Wine-ing

As previously stated, I can't drink like I use to back in the day. I'm older and after giving up alcohol during my pregnancies, I have a low tolerance. Which is great at the bar because I'm a cheap date. My husband has made it his mission in life to question my ability to drink more than two beers.
Him: "You sure you want that third?"
Me: "You sure you want to see me naked at some point in the next 6 months? Mind your own business."

But he's right, I have had a few brushes with vomiting after only a couple hours of drinking and one episode of Double Dragon. Google that and then try not to judge too harshly. That particular event occurred at my sister's house after an 8 hour shift, no food and a bottle of wine. Not my proudest moment.
As I have been writing more, I can see why so many writers, past and present, have been alcoholics. It is very challenging to rip your soul out in words every single day and then feel like you haven't contributed to society in any functional way. Writing a book is especially taxing on my self esteem as I am not sure if or when anyone will ever see it, publish it or love it. It's like running in circles and telling everyone that's your job. It creates an overwhelming desire to drink.

Alcohol also has a creative element to it that I am sure any artist can attest to. After a couple of glasses of white wine, I have a slew of ideas for my blog, my book and for articles that I feel are like nothing anyone has ever written before. Then I sober up and wonder why anyone reads the shitty shit I write. It's enough to want to commit myself to a psychiatric hospital and go crawling back to Starbucks begging for my "real" job back. If you are interested in working your ass off, feeling like you haven't done a damn thing and becoming an alcoholic, become a writer.

Don't forget to check out my article about marriage and faith on mythirtyspot.com and follow me on Twitter @BrasherMandy. Strangely I have 300 followers over there, because there seem to be other like minded drunks who think I am as funny as I do.

Bagels and Your Body

Wondering what that is? My kids call it "Mommy's bagel belly" and then mommy drinks a bottle of wine and cries in the corner. This is what I have left after birthing two adorable children and gaining/losing over a hundred pounds. While I adore the new Dove campaign, even they don't capture all the realities of what a woman's body looks like after babies, huge weight fluctuations and the millions of genetic combinations that can make or break your build. I want people to understand that even though I may buy a smaller size, I have a bagel to tuck into my jeans. A bagel!

I started running a couple of years ago and was pleasantly surprised by how quickly I was able to burn calories and get fit. Running had always been my arch nemesis, but after pushing myself through a couple weeks of pain, I could see results that I hadn't gotten from swimming, walking or weights. What I still couldn't get rid of was my belly. I incorporated Pilates, heavier weights and even more running only to lose more weight and have more sagging skin in my mid-section. What is it they call my shape? Apple. I can only assume that I should feel good about that because apples are healthy. In reality,  it only makes me question whether or not I should wear a swimming suit in public. Ever. Are apples cute in two-piece swim suits?

I hear this a lot... "You are so tiny, you could wear anything". Wrong. Fitted tanks give me a spare tire, fitted jeans hurt my gut, low cut pants release the bagel from captivity and add an extra element of gross to any top I pair them with. "You could work that off". Could I? Because I've done more sit-ups and planks than I care to remember and while my muscles get stronger my bagel gets saggier. Had I gotten my mother's genetic build I could wear a two piece well into my 80's. My mom birthed three children and she looks better in a swimsuit than I do. And she's a grandma!!! Think about that for a minute.

I love my body. I also love detesting certain things about my body and I love sharing it. We all have body issues, even 'tiny' people. My sister is tall and thin, what society would describe as 'perfect' and guess what? She was tortured in middle school because of it. There is no such thing as perfect. We all have a love/hate relationship with our bodies at some point, so embrace it, laugh at it, take a picture and put it on the internet for every fucking person in the world to see. Who cares. It's true that you can't judge a book by it's cover, some covers have a delicious bagel underneath.

What I Learned This Weekend And Wine

After 13 years of marriage, I am always surprised when I learn something new about my husband or when he lends some insight into who I am. He knows be better than anyone. It happens in random spurts and when I least expect it. A couple of months ago, after years of riding on carousels with our kids, he informed me that he absolutely hates carousels and always has. This would have been helpful information to know when the kids were begging to ride on one and I thought he was avoiding it because he was being a cheap asshole.

This weekend we spent some time at Fisherman's Wharf, saw a game in Oakland and did some driving/drinking in Sonoma. He drove, I drank. Wine country was my favorite. After two tastings, a shot of sherry and a full glass of Pinot Grigio, I turned into Chatty Cathy and my husband and I began talking work and life purpose. He shared, I shared and then it happened. I told him how much I love writing, but how I'm losing passion because I don't have the thousands of people I wish I had reading my blog every day. I have a problem with patience. I compare myself to other writers. I see someone else doing it and I'm sure that since they've done it, there is nothing left for me to do. It's all down hill from there. Here is what my husband said "You give up way too easily. I see it with so many things you do and I don't understand it. You are an amazing writer so why would you give up now?' It was hard to hear because it was true. I lacked a trait. Perseverance. I've seen the billboard with some famous person on it and under their face, in gigantic letters, PERSEVERANCE Pass It On. No one passed it on to me.

I don't remember ever feeling that I could persevere. If I wasn't good at something right away, I was done. If I wasn't as good as someone else, I was done. I tried sewing and if what I made didn't look my mom's, who had been sewing for a couple decades, I decided I wasn't good at it. I tried debate class and there was someone who was better at it, so I quit. Then there was massage, which I was good at but never gave myself enough time to be the best at, so I stopped. My life has been pocked by one unaccomplished goal after another. I thought I wasn't funny because my husband said he was. There couldn't possibly be two funny people in one marriage. This sounds fucking weird, but I hid my sense of humor for many years because I felt that I couldn't compete with someone who proclaimed they were 'the funny one'.

This time, I am not giving up. I am learning perseverance. I'm researching the shit out of it, living it and passing it on. I have too many amazing humans in my life who see something great in me even when I don't. Thank god for that. When I don't want to write or update my blog, my husband nudges me until I'm so annoyed that I do it out of complete fucking irritation. When I am sure someone else is better at humor writing, my mom reads my blog and tells me that she has never read anything better. Ever. My daughter tells me weekly that she is proud of me and that she can't wait to be 18 so she can read my blog. For them, and one day for myself, I persevere.