Guess who’s back? Back again! 

It’s been a hot second since we’ve posted here. The Young Alcoholic has been getting some consistent pussy and has moved out of his mom’s basement and MilesLark has doing his muffuckin’ thing in Seattle, so I guess that just leaves me as the loser who needs to blog to find purpose in her sad, sad life. Aight, then. 

I read through the old articles and missed you: the possibly-non-existent reader I’m speaking to through this screen. I’m not even sure this website is even live anymore. No matter; I’ll talk to you anyways because why not? Perhaps you’ve missed us. Perhaps you’ve been bothered by our sudden departure. If so, sorry. Life happens. But I shalt not ignore you further. #yourlifematters

Tonight, after drinking a bit, I listened to Alicia Keys. If you do not know who she is, pop on YouTube and give her a listen. She’s a pianist goddess who fundamentally shaped my childhood. I’ve only been to a small handful of concerts in my life; hers was the only one that has moved me. Her soulful voice, her unbridled beauty, her effortless cool factor; I’m still totally enamored. 

Her last full length album was 2012’s Girl on Fire which did well commercially, of course. But, in the course of discussion, we’re not referring to that. We’re referring to 2001. I’m about 9. Songs in A Minor dropped. A pretty, talented, songstress rocking immaculate cornrows with a deep, raw, and passionate voice crooned her way to multiple Grammy awards. All the while being the Fedora Queen. Take that Jason Mraz and Bruno Mars, you little bitches. Take notes. 

Her first album soothed my burgeoning soul. It takes me to a place of serenity; where I was young and naive, in a good way. It reminds me of a beloved friend I spent countless hours with in Brooklyn, NY, whose body is resting peacefully. It reminds me of my father, whose relationship has been carefully mended and still in the process of healing. It reminds me of me; before the anxiety and the responsibility of young adulthood. When things were simple and all I had to think about was how I could braid my hair to look like Alicia.

I’m 23 years old. 23 years old. Ahhhhh! I can’t tell if that is old or young or if I’m just insanium in the cranium. All I do know is that I’m struggling to find purpose, struggling to collect my notions of self, and that Alicia Keys is a fucking goddess whose music I love so much and I wish she could give me a hug and tell me in her beautiful, crisp, smoky voice that everything will be okay. 

You, dear reader, don’t have to reblog, tweet, share, or like this post. Log onto Spotify or YouTube, and type in Alicia Keys. Even if you’re not into this particular genre, give her a listen. She speaks to everyone; it’s cathartic. It’s like she wants to help you. Go ahead, make her day and mine too. And, I’ll see you later. 

How Alcohol Makes Me Feel

One of hardest parts about addiction is explaining how it feels when your brain interacts with drug/alcohol or your specific drug of choice. For me that’s alcohol. The biggest problem with explaining alcoholism is that everybody has been around alcohol and by the time you’re an adult pretty much everybody has been out drinking before and knows what being drunk is like. It’s a cultural thing, it’s legal, to some degree it’s encouraged, and, in the right circumstances, being drunk is socially acceptable. Most people who drink are not alcoholics or addicted to alcohol. This is part of what makes alcoholism very difficult to understand. A lot of people just think that you’re a dumb lush who enjoys being drunk even though it is not at all like that and it is nowhere near that simple. If it was as simple as that then it wouldn’t be a world wide public health epidemic. Explaining how alcohol makes me feel when I put it in my system is hard to articulate but the other night while talking to a friend I found a way to describe it as accurately as I could: it’s a lot like how people describe their experiences on ecstasy.

I got out of rehab three months ago. In a week, I’ll be five months sober (and seven months without smoking marijuana–NEW WORLD RECORD).

Aside from the grunt work that goes into not drinking or using drugs every single day, I think that the hardest part has been readjusting to regular life.

