And, again, it is late - 1:40 a.m. to be precise - and I can't sleep. I went to bed before midnight and I tossed and turned, couldn't get comfortable, had a hundred thoughts running through my head; so I gave up and got up. A friend told me that I should relax my body and then my mind would relax and I could sleep. Well that doesn't seem to work with me. Nothing relaxes!
So, what keeps me up? Is it inherited? My grandmother was a writer and she would start writing her newspaper column after everyone else was in bed. When we were very young, my sister and I would sleep in a converted porch right off of my grandmother's office. I remember laying awake listening to her pound away on her typewriter. THAT always put me to sleep. Of course, she wouldn't get up until noon the next day and I don't have that luxury.
My dad, her son, went to bed early every evening. He would sometimes make it through the news; sometimes not. But he was an early riser and was usually up by 5:30 or 6:00 a.m. every morning.
My mom has always stayed up late. She would watch the late shows and then, later when she had the ability to record her "soaps," would stay up late watching those. But she, too, did not have to get up early the next morning. Her parents, my other grandparents, went to bed early every evening and got up early every morning.
I'm so confused! I must have inherited a little of my grandmother and my mother - sort of funny since they were two completely different types of people and never really "connected." I wish, like my sister, I had inherited the ability to go to sleep early and arise early. She got the better part of that gene!
So what is keeping me up tonight? Well, let's see...first there are work-related things. I always seem to come up with great ideas for my next project when I turn out the lights and go to bed. Tonight I couldn't turn off ideas that kept running through my head about how to make our next chef event - a year from now - better. What I would do, how I could raise more money, who would be a good chairperson, on and on and on.
Then, my married, adorable friend's face comes into focus and I start thinking about him. (It would be so much easier to say his name but I'm afraid one day someone who shouldn't see it will find this blog - Lord knows how - and so I can't use it). I wonder if he is sleeping soundly - probably is. I wonder if he'll ever call. I imagine him calling me and saying he wants to see me and that he was wrong; that he can't fight his feelings for me any longer. I think about spending a wonderful evening with him, holding hands, laughing and talking and having dinner and wine. And then I imagine what might happen next. It's excruciating!
Then, for some odd reason Rick pops into my head. (I can use Rick's name because if he ever read any of this he would laugh.) I imagine him sending me an email telling me he wants to see me. I tell him that he is a happily married man. He tells me that, "well, I'm married," implying that he's not HAPPILY married. And then I start to think about that and say, "OK, I want to see you, too." What better person to have one wild night with than the man to whom I lost my virginity. I mean, it's been long enough now that I'm probably a virgin again - nice symmetry to that.
But my friend is married, too - I suppose, happily, but somehow don't think that is the case - and I don't even hesitate when I think about him calling me and saying he wants to see me. I don't tell him that he is happily married - I just say OK. I HATE THIS! I really need to get laid.
Then I start thinking about what I really want to do with the rest of my life. I don't want to stay where I am at work. There is little to no chance of moving up, and I just can't see continuing to fund raise and put on golf tournaments and galas for the next 15 years - at least not at the pay rate I'm at there. I think about a woman I met who helped give me tips and advice on what I could do for the chef event, and how wonderful it would be to work for her. She has her own event company and puts on extravagant events with seemingly endless amounts of money to spend. That sounds so fun. But she is a good friend of my boss and how would I ever approach her without her going back to my boss and telling her I want to jump ship?
And then I come to writing. I love to write. I don't know how good I am - people who I allow to read my stories say I'm very good - but I don't know. I would love to write a book and maybe, if I take the time one day and lay out all of these posts, I can find a theme that runs through them enough to put a book together. Anna Quinlan writes great books with each chapter a different part of her life or career. That would be the type of book I would like to write. Or maybe I can turn all of this into a novel - fiction of course - and add more humor to each piece. That was the last thing I thought about before I finally threw back the covers, went outside and smoked a cigarette and came in here and started to write this post.
Maybe this is a good thing - that I have all of these thoughts and can get up and write them down. I wish I could just jot things down in the notebook I keep on my bedside table, go to sleep and then write about it at a decent hour or on the weekends. But that doesn't work for me. Either I can't read my writing or nothing I wrote makes sense the next day. I can write down my dreams when I awake after a really interesting one, but can't seem to write these things down and get them out of my head while I'm awake.
