Stat Angry at Alcohol – That Motherfucker Deserves it

Staying sober is like that Chris Nolan movie when the dude has to tattoo shit all over his body to find out it was he who killed his wife anyway.

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One of the hardest things about quitting booze is our short memories. That, and we’re suckers for destructive relationships.

We get shitfaced, we wake up hungover and realize what a mistake it was, and then we get back on the wagon. We feel the sweet relief of being free from the exhaustion of drinking and get back to our hobbies; we start to enjoy the simplicity of watching TV with a glass of carbonated water, and wonder why the fuck we hadn’t done it more often.

That first week is easy. It’s like taking candy from a baby with carpal tunnel syndrome.

And then we start to forget how shitty drinking is and all the bullshit that comes along with it: the depression, the expense, the trips to the liquor store and the thinly veiled raised eyebrows when we put our two bottles of cheap gin on the conveyor belt, and madness of handing over money for bags of ice from the store when that shit can be made in a home appliance everyone has, if only we were organized enough to have made them. Who knew?

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You can also harvest it from a glacier, if that’s easier than filling up the ice cube tray and placing it in your freezer three to four hours before drinking time.

Not only do we start to forget that shit, but we start romanticizing the times when we drank. We filter out all the bad experiences and remember all the fun times. When I think back to my childhood summers, I remember them being exclusively like the plot of Stand by Me, when a lot of it was staring through the patio window, willing the rain to stop so I could go out and play.

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A fair-to-middling English summer

Alcohol cravings are like that shitty ex-girlfriend or boyfriend who desperately wants you back. When they’re advocating you two should get back together, they’re not going to give a balanced, fair of assessment of how well you worked together. They’re going to remind you of that time you had a blast watching SpongeBob SquarePants while shitfaced on mojitos, and hope you don’t remember the time they slapped you about the face for buying still instead of sparkling White Zin.

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A wine dispute involving paint.

I’m on the wagon again, and I think it’s for good this time. And this is why: I’m shit angry at booze, and this time I’m holding a grudge.

If ever there were ever a time that it’s healthy to hang on to negative emotions, quitting drinking is that time.

Don’t forgive that motherfucker. Because she or he hasn’t changed. It’s still the same lying piece of shit it was when you left it. And for all those good times it gave you, it came with a shitload of baggage that some other sap can deal with. You’re too good for that shit.

Stay angry at alcohol. That motherfucker deserves it.


Although this blog post was shitty, thanks for reading anyway. Don’t forget to sign up for email notifications of when new blog posts are published by filling out the form in the top-right corner of the screen. And if I made you laugh out loud three times, don’t forget to feel mildly obligated to share this blog post with your friends on social media by using the share buttons below.

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Day Zero and How to Stay Sober

Starting on day one again is shitty. How can you avoid it?

Last week I blogged about the hurdles I have to get over to achieve sobriety each year. One the day of writing it, I’d just gotten over the first-day-of-summer hurdle, and was feeling really good about staying sober all summer. I’d go around like a bad ass in the leather jacket I don’t own and which would be weather inappropriate, break into song too often, and never raise a can to my lips, like Danny Zuko.

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Leather jackets and no singing.

Well, that was as much fantasy as when the car in Grease and/or Grease 2 flies into the sky. I fucked up. I opened up the sobriety app on my iPhone, pressed the clock reset button—a day before achieving a month sober—and got drunk one night. And then the next day. And the day after that. You see where this is going.

What I’m trying to say is over the course of a week, I’ve been pressing the clock reset button like I’m playing one of those games the douchebag next to you on the train plays, where they have to press the shit out of their iPhone screen to shoot blocks or some shit.

I’m back to day one, and I haven’t decided whether today is day zero or day one. Day zero meaning I’ll get shitfaced one last time, day one meaning this is my new sobriety date.

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This chimpanzee is in a pensive mood.

I don’t want to blog about my thoughts and feelings leading up to the decision to get off the wagon. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but my ability to express myself emotionally is indirectly proportional to how often I write “some shit.” All I’ll say is I can’t drink for shit now, and that Belgian beer for me meant making it through a fiver-hour-long Inland Empire-style nightmare before crawling into bed.

What I will blog about is five tip on how to stay sober. I’m proving to be shitty at this, so forgive the irony. Anyway, the advice I write on this blog is more for me than you.

  1. Obsess over hobbies

Drinking takes time, shitloads of it. You have to go and buy the stuff, and the time you spend drinking it takes a lot of time. You can pretty much do whatever you want and you don’t get bored while drunk. Take it out of your life, and you have a shitload of time to fill. And the years of drinking means you’re shit at filling it. You’re going to need a hobby that you can obsess over like you obsessed over the sauce. Writing silly mystery books is mine.

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Boredom is this possibly-dead camel’s enemy, too.

2. Be proud of your days sober

One of the shitty things about sobriety is it’s never absolutely achieved. But it is on a day-by-day basis. Be proud as fuck of the days you’ve made it to bed without toothpaste paste on your face and a weird smell coming from your pants.

3. Get sober buddies

You might think the T-birds in Grease look silly. And you’d be right. But they don’t give a fuck what you think. They’re proud to be part of a clan, and it strengthens they’re feeling that the lifestyle they’re leading isn’t a complete waste of time.

Other sober buddies are now your clan, and they probably won’t try to fuck your girlfriend or race some other asshole on the motorbike you inexplicably bought by solely working a summer job. Find them, get their numbers or their Snapchat or whatever, and spend time around them. I’ve always been put off by AA, because of the religious aspect, but I now have the humility to realize I need those guys in my life.

