That Was the Sound of Me Peeing My Pants...

So, my landlord just told me I can have a cat.

Wait.

Did you just hear that sound?

That was the sound of me peeing my pants in excitement!

If you know me at all, or read my last blog, you might get the inkling that I like cats.

A lot.

Like, a lot a lot.

But not in a, “I need as many as possible so that my house smells like cat piss and litter box” way, but in a, “I just need one” kind of way.

Cats are awesome.

If you disagree it’s probably because 1. You suck, 2. You’re allergic, or 3. You never owned a cat.

I always enjoy a story that starts out as, “So I got this cat…”. That intro tells me the following things: 1. Poop may be involved in some hilarious way, 2. The cat is most likely missing a limb or eye or both or all, 3. Something was found dead somewhere (which may or may not include the cat depending on if you start the sentence with “has” or “had”), 4. Something ridiculous happened, or 5. You are about to tell me the most pointless story ever.

That’s what I like about cats. They are all-encompassing. You never know what you are going to get with a cat.

Ever.

And not in a bad way (usually). They live these lives unlike any life we will ever understand. House cat, alley cat, whatever kind of cat…they do the most random, bizarre shit and no matter how many times you have seen your cat flip out and tear ass around the house for no reason what-so-ever, it is still the funniest damn thing you will ever see. In fact, it almost gets even funnier the more often they do it.

So back to the fact that I now have this huge door open to me. Whether or not I will open it and actually get a cat is for me to know and for you to ponder. I am at the age where I now see what a pain in the ass having a cat can be. I live upstairs so the most outside my kitty will get is on my 5’ x 5’ outside patio. I am not sure how I feel about a cat box in my small apartment bathroom and if I leave, who would I trust to give it the love an attention it will be used to from me? I don’t know. But the fact that I now have an opportunity to get one, something I have dreamt of since I moved out, just makes my world all the more amazing.

Call me spiritual, call me crazy, call me whatever (I’m sure you do anyway), but I think ever since I stopped drinking, all the things I wanted, all the things I had hoped for, small and pathetic as they might seem to you, but gargantuan in my eyes, have all been trickling towards me. A job I love that actually pays the bills; the opportunity to snuggle a kitten again; an amazing, beautiful man who treats me like a queen; time to go to the gym and meditate on all the things I am thankful for; time with my friends…all these things most of you might take for granted, but for me, it’s priceless.

There were nights when I was crumpled on my floor, broken and exhausted. Exhausted from working continuous 18 hr days with shit pay at jobs that belittled me despite all my efforts and hard work. Broken and exhausted from heartache and self-hate, wondering continuously why I felt so unwanted and shitty about myself. Exhausted from worrying how I was going to pay bills, despite how fucking hard I worked everyday…disappointed in the fact that despite it all…after everything...this is where I landed…face down in my room, bawling, praying and trying to drink it all away. Scared and hopeless…bitter and angry…fragile and weak. There were weeks where I just couldn’t get my shit together…weeks where I would uncontrollably break down and cry…in the middle of work. The world, after everything I had gone through, was finally too much.

In all my other weak times, I always had something that depended on me. A cat. An innocent lover that looked up at me, pathetically, after tearing ass all over the house, or curling up in my lap as I cried. It was because of them that I forgot about my mom passing, or the divorces, or anything else that was going on. All they knew was of that very moment when I held them and loved them. All they needed was me, and in the end it brought peace to me that maybe all I needed was them.

So in the time I had dealt with giving up my first love, all my pride, my securities, and my money, I did it with the hope that one day I would be ok…I would have a kitten again; something that told me it was going to be ok. So the significance of this “cat” that I can finally get is more than just a cat, but a dream come true. I told my mom and dad through tears, “All I want is such a simple life. To get passed this heartache and worthlessness; to find a simple job...and to get a kitten. Just a sweet, loving kitten to make it all better…it’s so simple. I gave up everything to find myself and to live a simple life…I gave it all up and now I’m paying for it…”, and my voice would trail off and I would sob, thinking of all the days I worked, and worked, and worked. Days on end. Some days I worked 3 jobs in one day…starting at 4am and not getting done until 11pm. I thought that because I drudged through it that I deserved what I had been begging for. I didn’t. Not then. I had to sink further and try harder. And in my heart I knew there was something that I wasn’t doing to get to where I wanted to be.