And I've tried sleeping pills, and Tylenol pm and herbal sleep aids. Nothing works. I end up falling asleep but then I can't get up the next morning without feeling like I've been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. I'd rather be up late, wide awake and stay that way until I can't keep my eyes open. I'm tired when I get up the next day but I don't feel as if I've been slipped a rape drug!
I can't really think of anything specific to even write about tonight; at least not anything that would interest anyone in reading. I miss my friend terribly. It is so hard to keep away from him or to not send him an email or a text. But I can't... How long will this take?
Honestly, going back and forth through emails with Rick a few nights ago took my mind off of him for a while; at least for a few hours each night. But he always just pops back into my head. I want him out of my head and out of my heart!
At my age it is so hard to meet men who aren't married. I don't know where to go to even find them. Another friend told me I should go to a really nice bar and take a book with me, sit at the bar and have a drink. Supposedly some nice man would eventually come up and ask what I am reading, and then a conversation would ensue. I've heard this theory before but have never known anyone who really tried it. I think if this happened it would turn into a one-night stand with some man who is in town on business and looking to get laid. Maybe that's not a bad thing. I've never done that before - had a one-night stand - but I guess now that I'm older I don't have any reason to feel guilty or embarrassed the next day. Hmmm...maybe I should give this some thought. Well, see now, I'll try to go to sleep and think about THAT!
SLEEP! Why is it so hard to just fall asleep?! OK, this bored even me enough that maybe I can go to sleep now.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
I lost my virginity at church camp!
Well, it was an Episcopal church camp with a lot of horny 16 and 17 year old young men and women running around for two weeks. I'm sure I wasn't the first nor the last... At least I lost it to the first boy/young man I ever loved. Not the puppy love or infatuation when you're that age, but real love. He was, and still is, the most handsome guy I've ever dated/or married for that matter. I mean this was a guy that you would stop on the street and stare at if you passed him. I was a late bloomer so I was coming into my own beauty at that time, so we made such a beautiful couple. His name was Rick.
There was a bridge over a creek that separated the boys campgrounds from the girls campgrounds. Every night we would say goodnight at the bridge - actually, there was a "make-out spot" right at the halfway point. Then the counselors would come out yelling "good night ladies!" and we would make our way to our cabins.
I loved camp and looked forward to it every year. I cried every time I had to go home even though most of us lived either in Dallas or Fort Worth and would see each other throughout the year. There was just something about being there with all of these great friends, having fun, acting silly, staying up past curfew in our cabins laughing and talking.
And those cabins! The girls had it a little better than the boys but not by much. They were old and we had bunk beds, no A/C, just slept with the windows open. Our showers were cold so if you had really long hair like I did, you learned how to shampoo and rinse really quickly. We also had to get up at the crack of dawn each morning to go to morning Mass at this beautiful outdoor chapel. It made getting up early worth it; plus we got to sing stupid "good morning" songs to the guys as they walked past us on the way to the chapel. Only time they ever got to cross that bridge was each morning for chapel. We always looked really nice and they looked like they had just rolled out of bed and threw on wrinkled T-shirts and shorts!
But not Rick - wrinkled T-shirt or not, he always looked gorgeous. I honestly can't remember how it all started with him. All of a sudden, early into the first week, we were an "item." You know those butterflies you get in your stomach when you know you are really attracted to someone - well they were running rampant through mine whenever I was around him. We had our "make-out" sessions each night at the bridge, but it wasn't until the last night of camp that the kissing turned into something more serious.
I remember that we found a place under the bridge to get away from everyone and things just got more intense. The next thing I knew I was making love with him. I remember that it hurt at first - of course it did, I was a virgin - but then it didn't. The funny thing about all of that is that I never felt self conscious with him the next day or afterwards because we loved each other and I knew it.
He lived in Dallas so he was close enough to come see me the rest of the summer. We even got caught one night by the police when we were making out in his car. My dad was on the City Council so I think the police were always looking out for me. I always got caught doing something that I wasn't supposed to do!
Anyway, Rick was a year ahead of me in high school so he had graduated and went off to Sewanee to go to school. He gave me his class ring and I wore it everywhere. We talked on the phone constantly but I was now a senior in high school and attracting a lot of guys who wanted to date me. Rick came home from Sewanee over Thanksgiving, I think, and said he wanted to marry me when I graduated. I was already dating someone by this time - who turned out to be a real idiot - and I was young and stupid...and scared at thinking about marrying someone when I was that young. I broke it off with him and evidently wasn't too nice about it. I broke his heart and that has always made me sad.
