Dairy Products with the word Cream

I have weird issues with cheese these days. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but I am increasingly more particular about which kind I will eat. And when I say which kind, I'm not talking about the type of cheese: cheddar, feta, provolone. I'm talking about certain brands of shredded cheese that are just not acceptable for me anymore. Store-bought shredded cheese tends to have a powdery film on the outside of it.
Cellulose--An anti-caking agent. Ew.

But I'm too lazy to grate my own cheese so what I should probably do is get the F over it.

But I won't, I'll just keep complaining.

If it's melted then I don't really see a difference, it's when the cheese is raw that I just can't do it.

You will never see me eat shredded cheese on a salad.

Feta, I'm all about. Maybe I just like white cheeses. Wait, does that sound racist?

One thing I most definitely know is that I love dairy products with the word Cream: Sour Cream, Whip Cream, Ice Cream and Cream Cheese.

Now the word Cream is starting to look odd. Cream, Cream, Cream.

You simply cannot have Mexican food without Sour Cream, it just doesn't feel right.

And I'm at the point where I will refuse the food unless I have a glob of the fantastic white stuff on the side of my plate.

Is that so wrong?

I love everything about it. Sour Cream is perfect.

I mix it with my beans, my rice, stick it in my burrito, on my fajitas, I even mix it with my salsa and eat it with chips!

Mexican is not the only type of food that calls out Sour Cream's name.
In fact, you can put it on anything as far as I'm concerned.

But Sour Cream's thicker cousin Cream Cheese is even more amazing and delicious.

MMM. I'm hungry just thinking about it.

Cream Cheese has me sprung. That thickness just drives me crazy. I want to eat a bagel just to have a reason to consume that delicious white spread.

I will put it on anything. Crackers, pretzels, and chips. I want it around me all the time, just in case I get a craving.

Now, Ice Cream is very high on my dairy product list but you won't see it in my house very often.

And that is because my obsession with it needs to be kept in check at all times.
It's just not healthy (my obsession).

I could bathe in Ice Cream. I don't discriminate against certain flavors, of course I have my favorites, but any will do when I feel the burning desire forming inside me.

And who doesn't love Whip Cream?

It comes in a can that makes it ever-so-simple to put a little pile of the creamy goodness inside your mouth.

I can't complain with that.

And this is why I will never be vegan.

Step One

After living 27 years of my life the daughter of a man with a disease that causes him to drink excessive amounts of alcohol--I feel a sense of relief today.

I went to my first ever Al-Anon meeting with my beautifully brave mother by my side.

I walked away seeing the struggle through so many different eyes.

I sat there thinking that my struggle was unlike any of the others in the room and realized once I was removed from the building that the reality is we all just share A struggle.
Whether it's a father or a mother or a husband or a wife or a brother or a sister or all of the above...
Everyone in that room was there because a person they love has an addiction.
An addiction that has become a blood-sucking leech that refuses to let go and here we are left in a puddle of their blood hoping for a transfusion.

I am not the person to get mad at my dad, I am not the one to point the finger at him and tell him all the wrongs he has done because in my mind--it just doesn't seem all that wrong.

Therein lies part of my issue but I haven't even been able to yet conquer the task of figuring that out.

In my mind I wage war. Sadness and Pity have at it and Sadness is the champ every time.
Pity is what he wants. Sadness is what I feel.

I'm not angry, I'm not upset with him, I'm just sad.
Sad that this man has lived practically his whole life battling an addiction to a substance that is legal, readily available, embraced by society and extremely widely used.

I am sad that I see this wonderfully marvelous world and all the opportunity it has to offer and he sees a bottle of potent clear liquid.
I am sad that I see the love and joy that comes from my meaningful relationships and he see his one tried and true confidant: vodka.
I am sad that I see all of his great potential as a man, a father, a grandfather and friend and he sees the loneliness of the bottle.

I prepare for the day he will no longer be around. The day I will stand up in front of my family and speak about the man he WAS. The day that all I will have are the memories of him stored in the file cabinets of my mind.

The day when the last memory of him is so distant that it almost feels unreal.

Whoever came up with the phrase "elephant in the room" and tied it to alcoholism, pretty much has it all figured out.

I've lived my entire life with this huge beast standing right in front of my face.

I haven't yelled at it, I've haven't kicked it, I haven't tried to knock it down.

I haven't done a damn thing about it.
Because I never knew what to do.

But today, I do know one thing: I am letting this animal loose.