Detox and Zombies

I remember a few key points about 9th grade. It was my first year in the High School with all the big kids. I was still recovering from a wicked golf cart accident that to this day I blame my memory loss, lack of direction and slight lack of balance on. And it was the year I had discovered weed.

The high school had this pesky D.A.R.E cop.
He had his own office and walked around like he was a real police man. He was in charge of the D.A.R.E program. He spewed the catch phrase "Just say no" In reference to drugs, alcohol, sex and probably rock and roll too.

He was a total fun hater, who clearly had never smoked a bowl in his life.

In 9th grade the phrase "Just say no" was killing all of our teenage wild souls.
Rebellion ran thick in all of our blood and saying no was the last thing any of us wanted to do.

Fast forward Ten *cough* years.

Here I sit. Stressed out, worn thin, tired as hell all the time and resentful of those who get to spend an entire day doing nothing.

2012 was going to be the "me" year.
The year I was only going to do things that brought me happiness.
A year of elimination.
No stress. No worries. No wearing myself thin and running myself into the ground.

This is the year I'm just saying NO.

I've decided to put my 2 weeks notice into the Bar gig.
I didn't come to this decision easily. As a matter of fact it's all I've been thinking about lately.
I've even taken polls from friends and family and logged the results in the form of a pie chart.
Pro's and con's lists are all over my house.

The results are a no brainer, yet there's always that slight twinge in my mind that holds a dollar sign. But at what point do you draw the line between money and happiness?

Me? I'm at the point where time is more valuable than the dollar.

I want to spend lazy Saturday mornings with my husband and dogs watching TV. Or lay out in my back yard all afternoon long with a cocktail and a good book. I want to camp, or hike or go out of town for the weekend. I want to spend weekends up at the lake or down at the bay. I want time to plant a fucking garden or maybe take a spur of the moment road trip. I feel like for the last 5 years of working 2 jobs I've just been a husk of myself.

I look back on how silly and light hearted I used to be. Even, dare I say... Spontaneous.
I mean, sure I've always been a stressed out list maker rubbing worry stones who has an agenda and a plan at all times but now I'm at least giving myself the option to get my old self back.
A self who isn't so cramped on time every week, or has to cram one million things into one night because after 60 hours of work in a week that's all you have left.

I'm ready to not be a walking zombie.

I'm ready to slow down, take some time and enjoy life.

On that same note, I've turned down every race I've been asked to run this year as well. This year, I'm running for me. Not for time, not for pace, not for cutting minutes off miles. This year I'm running where ever I want to, and taking however fucking long as I'd like. On my own terms. In my own time.

It's time to detox life and get back to the basics.

I'll let you know if I suffer any withdrawl symptoms.

Mad love ya'll.

I might as well have IBS

Grief can hit you anywhere. Just like diarrhea. The holidays are always particularly difficult but this year went smoother than most. I wasn't side swiped by a breakdown.
As a matter of fact it was quite the opposite. I had lucked out on a little time off from both jobs, had some good ME time complete with bad decisions and hangovers as far as the eye could see. Yet, something lingered. The perfect storm perhaps?
A couple years ago I was side swiped by a left hook of emotion at a traffic intersection.
This year? It was the week after Christmas. At the gym during a totally sick weight lifting session on chest. In the middle of all my testosterone-induced man-rage and awesomeness I felt my eyes well. With anger.
Then sadness.
I finished up my session and stretched while fighting off alligator tears the entire time.
I got in my car and broke the hell down. My toughness displayed in the gym was now a liquid pile of goo that just wanted to be held and for someone to understood what I felt and that it wasn't fair. --- Some rocking me might have been quite pleasant too.
It was the kind of cry that no sound comes out. Just silent, awkward facial movements and deep gasps for air.

I've come to the conclusion that time does not heal all wounds.

Time is like that one junk closet that every one has in their house. You stuff random shit in there because there's no where else for it to go but you can't throw it away. But you know one day, inevitably you have to clean that fucking closet out.

