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I Forgot I Used to be Called “Bucket of Wine Marilyn”

I Forgot I Used to be Called “Bucket of Wine Marilyn”

I Forgot I Used to be Called “Bucket of Wine Marilyn”

There is something I really love about Facebook. It’s the fact that people from long ago and far away find me. And they send me “Friend Requests” or private messages. Sometimes it brings back fond memories.  These days I communicate with Russian artists, Bahamian Lotharios and a smattering of long-lost school chums. These people were bygone to me. And without the long reach of social media, I would not have them back in my life.

 

San Francisco calling…

Sometimes a message brings back another wave of feelings. Less “fond” and more frightful. I just got a “wave” on Facebook, from someone who used to call me “Bucket of Wine Marilyn.” I haven’t waved back yet, as I can’t believe what he must be thinking if he’s taken a gander at my FB feed. Articles about recovery and breakthroughs in addiction treatment abound. It is rife with experiential stories of my addiction. Should he feel sorry for me? Another friend from long ago said he didn’t know whether to laugh knowingly or be “horrified” when he Googled me.  Would that be his reaction?

 

What would a person who knew me in San Francisco think they’d find almost thirty years later? The same level of sarcasm? Photos of my feet with a beach background and an umbrella drink? Blog posts with tips on the best methods (over or underhand) of winging ashtrays at spouses and party guests? And while I’m in a questioning mood, HOW did he find me and WHY? Was he reading sobriety blogs? Or worse, does he have some unrequited, romantic attachment to me?

 

It takes a lot of chard to be called “Bucket of Wine Marilyn” by an understated Englishman. And I didn’t even consider myself an alcoholic then. I was a Senior VP of Sales and Marketing for a litigation support company, rock hard from thrice weekly “step aerobics” and an after work and weekend drinker. But I was going through an angry phase and I did throw heavy objects at my newly wed husband (who was also English, and those cats always find each other and stick together like treacle…). And, when I think about it, I did drink a lot

 

Cha Cha Cha Changes…

To quote another Englishman, “Ch-ch-changes. Just gonna have to be a different man. Time may change me. But I can’t trace time…” The fact is, I’ve changed. Fundamentally and forever I am a different woman. And although there is no going back, I don’t mind looking back. There were some good times in San Francisco, and some good times with this man.

 

It’s just that I’ve told the story more than a few times now… and it doesn’t get any easier in the telling…

******

Oh, and I’m not married to the Englishman anymore. Drinking was a factor… In case you didn’t see this, my newest for Sanford House :

 

Yes Brad, I feel your pain…

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In a spate of recent articles, actor Brad Pitt has blamed his alcohol use for the demise of his marriage to Angelina Jolie. It seems there was an incident on a private plane, when Brad was inappropriately rough with one of his children. I can relate to what I imagine took place. A drink […]

Today I’m not drinking because someone might see it on social media…

How come you’re not drinking?

 

 

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