LOL Sober

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I took my family to a small-town carnival this past weekend. You know the kind—they travel from town to town in the spring and summer, and it’s 10 rides, 300 food stands, a bunch of game booths to donate money to the carnival owner and then random gyms and churches and bicycling clubs from the area that are trying to drum up business.

I’ve grown to not like going to those things very much because it costs pretty much the same amount of time, effort and money as going to an actual good theme park. But when I was back in active addiction, I absolutely loved these things. They were perfect places to go and get blasted as the kids were entertained. I would usually have some dried goods in me already—that’s DRUGS for the amateurs out there—and then I would just crush beers all evening. My wife would drive us home so I didn’t have to worry about that. She would give me a side eye once in a while. But for the most part… it was summer, everybody would end up overheated and tired, so my drunkenness often slid under the radar.

Until one especially hot night in New Jersey. New Jersey is a wild state because the old joke is so true about one person saying they used to live in New Jersey, and someone would respond, “Oh yeah? What exit?” It’s 10 million towns, one mile apart from each other on the Garden State Parkway, and those carnivals would just inch their way down the state. My last summer of active addiction, I feel like we went to the same town carnival every weekend for three months in a row, just one exit south on the Parkway each time.

Well, on that night, my oldest daughter was almost 3 years old and she wanted to get on the kiddie Ferris wheel. All of the rides at these carnivals seem like they might go up in flames at any moment. But this one seemed especially rickety. She wanted to get on it, though, and what did I care? I was so obliterated that I could barely function.

So she got on and the thing was just wobbling and stopping and starting in a way that my eyes began to pop out of my head a little bit. And my daughter was stuck at the top for a good 30 seconds, yelling that she wanted to get off as the guy loaded kids into other cars. I know he heard her so I just patiently waited for him to bring the wheel all the way around and let her off—she clearly didn’t want to ride it.

To my dismay, the guy got every car loaded up and then just let ‘er rip. My daughter started crying and making eye contact with me to get her off. I said something to the guy operating it, who had way more tattoos and piercings than teeth, and he said, “Once the ride is going, I have to let it go.”

I said, “Really? Couldn’t you just stop it once and let her off? She’s terrified.”

He shrugged his shoulders and indicated no.

I made eye contact one more time, and my daughter was getting really upset. So I went over to this dude and yelled, “Hey! Carnie! Get her off the goddamn ride NOW!”

I’m a pretty calm person these days, and I have rarely raised my voice in the past 14-plus years of sobriety, and I certainly avoid screaming insulting things at people as much as humanly possible. But back in the day… I could dial up a pretty good fastball. And once I had a bunch of drugs and alcohol in me? Forget it, I was willing to fight anybody.

To this guy’s credit, once I yelled at him, he stopped the ride and let her off. But as she was slowly getting off, I could hear him on a walkie-talkie saying he had a problem, that a guy at the Ferris wheel was getting violent with him. “Send over some of the guys,” he said.

At that point, I came to the realization that these guys were going to easily rough me up and throw me in the dumpster where they lined up to smoke Pall Malls after hours. So I wanted to get the hell out of there. But my daughter was scuffling. She was still a little woozy and teary-eyed from the experience, so she was not moving fast. I watched as a pack of five or six other carnies—sorry, carnival specialists—rolled up to the Ferris wheel and put their heads together with the guy I had yelled at.

He spoke for a few seconds and I watched as their heads slowly turned to find where I was at. These dudes were scrappers, too, so they didn’t look like they wanted to have a calm conversation. I managed to contort myself a bit so I was closer to my daughter’s level and we sort of sank into the crowd. I saw the guy craning his neck and gawking to see if he could spot me. But his carnie buddies all went wandering out into the pack of dozens of other parents, and they seemed lost.

I had managed to evade the carnie crew. I found my wife and told her my daughter had just had a terrible experience, and it was hot, and maybe we should head for the car. I was sweating so bad that I thought I might puke—I usually had a toxic mix of pills and booze in me, and now I was about to get the ever-loving s**t kicked out of me by a carnie mob. I was a mess, and my wife could sense it.

We got out of there, and to this day my wife has no idea about my little skirmish. It was mayhem that night, though, which is a good reminder of how difficult it must have been to be a partner to me during this time. My life was chaotic every single time I stepped out of the house, and I guess most people just got used to it.

The moral of this story is… don’t drink and do drugs like I used to, for one. Also, don’t mix those things and go to a town carnival with your kids. And last but not least, definitely don’t get in the face of a carnival worker and call him a carnie.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

A DRUNK WALKS INTO A TRAVEL AGENCY, goes up to the desk, and says, "I'd like a round-trip ticket, please."

"Where to?" the agent asks.

