Margarita mix

I was passively thinking tonight about margaritas and how much I love them, when I had a sudden memory resurgence.

It started with how my mom and I would be together, eating directly out of the bucket of frozen margarita mix that seemingly lived in our freezer throughout my childhood.

It became a totally normal thing for me to pull the bucket out in any given day, and snag a few bitefuls of the delicious, icy mix…

Basically, then, margarita mix was like my version of ice cream while growing up… it was my regular freezer-housed delight.

Granted, I loved ice cream.

However, the margarita mix was more of a regular deal, because, even though I would have only a few bites at time, I would have it on many more occasions than I would have ice cream.

You know… I don’t know for sure that there wasn’t any alcohol in that mixture… I say this, only because I can’t see how it wouldn’t freeze solid f it didn’t have at least some alcohol in it… right??

Plus, I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I was somewhat sneaking the icy bitefuls… suggesting I knew I wasn’t really supposed to be having it…, but maybe it was just because it was a dessert-like treat at not-dessert-time… hmm…

I am definitely checking with my mom on this in the morning.

Speaking of underage drinking – well, you get it – we can mention my first experience of drunkenness… I was somewhere around the age range of 4-7 years.

We were at a restaurant, and the person next to me had a margarita.

In my family, we were basically always allowed to taste anything, so I was granted a taste of the margarita.

And I loved what I tasted.

It so happened that the family member on the other side of me also had a margarita… from her, too, I tasted the margarita… and then I continued to ‘taste’ the margaritas on both sides of me throughout dinner, knowing full well that I wasn’t really supposed to be doing it, yet doing it anyway, and just being very cautious not to be noticed.

Later, in the bathroom with my sisters, I was standing on the counter, kind of dancing around… definitely a bit loopy, though I say so myself…

In short, I very likely was intoxicated.

I remember my sisters laughing at how I was being silly, but no one seemed to think anything of it… I certainly didn’t at the time… it wasn’t until years later that I looked back and couldn’t see anything reasonable but the absurd likelihood of my having been at least a little bit drunk.

Face palm for sure, right?

Haha

But don’t worry: I didn’t turn into a drunk.

As a matter of fact, I hardly ever drink alcohol at all… and it is for lack of wanting it – I don’t even care about alcohol 99% of the time, it seems.

What I do love, of course, is margaritas.

I got lime juice yesterday at the grocer, just so I can make some healthy margaritas here at home… and we can’t have alcohol here, which doesn’t bother me, so I’ll be able to see if I can make something delicious to drink without that edge of flavor the tequila usually gives it.

(Note: I actually only seem to like alcohol for the edge it gives to something else, and not for the beverage itself… the only exception is champagne, which I find to be a lovely beverage.)

Anyway… we’ll see what Mom says tomorrow… haha

Post-a-day 2020

Don’t do it

You know, I swear, alcohol makes me stupid.

I was fine…. fine…, but then l, give me one single, not very strong margarita, and I suddenly lose all powers of sanity.

I had been doing very well focusing mentally on unflattering photos of this guy, and combining them with the fact that he doesn’t check in on me anymore, and it was becoming easier and easier to let go of the idea of him… rather, to let go of him, and just to have fun with the idea he had inspired within me…, because the idea is still there, but I have somewhat run away with it, knowing that it is likely to be only an idea…, so I have been having fun with the idea, since I can’t have fun with him.

Anyway, he finally wasn’t taking up 90% of my conscious thoughts anymore… perhaps it was down to about 30%, and they didn’t affect me near so much as they had before.

I thought I was actually letting go of him, and that I was okay with it.

Then, with some alcohol in my system, what do I do?

Suddenly start thinking about him, wondering how he is doing, knowing I have been working actively to stay out of it, yet fully aware that I still want to know…, and so I send him a message to check in…, because I really do want to know.

And then, later on, after, of course, no reply – as was expected – my thoughts are stuck around him all over again… and I find myself miserable and on the point of tears because of how much I really wanted this whole thing to work out for us.

That, and I really just want a long hug from someone who loves me…or maybe just to be held and petted for a few hours… much like how my friend’s cat snuggles with me whenever I am over there, no shame in wanting to be intertwined with me, while lying on top of me, and demanding rubbing, too…

Yeah…

Anyway, to sum up, alcohol made me feel stupid tonight, but it also made me realize that I was more avoiding my emotions than actually handling them… I’m not sure at present how to proceed, but I’ll just let myself sit in this for now, and see how tomorrow feels when I get there.

