LOL Sober

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!

In my first 15 years of driving a car, I got pulled over at least 10 times by the police. I never got a DUI but I did get multiple speeding tickets and several stops for broken lights or for having a chunk of my Chrysler LeBaron hanging off dangerously.

In my next 16 years of driving, which is the length of my sobriety, I got pulled over for speeding once in 2010, and I had a headlight out in 2011 or 2012 that got me a warning.

But I haven’t been pulled over in at least 12 years, even though my wife and kids all have been saying for years now that I’m going to get nailed for going through a yellow light at some point.

Well, that day came earlier this week. I blew through a yellow-ish light that a kind police officer referred to as “red” after he pulled me over. It was so egregious that I didn’t say a single word to argue. I was getting a ticket, and I deserved one.

But when I handed him my license and registration, I also began to plot out my court case. I could argue that the road I was traveling on was a total mess because of construction, and that I had a momentary lapse as I tried to process everything. Which is true… but also not true at all. I definitely sped up to get through the yellow light, and it was purposeful.

I found myself getting mad at the cop as he sat back there writing my ticket, and I considered saying something to him about what a dumpster fire the road situation was. But I ultimately realized that I was full of s**t, and I hadn’t done the right thing. I had earned a ticket.

He came back to my car a few minutes later and handed me a ticket. “I’m just giving you a warning,” he said, and sure enough, the ticket said “Warning” in big letters across the top. Phew.

Then the real predicament came. Do I tell my wife or kids about it? It was just a warning, after all. And even if it was a ticket, was it really any of their business? I crumpled up the ticket and threw it in the trash—at the gym, not at my house, just to make sure there was no evidence of my transgression.

I didn’t actually spend much time debating it. I don’t live that life any more where I keep things from people that they would probably want to know about. I knew I was going to have to eat a s**t sandwich from everybody along with a bunch of “I told you sos.” Oh well. I’d rather that than the alternative, which is that I embrace any kind of withholding of the truth. It wouldn’t be outright lying if they never knew to ask about it… but it wouldn’t be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, either, would it?

Later that evening, my two teenaged drivers were sitting in the living room with my wife and I came in and raised my arms to get their attention. “I have an announcement to make,” I said, and then I told them. They all giggled and busted my chops exactly how I thought they would. And I didn’t have to eat one s**t sandwich—I had the great honor of devouring three s**t sandwiches, with extra s**t sauce on them.

But you know what? Who cares. How did absorbing some deserved punishment and ball-breaking really hurt me? It didn’t. What a change that is. This blog is titled humility and humiliation, because I used to feel humiliated by situations like that. My drinking and drugging certainly was something I felt humiliated about and kept to myself. But every time my feelings were hurt, or I bought something stupid, or I missed a credit card payment, or I got made fun of and didn’t like it… I would keep that to myself because I felt shame and humiliation.

Since I have been sober, though, I have learned how to find more humility, which to me is defined as being right-sized—I’m not the greatest person in the world or the worst. I am somewhere in between. And as long as I try my best to do the right things in this world, I have found that my pride and ego are in a place where I have humility. And when I have humility, I have never felt humiliation. I’m sure it’s possible to still feel humiliated. But if I am comfortable with my life and the way I live it, I rarely have room to feel humiliated. Humility is one of those things that crowds out humiliation.

My warning ticket certainly qualified as something that I would have been embarrassed and humiliated by in the past. I didn’t feel it this time. And as my family ribbed me about it, I felt like I had some kind of shield up that protected me from feeling deeply wounded. And that was an awesome thing to feel—it made me feel like I have grown a lot.

Did the s**t sandwiches taste good going down? No, they did not. But I digested them just fine!

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:

One Saturday afternoon, around 3 p.m., the town drunk came lurching into the pool hall.

“Hey, Ed,” one of the locals called to him. “Have you been drinking all day?”