The drunk explains: "Why, back here, naturally."

(Credit: AA Grapevine, January 2004, by Alexander B.)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

On Easter, I went to a kids egg hunt that got a little bit awkward. The mom who arranged it had said the party would start at 10 am, and the egg hunt would be at around 10:45.

I got there right at 10, and most of the other people who’d been invited were there by 10:30 or so. The kids were getting pretty rowdy prowling around the backyard as they looked—but couldn’t touch—around 200 eggs. And at about 10:40, the mom who had arranged the party announced that the egg hunt was about to begin. The kids all lined up, and she yelled, “Go!”

If you’ve ever held any sort of egg hunt, you know that it takes an hour to prepare and 14 seconds to happen. The kids swarmed the backyard and within two minutes, the whole thing was over. At about 10:44, a mom walked in with her son and found that the egg hunt had already happened. They were devastated. I felt really bad for them, and I felt really bad for the mom who had busted her ass to organize the whole thing.

The mom who organized it was mortified—I’ll call her Heather (not her real name). She apologized profusely to the other mom (I’ll call her Mary), and scrambled to grab some of the eggs and candy and give it to the kid. The awkward part was the exchange between these two moms, who were both heartbroken that one of the kids had missed out.

Heather said, “I am so, so sorry. I should have waited a few more minutes.”

Mary said, “Yeah, you had said the egg hunt was 10:45.”

Heather said, “Oh no, did I?”

Mary said, “Yep, that’s what you said. I have it right here.” And she held up the text as evidence.

Heather looked even more devastated. “I’m so sorry. I had meant that as an estimate. I should have probably waited.”

And Mary said, “Well, I did say I was coming, so I wish you would have waited for all of your guests to arrive.”

When the whole thing had begun to unravel, I felt like I had one foot on each side. I understood why the organizing mom had gotten the egg hunt started a few minutes earlier than originally intended. I also had thought of 10:45 as an estimate, not an official start time.

And I saw the faces of the mom and the kid when they arrived, and that was a gut punch. I felt for both of them.

But then I swung toward Heather, the mom who organized the whole thing. I get being bummed out, but I thought Mary had started to really pour on the disappointment sauce. Want to mention once that you thought she had said 10:45? Sure, fine, I wouldn’t do it, but go for it. But to go back to that well over and over again? That felt like unnecessary roughness to me.

And this is just my two cents here, but I think when you get invited to a two-hour party with a big event in the middle, I actually think it’s a little rude to just show up for the big event. Imagine if you invited your friends over at 6 for your birthday party, and somebody asked to just come and eat the cake and then leave.

I’m talking about this on my sober newsletter because I noticed a very distinct change in my behavior throughout the exchange. It was extremely awkward the entire time. All the parents were staring at their feet or uncomfortably wandering around during the conversation between Heather and Mary, and a few tried to jump in and make everything okay one way or another. I just stayed out of it. I know that probably sounds bad, like I was a weak bystander, but it’s more like minding my own business and overcoming a character defect.

The character defect is that I have a serious issue with people pleasing. I need people to like me. I need people to like you. I need people to like both of us. I need all people to like all people. And I absolutely cannot watch as two people don’t like each other in front of me—I need to jump in and save the day.

That might not sound like such a bad thing, but it is a recipe for failure in life. People pleasing means I go outside of boundaries to try to make everybody and everything okay, and that doesn’t work. It took me a long time, but the longer I have been sober the more I realize I am never going to have a 100 percent approval rating. So I need to do the next right thing, even if somebody ends up not liking me.

It also means I don’t constantly try to play peacemaker in random situations. I used to do that all the time, and it inevitably ended badly. I’d try to moderate the situation, or jump in with some funny comments to try to make everybody smile and maybe that would end it. I’d always end up involved in an inappropriate way, and I’d end up with some pain in a situation that didn’t have anything to do with me. You can’t really solve other peoples’ issues for them.

And by random situations, I don’t mean ignoring two of your kids fighting in the living room or seeing somebody assault a server at a restaurant. In those cases, I think you have an obligation to intervene. But if I see two people arguing at the grocery store, or an email exchange where two people are bickering, or an egg hunt timing dispute, if I am not involved, I’m probably better off not diving in to try to make it all better. If I were to be asked to step in, I probably would. But in this case, nobody asked me to make it all better. I have to sit back and trust the universe.

So I didn’t get involved and I stayed out of it. Heather apologized profusely and just stopped engaging in the argument, and the universe did indeed step in. The other kids had begun to notice that one fo their friends had missed the egg hunt. So the kids started coming over, one by one, unprompted by any of the adults, and they gave the late kid some eggs they had found. Over the course of 15 minutes, I watched this kid’s basket fill up more and more and more, and by the end, he had more eggs than anybody else.

