{I would rather do the 2 step than the 12 steps}

I have a little problem. I'm going to tell you about it. No judging, ok?

If you know any one blood related to muah you know we have a problem. Except maybe my mother, but she might just hide it well. The problem is the big A word. As in addict. Addicted. Addiction. Like, addictive personality. Like, the only reason I didn't start drinking back in the day was because I knew the second any sort of alcoholic beverage entered my system I would be a goner. That, my friends, is why I didn't rush my choice Greek organization. That and the fact that I am against buying friends. But, whatev.

Anyway, back to the problem. I have an addiction. A pretty bad one. Borderline serious need for repentance. While I was serving the Lord down south I came across a 12 step recovery program book the church puts out. I started to do it on my own, not with any real addiction in mind. It was just a good way to take a closer look at your life and iron out the wrinkles before they became permanent creases. I had been doing it for awhile, all was well. That is until I came to step 4.

Make a Searching and Fearless Written Inventory of Yourself

Oh heck no. To be completely honest the whole idea of an inventory of myself scares the poop out of me. Add to the fact that it should be fearless and written down and... no. Just no. That is where my 12 steps ended. I guess I should just probably call it my 3 steps. I know, i'm a quitter.

There are some things that I am hooked on, maybe like borderline addicted. Chaco tan lines, this song, the word 'boo' (as in 'oh hey, boo!'), my ghetto hoodrats, cutting my cuticles, texting my girl Hannah, and painting my nails (which reminds me I have to go to bed so I can get up early to do just that). But this, this has reached a whole new level. It's all I think about. All day. Every day. I know the best place in town to fulfill my needs. And you better believe I keep a stash of cash in the car incase an emergency arises and I need a fix asap. Frequent flier card? You better believe it.

At first I thought it was just an oral fixation, like a need to have something in this mouth of mine. And although that is def a part of it, I'm thinking knowing there is more to it than that. It's not even like it does anything for me. Just quenches my desires. Makes my life complete. Oh, how I love it. I want it. I need it. Oh baby. Oh baby. It is pure bliss. It rules my life, has taken over my world. It could be as cold as the winter weather but I wouldn't care as long as we're together.

And I'm loving every minute of it. 

Oh Diet Coke, how I love thee.

I even bought jumbo extra long straws to make the experience more exciting.

It did nothing but ruin the moment. Don't even try it.

All this talk has got me itching for a fix. If it wasn't 1:06 in the am and too scared to go out alone this time of night I would be hittin' up the closest Mav in a heart beat. It totes doesn't matter that I have an empty cup right here next to me that got sucked dry just a short time ago. In my world I would have a constant flow of the DC right into my mouth. All day. All dang day.

I know it's like, way bad and I should probably work on ridding this evil from my life, but I have absolutely no desire for such a thing. None at all. So I will continue on in my love and daily indulgence.

And they say admitting you have a problem is the first step. Girl, please.