Live a little for Christ sake.... No... Really

Back when I was 16 one of my best friends forced me to do a beauty pageant. I hated every absolute minute of it. I broke out in hives all over my body two days before the pageant due to stress.

I don't like people. Especially people watching me.
Yeah, maybe if I have a couple bottles of booze around me I can sling drinks around for people like a monkey being watched at the zoo and for the most part I'm OK with it. Those people are drunk. And they tip me. Being a contestant in a beauty pageant was nothing but standing up in front of a room full of people to be judged.

Fuck. That. Shit.

The talent portion of my night consisted of dancing to Willa Fords "I wanna be bad."
My outfit was skin tight and pitch black.
When it came time for the on-stage question I was asked to please describe myself in one word.
My answer? Adventurous, because I was willing to try anything once.

It's safe to say I had an early retirement from my pageant career.

I laugh when I reflect on that night. My ris-kay dance moves to lyrics stating I wanted to be bad and me announcing I was open minded enough to try anything once should have really been a silent cry for help that someone should have picked up on.

Turns out? I really did know who I was and what I wanted out of life at the young stage of awkward teenageness.

Last Friday my company let us all leave work early. Instead of coordinating when I'd be able to meet my sister-in-law at the gym I texted her that I felt like blowing it off instead. It was the beginning to a very hectic weekend and I felt like I really needed some quality ME time. She seemed interested in squeezing a little ME time in before the holidays too. I had spoken with my mother-in-law earlier in the day and could tell she was teetering on the line of ditching a million bakers dozen of rolls and making bad decisions instead too. The final shove? A shot of tequila at 1:30pm.

The three of us wound up at the City Club. It's this fun little bar that's everything The Beetles. You pretty much have to scale a fire escape to get up to the front door but once you're there you so don't want to leave. Mainly due to tackling the fire escape obstacle back down to the parking lot with a hefty blood alcohol level. We sat and laughed over burgers and beer. We even had a couple shots together because it was Christmas, and what's Christmas without slurred "I love yous"?

We joked over dinner about making bad decisions that quickly morphed into real ones.
My sister-in-law was dead set on a piercing. We made our way to a tattoo parlor that was unfortunately booked for the remainder of the evening. Not wanting to see sister-in-laws Christmas hopes and dreams crushed I quickly remembered a little tattoo joint I found *Stumbled into* last year around the same time. I can't tell you where it is, or the name of it but I can drive right to it. They were the only tattoo shop last year that took in any randomers at the drop of a dime. This year was no different.

After batting our lashes and kindly asking if we could bring our bottle of bourbon in the shop, Sister-in-law got herself a pretty little hip piercing. It sounds strange and I was a little unsure of it myself but it actually turned out rather sexy looking.
Me? I wound up with a small tattoo on the inside of my heel. It's simple and something that won't ever change. Which is usually what you should take into account before permanently having something etched into your skin.

Once we had holes punched and permanent track marks on us we headed back to the inlaws house to help *cough* our father-in-law with the abandoned task of the rolls. Sister-in-law helped run the beater. I patted father-in-laws head for encouragement and moral support. I'm pretty sure we hindered the roll making process.
No sooner than the flour absorbed into the dough did we ask if we could be released from our duty to head to the bar.

My dad was there with all of his buddies gulping down Christmas cheer. We stayed, laughed and were merry.

The next day was Christmas eve. We did the typical run around and spread yourself thin all over fucking town to try to please everyone, in turn spending more time in the god damn car than at an actual family function. Our final destination was the inlaws and it felt so good to get settled in. We opened gifts, had cocktails and played games that revealed what sick fucks we truly all are.

