D-W-I can't believe it

POONSICLE UNCOVERED

The lobby of a hotel is really not the place for personal conversations of any sort, but I was just checking in with him, thinking it would be a 5-minute pre-boarding call.

But it was not. It was a call that seem to knock the wheels of my wagon, leaving it in a ditch. My husband, as I was out of town playing with my friends, enjoyed his own birthday party with his friends way too much. He was picked up for a DWI, as he calmly explained by telling me "Last night was the worst night of my life. I only got an hour and half of sleep on a cold concrete floor."

Okay, let me get this straight: you nearly wrecked our business vehicle, put our employees in jeopardy, could have killed yourself or someone else (and my dog who was in the truck too) and I am suppose to have SYMPATHY for you because you didn't get enough REM?

"POONSICLE," I thought to myself after we hung up. It was taking me a little while to process all that he said.

Side Note: Just an hour before, at the Bathrobe Brunch of the Sweet Potato Queens Festival, a sweet little gal had been recognized by Her Majesty herself as coming up with this new word, poonsicle.

Poonsicle He that has acted in such an asinine manner as to thereby freeze himself out from any "poon" in the nearby future.

I just liked the sound of it. It sounded like someone who was a silly idiot who was so selfish as to alienate the female counterpart in his life. Silly. Idiot. Selfish. That's how I felt about him at the moment.

The temporary anti-dote to encountering your first poonsicle is hard to say; I think it is a very personal experience and hence, bears individual interpretation. For me, it meant staying comfortable, continuing the silliness of my girls-only weekend, and remaining in my current set of comfy clothes for the plane trip home. That would be my bright turquoise blue kimono, hot pink satin sash (pseudo-obi), tank top (underneath) emblazoned with a sparkle-y crown emblem, pajama pants and stacked flip-flops with white socks.

Yes, I got a few looks in the Dallas airport. Yes, the flight attendant wanted to hear about our queens and recent party. And yes, hardly anyone gave me a second glance in the Austin airport, a city whose self-induced moniker is "Keep Austin Weird").

And yes, I forgot about my poonsicle for a few hours as I remained in my happy world as a traveling Queen.

Rehab

Coincidentally, we did a dancing and singing number last weekend about Rehab. We were in the karioake contest at the Sweet Potatoes Queens [tm] Annual Parade & Festival. One friend was dressed as Amy Winehouse and the remaining three of us were all dressed as rocker chicks complete with fishnets, black boots, short skirts, and of course, our "Property of Betty Ford Clinic" t-shirts with "Betty 1" (and so on) on the back.

That was Saturday night. The same night my husband got an DWI. The topic of alcohol is not so funny now.

The following days were filled with manic-ness (I was trying desperately to enjoy my birthday with my friends), frustration, anger, lots of crying, ugly words and uncertainty. And that all melded into numbness and fear. Those two feelings seem to be at opposing ends of the spectrum, but then again with the amazingly disabling disease of alcoholism, any combination of emotions is possible.

I find it ironic that I can believe in what God says for my life - that He wants something better for me, and I trust His word and truly believe that, for me, there will be positive change. But I cannot seem to imagine the alcoholics in my life being changed by God. Again two conflicting ideas within the same framework of one idea: faith. But then again, today is only Day 3 and I have only been to 2 Al-Anon meetings so far.

There are 2 thrones in my life at present. Obviously, the Throne of God. Which is what I am clinging to with the bare scraps of my fingernails these days. I have spent the last five months rebuilding my relationship with God. It is a daily comfort and necessity. It is like talking to your best friend - you know, the one who loves you no matter what, but will still give you "straight talk" when you ask for advice. It has taken me a long time to get here with Him, and I am uncompromisingly adamant that I will not give Him up, or the peace that He brings me every day.

The other throne is figurative - the throne of The Queen. Not of England, but a self-appointed queen who happens to be able to write hilarity into existence and has created a cult-like following that rivals the Kool-Aid drinkers. But with a beautiful and very important twist. This Queen, who bears the given name of Jill Conner Browne, has written a series of books that have changed the lives of women for the better. She not only wants to share her joy, but she wants to help convey her formula for living a better life to those who will listen and/or read. In short, she wants for her fans, something similar to what God wants for us: to live life and live it abundantly.

By Queenly standards, she admits, the other way to deal with a sad topic (besides eatin' or cryin') is to treat it with laughter. And that is what I plan to do here.

I want to take what knowledge God gives through my friends, my counselor, my Al-Anon program, and my own discovery, and combine it with my queenly experiences to help me cope with the sometimes unbearable pain in my life caused by my dysfunctional family due to the long-term effects of alcoholism.

With that being said, onward to the Poonsicle Chronicles - my personal interpretation of my weekly experiences with the alcoholic(s) in my life.

Stay Tuned for more details.