It’s nearly impossible to explain to people how alcohol makes me feel. When people describe their experiences on ecstasy/MDMA, that’s as close as I can come to making myself understood. When I drink, there’s an explosion in my brain and it feels better than absolutely anything in the world. Nothing spikes my dopamine levels like alcohol. It is just like the feeling of ecstasy where all of my serotonin surges and gets used up. I go into overdrive and I can’t stop. It gives me energy. It’s not at all like other people’s interactions with alcohol. I never really got hangovers like my friends did. Sometimes I’d get sick because I had way too much alcohol still in my system but it wasn’t like I was always hungover like everybody else. My “hangovers” the next morning were more like that serotonin sickness you get with ecstasy. I would just be horribly depressed the next morning as if all of my serotonin and dopamine had been used up the night before. That’s exactly how my first drink was too: explosion of joy the second I took that first drink and then the next morning I was beside myself. And of course, the only thing that would make me feel good again was alcohol. The vicious cycle started immediately.

I’ve only recently realized the comparison between how most people interact with MDMA and how I interact with alcohol. I only know the basic brain chemistry behind drug and alcohol addiction/abuse but what I learned in rehab is that it’s all going on in the same location with the same neurons and receptors. The out of control high that people describe feeling on ecstasy is very similar to how I would describe the way I feel when I’m drinking. More accurately than that though is the comedown the next morning and the battle with depression once all of your serotonin is sucked up and spent. Maybe even more than the high, I can relate to that comedown. For me, hearing about the depressed feeling the next morning after a night of rolling face is eerily familiar.

 

FITTER HAPPIER

Fitter, happier, more productive
Comfortable, not drinking too much
Regular exercise at the gym 3 days a week
Getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries

At ease, eating well
No more microwave dinners and saturated fats
A patient better driver, a safer car, baby smiling in back seat
Sleeping well, no bad dreams, no paranoia
Careful to all animals, never washing spiders down the plughole

Keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then
Will frequently check credit at Moral Bank hole in wall
Favors for favors, fond but not in love
Charity, standing orders, on Sundays ring road supermarket

No killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants
Car wash also on Sundays
No longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate
Nothing so childish

At a better pace, slower and more calculated
No chance of escape, now self-employed
Concerned but powerless
An empowered and informed member of society

Pragmatism, not idealism
Will not cry in public
Less chance of illness
Tires that grip in the wet
Shot of baby strapped in back seat
A good memory

Still cries at a good film
Still kisses with saliva
No longer empty and frantic
Like a cat tied to a stick
That’s driven into frozen winter shit

The ability to laugh at weakness
Calm, fitter, healthier and more productive
A pig in a cage on antibiotics

(Lyrics by Radiohead)

2015 Is Almost Over

Christmas is in less than two weeks. What. I only just got rid of my jack-o-laterns because my candy-ass neighbors were complaining about that rotten pumpkin smell. (I told them it wasn’t me). This time of year can bring out the worst in people. Sometimes though, it can also bring out the best. I personally like the festive aesthetic of the holidays. Not just Christmas either. I like that we’ve also got Kwanzaa and Hanukkah going on. Ramadan gets pushed back a month every year because it’s on a different calendar but one of these years when we’ve got Ramadan in December (2030 or 2031?) it’s gonna be off the chain. I like to think that everybody’s got something to celebrate in December just before the year ends. If nothing else, at least you can celebrate the New Year.

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Hollywood: “Football Is Bad For Your Health.”

Now that Will Smith is playing Dr. Bennet Omalu in the new film Concussion, all of the sudden we’re all freaking out about the dangers of playing American Football. It’s way too easy to get cynical about every single aspect of this situation. There’s layers to this: 1). the NFL is more evil than Big Tobacco  and the Galactic Empire combined, 2). the information that has been brought fourth by recent studies on concussions and the affect of multiple concussions on the human brain have showed some terrifying results and a direct connection to playing football, 3). nobody has really cared about the dangers of multiple concussions and the increased risk of suffering from severe brain damage and playing football until now because Hollywood has made a fictionalized explainer version of it to spoon feed us information, 4). the American public seems to be more consumed by this issue than all other more pressing matters that we probably should address before we get around to the number one sport in this country. There is a lot to get butthurt over here. As a football fan myself, it’s really not a huge deal to me. If anything, I’m finding the positive in it. Read More

Quit Smoking? Chew On Some Cinnamon!

