"Wine-d" down weekend.

I love wine.


Too much, actually too much.  It started when I was young. My parents, bless their hearts, always gave in to my undying curiosity and would never tell me no when it came to exploring alcohol. The first time I sipped the sweet nectar of the gods I was 13 and it was definitely in January because I had just had quite the escapade (mostly drama to be honest) with my future long-term boyfriend to be. That's another story for another time.

That fateful night my best friend and I stole a bottle from her mom's fridge and chugged it a dilapidated camper behind her house. No fancy college party. No loud music, except for that Eminem song about his daughter on repeat. No sweaty bros bumping their junk on me while I tried to save the sweet liquid from spilling out of a glorious red cup. Nope, my wine hymen was popped in an old camper on a Friday night. I don't even remember if it tasted good. What I do vividly remember is finishing the bottle between two girls in roughly 30 minutes and screaming at my friend that her head was shrinking before my very eyes`. Pandora's box had been opened. Two years later I would be drunk in a hotel in Paris, exclaiming to poor passer-bys on the street that I was a fifteen year old American who loved wine. Particularly French wine because, you know, we were in fucking France. Wine that we sneaked(ish) back into our room. You know, because we were fifteen and we fucking could.

Fast forward another two years and I am black out drunk puking on a friend's bed compliments of Mad Dog. A lesson I believe every college kid should learn. Hell, a rite of passage even. Later in life, which of course means Junior and Senior year of college, I would proclaim that Chuck (Charles Shaw of course) was /undoubtedly my best friend. I attribute many of my papers in college to late night wine parties that ultimately made me feel fancy and creative. I could write up there among the greats of our time. And I was damn good at it. Philosophical too. Had I discovered new chambers of my brain because I had sipped that gorgeous purple liquid straight from the bottle?! Where exactly had these words been coming from?

 In reality I was making no sense and most of my papers looked something along the lines of:

                    FANCY FUCKING TITLE BECAUSE WINE MAKES JESSIE HAS                                                                                               SMART
     Schmee schmee schmee schmee, which is characterized by the quotations of said author (Pg I didn't even fucking read the book.). In retrospect, his remarks come off as condenshkdlfsklds sjkldsjklfdsl jfdvcmsdngirsogfnfkd

This continued on until the world limit was met. I'd pat myself on the back and wake up with one hell of a hang over. Then I would proceed to question my life decisions until I could go eat the greasiest and most caloric garbage the cafeteria offered.

Wine and I have had our ups and downs throughout the years. I jokingly tell my parents that I am a connoisseur of wines that are below $10. In fact, I feel fancy if I spend over $13 for a bottle of wine. My big girl pants have just been put on, I say.

Essentially, Wine and Jessie are besties.

Because I am such a grown-up

This weekend I hit the proverbial brick wall of grownupness. I don't know how I am supposed to get by this.

 My husband I decided to visit Portland for a quick weekend away. And to try and get some ducks in a line regarding our immanent future. Which of course amounted to a lot of talking, seriously of course, and not much doing.

To be honest, I don't know what I am doing next year. I have an ultimate dream to one day work as a Medical Examiner. Yes, I am fascinated with death. This is a direct consequence from spending my summer in the Philippines pulling extremely old things from the earth.


So now,
where do I go?

Tuck, open ya damn eyes.