In the beginning, I remember alcohol.
There is about a six week period that I can think of that I didn't see my grandfather with a beer in his hand. He had Just had a quadruple bypass(in the eighties, that was a MAJOR operation), and the doctors said he had to. That lasted about a month and a half. He would literally drink more than a case a day. Every day. Busch cans, with actual pull off tabs. Hell, I even remember when the cans were made of tin. Pop would usually start around 10 o'clock(AM) and continue through the day. Now, mind you, I said he would drink, not appear drunk. I can count on one hand the number of times I'd seen him sloppy. He would drink while doing anything: fishing, hunting, carpentry, and driving. He died of heart failure when he was 59.
My Aunt, Stevie(Stephanie) preferred rum, and assloads of it. She sailed with good 'ol Captain Morgan on a daily basis. That woman drank as much as I've ever seen anyone drink. One of those big, handled bottles of the Captain a day. Mixed with coke in one of those refillable seven-eleven Big Gulp cups. Now, she would get tanked. The bad kind of wasted: emotional, stumbling, rambling, and violent. The kind of drunk that wouldn't leave you alone, grabbing on to you and slurring "no ! listen to me ..". She died of Hepatitis C in her 30's.
I wasn't around my father until I was probably 16 or so. My mother and he split when I was around a year old, and I didn't have any contact with him until I was 16, purely his choice. My father works in New York City, and is a really successful CEO of a stock market research firm. Dad drinks Vodka, on the rocks. Dad drinks a bottle of wine with dinner. Dad drinks beer while golfing. "It's Coors LIGHT." Dad doesn't drink beer before noon, and liquor before 5PM. Although after five, he'll put down four Stoli on the rocks before he eats and then a nice red bottle with the food. Dad believes he doesn't have a problem with alcohol because he follows strict time guidelines. dad is a happy drunk, glazed and smiley. Dad is still kicking and runs marathons.
Mom. Mom drinks white Russians. That's vodka, Kahlua, and white milk. It smells and tastes repulsive. She calls them "cocktails". My mom is living with her mother to help take care of her. Grandma doesn't like for my mom to drink, so my mother hides her liquor in an antique baby crib in her room. Mom is also a sloppy drunk, slurring and emotional. Mom died when she was 56. They brought her back to life in the ambulance(this story will be relayed in another post).
The intent here is not to cry "I never had a chance", it's some background for future posts. My life, so far, has been interesting, to say the least. I've had many adventures, and will post about them here. These forays occur more often than not in the vicinity or under the influence of ethyl alcohol, hence the blog name. The following will be accounts of my life, feelings about certain events or people, and a little introspection. It will not, however be a day - to day account of my drinking, etc. Read if you'd like, comment if you will, or feel free to move on.