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, 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 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:

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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…

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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.

Locked Out Of Your (Mom’s) House?

One of my favorite movies of all time is Silver Linings Playbook. It’s just delightful. And it’s nice to see a movie that doesn’t glorify or exploit mental illness. But lemme tell ya something: in real life, after a little time in the psych-ward or detox, coming home is not the sexy, star-studded romp that they make it out to be. Especially the second time around. I’m a veteran now, but I do occasionally make some rookie mistakes.

It’s not cool to live at home. But sometimes, you gotta do it. Now, I could definitely pay rent for my own place because since I quit drugs and drinking, I’ve got more money than I know what to do with. However, I’d rather not live in squalor and I’d also rather finish college/pay off my loans from the comfort of my basement. It’s embarrassing and I feel like such a lame but I just remind myself that this is temporary and better than living in an opium den; as much as I kinda would love to just live in an opium den and just quit.

At 22 years old, there is nothing more embarrassing or humbling than your mom being mad at you. So much shame. The only thing that really makes my mom mad is when I break shit. I generally try to handle all things with care because breaking shit (especially your own shit) is dumb. I’m too old to think breaking shit is funny. It’s one of the greatest losses when you grown up.

Sometimes, breaking shit is unavoidable; like when you get locked out of your house and need to break in through a window.

If you get locked out of your house, don’t try to break in. It’s generally not a good idea to break into anybody’s house for any reason but sometimes you forget your keys and you’re fucked. My go-to move is usually (after panicking) looking for an unlocked window and trying to crawl through it. The problem with that is that most windows have screens on them. If you are lucky enough to find an unlocked window that you don’t need to scurry up the drainpipe to get to, you’re good to go! However, when I lock myself out and need to bust back in and there’s a screen between me and freedom (Xbox), I just take a sharp pebble or something and slash the screen and then crawl through the unlocked window. Now, the problem is that you’re going to have to replace the screen and that costs money. Worse than having to pay for a new screen, your mom is going to be PISSED when she eventually finds that screen you’ve slashed. My recommendation, if you do find yourself in this precarious situation after your lonely and sad cigarette break from Xbox Live, is to slash the screen, crawl through the window, remove the screen and hide it in the basement. If the window that you crawl through is in your kitchen or living room, then remove the slashed screen and replace it with a screen from a less-used window. Then hide that shit in the basement. It’s the perfect crime!

Desperate times call for desperate measures but it’s probably a better idea to just wait for an adult to get home and help your dumb ass out. Even though I’ve broken back in several times and slashed many a screen in my day (once with a bullet casing! what a badass) I don’t think that you should do this. Worst case scenario, the neighbors will do the responsible thing and call 911 and then you’ll get arrested. Or if you do “get away with it” your mom will still be pissed. I recommend avoiding the entire situation and just taking the extra time to remember your goddamn keys. If you’re an idiot, like myself, months later when you have to replace the screen (today) you’ll end up spending your entire Saturday at the hardware store. Don’t do that to yourself. I have no idea how much this is going to cost but I’ll post it when I get back!

The Red Sox Remain Fucked

I hate David Price and I can’t fucking believe we’ve signed him. Principle owners of the Boston Red Sox John Henry and Tom Werner, who proudly carry themselves like a couple of gigantic human penises, are a fucking paradox. On one hand, they’ve won 3 World Series Championships in less than a full 15 years of owning this team. All three Championships were won with their fellow man-sized penis Larry Lucchino along for the ride. Lucchino is gone now having retired back in October of this year. I’ll be honest, I kinda miss him! The Penii- Triumvirate that once ruled strong over Dunkin Donuts Athletic Stadium Fenway Park is now kaput. The most human member of this cadre of rich losers has left us at the mercy of two old creeps. I wouldn’t trust John Henry or Tom Werner to be in my kitchen for even just five fucking minutes alone with my dog and a cupboard full of peanut-butter. Much peanut-butter. Why sausage. Such wrong.

