The honesty in wine.

You inspire me to write a very honest post how everything is very bleh this week and how only wine can make it better. This is what I tweeted to fellow blogger Keri yesterday. She recently wrote an amazing post about what happened to blogs being more about personal experiences than about brand marketing. I couldn’t agree more with her. As much as I sometimes envy those who get invited to shiny PR events and have more ad banners than text on their blogs, this post confirmed for me that becoming one of them really shouldn’t be a priority. Writing should be. Telling you stuff. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing to make you cringe on my behalf and have a laugh.

But after writing the tweet I reconsidered, because in the end this is not a diary and I don’t want it to become a place where I offload ALL my emotional trash. I told Keri I would leave it with a tweet, but she insisted. And I reconsidered again. After all I cannot complain about bloggers not being more personal and not follow suit. So here you go… Everything is very bleh this week and only wine can make it better.  It seems that at certain times in my life the stars come together, magically align, and… fuck it all up. This is one of those times and it is not just me. I know more couples fighting, separating or discovering that yet another soul mate was just another bed mate than happy ones. And not that it makes me any happier if my friends are unhappy, but misery still loves company. Drinking too much wine together with a friend in order to forget is a lot less pathetic than doing it alone in front of Grey’s Anatomy (yup, that would be me!). The universe seems to agree with this theory and thus throws us all together in one miserable bunch at times. And just like living in a house with girlfriends, all getting PMS at once, we forget what is good for us and feed each other alcohol, chocolate, and good reasons why the calories in this case don’t count. They all make for better companions than big girl pants when times are tough.

Sigh.

I give it the weekend. Then I will go the other route of yoga and green juice. Yes, I shall be that girl. The party pooper of the pity party. The one who runs around in the forest instead the liquor shop. In case you will hate me then, my fellow miserable friends, rest assured I will still make my credit card cry. After all shoe shopping is a healthy vice compared. So just know – we will always have Prada.