Drunk & Disorderly / by Dana Bergstrom

I spent my college years on an Evangelical Christian campus--going to Bible Studies, eating loads of pizza and being a GOOD GIRL.

So as it were, I totally forgot to get into booze and drugs.


It wasn’t until my mid 30s when I began to explore all of that.

I'm now well into my 40s and still haven’t even gone full tilt on that journey yet, and as a result, I have no idea how to handle my alcohol or my drugs.

I don’t get crazy that often, but when I do…

I do it with FLAIR.

Like last week.

I was feeling a great deal of resistance to working on our fixer upper one day.

And instead of acknowledging my resistance, ya know, getting to the bottom of it and then letting it go with some deep breaths, I drank Diet Coke instead.

Diet Coke is like armor for me.

It makes me feel bulletproof.

My energy gets jacked and I become so amped and feisty that I overflow with inappropriate jokes and sexually harass Pauly, my hot husband of 23 years, waaaaay more than usual.

Basically, it takes every bit of FERAL ME up several notches to SUPER FERAL ME.

I stopped at McDonalds and got a jumbo Diet Coke because their crazy juice is the tastiest.

Diet Coke is basically my gateway drug.

I start with that and then get so wild that I think I need to come down with another substance.

So that day, after I finished my McD’s drink, I added some limeade and tequila to more Diet Coke.

And then I just kept on drinking, paying zero attention to how much alcohol I was taking in. 


Things went downhill pretty quickly.

All I remember is laughing and dropping a lot of F-bombs.

But that’s it.

So I’m going on what Pauly has told me plus a bit of video he took of the whole incident.

It all began to go sour when I told him I wanted a divorce because I hate remodeling with him. 

I also said, “If I can’t get a divorce then I’m gonna drink myself to death. Tonight!”

And apparently I said this over and over.

Divorce or Death!

Your choice!


Drama Queen much?!



Patient Pauly decided that he’d had enough of my drunken nonsense and was going to the gas station to take a break.

But I accused him of being too drunk to drive, which he wasn’t, after sipping on two beers all day long. 

However, my brain imagined his inebriation as it was running mostly on tequila; so as he attempted to back out of the driveway, I came up with a genius plan to stop him.

I ran out of the house towards our Mini Cooper and pretended that he hit me in the arm with the side mirror.

I dropped to the driveway and screamed,


He had to park the car, get out and come around to see what I was doing, because now I had actually put myself in danger of getting run over.

I began crawling on the driveway towards the front door, still screaming,


The neighbors across the street hurriedly pulled down their windows and shades.

They'd witnessed it all.

Once I crawled into the house, I splayed out on the living room floor and pretended to be dead from a bumped elbow.

Shortly after the dramatic living room death scene, the room began to spin, so I stumbled to the bathroom.

This is where Pauly began videotaping me.

I'm sitting on the closed toilet, holding my head and pontificating about driving under the influence, and how, if he got caught, it would ruin his life.

Then I move to the floor in front of the toilet and rest my head and arms on the seat and continue to lecture him about the dangers of drinking and driving and that he’d never to get to share his Jin Shin Jyutsu from a jail cell.

I loudly spell out the word J-A-I-L and slowly drag an index finger across my throat, just to emphasize the point about his career being finished.

Not long after that, the tequila exited my body from where it came and I passed out in bed.

And I woke up the next day feeling like a...


I am not kidding!

I have got this drunk and disorderly shit DOWN!

It’s nice to know that my sweet husband understands it was drunken yelling about divorce and death, and that I have no intention of pursuing either.

And the fact that I’ve sat through a few of his inebriated hoohaw bits myself over the past couple of decades, also doesn't hurt.

The unconditional love is there for us both, drunk or not.

Now every single time I see my neighbors, I start giggling.

And I laugh A LOT because they’re over in our yard chatting every single day, sometimes multiple times a day, and nobody has said ONE WORD about the event from last week.

As if this is a totally normal way of living one’s life!

Screaming about imaginary injuries while crawling around on the driveway!


Boozy tales.

Meanwhile, I’ve decided that I’m gonna stop my gateway drug for good.

So if you see me with a Diet Coke, please feel free to knock it out of my hand.

But be prepared to be tackled and bitten quite hard, because you’ll have no idea how much feral juice I'll have consumed.

You have been warned.