That’s when I stepped in and took some eggs for myself… just kidding. The moral of the story—if there is one?—is that people pleasing at Easter egg hunts is bad. And also, show up when a party starts, not just for the goodies.

Or some s**t like that.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

HEARD AT MEETINGS

"Drunk is feeling sophisticated when you can't even say it."

(Credit: AA Grapevine, December 2003, by Anonymous)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

I saw a tweet from the New York Times the other day quoting a study that had been done on apes. Turns out, apes have this curious habit of hanging on tree branches and then swinging around and around till they are dizzy. The study said the apes on average spun about 1.5 revolutions per second, and they’d do it for 10-plus seconds and get deliriously dizzy.

When scientists studied this phenomenon, they came to a surpising answer to why apes did this. It’s that … they think apes just like the buzz of being dizzy.

My first thought was, welcome to the club, guys! I feel you! There are quite a few of us humans who love the buzz, and some of us who love it way too much and it ruins our lives. My one suggestion would be to do your spinning in moderation.

My second thought was slightly more serious, which is that maybe all species, from humans to apes and everything in between have the urge to find that feeling. I’m picturing grasshoppers and spotted owls and chinchillas just out there having tough weeks and spinning their asses off to unplug for the weekend.

My third thought was, in all honesty, a bummer. I can’t do stuff like that any more, and I think about that sometimes. I think about how I haven’t had any moments in many, many years where I could just do something or take something and have it wash over me and I forget about the world. That’s a daunting thought, isn’t it?

But here’s the positive to it. First of all, I can’t do that once a week or once a month. I do it every day, and it stops working in the way I described, as an occasional outlet.

Secondly, there’s something about never drinking or drugging away the world that is a really awesome achievement. I’m proud that I used to try to run from every problem in the world every single day, and now I run from nothing. I stand my ground, even when the ground is bumpy.

And I will say that I had a period of time, in a galaxy far far away from now, when I did drink moderately. And I would sometimes have a rough week and go to the bar and unwind. It was quite fun, actually. But even if I could sign up for that again, now that I have a fuller vision of that time in my life, I know that I’d choose my current life any day of the week. I didn’t grow at all during that time period. I didn’t power through anything in a way where I could do it again in the future. I didn’t learn anything. I was kind of just muddling along.

And that’s my ultimate takeaway on what is a pretty goofy story about apes spinning. I don’t want to muddle along. Yes, I have moments where I see guys drinking beer and watching football at Buffalo Wild Wings and think, Geez, that would be great. But I don’t want that any more. Muddling along means I punt all of my problems from today into tomorrow, and then I probably punt again tomorrow.

I did have one more thought about the apes as I finished up this one. I want to know if there are any apes like me, who learn how to spin and then start spinning too much on the weekends at first but then every night… and then during the day every day, and then eventually the elder apes get together and put him in spinning ape rehab. But the rehab works, so the ape gets a spin sponsor—a spinsor, you might call it—and he’s able to avoid spinning for a long period of time, one day at a time. Maybe on his anniversary they even give him an engraved banana to commemorate one year of spin-free living…

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

A TRUE STORY

A newcomer and his sponsor are driving to a meeting when the sponsor stops and points to a sign in the window of a liquor store. "Good Buys!" the ad promises.

"You know what that means?" asks the sponsor. "It means, 'Good-bye job'. . . 'Good-bye car'. . . 'Good-bye health.' "

(Credit: AA Grapevine, December 2003, by John W. of Tucson, Arizona)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

I specifically remember the first time I heard the Seven Deadly Sins mentioned in sober literature because I groaned out loud. I didn’t love having something so specifically attached to religion included in a program that is supposed to be spiritual, not religious. And for someone like me, that’s bad—I came into the program ready to argue about that kind of thing because I wanted sobriety, not a religious conversion. So I was on the lookout for anything that might be a little too religiousy.

I got over that pretty quick because I had wise people who explained that you don’t have to be religious. You can pick whatever higher power you want, and then you can change it every month if you want. You can go to church… or not. Your call.

And as far as the Seven Deadly Sins are involved, it turns out, I’ve grown to like them because it’s a pretty good list of seven things I really need to watch for!

As a reminder, the Seven Deadly Sins are pride, anger, greed, gluttony, lust, envy and sloth. I only remember them because I have a sober friend who always uses the acronym PAGGLES as a handy way to recall them.

I am talking about this today because I was at a meeting recently where we discussed the Seven Deadly Sins in an interesting way. Someone started the meeting by saying they like the list but they don’t like the framing of “the seven deadly” sins because it’s so dark and foreboding. She also said that the reason we have a list of these seven things is because they are in all of us. As in, they are natural human instincts that even the most spiritually healthy people in the history of the world have dealt with. Gandhi had envy and greed. Mother Theresa must have felt sloth and gluttony from time to time.