I kept his picture - in fact I may still have it buried in old photographs - but when I graduated and went off to Austin, I didn't know how to get in touch with him or what to even say. So...we never spoke again.
We got back in touch through Facebook about a year ago and he, of course, is happily married with kids of his own. In fact one of his sons looks so much like Rick did when he was his age that it is scary. I don't have many regrets - don't believe in them. One is that I gave up ballet when I could have gone on to dance in New York. Yeah...I was that good. Another is that I never got back in touch with Rick. We should have married and had a lot of pretty babies. By then I was older and smarter and realized that he was the sweetest, nicest guy I ever dated. But, when you've hurt someone and they are far away, it's tough to figure out a way to find them and see if they can forgive you and start over. I didn't want him to hate me and I certainly didn't want to see that in his face if I actually found him. I don't think he did and who knows...life might have been very different. But, it is what it is and I'm glad to know that he is happily married with kids of his own.
Of course, I'll always remember him and hold him in a special place in my heart. You do that with your first real love, especially if you lose your virginity to him...and it's hard to forget since it happened at CHURCH CAMP FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!
There was a bridge over a creek that separated the boys campgrounds from the girls campgrounds. Every night we would say goodnight at the bridge - actually, there was a "make-out spot" right at the halfway point. Then the counselors would come out yelling "good night ladies!" and we would make our way to our cabins.
I loved camp and looked forward to it every year. I cried every time I had to go home even though most of us lived either in Dallas or Fort Worth and would see each other throughout the year. There was just something about being there with all of these great friends, having fun, acting silly, staying up past curfew in our cabins laughing and talking.
And those cabins! The girls had it a little better than the boys but not by much. They were old and we had bunk beds, no A/C, just slept with the windows open. Our showers were cold so if you had really long hair like I did, you learned how to shampoo and rinse really quickly. We also had to get up at the crack of dawn each morning to go to morning Mass at this beautiful outdoor chapel. It made getting up early worth it; plus we got to sing stupid "good morning" songs to the guys as they walked past us on the way to the chapel. Only time they ever got to cross that bridge was each morning for chapel. We always looked really nice and they looked like they had just rolled out of bed and threw on wrinkled T-shirts and shorts!
But not Rick - wrinkled T-shirt or not, he always looked gorgeous. I honestly can't remember how it all started with him. All of a sudden, early into the first week, we were an "item." You know those butterflies you get in your stomach when you know you are really attracted to someone - well they were running rampant through mine whenever I was around him. We had our "make-out" sessions each night at the bridge, but it wasn't until the last night of camp that the kissing turned into something more serious.
I remember that we found a place under the bridge to get away from everyone and things just got more intense. The next thing I knew I was making love with him. I remember that it hurt at first - of course it did, I was a virgin - but then it didn't. The funny thing about all of that is that I never felt self conscious with him the next day or afterwards because we loved each other and I knew it.
He lived in Dallas so he was close enough to come see me the rest of the summer. We even got caught one night by the police when we were making out in his car. My dad was on the City Council so I think the police were always looking out for me. I always got caught doing something that I wasn't supposed to do!
Anyway, Rick was a year ahead of me in high school so he had graduated and went off to Sewanee to go to school. He gave me his class ring and I wore it everywhere. We talked on the phone constantly but I was now a senior in high school and attracting a lot of guys who wanted to date me. Rick came home from Sewanee over Thanksgiving, I think, and said he wanted to marry me when I graduated. I was already dating someone by this time - who turned out to be a real idiot - and I was young and stupid...and scared at thinking about marrying someone when I was that young. I broke it off with him and evidently wasn't too nice about it. I broke his heart and that has always made me sad.
I kept his picture - in fact I may still have it buried in old photographs - but when I graduated and went off to Austin, I didn't know how to get in touch with him or what to even say. So...we never spoke again.