“The drunk rolled back on his heels, thought for a minute and replied, “I don’t know. What day is it?”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, October 2000, Jim S. from Galesburg, Illinois)

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!

The other morning, I went into the bathroom to put in my contacts. I happened to be in the middle of a disagreement with my wife, so I may have been muttering under my breath a bit. On a scale of 1-10, with 10 being boiling hot, I’d say I was at about a 4. It definitely was taking up space in my brain, though, and that led to some hilarity in front of the bathroom mirror.

I put in my right contact, then I went to put in my left contact and it… wasn’t in the case. Where did it go? I dug my finger into the case over and over again, with no luck. I looked all over the sink and the ground, then checked both places again. I also was struggling with my vision because with one contact in and one not in, I always have a warped sense of vision as I look around.

It was a frustrating five minutes or so until I had a bizarre realization—the reason my sight was so off wasn’t because I had one eye with a contact in it and one eye without a contact in it. The problem was, I had one eye with no contact in it and one eye with TWO contacts in there. So one eyeball had my normal bad vision and one eyeball basically had the Hubble telescope in there.

It turns out that in my haze of resentment—over a topic that I don’t even remember, to be honest—I had pulled both contacts out and distractedly placed them both in the same eye. I’ve been wearing contacts for more than 30 years, and that has never happened before. Perhaps I was more like a 7 out of 10 on the boiling hot scale?

I had a good chuckle and then removed the second contact from my eye. Almost immediately my vision improved because I had one contact at 20/20 and one at about 40/60 without a contact in. Then I put the other one in, and voila, I had good vision in both eyes.

I walked out of the bathroom thinking about perspective—literally and figuratively. The literal perspective was just that I could freaking see rather than having one binocular eye. The figurative perspective was that it reminded me that my brain can often put lenses over minor things and make them big. Or take a clear picture and make it very, very blurry. Some days my perspective is like an eyeball with no contact in—a little fuzzy, just out of proper view. Some days my perspective is like an eyeball with two contacts in it—supersized in an unhealthy way, blowing up a minor issue into something that seems much larger and daunting.

And some days I have the correct contact in both eyes and I can see fine, with nothing out of whack. The best way for me to get to that place is a strong sober program—meetings, phone calls, literature work, service, gratitude lists, making amends… all of the things. For other people, there are probably other ways to get yourself to have the right perspective—walks, prayers, meditations, going for a drive, making meals for the homeless, etc. But the broader point is, we probably all could use the perspective of two contacts in two eyes, rather than one or zero contacts in. And two contacts in one eye is definitely a really shitty idea.

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:

Friday night at the convention, two police officers watched as thousands of alcoholics streamed toward the stadium, singing, laughing, and shouting.

“Isn’t AA marvelous?” exclaimed the first officer. “Here are all these alcoholics, and not one of them is drinking!”

“Yes” replied the second, eyeing the crowd a little nervously. “Let’s just hope it keeps working until Sunday.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, October 2000, Anonymous from Minneapolis, Minnesota)

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!

Have you seen the social media conversation about whether 100 people could defeat 1 gorilla? If you’re lucky, you have no idea what I am talking about because it’s one of the dumbest conversations in human history.

But if you’re me, you’ve spent way too much time thinking about it and now have a theory that you believe wholeheartedly and would defend against 100 people and a gorilla if you tried to argue. I know I’m right.

OK, here we go. First of all, I have some credibility on the topic because I wrestled my whole life and also spent quite a few years getting into skirmishes as a drunken idiot during my addiction days. Obviously, this makes me an alcoholic brawler black belt.

Let’s start with the criteria for this exercise. I am considering this scenario as if the gorilla were an adult male in peak physical condition. In fact, I’m going to just assume we got the best and brightest and meanest gorilla in the entire jungle for this exercise.

Now, I am going to ask for the same in return. If you are telling me that we have to just go to Walmart and grab 100 dudes from the aisles for this, I think the humans have no chance. Even if you told me we could grab a college football roster of 100 big, strong dudes, I still think the gorilla would be favored. And I actually think if you went to a gym and collected the 100 biggest, strongest, most fit dudes, I’d definitely take the gorilla.