So her point was, she didn’t like these things that are absolutely naturally within all of us to be characterized as terrible and deadly. If that were the case, why did our higher powers put them in there?

That really struck me, and then my head exploded a little more when another guy started explaining how each of the seven deadly sins actually can be viewed pretty positively if you have them in the right doses. Key phrase: in the right doses.

He started talking about each one of the seven, and he described scenarios where you can make the case that they are wonderful things. For instance…

With pride, I have pride in my recovery. I take pride in brushing my teeth and washing my clothes. I work hard in my professional life and take pride in some of that work. I definitely take pride in helping others try to get sober.

Anger is an emotion that is pretty much always bad. But if you sub in a synonym for anger like displeasure or exasperation, there are scenarios where a micro dose of displeasure or exasperation might be a good motivating emotion. For example, let’s say your town’s mayor stole the entire budget to buy himself a yacht and a mansion. Or that a company overcharged senior citizens for their medications and you lead a petition to make them make things right.

Greed is also a tough one. But if you run a small business that’s competing against Walmart in the town you live in, and you do really well and Walmart shuts down business in that town, that could technically be characterized as greed. Same with lots of other business scenarios where one person might see greed and others might see successful capitalism. I’ll admit, figuring out good greed isn’t my favorite activity. So it might be less “good greed” and more “greed that isn’t horrible.”

Gluttony and sloth could be you saving up money all year to go on vacation for a week, and then just sleeping in every morning, laying around on the beach all day and enjoying ridiculous amounts of food all night.

Envy is mostly bad, but in recovery we always say, “Find people who have what you want,” which I consider a positive kind of envy. I love meeting sober people who possess some character asset that I don’t, and then trying to learn it from them. Deep down, that’s pretty much envy, right?

Last but not least… lust. I won’t get too deep in the weeds on that one because nobody really wants to hear me riff too much on lust. I actually looked up the definition of lust and it’s pretty interesting: Lust can mean intense sexual desire, or an intense longing, or enthusiasm/eagerness.

The intense sexual desire thing can be very bad, for sure. But we’re also human beings with a natural inclination to procreate. So a certain amount of lust is supposed to happen, right?

And then for the other two definitions, I was struck by the example sentences included in the definition.

“A lust to succeed.”

“We admired his lust for life.”

OK, a lust to succeed can be pretty good in certain circumstances. I think most newcomers trying to stop drinking vodka all day and night probably would want a lust to succeed. I think a lust to succeed in your job isn’t necessarily bad.

And I think I want a lust for life, don’t I? In that context, lust seems like the ultimate compliment! I got sober because I wanted to find a lust for life again, and I mostly have. So that’s a good thing in my opinion!

With all of that in mind, maybe we need to hire a brand manager or a marketing expert to repackage the seven deadly sins…

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

How many sponsors does it take to change a light bulb?

One—as long as the light bulb is willing to change.

(Credit: AA Grapevine, December 2003, Carlos S. of Alamos, Sonora)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

I love the TV show Succession. I think it is the best TV show ever made. I find it to be wildly entertaining and brilliantly written. It is both hilarious and has devastating emotional gut punches. It has plot and also introspection. It has it all, in my humble opinion.

But there are two big reasons why I think it is No. 1 among all shows ever made. One is that I find the show to be the perfect window into life on Earth in 2023. It’s a show full of entitled buffoons who were born on third base and yet have no understanding of that. They somehow manage to fumble and bumble around, impacting countless millions of people with their ridiculous, vain decisions of how to use their fame and fortune. They aren’t 1 percenters; they’re .00001 percenters that influence the fate of humanity, and it makes you shudder at how many people in our real lives are as empty as these suits we see on Succession. I really think it is the kind of show that people in 2123 will be able to watch and understand what the world was actually like 100 years earlier.

The second reason why I think it is the best show ever is how relatable the main characters are. You’re probably saying, “Wait, I thought you said these were billionaire trust fund bozos who are ruining the world?” They are. But they’re also people who want others to tell them they are loved and appreciated, that they are smart and worthy. They’re people who think if they had more money, or more power, maybe then they’d feel complete. They’re empty inside, trying to fill up on various things that would never actually fill them up, anyway. Put aside being the billionaire thing for a second. Can’t most of us relate to that concept?

