Bound to Happen

After 2+ years of pouring my deepest, darkest, most humiliating and hilarious secrets into this blog, the day has arrived.

Mom finally stumbled across it.

Mouth agape by my most recent anecdote, she called me to question my antics and subsequently lecture me about said life choices.  I’m sure half her heart was begging that my vomiting was induced by food poisoning.  (Sorry, Ma, ‘twas the direct result of a weak stomach and large quantities of rum.)

I have to say, I’m relieved.  I know that no amount of wailing and whimpering can convince my Mom that at times, my hyperbole-tinged blogs are meant solely to entertain.  She can assume that I’m a mindless, alcoholic wild child, but I’m far from it.  And, if she was courageous enough to sift through the piles of crap that I blog, she will find that I do have some sensibility and a knack for observation.

I’m aware of how I present myself because of this blog and I’m proud of it.  Even if “it” involves a shameless display of complete dependency after overestimating my alcohol tolerance.

She calmly told me that she didn’t really have a drink until she was in her thirties and pointed out that I’ve just barely nicked nineteen.

But, Ma, you were raised Vietnamese… I’m American through and through.  Underaged drinking is practically written into the Constitution.