Doing it the way you planned matters less than doing it the way you can

I started this blog with the intention of soaking my personal life in gasoline and setting it ablaze. A crybaby soapbox which would allow for my broken heart to find words to climb on in order to extricate myself out of that deep, dark pit of despair known as love.

The original name of this blog was Drowning the Shallows. Dramatic sounding bullshit, really. My first ever post was a brutally ineffectual take on love and romance; the kind of writing best served with a tranquilizer gun. Shortly after posting it, I deleted my manifesto on the fiction of happy endings and that’s when this blog started making itself up as it went along.

Shortly after that, I changed the name of the blog too. It was a bleary eyed morning trip to the fridge, where my eyes happened upon a magnet my sister had bought for me which read Drinks Well With Others. I thought Drinks Well to be a more hopeful sounding way of harping on alcoholic pursuits and wayward thoughts and jukebox day dreams gone Yard Sale.

Once upon a time, not very long ago at all, I was an accidental blogger. I partnered up on a political blog with nary a Holy Cow in the mix. He was an NRA constitutionalist and I was a born again moderate thanks to Bill Clinton. We figured on marrying the ‘twain into a cohesive stretch of abandon.

Our blog was opinionated and blunt as a Colt magnum. And once we figured out what in the hell we were doing, we added topical and relevant to the mix.  We had it all, excepting for readers.  It was akin to keeping a private log from an outpost on the North Pole. The lack of a following drove my partner to despair. Me? I happened to dig the solitary involvement of writing something just to write something. It was Zen capture and it was where I learned I could write.

Best way to describe us? Imagine the National Review shagged Slate magazine and they had a zombie baby. It was a psychotic blender with editorials, interviews, current events and breaking news.

I was the writer to his networking point man. And then things started happening and the following went big and everything started feeling like it was going a million miles an hour. I wrote crazily while he worked guests and then we went podcast and then we started planting guest writers whose well being met our sick at just the right street corner. We channeled our creative fury into more and more and over the next nine months we wept mercury. It was a heady and miscreant mess of ambitions, alcohol fueled brainstorming sessions, Marlboro marathons, competing egos and round the clock maintenance of a blog that had gotten bigger than our britches.

And then I met the girl.

She was the biggest mistake of my life, but for a stretch of time it was the kind of crazy that tossed the doubts into layaway. I fell in love with the way she wrote the daylights out of every loose thought, and then I fell in love with the rest of her. To this day, I borrow her hopeless sarcasm for the head on collision otherwise known as life.

Our political blog went the way of the Titanic. We all hitched on to our separate ways, trashing the rear view in our dissolution from a big ass thing gone bust. It’s what happens when you go quicksilver without benefit of seat belts. And it was later on and for different reasons altogether that I walked away from the girl. Ask me if I miss them and I’ll tell it like it is. Depends on the day of the week, and sometimes? It’s even more particular than that.

Drinks is my Bonsai twist on the sometimes plain shitty of people, places and painful things. As far as happy endings go, it’s an oxymoron to which I never understood the fascination. I want to be happy in the right now. I’m not gonna bitch and moan about yesterday because I’ve been there and I’ve done that. It’s a non-refundable endeavor whose undertow pays forward, meanly.

From the here of where I’ve been, I’ve learned to go tenderfoot on the promise of now, respecting its sacred loan of a sexy profit by waving on a drink that’s mine to buy.

Happy is always a chance you take.

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19 thoughts on “Doing it the way you planned matters less than doing it the way you can

  1. I wonder if your political satire would have helped my allergic reaction to anything regarding politics..if anyone could cure me it would be your puns, guns, and slapstick innuendo ….

  2. K,
    In another life, we were married. Happily enough. Briefly, of course.
    No political dinner conversations to be had.
    Hey, the stars work crazy hours. Sue me for advancing such an idea.

    • And yes, to answer your question . . I think you would have liked that blog, seeing as how you possess an apolitical affiliation (smart girl). Our mission statement, from the get, was to be an equally opportunity offender as per both sides of the aisle. We accomplished that just fine.

      PS- Apologies on the “Briefly, of course” statement which I used without ANY context . . that is so not cool. The “Briefly,” speaks to my allergic reaction to matrimony.
      PS2- I hope Saban stays home. Texas is a great job, but it’s still not what he’s got going.

  3. What a great video! And an amazing song… It’s my second favorite now after “Hello again” And the piece you wrote struck a chord with me on several levels. Not the least of which had to do with my blog when it was first created. I remember I would write an article and then for a couple of days afterwards just hear crickets…. It bothered me, my ego, and my creative side a great deal at first but then I just said I’m doing what I’ve always wanted to do and could give a shit less who read it or chimed in.
    Needlesstosay it’s grown in leaps and bounds since that hot August night in 2011 when the
    first blog was published. I felt like I gave birth to something special (and without an epidural).