Post-a-day 2020

Swiping bubbles

My cousin pulled a can of beer out of the garage the other night.

It apparently tasted like metal, and nobody liked it… it had been out there for a very long time… and it might have come out of a dumpster just before it ended up in the garage…

Since nobody liked it, I offered to use it.

For what?

For my hair.

I told them how I sometimes use beer as conditioner – it is great for hair, plus it always smells great!

“So, you don’t drink beer, but you put it in your hair…”

Exactly. πŸ˜‰

That was all yesterday.

Today, the beer was still on the counter, because I’d forgotten to use it last night in my shower.

The conversation somewhat repeats itself among the family who are gathered here today – and who happen to be all different from yesterday, except for my mom (and no, this is not our house).

In the middle of their doubt and unbelieving, my grandma confidently joins in, “Oh, yeah!… We used to sneak beers from my daddy’s, and use them… use them in our hair… oh, yeah,” she nods.

We all can’t help but to comment and ask her questions while she’s still talking, and she manages I answer our questions by the end of her two sentences.

Then my cousin says that, well, he, too, used to steal his daddy’s beers, but not for that, not for his hair…

We all laugh, processing the fact that Grandma user to steal beers… and that she poured them in her hair…

I mean, I‘m all about it, but I still think it’s a somewhat abnormal thing to do… too hipster for most these days, perhaps one could say…

‘I was stealing them for my hair, too… I was conditioning it from the inside… at the roots,’ my cousin adds.

Obviously, we love the nerdiness and the cleverness of the comment, and delight in our collective nerdiness.

Also, it felt nice to have my crazy idea actually sanctioned by someone considered not only sane but to be one in a place of authority within the whole family… that was great, and totally fun.

So, who knew that my grandma and I had ‘sneaking beers’ and ‘using beer in our hair’ in common?

Man, that’s cool.

Memories in alcohol

Walking through an absurdly large and diverse (product-wise) Kroger today, I was struck with a sudden and momentary shift back to Japan, as I passed one of the drink aisles….

There was something about its seeming chaotic orderliness, and its crowded feel that took me back to the alcohol aisles in the store near my house in Japan, and, at first, of this one particular store near the train station in a nearby town where I went to help with English stuff…

And the memory was really nice… it was a very good feeling of transportation, and I felt very much at ease, belonging, and comfortable…

Weird to see Japan as such things, but I also totally get it – it is part of me, and certain points of life were stable there that are not stable for me here and now, thus the feeling of stability and comfort from the memory, despite the fact that Japan as a whole was kind of nuts and really hard on me… πŸ™‚

The aisle…

It is definitely more spaced out in the middle than Japan’s comparable aisle, but the setup and feelings were quite the same for me… who’d’a thunk alcohol could be so warm and fuzzy for me? πŸ˜‚

Post-a-day 2019

Dressed for Work

Tonight, I attended with my mom a sake mini-course and tasting event.

As predicted, every Japanese man was in a dark suit with a white shirt… however, the slight touch of color was found in a tie or pocket square in the Americanized men.

Also as predicted, there was a fabulous array of Japanese foods, the presentation was brief but extremely informative, and the tasting was hilariously wonderful.

While there, I considered strongly at one point what everyone else was wearing.

Beforehand, I had asked my mom, a person who is usually quite particular about dressing to the appropriate level for things, if I needed to change into a different dress than what I had on… I showed her the dress, which was a much nicer and more business-y version of what I already was wearing, and she didn’t think the change was needed…. she pointed out that she was wearing something quite similar, albeit slightly nicer-looking (same color scheme, different pieces).

We had been at an art film showing earlier on, and I had worn my current outfit for that and felt totally comfortable in my choice, but I figured it was best to check with her regarding the Japanese event.

Sure enough, once there, she commented that we should have known everyone would be in business suits and the likes, since it was a Japanese event… I reminded her that that was precisely why I had asked about my outfit ahead of time, and she rather shrugged her shoulders unconcernedly at this with an Oh, well…, and we moved on to enjoy ourselves, anyway.

At this point, I thought about how everyone was probably just coming straight from work, anyway, and so they were all just in work clothes… and then I realized that I, too, was coming straight from work and that I, too, was just in work clothes…

I don’t have a corporate job in an office with a cubicle on a floor in a big building… or anything like it… I’m a writer and photographer… and, today, I was editing photos, and then sent them off to a client – much work accomplished for a single afternoon, actually… and this cotton dress and summer sandals are what I wore to do that… casual and cute, but not office business…

In “Hannah’s Life, Created”, a notebook I compiled a couple years back, while living in Japan, I have a brief description of what I want my work attire to be… tonight was a beautiful acknowledgement of my having achieved that desire, and, in that instant of noticing this, I was filled with a sense of calm confidence in regards to my life – I am doin a beautiful job of pursuing my goals and dreams and of becoming and being the person I want to be.