I know I can. I often say my drinking and drugging was to make me feel either awesome or at least numb, and that’s true. But it’s probably more the numb part. Toward the end, I could never get high or drunk enough to ever feel good about myself. So I just wanted to feel nothing. And when I think about why I wanted to feel nothing, it’s because I couldn’t cope with life. I couldn’t cope with having ideas about what would make me happy—money, professional success, romantic success, a nice house, good looks, and so on—and then the harsh reality. Which was, some of these things didn’t happen (wealth and professional success, for one) and that made me angry and sad. And some of these things did happen (romance, for instance) and I realized, “Oh no, I got exactly what I wanted and it still wasn’t enough.”

Because that’s the thing: Most of the stuff I’ve ever really, really, really wanted… I got most of it, and it wasn’t enough. The Roy kids in Succession were flopping and flailing and trying to broker massive mergers and big-time backstabbing power plays, and they already had billions of dollars and more influence on the world than pretty much every living person. It didn’t matter.

I won’t spoil the end of the show, which concluded on Sunday night. But I found it to be a masterpiece of storytelling, and I also found it to be a valuable life lesson again about the idea of what I want and what I need. What do I really want? What do I really need? The answers are not easy, and they change every day, sometimes hour to hour.

I will say that I know the most important answer to those questions of what I want and what I need is… I don’t know. Certainty is my enemy in those situations. So I try to remember that the world is uncertain, and so am I. I gotta turn it over to a higher power and be patient as I think through whether certain stuff will truly, honestly make me happy. So now I have a life where I have lots of options as I try to reach decisions. I can pray. I can call some sober friends. Or I could throw on some reruns of Succession.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

IN NEED OF MONEY FOR HIS NEXT BREW, the town drunk decides to hire himself out as a handy-man and starts canvassing a well-to-do neighborhood. He goes up to the front door of the first house and asks the owner whether she has any jobs for him to do.

"Well, I guess I could use somebody to paint my porch," says the owner. "How much do you charge?"

"How about fifty dollars?" the drunk replies.

The woman agrees and explains that the paint is in the garage. But when she goes inside, her husband, who's overheard the conversation, says, "Does he realize that our porch goes all the way around the house?"

"That's a bit cynical, isn't it?" says the wife.

"You're right," the husband admits. "I guess I am being too cynical. He can probably handle it."

A short time later, the drunk comes to the door to collect his money. "You're finished already?" the owner of the house asks.

"Yes," says the drunk, "and I had paint left over, so I gave it two coats."

Impressed, the woman gets her wallet and pays the drunk his fifty dollars.

"And by the way," the drunk adds, "it's not a Porch; it's a Lexus."

(Credit: AA Grapevine, by Linda S. of Bonita Springs, Florida, December 2003)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

There aren’t a lot of pictures of me, and that is purposeful. It’s not because I think I’m ugly. I’m obviously extremely good-looking and dress well and am very, very humble. It’s just not something I do much of, for whatever reason.

So I was a little surprised and confused when my wife showed me a pretty amazing photo of me in New York City, standing in front of the Empire State Building, holding one of my kids when she was only about a 1 year old.

At first, I didn’t even realize which of my three kids I was holding because I was distracted. The kid I was holding was bundled up like we were looking for polar bears in Antarctica, and I was in a fleece with no hat, no gloves, nothing. In the background, everybody else looked like they were in Antarctica, too.

That’s when I realized that this was a photo of me, holding my first daughter, in 2007 or 2008, which means this was me high. I don’t remember that exact moment, but I had a lot of times where I did the exact same thing on a weekend day. So I can almost guarantee this photo came in the middle of this scenario:

On Friday, I probably was absolutely exhausted and hung over and vowing to quit drugs and alcohol forever because I’d most likely concluded another week of sneaking around, overdosing, doctor-shopping for opioids, lying and cheating and stealing to keep up the facade. As I limped to the finish line on Friday afternoons, I often would be so worn down and spiritually broken that I would vow I needed to take the weekend off. “No drugs or alcohol for a few days!” I would proclaim.

Then I would leave my stash of painkillers in my desk drawer for Monday. I lived in New Jersey and worked in Manhattan, so I would never ever become so overwhelmed with the urge to drive or ride 90 minutes back into midtown Manhattan just to get my drug stash. Right?!?!?!

Then I would do it every single time. Not once in a while. Every time. It’d get to Saturday, at around lunch time, and I would start agitating to go into the city. Sometimes I would say I forgot something in the office that I desperately needed—that was not the truth, but also not quite a lie because I was a raging drug addict at that point.

Or, I would make the case that the whole family should ride into New York City to do x, y and z. I would always come up with an enticing plan to get her interested and eat up an afternoon entertaining the kids.

And we’d always go. I was relentless. I wouldn’t say it, but the actual conversation happening was, “I’m leaving for six hours. You can come along or not. Up to you.”

