2nd Week Sober

So many people keep blogs about their sobriety and I like to read what’s out there. I thought I would contribute, who knows if anyone will read it, but I will enjoy writing. Get some practice for my JK Rowling-style book series that will make ME a billionaire.


At my favorite coffee shop right now. Listening to some kind of upbeat millennial rock music. I am high as fuck, as it helps with going through the downs of healing from alcohol. I had begun dancing to myself in a chair but halted, a little embarrassed, as a memory jostled upward to the surface of my mind from it’s subconscious recesses:

There was a bar I frequented in Milwaukee when I lived in Riverwest. It was 43 steps to my apartment building. I spent a lot of money there, and got to know the bartenders. I had partied with them after hours, and I felt comfortable getting shitfaced inside it’s cozy, wooden, tavern-style interior, that in TWO separate instances, I was cut off by two DIFFERENT bartenders who I had never met before. One time it was because I was absentmindedly dancing to myself. I didn’t tip the bartender as revenge.

At the time, I was so mad about getting cut off! I was THAT entitled to get as drunk as I wanted and do whatever I wanted. Well, with apologies and charm, I ended up befriending one of those bartenders and he let me get drunk, whenever I wanted.

I think about that woman and I feel embarrassed. I was so lonely and miserable in that city. I became hateful, mean, and drunk, like everyone else.

Amazingly, I did quit drinking for a grand total of 6 weeks with the intention of building a better life and losing weight. It didn’t last, and 2 years later, I am attempting to quit drinking again. I think that it feels so much easier this time around because  I can see more of a 360 degree view of my life, which includes:

Understanding why I did what I did in the past, appreciation for my present life, and a very solid vision of my future.

I’ve had healing, that’s why. My story is long, full of anxiety and endless searching to fill a hole. Maybe one day I will go into it, but the short version is that PTSD stole my life.

We are all sensitive beings and there is so much sickness out there. I envy people who have hardly felt anxiety in their life.  However these issues are becoming bygones for me and I finally don’t have time to worry too much about my past.

I’ve found the key to my suffering which has unlocked a life of abundant hope for the future, self-appreciation, and a blossoming self-worth. A person who is not treated like shit by men, who knows how to set boundaries and find enjoyment when sitting at home alone. A strong person, a person who is ready to make a great big leap into life without poisoning herself every day.

Here I go.





They Can’t Grab Our Boobs Anymore Without Destroying Their Careers

In a world where every day is like an Olympic event called:  “All Kavanaugh, All The Time,” it is only natural that discussions with strangers should revolve around touching breasts.

Last night I was at a local watering hole with a friend, and a man in a cap, who was drinking a glass of red wine and wearing a Harley Davidson shirt overheard me talking about how I think a zombie apocalypse makes sense. This was our common ground as the conversation took twists and turns towards very sensitive topics. One of those topics covered the fear that he is experiencing as a man in a Kavanaugh vs. Ford America, where men can’t touch boobs anymore without ruining their careers.

I envisioned that he walked around grabbing women’s boobs and I looked at him like he had a few screws loose. My friend, however, understood that he meant that touching a women’s boob in a mutual sexual encounter would get him into some kind of trouble.

Apparently, our new friend didn’t understand the difference between a woman who consents to being touched, and woman who does not. It pains me to think that men are this stupid, but I shouldn’t be surprised since our government of late has been demonstrating that they really could care less if women experience harassment or assault, let alone rape.

My friend and I explained to this man that perhaps touching his girlfriend’s boob during a make out session would be far more acceptable than going around grabbing strange women’s boobs in public. Yet he still persisted in this idea that the poor men out there may be falsely accused or those “crazy women” wanted to destroy his career if boobs were grabbed.

I was struck by his male privilege, and general unwillingness to hear our explanations of the nature of appropriate boob-grabbing.  In a grand speech that ended this discussion, I declared that he was a nice guy, he actually respects women, he wouldn’t sexually harass us and that’s why he can’t understand why boob-grabbing would be offensive, because in the end, he wouldn’t grab women’s boobs in a harassing manner.

He looked flattered, and the conversation went back to the zombie apocalypse.

This conversation about touching boobs made me realize that some men just don’t get it. You can’t go around assaulting women, grabbing their boobs, and carrying out other “boys will be boys” shenanigans, without creating animosity from women.

We resent men for how they objectify us. If you start asking your women friends about their rapes, assaults, and childhood molestations. The statistics are high and you will find that most of them have a story.

Your best bet, in order to protect yourselves from career-ruining accusations, is to learn the difference between consensual and non consensual touching.

Laying on top of a woman while covering her mouth, grinding against her and trying to take off her clothes while she struggles to escape, is certainly not consensual, and neither is going around grabbing boobs.