We got back in touch through Facebook about a year ago and he, of course, is happily married with kids of his own. In fact one of his sons looks so much like Rick did when he was his age that it is scary. I don't have many regrets - don't believe in them. One is that I gave up ballet when I could have gone on to dance in New York. Yeah...I was that good. Another is that I never got back in touch with Rick. We should have married and had a lot of pretty babies. By then I was older and smarter and realized that he was the sweetest, nicest guy I ever dated. But, when you've hurt someone and they are far away, it's tough to figure out a way to find them and see if they can forgive you and start over. I didn't want him to hate me and I certainly didn't want to see that in his face if I actually found him. I don't think he did and who knows...life might have been very different. But, it is what it is and I'm glad to know that he is happily married with kids of his own.
Of course, I'll always remember him and hold him in a special place in my heart. You do that with your first real love, especially if you lose your virginity to him...and it's hard to forget since it happened at CHURCH CAMP FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Falling Down Drunk - LITERALLY!
I had my fair share of alcohol and/or pot induced nights out in college. Who didn't in the '70s? I think when you go to UT-Austin that it is part of the curriculum - an elective, of course. In my late twenty's before I got married, I had five good friends that I would gather with on weekends to have dinner and drinks at Baby Routh's. We were a little smarter then and had designated drivers or didn't drink enough to fall off of our bar stools.
Then I married a man who increasingly over the 11 years we were married drank more and more; so I stopped drinking altogether. Over the last several years after our divorce, I rarely drank any alcohol. I did smoke pot one night with some friends and after almost killing myself with laughter - what a way to go, eh? - drove home at 30 miles an hour on the highway thinking I was doing 80, and declaring that every song I heard on the radio was the BEST song ever! I didn't do that again but it was fun. Anyway, I digress as usual... I've had a margarita here and there, and a couple of glasses of wine or a beer occasionally with friends but, for the most part, I just don't enjoy drinking anymore. So, I guess you could now call me a "light weight" when it comes to drinking.
Oh...once, in the midst of my anger and sadness over what had become a bad marriage, I did go out with some friends in Washington, DC and drank WAY too many vodka shots - they thought it was funny and just kept buying them for me. It was not a pretty sight but it helped me forget what was going on in my wretched life. Forgot about that one until now - funny how that happens.
So, this brings me to something that happened about a month ago. I met my very married "friend" at a bar - oh, about 30 miles from where I live - to hear a band that had been recommended to him. Several of his work colleagues were going to be there. Seemed safe enough. I would be lying if I didn't say that I just wanted to see him and what is the use of lying in a blog?
When I arrived he was there alone - his friends had not shown up yet. I was nervous so I grabbed a Sam Adams and then another - I downed those two in about 20 minutes and I'm NOT a beer drinker. The second one was the last Sam Adams that the bar had (huh?) but by that time I didn't care what type of beer I drank, so I drank Budweiser from that point on. YUK! Tasted good at the time, though. There were buckets of beer - I think I actually bought one myself - and I just kept on a drinkin'. I have no idea how many I had but I had plenty!
Now the rest of this story is made up of what I do remember and some of what I don't. So I've taken some literary license with some of the incidents. But I do remember most of it - unfortunate for me. I remember he was standing behind me at one point and I leaned up against him and held his hand lovingly. I then turned around and looked into his eyes wanting him to kiss me. Now this sounds really cheesy but drinking and cheesy sometimes are great friends. Of course nothing happened and I sort of moved away to get some space between the two of us. Big mistake because he was sort of the "wall" that I, by now, needed to lean on.
Oh, and one of his friends did show up - ONE - and he is going through a divorce and was with his girlfriend. That made it SO much more comfortable since I'm pretty sure she might have been the reason for his pending divorce.
I was now standing in the path of those who wanted to move up closer to the stage and kept getting pushed to the side. Of course, pushing makes you stumble a bit, or more if you're wearing 3-inch heeled boots. Then I realized I was stumbling to the side without being pushed - not a good sign. There was a pole sort in front of me and my friend suggested I might want to hold on to the pole. Well, that turned into a freakish pole dance since I couldn't even stand up straight holding on to it. There I am sliding and swaying holding onto this pole. The only thing that was missing was the booming music and the fact that I was fully clothed. I'm sure there were many people there who I don't know and hope I never see again who thought this was very funny and, in looking back, it actually was.
By now I have stopped drinking and I'm sure my friend was behind me crouching like a goalie with arms outspread trying to prevent the puck from going into the goal, just to make sure he could push me up when I fell back against him - repeatedly. He couldn't have been totally sober either but he wasn't as bad off as me. And that's his own story - not mine.
