are sober gays even allowed to brunch?

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Of course, we were getting the potato pancakes, I replied.  The husband argued that the perogies we were also ordering already had pancakes in them. Wouldn’t that be overkill and maybe too heavy?  He was correct but also he was wrong. These were different crispy, potatoes more in the vein of a hash brown and therefore vital for the meal, the meal in question being brunch. Potatoes being a must at brunch is a hill a person with the last name of Mahoney will gladly die on. Having heard my 10 minute monologue on potatoes and brunch probably 400 times over the course of our nine year relationship, the husband gladly surrendered. He’s a brilliant man, despite being occasionally wrong about potatoes. My love for potatoes is legendary at this point so much so that don’t be surprised if one day I get exhausted from writing about myself and turn this into a potato-only blog. Spudologues, anyone?

My win on the potato pancakes aside (which were delicious, by the way), brunch in and of itself is a win for me. The meal for over a decade was a such a loaded gun invitation for day drinking and debauchery. Potatoes were merely a side character and played second fiddle to bottomless mimosas. Bottomless mimosas! Ha. From where I sat at the brunch table it was nothing but bottoms slugging back mimosas. And what a sad gutter gay drink the bottomless mimosa is. Cheap, headache inducing champagne (emphasis on the pain part) mixed with cheaper bar-well orange juice, the kind of juice that needs booze to taste like anything other that liquid heartburn. If it wasn’t mimosas, it was bloody Marys. Tomato juice is disgusting and we should collectively be ashamed ourselves for ever thinking juicing and drinking a tomato was good idea. How dare we. So why not throw vodka in it to really set off how gross it is? I have friends who are sober who tell me they loved bloody Marys. I gently say, no bitch, you liked getting fucked up. No one is drinking bloody Marys because they like the taste of it. Similarly, I want to to punch people in the neck when they say the same thing about kombucha. “I love the way kombucha tastes!’ No girl, you hate yourself and your taste buds.  I gracefully missed the era of the “Loaded Bloody Mary” which is filled with giant olives, shrimp, bacon, gummy worms and all kinds of other crap. Barf. The thought of a soggy piece of bacon in a glass of tomato juice and vodka makes me not only not want to eat brunch ever again but might turn me into one of those people who only eats fruit and never leaves their house. But in the same note, thank god for Bloody Marys and Mimosas. They validated my former favorite part of brunch: day drinking.

At the aforementioned brunch last weekend, the husband and I ordered our respective beverages. Coffee and water for me, which is of no surprise. Listen, I’m a 46 year-old gay sober, alcoholic. Coffee and water are all I care about. Sometimes if I’m at da club, I’ll get crazy and order a Diet Coke but that concludes my beverage repertoire. The hubs ordered some kind of specialty cocktail. He’s a normal drinker so he occasionally gets one drink just to be festive. What a weirdo. He’s completely missing all the fun by not having twelve drinks then texting a coke dealer right before he yells at random people in a liquor store parking lot. I mean why drink at brunch casually when you can get totally shitfaced and ruin the good time of those around you? Day drinking at brunch for me went down either one of two ways:

1.) I accepted the brunch invitation because I was so hungover that I knew that I needed food and more alcohol if I was ever going to be able to function. I’d usually leave with a slight buzz which was great because usually more drinking was on deck at either beer bust(another gay drinking institution that deserves to be murdered) or hanging out a dive bar or just drinking at home later. This drinking served more as an elixir and a coming attraction for the boozefests bound to happen later in the day.

2.) I accepted the brunch invitation with good intentions and tried to not drink too much but around mimosa number six (THEY’RE BOTTOMLESS, PEOPLE!) that aspiration went out the window and my dignity followed soon after. Drunk by 2pm, hungover by 4pm, napping by 5pm and resumed drinking by 6 or 7pm. Brunch really had a way of taking a whole day hostage. It was just supposed to be eggs Benedict but somehow morphed into a scene from Tara Reid’s old reality show Taradise. 

