Heh, noticed I didn’t touch too much on that whole alcohol thing, didn’t you?
I have a LOT of stories at the behest of the liquor teet that will follow me to my grave. Some I will probably share here that Spawn will never hear. Some they have.
Let’s start with the fact that I’m an enabler.
I have given a best friend the person they liked for their birthday. Yep, I would have put a bow on them if I could have. Why? Cause they wouldn’t talk to them. Did it again a few years later, because well… you can keep people as an ideal when you don’t know them. Otherwise, you have to acknowledge they are somewhat fucked up too. Sadly, no crazy tales to tell their grandchildren in either case… but hey, never know until you try.
None of this has anything to do with alcohol, we’re just establishing that this was there in my personality from the get go.
On this one point, neither Grand nor my mom were strongly opinionated about drinking underage. I had a fair share of wine, coolers, and beer before I ever made it to a drinking age. I didn’t go out for my “of age” birthday either. It just wasn’t a big deal. Between my home and several trips to Germany/Sweden/Austria/etc where the drinking age is “Can you see over the counter?,” I had a fair share of drunken bouts long before I even had a driver’s license. Personally, I think this is exactly the way it should be, but that’s a soapbox for another day.
I married young, even before the drinking age, so the whole wild nights and weekends partying were completely bypassed. I had been to maybe two keggers (do the kids these days even call it that anymore?) my first year of college, and me and the other geeks usually sat in a corner with our red dixie cups, drinking beer that was like watered-down horse piss… Bud, Natural or Miller Light… whatever. The conversation consisted of 78% “dduuuuuudde” and most of the rest was a series of grunts, high fives, and whistles that I believe was some sort of meathead mating ritual. Not real sure.
I had also been to a few parties as well, learning what “riding shotgun” was when it came to pot smoking, and got into multiple bars underage, once or twice going home with the band.
Oddly enough, my ex-spouse was still my first, so I was deeply naive in spite of my adventures in many ways. A lot of times, I did stuff like that because 1. I wanted to see if I could; 2. I just wanted to listen to the bands.
With that said, when I got a divorce, all that pent up deviancy I missed out on came bursting forth like a flaming Las Vegas Drag Queen.
It took me a good couple years immediately after we split to do the serious kind of introspection it takes to fully acknowledge where a relationship went wrong, and then honestly admitting your own contribution to its demise.
Then I hooked up with some fellow deviants and partied my fucking ass off. I started off this group of years with a truly Coyote Ugly moment, managing to slip away the next morning only checking into a gas station for a bucket of coffee while sporting a 3F (Fresh Fuck Fro, in my area… I’ve heard other meanings since) until I could get home and clean off the night before. I ran into that CU once or twice after, and I’m still unsure to this day how in hell I could even go there on my drunkest day, but maybe calling them a generic name I assigned to anyone I couldn’t remember (Jen for girls, Mike for guys) finally gave them the hint that the number they kept asking for was never going to be written legibly or correctly.
For most of the rest of it, I wasn’t quite as careless. I dated, at times more than one simultaneously. Sometimes it was just that night. My theory is that dating is a thing you do until you find something that fits, a relationship is a monogamous thing but until you have that conversation, all bets are off. When you feel no guilt over this kind of behavior, I’d even casually introduced one I was dating to another I was dating at the time. For the most part, I had enough of crazy jealous significant others who were fine with living out of a car “as long as we had one another” and absolutely no one else at all, especially that I specifically had no one else… I had no interest in flying into more of the same. The second I got any indication I was being bulldozed into a commitment, I was gone. I was much like trying to domesticate a feral cat. However, that is probably irrelevant. I will only finish that by saying, alcohol and my mom’s death played more than a small part in Spawn’s presence, effectively ending my bullshit when the responsibility became solely mine. I’m quite grateful for it.
During my period of single freedom, my days consisted of some craziness with large bouts of drinking followed by somewhat emotional visits (some drunks are scary about their jalapeno poppers) to Jack in the Box or Denny’s to gorge on copious amount of starchy crap, like Buffalo Chicken Tenders and pancakes because, why not? You know, I’m still not sure why I haven’t had my stomach pumped at least once.
I can only attribute my worst moments of enabling to be when I get in a mood that is a combination of boredom, irritation and a 4-year-old that lives in my brain waking up with a wealth of cheekiness and wild ideas.
I had two friends who felt the need to bitch and drink about their recent breakups and how tired they were of it, I was the sympathetic ear. I was in one of my self-induced dry spells where I also needed a break. I didn’t feel the need to join in the griping, they both looked for substance in bars, which I found ridiculous, whereas I was usually looking for nothing but momentary entertainment at best. That night, I wasn’t looking for anything but a good drink. That didn’t stop us being the target of some unwanted attention.