I’m not all the way there yet… I am there with some things, though, and I am well on my way to more and more at any moment(!!!)…. and I love it.

I really do love it.

Yes, it would have made sense to wear the nicer dress tonight… no, it didn’t ultimately matter for what tonight specifically was…, yes, it was amazing to notice what I did about being in my ‘work clothes’, and so was totally worth it this time to be a bit under-dressed…, and no, I never really quite fit in at Japanese events, anyway – Gaijin Smash to the max!**

So yeah… we had an awesome time at the event, learned loads about sake. – and yes, I am fully aware of how odd it is that I take such an interest in sake, when I drink just about no alcohol in the average month – and ate wonderful foods over wonderful conversations.

And I had a lovely discovery about my current status in life, and it tickles and overjoys me even now, hours later. πŸ™‚

Yay, life!

And thank you, God, for entrusting me with this piece of the path – I love this part, and I trust you fully, as I throw myself fully into this lovely hard work!

Peace

Hannah

**Man, do I miss my store Mister Maxx in Toride, Ibaraki!… like a cross between Target, Petsmart, and a bakery!

Post-a-day 2019

Misled Bartender longs to be loved

Can we just talk for a minute about a certain type of character in men: that of the overweight male who manages the alcoholic beverages for everyone?

I’m not sure how I feel about this character, but I tend to notice that I frown or bold my face firmly blank rather often when in the presence of such a person.

On the one hand, he can do whatever he likes – he has the freedom to choose.

On the other, I feel so sad and distraught and, even, angry and annoyed that that is the way the man chooses to be.

You see, it comes across to me as a man who couldn’t find himself valued physically – fitness lacking immensely – and, quite possibly, therefore, intimately, and so he has discovered/chosen his position as drink expert, because he gets to be valued and appreciated by preparing and providing alcoholic beverages for everyone – in a way, he gets all the pretty girls, and, from each, a version of love, appreciation, and intimacy.

Add onto that the often-present obsession with drinking games and their rules, and I can hardly stand to be around this man… he is so adamant that he is the expert on this drinking game or that drinking game… and his skill levels are quite high in just about every drinking game…, as is his alcohol tolerance…

He goes around to the females of the party, and developed special codes with each of them regarding their drinking preferences… he understands them like no one else does…, but only in the sense that he knows what alcohol preferences they have…

And he seems to exude importance and appreciation of himself…

But do these women truly love him as he wants, needs?… or is the situation only getting worse and worse for this man who feels so unloved (outside of the alcohol stuff)?

Every time I cross this man, I have a sense of outrage at his ignorance – meaning that he ignored it – of doing anything valuable with his time and effort, and his misled focus on improving his skills at those two areas.

I mean, Really???!

And I know this is just my view and my opinion… I just wanted to share… the whole reason I am even upset about it is that I don’t value alcohol almost at all in life – I see it mostly as an unnecessary and not-so-valuable distraction for people… it used to be the safe beverage to drink, due to germ issues back in the day, but it seems to me to be utterly abused and somewhat unnecessary in modern-day society.

There are so many better ways a man can spend his time than focusing on alcohol tolerance, combinations, and games… he probably could have picked up a foreign language in all the hours he dedicated to those three things… let alone exercised and gotten loads more fit… :/ ::sigh

Just a thought – I’m not aiming to be rude here; merely aiming to say what I see and feel about this… but do you know what I mean?

Post-a-day 2019

Gal Pals

In a comical and slightly intoxicated – truly only slightly on the one side, and then sober on the listening side – conversation between two girls (women) this past weekend, I heard the following line, delivered slightly like a five year old’s declaration of wanting her own birthday cake at someone else’s birthday party, from the girl who has a boyfriend:

I want a boyfriend who does the sex to me every day.

She then proceeded to say, “I really do,” in an effort to convince the sober, single friend who was laughing deeply beside her.

And no, English was not a foreign language for either – they were all too clearly native English speakers.

I think that’s part of what makes the silly statement so wonderful.

I am still laughing at the whole thing today, days after the fact, it was so odd and goofy…

πŸ˜›

Post-a-day 2019