I'm The Sober One Having Fun!

First off, I'm not dead.  I took a bit of a hiatus because my life went to Stress Level 11.  No offense to my rabid readers.

So, I wanna talk about alcohol, yet again.  It's been suggested by a few people my age that because I'm not your normal 22-year-old drunken party animal, that I'm a stick-in-the-mud.  Well, I assure you I AM NOT!!  I will go out and dance, both on floors and on tables and be completely sober!  What can I say... Table dancing is fucking epic.

 

By the way.... Fair warning, this is going to be a GIF heavy blog.  :P  AND I DON'T OWN ANY OF THEMMMM!!!!!

Anyways... Multiple people have tried to get me drunk.  Or even tried to get me to smoke pot.  Let me just throw this right out there.... I have no desire to be puking my guts out and feeling like shit the next morning because I decided to drink half my weight in whiskey.  I love whiskey, and I do drink, but I exercise control.  Lots of it.  Except when it comes to sex....  

 

And, no, I've never smoked pot, either.  I'm neither Cheech, nor Chong.  I'm Ella.  And Ella doesn't desire to smoke pot.  I've smoked 3 cigarettes in my life, and I hated it.  It made me smell bad and made me nauseous and gave me a headache.  I won't even go down the road of the coughing fits.  So I decided that it was SO not worth the damn trouble.

Let me kinda go back and explain why I don't drink that much....

I come from a long line of alcoholics.  I have an addictive personality so I just don't feel the need to cross that line.  I'm already crazy enough.  Let's not add a drinking problem to that, okay?  Thanks!

I have a friend that was slipped a roofie in a drink that some guy bought her in a bar.  Thank God she had enough sense to call her sister to come get her instead of going home with that creep.  I feel a "you could have been dead in the ditch" speech coming on here.... That I think I'll skip.  You all get it.

One of my best friends in high school was gay.  VERY gay.  He's the reason why there is now a written rule at my old high school that states that male students can't wear make-up.  He was dating a soldier a few years back.  Well, this soldier was VERY in the closet.... Thanks to that whole "Don't Ask Don't Tell" bullshit.  Thanks, Prez.  I owe you one for that. Anyways, the soldier's friends found out.  They waited outside the bar where my friend did drag shows on Friday and Saturday nights.  They grabbed him, drug him into an alley, and brutally beat him to death.  They were all drunk.  What did they get?  A dishonorable discharge from the military and 5 years in prison each.  Gotta love the American judicial system.  Sadly, back then, that didn't qualify as a hate crime.

I've been hit by enough drunk males.  Period.

So, I have my reasons.  I don't care if some people think I'm lame or dull or whatever.  I know I'm not, so fuck them and their stupid opinions.

And if you don't know me well enough to know that I'm not boring, ask the people I've shared a bed with...  Or who has seen me dance on a table...  Or has gone to a bar with me.  Lol.  I'm only boring at work, and I get paid to be that way, so I can do it.  It's hard, but I can do it.

So for those of you out there who don't drink or don't drink much, YOU ARE NOT ALONE!!  You've got to stand for something, or you'll fall for anything, so stand up for what you believe in, even if you're standing alone.

Besides, if you're on my blog, then you're among friends.  :)

Scooter Out.

Holy Crap

I'm burnt out.  I can't even begin to tell you how much work I've done today.  Probably about a day and a half worth.  My eyes hurt.  Is that even possible??   My freaking eyes hurt!!!

It's raining again.  I get to go home in 30 minutes and all I can think about is a hot shower and my bed.  And maybe a movie.  Maybe.  If I can manage to stay awake that long.  Is it bad that the thought of dinner hasn't really crossed my mind? 

Holy goodness it just hit me that I have liquor in my fridge...  TOTALLY having a good stiff drink this evening.  Thank goodness for whiskey.  Like, for shiz.... It is going to save my life tonight.  Good sleep, here I come!!

So, I made a discovery.  Lions really just want shoes...

Well.... I'm going home.

To the whiskey.... AWAYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!

Scooter Out.

Alcohol

Alcohol can be many things to many people.  To me, it's something evil.  Something to be avoided and feared.  In my house when the words "s/he's drinking" are spoken, it means that it's time to start worrying.  Praying.  Calling.  Searching.  And occasionally taking a trip to the hospital. 

I've grown up understanding that my uncles were alcoholics and they cycled from sober to not sober every few years or so.  That was okay and far away from me until my mom and my Uncle Mark got closer and I was nominated to move in and care for his 17 year old daughter while he was in rehab...again.  That wasn't so bad.  Movies on the sofa and take out every night was actually kinda cool.  Till it surfaced that my lovely little Rachel who used to look up to me when she was a child also drinks.  Most 17 year olds do these days.  But when your father is an alcoholic and in rehab, you don't need to be going to a party, getting smashed, busted by the cops, then turning up in the middle of the night banging on the windows because you left your purse behind in your rush to not get arrested.  But that's just my opinion.

My Uncle Tim was kinda always on the fringes of the family.  Going months or years without speaking to anyone because of some trite thing like books that went missing or the fact that he was ashamed that he, yet again, fell off the wagon and was pouring liquor down his throat as fast as he could swallow it.  So his drinking still hasn't really affected me too much.  I doubt it will.