But if you let me grab the right mix of 100 people, I believe that the gorilla would lose. I’m not sure it would even be close.

I’d want 100 people who a) are in good shape but a mix of physical skills, b) are able to work together and apply a strategy and c) have no fear about surviving the fight.

On the first point, I think you want good strength but also very good stamina. The best way to defeat a large animal is to wear it out with constant probing attacks from various angles. That’s how hyenas eventually tire out lions and other animals, and that’s what my team would need to do.

On the second point, I think you’d want about 20 small, fast guys to be the first wave. They’d go at the gorilla and then retreat, then go again, from all angles around the gorilla. Then I think you’d want to send in about 20 very strong, big guys to put a hurting on the gorilla. Then I think you’d want another wave of 20 small, fast guys to again try to gas out the gorilla for a few minutes. Then I think you have two waves of a mix of mid-size and big guys to end the fight. I actually don’t know that you’d need that last batch of 40 people because I think if the first 60 last 10-plus minutes, that gorilla is going to be completely wiped out. The people win.

On the third point, it would have to be a team that cares about each other but not much else. If we have moms and dads in there, I think there’d be a strong pull to survive for others rather than fight it out. You’d need a zero percent chance that people start turning and running for the exits. With that in mind, I think your best bet would be some kind of military unit of 100 to line up and be willing to duke it out. I’ve heard some people say you could take 100 prisoners and promise them freedom if they won, but I’m not sure you could herd those cats into a cohesive unit that will fight for each other.

So to summarize: I’m pretty sure the humans win pretty easily if the group of 100 is anything close to what I said. I even do think you could probably take a college football roster of 100 bros and have a pretty good chance if they are willing to be coached in this ridiculous exercise.

All right, so enough of that very morbid scenario of mayhem and animal cruelty. I actually hope we never get a firm answer on that, though I’m sure some renegade reality TV show producer is putting together a pitch right now.

The reason I am writing about this on a sober newsletter is because I recently had a stretch where I just didn’t do enough recovery stuff. I did some. But not enough. And I found myself surrounded by fear, anxiety, resentment, irritation and a bunch of other risky emotions. It felt like 1 human against 10 angry gorillas, which is what sobriety can sometimes feel like. Without alcohol to numb it all out, I really need to always figure out how to ask for help, how to be vulnerable and how to feel emotions, especially when they pile up.

And they do pile up, don’t they? When I’m worried about money, I often find myself arguing with my boss, yelling at my kids and prepping my middle finger for use on the roadways. It’s a collision of powerful, uncomfortable emotions—sort of like 10 gorillas coming at me from all different angles!

The cool thing about that scenario in recovery is that I have 100-plus phone numbers of people in recovery who will show up for me. So I know I have those gorillas outnumbered.

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:

Friday night at the convention, two police officers watched as thousands of alcoholics streamed toward the stadium, singing, laughing, and shouting.

“Isn’t AA marvelous?” exclaimed the first officer. “Here are all these alcoholics, and not one of them is drinking!”

“Yes” replied the second, eyeing the crowd a little nervously. “Let’s just hope it keeps working until Sunday.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, October 2000, Anonymous from Minneapolis, Minnesota)

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!

A few days before Mother’s Day for the past few years, I have had a pretty pathetic first thought: “Ugh… how long till Father’s Day?”

I know. I know. I know. That’s pretty selfish and juvenile. But hey, I’m not going to lie on here. Plus, I have learned in sobriety that I am more responsible for my second thought than my first. And my second thought was much better. Which was, let’s make this an awesome Mother’s Day for my wife and my mom. I think I did okay after that.

