Fifty Shades of No, Thank You

 
I remember when the first book of the series hit the bookstores.  It did not take long for most of my girlfriends to start dishing about this "steamy hot" novel that was a MUST read.  Now, my middle daughter will tell you that I was a "Hipster" long before it was a thing.  Which is just to say that I have never been one to follow mainstream fads.  So, I did not run out and grab a copy.  I was one of the few, it seemed.   Pretty soon, Fifty Shades of Grey was not just a fad...it was a phenomenon.   By the time the 3rd book was out, I was honestly tired of telling other women I had not yet read even the first book in the series.  Finally, one friend who was (and still is) a huge fan insisted that I borrow her copy and read it.  I relented.  I picked up her worn copy of the trilogy and dove right on in.

   It's been a few years, so my memory is fuzzy, but I don't think I made it past the first third of the book.  I just could not allow myself to be swept away by anything having to do with Christian Grey.
 
  Now, before I really delve into my thoughts on this...I want to be clear.  I am not bashing, belittling or insulting anyone who loved the books, the movie or both.  You know what Salt and Peppa says..."Opinions are like assholes....everybody has one."  This is just my opinion...based on what I thought and felt while I was reading (or trying to read) Fifty Shades of Grey and the enormous popularity of the franchise. 

  Yes, the writing is pretty terrible.  But I don't think the author seriously thought she was going to win any literary awards.  This was written and marketed as erotica, because, well....it IS.  And I have zero issue with that.  I am not offended by pornography in the least.  I will go so far to say it can have a proper place in healthy sex lives...either coupled or all alone. Oh!   And it was definitely racy!  But here is what I could NOT get past.  Christian Grey is an asshole.  He is a jealous, manipulative, cruel and slightly frightening man.  He basically stalks her and does things that, IMHO, would NEVER fly in real life.  But just because he is gorgeous, crazy rich and also a character in a fucking book...it is not only acceptable...it is romantic.  No, thank you.  And here's what really got me.  Anastasia is a naïve, insecure and pitiful woman.   He feeds on this tremendously.  And she willingly serves it up.  And I get to describe her like that, because I have been her.  More than once. Thank God it has been a long time and today I realize my worth and am with a man who cherishes me.   But it makes me sick to remember what it was like to be so foolish and desperate that you will absolutely put up with shit that is completely unacceptable just to feel loved.  Blech. 

  I will take a moment here to say a few things as an aside.  If you have never been in an abusive relationship, and I mean mentally as much as physically, then you probably have zero frame of reference to what I am saying.  And if that is your truth....I say "Bravo to you, sister!"  Because you are one of the lucky ones.    I also fully acknowledge that true BDSM is not  abuse.  (I think it bears mentioning that the majority of the BDSM community has completely renounced Fifty Shades of Grey.)

  At any rate, I could not get swept up in the "love story" because I was so pissed at how he treated her and how she not only let him, but invited him to do so.  Because he was Christian Grey.  Ugh.

  Well, I put the book down...returned it to its owner and moved on.  I honestly did not relay my feelings to very many people because I was certain I was in a huge minority and also felt like maybe I was going overboard just a touch because  of personal experience. 

  It wasn't until the movie was about to come out that I discovered that not only was I not alone, but there is a fairly significant movement that feels the exact same way that I do.  Don't believe me?  Just Google "Fifty Shades is Abuse".  It is worth a look, IMHO. 

  I want to be perfectly clear about my position.  I believe that there are plenty of grown women, in healthy relationships, that read the books, got quite the charge out of them, went to see the movie with their girlfriends, came home and ravaged their perfectly lovely husbands (you know who you are!) and will thusly go on with their lives unchanged.  Here is my problem....there is a whole slew of teenage thru young adulthood girls/women who view this story not only as romance, but as a road map for how a relationship should go.  And that is tragic.  I know quite a few 16 year old girls who are highly impressionable and came away from this series with a terribly false idea of what is okay....of what they should expect or accept from a partner.  And how they should be convinced to behave!  And that makes me sad.  (and before you blast me with "16 year olds should not read this series"...I agree.  100%.  But I know my friends and I gathered around a paperback copy of Judy Blume's "Forever" in the 5th grade, which was totally forbidden.  So, let's just move past that.)

