So the weekend went well. I think my friends and family took pity on my sobriety and were unconditionally nice. Except for my brother.

MY BROTHER, who seemed to be PMSing at dinner on Friday night, ratted out my liver status to my parents. Luckily for me, I had already shared the information with my mother the evening before, so it was only my father in the dark. He didn't ask any questions that night and I didn't give details.

Mainly because I don't have details. All the doctor said was, "your liver count is down and that's good, why don't you stay off alcohol and advil for 10 days so we can see what it looks like then." That's it and that's what I'm doing.

But my brother throws it out on the table like Exhibit A. "Partygirl's been ordered sober - DOCTOR'S ORDERS!!!! Hey PG, wanna drink? Oh that's right, you can't HAVE ONE! Well, why don't you open another bottle of white for the rest of us."

"Fine," I smiled. He's such an amateur. Like it even bothers me. I am feeling very zen today, on my 7th day of sobriety. I feel very....sober. And it really wasn't a big deal to make it through the weekend. E & F were cool. F. gave me some "suggestions" about how I should adopt his strategy of drying out Sunday thru Friday, giving your liver five days of sobriety, so you can really rip it up the other two days. I wasn't really seeing the logic of his 2 case consumption on the weekends vs. my sporadic cocktails throughout the week, but then I reminded myself of my recent penchant for car bomb shots and I said a "Hail Mary" for my liver and remained silent. Anyway, they made me these drinks with ginger ale and cranberry and cherries and it was just like I was having a cocktail!

Back to my Dad. My Dad asked me about the liver situation in private the following day. I anticipated a lecture regarding drinking and it didn't come, for once. Instead, he referred to my liver condition when I was born. I forgot to mention this to my doctor and I should have. When I was born, I was two weeks late and induced, I guess I just wasn't ready to come out. So I was born with an undeveloped liver and they cooked me in one of those old school incubators for a week or so until my liver was ready. My dad says that I really have two birthdays, the day I came out and the day my liver was ready, because I went from one womb to another.

It's a weird genetic thing. It happens to the my mom's side of the family, which makes me wonder if frogs may have had it too? Anyway, it had never been cause for concern because babies had been born for generations in our family like this and they all ended up strapping, big drinking adults.

But then my mom told me that my Dad's sister, who I resemble in that Jan Brady episode kinda way, once came back with a high liver count and was told to dry out for 3 months. After that, she never drank like she used to, according to mother. I wonder when that was, because I remember going to see her in the hospital on her deathbed with luekemia and her asking me to come back with a manhattan in a tuperware container for her. That was a few years ago. She died a year later.

I found myself wishing I had my aunt here to talk to. She was The BOMB. She was tall and thin and her face was similar to mine. She was WILD - even right before she died, and she was over 70. She was always wild. At her youngest son's wedding she had one of the groomsmen swinging her around so hard on the dancefloor, he actually broke her wrist and she partied right through it. Didn't get it cast until the next day.

She pissed my cousins off once when they were up visiting from FLA., by running outside during a party and packing together some snowballs and then running in and pelting them with them. She must have been in her 50's when she did that.

She was pregnant when she got married. Just a little bit pregnant, you know what I mean. Her father, my grandfather, he was a drinker. Technically, he was an alcoholic. When she was ready to walk up the aisle of the rectory living room where she was being quietly married, she found her father 3 sheets to the wind in the rectory kitchen. She was so pissed off at his condition, she walked out of the room and walked herself up the aisle. Gave herself away. But as she was pregnant, I guess you could say she had already given herself away at least once before.

It happens. She was a good time. She was crazy. And she married herself a big, good natured navy guy who could both keep her in line and keep up. I would like to talk to her about that now. I would like to ask her about my life. How's it going? How's it going to turn out? And what's her chicken pot pie recipe? Alas, my greatest regret: not taking her up on those chicken pot pie lessons before she died.

Can't. Can't talk to her because she's gone and it's my life, not hers. She found a Navy guy and I haven't. This is my round to fight, although it would be nice to have a second Lt. for counsel.

So. I thought a lot this weekend. I watched a movie. I cleaned out my refrigerator and flooded my kitchen floor when I tried to fix the pipes under the sink.

I was the Director of the Easter Egg Hunt. I lined the kids up according to age on the ramp to the beach and then I gave the youngest group a 10-second head start. I tried to work with the group in advance to teach a strategy but I think they were all amped up on sugar because 10-seconds into my explanation they started jumping around in circles and screaming. It was like being in the eye of a tornado. So I just went with it and unleased the chaos of all the little cousins onto the beach. They tore it up. I stole some of their candy afterward when they were running around near the water.

I did.

My Dad told me that his local bar had an adult easter egg hunt the night before everyone had to bring a flashlight and you walk around the grounds with your cocktails and seached for eggs. That's a good time. We both wished we had been there.

My mom gave me an official NYPD t-shirt for Easter. I asked her if it was intended to help me get out of trouble and she laughed and said yes. I've been wearing it all day.

And in honor of Easter, I've decided to stop crucifying myself. Enough of this thinking and introspection, it's time for me to ditch the people who persecute and betray me and rise again.

And I will rise.

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