Many a dumb website and magazine have poised that gays love brunch because of the socializing and the stylishness of the meal. I don’t know what fucking gays these people hang out with but for me and my girls it was usually about drinking. Yes, there would be potatoes on the plate and we would actually eat but the acceptability of day drinking at brunch had an allure too hard for this homosexual alcoholic to pass up. I think brunch and drinking and gays has to more with gay culture in general. My people really enjoy drinking, It’s a not talked about but well-known fact and well-researched too. If it involves cocktails, gay men want to be involved. It’s that easy. A few years ago, it was assumed that it was just the older generation of gays that liked to pound the cocktails but despite progress the numbers seem to indicate that young LGBT are at a higher risk for developing substance use disorders than their straight counterparts. So the problem is not really brunch per say but a community that suffers from addiction. Sigh. It’s bigger and a lot more depressing than just potatoes.

To answer the question posed at the top: of course we are. A few years back a friend told me, “We sober gays need to take back brunch!” I quipped, I didn’t know brunch went anywhere. We can’t take things back. We can’t take America back. We can’t take brunch back. There’s no coup coming of groups of sober gay men holding pitchforks and gluten-free waffles storming your local brunch spot. The revolution happens inside, baby. That’s a more exclusive guest list than any tired, homo brunch in NYC. The universe has gifted me with a group of magical sober gay men who do remarkable shit all day long without having to drink or use. They go through breakups sober. They go to drag shows sober. They face difficult battle with mental health sober. They even go to goddamn brunch sober. I told you they were magical.

Our potato-filled and laugh-filled brunch came to a close, not with me being pushed out of the restaurant and into a cab because I was too drunk, but with carrot cake. Because I’m a grown ass man who doesn’t drink or use drugs and this is how I do brunch now.

 

 

because it’s in the music

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Yup. That’s me with the headphones. I am happy to report that most days over the past year, you could still find me with headphones. Luckily for the city of Portland and humanity at large, I am also happy to report I now usually have pants on when I rock headphones. Usually. Sadly, a Donald Duck shirt hasn’t worked its way back into my wardrobe. Edgy, fashion choices notwithstanding the picture captures something deeply about who I am: I’ve always loved music.

A former record store employee and a sort of DJ for a hot minute, music has always been a constant. On a deeper less dance around your room in your diaper kind of way, music also provided an escape from a childhood and an early life that was complicated at best. Like any relationship, however, my love affair with music has been full of ups and downs. So tied in with drug use and my destruction, music wasn’t just an escape but sometimes an enabler. Then when I first got sober, music was my therapist tasked with making me crying or feel supported (thank you forever, Dolly Parton and Jenny Lewis). Even a few years into sobriety, I had a hard time going to concerts or clubs because it still felt triggering and like we needed to reinvent what we meant to one another. We hadn’t broken up but we were strained. Like 2011 Justin Timberlake and Jessica Biel. But I’m happy to report that 2018 saw my relationship with music back in full bloom and we’ve never been happier.

I kicked off 2019 by renewing my Spotify and that was the game changer. With a long commute, I needed something to fill the void. Spotify not only scratched that itch, it reawakened the music lover in me. I wasn’t only just returning to old favorite artist but searching out new ones. Thank god for whatever mind reading analytics that control Spotify because I was able to discover tons of amazing artists. I basically anything that sounds like 1980’s synth pop had sex with a candy store and birth some new weird Euro baby and guess what? Spotify has lots of artist that check that box! My work in the world of mental health and addiction is challenging at best so fizzy but thoughtful pop worked wonders after intense work days. The complete ear cupcakes that are the entire Kim Petras catalogue came just in time. Petras, for those who don’t know, is a world-famous German trans pop sensation who makes the catchiest songs in the galaxy. Ditto the respective confections for Troye Sivan and Arian Grande were just the sweet treats I needed. Added bonus? They even have a stellar duet with each other that has an amazing video!  

But it wasn’t all bubblegum and unicorns in my headphones. Your boy likes it thoughtful and edgy too. Take for example, “Nobody” by Mitski. Maybe the smartest song to capture the isolation of our era with an unforgettable beat, the song is the rare pop beast that is emotionally intelligent and undeniably memorable. Someone on the internet off the cuff described it as the “Creep” by Radiohead for this generation and it’s hard to argue with that. It’s that good of a song.  My favorite record of the year So Sad, So Sexy by Lyyke Li does the impossible: it takes the dark subjects of grief, loss and heartbreak and puts it to 90’s trap R&B. The record is a complete thought and one that feels timely.

