alcohol

On being purchased

No time for blogging all day, peeps. Sure, I had time; I spent most of the day staring at the wall, but no one had time to do my typing for me.

It was kind of understandable because the big kid was turning 6 and the putative adults were running around like maniacs making a cake and assembling loot bags that they would ultimately forget to distribute at the end of a screaming-loud party at a kids’ play area redolent of sweat socks and parental desperation.

I have no idea what my parents were like before they had their two monkeys. They bought me at the liquor store a few days before the first one was born. There they were, doing their Christmas alcohol shopping, Dad anticipating some good holiday drinking, Mum pregnant and settling for vicarious liquor selection…and I winked at them. I was hanging out on one of the shelves with the other bears (buy two—you keep one, the other goes to charity), and I noticed they were really loading up their cart with a lot of hooch. They had nine or ten wine bottles of wine, some Bailey’s and a really fine scotch; and poor old dead Granny had just hoisted a big magnum of sparkling wine into the cart.

I was excited because they seemed like proper alcoholics and fully my type of people. I didn’t realize they were stocking up for holiday visitors, because their full house would be celebrating not only Yuletide but the arrival of their first baby.

Blinded by the alcohol, I winked at them. I don’t know if they perceived it—they’re pretty oblivious at the best of times, my parents—but they stopped and looked at me. They reach out to me, gave me a pat. Next thing I knew, I was scanned, bought, bagged, and riding home with them.

I don’t know if they would have bought a bear if they hadn’t been expecting a baby. They probably would have gone for the two-bear charity deal, donated both, and gone home with just their booze.

So, in a way, their 6-year-old is the reason I live where I live, the reason I have adoptive parents, and the reason my fur is so matted it looks like aliens tried to make crop circles on it. I’ve worn countless dresses, been mummified all day in a tensor bandage, been slathered with rash cream and diapered, barely escaped barf and failed to escape snot, and dragged, thrown and trodden on.

And seriously, that shit is not okay. Fine, yes, they love me, and yes, it’s mutual, but I swear, if this continues, they’re going to literally tear me a new one, and when my mum sews me up with the purple thread the kids inevitably select, I will need a lot of alcohol.

Just saying.

Choose your charity wisely—the not-so-secret SA anti-gay agenda

My Fellow Inebriates,

‘Tis the season for charity, and at no other time is the need more visible. Whether through altruism or guilt, desire for salvation or pursuit of tax write-offs, people reach into their pockets in the festive season and find something for the less fortunate.

But should you give your money to that bell-ringing elf with the twitchy eye?

Guilt is a big driver for donors, and a jangly noise outside a store draws attention not only to the sketchy character wielding it, but to the harried shopper either walking quickly past or sheepishly digging in his/her pockets for small change. There’s something about being caught out publicly in an act of non-charity that causes us to pause and hunt for some coins to absolve ourselves of parsimony.

But who the hell is that elf?

If it’s a Salvation Army bell-ringer, it’s cool, right? The Sally Anne goes way back; its pedigree is solid enough to warrant forking over some bus money. But wait a sec. Visit the SA web page and you’ll see your charitable absolution comes with a price tag.

Agendas are sometimes surprising

Fund Sally, and you fund a gay-intolerant agenda. Sure, they’re generous enough not to condone “vilification” of gays and lesbians, but they’re sticking by their biblical standards of “chastity outside of heterosexual marriage.” So if you happen to think it’s okay to be gay, maybe you want to find a different donation bin.

What if the elf is from the food bank? There’s no question food banks do good and necessary work. But the good deeds come with a party line. To quote my local (non-government-affiliated) food bank, “We give thanks and praise to the Lord Jesus Christ for His love which finds a visible and tangible expression in this building and those who work here. We give thanks and praise to the Holy Spirit for empowering God’s people with the love and compassion of Jesus Christ and the message of salvation through faith in Christ’s death and resurrection.” Booyah!

"Is that merlot? I said cab, Jesus..."

The Bible condemns a lot of practices in which I regularly engage, such as sloth, drunkenness, and bestiality, plus I have some gay friends (OMG!), some non-Christian friends and some (are you ready?) atheist friends. I even have network-marketing friends, and they are surely going to hell along with the rest of us. (I hear all the drinks down there are made with Jagermeister and tequila.)

Salvation from sin

The charity-religion connection is too often a bit of a power trip. There’s no everyday situation in which I (or most people) would feel entitled to lecture about morality, but a person who needs something, who needs charity—well! Sit down for the lecture.

What if you just want to give some money to somebody who needs it, but you don’t want to fund a church-driven agenda?

My favorite

It means doing your homework. It means shutting out that ringing bell (if you want to) and giving your money to something you believe in.

Long story short: I’m going to choose a charity that doesn’t dispense its bounty along with lashings of religiosity. Because people who need money or food just need it, they don’t feel good having to accept charity, and trotting out a code of biblical morality alongside the groceries further erodes their dignity.

The secret message Rick Perry’s really sending (plus a drink)

A little bit of Monday randomness:

First things first. Want a giggle? Here are two videos, 30 seconds apiece. Don’t worry; when you click them, they’ll open in a new window.

Here’s the first one:

Hahahahaha! What a tool.

Okay, here’s the improved version:

YEAH!

And here’s a special drink to toast the translation of Perry’s messed-up message into something coherent.

Ahhh! A Ricktard for breakfast.

The Ricktard:

  • 5 oz Absolut vodka
  • 3 oz lemonade
  • 2 oz club soda

“Fill glass with ice, pour in vodka, then lemonade, then club soda. To mix, pour in separate glass, then back into original. Enjoy. Nicely.” – Drinks Mixer