Initially I let go of the idea that anything was owed to me. NOTHING was owed to me. Next I took a moment to look around and appreciate everything that I had in front of me. Forgetting the bills and the things that I did to myself, but instead appreciating what I had at that moment…family, friends, a safe place to sleep and food in my belly, and multiple jobs, which was a shit ton more than a lot of people. I felt like a glutton when I sat down and looked at all the blessings around me…and then I felt like a selfish spoiled brat for thinking I deserved more. And I hung my head for a moment, reflecting in my childish behavior, but then I realized that it was time to move on, to stop feeling sorry for myself and take the next step into becoming a better person. But something was still holding me back.

I kept telling my girls, “God is not letting me go any further because I haven’t done something. There is a key part in all of this that I am missing. There is something I haven’t done yet. I thought I did it all. What more do I have to do? I have nothing left to give!”

Today I realized that my drinking was that final step. I didn’t stop drinking because I thought if I did I would get a kitten. That would be ludicrous (and had I known I would have stopped drinking a year ago!) No, I stopped because I wanted to. Because I felt in my heart that in order to really see life the way I needed to make a difference in the world, I would have to let go of the crutch…the thing I thought was saving me throughout all of this, when in reality, it was weighing me down. And in the end, it seems to have been the answer I prayed for as I lay on my floor in a pathetic heap, bawling my eyes out at what a fucking failure at life I was.

And so in a way, I traded whiskey for a kitten. In my eyes, that’s pretty much the most awesome trade ever! I may not get a cat any time soon. I might go out and grab one tomorrow. Who knows. In fact, it doesn’t even matter. All that matters is that the opportunity, one I dreamt of for so long, has come to me. A desperate prayer, that cold and broken hallelujah that I cried one night for salvation…for that one thing to carry me out of this has finally come…after I had already saved myself…

I've Never Been Good With Forevers.

Who would you take a bullet for? Like a legitimate bullet. Imagine some dude with a gun pointed at someone's head...who would that person have to be before you jumped up to save them? Previous to this past year I would have said that I would have taken a bullet for my cats. Yup. My cats. Most notably Toddy Bear (originally named Todd Henry Green aka Speedy the Infamous). Yes, that was his entire name. His name matched his immense personality...and love.

Taking a bullet for a cat sounds bizarre, I know this. But Todd was not any ordinary cat. He was Toddy Bear. The man, and only one in my life when I first moved to Los Angeles. My mother had just passed away, I had sold everything I owned and was living with an initial stranger in a big city. I had recently broken up with my boyfriend and when I adopted Todd I swore it would be me and him forever.

I've never been good with forevers.

Todd was loyal, forgiving, unconditional and innocent. Nothing he had ever done in his entire kitty life was deserved of a shot to the face. In an instant I would have protected that cat with my entire body, despite myself. I loved him with all my heart because 1. I knew he loved me with all of his heart and 2. I was all that he had. I was all that he knew. Without me, he was alone, and without him, I was alone. He was my everything.

Recently I considered who I would take a bullet for...the person I felt their life more precious than my own. Two people instantly came to mind: My best friend since I was 6 years old, Samantha, and my confidant who has been with me throughout majority of the worst time of my life, Jennine.

When you're spiraling down and you become a shit-head of a friend and a babbling, pathetic mess...when everyone else bails because they can't handle you at your worst, you see who cares for you most despite themselves. Both Jennine and Sam have been by my side...through my pathetic sobbing, my depression, my anger, my babbling...through the pain and the frustration and the weaknesses...they both stood by my side and never judged me. They stood there like guiding lights. They didn't carry me, but let me get up on my own and find out who I really was. They let me talk nonsense, they held me when I sobbed and never once gave up on me.

I would take a bullet for them.