Yet if I was to pick an artist whose work reflected my romance and return to music it would be Robyn. 8 years on the making, Honey by the Swedish is so lovingly crafted and deep, that it feels like she wrote it just for the listener. And in fact she did. Robyn has said in several interviews how she took her absence seriously and wanted to make a record for her fans. With Honey’s beautiful beats and thoughtful lyrics, it shows. One track in particular, “Because it’s in the Music”  gets me on the deepest of levels. The track is all about hearing a song that takes you back to a person and moment that was devastating but how you need the song and love it anyway. Goddamn can I identify with that.

My work as a writer has always been deeply inspired by music and the sounds of 2018 pushed it to another level. Not only did music help me finish my book (an odd playlist of power ballads helped me cross the finish line when I was legit losing my shit) but it’s serving as the basis for my new project. A few years ago I wrote a play of monologues called “Your Heart is a Radio” all based on songs. It was structured like a mixtape. It was a solid idea and I’m still in love with that title but something was missing. That something was me and my personal connection music. Long story really short, with the help of my husband, that play is becoming an essay collection in 2019 and I couldn’t be more excited.  But I’m equally excited to keep listening and to keep falling in love with music.

Below find my favorite songs and albums of 2018 and feel free to check out my full playlist of favorite songs of the year on Spotify! Also? Please tell me what you listened to and loved in 2018.

My favorite Songs of 2018
1. So Sad, So Sexy- Lykke Li
2. Nobody- Mitski
3. Ever Again- Robyn
4. Took Awhile- NEIL FRANCES
5. Picture- Little Boots
6. Breathin- Ariana Grande
7. Lucky Strike- Troye
8. The Drugs- Uffie
9. Heart to Break- Kim Petras
10. Give Yourself a Try- The 1975
Favorite Albums of 2018
1.) So Sad, So Sexy- Lykke Li
2.) Honey- Robyn
3.) Bloom- Troye Sivan
4.) Dirty Computer- Janelle Monae
5.) No Shame-Lily Allen

 

Nobody Gives a Crap How You Stay Sober

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I say this from a place of love, light and spirituality: nobody gives a fuck. No, I’m serious and I swear once you wear this idea like a big old cozy sweater, the better off you will be. The pain of being convinced that people actually care and are overly invested in our every move is some 21st century narcissistic bullshit that serves no purpose other than to make you insane. This is especially true when we talk about getting sober. Everybody (and by everybody I mean addicts because let’s be honest we some selfish ass bitches and we think we are everybody) is convinced that how they are trying to get sober is a way that’s being scrutinized or being judged.We think we’re doing it wrong. We think that we found a way to stay sober that needs to be shouted out from the rafters. But baby, I’m here to tell you ain’t nobody give a fuck.

The most boring thing on the internet today is the blog post deep-fried in clickbait batter that says, “Why AA Sucks!” or conversely “Why AA is the only way to get sober.” If you have clicked on either one of these types of article, you’ve been played, sucka. The people who write these things don’t want to honestly connect with other people struggling with addiction. They want to scream about how right they are into a void. And that’s boring to me as are the billions of angry comments left on these posts. It’s all inflammatory bs concocted to get page views and not substance. My mom always says hurt people hurt other people but also hurt people also write attention seeking blog posts and its all nonsense. Bo to the ring.

I find it so brain splatteringly boring for a few reasons. First of all, people struggling to stay sober need to cling onto whatever life raft they find and your anti 12-Step program posts aren’t helping. If somebody about to die finds comfort there and stays sober, leave them the fuck alone. Likewise, if 12 step programs aren’t somebody’s thing, don’t beat the fuck out of them. It’s attraction rather than promotion, my AA homie and you should know better. Stop yelling in all caps quotes from the big book. We’ve ceased fighting, dawg and you should know that too. Also, I find it boring because these arguments back and forth deflate the real issue at hand: THAT PEOPLE ARE DYING, YOU SELFISH TURD AND YOUR OPINIONS AREN’T HELPING ANYONE. Seriously if we all spent as much time waxing poetically on the best ways to stay sober as we did actually helping struggling addicts and alcoholics in real life, we’d be better off. Lastly, I think it’s boring because it solves nothing. I’m a cocaine addict, mind you, so I like some instant ass results. Okay fight back and forth but let’s have something useful come out of these conversations. Otherwise, I cannot be bothered.