 The most upsetting thing to me comes up when I discuss the book with a fan who protests that it is a "love story" and that by the third book it is this beautiful fairy tale because she "saves him"!  There's only one problem with that. It IS a freaking fairy tale!  Men like that don't get saved.  (with rare exception.)  Men like that make you think that you are the problem...that you need to change who you are to suit them. They treat you horribly, make a grand and amazing apology, promise to never act like that again, and keep that promise.  Until they don't.   It is a vicious cycle that usually ends badly. 

  I want to teach my daughters that they deserve to be respected, not belittled.  I want them to know, way down deep, that they are enough.  And I want them to have the strength to say "No, thank you" to something that they know is unacceptable...even if it is being offered to them by someone like Christian Grey. 
 

Anytime now, Fairy God-Mother!

 

I have let more time pass between posts than I would like because...well, LIFE!    Plus my job has been crazy busy...which is a good thing.  And then my husband got called out of town on a family emergency for most of this week through the weekend.  I always pause and reflect on what total bad-asses single parents are, anytime my husband has to leave town.  I know that everything is relative...and as parents, we do our level best to handle whatever life throws our way.  For example, I have a friend who has twin girls and she is totally rocking it.  I am in awe.   And I imagine she looks at the mom of triplets and feels the same.  And so on.  But what happens when sometimes you feel like you can't handle it?  What do we do when the insanity of balancing being a Mom, wife, employee, friend, confidant, chef, housekeeper, chauffeur, et al becomes to much?

  I ask this question, because lately I have been feeling like I can't.  Now, I don't mean I can't handle it in a "come and cart Mommy away in a straight jacket/here's your ticket to the Baker Act" type of thing.  I mean I just feel like I am doing a piss poor job of getting it all done.  Specifically, I am feeling behind the eight ball with the Littles.  I have one in kindergarten and one in pre-k.  When I get home from work, it's usually around 5:30.  If I am especially with it that day, I either have dinner in the crock pot or have thawed out whatever I am planning to cook.  This happens about 70% of the time.   I almost always have bacon, eggs and pancake mix on hand...so on the 30% days, we have breakfast for supper.  Not a huge deal.  Then there's homework for the kindergartener.  Not a huge amount, but he struggles with his reading, so he has extra books to read  every night.  And then there's a math website he has to spend time on.  At most, this is about 30 minutes.   By now it is probably 7.  Maybe later.  I have to clean the kitchen.  And maybe a touch of laundry.  My kids also like to play...sometimes even with their Dad or me.  And story time.  Then there's bath time.  Each on their own.  (I mean, not with the other....it is not like I just toss them in the water and wish them luck!)

  Did you know that the school says we are supposed to have them in bed by 8?  HA!  I wish.  If I am lucky, it's 9.  Some nights, if everything is clicking, we can make 8:30.  But honestly, some nights they are still fighting me at 10.  Well, not the boy.  He's usually out in 5 minutes.  But my little drama queen?  The night owl to beat all night owls? Yeah...she's like the damn Energizer Bunny some nights.  It's exhausting. 

  I have to take a moment to mention that I am lucky enough to married to a man who does try to help when he can.  I am such a control freak, that most of the time I insist on doing it myself.  But he does try.   (If I don't write that he will tell me that this entire post is about how he never helps.  And he really DOES.  He just has a guilty conscience, I think.)
  
  Anyway, at this point in the evening I usually realize that I have not packed their lunches, or folded the clothes, or cleaned out the cat box....etc.  I also (sometimes) like to have a bit of time to myself...to write, or visit with my husband, watch one of the few TV shows I record or even VISIT with my husband...wink-wink.    You know..."grown up" time.  ME time.  (It used to be "wine time"....but that always led to "drunk time"...and that often ended badly.  ha ha)  And yes, I do realize that when you have kids that you must give up a great deal of yourself for them....but I also believe it is essential to find a healthy balance.   I just have NO IDEA what that is. 

    I was talking with another Mom today who has 2 kids the same age as mine.  She's pretty fabulous and a working Mom like me.  We were sharing war stories and lamenting what it will be like when we have TWO in school!   With 2 sets of homework?  My head is spinning just thinking about it! LAWD.   Oh, AND we also have an amazing 16 year old daughter, who is very busy currently being 16 going on 25, and adds to the "fun" (read- stress!)  for sure.  Everything is relative, right?  Le sigh.