That photo captured me on one of those days. I have a dopey, distant look in my eyes, and my smile is hollowed out. I can tell that I am very high and feel pathetic in the picture, yet I am trying to project a smile to cover up all of that despair.

My pants are hanging off my body—I look like Tom Hanks at the end of Big when he is wearing an adult suit but has reverted back to a kid’s body. And that fleece on what was probably a 20 degree day? I used to take 10-15 painkillers at a time, then wait an hour or two and take 10-15 more. So I probably had about 30 painkillers in me at the time, and I would usually have two physical reactions on a regular basis: I would itch a lot, and I would get so hot I didn’t even need a jacket in winter. I would be boiling hot, itching and trying to not throw up from all the opioids in my body. Sounds like a delightful Saturday afternoon with your family, huh?

The good news is, I don’t have pictures like that any more. I don’t have many pictures, period. But the ones I do, I am not itching my ass off, and I am not the only person in shorts and a T-shirt as a blizzard happens in the background. For that, I am grateful today.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

HEARD AT MEETINGS:

“Walking around drunk is like walking around with your fly open. Everyone sees it except you.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, November 2003, Mark C.)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

Man, I did something really stupid this week. Don’t worry, it’s not catastrophic. It’s just a silly—but preventable—dipshit mistake.

Before I get to that, let me again bring up my favorite passage from Drop the Rock. In case you’re unfamiliar, Drop the Rock is a recovery book written by sober alcoholics but it is not official sobriety literature. The book deals with the Sixth and Seventh Steps, which are all about how to work through character defects that either keep you from getting sober or keep you from living your best sober life.

My favorite passage is a short story from someone who says she had her sponsor over to her house once, and her sponsor said something to her about what a mess her house was. I think in the story the woman questions her sponsor about why a messy house would be important to her sobriety, and her sponsor lays out how it usually takes a pretty clean lifestyle to get sober and stay sober.

I always connected with that because I am kind of a slob. Not a slob in the “I haven’t brushed my teeth or taken a shower this month” kind of way. More like, my car’s a mess. My room is a mess. My refrigerator is a mess. My schedule is a mess. I can’t find paperwork I need because it’s buried under paperwork I don’t need. That kind of sloppy lifestyle.

I often chalk it to being a messy, creative person, that I need to be someone who is a free spirit and isn’t confined by calendar invites and Google docs and on and on.

That’s b******t. I just get lazy sometimes, and that brings to this week’s edition of “Maybe I ought to get my s**t together a little better.”

I had a work trip scheduled for Monday. My wife and I coordinated to get every kid everywhere they needed to get to while I was gone, and since that day was our wedding anniversary, we celebrated it the night before.

On Monday, I packed a bag, said goodbye to the kids and drove a half hour to the airport. I drove all around the parking deck before I finally found a spot. I parked. I lugged all my stuff into the airport. And when I tried to get my boarding passes, the screen said, “We appreciate you checking in. But you’re TOO early.” Turns out, my flight is Tuesday.

I. Felt. Like. A. Real. A*****e. How do you butcher that?!?!?! I sat down for about 10 minutes and just shook my head and laughed. Nobody got hurt. Nobody really got inconvenienced too bad. So it’s funny… but it kind of isn’t.

I have been getting a little fast and loose being a responsible adult the past few weeks. I could come up with some reasons and excuses, and there’s probably some truth to having a busy family life and a full-time job might cause some planning mistakes. But I’d be lying to myself, and I would be tempted to blame my sloppiness on somebody or something other than myself.

So I drove home and unpacked all my stuff, and will do the same thing again tomorrow. But one thing I won’t be doing the same tomorrow: I am going to start more aggressively cleaning up the corners of my life, the corners of my room, the corners of my gross car. And if it requires a Google doc, so be it.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

AA isn’t a program from which you can graduate. The highest you can go is sober. If you get any higher than that, you have to start over.

(Credit: AA Grapevine, October 2003, Bob B. from Gretna, Louisiana)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

I’ve shared many times before that I believe I have a spiritual gas tank. It’s a lot like an actual gas tank. I start driving around in the world, and I begin to burn off spirituality as I accumulate miles. And yes, literal driving in an actual car does seem to be draining my spiritual gas tank quite a bit recently, I’ve noticed.

What is a spiritual gas tank and how do you fill it up? Well, I think we’re all different so please don’t take my thoughts as the ultimate authority. But for me, I need to do about five meetings a week, at least an hour on the phone with recovery people, an hour or so of reading every week, some prayer, 20 minutes of meditation every single day and I spend about two or three hours a week on this newsletter, which I have found to be a nice little supplement to my spiritual nutrition.

That’s the recipe for me. I know people that seem to fill up their tanks by sponsoring lots of people and maybe getting to fewer meetings. I know people who do lots of area-wide service (that’s GSRs and DCMs and other big service opportunities) and they fill up that way. To each their own.