But there is one person...one man...who's drinking affects me every day of my life.  My step-dad.  I call him dad, predominantly because he's been around since I was 4 or 5.  He's raised me as his own, and he's a good man.  Until he drinks.  When he does, his demeanor changes from a laughing, loving, and silly individual to a cold, bitter man looking to pick a fight.  Usually with me.  Not sure why.  I suppose because my temper won't allow me to be called a selfish bitch and a waste of space without screaming back.  Until I get so mad that I start crying.  Then he's one and he can scream and holler and call me anything he likes and make fun of me for crying, or whatever else he thinks of, and I let it go because I can't speak when I'm having hysterics.  I don't actually know anyone who can. 

So, with every insult that flies, I take it in.  Take it to heart.  So I've grown up believing that I was everything from a fat, ugly, selfish bitch to a waste of space.  You may be wondering at this point where my mom is in all of this.  The answer is, it varies.  Sometimes she's working, thought not anymore because she's disabled, but that was usually the case when the really bad fights would happen.  Lately, she's either sitting and saying nothing, or also shouting at me.  It depends on what the argument is about.  If it's about money then she's on his side.  Always.  No matter how intoxicated he is, if the fight is over how much money I do or don't give them, she is ALWAYS on his side.  That's just the way things are.  In all honesty, I'd rather her be shouting at me right along with him then just sitting and letting it happen.  Cause when she sits and lets it happen, I later get a "stern talking to" about my tone or my attitude or what I said or what I did.  It's always my fault.  That's just the way things are.

Back when mom was working evenings, things started out okay.  Me and my step-dad have a similar taste in movies and TV and we would occasionally sneak some Chinese take out into the mix.  But then something changed.  I'm really not sure what.  But he started drinking more.  Then the fights started.  It was always my fault.  I said something wrong or did something wrong or didn't do something the right way or at the right time or some kind of trite thing that really didn't matter to anyone but an intoxicated man.  But there is one fight that sticks out in my mind more than all the rest.

It was winter.  I was 16.  We had this old piece of crap dinosaur for a computer in our spare bedroom.  I was in on it working on a paper for school.  Now, this old piece of crap dinosaur computer has a very odd system quirk.  When you were typing a document and wanted to print, sometime Microsoft Word would close automatically when you hit the print button.  About half the time your paper wouldn't print, you wouldn't be able to retrieve the document, and you'd have to start all over.  Particularly annoying when you have to fight the Civil War in ten pages due the next morning and it's 11:30 at night.  But anyways, the system quirked that night.  Just as my step-dad was walking in the spare bedroom door.  Very, very drunk.  Microsoft Word closed, the document didn't print, and I couldn't retrieve it.  That was all the "proof" he needed that I was doing something wrong. 

He started shouting.  I ignored him and started typing my paper all over again.  Bad idea.  He grabbed the back of the chair I was sitting in and pulled it down until the chair tipped backwards.  I stood up and asked him if he was insane, that he could have seriously hurt me.  For the very first time, he raised his hand.  I distinctly remember saying "Do it.  Hit me.  See how fast I call the police."  More than anything I remember this: He smiled.  He smiled a big grin at me and said "Ooooohhhh.  So you're going to call the police on me now?  Well, here.  Let me get the phone for you."  Then he walked out of the room.  He said that in a very calm and evil tone.

As soon as he was out of the room, I slammed the door so hard I knocked pictures off the wall.  I locked the door and grabbed my cell phone.  To this day I still really don't know if I was calling my mom or the police.  Either way, I never made the call.  He kicked the door in and swung.  I ducked and took off down the hall to my room.  I slammed the door.  Locked it.  Pushed my dresser in front of it.  Grabbed my backpack.  Packed.  I didn't even think about clothes or a toothbrush.  I shoved all my schoolbooks and papers, minus the report I was typing that I don't think ever got finished, into my backpack, moved the dresser aside, and walked to the living room where he was waiting.  

He asked me where the hell I thought I was going.  I said I was leaving.  He grabbed my backpack and tried to snatch it off me, or snatch me backwards.  I'm really not sure which.  He told me I wasn't going anywhere.  My response still astounds me.  I looked him dead in the eye and said "Watch me".  Then I opened the front door and left.  I didn't go home until the next day when I had to get my mom to come pick me up from school because I kept having panic attacks.

The really fun thing about that night was... I was blamed.  Everything was my fault.  I was grounded for a while.  Not really sure how long.  The spare bedroom door still has a long crack in it where my step-dad kicked it in.  In my fit of door slamming I at some point knocked a clock off the wall.  One corner of it still remains damaged and the glass missing a chunk.  The scars I carved into my arm with a razor blade in a friends bathroom that night have faded to almost nothing.  But  the damage was done.  I don't trust many people.  I don't trust men at all, except 3.  Jack, Cody, and my dad.  My real dad.  Not my step-dad.  I won't trust him as far as I can throw him.  

As a result of a great many incidents like this, I am terrified of drunk people.  And I mean terrified.  I'm not sure if there is a name for the phobia of drunk people.  But if there is, then that's the word that describes me.  I've also had a therapist or two tell me that he's most likely the reason why I'm attracted to women.  I'm not really sure about that.  True or false, it's there.

So what is alcohol?  Is it good?  Bad?  Something to be enjoyed?  Feared?  Embraced?  Avoided?  It all depends on the person.  As for me, yea.  I drink.  Rarely.  I have never been drunk.  I don't plan on ever letting myself go that far.  I have a very tight control on that aspect of my life.  I refuse to be like the man who has made me fear people so.

What is alcohol to you?

Scooter Out.