We had a nice Mother’s Day for my wife. All three kids were home and, with only a small exception or two, they all put themselves behind their mom for a day. Or at least most of the day. We went to a beach in Connecticut and walked on a pretty sweet boardwalk, then got some baked goods from a bakery in the town. The weather was awesome. I thought the gifts we got for my wife—including a nice bundle of goodies from me—were all excellent.

I have found over the years that I have gotten better and better about putting others first, even if my first thought is all about me. As a sober friend of mine always says, I may not be much, but I’m all I ever think about. I’m getting comfortable with the concept that that may never change, and I just need to continue to make sure my brain immediately hustles toward having a better followup thought.

And for the most part, I was able to do that. And I gotta say, the longer I have been sober, the more I appreciate how much positive energy and fulfillment comes from seeing smiles on other peoples’ faces. I really felt that way on Sunday. At one point, my wife and three daughters sat outside at the bakery and I stayed inside because there were no more seats out front. So I sat by the window and made an absolute fool of myself by making ridiculous faces out the front window. My kids were dying laughing and my wife refused to turn around, and multiple passersby seemed either amused or perplexed by my idiocy. It was a win-win for all involved.

By the end of the day, I was very tired and went to bed at a decent time. I laid my head on the pillow that night and was glad that I had been able to devote the day to someone other than myself. Did I happen to check an online date calculator and find out that Father’s Day is only 35 days away? No comment!

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 group of animals go into a bar but don’t know who will pay for the drinks.

“I’ve only got a cent,” says the skunk.

“I don’t have a buck,” says the doe.

“I’m broke,” says the horse.

“My pocket is empty,” says the kangaroo.

“That’s all right,” says the giraffe. “The highballs are on me!”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, September 2000, Tom W.)

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!

Someone shared a familiar comment at a meeting the other day—that they see God in nature.

I do, too. Sometimes I am out and about and see animals or trees or even feel the wind, and I think about how majestic this world is that we live in. I also recently saw some images of the surface of Mars, and the barrenness of the planet made me feel grateful for what we have. I grew up in Pennsylvania surrounded more by nature than I have now living in a big town in Connecticut.

But where do you see your higher power? I think the No. 1 place where I feel like I can see a God of my understanding is during fellowship with other alcoholics and drug addicts. Sometimes it’s a newcomer who is trying badly to get sober. Sometimes it’s with somebody celebrating six months sober. Sometimes it’s hearing an old-timer talk about getting sober when Jimmy Carter was president.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that topic for the past month because a friend shared something that her sponsor said to her once: “If you see God through a certain window, go to that window often.”

That’s a relatively simple phrase, but it’s a lot to unpack. First of all, that phrase can be literally true sometimes—I watched two rabbits chase each other around my backyard yesterday and it was hilarious and mysterious and weird and cool. It looked a lot like me during my single days chasing people around bars and frat houses all night trying to get their phone numbers. And yes, I am pretty sure the rabbits were doing some sort of mating ritual, so I decided to walk away from the window and give them their privacy. Only God knows for sure if they got down to business back there.

Secondly, the figurative meaning of that phrase is so powerful and helpful. Think about it—wherever you see God in this life, why not turn to that as much as possible? If it’s fellowship with other alcoholics for me, why am I not spending an hour on the phone every single day with alcoholics? If it is nature, why am I not going for a walk in the woods as much as I can? If it’s through my kids, why I am not cherishing every minute with them?

The truth is, I usually only go to that window when I desperately need to, or I accidentally peek out it. I guess going forward, maybe I need to build it into my days to purposely keep track of what those windows are, and go to those windows more… even if it means I catch some X-rated rabbit action sometimes!

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 man walks into a bar and orders a drink. He takes a sip of his drink when he hears a voice saying, “That’s a very nice tie you have on.” He looks around but he doesn’t see anybody else in the bar except for the bartender, who is reading a newspaper at the other end.

The man takes another sip of his drink and he hears, “That shirt is a good color for you.” Again the man looks all around and sees nobody. He calls the bartender over.

