 I don’t drink anymore.
In November, it will be three years since the last drop of Shiraz passed my lips. Or Pinot Grigio, for that matter. Red or white, I wasn’t picky toward the end. As long as it was 12 bucks or less and came in a 1.5 liter bottle, I was all good. When people ask me why I quit, it depends on who’s asking as to how I respond. Professional acquaintances get the most diluted, simple explanation: “It became a problem, so I stopped.”
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 My BFF pointed out to me recently that I don’t know how to date like a normal person. See, I’m finally starting to re-engage with the world after the breakup of my marriage earlier this year, so I’ve started to furtively peek over the edge of the singles scene again, kind of like a suburban prairie dog … or something. Anyway, I recently mentioned something about a certain fella to my friend, and she promptly laughed at me. “Uh huh. You don’t know how to just date a guy,” she said.
“Now wait just a second…” I retorted, then reconsidered. “No. You’re right. I am totally clueless.”  If I had to name a precious gift in my life today, one of them would be my relationship with my best friend, Whitney. We met about 10 years ago, hit it off pretty much immediately, and now I cannot picture my life without her in it. I have shown this woman my ass on more than one occasion, both literally and metaphorically, and yet she still takes my calls.
We have laughed hysterically, gossiped, yelled, argued and made up, sometimes all in the same day. We are excellent road trip companions, especially during a once-a-year jaunt to the mountains of Eastern Kentucky. We have held onto each other through breakups. We stood by each other at our weddings (and not just the ceremonies; all the planning and associated crap that led up to them). She put up with me during my “angry Amy” years. I supported her during her “can’t date a man who actually lives in the same city” phase. We have seen each other ugly cry. More than once. The basic tenets of the Amy Reinvention and Reconstruction Project of 2012 are:
1. Get off my ass and exercise. Finally get the ol’ body healthy. 2. Explore what makes me happy. Find my bliss. In work, in life, in everything. 3. Put myself first. Stop trying to take care of everyone else. Let them figure it out. 4. Stop limiting myself. Let go. Have faith. 5. Stop isolating. Be more social.  I spent a pleasant afternoon running errands with my mom yesterday, and one of our stops was Feeders Supply. Mom and I both have dogs. Hers is a 6-year-old Japanese Chin. Bridget is a pushy little bitch, but that’s true of any alpha female, canine or otherwise. She is sweet and sassy, and my mom is really attached to her.
I think she would say the same thing about me, but I digress. Anyhoo, I have two very spoiled little pups, Charlie and Sam, aka Sammi Sue (see photo at left). They have the same mom and dad but came from different litters, two years apart. Their breed is what I call a fancy mix, because it’s trendy though not yet recognized by the AKC. As “Teddy Bears,” they have Shih Tzu and Bichon Frise in them. I am willing to bet they have terrier or something else in there, too. All I know for certain is that they are damn cute. A major component of the Amy Reinvention and Reconstruction Project of 2012 is getting myself healthy. Well, healthier, anyway. Prior to embarking on the ARRP, I smoked a pack a day and ate all kinds of fried food, sugar, salt and general crap. I sat on my behind at every opportunity and ran only when chased. Only by the grace of God and good genetics was I not an overweight sloth with high blood pressure and hypertension.
In June, after the dust had settled from the breakup of my marriage (more on that later), and with my 40th birthday looming (July 31, to be exact), I looked in the mirror and thought, “Girl, you have really got to get your shit together.” I had lost a lot of weight because of the stress of that long and painful breakup, and I had zero energy. I looked scrawny, pasty and pitiful. And frankly, it pissed me off. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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