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Note to self
Feb. 7th, 2013 12:45 amAn addendum to the list of things I am not allowed to drink:
RC Cherry cola and Jack Daniels bypasses my stomach and goes straight to my head like a pangalactic gargle blaster with less lemon. I just found myself making faces because it made my face feel weird. Do not imbibe without adult supervision, and apparently even past the age of 30 I don't count. When do I count as an adult? Shouldn't I count as an adult BEFORE getting middle age pangs of 'why don't I have a motorcycle' and 'I bet I'd look lovely with a tattoo even though I'm phobic of needles'?
The mushy-good news is that I apparently love and trust my husband enough for him to count, as there's no way I'd have had the second glass if I was alone in the house. When, even impared, I trust him enough to watch after me is... big. Especially as my subconcious tend to circle around abandonment issues like a shark around a swimmer on her period.
So true love is trusting your partner enough to get shitfaced instead of just tipsy around them? The complete lowering of any barriers between the self and other, or in the terms of Neon Genesis Evangelion, my AT field has gone bye-bye. Or maybe that's just symptomatic of the trust involved in true love. We work for us, and that's all that matters.
And I should be required to do a breathalizer before posting anything. I'm quite certain that when I come back to the post in the morning, I'll pull a big WTF over what I just hit enter to share with yall.
For the record: tipsy is one drink. Drunk is loss of fine motor control. Shitfaced is when gross motor control becomes an issue.
RC Cherry cola and Jack Daniels bypasses my stomach and goes straight to my head like a pangalactic gargle blaster with less lemon. I just found myself making faces because it made my face feel weird. Do not imbibe without adult supervision, and apparently even past the age of 30 I don't count. When do I count as an adult? Shouldn't I count as an adult BEFORE getting middle age pangs of 'why don't I have a motorcycle' and 'I bet I'd look lovely with a tattoo even though I'm phobic of needles'?
The mushy-good news is that I apparently love and trust my husband enough for him to count, as there's no way I'd have had the second glass if I was alone in the house. When, even impared, I trust him enough to watch after me is... big. Especially as my subconcious tend to circle around abandonment issues like a shark around a swimmer on her period.
So true love is trusting your partner enough to get shitfaced instead of just tipsy around them? The complete lowering of any barriers between the self and other, or in the terms of Neon Genesis Evangelion, my AT field has gone bye-bye. Or maybe that's just symptomatic of the trust involved in true love. We work for us, and that's all that matters.
And I should be required to do a breathalizer before posting anything. I'm quite certain that when I come back to the post in the morning, I'll pull a big WTF over what I just hit enter to share with yall.
For the record: tipsy is one drink. Drunk is loss of fine motor control. Shitfaced is when gross motor control becomes an issue.