“I must be cracking up,” he says. “Every time I take a sip of my drink, I hear voices.”

“It’s that bowl of peanuts,” the bartender says.

“The bowl of peanuts?”

“Yes,” says the bartender. “The peanuts are complimentary.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, September 2000, Mick K.)

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 went to the grocery store the other day and got a cart. I started cruising around the store and was having a pleasant shopping experience when… WHAM! My cart suddenly got wobbly for a second and then shot sideways into the side of an old dude’s cart. He gave me a dirty look and I gave him a confused look back. What happened?

Turns out, I picked out a cart that worked perfectly fine for nine out of every 10 minutes, then one of its wheels seemed to have a panic attack and lock up. Every time I was pushing the cart and it seized up on me, the force of me pushing plus the three good wheels kept the cart moving, but its movements were completely unpredictable. I spent the rest of the trip moving very slowly so I could minimize the number of 80-year-olds who wanted to kick me in the groin. When the wheel would lock up, I would have to recognize it and try to unlock it with some side to side movement that broke it free from being jammed up.

About halfway through the shopping experience, it hit me: I am the wobbly cart. I routinely catch myself cruising along and then… BAM, I lock up. Then I need to do something to unlock that wheel that went rogue.

I think that analogy is funny, but it resonates with me for a few reasons.

First of all, I need to always consider myself a wobbly cart. The minute I think I have four perfectly-calibrated wheels on my shopping cart is the minute that I start to slide. That can’t happen.

Secondly, I have to know what to do when that wobbly wheel locks up. For me, it usually means connection—getting to a 12-step meeting or calling 12-step friends. I know some people rely on readings or prayers, but I need connection with my sober program to reel me back in. I cannot white-knuckle it and decide that I will fix my own wheel. You know what they say—a sick mind can’t fix a sick mind.

Thirdly, it helps me to remember that when my shopping cart goes off the rails, I ram into other stuff—people, places, traffic cones, you name it. My wobbly wheel has repercussions, so it can be a matter of great significance if I just keep pushing that problematic cart around.

Okay, I think I may have driven the shopping cart analogy into the ground… until next time, sober friends!

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:

Two eggs, a sausage and an English muffin walk into a local bar for a drink. The bartender looks up and says, “Sorry, we don’t serve breakfast here.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, September 2000, Trina W. from Elizabeth, Pennsylvania)

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 went to Miami last weekend and it was awesome. I left chilly Connecticut on a week when my kids were going to be home from school for spring break and I landed in Miami to 81 degree weather with just enough breeze to make it feel perfect. Let’s just say that juxtaposition did not break my heart as I pulled out of my driveway and headed for the airport.

I now know that part of traveling is planning to hit at least one meeting. I have had enough experience of going to a new place and camping out in a hotel room by myself to know that I need to stay connected to 12-step recovery. I used to try to make lots of calls to sober friends during any trip. But I found that a meeting in a new place was a) a pretty fun adventure during a road trip and b) a great way to keep me centered. Without the meeting, I would find that on trips I would begin drifting from the solitude of being alone and serene, to just isolation and loneliness.

So the Miami trip was awesome. I got some sun, did my work obligations and felt grateful every minute of what ended up being a pretty difficult trip. I had a slew of logistical and travel dumpster fires, but honestly, I never stopped feeling grateful the entire time, so it was fantastic.

But the main reason I think I ended up feeling grateful was because during what was a 96-hour trip, I hit a meeting right around the 48-hour mark and it was a perfect and necessary halftime. Because I gotta say… I don’t know how I would have done if I had tried to get sober while living in Miami. It is an awesome city, but there is a wildness to it that rocked my serenity a bit.

Let’s start with drugs, alcohol and the overall partying vibe… Miami has to be one of the top two or three cities for partying, right? Maybe it’s Las Vegas at No. 1 and Miami at No. 2? I think there is a case to be made that Miami is actually No. 1. But either way, it’s up there. I ran on a treadmill overlooking Biscayne Bay and good lord, I couldn’t even count the number of million-dollar yachts where people were lugging cases of beer onto all day. It was out of control.