When you hit a certain low in life, you see things differently. Some people get religious, some people get spiritual, and some people let the bottom overwhelm them and just get deeper and deeper. You become selfish and self-absorbed and can only think about your own survival. It's a horrible place to be. You become bitter, angry, negative, frustrated, depressed, and you find comfort in things that take you away from the fact that you hate yourself. In my case, I let whiskey take me away from it all.

I equate my spiral to a rabbit hole. Somewhat like Alice in Wonderland but in a fucked up Never Neverland, where you run into bizarre characters in a world that just refuses to grow up. Everything was backwards and all screwy. Trying to get through that was a nightmare. I can't explain what it feels like to move back home to a place where everything is turned upside down and everyone looks at you like YOU'RE the crazy one. Read Alice and Wonderland and tell me you don't feel like you are on the worst trip ever. Kind of reminds me of last summer when I was given an edible after I had been drinking whiskey. I will tell you now, I was seeing shit in 3-D! I felt like I was free-falling for 6 straight hours and was stoned for 3 days after that! My entire year was not that intense, but there were days when I definitely could not get a grasp on reality. I think drinking was a big factor.

Lately I have dreams where I accidentally drink. I go to reach for a glass of water and after drinking it I find it's a beer or whiskey or wine. And I am angry because I had worked so hard not to drink just to have my muscle memory decieve me. It's not that I want to drink anymore, but I find that it has become such a habit that familiar situations like hanging out and having a simple glass of wine or a martini was routine...and my fear is that subconciously I will put that glass to my lips and blow it.

Nights out are not the same. Maybe it's because I am completely content with my life right now that all I really want is to be home with friends or working out at the gym. I crave stimulation, but not the same kind that I got from whiskey. I want mental stimulation from intellectual conversations or pushing myself physically. I want to talk about the wonders of the world, the complications of the English language, communication and love; of human nature and how we could improve ourselves purely on changing one thing about ourselves. I want to feel that burn in my muscles, strengthen myself from the inside out, push myself a little further each time to prove that I am still alive and that despite what I put myself through, I will regain back all that I lost.

I need to stop listening to Damien Rice on my Pandora...he is not conducive for witty posts on my blog. Or maybe it's that right now I am getting to the nitty gritty of this. It's been almost a month now and I have not had one drop of alcohol. Not a sip, a gulp, a taste...nothing since I started this blog. I told my ex that I stopped drinking for a year and he told me "No booze for a year is way too long to not party! Maybe you should just do drugs instead". Needless to say that is probably why he is my ex. Sarcastic as he might have been, I don't want to hear the negative aspect to this, I want to hear the positive; that I have inspired others, that he was impressed with my ballsy choice to do this. I don't need to hear I need some other stimulant to get me through this. I am bigger than that and I am fun as hell without it...though apparently not as good of a dancer.

I am inspired by those I have inspired...by those who choose not to drink when they are with me purely to see if they can. Few are able to go a whole night, and I understand that...trust me I do. It's hard to be social and sober in this town. I get it. But it helps to know there are people willing to join me...and that Jennine is right there with me...sober as a stone and laughing all the way with me...

And that is why I would take a bullet for her...

A Broken Hallelujah...

Sometimes one change brings on other changes. I no longer drink, which then made me realize there were a few people in my life who were just as bad for me as whiskey, so I let them go too. I have changed my habits, my hair, and my look on life and my situation. As the days go by, I find my head has cleared up, my body doesn't ache and opportunities and good things seem to be more omnipresent than before.

The things I craved at one point no longer appeal to me. This includes the company of certain people as well as the urge to feel like I am on top of the world. Alcohol has this funny little effect that brings you to a peak, making you feel ecstatic and flirty and in a way that makes you want to make love to the world (in a metaphorical sense, so to speak). It's almost euphoric. All the walls come down and you almost feel invincible. Whiskey is a great catalyst to bar fights and meter jumping.

But with that euphoria comes the lows.

