The Bitch is Back
My efforts in keeping up with this blog have been non existent at best...a burden at worst. I keep thinking about writing it in, then feel lethargic because my ideas have been so fleeting and minimal, and because this month was my birthday...my hands have been consumed with shot glasses and beers and not cigarettes and my lap top. Well...cigarettes, of course. Lap top no.
I suppose the reason this blog seems more daunting than the other one I kept is because it is public, so I feel the need to 1. Keep the more seedy details of my life out of it for fear my mother stumbles upon this some day and 2. Be ever so clever every time I write something on here.
These fears are both stupid because 1. I don't do anything that seedy anymore and 2. The internet is full of crap so what do I care if I am just adding to the steaming pile of waste.
Thus forth, I no longer care about the integrity of this blog. This entry will be all about WINE.
A Bitter Affair: Martha Hilton and Wine
As I write this, I sip on a white whine from the Elmaro Winery in Bumblefuck, WI. It's an Edle...wiess...something or other, it tastes like a spritzer without the actual intervention of soda water. I also wearing a towel, and sitting on my porch in the dark as the porch light frequently burns out. Shall my neighbors pass, I will raise my glass and bid them a good evening. I don't care how I look. I am drinking wine.
Wine is in my blood. Metaphorically speaking, it is something my family loves oh so much. Literally speaking, my mother may have had it in her system whilst she was pregnant. I think I'm kidding but I can never be too sure. I hear wine is the kind of alcohol a woman can drink while she is with child. Not to excess, of course, but doctors apparently recommend a glass every now and then is a-okay, and I dare you to find a knocked up women who would refuse such a medically authorized suggestion. Find them and tell them I don't believe them, and I don't trust them.
All jokes about fetal alcohol syndrome aside, I only drink white wine. Red wine has long reminded me of Catholic mass. At my first communion I actually faked drinking the "blood of christ" at my mother's insistence, little did I know she didn't want me hooked on the stuff as to leave more for her. All jokes about abusing the holy blood of our Lord and Savoir aside, the silver lining on the dark cloud that is one- hour long mass is certainly the chaser of red wine after consumption of a wafer. Still though, red wine and I would not ever get over this stigma that it was "gross" to me at 10. When people at my bar ask me which red wine I like, I respond, "I don't drink it, church soured me to it" and one women told me that "I had issues", which seemed like a correct assumption so I let it slide.
I'm on my second glass of Edle-spirtzer-ever now, I think, but I can't really tell how much I'm having because I'm drinking it out of those cool glasses that have no stem, and the optical illusion the shape of the glass presents thwarts my concept of measurement. I could look at how much is left in the bottle, but seeing as how this is a wine I can only get in Bumblefuck, WI, I'd rather not depress myself with what little I may have left. *hiccup*
My mother prefers chardonnay, and my Dad prefers Pinot Grigio. In a misguided effort to impress my mother, I started drinking chardonnay at holidays and parties. Like most alcohol I have had phases with, it lost its allure to me the way the way the best vices in life do. I abused the ever living fuck out of it, I couldn't go back to it.
It was at a wedding my of my best friend when I was 23. Myself and my high school girl friends were all in the wedding party, and this is what we looked like:
"Ha Ha! "We're the only single people here! *glugggglugg*"
I'd like to point out that although you can't see the color of our dresses, the fabric was called, "WINE". I do not fabricate this. So you know, when in Rome...when in Wine...drink all of it? Something like that.
One of the caterer's mentioned to me at one point that the wedding party drank whatever wine by the bottle they desired, so without consulting any of the other bridesmaids, I ordered one bottle of chardonnay for each off us. The other girls weren't as thirsty as luck...my good luck, would have it, and all the wine was all for me.
"Who needs drinking buddies? And shoes for that matter...Fuck the shoes"
That right there, is the shade of "wine" Wine and despair.
Cut to the end of the reception. My bride friend had asked that in order to save money, we all assist in taking the center pieces and what the fuck ever out of the reception hall. This I had no problem agreeing to whilst sober, but after a good three bottles of chardonnay, I hid underneath a table with another bottle so I wouldn't have to help. Later that night the sick that I became can only be described as "exorcist-like", and I would never be able to have another glass of chardonnay without the memory of being in my wine colored dress, throwing up wine colored bile.
If that got too real, excuse the FUCK outta me. Like I said, crap on the internet, I don't care.
Since then I've stuck to pinto grigio in a safe amount, minus the time I had so much I broke a toilet with my face (gravity can really do a number on an intoxicated body) and when I drank two bottles the night before my brother's wedding and feared I've vomit while reading the shakespearean sonnet in front of the crowd of family. But I kept my shit together, the best wedding present you can give someone. Now I only try to drink wine in classy amounts. Like two and a half glasses, on a dark porch in a towel.
Cheers.