I’ve been a wine blogger with varying levels of readership for the past 3 years. For a wine blog, I guess that’s kind of old. I’ve gone through the history of how I started my blog before (after attending the Boston Wine Expo, blah blah blah, etc.), so I won’t rehash. But this past year for me has brought about massive changes and those changes are evidenced by my (lack of) writing.

• - I lost 50 pounds.
• - I got a promotion at work.
• - I’m working on connecting with my inner me.

2011 was an eventful and overwhelming year for me in many ways. The weight loss is truly front and center in that. I went from 200 pounds to 150 pounds in a year and a half. Last I wrote about it, I wasn’t close to my goal but I hit it after working at it every day. If 50 pounds wasn’t impressive in itself, how about losing 25% of my starting weight? That’s pretty life changing if you ask me (after all, I did that and my life is different now).

I had to adjust my wine intake. There was no way around it. Then the job promotion came and my weight loss slowed as my stress increased. It became harder to keep up my strict diet but somehow I shimmied down a bit more anyway. But I was stressed and not drinking as much so I had to get out my thoughts and emotions. I started writing more, but not here or about wine. I wrote in a personal journal that I still write in very regularly.

I realized that if I don’t write here, I have to write somewhere. I was also able, for the first time in my life, to put a name to this unending desire to write. I’m an introvert. I spend time living in my head and concocting theories, arranging stories, and thinking about life. A large part of how I keep myself sane is through writing. Being prepared with this knowledge, that I’m not just some crazy person, is helping me to be more me in every situation.

Deep inside of my soul lives a writer who lives to tell stories. When the stories stop being written, that part of me starts to wither (and you could argue that its not just a part of me but the whole me). I’ve always been that way. I know that even if I’m not the best writer who ever lived, I’m still a writer and writing keeps me sane/whole/”normal.”

It’s unfortunate, but not all of the stories that I want to tell are wine related and belong here. I’m sorry for neglecting you, but while I was neglecting you, I was trying to nourish myself. I’d do it again if I had it to do over.

I’m a healthy weight for the first time in nearly 7 years. I feel more emotionally balanced than I have since some time in college. I am able to clearly define why I’ve always felt “off.” These are huge wins. My art has continued to grow, if only within the confines of my pen and paper.

But then, my 3 year old blog still lingers here. Dusty and neglected. If only I had wine stories for every day so I could fill this up and overflow with amazing imagery and emotion. I don’t right now but maybe I will. Or maybe the journey here is less about wine and more about this woman that I am. The Wineing Woman. Who is she? Maybe, regardless of beverage choice, she is my outward persona who allows me to present my thoughts through an accepted medium. Maybe as I grow and change through the years, so does she and she writes about things unconnected to wine but she still is The Wineing Woman.

Or maybe not. I don’t really know.

So with my third year of blogging, let’s at least resolve that even if I can’t blog often, I will blog meaningfully. And that’s what matters most.

I’ve had a goal ever since my friend Ashley became engaged last summer. Her fiancé’s last name was Champagne and upon the realization that her last name would soon be Champagne, I needed to ensure that they had the real thing on their wedding day (the real thing being a bottle from Champagne, France, not just any old bottle of bubbly that people sometimes group with the real thing). It’s not that I dislike other kinds of bubbly, it was just purely on principle here.

Of course, this was a personal mission and part of my gift (or blessing, if you prefer) that I could bestow on my friends. I felt compelled. I can only imagine that this is the same type of feeling that religious leaders get when they say that they got their calling. I knew my calling. It was to booze up some newlyweds with some (seriously legit) champagne. It’s probably less romantic to have gotten my calling from my inner wino than some type of God, but that’s not the point here (unless wino is my religion, in which case this was wholly the same thing).

I was called and I needed to do this. Knowing that the others who partook may not appreciate the gesture as much as I felt its importance didn’t matter somehow. All I was required to do was pour full glasses to Mr. and Mrs. Champagne, offer them the best sentimental gift that I know how, and hope they were happy.

The wedding commenced and everything was ready. My carefully chosen bottle was safely nestled inside of our limo, just waiting for its shining moment. The couple had theirs, and now it was showtime. We piled into the limo and I readied my offering. Camille Saves Brut Rose. The same wine I drank with Tom to celebrate our engagement. The same wine we toasted when we won the Stanley Cup. The same wine that I intend to toast upon my own marriage. The same wine, sharing here, now, with them.

I popped, poured, and settled in to watch their faces. Ashley, knowing how much this meant to me, profusely thanked me for my gift and we all sipped. It’s amazing how quickly a bottle of wine so special and prized can disappear when eight bridesmaids along with a bride and groom are enjoying it. It seemed like mere seconds, though I know it must have been longer. The wine was gone, my duty was done, and I felt fulfilled.

And then came the complimentary bottles of sparkling wine provided by the limo rental company. Andre. We went from Camille Saves to Andre. Now, if you’re not familiar, let me give you a little background here. Camille Saves retails for about $50 while Andre is about $5. Price doesn’t always equate to quality but here, oh dear, here it does.

After the beauty of my special bottle, we endured sugary sweet sap, that can somehow be considered in the same category of the former. The crowd loved it, which crushed my inner wino ever so slightly. But I had to savor that I introduced these people to something completely sentimental and while they may not have felt the gravity, I sure did.

I perched my half-filled glass of Andre back where it had been stored before our wine adventures began and resigned to savor the mission that I had completed.

I thought about this for a good long time and having accomplished my calling, I was proud. Sharing good wine (especially sentimental wine) is part of how a wino loves. I hope they felt that.

It’s one of those drinks. You know, those drinks. The kind that say on the menu “Served only to parties of two or more” and comes in a fish bowl (okay, it probably never housed any fish and did have a stem, but it was a behemoth of a thing).  It’s a rum punch but you’d really have to convince me that it was much more than a bag of sugar with some fruit on top served with six straws.

I hate being any sort of booze elitist, because who really likes guys like that? I had held my tongue when a bottle of Martini & Rossi Asti Spumante was referred to as champagne. A bachelorette party limo where talk of how drunk we’ll get tonight is hardly the platform to educate some lovely ladies on the difference between our bottle of bubbly and methode champenoise.

Try as I might, small sip after small sip of The Rough Rider started making me queasy. Sugary drinks are hardly my thing these days and as much as I could force my palate to approve the beverage, my stomach went into full out protest. I just heard it telling me that drinking this much sugar is going to trigger an upchuck way before it triggers any alcohol buzz. It wasn’t worth the trouble of keeping appearances and joining in on the novelty drink fun.

As I paid attention to my tastes and body during a conversation about how it would cost $500 if anyone puked in the limo so we should get drunk, but not too drunk, a $6.00 glass of CK Mondavi Pinot Grigio seemed all the more appealing. Maybe it’s not the best wine I’ve ever let touch my tongue but in that moment, the respite from sugar coma was incredible. There was acid, not accompanied by too much sugar, and I could relax and enjoy the moment again. Drunk but not puking? I can do this. As I downed my wine, all was settling in.

It’s hard to get comfortable in certain situations sometimes, as I was finding that night at my good friend’s bachelorette party. You may not have noticed, but I’m not the girly-est of girls around. But somehow, getting the right drink eased me into the night and opened me up to allow myself to have a good time.

A shot and a gin and tonic later (continuing my theme of lower sugar drinks), we hit the dance floor and let loose.