I got sober through AA primarily because I’m uncreative and I was out of options. Relying on just smoking weed, hiding from alcohol or good old-fashioned magic to keep me sober didn’t work. I sincerely hope somebody out there tried a one or more of those things and it helped you get sober. Particularly magic. Please if magic made you sober, you owe the world a book and I will buy it. However none of that shit worked for me and I did what family members and a billion friends did: I went to a ton of meetings. I didn’t buy the whole AA kit and caboodle at first and guess what– nobody gave a fuck. These were a bunch of screwed up people like me. Sure, they wanted to help if they could but honeychild, they were hot messes too so they did what they could. But nobody was too worried about if I was “feeling it” or if I needed to be converted. I either got on board or I didn’t. These folks were just trying not to die. I could do what they were doing and if not that was cool too.

After awhile, it all sort of clicked. Yet as I have mentioned numerous times, it was not all good in the formerly drunken hood. In fact, it was all jacked up for a long ass time. But I was desperate not to be the same drunken a-hole I had been for 20 plus years so I did whatever people said worked for them. AA saved my life but mainly because I did ALL of the shit they tell you to do and all of the 12 Steps. Weird that we’d even have to point out that a 12 Step program only works if you do the entire thing but you’d be surprised at how many people went to two meetings, never opened their mouths or did a step and then declared, “AA is some bullshit!” That’d be like hating on Paris even though you had only flown over it and never actually walked around the damn place. Anyway, AA did what it was supposed to do for me and has kept me sober for nearly 10 years. I never felt bullied or pressured or shamed by people in AA. Annoyed, exhausted and agitated by people in AA but to be fair that’s how I feel about most people everywhere.

Still, I recognize the spirituality part is a tough pill to swallow for people and that it isn’t everybody’s jam. Lots of folks stay sober through church. Even more stay sober through yoga. Some with just the support of loved ones. Refuge Recovery. SMART Recovery. Celebrate Recovery. Crossfit. Therapy. Biking. Knitting. Whatever it takes. I say anything that keeps us of the streets and stops us from being drunken, drugged out terrors at places like Target or the airport, then I’m all about it. Acting like I’m some authority or expert on staying sober or that my way is the only way is stupid. Likewise, so is beating up people for staying sober through ways I don’t understand.

After about 18 months without drinking, I walked into my old grocery store in Echo Park. The cashier was a girl named Roxy who rang me up dozens of times and definitely saw me totally shit housed more than a few times. “Did you need a bottle today, ” she asked. I told her I didn’t and that I hadn’t drank in over a year. “Oh thank god,” she said. “you were really bad.” You’re a special kind of neighborhood alcoholic when even the girl at the grocery store notices. She wasn’t lying, though. The thing was Roxy didn’t care how I stayed sober. She was just glad I did. I was no longer stumbling into the grocery store and everybody was happy about that, myself included.

Listen, it still takes a lot to get my own sober behind out of bed and out the door. I don’t have time to micromanage your program of recovery.  You found it, whatever it is that keeps you sober and I’m truly happy for you! Please keep doing what you’re doing and please help some damn people find the sober juju you have found! And also? I don’t give a fuck.

Approval Anonymous

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I don’t think I could ever be Kylie Minogue. This is, I can imagine, a relief to the actual Kylie Minogue as it means she won’t be out of a job nor will she have to partake in some weird body switching thing and then become a 45-year-old gay alcoholic. A little background information on where this thought comes from: On a recent sunny, Sunday afternoon, I was randomly thinking about Kylie, as one does. Mainly, I was thinking how fickle her widespread love and approval has been throughout her career, at least here in America anyway. It’s like every 15-20 years we as a country decide that we remember that Miss Minogue is, in fact, a legend. There were no shorter than 14 years in between when she charted on these shores with a cover of “The Loco-Motion” and her 2002 hit “Can’t Get You Out of My Head.” This doesn’t mean Kylie wasn’t out there doing her thing and making delicious pop confections. It just means our dumb American asses were too stupid to notice. I obviously have a lot of strong feelings about this major pop culture travesty. Nevertheless, this neglect from an entire nation, this utter denial of approval is precisely the thing that would knock me out of the running for becoming Kylie’s replacement. The very idea of being ignored at the drop of a hat crushes me because at the end of the day I am an approval addict, through and through.