I also was blown away by the sheer amount of money flowing through that city. I lived in New York City for a few years and I certainly felt the overall sense that wealth was around me. But I never felt it oozing out of every pore of so many people the way Miami felt. And I think in that environment, I would have been a disaster trying to get sober. It would have felt like I was always one good scam on a neighbor away from having enough money to keep drinking and drugging. Or I would have ended up borrowing money from that rich guy up the street who says his job is “a little bit of this and a little bit of that,” not repaid the money and ended up floating in Biscayne Bay. It would not have been good.

And the last thing is that I could not believe how good looking people in Miami are. The men are beautiful. The women are beautiful. The freaking dogs are 10s. I really think a stable family life helped me stay grounded as I tried to get sober, so I couldn’t imagine going to rehab in Miami with a bunch of millionaire male and female models who are social media influencers and party animals. It would have been tough to stay on the road to recovery in that setting for me.

But here’s the thing: When I looked up meetings in Miami, there were lots of them. I found one near my hotel and went, and it was awesome. Did it look like an Abercrombie and Fitch photo shoot that I didn’t belong in? A little bit! But once the meeting started, I realized—as I always do—that these were my people… just very buff and good-looking versions of my people.

The meeting was big and in the middle of a cavernous church, so they had microphones they passed around when it was time to share. I don’t usually love that setup because it can feel like people are public address announcers at a rodeo or something. But this meeting worked pretty well, and I enjoyed the honesty. Several of the people who shared mentioned that they grew up in areas other than Miami and then moved there, then they hit their bottom in Miami. This is not a scientific finding, obviously, but those people who were outsiders did all hint at the idea that Miami helped them get to their bottoms faster. It does seem easier to become both broke and broken in a hurry in that city.

I ended up having a great trip despite some significant travel snafus, and I credit that meeting for quite a bit of why it was successful. I re-centered myself on that Friday night, then mostly stayed that way for the duration of the trip. I came back to Connecticut feeling good, with a slight tan and a good outlook heading into the next week. I did end up feeling a kick in the ass about dropping some weight and getting into better shape, so that was a good thing… but I also had an urge to buy a tiny little poodle and walk around all day with him in a man purse on my side. Hopefully that wears off!

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:

They say that alcoholics have three kinds of memory loss: short-term, long-term, and convenient.

(Credit: AA Grapevine, August 2000, Peter M. from Putnam, Connecticut)

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 is a spoiler-free review of The White Lotus, Season 3… even if you don’t watch the show, there are a few things that I am going to talk about that might be of interest.

I love The White Lotus. The creator and director, Mike White, does such a good job of skewering the rich while also being honest about how there’s a part of all of us that would like to be wealthy. He also is brilliant at creating characters that we all recognize—even the richest a*****e in the show acts like somebody you’ve met before. It’s uncanny.

I just finished up Season 3, which had its finale on Sunday night. I love the series, but thought this was the weakest season. I loved Season 1 the most because it came out of nowhere and barreled us all over during the pandemic. I think Season 2 might actually be a little better, but I knew what I was in for. And I liked Season 3 a lot; I just thought it was a notch below the other seasons.

The biggest issue I have with Season 3 is that it was trapped in story purgatory. Like so many shows these days, it should have been either half as long or twice as long. What I mean by that is that there were multiple storylines introduced that should have either not been introduced or expanded dramatically because they end up feeling like Mike White gave them short shrift. This season was eight episodes, but it felt like it should have either been six episodes or 15. The season finale was 90 minutes long and yet felt like 5 important scenes were deleted. Nevertheless, I hung on every minute of the show. You can tell a show has hooked you when you have to watch it live every week, rather than three days later.

