itsjoysworld.net

I  have plunged myself into some major renovating. No, I haven’t decided to do any home remodeling or DIY projects. I have not harassed the Home Depot employees to find out if the black caulk is bigger than the white. (That was a home renovation joke,people.  Get your mind out of the gutter.)

I have cut, and pasted my non existent ass away as of late. I will not go into the details, because honestly I am not ready for that. I have been dragged out from under my blanket fort, and shoved into the real world. I am not sure if I am thankful or upset, for that shove. My blanket is really really comfortable, and hide me from the outside world. They are nice to me.

I removed myself from my renovations when my eyes started to go cross. To get my mind out of the zone, I did what any normal person would do, I looked around on Facebook, and realized I may not be a real writer.

Let me tell you why….

Every post I read from an author, I am not kidding, everyone of them mention wine. They were all snuggled up to their computer, with a glass of wine.

Yeah no, not me.

When I was three, a bottle of wine tried to kill me.

True story.

I don’t know what really happened. When I ask my dad about it, all he will say is “there was so much blood” before he turns green and walks away. My mom isn’t much help either, when I ask her, all I get is, “You were so brave.” Whatever the fuck that means.

All I know for certain is I was in a rogue shopping cart that decided to flip, and a wine bottle was shattered on me. Twenty three stitches, and to this day some very ugly scars, I survived. I know it sound sketchy, but this is all I have ever been able to garner out of my parents.

Because of this, the smell of wine makes me sick. I have tried, I really have tried, but I just can’t do it. I have cringed through a couple of glasses in my life, just so I would fit in. I have also “accidentally” spilled a couple of glasses, and watered many plants.

(Another secret of me trying to fit in. When I lived in Texas all the women drank beer out of bottles. I couldn’t, and still can’t drink beer. To me it tastes like bitter bread in a bottle. Now, being a California girl in Texas I had certain stereotypes pressed upon me. I already did not fit in, but I am a problem solver. I flashed the bartender, and in return he would pour my strawberry daiquiris into a beer bottle. BOOM.)

Ok, where the hell was I. Oh, yeah. Nasty wine.

I can’t do it.

My drinking preferences are that of a fifteen year old girl. I have been known to describe my cocktail of choice to the bartender by telling them it needs to be… pink, green, blue, or taste like candy.

Honestly, I don’t really drink that much either. I am a light weight, I mean it is pathetic how much of a light weight I am. When I go out with friends (once or twice a year) I actually prep for the evening if I know there is going to be drinking.

Seriously, I make sure to down plenty of water, and stuff a piece of bread down my throat for good measure.

I am revealing this little secret, because none of my friends actually read this.

So, now you are wondering… what beverage do you partake in while writing until all hours of the night?

The answer Diet Pepsi. (The nectar of the fucking gods. Yes, the fucking gods. I think that they would be more laid back, than the non-fucking variety)

Sometime when I am feeling sassy, or I am in a major freak out I add a cap full of vodka. (birthday cake, marshmallow, or red licorice depending on my mood.)

Please, do not go into the horrors of drinking soda. I know them all. I don’t know if I have revealed this, but when I was in college I was a biology major. I am a super nerd, and I wear it proudly. I have taken classes, just because they sounded interesting. My counselors hated me. One actually gave me an exasperated sigh, when he asked why I took a biology of cancer class, and I told him because it sounded awesome. (It was. I learned so much from that class. The human body is fucking amazing.)

I know that my drink of choice is not good for me, but honestly I don’t care. I have realized that I am not the sophisticated writer. So while all of you out there are creating these epic novels, while sipping on your chardonnay/Merlot my ass is slurping down a Super Big Gulp.

Another attempt at procrastination happened, when I pulled out my yearbook. I wanted to prove how deep my love for this drink goes. Also, I had to prove myself when someone didn’t believe me, that I was in fact, sucking down a Pepsi when the senior class photo was shot. Always ready to make a point, I pulled that massive fucker down to prove them wrong. I don’t make this shit up.

In my defense for this soda horror, they said that they were going to count to three before they snapped the picture. They fucking lied. Now when people look back on my life, and they are trying to describe me. They are now able to use the phrase… ” You know the girl who was drinking a Pepsi in her senior class photo.”

I guess there are worse things people could say about me.