Kennedy gets her ass kicked by Trevor Robinson of Custom Fit. Photo: David Newkirk
I must say I was really overwhelmed by the response to Sober Sister Part One. The notes of support and confessions of inspiration that Jared’s story sparked were amazing. Thank you!
When we last left off I was embarking on a thirty-day sobriety plan in honor of my besty, Gorgeous Jared. It was a great way to learn which of my friends actually read my column. The ones that asked me (almost with joy) if my club soda was actually vodka and the ones that were confused as to why I wasn’t drinking. BUSTED ASSHOLES! All in all there are a lot of folks in SLC that monitor my party habits. Mind your own beeswax, bitches!
You’re all dying to know how it went, aren’t you? I fucked up three times. The second day of it I went to a birthday party at a swanky joint with an open bar, I mean really, what’s a girl suppose to do? Then there was an awards ceremony for Dance Evolution where I won best costume of the year with my compound FLDS child bride persona Viola Ated of the Ated Clan and finally, my gurlfriend Jo-Jo Bean’s birthday. So I’ve decided to limit my hardcore ways to award ceremonies and birthdays. With 1800 friends on Facebook (Princepessa Kennedy) I figure I should be able to go balls-to-the-wall every day.
Reading my last column after publication, I kind of felt like a douchebag. It seemed a little to me that I was gloating at how “perfect I was” or “look at how easily I can put down the bottle.” I get that I don’t struggle the same way others do who have an alcohol addiction. I wasn’t trying to point out others’ flaws while, yet again, proving how incredibly fierce I am. I will never know what it’s like to struggle day to day, powerless to the draw. I also didn’t experience the guilt that would have come with the three times falling off the wagon, but it’s fair to say that I learned a bunch and milestones were reaccomplished. For one, I spent a sober five days in San Fran, which has never happed, even in the 12 years I lived there. I saved a ton of money, sort of—I just spent it on other addictions like fancy dining experiences and shoes (I got the most incredible Dolce and Gabana fur-trimmed stiletto booties). It wasn’t easy going to the bar and hanging out, but the most important thing I learned is, SURPRISE, I am in some sort of control of my life. I learned that I don’t need to drink every time I go out. Four hours of sleep is way more functional than four hours of alcohol-induced sleep. I learned I’m a total stoner who doesn’t consider pot a drug and I learned a lot of AA-ers feel the same (I guess sobriety is in the pipe of the beholder). I learned I don’t need coke to shake my groove thang and that sober people hate drunk people, at least for extended amounts of time. I learned how much it sucks for the sober person to have everyone around either apologize for drinking or even worse, try to hide it. They’re drunks, not retards. Love them, support them, don’t make them feel compromised and you’ll realize the common ground of your relationship will always be there, unless of course it was three-day crack binges, then it’s pretty much over. Always remember that it’s their problem to own, it’s needless to point out your issues. Eventually with time and the right people, you’ll be able to find humor in it, because alcoholism isn’t funny, it’s hilarious.
I’ve decided to continue on this path of self-control and really make a concerted effort for change in 2010. I started with transferring salons (I’m a hair burner by day) to the magnificent new Ulysses on State Street above Sparks. It’s this really cool warehouse loft of turn-of-the-century vs. mid-century chic, uber creative and makes me feel like I’ve scored a little piece of the 718 right here in the 801. My next goal is to move out of my house. Those who attended SLUG’s pride party last year probably think I’m crazy cuz I have such an awesome party pad, but alas, it’s too expensive. I’m over the “Old French Whore” feel and decor with too many fucking knick-knacks taking over my surfaces. I watch Hoarders on TV and instantly see my life careening to a guest appearance. I want a modern apartment downtown. Something with cement floors, clean lines, two white chairs, black coffee table and a giant canvas painted red hanging on the wall of my minimalist digs. Finally, I’m making the effort to eat less and go to the gym regularly. I’ve successfully, to this point of my life, managed to keep svelte on a diet and exercise of corn dogs and 40s of Old Milwaukee. I want to starve myself down 20 lbs so I look like Britney Murphy, postmortem. I have an amazing summer planned to reunite with my band PEPPERSPRAY, and I have to look flawless, especially if the rumors of us opening for Beyonce turn out to be true.
I’m going to do my best to follow through although I’ve never been one to keep up with New Year’s resolutions, seeing as how they’re mostly for fat people who work in cubicles. To reward myself for my accomplishments, I’m going to do something the Princess has never done: dye my hair dark brown. That’s how you’ll know I’ve succeeded. See, I’ve just recently found that I am half Italian (long story), once I’ve achieved my target I will fully embrace my newfound culture by living the motto of betterment practiced by countless Dego Wops everywhere—Gym, Tan, Laundry.
Who knows, I might re-succumb to the almighty corn dog and 40 oz., I might not have what it takes to condition myself to become a better person and reach my goals. Eventually, I may even be able to open myself to the idea of sharing this so-called-life with a significant other, but for now I’ll take with me the most prophetic part of my sober sisters’ mottos. One gay at a time Miss Thing, one gay at a time.