long enough to have it for others...

So in keeping with that, from this day forward I vow to focus only on my own shit.  I won't spend one ounce of energy judging or criticizing anyone else or their choices.  I will never give advice unless asked.  I will never use the phrases 'You need to...' or 'You should...'

And I can't WAIT to have an I.P.A.

Namaste

So funny story.  Remember when I said vodka would be fueling my weekend shows?  When I posted that last post I was actually on Day 3 without alcohol (something I hadn't accomplished since March).  In the New Year my goal was to go one day per week without alcohol in January, 2 days in February, 3 in March, 4 in April, and then be at a comfortable cruising altitude I could live with, while still getting my shine on during my shows.  Then I read this mindbodygreen post:

http://www.refinery29.com/quit-drinking-for-a-month?utm_source=mindbodygreen.com&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=pubexchange_twitter#slide

Then I found this one:

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-23077/i-gave-up-alcohol-for-31-days-heres-how-it-transformed-my-life.html

And this one:

http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-16932/quitting-booze-for-a-month-has-some-awesome-benefits.html

Then there was a Dry January segment on Dr. Oz and I was like "Well now I wanna do it."  But I told myself there was no way I'd be able to do it this year.  My body was way too addicted.

There are many who say I'm an alcoholic.  No seriously.  They actually say it.  To my face.  All the time.  The numerous men who've dumped me because of my drinking, not to mention all the fans who come into my chat room and say I need to go to AA.  It's the ONLY hope for me.  People don't think twice about shaming an alcoholic, but they wouldn't dare go to a food court in the mall and tell an obese person they're fat and they need to go to Weight Watchers.  It's the ONLY hope for them.  Someone might film it, put it on YouTube and that would be the end of their life as they know it.  You can't say fat, but apparently you can still say drunk.  I find their unsolicited advice to be the equivalent of saying: "You have cancer and you need to treat it with leeches and bloodletting.  It's your ONLY hope."  Archaic, arrogant, ignorant assholes.

The 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous:

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves, and to another being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly ask Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

My 28 year old husband was surprised to learn my favorite episode of South Park is 'Bloody Mary'... until he rewatched it.  " Is that really what AA teaches?"  "Yep."  "I thought it was a South Park joke."  "Nope."  "That's ridiculous."  " I know."  "Absolute rubbish."  He's English.

I've been through the AA experience four times.  It's never worked for me and doesn't work for a lot of people.  Fortunately the science and medical monkeys have made incredible advances in the treatment of alcohol addiction, which I consider to be a reversible, healable MEDICAL condition.  God and His big penis are not needed here.

Gabrielle Glaser's book, Her Best Kept Secret: Why Women Drink and How They Can Regain Control, was a game changer for me.  It opened my eyes to Smart Recovery and a world full of women who were just like me.

For the record my husband, who's never had a drop of alcohol in his life, doesn't think I'm an alcoholic, but he's European.  In fact, half of his family is from Cork, Ireland.  Several of his uncles have fallen down while drunk, hit their heads and died, which is considered a natural cause of death in Ireland.   My therapist thinks I have a significant problem and is highly in favor of some outpatient rehab, however he is not a fan of AA, but he is of Smart Recovery.  My doctor thinks alcohol is a toxin PERIOD.  And a sugar, which she opposes in all forms (my precious wheat!).  She would like to see me be paleo and alcohol free forever.  I should mention she looks like a super model, so I value her opinion.  The nurse practitioner who prescribes my crazy pills is ok with me having 2 beers a day as long as I'm working with my therapist to titrate down and off.  That would be awesome if that's how much I'd been drinking, but I lied by my ass off so she'd keep prescribing without sending me to rehab.  Truthfully before Dryuary I was consuming 7 servings of alcohol per day (there are five in a bottle of wine...5 oz wine = 12 oz Beer = 1.5oz Liquor).  1000+ calories PER DAY just from alcohol.  30,000 + per month!!

It wasn't like that before my trip to Europe.  Before that I was abstaining Monday through Thursday, drinking a bottle of wine each day Friday through Sunday.  At that point my ALT (SGPT) level (indicative of liver damage/disease) was 22.  Normal range is 0-32.  A year earlier it was 44, so I'd made significant progress.  My current level drinking 7 servings per day is 36.  High, but still better than Charlie Sheen's on his best day.  I'll be getting new tests after Dryuary.

So here I am Day 11 without alcohol.  Scale read 138.7 when I started.  Today 134.6.  4 POUNDS IN 10 DAYS?!?!?  Doing the same exercise regiment and diet I regularly do.  Yep. Dry January is definitely going to be a yearly tradition.  Day 3 was rough, like bad headache and agitation.  I am and have been treating the symptoms of withdrawal with black coffee and weed.  They help immensely.  Also, one of my crazy pills (Lamictal) is actually an anti-seizure medication, which is given to patients in detox (usually it's Depakote) to prevent the possible seizures that come with severe alcohol withdrawal.  But other than that smooth sailing.  Ok last night was rough but only because I was a bad bipolar bear and changed (lowered/stopped taking some of) my Seroquel because I thought hey, I'm not drinking, I'm better now.  Common for bipolar bears (why do we hate taking our medication so much?).

My husband asked me if this is going to be the new norm.  I don't know.  Daily drinking is done for sure.  But I like the idea of the one cheat day per week diet.  First heard of it in a Daniel Craig interview promoting Casino Royale.  He did it then and we all know what he looked like in that bathing suit.  And by drinking only one day per week I can afford to splurge on more extravagant wine and liquor (I already splurge on beer...$12 per 4 pack?  Yep.  I'm a princess).

Smart Recovery says I can learn moderation.  AA would say no way.  But after healing old wounds and treating an underlying mood disorder with weekly therapy, going back on my bipolar meds after 2 years off (don't ask), getting my hormones as balanced as Suzanne Somers', replenishing depleted vitamins levels, detoxing my life right down to the toilet paper, finding an amazing partner and best friend (same person) who doesn't drink...yeah...I think I can pull it off.

And yet I keep hearing Forrest Gump's voice in my head...


That day, for no particular reason, I decided to go without alcohol.

So, I got to the end of the day, and when I got there, I thought maybe I'd go to the end of the week.

And when I got there, I thought maybe I'd just go the whole weekend.

And I figured since I'd come this far, maybe I'd just go the whole month.

And that's what I did.  I went all of January without alcohol.

For no particular reason I just kept on going.  I went clear to the end of the year.

And when I got there, I figured since I'd gone this far, might as well turn around, just keep on going.

When I got to another year, I figured since I'd gone this far, I might as well just turn back, keep right on going.

When I got tired, I slept.  When I got hungry, I ate.  When I had to go...you know...I went.

YODA: And so...you just stopped drinking?!?

ME: Yeah!

[Cue Music and Montage]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgnJ8GpsBG8


Ok so the last few lines haven't happened yet, but I believe in the power of manifestation.

Enjoy watching Forrest Gump! (oh you know you're gonna)