I’m writing about the show on my sobriety newsletter because there is usually some addiction stuff in the show (that was certainly the case in Season 3, including a nasty relapse). But the thing that I always connect with is how much Mike White likes to delve into the collision between peoples’ morals and their desire for money and prestige. The White Lotus tends to portray the world as if you have to sell your soul in order to be rich, and the show also consistently indicates that that wealthy lifestyle is an addiction itself.

I get it. I’ve flown on an airplane about 200 times in my life, and I have only ever been in first class once. And yet within five minutes of sitting down in those sweet seats up front, I found myself saying, “Get these peasants to the back of the airplane where they belong. And please keep them out of our special bathroom—I don’t want to be around those grotesque animals!” I realized right away that I am not quite spiritually fit enough to be a rich person yet.

I guess my takeaway on this show—and shows like it—is that lifestyle can be a destructive addiction too. Most of the rich people I’ve encountered in life seem to be people who might struggle if they had to go cold turkey on the 1 percent lifestyle. I would throw in one caveat—of the sober rich people I’ve met, I would say that most of them live admirable, service-driven lives. I like to think I would be one of those types of wealthy people… but perhaps I’d still need to sit in the middle seat of the last row of an airplane once-in-a-while to remain grounded!

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:

Then there was the drunk guy who arrived for an intake session with the rehab psychiatrist—constantly snapping his fingers.

The doctor politely inquired, “Why are you doing that?”

“To keep the tigers away!”

“But there aren’t any tigers here.”

“See,” the man said, “it works.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, August 2000, 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

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Earlier this week, I went to a large meeting that I hadn’t been to recently, and I was surprised that they’d done a significant format change. The meeting had gone from a show of hands to popcorn style, where every person who shares picks the next person to share. The change was made for good reason—at this meeting, there are typically about 75 people and yet there will be long gaps where nobody raises their hand to share. The theory was that this would spark less stretches of silence, and it seems to have worked.

I am a fan of those kinds of meetings, but only if they include the same thing this meeting adopted—that the popcorn style would end with 15 minutes left and they’d go to a show of hands. That way, anybody who doesn’t get picked still has an opportunity to share. I don’t love meetings where it goes around the room or is only popcorn style, because I always worry that someone who really needed to speak would come to a meeting and then not get a chance.

Popcorn style definitely has its downsides. Sometimes popcorn style can mean only a select group of friends gets to share because a clique keeps picking members of that clique. I also think some people would rather not be caught off guard by getting chosen unexpectedly, though they can always say, “I think I’ll pass,” and pick someone else.

This got me thinking about what the best styles of meetings are. So I went through all of the formats I’ve experienced, and I realized that I have been to about 50 different types of meetings. Which is my favorite?

Well, as usual, I found it easier to start with the kinds of meetings that I DON’T like.

I don’t love any meeting where we read an entire section of the Big Book. Those meetings have a purpose, for sure, because it’s a very good way to get knee-deep into the literature. I have read the entire Big Book more times at meetings than sitting at home reading it. But I don’t love when 30-plus minutes of a meeting get swallowed up by just reading out loud. I’ve been at meetings where there are 30 people and we end up with 16 minutes for sharing.

That also applies sometimes to meetings where we read an entire step from the 12 and 12. Again, I’m not at a point in my recovery where I want an entire meeting to be eaten up by reading out loud. With the 12 and 12, there are times when I have read a specific step several times in the same month, and I don’t always love that.

I’ve also found myself shying away from speaker meetings for similar reasons. I do like hearing people share their stories of experience, strength and hope, but I don’t love when the person shares for almost an hour straight. I’ve been to a few speaker meetings that I really enjoyed because they asked the speaker to limit their story to 20-30 minutes, so I’d say I rank that format ahead of open-ended speaker meetings.

One more that I don’t love: when the chairperson can pick any topic they want. I’ve been to meetings where people bring in poems or songs or just randomly pick a topic that’s on their mind, and I am not a fan. I have found that when that happens, sometimes the meeting drifts away from its primary purpose—sobriety—and can turn into a therapy session.