  Some days I pause, and while I am trying not to yell or cry, I will close my eyes and wish REALLY HARD for my Fairy Godmother to show up and wave her magic wand and instantly make everything better.  Do you know that bitch never shows? 

  I seem to recall that I did not get top marks in the "Uses Time Wisely" category in kindergarten.  Which probably contributes to my inability to get everything done in time.  That, and the fact that I tend to take on too much.   Plus, the control freak in me that I mentioned earlier probably wouldn't really delegate to any damn Fairy Godmother, anyway!  

   I know I write a lot about trying to be grateful.  So, I fully realize that I am truly blessed to HAVE a family to care for, food to cook, a house to clean, and clothes to wash.  I really do!  But, it can get overwhelming at times.  I guess the point is that we do the best we can and keep telling ourselves that a messy, unorganized house is a home filled with laughter and love.  Plus, you can always watch an episode of "Hoarders"...an hour of that shit and I am convinced I'm Mom of the Year.  Seriously. 

  And at the end of the day, when I am really looking for my Fairy Godmother?  I just look in the mirror. 

I don't like it when you mess things up!

   This is what my 6 year old proclaimed to me this evening, after I forgot to stop the drain in his bubble bath...therefore letting most of the nice warm water go straight down the pipes.  This left him with about 1/4 full tub of water before the hot ran out.    He was not pleased.    He had come home with  a tummy ache and I was so worried about comforting him, that I started the bath and poured the bubbles...but no dice on the stopper.  I was explaining this to him when he cried, "I don't like it when you mess things up!"  And that got me thinking. 

   Before I fell in love with my husband, I was pretty sure that I did not want to have kids.  Partially because they seemed like a pain in the ass, and partially because being a good parent seemed like a such a difficult job.  I mean, not only was I an only child... I was the only grandchild on BOTH sides of my family.  (I know, the jokes write themselves.)  I was pretty certain that I was too selfish to ever even think about being a good Mom.  Add to that the death of MY Mom when I was 17,  and that pretty much sealed the deal on my "No way do I want to do THAT shit" philosophy.

   But you know what they say....If you want God to laugh, make plans.  I fell head over heels in love with my husband...who I had been friends with my entire life.  I was 36 years old....and  I remember the first time I had that flicker of, "I think I might actually want to have a baby with this guy".  It about knocked me on my ass.  Something that I thought I would never, ever do....suddenly became the most wonderful and natural thing in the world.  Lucky for me, he was game.  And lucky for us, I was fertile.  And 2 years later, we were blissfully (mostly) married and had two beautiful babies.  Monkey and Squeaks.  A boy and a girl.  17 months apart.  Woo-Hoo!   What were we thinking?  (I have a few friends who have actual twins and I bow down to them.  I mean, seriously.  Parents of multiples should get some kind of freaking parenting award.  Really.) 

   I have said this before. I think the early days of child rearing are the easiest.  Yes, you are ridiculously sleep deprived.  And it is hell.  But it is pretty much a merry-go-round of feed, change, burp, rock, hold, get them to sleep....rinse and repeat.   It is when they start to really develop their own little personalities that shit gets real.   You are molding them into people.  And they start to repeat things you say.  All of the things.  And you notice that they pick up your best and WORST habits and traits.   I mean, my kids are awesome.  And I love them so much it hurts sometimes.  But there are days when I feel like I am actually on a hidden camera reality TV show called "Toddler Mind Fuck."   For Real. 

  The other night my daughter was doing her usual "anything I can come up with to keep from going to sleep" routine and she decided to play the hungry card.    I read one time about a Mom that would say, "the kitchen is closed" to her kids when they were begging for food and that would be that.  So, I figured I would give it a try.  But instead of saying "Ok, Mom", my child starts crying hysterically and screaming, "What?  Do you want me to just STARVE to DEATH?  Huh, Mama?  Is that what you want?"  I had to bite through my lip to keep from giggling.  We worked it out and she settled for a few sips of milk... just in case she was actually hungry.  Sometimes, she will call me back into her room because she has to tell me "just one more thing."  And I go.  But only a few times.   THAT is where my ass gets screwed over.  I am completely taken in with the notion that just MAYBE they are telling the truth.  I mean, what IF?  (Yes, go ahead.  Laugh.  Make fun.  I deserve it.)   I figure I will have learned my lesson by the time they are teenagers. 