One important thing for me is that my spiritual gas tank changes all the time. During the pandemic, I was better off with a meeting every day, and I read probably 20 recovery books during that two-year period. I needed more work to fill up the tank. And even then, I think I was pretty irritable during that stretch without as much in-person sobriety stuff.

I am talking about this today because my tank was almost on E recently. I went on a 1,000-mile drive in a minivan with my wife and three kids back to my college campus, and it was a grind. I did not get to any meetings during that 72-hour stretch, so I made sure my spiritual gas tank was completely topped off in the days leading up.

And it worked quite well. We had an awesome trip. I felt pretty calm and serene the entire trip, and I think that played a crucial role in why it was one of the best trips we’ve ever taken as a family. It was a family get-together that I will remember when I am 95 years old hanging out in the bingo hall at my senior care facility. I am guessing I won’t know my name at that point… but I will fondly remember this trip.

But I did notice as we rolled back into town that the spiritual gas light was about to come on. It was starting to flicker a little bit on the drive home. I saw some bad drivers that I considered waving one finger at. I groaned a little at family members who may or may not have been able to pick out food to eat amongst the, oh, 400 available restaurants along the highway.

The beautiful part of this story is that I immediately went to a meeting the next day in my current home in Connecticut. The meeting was an absolute dud. Lots of people commenting directly on other peoples’ shares. Lots of murmuring and snarky comments like we were at a standup comedy show. Those are the kinds of things that when my spiritual gas tank is filled up, I can get a little high and mighty about.

But on this day, I was so grateful to have a meeting of any kind that I devoured it and felt terrific walking out of there. It’s a little like if you hate drinking water but get stuck in the desert for two days… chances are, you’re excited about the water.

So my gas tank felt quite full almost immediately. I know I need to keep that momentum going the rest of the week, so I’ll probably aim for a good string of consecutive days of meetings just to make sure. But the gas light is off for now, and I don’t really want to try to push my luck on that, and I wouldn’t encourage others to, either.

I’m reminded of the Seinfeld episode where Kramer begins to get a thrill out of seeing how far he can drive his car with the tank on empty, and wild hijinks ensue. That is not a high I plan to chase because I don’t think it would end very well for me.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

A true story: At a district meeting recently, a member made a motion that we donate a couple hundred dollars to outfit the hospitality room at the upcoming New Hampshire AA Convention with refreshments. His motion was seconded, and the chair asked if there was any discussion before the vote. To clarify the motion, I asked if “a couple hundred” meant “two hundred dollars”

“Does a couple mean ‘two’?” he quipped.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I used to stop for a couple of beers almost every night.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, July 2003, Andy H. from Portsmouth, New Hampshire)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

This past weekend, I went back to my college campus for the first time in at least eight years. In fact, I’ve only been sober on that campus a few times… and none of them were when I was actually enrolled there.

I took my family back this weekend because a niece graduated from the school. The ceremony was awesome, and it was the perfect Mother’s Day weekend for both my mom and my wife. It was a fantastic time, and I need to thank my sobriety for it. It was one of those times where you’re very grateful to be able to be present.

I felt especially grateful about being present at that exact place on earth, because it created some remarkable then-and-now moments. My wife and I reminisced fondly about all the different landmarks and restaurants and bars around town, and we both grumbled about how many cool local businesses have been replaced by high-rise apartment complexes and glossy chain restaurants.

But as we kicked around fun old memories, I couldn’t help but constantly have not-so-fond drunken insanity in some of the exact same locations that I was standing in now, 20 years later as a sober person.

There was that side street where I tried to fight 10 guys.

There was that random house where I peed in the same guy’s bushes every time I limped home from the bars.

There were multiple spots where I almost got arrested.

There was a spot where there used to be a newspaper machine that I picked up drunk one night and threw, smashing my own hand on a slab of concrete.

Oof.

It all just made me think about how lucky I am to have gotten out of that game. I was able to stand in the same spots where that idiocy happened, and I could hug loved ones and laugh about the good times and yes, eat some of the shitty chain restaurant food and enjoy it, and I didn’t have to drink or do any drugs this time around. It felt like redemption to me.

And as I made these new, beautiful sober memories, I also was able to laugh about what a giant, fun idiot I can be even without drugs and alcohol. Case in point: I rented an electric bicycle and was ripping around on campus on it, chasing my kids around, riding it over bumpy grass, trying to pop wheelies… all stuff a 45-year-old guy should probably not do. You can probably guess where this story is going.