Eventually the concert ended and it was time to leave. As I was making my way to the bathroom - hey, it was a long drive home - a woman who I have never met came up to me and started asking me if I thought her homemade purse was ugly. Evidently someone told her it was. I have no idea what it looked like but I said, "Honey...it's the prettiest purse I've seen in a long time - you should be proud of what you did." She looked at me and asked, "Is someone driving you home?" Of course I lied and said yes. Right about then my friend walked up and she said to him, "Oh good, she definitely needs someone to drive her home." Not knowing what we had been discussing he said, honestly, "Well, I have my own car." So I turned and stumbled to the bathroom.
While standing in line there I kept leaning/falling into the woman in front of me. She was very nice and just kept propping me back up. Finally, she just let me go ahead of her. It's a wonder that I didn't fall in the stall - and maybe I did. But somehow I got everything tucked in and buttoned and got out of there without drowning. I even had the presence of mind to wash my hands - thanks mom.
When I came out of the bathroom my friend was waiting for me by the door. Now, this is a stand up guy. He could have just left me there to fend for myself but he didn't. We walked outside - well he walked, I swayed and stumbled outside - and I said I could find my car. He stopped me and said that we needed to get some coffee in me. So we started walking over to the Waffle House across the street. I remember going down two steps and then seeing what looked like a big step with grass below. As I started to step down he said, "Don't step off that..." and I remember saying, "It's just another step." Then I stepped off a short wall and fell into the grass. I'm sure he tried to grab me and got nothing but air. I don't know how I got up but I think he jumped down and pulled me up and asked if I was OK. Of course I was! It was JUST a step I stumbled on and then I tripped and fell on grass - what could be wrong with that?
At this point, he grabbed my hand and led me to the Waffle House and sat me in a booth. He ordered coffee for me and tea for himself. Tea? I guess I don't know EVERYTHING about him - maybe he doesn't drink coffee. I may have even said something about that but I don't remember. We sat there and talked and he said he couldn't do this and I said I couldn't do this and there were tears and it was just sad. So you would think that and two cups of coffee would sober me up enough to drive home. WRONG!
We left that fine establishment and my friend took my hand and guided me to my car. At this point I knew that I shouldn't drive but couldn't think quick enough about what to do. He, couldn't drive me home and I would never have asked him to. He lives much closer to the bar than I do and it was getting very late - and he's married. So we get to my car and I, again, looked at him and wanted to kiss him. Didn't happen. Looking back I was acting like a lovesick teenager at this point - not pretty at my age. He may have asked me if there was somewhere closer I could go and there was - I could have gone to my sister's house - I don't know. I know he asked repeatedly if I was OK to drive home and, of course, I said I was. So I got in my car and left.
OK - don't do what I did. That was the scariest and most foolish thing I've ever done. Well, it at least ranks in the top two. I put the car on cruise control once I got on the highway thinking that I would then have only one thing to concentrate on - staying between the lines. I could barely do that and I was literally praying that I didn't hit someone or pass a police car. Thankfully, that did not happen and I somehow made it home. I don't know if my friend followed me part or all of the way - he just asked that I text him when I made it home so he would know that I was alright. In hindsight, he should have either called a cab or driven me home or to my sister's house. But, again, he is married and that makes doing the right thing awkward. I'm sure if something happened to me on the way home he would have regretted it for the rest of his life - again, cheesy but I like to think that would have been the case. I guess I'm a little pissed that he didn't offer to do something other than put me in the car and let me drive home. Maybe I acted sober enough, who knows? Anyway, I got home safe and sound.
Safe from the drive yes - then I got in my apartment. I decided I could stand on one leg in the middle of my living room and take off a boot. The next thing I know I'm free falling backward to one side - in slow motion of course because that is always how these things appear - and fell flat on my left side and hit my head against the wall. Thank goodness the head was the last thing to hit or I would have knocked myself out! Then...I couldn't get up. So I laid there for a minute, actually laughing at this point, and finally rolled over into the fetal position so I could prop myself up and slowly get to a sitting position - boots are both still on by the way. While down on the floor I texted him to let him know I got home OK, not mentioning that I just fell like a dead body to the floor and almost knocked myself unconscious! I then took off my boots and struggled to my feet. I knew I was bruised but didn't really feel it at the time. I staggered - I think I staggered for about four hours that night - into my bedroom, held on to the wall and attempted to get my clothes off without falling again. It was a risk and took a while, but I finally got undressed and managed to pull something on to sleep in. I at least had the presence of mind to stumble into the kitchen and get a big glass of water before I fell into bed and went to sleep - well I probably passed out at this point.