I met a one-armed man with no legs in a wheel chair once when I was a cocktail waitress in a Tapas bar in Ventura, CA. This man was obnoxious, a filthy drunk who I believe groped me on multiple occasions and was always getting kicked out of our bar for getting out of hand a degrading our staff. But what I will never forget his statement to me one early evening before he got trashed and was kicked out of our bar for the final time. He told me how drinking alcohol and coffee were the two worst things you could do to yourself. While the excitement at their peaks was phenomenal, their lows were detrimental. I believe he was trying to grab my ass while making this comment, but I never forgot it, though I didn't quite believe it at the time.

Until now.

This past year I was almost manic. Maybe it was a little residual from the year previous, which is when the drinking mostly started. I wanted to blame the break up from two summers ago, but really it was my joblessness and the humbling of moving back home. They went hand in hand. I drank to forget that I was a Masters student no one would hire. I drank to sleep because I was thinking too much about a boy who didn't love me. I drank to get over the drinking...most nights I was home alone. There were no parties, or company. It was just me...and alcohol. The one comfort I had to get me through the pain, the weakness, and the anxiety.

I am not proud of the fact that I would show up still drunk or hungover to teach classes. The night before I most likely worked til 10pm, staying up late texting a boy who was just using me, something I knew, but would drink away. I drank to forget about the things that I ran away from but that came back to haunt me. I drank so I didn't have to face the truth. That I was back home, poor as shit, brokenhearted, and jobless.

I've been running for 10 years. It's easy enough to do. Once things get serious or real, pack up and move to some other town and forget everything that ever hurt you. You never have to worry about burning bridges because there is always a new one in the next town. But coming home was different. Familiar faces, familiar inadequacies, and everything you had ever done or achieved meant shit. I wanted to start from the bottom up, but I had to hit bottom to do that. So I did.

Since coming back to town I have started many fires. I forgot I wasn't in L.A. or Las Vegas or Hawaii where no one knew me and I was just a face in the crowd. I could have run the streets naked and it would have gone unnoticed. In this town, if you take off a sock the entire town has heard of it before the sock hits the floor. I am used to a certain way of life, which unfortunately it is too colorful for many in this town. I will not change. I refuse to, but I did see how alcohol was making me even more bitter and frustrated at those who judged me without getting to know me. Much like whiskey, I am an acquired taste, something I never had to face in a city full of other free-spirited and open souls. I let drinking be my excuse for my personality, but the truth of the matter is I am wild and free-spirited...I do what I want and never have intentions of hurting others, though I feel like when drinking I have done so. There is a reason why in the 12-step program you apologize for your actions. You end up holding on to mistakes that you can't get past. I have few regrets in life, unless it came to hurting someone else. The things I have done I cannot apologize for because it will not change the fact that I did it.

Today's post is a little bit more real than my previous. It's usually really hard for me to take things seriously, but at some point you have step up and admit your faults before you can move on. For those of you reading today, understand that putting this out there is not easy. I accept the fact that you are judging me or have been since I have moved to town. You might find me foolish or wild or immature...but if you know me at all, you know my intentions have been full of love and an urge to show others that there are many beautiful things in this world beyond the conventional beauty. When you live a solitary life and are broken down to your absolute core and have to find your way out with just your willingness to get past it all and to become a better person, then you will understand who I am.

I gave up a lot to find myself and am still in debt to it; body, mind, soul and wallet. I would never, ever give up the journey I have been on, but I sure as hell wouldn't wish it upon someone. This untraveled road was untraveled for a reason, but then maybe more people should.

It's been two weeks and it has been quite spiritual. I went back to brunette to find my roots. I am going back to the gym to strengthen my legs because they are the trunks that ground me to the earth. I sit in the time I have alone and let the silence penetrate me, unafraid of it and my mind that once used to race wildly. I hold my friends closer and sit in the moments that happen around me, rather than making the moments happen. I did have a moment this Saturday where I was inches away from taking a small drink of whiskey, but in the end I did not and in being able to admit that feels good. I was told by multiple people that this was an inspiration to them and they too have decided to join me. That alone makes this journey even more powerful.

