I am absolutely and undeservingly blessed with friends who keep me off the edge. I don't mean every now and again. I mean that way too often I find my friends protecting me ... from myself.

Today is a prime example.

I had an awesome lunch with

some of my closest gal

pals --

something we haven't done in many, many moons.

During the lunch, we shared awesome fake Mexican food and some primo mid-day Margaritas. (Mine was something called the Texan. It's said to loosen your lips without making you need to call a cab.) I mean, all was right with the world. Then I got the email.

It was one of those passive-aggressive deals. You know the ones that accuse you of something without displaying the balls to actually call you by name. What's worse is that it was a group distribution. Yeah. One of those.

After I checked myself for needing to be checked in the first place, I thought of a few things to say to the sender of the email. It went something like, "Grow an effing pair. Call me out. Be authentic and let's work from there." Of course, my email was nothing like that. That's what I would have liked to say, but my substantial social graces (and a small angel on my shoulder that bore a striking resemblance to my husband) edited my email to read something more like, "Next time, just call me out personally." Neither email saw the light of day. Wanna know why? Because, as I've said in the header of this blog, my friends rock. More descriptively, they kick ass.

I called one of those kick-ass friends to vent -- as I was typing the email. I asked, "Am I wrong for sending this?"- fully expecting her to answer, "Hell, no! Check that trick!" Instead, she asked, "Did you already send it?" "No," I answered. Her reply? "Don't push send." While my aggravated ego wanted nothing more than to reply to all and then push send (over and over again), I heeded the warning of a wise, "tenured" friend (See how I avoided the word "old?" I'm a genius like that.) and canceled the email.

I thank God that I have friends to remind me every now and again that I'm being impulsive or stupid or hypocritical or over-sensitive or neurotic or any of the many disturbing things I tend to be from time to time. In fact, everybody needs someone in his or her life who can look said "one" in the eyes when necessary and say, "Hey, stupid. Don't push send." I'm glad I have friends like that. Now, the real question is why they're having to say it to me so often. Hmm. Self-reflection makes my head hurt.

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If you know me (or if you can read ... or both), you know that I love wine. It says so right in my "About Me" blurb. As my first blog, I thought it would be good to share some basic information about myself, and the first thing that came to mind is the fact that I do, so very dearly, love wine.

But, as I painstakingly (HA!) crafted that very first blog paragraph, I came to a startling conclusion. I, friends, am what was known in the age of "Sanford and Son" as a "wino." That's right. I'm a good, old-fashioned wino. I like everything about wine and, if left to my own devices, I would have some every time I put food into my mouth. That's how I commit to things. I go hard.

Now, one would think I'd be ashamed to make such a confession. Ha! Fooled you. I'm so NOT ashamed. Know why? Over the past three years, I have discovered something incredible: most of my friends are also winos! It's the strangest thing.

See, in college, you do college things: drink cheap liquor, regurgitate said liquor, and do it again the next weekend for four years straight (or more, depending upon your school and major). When you get married, you become a social drinker, having Cosmopolitans and Fuzzy Navels, Gin and Tonics and Vodka Cranberries -- you know, cool drinks. But, when you have kids ... oh, Lord! Children turn you. They make you crave the tartness of a semi-dry chardonnay along the sides of your tongue. They make you buy gargantuan wine glasses. They make you spend more time in the wine aisle at Publix than you do in the produce section. They make you add wine-related items to your Christmas Wish List. They make you into a wino.

Now, because I have three children of my own - and most of my closest friends have at least two each - we are firmly set into the wino way. Whenever we look upon each other's faces, we expect wine to be involved. We know each other's favorites. For instance, Miki likes a Riesling and doesn't care if it's room temperature. Boom Boom will sip on whatever is clever and I like anything white ... as long as it's cold and in good supply.

So, is there hope for the middle-aged wino mom? I think so. We are part of a special club. (Don't worry. I consulted Mr. Do-Right before this post, and he's assured me that I'm not an alcoholic. Whew!) We don't drink and drive. We don't hide our drinking. We don't get drunk, and we don't have our kids popping bottles for us.

Most importantly, though, a glass of wine each night keeps me off the local TV news. And you moms out there know exactly what I'm talking about.

Cheers!

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