When I awoke the next morning I had no headache, didn't feel nauseated, but I was so tired it felt like I had run a marathon. I then rolled over to my left side and came wide awake. Why did that hurt?! I got up and took a look and had bruises already forming from my left shoulder all the way down my side to my left thigh. I thought, "Oh my...I fell hard last night." Ya think?! That night my neck started to hurt all the way around. By the next morning I could barely turn my head. I had whiplash from hitting the floor. I think I may now belong to a very small and elite club of people who got whiplash trying to remove a boot; or maybe I'm the only member. I refused to go to the doctor because I knew that they would want to put one of those collars on me. Then I would just have to make up some sort of story about getting hit from behind by another car. That would be too involved - taking the car out, backing into the wall so that it looked like I had been in a wreck, etc. So I just suffered through it for a few days. I sent a text to my friend and told him what happened and his response was, "Don't forget the wall!" with a little smiley face - not funny. I responded by asking, "What wall?" but to this day he has never told me that part of the story.
The bruises remained for a week - the one on my thigh, which probably took the brunt of the fall remained for two weeks. But, that didn't hurt as much as my bruised ego. I felt like a total fool. I'm fortunate that someone in that crowd did not have a camera and film me to post on U-Tube. I'm sure it was funny enough from an outsider's perspective that it would have gone viral within 24 hours. Thank you God for that!
Did I learn anything from this experience? Well, yes...don't ever drink that much again and never, ever drive if by chance you do. I'm lucky that I got home safely. I've learned that even if you look really, really good - which I did that night - you really don't if you've had so much to drink that you are falling down.
I also learned that no matter how much you adore a man, if he's married you just can't do anything about it. I learned that no matter how much it hurts - and it does hurt more than you can imagine - I have to stay away from my friend...again...because being around him, even if other people are there, is just too painful. I've learned that no matter how hard it is, we've done the right thing. Neither one of us wants to hurt anyone and I should know that because I was hurt by my ex. Now he is just a dog and jumped into anyone's pants at any chance. But...even though my situation is different it's still wrong and would hurt people eventually - including me.
Over the last month I've beaten myself up over all of this. I feel unattractive and unloved. I feel as if I've lost a friend - not a "friend" as I've referred to him throughout this story - but the friend I had before all of these feelings started bubbling up to the surface. I've beaten him up for this, too. I got strong signals from him constantly when we were together with other people and alone - I'm not stupid. But, again, I can't speak for him...that's his story, not mine. I've continued to hope that one day my friend will call me and want to see me; tell me that he wants to be with ME no matter what the consequences. It is not going to happen and if it ever really did happen I would have no defenses to resist or reject him, and would step over that boundary.
I still absolutely adore the man - mind, body and soul - but it's time to move on, stay away from him and hope that one day I can get over him. I don't know how long that will take but I can't continue to let it occupy my mind continually, making it hard to think about anything else. Yeah, I know...easier said than done, as they say. But I'm trying. It is so hard when, as I said in my last blog, something is so wrong but so right. And, I suppose "falling down drunk" could be a metaphor for how hard I fell for him after so many years of just being a friend. So, it took me to literally fall down drunk to feel like a fool, go through the last month feeling miserable and sad to finally reach a point where I just can't do it anymore.
So, my friend, I won't be seeing you for quite some time. An occasional e-mail or text with what is going on or something funny would be nice, but there haven't been many and it still hurts. Time and space didn't work the last time - I'm hoping that it will this time.
Hey...it could have been worse. I could have passed out on the floor of the club or thrown up all over him as I'm hoping to get a good night kiss. Falling down drunk would have been the least of my worries then. Always a silver lining somewhere in a bad situation.