It's funny how sometimes when you think you are walking alone, you turn around and see all those who are walking with you and it's then that you realize the journey is worth it...

I've Sold My Soul for Less...

So Saturday I was invited to a big 'ol shin dig at Sierra Nevada Brewing Company. And really, though it was tempting to have a drink, it really wasn't that big of a deal. Short of needing something in my hand to stave off that need for oral fixation (snicker if you must), I really didn't feel the need to drink. I know it was only my first test and really I have like 360 more days to go, but I was impressed with myself. And you know, I found that without alcohol, I'm still fun. Or at least I am fun when everyone else is drunk. See, that's the thing with drinking...it's not the alcohol in me that makes me seem awesome, it's the alcohol in others. So really, I don't have to drink for everyone to have a good time, I have a good time all by myself...it's others happiness that ultimately matters and, I must say, the group I was with was having what seemed like a pretty shnazzy time.

Ok...I do have a confession. I lied. And it's no big deal or anything, but I had to clear my conscious. I said I was going to post every day, and I haven't. There are many reasons for this. 1. I doubt anyone even noticed. 2. It's way too narcissistic to talk about myself every day...even for me. 3. I couldn't come up with enough witty banter to keep you all entertained. 4. I'm busy, dammit. I have a life. I cant be sitting here on the computer trying to explain why drinking sucks, even when you quit.

So, to kind of update you, I think I am detoxing. I feel like shit. Or maybe I caught a cold. Either way, my body is rejecting my existence. I'm ok with it if in the end it means I am alive. I believe I said that once about a break up. And maybe that is what this is. A break up with Alcohol. It's only been a few days. I'm still in shock. I haven't fully understood the consequences of my actions. Sure it's all fun and games until you're alone and thinking about it. That's another reason why I decided not to write every day. If I said don't think about dead babies, what did you just think about? Yup. And you can thank me for that later. Any way, the point is I don't want to think about it because it makes it a little tougher. Not that it has been tough so far, but it might get to that point and frankly, I want to be strong now for later's sake.

Anyway, about the other night. La Salles sober is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT than when you're three shots in and feeling like you are the most amazing dancer in all the world and the D.J. is rockin' it and everyone is having as good a time as you are. When you're sober you see the dirty underbelly of Chico and what it really means to be a "sloppy" drunk. I would never consider myself a sloppy drunk. I think I hold my whiskey pretty well, but it definitely put the blinders on me from the spectacle that buzzed around me when I was in my own lil' party world. I still had fun, but it was a different kind of fun. Maybe not as much fun as my birthday (which btw is going to be Peter Pan themed this year and I suggest you all get ready for it because it's gonna be amazing *shameless party promotion*) but it was still pretty fun. I definitely wasn't judging, just observing, and making myself completely aware of how I hope to hold myself after this adventure when I decide to drink again.

Long story short, I was a good girl. The boys didn't believe me, so I made them taste my "awesome" tonic water. Despite the fact that I am out at the bars, it doesn't mean I am drunk or have been drinking. It just means I can have fun and play too, but I can also hold myself to my convictions and really, I could give up worse things.

But I won't.

I'm not trying to be dramatic or anything, but really? It's only been one day?

Maybe a year was a little too exuberant of me. Maybe I should have said a month or even a week. I think a week would have been a good test to my self-control. A year just seems extreme. Hell, I've been thinking about alcohol since yesterday afternoon, how the hell am I going to last a year?! I mean, it's a nice gesture, but shit. A person can really only do so much! The thought that has been coming to mind lately is "damn, I could use a drink right now". I don't think I'm an alcoholic, but I sure am dependent. I feel extremely naked and vulnerable. Which reminds me, my Christmas tree has been striped of all it's ornaments and lights and is currently flashing the neighbors in a reckless manner as it stands helplessly in front of the window. It's awkward for everyone. Mostly me because I can't stop staring at it. So sad and pathetic, its branches drooping under the weight of itself. I feel ya, tree...I feel ya.