  And my son is more dramatic than my daughter...as if that is EVEN possible.  His latest kick is proclaiming that today is "the WORST DAY EVER" when something does not go his way.  I finally told him last week, that if every day was the worst day...then each day was worse than the last and his days must be pretty crap.  He didn't really appreciate that.   Or there was this morning, when he was too tired to go to school and after telling him he had to go, I asked him to sit up so he could get his shoes on.  His reply?  "Mom!  Why do you make me do everything?"  I mean, the nerve, right?  You can't make this shit up. 

  Sometimes I look at my husband and I say...."what the hell happened?  How are our kids such little assholes?!"  And then I realize the obvious answer is because we are assholes, right?  Sometimes I get totally wound up in that feeling of failure that I can only associate with feeling like a bad mom.  Le sigh.

  But then, I go to the store.  And I see another Mom almost lose it when her kid won't stop standing up in the cart.  Or I read a Mom friend's post on Facebook about their little "angel" doing something like drawing all over the cat.   I read another Mom blog about how we are so hard on ourselves and there is no such thing as a perfect Mother.  I talk to my best friend who tells me that she went through the same thing with her kids when they were this age and it is going to be ok.  And then I realize that sometimes, everyone's kids are little assholes.  Ha ha. 

  The real prize is this, though.  I get to lie in bed with my daughter and talk about what she thinks the tattoo written in Hebrew on my wrist says.  And marvel at her guesses as they go from "Jesus loves me" to "Flip Flops are awesome to wear in the Summer."   I get to see the joy and pride in my son's eyes when he comes home to tell me that he learned 200 + 200 is 400, or read his book of feelings that says "I feel loved when... my Mom hugs me tight."    I get to tuck them in at night and kiss their sweet faces when they look up at me and say, "I love you, Mama."

 Because we are molding them into people.  I think (hope) we are molding them into good ones.   And I was right...being a good parent is incredibly hard.  Sometimes I think I am going to break into a million pieces with frustration.   But if I am in a good place, I can stop and  remember what Daniel Tiger says.  Hell, sometimes my kids will remind me and we sing the song together.    (You've got to love that, right?)   But, as hard as it can be...there is nothing like it.  When I think about my life before I became a Mother...I had no clue about what I thought I did not want.  And my gosh...am I grateful that I was given the chance to be a Mom...to all four of my kids!  Of course, I want to be the best Mom I can to them.  And I don't like it when I mess things up, either!

  But I am learning to forgive myself.  And to take in the good.  My word for 2015 is grateful.  Because no matter how tough things get, there are  always things to be grateful for.  So, I say let's gives ourselves a break.  We are doing the best we can.  Learn to laugh at the insanity and drink up the love.  Because it is all around you.  Even if, every once in a while, you are surrounded by little assholes. 

 

Apparently, my hair is old

 

  If you are a woman and a child of the 80's like me, then you must remember the Oil of Olay campaign that went like this...

     A beautiful, silver haired, heavily re-touched 50 something looking model would dash across the screen...dressed in the latest "Country Club chic" outfit from Lacoste, toss her sassy grey hair to one side, look at the camera in a playful come-hither way and purr,

"I don't intend to grow old gracefully.  I intend to fight it every step of the way."   

     She was actually far too fabulous and not nearly wrinkled enough.  (To this day we are bombarded with images that could not be further from reality.)   At the time, I thought growing old was some far off land...almost like a mirage...sort of there, but not really, and certainly nothing for teenager me to even consider.  But the older I get, the more I can hear that catch phrase ringing in my ears. 

    Now, before we get too far gone, let me say this.  I know that 43 is not really "old".  My Dad is 83.  That is old.  And as much as I grumble about the aging process, I fully embrace the meme that I saw on Facebook not too long ago.  (side note...if there was a 12 Step Program for Facebook, I would TOTALLY need to join that shit.) It said, "Old age is a privilege denied to many."  Let that sink in for a minute.  Boom! Right?  So yes, I realize I should be grateful to grow old.  And I do hope on some level that I am, one day, a sassy, grey haired, wrinkly old lady....still fabulous, but hella wrinkled.  I am working to make peace with it. 

  When I was a sophomore in HS, I played one of the old lady sisters in "Arsenic and Old Lace."  I was either Martha or Abby.  I have no idea which.  But it was great fun.  And I remember doing the old age make-up every night to turn myself into this 70-80 year old gal.  You know what?  All of the wrinkles and fine lines that I DREW onto my face?  Yeah...they're here.  Slowly but surely making an appearance.  And that is sort of a bummer. 