Then I married a man who increasingly over the 11 years we were married drank more and more; so I stopped drinking altogether. Over the last several years after our divorce, I rarely drank any alcohol. I did smoke pot one night with some friends and after almost killing myself with laughter - what a way to go, eh? - drove home at 30 miles an hour on the highway thinking I was doing 80, and declaring that every song I heard on the radio was the BEST song ever! I didn't do that again but it was fun. Anyway, I digress as usual... I've had a margarita here and there, and a couple of glasses of wine or a beer occasionally with friends but, for the most part, I just don't enjoy drinking anymore. So, I guess you could now call me a "light weight" when it comes to drinking.
Oh...once, in the midst of my anger and sadness over what had become a bad marriage, I did go out with some friends in Washington, DC and drank WAY too many vodka shots - they thought it was funny and just kept buying them for me. It was not a pretty sight but it helped me forget what was going on in my wretched life. Forgot about that one until now - funny how that happens.
So, this brings me to something that happened about a month ago. I met my very married "friend" at a bar - oh, about 30 miles from where I live - to hear a band that had been recommended to him. Several of his work colleagues were going to be there. Seemed safe enough. I would be lying if I didn't say that I just wanted to see him and what is the use of lying in a blog?
When I arrived he was there alone - his friends had not shown up yet. I was nervous so I grabbed a Sam Adams and then another - I downed those two in about 20 minutes and I'm NOT a beer drinker. The second one was the last Sam Adams that the bar had (huh?) but by that time I didn't care what type of beer I drank, so I drank Budweiser from that point on. YUK! Tasted good at the time, though. There were buckets of beer - I think I actually bought one myself - and I just kept on a drinkin'. I have no idea how many I had but I had plenty!
Now the rest of this story is made up of what I do remember and some of what I don't. So I've taken some literary license with some of the incidents. But I do remember most of it - unfortunate for me. I remember he was standing behind me at one point and I leaned up against him and held his hand lovingly. I then turned around and looked into his eyes wanting him to kiss me. Now this sounds really cheesy but drinking and cheesy sometimes are great friends. Of course nothing happened and I sort of moved away to get some space between the two of us. Big mistake because he was sort of the "wall" that I, by now, needed to lean on.
Oh, and one of his friends did show up - ONE - and he is going through a divorce and was with his girlfriend. That made it SO much more comfortable since I'm pretty sure she might have been the reason for his pending divorce.
I was now standing in the path of those who wanted to move up closer to the stage and kept getting pushed to the side. Of course, pushing makes you stumble a bit, or more if you're wearing 3-inch heeled boots. Then I realized I was stumbling to the side without being pushed - not a good sign. There was a pole sort in front of me and my friend suggested I might want to hold on to the pole. Well, that turned into a freakish pole dance since I couldn't even stand up straight holding on to it. There I am sliding and swaying holding onto this pole. The only thing that was missing was the booming music and the fact that I was fully clothed. I'm sure there were many people there who I don't know and hope I never see again who thought this was very funny and, in looking back, it actually was.
By now I have stopped drinking and I'm sure my friend was behind me crouching like a goalie with arms outspread trying to prevent the puck from going into the goal, just to make sure he could push me up when I fell back against him - repeatedly. He couldn't have been totally sober either but he wasn't as bad off as me. And that's his own story - not mine.
Eventually the concert ended and it was time to leave. As I was making my way to the bathroom - hey, it was a long drive home - a woman who I have never met came up to me and started asking me if I thought her homemade purse was ugly. Evidently someone told her it was. I have no idea what it looked like but I said, "Honey...it's the prettiest purse I've seen in a long time - you should be proud of what you did." She looked at me and asked, "Is someone driving you home?" Of course I lied and said yes. Right about then my friend walked up and she said to him, "Oh good, she definitely needs someone to drive her home." Not knowing what we had been discussing he said, honestly, "Well, I have my own car." So I turned and stumbled to the bathroom.
While standing in line there I kept leaning/falling into the woman in front of me. She was very nice and just kept propping me back up. Finally, she just let me go ahead of her. It's a wonder that I didn't fall in the stall - and maybe I did. But somehow I got everything tucked in and buttoned and got out of there without drowning. I even had the presence of mind to wash my hands - thanks mom.