Last year, Dunkin Donuts Loyalty Rewards Club Members Red Sox Nation, was told that we didn’t need an “Ace” in a rotation to be a good playoff team. We finished at the bottom of the AL East for the second year in a row. This is where I’d like to point out that we had a shot at signing the following pitchers: John Lester, Max Scherzer, Zack Greinke, and anybody else that we fucking wanted because we are an insanely rich baseball team. But who did we get? Well last year, we got human wet-fart Hanley Ramirez and a morbidly obese Oriental bear disguised as a portly Venezuelan man. Hanley made everybody want to kill themselves and I blame him for every single bad thing that happened last season. Hanley Ramirez was such a wet-fart, that his negativity even dosed the eternal competitive drive to grind of All Star Brock Holt. For those of you international readers, Brock Holt is the Johan Cruyff of baseball. Brock Holt is ELITE. The man is the ultimate gamer and a natural leader of men. His VORP is calculated in English Pounds. He’s the guy that you wanna got to war with. But Hanley hurt his grind and thus brought the whole team down with him. Oh, and Pablo Sandoval died from a diabetes induced heart attack. He was revived with 20cc’s of cup cakes though so he’ll be back next year.

Red Sox ownership has given us three losing seasons at the bottom of or trawling along the bottom of the division in the last four years. Yes there was a World Series Championship in between but Jonny Gomes won that for us so I’m not giving ownership credit for 2013. And David Ortiz gets the credit for acquiring Jonny Gomes because he said “oh man, that’s a guy I wanna go to war with!” And he made it so! But now the solution to being the best worst baseball team of all time? We’ve not got the least clutch Cy Young winner of all time: David Price. Fuck me.

If Hanley Ramirez was a wet-fart, then David Price is a burr that’s suck up your ass. WHAT THE FUCK IS HE DOING HERE??? GET HIM OUT! GET HIM OUT!! I hope everybody’s ready for the pitching equivalent to Carl Crawford. Jesus. We’re so fucked. David Price is either going to be a chode and prove me wrong, win 20 games, take us to the playoffs after Buchholz dies from Ebola, and then Price will end up pitching for us in the Wildcard Game and get fucking creamed by a lean, mean, and stone-cold sober CC Sabathia and the Yankees. I can see it now and it makes me want to die. We’re gonna play the Yankees in the Wildcard Play-in game and we’re gonna lose. Badly. A-Rod’s going to hit four grand salami’s and announce his retirement tour. Pedro Gomez is going to gargle so much mayonnaise. I hope that P-Gomz likes peanut-butter too because I see a very long and very sad, dark future following around Alex Rodriguez until he retires.

David Ortiz says that the beef is over between him and Price. But I sure fuck hope not. That beef better still be mooing, bruh. I can’t watch another season of this. I can’t watch Mookie Betts want to kill himself every time he gets stranded on base. I don’t want to see Junichi Tazawa spill water all over himself on the bench in the bullpen after giving up a five run lead and recording zero outs and not even giving a fuck that he now wet AND sucks at baseball. John Farrell is going to come back from heroically beating cancer only to be set up to fail by the douche bags who run this shop. Xander Bogaerts will leave and go to the Yankees and get benched so Stephen Drew can get some reps in and Bogaerts won’t care because at least he isn’t balls deep in Dunkin Donuts cross promotions and Wally the Green Monster constantly asking what’s his gamertag. The saddest part will be that Pedroia and Ortiz will die without the glorious end that they deserve. It won’t be pretty. It’ll be gruesome and boring. And Brock Holt will be just RAKING and crushing the ball and winning the triple crown all for nothing because no matter how many dingers he smashes, it will never be enough to make up for Price’s 8.26 ERA. We should just go ahead and bring Jake Peavy back. Jake Peavy may have sucked, but at least he was a psycho and not a gigantic pussy like Price is.

Opening day, I hope Price gets booed because we won’t get a shot at ownership. I’m calling it right now, Price won’t make it past the trade deadline. MARK MY WORDS. Pepper your angus, Red Sox Nation. David Price and our shit-ass ownership is coming for our nuts.