    Your followers, I would hazzard to say, are grateful that you continue to put out extraordinary material that invariably seems to strike a chord, at least with this reader. The Titanic, along with your political blog crashed and burned a long time ago. Selfishly I’m glad because hadn’t it done so, I could never have discovered and enjoyed “Drinks”.

    -Hank

    • Fantasy Man Hank,

      Hey, us guys would be just fine when it comes to giving birth if it weren’t for the nine months of work and the pain. The pain is a deal breaker for us guys, the kind of deal breaker that can’t be resolved with an epidural.
      I loves me some Aimee Mann, she’s just all that and then a bunch more. I always go to her when thinking back on that time. She assuages the sharp edged memories of the wonderful absurdity that we once called ours.
      I carry myself differently here than I did there. And to tell you the truth,I enjoy this blog way more. It’s me. It speaks to getting comfortable in your own skin, mine.
      Thanks for being a follower and a mental health care provider with your flattering comments. I appreciate you.
      Peace and Yankees

  4. I’ll forgive you for our brief (millisecond) marriage…but please note; I don’t give a hoot if Saban goes to Texas – or on down to the Mexico Lindo for that matter…War Eagle.

    • K- I have not forgotten you’re an Auburn girl. But I do remember your pledge of allegiance to all things ‘Bama, when it came to the title game last year . . so I can’t help but give you crap about Saban every chance I get. And another thing….you always come up with the best mash ups. I’m starting to believe we would have lived happily ever after…..otherwise known as a week in Vegas. Nicely played on the song, Lady Tiger.

  5. Hey Cay, it’s Christy/RoS.

    I’ve never much been a fan of delayed gratification, so I totally understand and agree with the “be happy now” sentiment. Besides, who the hell knows if we’ll even be here next year, or tomorrow for that matter, but I’m an optimist.

    I enjoy your rants and music and humor, but when you magically arrange words to create something like the below, I am reminded why I followed your blog to begin with (it was back in April, when you mentioned it being the cruelest month; I wholeheartedly agreed.)

    This is beautiful stuff:
    “She was the biggest mistake of my life, but for a stretch of time it was the kind of crazy that tossed the doubts into layaway. I fell in love with the way she wrote the daylights out of every loose thought, and then I fell in love with the rest of her.”

    • Christy,

      How awesome are you!
      I so appreciate this comment, and after I get done with my pancake breakfast and a morning jaunt with my daughter, I’m hopping over to your place to let you know it.
      It’s funny, but you hit the nerve with that cut and paste selection. Yes, it was Camelot there, for a while.
      Thank you again, very much.

  6. I can almost see you as a political gabber, Cayman. I think I would have enjoyed reading that blog, even though I choose to stay away from political articles for health reasons. I have a feeling your enchanting spin of language would have effectively obscured the rotten taste of content.

    Here’s to Drinks Well living a longer, healthier life. As my Brit father says at a toast, “Up your kilt.”

    • Hey Bahstan,

      What made it work was the mission statement we stuck to “No Holy Cows”- we went after everyone with equal vigor. Nothing is more boring and predictable to me- than the Us vs Them dynamic of political news reporting. We kept it simple by taking on the whole damn thing. It most certainly wasn’t round the clock politics. We had a lot of fun stuff going on once the following went crazy.

      Up your kilt . . . I like that. Mind if I use it?

  7. I love your prose and your take on the shooting star-esque history of your blog.

    I am confused by your second to last statement. I read it a few times and still don’t get it….
    “From the here of where I’ve been, I’ve learned to go tenderfoot on the promise of now, respecting its sacred loan of a sexy profit by waving on a drink that’s mine to buy.”

  8. It means to say that I have learned how to deal with being ‘here’ thanks to my experiences back there. And I treat the now with great respect and appreciation, knowing it’s up to me as to whether I get lucky or not.

  9. And in the end, you get to make whatever you will of it, to vent or mock, satirize or amuse, or jsut to entertain yourself.
    Me? I’m happy to just come along for the ride.

  10. Dude. I love this. I had no idea of the rise to fame story in the blogosphere. I feel like I missed out, considering I met you a little late, but at least I still got a chance to experience the awesomeness! And I’m glad you were able to accept yourself in the “here” because of where you were back “there.” Very cool prose … even in the comment section you’re awesome.

    • I’m here now Guat. And I’m not willing to leave anytime soon. This blog? It saved me from who knows what and what knows how. I don’t think I could ever say goodbye to it. Not now.

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