I have never been much of a drinker. In fact, I never liked the taste of beer until recently (and not many of them or very often) and definitely not coffee (until I went out in the field with the military and then found Starbuck's).

I was very athletic up until a few years ago, a vegetarian for years and used to be a marathon runner (hard to believe now). Shoot! I don't know where the girdle line ends and the pantyhose begin now. Just kidding.

Anyway, lately I have found that because I am often in severe pain from past military injuries, a glass of wine helps my muscles to relax, therefore easing the pain and muscle spasms. I am in no way an alcoholic, nor do I drink every day. In fact, by most people's standards, I'm probaby a virgin. But, I must admit, I like to occasionally drink with my clients to get relaxed (but never drunk and never out of control). I am from the wine country and grew up very Irish/Italian. I have many different types of nationalities in my family so for me prejudice was not an issue or even a part of my vocabulary (thank goodness). As a young lady, I was very shy and insecure around men, although I developed quite a sense of humor and comedic timing (which has come in handy for the different artistic genres I participate in now). However, the shyness grew into reserveness when needed and also into a more confident woman. I have traveled a lot -- on my own since my early twenties -- and I truly loved the carefree lifestyle I had as a surfer girl and beach bum. I lived on some of the most beautiful beaches of southern California, northern California, in Europe and in the Mediterranean. Living in Europe also gave me the confidence to be comfortable in my own then-skinny, but toned and tanned body, as well as sample some of the delicacies of apperitifs. Sure, I partied with the best of them in Mexico with shots of Tequila, but I never really liked the taste of alcohol until I developed a taste for red wines. We were given very little as kids by my crazy Sicilian uncle who would sneek us juice glasses of the stuff, but I would only take a few sips.  However, now:  Ooh la la! So . . . to make a long story from getting longer, let's just say I drink moderately. Sometimes I won't have a drink for two weeks and sometimes I just want to go out dancing, drink shots of Petron Silver or Jagermeister and dance with my buddies (then take a taxi home). But even during those rare occasions, I can count on one hand that I might have embarrassed myself or stumbled out the door.

The moral of this story:  Think and reason what your body can consume, depending on individual health risks, if you're raising a family (which I'm not, except my kitty baby) and the ramifications on them, and know your limits. Hopefully, you will also know your designated driver.

Your body will tell you if your digestive tract is off and needs cleansing. Life is much too short, so attempt to worship your body with a somewhat healthy approach to diet and nutrition, but don't go to the grave looking like you've never had any fun. I want to be buried (or cremeted) with the biggest smile on my face and have my dad's family do their Native-American songs and dance. Then I want everyone on my Irish side of the family to put the rowdy music on and rejoice that I'm gone to a better place, because I will have the last laugh:  watching everyone else wake up with hangovers.

Just my .02 cents.

Come on . . . I dare you to share some of your comedic or horror stories of drunken fallouts.

Love & hugs,
The silly Ciara


-- Modified on 8/26/2007 10:21:51 PM

-- Modified on 8/26/2007 10:25:29 PM