  I should also clarify that I got my wrinkles the "Old Fashioned Way"...."I EARNED THEM."  (If you heard that in John Houseman's voice from the Smith Barney commercials of old, you are my favorite!)  Seriously...tanning beds, smoking, actual sun, not enough sleep, far too much booze and drugs....yes, sadly it is all there on my face.  Le sigh.

  Now, my Mom was very into skin care and make up.   She taught me well.  I have been spending far too much money on all sorts of magical creams and potions to delay the aging process for many, many years.   When I was single and made lots of money in Real Estate, I spent OBSCENE amounts of money on my skin.  Now that I am Super Mom, I opt to pay the electric bill instead of buying a jar of La Mer.  C'est la vie. 

      But, I still try to take care of my skin.  Oh, how I love Ulta and Sephora!   I always say that if I was independently wealthy, I would walk into a Sephora and just buy everything I could get my hands on.  I mean, seriously.  It makes me feel like the little girl with the stuffed unicorn in Despicable Me.  "It's just so PRETTY!!" 

     All joking aside, there really is an overwhelming amount of skin care and make up designed with the "Over 40" set in mind.   Some are good.  Some are great!  And, some aren't worth diddley squat. 
I often spend my lunch break, cruising the aisles at Ulta, looking from one product to the next...always trying to figure out which one is going to actually do something for me without my having to take out a second mortgage.  (My mother also taught me, "You get what you pay for".   Thanks, Mom.  This is true most of the time.  Oh, but I did read once that according to the best dermatologists, plain old Oil of Olay is the best moisturizer you can buy.)   Their labels say things like "anti-aging", "wrinkle-fighting", "line filling", "youth renewing"..etc.  It all sounds so promising.   

    Anyway, I was at Ulta the other day, and I wandered into their hair care aisle. And do you know what I found?  "Age-defying" shampoo and conditioner. And masks and treatments.   Seriously.   It's new.  Made by Pantene.  Says it fights the "7 signs of aging hair".   I did not know there were 7 signs of aging hair.  I read all 7.  Freaking depressing.  It's not enough that I am constantly being bombarded with a zillion different ways to make my skin look younger....Now you have to try and sell me something for my "Aging Hair?"  WTF?

    I know we all feel the pressure to look good.  And when you begin to age, looking good is supposed to equal looking young.  (and also thin, but I will write a whole separate post about body image another day!)  I fully admit to succumbing to the pressure.   I think it would be foolish to expect anyone to be completely immune to it.  But, try to remember this.  Old age really is a privilege denied to many.  And the laugh lines on our faces only show the world we have lived joyful lives.     By all means, take care of yourself and your skin.  Drink more water.  Get outside and move more.  Eat more green vegetables.  And learn to love what you see in the mirror!  Try looking at yourself every day and saying, "You are beautiful and fabulous.!"   It sounds so silly.  But it really does make a difference.  I promise.  So go ahead and grow old gracefully!  Be grateful.  But definetly skip the “Old hair” shampoo.

Super Bowl Sober Sunday

"But what if I'm not FUN anymore?!" 

   That was literally the first thing I thought about any time I would even consider giving up drinking.  I mean, how did anyone have any fun at all without being drunk?   ( I remember being around a few folks that did not drink at different times in my life and thinking to myself, "Those poor souls.  They must be the most boring people EVER!"   Seriously.)

   Everything I did was an excuse to drink.  Going to the beach?  The movies?  Bowling?  Company picnic? We must drink!  A reunion?  Working lunch?  Happy hour?  Girls night?  Bring out the vodka!  Football games on Sundays, ESPECIALLY the Super Bowl, were a God-send to a drunk like me.  I could start drinking early and get pretty shitty, and it was totally socially acceptable.  "Come on, Everybody's doing it!"   Towards the end of my drinking, I used to jokingly say, "I only drink on days that end in "Y"!"   Ha ha ha ha.  Wasn't I hilarious and cute?

 (As a side note, I think the culture of making jokes about being a drunk, seen most often on Facebook, do a real disservice to women who actually have a problem. I hid behind the "jokes" for a good while.  I mean, if all these other ladies are posting these hilarious memes about drinking too much, then I must be ok!  Right?)  Yeah, not so much.