The husband and I headed home later than night. This year we had promised each other we'd keep the spending moderate because our goal to get out of debt and be able to spend more time together was far more important than presents. I had a hard time abiding by this rule. A few days prior I went out and got us each a nice, new fancy phone. The husband hasn't ever had a smart phone. His was still the kind with the snake game on it and if you ever dropped it instead of the screen shattering it was the floor. They cost a fair amount, but his face lighting up was priceless. He immediately started downloading all the geektastic apps any nerd could ever ask for. He has a star tracker, a physics app and a "learn how to speak alien for dummies" app.

Really though, these phones are dope. I'm sure once we both know how to use them we'll probably be able to cure world hunger and save the whales.

They're THAT rad.

Christmas morning we started my new favorite tradition. My dad and the husbands parents came over. I made a breakfast casserole that was off the chain. We had spiked coffee, pumpkin bread, english muffins, bloody marrys and mimosas. We all just sat around and bullshitted with one another over booze and it was pure magic. It was a beautiful thing to be able to have our badass parents over all laughing and sharing Christmas morning together.

There's just 3 short days left of 2011.

Here's to an even better 2012. Hopefully it starts off a little smoother this year.....
I hope the new year welcomes you all in gracefully.

MAZAL TOV!

Get a load of this

The holidays have proved to be fairly tolerable thus far.

Aside from going to Walmart for last minute needs and completely testing my tolerance to dumb fucks, It hasn't been too awful.

YET.

• I helped an old lady out in Smiths parking lot the other day. It was cold, she looked fragile and she had walked away from her cart that held a bunch of groceries and toilet paper on the bottom rack. I yelled "Hey Mam, I think these are your groceries!" and carried them over to her. She was the nicest old lady ever. She was seriously so sweet and grateful. said all the bless your hearts and merry Christmases one little old lady is capable of. It totally made me feel all cheery inside.

• I also had the opportunity to buy gifts for the families on the Christmas Angel tree and deliver said presents to the families in need. It was a very humbling experience.

• Last Sunday I had the 2nd annual Bartender Christmas party. The bar owner got her son to bartend for it so that all of us regular bartenders could get together, tie one on and exchange gifts. I'm pretty certian this is the ONLY Christmas party out there that you can unwrap panties, vagasil wipes, mini bottles and mace and have it totally be normal.

• The husband and I pledged to go inexpensive on eachother this year. --as well as everyone else. But... I think I might have something a little special in store for us both. Hopefully I'll find time to post over the holiday weekend. I think Santa might be a super rad dude to both of us this Christmas.

• And, last but not least, the annual Christmas sickness has arrived. I've been feeling slightly less than stellar for a couple weeks now. The husband and I keep ping ponging sicknesses back and forth but yesterday after delivering Christmas cards around town in the bitter ass cold, I sat down at my desk and could literally feel a sinus infection infiltrate my face. In every effort to NOT be sick over this weekend I made a doctor appointment for this morning. I tried to tell him over the phone that I did NOT need to come in and that I knew what a sinus infection felt like and it's what I had so pretty please with a cherry on top write me a fucking prescription but I'm pretty sure he missed me so badly he made me come in regardless of my self diagnosis. Oddly enough, he took one look up my nose and said "Well, It looks like you have a sinus infection" My response was "No shit?!"

My doctor is pretty sweet though. I mentioned how husband and I were both sick and he wrote me a prescription for enough antibiotics for us to share.
He also wrote me a doctors note on his prescription pad that read "Erica is extremely contagious and should not be around anyone over the Christmas Holiday"
He told me I could use that note as I saw fit.

Well peeps, as my last post before the Jolly old elf comes to visit I wish you all a very merry Christmas. I hope this holiday finds you all happy and well.

Peace. Joy. and mad love.

Over and out.

Let the holidays (Increased bourbon drinking) BEGIN!

I bet you're all dying to know what I've been up to lately!

Are you having Erica with drawl shakes? Trouble concentrating? Do you toss and turn all night long never finding that deep desirable slumber? Me too. Only not the Erica with drawl thing... because... that's me...

ANYWAY.

I've decided I need a laptop.

And the internetzez at my house.