OK, so what do I like?

I like Daily Reflections meetings. The readings are short and sweet, and then the chairperson can share and open it up to the room.

I like meetings where it goes around the room, but saves 15 minutes at the end for anybody who needs to raise their hand to share.

I have been to a few meetings where a speaker shares on a step of their choosing for 10 minutes, then the meeting opens up to others.

I like As Bill Sees It meetings. That book is underrated, in my opinion, and I have only ever been to one meeting where that is the format. I like As Bill Sees It because it is a book of short-ish readings, and I like that it combines readings from official conference-approved literature, with Grapevines, letters and other writings from Bill W.

I guess I would close by throwing out an important caveat—that I actually pretty much love every meeting I have been to. I have almost a 100 percent success rate when I get to a meeting, regardless of the format. So please consider the above thoughts to be like me choosing between amounts of money that I found on the ground. In other words, they’re all pretty damn great.

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:

Typing an email message while tipsy could cause some serious harm. Consider the case of the practicing alky who left the snow-filled streets of Chicago for a vacation in Florida. His wife was on a business trip and was planning to meet him there the following day. When he reached the hotel after several drinks on the plane, he went right to the hotel bar and kept drinking. When he finally went up to his room, he decided to send his wife a quick E-mail. Unable to see the screen clearly, he managed to type the message with one eye closed.

Unfortunately he missed one letter, and his E-mail was directed not to his wife but to an elderly preacher’s wife, whose husband had passed away only days before. When the widow checked out her email, she took one look at the monitor, let out a piercing scream, and fainted. When her family rushed into the room, they saw this note on the screen:

Dearest wife,

Just got checked in. Everything prepared for your arrival tomorrow.

(signed) Your eternally loving husband

P.S. Sure is hot down here.

(Credit: AA Grapevine, June 2000, Jeff H.)

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 was at a meeting recently where the topic was cravings and God. Almost immediately, I was like, “Huh? What do those two things have to do with each other?”

Luckily I just sat and listened for awhile before I shared. Because it turned out to be an incredibly valuable combo topic.

I forget sometimes how overwhelming a craving can be for an alcoholic. Don’t ask me how I forget, because I routinely get a craving for peanut butter cups or watching three more episodes of a TV show after my normal bedtime, and I usually succumb to the cravings. So I still struggle with it.

Yet I forget sometimes that I used to get a craving for alcohol or drugs, and then completely buckle under it. The cravings would be so strong, and I had no plan to battle back, and I would just grab a pill bottle or vodka bottle. I had no chance.

As people shared about cravings, I found myself nodding my head and flashing back to those days. And then people would inevitably share about how they don’t have cravings for drugs and alcohol any more, and that they attribute quite a bit of that to their higher power.

By the midpoint of the meeting, my opinion had completely turned around and I was 100 percent in agreement. As much as I would like to think my hard work, good looks and charisma made my cravings go away, it’s simply not true. I for sure played a part in doing the right actions to reduce or eliminate cravings.

But cravings are mysterious and illogical, and I don’t think any amount of action could completely wipe away the strong ones I used to feel. And yet, they’re gone. So I know something bigger than me played an important part in letting the air out of those cravings a bit.

That’s probably going to be the formula on any future cravings, too. I have been struggling with late-night eating, and it’s because I get a craving for something and I last two minutes trying to fight it. And for the record, the cravings I get for late-night food are not for apple slices and lettuce—it’s cookies, donuts, peanut butter cups and other terrible-but-delicious garbage. It’s probably going to take action on my part, plus reliance upon something bigger than me, to adjust. I’m working on it.

In the meantime, all this talk about peanut butter cups is causing quite a craving…

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 always wanted to control everything. But as an alcoholic, I realize I’m uniquely unqualified to rule the world.”

(Credit: AA Grapevine, June 2000, Dan S. from New York, NY)

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