Next Chapter

From 2008-2016, I wrote a Dad blog called Out-Numbered. It was one of the highlights of my life. I made a ton of friends within the blogging community, had an opportunity to build my own brand and most importantly, shared some amazing connections with my readers.

Now that I'm writing again, I took a moment to reflect back on some of those posts. There were hundreds. Some of them I remember writing but most of them I don't.

I got sober in March of 2010. This might be one of the reasons I don't remember. 

When I dove back into the blog, I immediately went back to the posts I wrote before I stopped drinking. I didn't write a lot about my drinking as a whole but I did find one post in particular that kind of gut-punched me.

It was in December of 2009. About 3 or 4 months before I hit my absolute bottom. 

The post talks about one of the many times I tried to stop drinking on my own. I obviously knew I had a problem but I didn't really know what it was or more importantly, why it was.

I feel so much empathy for the guy that wrote those words. It makes me sad to know how broken he must have felt. 

Reading it back today, 14 years sober, is like rubbernecking a car wreck and not being able to look away. But I'm so grateful that I can keep driving by and know that everybody wound up ok.

I'm glad I wrote that blog for all of those years. It's like that old photo album at your parents house that you forget about but still take it down and look through like you're seeing it again for the first time. 

Some of these pictures I would rather not see but I guess that's what photo albums are for. You can always look if you want to, knowing you can put it back on the shelf when you're done.

Looking back, I wouldn't change a thing. All of those posts were just chapters in my life. Chapters that I've already read. That's what's great about life. You can just move on to the next one and keep on reading.

Here are some of those words...

'Tis the season of the holiday party.
Ho fuckin' Ho.

About 5 weeks ago, I promised myself that I wouldn't drink for 100 days.

Don't ask.

All I'm going to say, is it had something to do with a white pashmina scarf, a bar named The Rooster and some vomit.

Nothing to see here.

Needless to say, the cheer in my holiday has been a bit, well, cheerless.

I don't think I've been dry at a party since my 8th birthday.

Don't get me wrong. I love people and I love parties but making conversation with drunk people when you're sober, is an art form. It's not dissimilar to engaging in conversation with your annoying Aunt that smells like spit at your Bar-Mitzvah or having a catch with your ADHD little cousin. It's not impossible but you need to focus.
Alcohol is to a party like Auto Pilot is to an airplane. You don't have to pay attention after you hand over the controls. You just coast on through.

Last week I had three Holiday parties to attend. I didn't exactly have a game plan, or any game for that matter but I figured I'd give it a shot.

I banged out two of them back to back during the week. I'll be honest, I didn't miss the alcohol at all. As a matter of fact, I had a very nice time. I was coherent. I didn't hug anyone I wasn't supposed to and I actually got home when I said I would.

Go figure.

Ironically, the only part of my prohibition that might prove to be difficult for me, is the consumption of non-alcoholic beverages. I must have drank a liter of diet Coke, 5 or 10 Orange Juices (straight up) and a shit load of Club Soda. God that stuff is horrible. It's like drinking carbonated saline solution. I probably pissed a bucket each night. Oh and do me a favor. Keep your dirty lemons and limes out of my soda. I don't want your H1N1 in my drink. Thank you very much.

The third party was the one that had me nervous...

My 3 year old's, Pre-School Holiday party.

I don't think there is a parent in the lot that stays sober at those things. It's practically impossible to keep your wits about you. Nervous MILF's chasing after their kids. Toddlers screaming and shitting themselves underneath tables. Dads standing around drinking Coors Light, checking football scores on their Blackberry's. It's like a damn war zone and there's always a truck load of casualties.

Next chapter...


Popular posts from this blog

Definition Of A Hug

My Sobriety Is Like David Blaine

Cry Baby, Cry