On our final day there, my 8-year-old wanted to try the bike. My wife thought it was a terrible idea, and of course, it was. But she got on the bike and I explained how it worked, cautioning her that once you start pedaling, it jumps forward pretty fast. I promised her I would run along side her and she’d be fine, and those were hilarious last words.

She hit the pedals and the bike took off faster than I could keep up with, and within five seconds my kid was wrecking the bike. She managed to roll off unscathed, but I tried to hang on as long as possible. The bike went down and I began a long faceplate into the grass. At the last second, I managed to duck my head and do a complete flip onto my back.

I landed on the ground and wondered immediately if I was dead, but I was actually pretty much fine. My hand is pretty banged up, but otherwise, I am upright and healthy. My 8-year-old jumped up and said she was okay as I scraped myself off the ground. When people realized I was alive—and oh boy, there were at least 25 random people watching—everybody died laughing. Think about the sight off a 45-year-old big dumb blockhead flipping over a bike on a quiet Saturday afternoon. Yeah, pretty funny, huh? Proving once again it doesn’t always require alcohol or drugs to bring out my inner dipshit.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

HEARD AT MEETINGS: “In his infinite wisdom, my Higher Power gave me one mouth that closes and two ears that don’t.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, June 2003, Larry L. from Fayetteville, Georgia)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe

If you want to subscribe to LOL Sober, hit the purple button below. I’m mostly publishing free pieces right now, but paid subscribers do have access to monthly premium pieces—such as THIS comedy special about my 10 favorite addiction/sobriety jokes!

At a meeting recently, we read a passage from As Bill Sees It, the terrific book of Bill Wilson’s writings about drinking and sobriety. The part we read was from the September 30 entry, and it begins: “All progress can be reckoned in terms of just two words: ________ and _______.”

He said these two words were magnificent standards to live by. Not good standards. Not great standards. Magnificent standards. That’s a high bar, huh? I’ll give you 10 guesses to figure out the two words he chose.

Or you could click here and see for yourself.

Or I could just tell you them, one at a time. Which is what I will now do.

I’m cheating a little because I already heard the answers. But if you’re willing to trust me, I will tell you retroactively that my first few guesses would have been: honesty, willingness, powerlessness, open-mindedness, humility, acceptance and, maybe, truth.

Drum roll, please...

Bill’s first magnificent standard is humility. Okay, I might have guessed that. That’s probably among the top 5 or so answers if you polled sober people. It’s a pretty simple proposition: The more humility I have, the better my sobriety is. In times when I don’t have humility, I’ve managed to stay sober… but those times haven’t been emotionally sober. Lack of humility means I don’t listen, because I already know the answers. Lack of humility means I am not right-sized—I’m either king of the world, or I belong locked up in the basement because I suck.

So humility is one of the core principles to a good sober life. I get why Bill picked that one.

The next word, though, surprised me. The second word is… drumroll again, please… responsibility.

Hmm. What do you make of that? It caught me off guard because I don’t remember that word popping up too frequently in our literature. I can only specifically recall the Responsibility Statement, which directly says whenever anybody reaches out, our hands will be there to grab them, and for that, I am responsible. But I don’t remember the last meeting I was at when someone referenced the Responsibility Statement. I guess I know it, so I must have heard it a bunch somewhere, right? It’s not like my family says it at the dinner table or anything.

I spent some time pondering that idea of responsibility, and it makes sense. I do have a responsibility to live a sober life. I’ve experienced addiction, and now I’ve experienced recovery and what it can do for me, my family, my job, the world. I have a responsibility to live a good, spiritual sober life, and carry the message to anybody suffering.

Lately I have been struggling with having a short fuse. I go from feeling fine to pretty pissed about the slightest transgression. I got into a minor spat about a parking spot the other day, with my 8-year-old daughter in the car, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell is going on with me. I work pretty hard not to get into dumb arguments any more. And yet…

Luckily I haven’t said or done anything really stupid. But it is perplexing. Nothing really changed in my life. I don’t have some new huge outside pressure; I just have gone from 0-to-60 MPH pretty quickly for some reason.

But since we read that As Bill Sees It passage at a meeting, I have really been thinking about my responsibility to carry a message of hope and patience and serenity. The key word is responsibility. It isn’t a gentle suggestion or recommendation; it is my responsibility.

So I will try to do that going forward.

This newsletter is a place of joy and laughter about the deadly serious business of sobriety. So, as I will often do, let me close with a joke:

HEARD AT MEETINGS: “I stopped drinking and got the monkey of my back, but the circus is still in town.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, May 2003, Chuck B. from Berea, Ohio)

Please spread the word to a sober friend! Find me on Substack… or Twitter… or Facebook… or Instagram… or YouTube. And introducing my web site, LOLsober.com.

This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit nelsonh.substack.com/subscribe