My first drug and my worst drug, approval is something I’ve chased long before I ever picked up a beer bottle or crammed a straw up my nose. Who knows where it started but in my mind I think I probably made somebody laugh when I was infant, saw how it made them happy and in turn made me happy and then we were off to the races. From applause garnered for impromptu lip sync performances to scratch and sniff “Grape Job!” stickers on spelling tests, I itched for validation. I ached for any sign that I was okay, that I wasn’t a misfit but I was as good as everyone else. All of this sounds pretty normal for  normal kids but when you have a brain like mine, the brain of an addict, there was never enough. There was never enough love, there was never enough approval and therefore I was never enough. This is some sad, sad business for a little kid but downright pathetic for a grown up person who should have gotten over that shit.

During active addiction, a phrase I love because it makes it sound like you snort cocaine while wearing track suits and terry cloth headbands, the hunt for approval worked in tandem with the hunt for booze or drugs quite nicely. People who I wanted to be my friends also did drugs and drank so I could relate with them on that level, take them hostage as friends and then ditch them when they wanted anything real, crazy shit like accountability or honesty, from me. We all spoke the language of more so that meant we all wanted more. More love, more drugs, more drinks, more cigarettes, more conflict. The approval I got from them was hollow and toxic. Each of us wanted to vampire hours and days off of one another and if you couldn’t meet the supply and demand, I’m sorry my dear, you’re up for elimination. We also gave each other approval for behavior and attitudes that the rest of the world wouldn’t put up with. Wanna have a three-way on a week night with people you met from Craigslist? We approve. Wanna verbally assassinate one of our other friends? We approve and we’ll you help you out with that. Wanna drink on a Wednesday afternoon? Not only do we approve but we’ll also meet you at the bar.

Outside of my drinking and using friends, I scored approval where I could, by telling jokes to customers at the restaurant where I used to work, by writing little articles that maybe people would read and pat me on the back for and by puffing up my meager accomplishments to family members or anybody who would listen. Obviously, we all sort of exist on this planet and hope that people will love and approve of us and I hear there are normal, healthy ways of seeking that out. It’s like Stonehenge. Like I know it exists but until I see it for myself, it’s just a thing people talk about. Without any real self-esteem, the never-ending quest for approval is fucking exhausting. Making people laugh, quick sexual encounters and-God it pains me to say this- likes and comments on social media posts all fill up that void inside of me. But without an internal approval supply, there won’t actually ever be enough.

This was abundantly clear when I got sober. More than a few times, I resorted to having quick hookups to make me feel better. I wasn’t looking for Mister Right. I was looking for Mister Make Me Not Feel My Life. Approval through sex is the fastest way for me to recognize that I do in fact treat this whole thing like I would any drug. The rush of having people, familiar, anonymous, in person or online, say we like you is one I’ve chased through sex clubs, bath houses, MySpace and Twitter alike. Once I got hip to the fact that I was using people and their approval just like I did substances even though I was physically sober, the jig was up. By the way, is the jig ever down? I guess we don’t talk about that because when it’s down it must mean everything is cool.

Anyway, I was gifted with a buttload of self-awareness in sobriety and that sucked. All of my addict ways of looking to, ahem, fill holes, as it were, became crystal clear. This meant I knew EXACTLY what my motivation was every time I obsessively checked Twitter to see if someone liked my tweets. This also meant I TOTALLY knew what I was doing when I flirted with random people. But mainly it meant the other places in my life where I acted like an addict were exposed and sooner or later would have to be looked at.I say “looked at” and not “dealt with” because the real deal here is that I have a lot of addictive behaviors still that don’t involve substances but are ones that quite frankly I don’t want to give up. They’re crutches to be sure. But if this need for approval and the rush get from it go away, then what?

Back in 2008, I was sober for a hot minute of five months. It was a real delight too. I was dry and not getting any help and still trying to blend in with my old drunk life. Gee, I wonder why that didn’t take? I kept trying to do things for myself and talk myself into feeling better but without any real self-esteem or support it was all sort of a lost cause. One day, I treated myself and went to a taping of the Craig Ferguson show. Since the universe has no chill when it comes to irony, it’s now hilarious to me that Ferguson is a longtime openly sober person. But I wasn’t headed there to hear him crack jokes about getting sober. I was there to see Kylie Minogue. In a super-rare stateside appearance, Kylie was performing a song from the criminally underrated effort X. The track “All I See” is an R&B tinged should’ve-been banger and one that lended itself to a great live performance.  In a packed studio audience filled with gays and girls, I felt one of the few moments of joy in that excruciatingly, uncomfortable five months. I relapsed not long after seeing Kylie, not that I blame her or anything. I hated myself and didn’t think I was worth getting better. No amount of imported Aussie glamour could change that.