  You see, I knew that I drank too much a few years before I started thinking about quitting.  And then it took me a few more years after that to actually quit.  Once I went to see a therapist because my life was a hot mess.  He suggested that I stop drinking "just for 30 days...to see if anything got better." Huh???  Riiiight.   I never went back. 

  Here's the thing.  I had a pretty great childhood.  No abuse, great parents, lots of friends.  But my mother was an alcoholic.  She did not die from alcoholism, but she drank until she was too sick to hold a glass.  That, coupled with an incredible desire to be liked, nay LOVED, by everyone I came into contact with...and you have a perfect recipe for an alcoholic disguised as "Party girl Julie".  (That was an actual nick-name given to me by the wife of the CEO of a huge company I worked for...and I thought it was a good thing.  Lawd.) 

    Looking back, I was "Party girl Julie"....and for a short while it was working.  (And I do mean short.)  But the bad decisions and dangerous situations kept mounting.  It is incredible to me when I recall all of the insane shit I did and how I was able to justify it all, never actually considering that alcohol was the problem.  I just wanted to have fun!   The problem was I never wanted the party to end. 

     I remember my husband saying to me, on more than one occasion, "Don't you think it's time to grow up?"  On the surface I was offended, but deep down I knew that he was right.  I love my husband for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that he knew he couldn't make me get sober...that I had to decide to do it on my own.   And thank God I did. 

     I am coming up on 18 months without a drink.  Which is incredible to me.  And I don't tell you this to brag.  I am telling you this because there was a time when I could  not imagine 18 days without one, let alone 18 months.  I had no idea how to do life without my mask of booze.  I thought it made me fabulous.  What it really made me was a terrible friend, employee, wife and mother. 

     But here's the awesome part.  Here is what I have learned thus far in my recovery.  That I am fun.  And funny.  And fabulous.  All without booze.  I laugh harder.  My friendships are more genuine.  I am most definitely a better wife and mother. I never have to wake up again with the shame of not knowing exactly what I did the night before.  I never have to lie to my bosses about why I can't make it into work today.  I never have to text any of my friends apologizing for my behavior at their party, hoping they forgive me.   My kids don't have to wonder why "Mommy has a headache" AGAIN.   I have an incredible program filled with amazing people and if I work it, I get a daily reprieve from my alcoholism.  I am more free than I ever dreamed was possible. 

     And before you roll your eyes and throw up a little bit in your mouth from all of my gushing and gratitude, let me also say this.  Life is still hard.  I still have days where I am overwhelmed with feeling like a failure as a parent.  My husband and I still fight about silly stuff sometimes.  And big stuff, too.  I have days where staying in bed sounds like a really super idea.  Shit is HARD.  But I don't have to pick up a drink to get through it.  Just for today. 

     I decided to write about this today, because I was thinking that only a few years ago, a Super Bowl Sunday without alcohol was unimaginable.   Today I am going to enjoy great food and my family while we watch the game. Without shame, guilt or any bad decisions.   I decided a long time ago that I wanted to be completely transparent about my recovery, in the hopes that I might help other women like me. 

      Now, I can only tell my story.  I can only tell you how it was for me.   It is not my place to judge anyone else or how they live their life.   Shockingly,  I still struggle with this at times.  I mean, honestly, if people would just listen to me, they could get their shit together.  (I have the best ideas, dontcha know?)  ;)

   There's a saying that I learned in recovery that I love.  (actually there are LOTS of sayings in recovery that I love.   Apparently we are fond of incredibly deep, yet catchy phrases to help to teach really good life lessons.)  I digress....it's "Keep your side of the street clean."  It means, you just need to do you.   (Great advice, but tough for a know-it-all like me.)  So, I am not writing this to judge anyone.   But I can share my "experience, strength and hope" with y'all.  Maybe someone out there needed to hear this today.  If only to plant the seed.

     So, if you are struggling with your drinking, know this.  There is help out there.  And life is not only fun without booze, it can be so much better without it.  You will laugh again.  You will have a good time.   You CAN live every day without being trapped by your drinking.   Reach out.  And don't be ashamed.  You are not alone.  There are lots of fun and fabulous women just like you.  Probably more than you think.  And we are here to support you.  And the best part is that we are always here, if you ever decide that you have had enough.  No judgment.  Just love.  And since it's Super Bowl "Sober" Sunday....Go Seahawks!  xo