I’ll marry a man who knows how I take my tea, coffee, and alcohol
And knows when to make which.
So my youngest sister decided to fuck up and get hella drunk and puked everywhere. She wouldn’t move. She kept passing out and would puke bile and black out again.
My middle sister and I kept trying to get her into the shower so we could clean her up and shove her bedding into the wash.
It took a fucking hour.
I called Manny wondering what to do.
I mean, he would know, right? He dealt with me sort of—though I’ve never puked and never passed out and never had a hangover.
My middle sister thinks it’s because we (my mom, mid sister and I) all have stomach/dietary problems so we’re better at stopping when we think we’re getting sick—whether it’s eating, drinking or alcohol-related.
Anyway, so I get some advice, confirm the next day sleepover and we hang up the phone.
I then go to help my middle sister with the youngest (she’s 16 next month btw).
Now what pisses me off is that she used to rat on me for drinking or smoking or sneaking out when I was 17. She also ratted when I started sleeping with my boyfriend at the time.
She does all of this and more, YOUNGER, and far more frequent and still acts like a cunt to us most of the time.
I don’t say a thing.
It’s not worth the energy.
Honestly, I think that even though we got her relatively cleaned up, her sheets are in the washer, got her new sheets, and everything else—the fact that she stole my parents really expensive whiskey means that she’ll probably get caught.
She drank it alone. To prove herself to her shit guy friend.
Now, I’ve been there—but I know when to say, “fuck off.”
I’ve done dumb shit—but intelligently.
Even drunk, I get out of my bad situations.
Okay, one time was with Manny’s help but still.
And I’m nineteen.
It’s not much better but I’m not an idiot.
I don’t steal bottles.
Hell, I don’t even remember the last time I even had a little alcohol. I think I tried a weird beer or something as a sip from my parents to settle a debate.
I guess I’m not too crazy about it.
Aghhhh. I just really don’t want drama.
Normally I’d turn her in but we go on vacation in a week and she’s so stupid.
And my parents yell. And they crack down on everyone.
I wouldn’t be surprised if they cracked down on all of us. Gawd damn.
Even when I was a shit rebellious high school kid—I at least hid it well. See, I got ratted out because my friends usually said shit. One time I failed miserably with Xanax, had an allergic reaction and didn’t wake up for 16 hours. My friend Corey told me that’s what his mom OD’d on and I cried with him and I never did anything like that for years—not even drinking.
Now, in the rarest moments where I can get something (which honestly I barely look for anymore) is so I can get a tiny bit buzzed, light candles, and write.
Literally, I write.
I trick myself into feeling less censored.
Now I can do it sober (again, I lost it after ShitFacedBoy#1), my creativity is back.
I know I’m rambling now, but I’m waiting for shit to hit the fan here.
And things were going so fucking well…