While history will be the judge if Kylie pursuing a country tinted disco record was a good idea, I know for a fact that looking at my own addiction to approval is. With years sober under my belt at this point, I know that cracking open other parts of my life won’t kill me and I might even make me feel better. Sure, the mere idea of seeing how I’ve sought out approval like I used to drugs isn’t pretty.  People who know how to work on these, primarily my therapist have pointed out that if I’m validating my damn self and taking care of me, I might not obsessively seek out approval from everyone else. It’s an odd thing to ween myself of off though. Something in my mind tells me that this is one addiction I can keep. After all, nobody ever died or wound up in jail seeking out approval. Yet it’s something I’m looking at and hoping to let go because that’s what Kylie would do. I mean Kylie doesn’t give a crap if America likes her all the time. She’s a worldwide icon. She moves thru this world in her diminutive, sparkle-covered body with confidence and a badass survival spirit. She doesn’t need to troll for the approval of randoms. She’s Kylie Muthafucking Minogue. And at the end of the day, neither do I.

 

 

 

 

the best of me

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I mean, I clearly had an amazing burrito in San Francisco. 2017 couldn’t have been all bad, right? 

Look. I’m a sucker for a year end list. I know. They’re basic. I know. They’re a cop out and the kind of thing writers do when they can’t make something original.  I agree but I like them anyway and I’m the boss around these parts! Besides, I was thinking about 2017 and the truth about the year that was and you know what: it was incredible. No, really. I know it’s popular to shove an entire chunk into a “IT SUCKED” folder and move on. But I can’t honestly say that about 2017.

Sure, I had my challenges and my share of emotional pain. In fact, one of the more revealing things I wrote this year was about the moment that changed it all for me over the summer. I hit an emotional bottom over the summer and felt, for lack of a more poetic term, like shit. It was painful and frightening but it changed my whole life and program of recovery for the better. From there on out, my year got incredibly good. A new challenging career, new opportunities to be of service and a trip to Europe to boot! So I refuse to believe any year is entirely bad. Below, I’ve collected some of my most favorite and popular posts in no particular order to hopefully confirm that not all of last year was horrible.

Standard Bitch: The years most viewed post with one of my favorite titles. I’m a little befuddled why this piece was so popular but maybe y’all just like the poodles and the b word as much as I do and that’s good enough for me. It also features the phrase “turd salad’ and an Eyrkah Badu quote as well as reflecting on the trials and tribulations of being a sarcastic ass bitch. Please enjoy.

Handle With Care: A shipping metaphor meets a Traveling Wilburys cover is the title for this post inauguration essay which was my second most viewed piece of the year. I was depressed as fuck when I wrote this so I’m glad a lot of people got something out of it. Insert shruggie emoji here.

A Hot Mess, Now At Room Temperature: I wrote an essay a day in April and this little piece came out on the 23rd. The number 3 most popular post of the year is one I’m proud so many folks responded to. I wanted to convey how my sobriety and my life is better but still kind of a hot mess and judging by your response I think I did that. So yay.

Eventually, You’ll Think About Your Ass: Also from my April writing fest, this piece doesn’t crack the top ten as far as popularity goes but it’s hands down my favorite thing I wrote last year. To all of you who had lovely things to say about the piece, thank you. To all of you who had lovely things to say about my ass, thank you too.

At Least Theres Potatoes: Another from April, this piece personifies what’s actually important to me: potatoes and a good laugh. Michael was travelling for work during that time and I was new to Portland so I had a lot of time to battle the blues, cook and write and this post sums all of that up perfectly.

A Path to the Rainbow’s End:  Listen, if someone wants to give me a few thousand dollars to write an entire book of essays about Stevie Nicks songs, I’ll gladly do it! And this essay about “Seven Wonders” by Fleetwood Mac would make an excellent addition to that book. I love using songs as a prompt and this one was fun and cathartic to write about.

I Die a Little: Speaking of posts that use a song as a prompt, here’s one that relies on the words of Cole Porter while processing the horror that was Charlottesville. I’m including it here not just because it personifies the state of the world in 2017 but because it also was an example of when writing here helped me a lot. Again, thank you for that.

