Happy, Sad, Sober...

And so today ends a second week of life without wine.  It didn't come and go without its trials and tribulations, however.  In this week's news, our old dog, Harper (renamed Happy by my nephews) fell down after really having to take a big poop on Sunday of last weekend and hurt his hind leg.  He ended up pooping in the house.  Minette cleaned it up.  It was also my second week back at work dealing with students and public school adults (which is never a fun thing...the adults, that is).  Everyone keeps asking me how long I'm going to remain a teetotaler.  I must admit I am having fun riding this wave of non-inebriation.  I sleep better.  I'm losing weight.  I can drive like an idiot AND pass any DUI test they may throw my way.  I have ideas about what I want to do with my life.  I signed up to become an administrator.  My new beard is getting lots of compliments.  I found out what another definition for "beard" is.  My demeanor seems much more pleasant (or so I gather by looking at myself in the mirror).  My god, I've done more this week than I have done in the past 6 or 7 years...  Overall, I think I have found a new fondness for life.  I NEVER thought I would say this, but life seems good being on the wagon.  However, let's not be ridiculous.  Sometimes I do wish I were off it.  For instance, this past Friday I went to Happy Hour with Carley and Tanya after work.  I ordered a Shirley Temple, then realized that it was a bit girly.  I immediately changed my order to a Roy Rogers instead.  Phew.  Crisis averted.  I don't want to be known as a pansy!  I also had to tell the bar tender what the hell a Roy Rogers was (Coke with Grenadine).  Don't they teach you how to serve drinks to 10 year olds at weddings in bar tending school?  The drink was absolutely disgusting.  

Ew.

Harper, a.k.a. Happy, is an old dog, whom we also call "Old Man".  He has growths all over his body, which is why he is also known as "Growth", which also goes along with a clever catch phrase, "Growth's growths are gross".  Like I said, Happy hurt his leg last Sunday racing for the front door because he really had to poop.  He hasn't been the same ever since.  All of us thought for sure that this was the end of Happy.  He couldn't walk anymore and needed to be carried from his bed to outside a few times per day to do his business.  We made him comfortable and catered to him like an invalid at a nursing home.  Curtis took him to the vet to see what the hell happened, knowing full well that he was most-likely going to be put down.   It turns out that Old Man had metastatic bone cancer, only they found a secondary tumor which means there's another one floating around in that lumpy body cavity somewhere.  Believe me, choose a lump...you might guess correctly.  Anyway, in a text message conversation with Curtis while he was at the vet, we came to the conclusion that Happy would have to be put to sleep.  I started tearing up,  knowing that it was the right thing to do for Happy.  I was still at work.  I would end my day and then go straight home to comfort Timmy (renamed Tommy by the nephews) and Toby (renamed Tibby by said nephews).  It was a somber ride home.  I listened to KCBS new radio, where they talked about happy things like the economy and the Arizona shootings.  I made it home and Curtis' truck wasn't there.  He had asked earlier what time I would be home.  I figured he wanted company after making such a hard decision at the vet's office.  I assumed he went for a drive to clear his thoughts.  I parked the car and went inside.  Greeting me at the door was Tommy and Tibby.  They were so excited to see me.  I bet they had no idea what had transpired that day.  I consoled them, or rather, they consoled me.  I told them, "Well boys, it's just the two of you now".  I made my way through the house and into the kitchen, sifting through the day's junk mail.  I look down and I see this big lump under a baby blue blanket with an old dog's head sticking out.  It was Happy.  He was alive and, um, well, alive.  Angry, I immediately called Curtis to ask him why Happy was still alive.  After all, I had just grieved his death.  I even texted my close friends to tell them the bad news.  Turns out that Curtis couldn't go through with it, so he asked for heavy pain medication for Happy while he "thought about it", meanwhile completely neglecting to tell me of his decision.  I was so pissed.  I immediately texted everyone back.  "Um, sorry guys.  False alarm.  Harper is alive and, um, well?  Will text you soon when he isn't."  Or to that affect.  

 This is Happy, fast asleep in Tibby's bed.  Years ago (note the Nokia phone).

One week later, and Happy is actually doing pretty well.  He is eating, drinking, pooping and peeing.  Oh, and walking.  I feel bad that just one week ago I was ready to sprinkle his ashes over his bed (his favorite spot!) just so Timmy can roll all over them and then need a bath.  I've been seeking advice from such professionals as Janelle Lavoie, Dog Kennel Assistant, and Minette Viljoen, Tenant.  After much deliberation and careful consideration of the facts presented, this death panel has decided to wait and see what happens.  

A few months before the new year, I decided that I would give up drinking as a sort of experiment to see what would happen to my mind, body, spirit, and pocketbook.  I was afraid that I would drag others into my new, boring lifestyle of sobriety and crankiness.  It turns out that I am more fun to be around while not drinking than I was while drinking (according to my self-evaluation - I'm sure it's completely scientific and legit).  I have more energy.  I'm funnier, I swear.  I want to have a good time and actually go out and meet up with friends.  I mean, I thought I had the life before I gave it all up.  Come on...coming home after work and watching Jeopardy and Judge Judy with a full glass of red wine was the high life.  Turns out, it wasn't.  I still enjoy Jeopardy...and who doesn't like a good episode of Judge Judy.  The fact of the matter is, I was convinced that I couldn't fathom a life without red wine.  I realize now that such a horrible existence is indeed possible.  And, dare I say it...fun.  I know now that I must ride this positive wave of life without wine and make the most out of it before I snap and drink everything in sight.  The sad reality is that I highly doubt that would even happen.  I have been having a lot of fun without wine, and although I have had my temptations dangled in front of me these past two weeks, they weren't really that alluring.  After much thought, I have come to the conclusion that I am not an addict in any way, rather I am a person who develops really bad habits that become rather persistent over time and am able to overcome them by setting a date to stop the foolishness.  After all, I gave up smoking with relative ease, right?  Stopping drinking has been a cakewalk, and so far a fun one at that.  Fun Fact: Cakewalk: (formerly) a promenade or march, of black American origin, in which the couples with the most intricate or eccentric steps received cakes as prizes.  Best of all, those who know me know that I enjoy sleep more than anything in the world.  Not only have my afternoon naps returned in full force (maybe not to the extent of my 3 hour naps when I lived on Mission Street), I also fancy sleeping until 10 am on weekends once again.  I can't remember the last time I did that without some kind of a pill.