(02/01/2010) For this Bourbonista, the ultimate injustice has occurred. Due to being prescribed Flagyl, a megapowerful antibiotic, I cannot drink alcohol for a week...not a dram...not a drop...not a shot of syrup for my nasty cough...not even a gargle of mouthwash. What would happen if did? According to some online studies and discussion boards set up to expose the Flagyl myth, not a damn thing. According to others, it will feel as though my stomach has been doused in gasoline, set on fire, and then dragged from my torso by a team of draft horses. I have opted to play it safe and sit patiently on the wagon until the drug has run its course. But it couldn't be a worse week.
Come Saturday, I will be living alone for the first time in my adult life. Seriously, I have never lived alone. I went from my parents house to a dorm to a campus house filled with theatre freaks, to an apartment with my short-lived, first husband, and then back to the forgiving theatre freaks. After college, I moved into a big gay party pad with my boys. From there, I went to an abode with hubby number two which transitioned straight into my life with spouse three where I have remained until now. Throw in a couple of summers of communal living at The Lost Colony and a trio of live-in boyfriends and you have the whole picture. I have never flown solo. Note: If you are a stalker or some psychopath, don't even think about it! I have a big dog, lots of objects de art that will work as weapons, and I am not beyond biting through your jugular in self-defense.
So, what shall I do to get through the next seven days of terrifying transition sober? I will blog and write pitiful poems and make lists. I will rearrange the kitchen cabinets and watch the Food Network in search of recipes for one. I will download music--a folder full of "hot tunes" to be background music when I someday have sex. I will learn to make a decent cup of coffee (the one I'm trying to choke down now is like prehistoric sludge). I'll visit my next door neighbor far more than she wants me to. I will redirect the energy usually spent by my liver to my brain and finally learn to play chess. I'll apply for much-needed employment. I'll clean out my closet tossing anything smaller than a six or bigger than a twelve. I'm aiming to live my life as a solid 8-10. I will walk my dog twice a day. I will get prepared, as best I can, for this frightening and fabulous adventure that is barreling at me like a bullet train.
(06/22/2012) A mere eight months after this blog post, Frank moved in. He brought with him a giant stuffed shark, skull bong, Christmas Story leg lamp, singing fish plaque, and the hell hound hybrid called Rufus. So much for the single life. I obviously made it through my week without bourbon...but, I'll never try that again if I can help it. I got a "big girl" job. I still can't play chess, am nowhere near a size 8, and still make a cup of coffee that would puke a dog off a gut wagon. I do not have a "hot tunes" soundtrack, however I do have hot sex. I've realized that now that I'm hitched to the right person, married life suits me just fine.
the bourbonistA, Promoting Debauchery and stamping out political-correctness one blog at a time.