I have very little patience for people who cannot take not-so-subtle hints. My disgruntled friends had politely told the entities thrusting body parts in our direction that we were not interested in any company that night, but appreciated the attention. I suppose they took this as playing hard to get. I got annoyed, so instead of being stand offish, I got really close… the kind of close that paper could have barely fit between… then proceeded to discuss how the hormone injections were fucking with me “since the change” and did they want to check out the scars? It took all of 4 seconds for this to register and shockingly they said their friends from all the way across the loud bar were suddenly calling them. I said I heard it too. My two buddies were both agape when I turned back to settle in for their bitch session, to which I responded with… “what?”
Another time, a mixed group of us had gone out, some of us were there for the pool (me), some for the dancing (if the music was better, maybe) and karaoke (no fucking way). One of the ladies in the group was eyeballing a fellow across the place, trying very hard to get their attention. I managed to sit through about twenty minutes or so of bitching about “bad lighting”, “too much noise” or “damn walking people” that were proverbially cock-blocking her from making eyes with her goal, before I got up, sat at the table with the goal in question, noticed his buddy with him and proceeded to point out the lady of interest and tell him “my friend is interested in you, so if her friend isn’t interested in your friend, you’re ditching you friend, k?” and walked off to go play pool. But not before seeing the goal in question saunter over to their table and say hello, his buddy in tow.
I heard later they had a fun night… which I was told after a good bitching out for doing that in the first place. Oddly enough, there was more chemistry between the two sidekicks than the main couple in question.
Of course, there is also my favorite game of “Let’s see how much bullshit I can make this drunk believe,” which once entailed convincing a couple people that had migrated near our end of the bar that not only me and one of my friends were identical twins (we weren’t even the same fucking height, nor eye color, nor hair color, shape, shade or texture) but that we were kept by our third friend for sexual purposes and this was the first time we’d been allowed out of the cages in two weeks. The third friend was looked at in awe, in spite of turning 13 shades of purple and probably wishing they had never met me. They were even asked for “tips” on how we were “kept.”
My youngest brother-in-law was with me on his 21st, so I called up the hottest female friend I knew for him to shoot his Blowjob… wow, bad sentence. Before you express shock, it was tradition in my new Western town to try to take down a shot called a Blowjob on your legal birthday, without your hands, usually while it was sitting in-between someone’s thighs of the opposite sex. I only borrowed my friend’s thighs and she was well aware of what it entailed beforehand, so I’m not some sort of sex trades-person, ok? The drink had a very tall pile of whipped cream, which once you get this mass in your mouth all at once without help of your hands… well, use your damn imagination, it is called what it is for a reason.
I was also usually the getaway driver enlisted for birthdays as most of the bars in the area would give a free shot, your choice as to what. I think my record was 11 bars in an hour. The last shot of my brother-in-law’s evening was, as I requested “whatever the fuck you can set on fire.” He was pretty sick from all of the drinking, but like any sibling, natural or no, I took care of his ass… of course, while calling him a pansy bitch… you know, to show the love.
My other brother-in-law (there were about 5 and yes, we stay in touch even still. I’m an only child, having brothers suddenly was awesome to me) once came to stay with me for the weekend and made the remark “I need to get laid” to which I responded “I can make that happen.” Yes…. yes, I made that happen.
We have sung epic ballads in the middle of restaurants at three in the morning with our waiter who looked like he was in a biker gang in his off hours. After one really awesome night at a goth club that played some pretty epic obscure music that induced much motion (like techno with a goth edge, my Swede buddies would have loved it), we stopped in at one of those 24 hour diners to get a bite and watched as the entire waitstaff did a number to a musical bit that had come on the jukebox. It was so surreal, I still wonder if I really saw what I saw. It was like eating in the middle of a Fred and Ginger or Gene Kelly film.
I look back and think “god, I was such a fucking asshole” but honestly, I have to own it, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same thing today. Alcohol just made me a bit braver about it and the ideas were a lot more easily flowing. I also was a lot more social then, so my circle of help in my escapades were a lot wider too.
Don’t get me wrong, I still drink. I just went from “oh my god, we don’t even need to embalm this pickled ass” to maybe 6 beers a year, usually split with someone and usually with Spawn bitching about what a lush I am in the background. Whatever gene it is that allows me to just walk away from it without looking back, I’m grateful for it. Considering just the sheet volume I could take down and not show it, I really should have been a raging alcoholic.