Relieve Me of the Bondage of Selfie: The post with my actual favorite title of the year, chronicled my social media addiction and the subsequent short-lived detox from it. Suffice to say, the little break was helpful but it didn’t last and came back from it with an Instagram account and even more new obsessions. Sigh.

Sorry Bitches, But We Still Exist: Here’s one that also ran on Medium and did quite well over there. I’m rarely pissed off when I write but this one was an exception. As a reaction to the erasing of gay men in concentration camps in Chechnya, the piece cuts loose on bigotry against LGBTQ people while letting go of some serious anger.

God Probably Sounds a Lot Like Mavis Staples: I wrote about a lot of movies and tv shows last year and it was hard to pick a favorite out of those pieces but for some reason this one about a Mavis Staples documentary seemed worthy of another look. I hope you think so too.

That’s enough navel gazing and self-reflection for now. I’m back to publishing twice a week in 2018 with another daily essay fest sure to happen in the spring. Thanks again for reading, commenting, reblogging and generally being nice in 2017.

Happy New Year.

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83

83. 83 days. 83 freaking days! That’s all have we left. In 84 days, we will be crying or celebrating or at least shutting the fuck up about who is the president of the United States. Insert every happy dance/whew/hallelujah gif ever. It’s been a long and arduous pain in the ass. Yet it’s also been incredibly revealing. The friends of mine with a sense of humor and an ability to keep their head up have floated to the top. The ones who need to yell or think there’s a global conspiracy about everything? It’s been a tough year for them, to say the least. Bless (and unfollow) their crazy ass hearts.Nevertheless, here we are just 83 days away. Just 83 days left of this nonsense and we can all go back to talking about ourselves. It may seem like a long time away but for those of us who have gotten sober, we see a number like 83 days and we think, “I got this.”

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When you’re counting days in early recovery, it can be a long,long time. 30 days without drinking is a huge deal. 90? Even bigger. A year?!? Get the hell out of here. These milestones seem unachievable, mythical even. Yet if you’ve got the right support and you’re really ready, they can happen. So in later sobriety, I’ve been amazed what I can do for days in a row. I’ve quit meat for 6 months. I quit Facebook for 3. I quit smoking. Period. This structure I used to quit drinking and used to change my life has since been used to change all kinds of things. I recently decided when I launched this website that I would publish three times a week until the end of the year. I have tried to be divorced from the results, the page views, the comments and just write and publish 3 times a week. And this, my friends, is how we ended up here at my 32nd post. 32.jpg

Truth? I’ve had some stumbles along the way. I haven’t always wanted to write nor have I been crazy about everything I’ve published. There’s been pieces I really liked that no one has read and pieces I’m indifferent about that people respond to. Such is life. But the point is a little 60 days later, I’ve kept going. I’ve kept a promise to myself. So woo hoo for that.

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And while we’re throwing glitter and celebrating days passing, why not dive into the Seanologues Greatest Hits? Sure 32 posts might seem a little premature to put out a greatest hits but I disagree. I mean. If Stacey Q can have a greatest hits than gosh darn it I can too!

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So here are some of your favorites and some of mine too:

1.) I Won’t Ruin Your Barbecue: This was hands down the most read and most reposted. Thank you so much for that. I’m glad my exploits as the world’s worst drunken barbecue disaster resonated with so many people.

2.)Your Permission Slip: Well, holy shit. Just thinking about this post puts a lump in my throat. I’m just glad people read it and it struck a chord with them. I wrote it after being devastated and sad after Orlando. And I wrote it for myself. So that fact that you responded to it is overwhelming.

3.)Angry Anymore: Gosh. I loved writing this, even if it dealt with a less than savory part of myself. Turns out lots of you hate the angry bastard lurking inside too and you left some amazing comments.

4.) I Walk Alone: Walking is kind of the closest thing I have to a regular spiritual practice and writing about it felt good.

5.) Hey Ninety: Ditto writing about the amazing older people in my life. Plus, a Steely Dan song!

6.) I See You On The Street & You Walk On By: My very first Redditted work which is so millenial for a post about a 30 year old Madonna album. Nevertheless, I’m glad people read it as it was one that I worked on for a while and was very close to my Material Girl loving heart.