Supposedly, there’s a three day hump that you have to get over when you quit smoking initially. I don’t really buy this because any occasion seems like a good time to RIP MAD BUTTS. I didn’t even grew up in the golden years when you could smoke indoors in this country; but I guess freedom isn’t free and America’s gotten soft. I can’t believe you’re not allowed to smoke indoors anymore. THANKS OBAMA. I missed out on how awesome it must have been to grow up in a world where everything smelled like smoke and sadness.

Speaking of sadness, today (I think) was my third of the hump. I don’t count the days for anything really. If it’s going to be a rough day staying sober or not having a cigarette or something then who gives a fuck if it’s day 100? Everyday is day one to me. It’s either a hard day or an easy day. The only difference is that as time goes on I’m noticing that it’s easier to string together easy days. I’ve been on a roll! But still, doesn’t matter what day it is; day 50 can be just as difficult as day 5 and sometimes it can be even worse. Today, I had every good excuse to smoke: tense day at the call center, did my laundry, woke up early and went for a jog, tied my shoes (double-knotted bunny ears!), I drove to work without crashing my car, didn’t eat any candy, took my vitamins, did a goodass job at work and even stayed late, and I even fixed my own dinner! Soooooo many good excuses! I earned major good boy points.

I think that the only reasons why  I didn’t smoke today was because 1). did not physically possess any cigarettes 2). I recognized from the minute that I woke up that I was going to have to dedicate the whole day to the goal of not smoking no matter what and nothing else mattered (that helped most of all) and 3). I chewed on sticks of raw cinnamon all day.

If you too are trying to quite smoking then I definitely recommend going to the grocery store and buying some raw sticks of cinnamon. This is a good move. Even if you don’t like cinnamon, suck it up and chomp on that shit. It’s kind of weird! In a good way! Basically, it’s just a spicy, rolled-up piece of dried tree bark. It tastes awesome and it makes you feel kind of funny. I don’t know if I’m allergic or something but my skull tingles when I’m knibblin’ away on my cinnamon branch. Maybe it’s just the spiciness. I like it. I’ve learned to like it. I also used to do dip all the time and played baseball back in high school in Ohio so I’m used to that burn, man. Feels good.

It kind of just took my mind of smoking. It’s weird and dumb, so it gives you something to think about. Whenever I wanted a cigarette today, I just jammed a cinnamon stick in my mouth hole and gnawed on it. I highly recommend trying it because it is oddly satisfying. Give it a try!

No Shave November: the counterpart 

This is me. This is my beard. #NoShaveNovember 

  
Alright so I admit, I was last clean shaven in January and I started letting it grow out like this in May. So this isn’t just November, but who’s going to blame me for not wanting to shave this beauty.  

I also apologize for Mr.Young  Alcoholic himself and my early morning beard selfies. Nobody needs to see that….

No-Shave November: The Bad Beard Contest Continues!

I got a very late jump on No-Shave November because I started a new job at the beginning of the month and didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot by rolling up to the office looking like a hobo. I have a terrible beard. It doesn’t help that I’ve got blond-ish hair.

I don’t think I’ve shaved since probably Thanksgiving so it’s been like a week and a half or so. The results are hideous. It’s also not good that I’ve kept growing this face rug a full week into December. Now it looks like I’ve either given up on life and chosen to become a dirty wizard or (even worse) it that I look like I think that I’m pulling this off. CHAMPING THAT NECKBEARD. I’m not pulling the bad beard off. It must be destroyed.

This might be the worst beard in North America:

Photo on 12-6-15 at 9.29 AM.jpg

It’s almost non-existent. That’s the worst part about having a bad beard. When you have a bad beard and try to grow it out, because you don’t really have a “beard” it just looks like your face is wicked dirty.

My mustache game is pretty weak as well:

Photo on 12-6-15 at 9.29 AM #4.jpg

 

…neck-beard game is strong though…too strong…

Photo on 12-6-15 at 9.33 AM.jpg

This failed experiment is over. My face needs an exorcism. If you’re still growing your No-Shave November beard too, your face probably also needs an exorcism. Somebody has to put an end to this madness.