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Camaraderie

4. Never, ever think you can go back to drinking like a normal person

Once you’ve become an alcoholic, the chances are you’ve definitely ruined alcohol for yourself. You can’t go back to sipping wine like a wine snob, stop at a reasonable blood-alcohol level, and relax after without obsessing over that extra drink you didn’t buy for yourself. After a month of two on the wagon, you’ll start to feel cured. Don’t. That’s the booze fucking with you.

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Booze

5. Make sobriety your thing

It would be great if you could just forget about booze and live a life like a Shoalin Monk. But it’s not realistic. You’re going to have to work at sobriety every day. That finish line never comes, but that doesn’t mean you can stop running towards it. Sure, filling your time with cool shit to do helps, but immersing yourself in sobriety culture is the key to making this into a lifestyle and not just something you do for a little while after deciding drinking booze makes you feel too shitty to continue.

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Sobriety For Good, This Time.

Dan faces up to the fact he might be a hack writer and that sobriety has to be for good this time.

One of the most hacky ways to begin a blog post, in my opinion, is to comment on how long it’s been since the last post, and to apologize for the lack of activity on the blog. That is, unless the blog in question is a sobriety blog and the writer has been a lengthy seven months away from the keyboard—then, it’s relevant. You’ve probably worked out that I haven’t been spending that time with no WIFI as I lived among a remote Amazonian tribe, and I’ll take the great leap and assume you’ve probably worked out I spent that time getting shitfaced. With that out of the way, I’ll throw in my apology, just to complete my hacky opening paragraph.

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“I’t’s been a long time, but I’ll be fucked if I write that.”

I’d been sober for 83 days before I fell off the wagon, the longest stint of sobriety I’ve had since recognizing I’m an alcoholic. I remember the day I fell off. I was cooking dinner, it was a grey and miserable day, and it was nearing the time the stores stop selling alcohol. I had been getting into a nice stride saying no to cravings, and cravings were few and far between, but this one was big. It was the Tasty Tony 9 Nine Inch Dildo with Suction Cup of cravings.

Let’s back up a bit. I’m getting ahead of myself. In the run up to that Saturday evening, I’d been experiencing a few professional issues, which is my nice way of saying my boss had me in the sights of his sniper rifle, and was picking my colleagues’ brains for reasons to shoot the shit out of me. My colleagues, who had given me many opportunities to snitch on them but I never had, obliged him with a salute and a giant smooch on his ass.

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“Come in and take a seat. You know what I always say: Beans are made for spilling. Oh, and would you like a cup of coffee and some gummy bears?”

It was a bad situation, and instead of just eating dinner and chilling out with way too much caffeine and a movie—my regular Saturday routine during sobriety—I decided to have just one evening getting shitfaced, before I got back on the wagon. I needed to relieve some stress, and a triple espresso and Judd Apatow comedy weren’t going to cut the mustard. I gave in to Mr. Tasty Tony, with the honest but naive intention of starting afresh the next day. Obviously, it didn’t quite work out that way. During Christmastime, which came up a little while after falling off the wagon, I discovered how much I liked gin. And in the New Year, I discovered how much I liked to pretend it was Christmas Day every day, and that gin is totally a Monday-evening drink.

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Alcoholism: “It’s simple: Blue for Mondays, obviously, green for Tuesdays, and pink for the rest of the weekdays.” Me: “What do I drink at the weekends?” Alcoholism: “Oh, they’re rainbow days.”

Fast forward to now, I have a new job, a boss that sees my good sides and accepts the bad, and colleagues that would rather high-five me instead of pulling out a rusty blade and stabbing me in kidneys as they hug me and tell me that it’s necessary but they’re sorry. I’m also sober again, and coming up to two weeks I’ve been off the sauce.

During a FaceTime call, I told my dad about my having got back on the wagon, and he asked what was different this time. I have no idea what I mumbled to him, but I’ve been thinking about that question since he asked it. What is different this time? I don’t know. All I know is that writing this blog was a big part of my success last time.

I don’t know whether it was my routine of writing how many days sober I was at the end of each post, or finding public domain photos and coming up with humorous captions that relate to the paragraph preceding it, all I know is that writing this shit works like a motherfucker, and that I mean it when I write I’m sober for good this time.  I’m super pissed at alcohol, and we’re getting divorced. That bitch can even have the house and car and the Tony Tasty Nine Inch Dildo I bought for her. I plan on writing this blog as long as my fingers are able to press the keys on my keyboard.

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“You smell like juniper berries.”

This is probably the shittiest blog post I’ve written for Hilariously Sober, but I can be forgiven, I hope, as I have seven months’ blogging rust to shake off. But it’s also the best one I’ve written, for a few reasons. I’m back, and back for good, and even if I don’t find the readership I hope for this blog, I recognize its worth, even if it did take half a distillery’s Christmas stock of gin to find out. I’ve learned for the hundredth-plus time that I can’t party for an evening without a long, arduous struggle to get my shit together afterwards.

But what’s different this time, as opposed to the previous hundred-plus times? I think I know now, and it just took writing this blog post to find out.

It’s this part, where I write I’m twelve days sober, which will go up to nineteen next week, and the feeling of pride and achievement I experience upon writing it. In fact, I’ll FaceTime my dad now to tell him, just after I’ve found out what time it is where he’s vacationing.

Thanks for reading, even if it was the shittiest blog post I’ve produced for Hilariously Sober. Don’t forget to follow this blog by filling out the email-notifications form in the top-right corner of the webpage. And if I made you laugh out loud at least three times, don’t forget to feel mildly obligated to share this blog post with your friends on social media by using the share buttons below.

Bonus content: You might have wondered what caption I would have written for the featured image at the top of the post had I been able to add one. Here it is:

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“Making her reach over farther than I am. Total power move.”

As well as writing this blog, I write comedic mysteries about a heart-of-gold but perennial asshole high-functioning alcoholic private detective. Check them out here.

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