Somewhere between 4-7 glasses of bourbon and my nightly half ambien, my mind travels to glorious places and suddenly I have the funniest thoughts to morph into one hysterical blog.

Only it never makes it on here.

Why? Because I get distracted with overwhelming amounts of work. And that sucks all the fun out of my soul. And I get interrupted like, allthefuckingtime.

So, Santa...


I've been naughty in a really good way all year long. Can I please have a laptop and a year worth of Internet bills pre-paid? And a new phone. Because mine broke on Friday. Aaaaand the mustard volcom purse.


And the karma necklace.


and maaaaaybe a new camera, because the one I currently own is so old I'm fairly certain it was a handme down from God.


And then some new shoes!


OK-I'M-DONE-AMEN.

Speaking of the holidays, bottle orders have spiked and I've been super busy huffing spray paint in my garage, creating super cute gifts completely high off my ass. It's been tits.

Insert desperate ploy for more orders here: TELL YOUR FRIENDS! http://botbinc.blogspot.com/ :) WOOT.

Bad decisions in the name of Sunday. Amen.

I'm fairly certain I showed up to set class drunk this morning.

I stayed out way too late last night kanoodling with family, shooting vodka and making sex time with the husband.

At five o'clock this morning as I was driving to the gym, questioning my sobriety and pondering my blood alcohol level I came to the harsh conclusion that I'm not a spring chicken anymore.

6 hours of sleep and blowing a .08 on a breathalizer before running 3 miles in the morning was my personal normal a few years ago.

Now I'm knocking on the late 20's door begging for 8 solid hours of sleep, 4-6 servings of vegetables a day and seeking out a good night cream.

Getting older is blowing my figurative balls.

Speaking of getting older, it's the husbands Birthday week!

I'm throwing him a conspiracy theory party. Complete with an alien cake and UFO cupcakes and tinfoil hats so the aliens and government can't read our minds.

Shit's gonna be off the chiiizzzain.

The half

You know how a vagina feels when it's giving birth and ripping from side to side and bleeding and tearing and crying and then all of a sudden BAM! EXPLODES! EVERYWHERE. VAGINA SCHRAPENAL ALLOVER EVERYTHING!

Me either.

But if I had to pick the perfect analogy for how my calves feel, that would be it.


I survived my first half marathon. The first 5 miles were extremely downhill. Which, I thought, OK cool... Curvy girl, momentum, down hill, walk in the park. (Or canyon)

The thing about extremely down hill though, IT TEARS YOUR FUCKING LEGS APART!


I was running under 8 minute miles for the first 5 miles.

Then it flattened out just enough for my legs to readjust to the newly flattened grade and decide that cramping was a good idea.

I made it to a water station and tried to stretch.

Miles 6-10 were ok I suppose. It was cold. I was tired, sick and drenched in my own sweat but all in all I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Only 3.1 more miles and I was done.



Mile 11 things started pulling awfully wrong. It felt like my knees were rubber bands and someone kept pulling the bands away from my body and then flipping them back.


There's "tired, sore, I just ran 11 miles kind of hurt"..... and then there's "OH MY FUCKING GOD, SHIT'S GOING SOUTH QUICK AND I DON'T HAVE HEALTH INSURANCE AND I'M PRETTY SURE MY KNEES ARE FUCKED AND I'M GOING TO DIE" KIND OF HURT.

It was THAT kind of hurt.



Finally I started seeing people with medals on walking around. My garmin said it was only another half mile to go. I made it across the finish line just in time to get caught in a human sea of cluster fuck. No one was moving. I was stuck shoulder to shoulder, belly to back with random sweaty, strangers.

My personal hell on earth.

It's been 2 weeks since the race and last night was the first night I could actually run for 30 minutes straight with only minimal pain.

Am I glad I did it? Absolutely.

Would I take it back? Never in a million years.

Am I proud of myself? You bet your sweet ass.

Do I want to do it again? No fucking way.