Gladys brought up an interesting point in her comment. I asked her how her mom, unlike her sisters, manages not to be such a bitch. However does she do it? She replied,

First it was vodka; now it's twice-weekly AA meetings.

Oh, and she goes to church every day.

Well, stick a flag to my ass and call me The United States of Assmerica. In the case of our mothers, I actually understand why they would hit the bottle/Jesus/yoga/their sisters. They actually need these things in order not to go completely poop-flinging bonkers.

But some people - people with more money than sense, for example - must need to have it pounded into them, every day, with the big book of How Not to Be An Asshole.

Now, I am not - believe it or not - anti-church. I think it is very charming, if you can get up on a Sunday, and put on pantyhose, and threaten your offspring when they won't get up...and then finally bribe them with the promise of donuts if they would only go to church, and you all pile into the station wagon and drive to a house of worship, of love, because we are all God's children...until your granny sees a black man out the window, and exhaling her Virginia Slim, says, "WHAT a sad sack." On the way to church, no less.

Sure, I can kind of see the point. People enjoy feeling self-righteous even in their hypocrisy. And the kids are only in it for the donuts, the damn little sugar fiend perverts.

But.

Whatever it takes to get you not to be an asshole is what you need to do.

Therefore, I am certainly not anti-AA, either. I know many friends of Bill W. They are all great people, they just have extremely addictive personalities. And I commend them for doing whatever they need to do in order to avoid being professional drunken assholes for a living.

However.

I do not think that, just because they didn't get drunk and go to work, or drink alone, sobbing, at the bottom of their closet full of soiled underpants, or die after colliding at 90 mph into a telephone pole, that they deserve to have an additional birthday. They are just lucky they get to have another natal birthday after pulling that shit. NO.

Several of my fine friends in treatment have jerked me around on this one. They're all, "it's my 'sober birthday' tomorrow" (batting of eyelashes), so like an asshole, I go out and get them something, and feel all philanthropic about myself until, one week later, they're all, "it's my real birthday today!"

Attention, Alcoholics of America: I am NOT getting you TWO presents, TWO cakes, TWO cards, and TWO strippers JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE A MOTHERFUCKING ADDICT.

I am no Dr. Laura. I do think it is a disease, not a character flaw, but for God's your Higher Power's sake, get another alcoholic, like your dad, to buy you a happy little balloon, because I am not responsible for your substance abuse problem. In fact, buy your own goddamn cake. (Maybe it will sop up some of the liquor.)

As Cranky says, "it is not my fault they don't know how to drink."

Therefore, because I did not kill an alcoholic today, or commit adultery, or get married, for that matter, or have a partial-birth abortion, or shoot smack, or fuck a poodle, or smoke a cigarette, or wipe out the entire human race...I want a damn cake. Also a damn medal. And a blow job. And some money.

Gimmie.