7.) the bullshit of busy: Another one I wrote to call myself out for bad behavior that readers gave me a big, “Amen, sistah” to. Writing this, as a matter of fact, has helped me change “busy” as my go to answer so thank you for that.

8.) Long Train Running (or not): Sometimes, I like to write to capture a moment in my life so I won’t forget it. This post about a train trip with the husband did that and bonus–you guys liked it and read it.

9.) Flight or Fight (or Write): This post makes the Greatest Hits for two reasons- 1.) I really enjoy writing about writing and 2.) people who I respect who also write got something out of it too. Win!

10.) new victors: Well every greatest hits has that new song on the end that maybe you’re not crazy about but maybe you’ll grow to love.  Enter “new victors.” I published it yesterday and it came from a scattered place but it felt oddly cathartic writing it so there ya go.

Yet, in the end, navel gazing at the past or freaking out about the future don’t really matter. All we have is one day: right now. In this the glorious right now, I just want to tell you thank you for reading, for helping me as a writer, for making me laugh my face off and for being the greatest.

 

On Assignment

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When it comes to covering the hard-hitting issues, look .. somewhere else. Yet coming this August, I am going on assignment. Not on the campaign trail. I mean how basic do you think I am? Not press junkets. Not breaking news stories. No, your buddy Sean is launching Sean on Assignment. For this weekly feature for August, I’ll be reporting on the random, the seemingly boring and quirky things happening in my town. That’s right. Yours truly is putting on his reporter hat. Although I fear it’s not as jaunty as Kermit’s. Or Lois Lane’s.

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This urge to take the seanologues on the road was cooked up in my brain a couple of weeks ago. Initially, I thought it would be fun to cover weird things around my ‘hood just to mix up the style of writing seen here. Turns out I have something of a journalistic past. ‘Tis true! Between an Andrea Zuckerman-like stint on my high school newspaper to writing for indie newspapers and magazines in Los Angeles, I’ve always dabbled in journalism. I would have even finished a journalism degree in my youth had my double major in Electronic Music and Drug Consuming (with a double minor in Drinking and Lying, thank you very much!)  not eaten away most of my time. I also thought it would also be fun to flex my observational muscle writing wise. Try writing about other people than myself for a change. I know! There’s a crazy idea. One so crazy, it just might work! But as I plotted out what I was going to write about, it hit me. There was another reason. I wanted to play Johnny reporter in my own life.

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A while back when I was feeling particularly beaten up by negative headlines, bombastic opinions and toxic Facebook posts(which I mean aren’t they all, even a little?) a light came on and a new personal mantra presented itself to me, “I am not the victim to information.” I’d been looking for clarity and wondering how I kept getting knocked over by all of the thoughts and ideas that whip by us at the speed of light and there it was. In the end, it wasn’t up to CNN or Twitter or even Facebook to change the information they churned out, it was up to me. I could deactivate accounts. I could take apps off my phone. I could read from actual pages instead of from screens. All things I’ve done for various lengths of time and with various degrees of success. It was up to me to handle what’s being served at the 24 hour information buffet. Period. It’s a delicate line to walk, however. As pop culture fanatic and knowledge junkie and not to mention an addict, it’s hard for me to know when to say when. Don’t think the irony of finally getting sober only to spend my time being an iPhone’s bitch is lost on me. I get it. So most of the time it looks a lot like keeping myself in check. Shutting the phone off. Walking without looking at my screen. Just listen to my husband without listening and tweeting or listening and reading crap on the internet. But I felt like there was still more that I could do.

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By writing what I want to read, by contributing stuff I think is funny or informative or ridiculous, I’m making a drop in the swirling black hole of internet negativity. It’s not much but it isn’t about changing the world’s mind. It’s just about shifting my own narrative in the only way I know how– writing. Now, now, I realize this is all starting to sound like one of those”Post pictures of puppies instead of talking about politics” threads on Facebook. But it’s not. After all, amazing people like my friend Paul or my friend Mark or my buddy Claire or Daniel or Chris and countless brilliant others are all doing it too– contributing something good instead of just soaking a shit jacuzzi. So me going on goofy assignments is a part of this. Maybe writing weird, uplifting and funny features on little slices of life will provide some levity for a few readers or maybe I’ll just entertain myself. Either way, it’s a win. With or without the jaunty hat.

Sean On Assignment premiers right here on August 4th!