Um, so this is pretty much like day one, give or take. And it's not like I haven't given it up before. A month or two ago I tried to quit for a good month then blew it by dressing up as Rufio from Hook, getting smashed at La Salles while being carried around by dudes on the dance floor, pretty much forgetting the rest of the night right up until I stumbled in my living room, taking out a side table and a candle holder. We all survived, but really, it was quite traumatic...the candle holder is still in therapy.

Needless to say the stumble was a wake-up call. Lucky it was just me at home and no one saw the spectacle...except maybe the neighbors, but I'm sure the naked tree distracted them. Or so I hope. Either way, I realized what it meant to fall off the wagon.

Falling off the wagon is about as painful as it sounds. Imagine a horse pulling a covered wagon running through a bumpy terrain, cider and raw hides bouncing all over the place at "high speeds" of 20 miles an hour...then fall off the damn thing onto the rough terrain. Now times that by 9 and minus two...it's kind of like that, give or take. In other words, you just about double your intake of alcohol to make up for the days you weren't drinking. And its all subconscious...you don't necessarily intend to get schmammered, but you forget how "fun" it was and how "good" it felt and forgot how much hangovers hurt. So in the end, you just ruined all your hard work and doubled your trouble. Keep in mind, though, my choice to dress as Rufio was a completely sober decision based on metaphors and a love for feathers alone.

So, back to my original thought...a year is a bit rash. I don't want to make promises I can't keep, but I refuse to let myself give up on myself. Something about the challenge is exhilarating, though exhausting to take in. It's like knowing you have 20 reps of the worst workout ever in which 2 reps alone make you want to vomit. But, if you take it one motion and breath at a time, before you know it, you've done 25 reps, easy peasy. (Yes, I said peasy. Shut it).

So, currently I am taking it minutes and hours at a time. Not in a dramatic way, but in a way that when it is in front of me, I decide that at that moment I will not drink. Or knowing it's in the pantry tempting me *as I turn around and scream "Shut up, Jameson! I'm not talking to you anymore!"*. I don't think about tomorrow or three weeks from now or even in an hour from that moment. I decide that that moment alone is a moment I decided that I will not do it. And never was a moment harder than that one....I just can't think of all the others I am about to run into...

New Journey into Uncharted Territories...

I never considered myself an alcoholic. I still don't. I am not one of those people who "blacks out" on a regular basis, drunk and stumble in a gutter, throwing up in your back seat. I handle my whiskey really well. Maybe too well. Short of the occasional spins and aching skull, I felt I was just a regular Joe-Shmo. So this journey to quit drinking isn't so much as me "getting sober", but more of a self-awareness that 1. I drink way too much for how small I am and 2. I think it has ruined my life, despite how much "fun" it has been.

For me, drinking is like having my ipod in my ears. Have you ever gone to the gym without your ipod? It's horrible. You are completely self-aware and aware of everything around you. It's the most awkward, uncomfortable feeling to be aware of your surroundings at the gym. Well, I think that would be reason number one why I have found a fondness for whiskey. It literally numbs the pain, makes me forget the mistakes I've made (despite the fact it's because of drinking that the mistakes were made in the fist place) and it makes me completely unaware of everything around me...including me.

Whiskey is that friend that takes you out for a good time, but is also the one who you get into a bar fight with. All fun and games til things get serious...then he bails, leaves you alone in an alley without any pants on, and steals your wallet. That's the kind of friend whiskey has been for me. It makes for a comical story hindsight, but at that moment when your standing alone, poor as shit and in the dark with your pants around your ankles, life isn't quite as fun. (Please note I have never been left any where without pants on...this is purely metaphorical).

So, this is the beginning of my journey...the moment where I reclaim my sanity, my wallet, and pull up my pants as I walk out of this dark, dank alley...praying to God I am a stronger person after all of it. I made a mess and now it is time to clean it up. And yes, all of this that I am writing is completely raw and true (sans the metaphorical images to conjure an image to make a point). I am putting myself out there because I feel like, though my drinking isn't as bad as some, it has been bad enough to make me hate myself to some degree. Whiskey will not define me. I define myself. Wish me luck, and enjoy the ride with me...it might get bumpy...