Sober and Orderly

I've thought about writing this post for a long time and now's the time. Because people love to ask why I don't drink. And there should be a URL that I can just point them to when this question arises.

This is an incessantly recurring situation in my life:
New friend/classmate/stranger/etc: "Want a drink?"
Me: "No thanks, I'm good."
NF/C/S/E: "Are you sure? We have beer, wine, margaritas..."
Me: "Oh, no thanks. I appreciate it but I'm fine." OR "Can I grab some water?"
NF/C/S/E: "Do you not drink?"
Me: "Not usually."
NF/C/S/E: "Really? Why?"
Me: "Just not really my jam."

Cause after 8 or so years of turning down drinks, that's the best one-sentence answer I've come up with that doesn't make the other person feel uncomfortable. Because, honestly, I don't give a rat's noogie if anyone else drinks themselves silly. As long as they don't bother me.

First off, I don't NOT drink. It's just very rare. For example, my drinking of 2012 consisted of bachelorette parties for my dear friends AK and Mallory. But I don't have some huge moral issue with drinking.

Let's look at some facts:

1. Alcohol is disgusting. It tastes horrible. All of it - liquor, wine, beer, etc. It's nasty. And to people who say it's an acquired taste, why would I want to acquire a taste for something that doesn't do a whole lot of good in the first place?

2. It costs money and calories to drink. I sometimes wonder how much money I didn't spend in college. Cause I can count the number of times I bought alcohol at a bar in college on one hand. And most of those times were due to happy hour $1 wells or $2 pitchers (shout out to Athens bar prices). Plus, I've never had a beer gut. Now, I've had a fat gut. But never a beer gut.

3. 'Snot good for you. At least getting drunk. You're literally poisoning your body to the point that it doesn't function correctly. That kinda weirds me out.

Now, while those things are fact, there are some other things around drinking that I just don't feel like dealing with. Like not being able to drive. While I'm not a huge fan of playing DD (I've put in my time and a half), I can always drive myself and I don't have to rely on anyone else. It's great. Also, if something happened and someone had to go to the hospital - I can drive! Plus, no money spent on cabs.

Alcohol and carbonated beverages are on my "do not consume list" for acid reflux, thanks to it's ability to make my stomach do Gabby Douglas-caliber routines.

And, bonus for not drinking, no hangovers! I wake up feeling fine in the morning. Annnnd...I remember my life! Never blacking out helps with not doing anything horribly stupid. I don't lose stuff, hook up with ugly men, get in fisticuffs, cry in public or show my lady goods to the public. I embarrass myself enough sober.

I write this now because if my thesis semester keeps going the way it has been, I will be driven to drink, and this will no longer be valid. So here's the story now, ask me again in 4 months.

The best kind of magic

The holidays are over and I'm back at school. Apparently, I define "holidays" as December through my birthday, and the subsequent two weeks.

I'm posted up in my apartment editing my thesis proposal over and over, already dreading PATH exams that will take place in exactly sixteen days. If I were Catholic, I'd be doing the sign of the cross a lot these days.

Needless to say, my brain is in academic mode. Especially since it can no longer be in holiday mode. Which is what we're really here to talk about anyway.

The holidays.

Early in December I saw an episode of Parenthood where the mother is trying to keep her kid from finding out Santa isn't real. She said she doesn't want to tell the kid so that the kid can have a few more years of "Christmas magic."

So I got offended.

Here is what I remember about uncovering Santa's dirty little secret: One day I asked my best friend how Santa gets to all the houses in one night and she responded, "Timezones." Instead of saying that Santa still couldn't get to every kids house, even with a handicap, I just shrugged it off. And that's when I kinda figured it was just something your parents tell you for fun.

Kinda like "Never eat anything blue" (um...M&Ms? Hullo?) or "The neighbors don't want to see your [super chic] Dalmatian underwear."

I would hardly say the magic of Christmas was swiped from my fat little fists over a timezone debate.

And, as a matter of fact, the magic of Christmas just amplifies every year.

Let's be honest, I wrote a whole blog about why Jesus doesn't matter, so I don't exactly correlate him with Christmas. Plus, there's biblical evidence he was born in pretty much any season but winter, so the whole "reason for the season" thing is a bit off. (Side note: isn't being born pretty petty compared to, oh, I don't know, raising from the dead? Christians should be focusing way more on Easter than Christmas anyway, am I right? They could have at least picked something more logical to represent it than a bunny that delivers eggs filled with candy. Talk about identity crisis. No wonder kids figure these things out.)

But I digress.

Point being, the Christmas season, and consequentially Christmas magic, has little to do with my idea of Christmas. It's about giving - I get more and more excited to give my sisters gifts as I grow up. It's about time together, laughing like we're kids instead of adult professionals, and pretending we can do advanced yoga moves and then proving it in front of the TV while mom yells "You're gonna hurt yourself!" It's about recharging from the energy you only have when you're together, and celebrating each other's triumphs and opportunities (a new puppy! a job search!). And it's about knowing the people around you are there during all the times. Whatever adjective used for those times, the people that create that Christmas magic are there for them.

This Christmas was unusual for our family. We had to memorialize the passing of one of our own just days before the holiday. But shortly after, my mom told me that when she stood up to give the eulogy, she stood up with the power of eight behind her. She was not alone.

And that, my friends, is Christmas magic.

Dears and Deers

On this merry birthday eve, my doting boyfriend dragged me to Bass Pro Shop to buy a goose call. Now he's always been a romantic, but today he outdid himself.

We started dating in 2008, and for our first Valentine's Day he bought me a hard drive. Yup, nothing says "I love you" like computer storage.

Needless to say, that's when we had our first "needs vs. wants" conversation pertaining to gift giving. I explained that gifts for holidays should be something fun or romantic, that the person wouldn't usually buy for themselves. He's had trouble grasping the concept since.

So on our way home from Bass Pro, Jason says that he wants my input on my birthday gift because he was having a hard time deciding. Last night he brought home a six-pack of different kinds of root beer for me to try. Jason said that was the romantic part of my gift.

I knew this was gonna be good, so I started taking notes.

First up - The Magic Bullet. This summer I used his a lot to make smoothies before work, so he thought I might want my own. But when we live together again in a few months we can share again. Such a conundrum. So no Magic Bullet for me.

Second - a shotgun. Now I like to shoot for sport, but Jason has a 700 lb. gun case full of whatever I could ever need. No need for me to have my own, so no gun.

Third - a mountain bike. Now this one had a bit of thought. We like to do things outdoors so his idea was that we could ride bikes together. There's a glimmer of romance, but then he drops the kicker on me.

The kicker - warm camo. As in, the beginning of my warm camouflage collection for hunting. And I quote: "The good thing is that camo goes with everything. We could get you waders but that's pretty duck hunting-specific. The romance isn't so much the camo but the hunting together that it implies."

Does hunting imply romance? Would I get confused and think the romantic part was the camo?

No clue. No. Dang. Clue.