Hiiiiii my name is Maxie (not my real name) and welcome to the first installment of SOBERIOUSLY. Come with me on a life-long blog-cruise of sobriety, because there is nothing more funny than recovering from a crushing and painful alcoholism. I'll be the captain on this blogboat as we sail the oceans and encounter the funny, scary, heart wrenching, but mostly boring, monsters of my own sobriety. about me, I'm a suburban white kid (aged 31) who lives somewheres in north Brooklyn. to continue with the water metaphor, i'm surrounded by all sides with poisonous liquids: a polluted river to the west and south, a polluted creek to the north, a giant oil spill in the ground beneath me, and Williamsburg to the east. meanwhile, this neighborhood (fine, it's Greenpoint) is full of bars and bodegas. you can't throw a single bag of garbage without it hitting someplace where you can buy beer or, you know, stuff like that. Temptation screams at me from every garish and ghoulish nook. The call of the bottle is often almost as loud as the cursing in Polish.
I'm a beer drinker, in terms of, I love beer. It's my vice, my crutch, my marital aid. Once when I was a wee pup, my pappy gave me a thimbler of Michelob. I had a sip and thought it tasted like what I imagined dinosaur urine would taste like. I vowed to never drink anything like that again, or to not drink until I had forgotten I made that vow. That being said, I don't have any awesome war stories. Unfortunately, you won't read about how I was sooo drunk this one time I blacked out and woke up marching in a parade. No, my horror stories usually involve me drinking beer and taking a nap. Whatever debauchery I remember will come up later. Wines and spirits and drugs and gambling and cakes never lured me in. Just beer.
Right now you find me at 3am (not the real time) on a Saturday morning, drinking too much coffee and smoking too much cigarettes, ignoring all rules of grammar and time and pants (I'm going to do this blog bottomless, okay?). today is my thirteenth day of sobriety. More accurately, I have thirteen "days back." Meaning it's been thirteen days since my last drink o'hooch. I'm a card-carrying member of this thing called Alcoholics Annonymous, and, keeping in mind the second word in that tongue-twisting name, I'll keep myself behind a verbal mask of Zorro. If I have to talk about meetings I'll lie, but like, a sideways lie. I'll tell the stories but replace details with parallel truths. For example, I've seen several celebrities at meetings, and I'll say "I sat next to Mark McGrath, the lead singer of Sugar Ray." That means I sat next to somebody similar to him, but not that guy himself. Also, I hate Mark McGrath. He literally is the visualization of the little man in my head telling me to have a tall cold one (see Fig. 1 and tell me you'd let this guy talk you into drinking).
I'm a beer drinker, in terms of, I love beer. It's my vice, my crutch, my marital aid. Once when I was a wee pup, my pappy gave me a thimbler of Michelob. I had a sip and thought it tasted like what I imagined dinosaur urine would taste like. I vowed to never drink anything like that again, or to not drink until I had forgotten I made that vow. That being said, I don't have any awesome war stories. Unfortunately, you won't read about how I was sooo drunk this one time I blacked out and woke up marching in a parade. No, my horror stories usually involve me drinking beer and taking a nap. Whatever debauchery I remember will come up later. Wines and spirits and drugs and gambling and cakes never lured me in. Just beer.
Right now you find me at 3am (not the real time) on a Saturday morning, drinking too much coffee and smoking too much cigarettes, ignoring all rules of grammar and time and pants (I'm going to do this blog bottomless, okay?). today is my thirteenth day of sobriety. More accurately, I have thirteen "days back." Meaning it's been thirteen days since my last drink o'hooch. I'm a card-carrying member of this thing called Alcoholics Annonymous, and, keeping in mind the second word in that tongue-twisting name, I'll keep myself behind a verbal mask of Zorro. If I have to talk about meetings I'll lie, but like, a sideways lie. I'll tell the stories but replace details with parallel truths. For example, I've seen several celebrities at meetings, and I'll say "I sat next to Mark McGrath, the lead singer of Sugar Ray." That means I sat next to somebody similar to him, but not that guy himself. Also, I hate Mark McGrath. He literally is the visualization of the little man in my head telling me to have a tall cold one (see Fig. 1 and tell me you'd let this guy talk you into drinking).
Fig 1. Seriously, look at this tool. Can he be more awful please?So subscribe to my newsletter why don't you! To make myself feel important I'll add a disclaimer: my opinions and poor writing skills do not speak for any organization. This blog is not accredited by the State of New York as a treatment for substance abuse. If you have a substance abuse problem see a doctor or something.
Let me be the first to say congratulations- on your decision to get sober and on starting this blog. I loved this first installment and look forward to the next!
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