When I came out of the bathroom my friend was waiting for me by the door. Now, this is a stand up guy. He could have just left me there to fend for myself but he didn't. We walked outside - well he walked, I swayed and stumbled outside - and I said I could find my car. He stopped me and said that we needed to get some coffee in me. So we started walking over to the Waffle House across the street. I remember going down two steps and then seeing what looked like a big step with grass below. As I started to step down he said, "Don't step off that..." and I remember saying, "It's just another step." Then I stepped off a short wall and fell into the grass. I'm sure he tried to grab me and got nothing but air. I don't know how I got up but I think he jumped down and pulled me up and asked if I was OK. Of course I was! It was JUST a step I stumbled on and then I tripped and fell on grass - what could be wrong with that?
At this point, he grabbed my hand and led me to the Waffle House and sat me in a booth. He ordered coffee for me and tea for himself. Tea? I guess I don't know EVERYTHING about him - maybe he doesn't drink coffee. I may have even said something about that but I don't remember. We sat there and talked and he said he couldn't do this and I said I couldn't do this and there were tears and it was just sad. So you would think that and two cups of coffee would sober me up enough to drive home. WRONG!
We left that fine establishment and my friend took my hand and guided me to my car. At this point I knew that I shouldn't drive but couldn't think quick enough about what to do. He, couldn't drive me home and I would never have asked him to. He lives much closer to the bar than I do and it was getting very late - and he's married. So we get to my car and I, again, looked at him and wanted to kiss him. Didn't happen. Looking back I was acting like a lovesick teenager at this point - not pretty at my age. He may have asked me if there was somewhere closer I could go and there was - I could have gone to my sister's house - I don't know. I know he asked repeatedly if I was OK to drive home and, of course, I said I was. So I got in my car and left.
OK - don't do what I did. That was the scariest and most foolish thing I've ever done. Well, it at least ranks in the top two. I put the car on cruise control once I got on the highway thinking that I would then have only one thing to concentrate on - staying between the lines. I could barely do that and I was literally praying that I didn't hit someone or pass a police car. Thankfully, that did not happen and I somehow made it home. I don't know if my friend followed me part or all of the way - he just asked that I text him when I made it home so he would know that I was alright. In hindsight, he should have either called a cab or driven me home or to my sister's house. But, again, he is married and that makes doing the right thing awkward. I'm sure if something happened to me on the way home he would have regretted it for the rest of his life - again, cheesy but I like to think that would have been the case. I guess I'm a little pissed that he didn't offer to do something other than put me in the car and let me drive home. Maybe I acted sober enough, who knows? Anyway, I got home safe and sound.
Safe from the drive yes - then I got in my apartment. I decided I could stand on one leg in the middle of my living room and take off a boot. The next thing I know I'm free falling backward to one side - in slow motion of course because that is always how these things appear - and fell flat on my left side and hit my head against the wall. Thank goodness the head was the last thing to hit or I would have knocked myself out! Then...I couldn't get up. So I laid there for a minute, actually laughing at this point, and finally rolled over into the fetal position so I could prop myself up and slowly get to a sitting position - boots are both still on by the way. While down on the floor I texted him to let him know I got home OK, not mentioning that I just fell like a dead body to the floor and almost knocked myself unconscious! I then took off my boots and struggled to my feet. I knew I was bruised but didn't really feel it at the time. I staggered - I think I staggered for about four hours that night - into my bedroom, held on to the wall and attempted to get my clothes off without falling again. It was a risk and took a while, but I finally got undressed and managed to pull something on to sleep in. I at least had the presence of mind to stumble into the kitchen and get a big glass of water before I fell into bed and went to sleep - well I probably passed out at this point.
When I awoke the next morning I had no headache, didn't feel nauseated, but I was so tired it felt like I had run a marathon. I then rolled over to my left side and came wide awake. Why did that hurt?! I got up and took a look and had bruises already forming from my left shoulder all the way down my side to my left thigh. I thought, "Oh my...I fell hard last night." Ya think?! That night my neck started to hurt all the way around. By the next morning I could barely turn my head. I had whiplash from hitting the floor. I think I may now belong to a very small and elite club of people who got whiplash trying to remove a boot; or maybe I'm the only member. I refused to go to the doctor because I knew that they would want to put one of those collars on me. Then I would just have to make up some sort of story about getting hit from behind by another car. That would be too involved - taking the car out, backing into the wall so that it looked like I had been in a wreck, etc. So I just suffered through it for a few days. I sent a text to my friend and told him what happened and his response was, "Don't forget the wall!" with a little smiley face - not funny. I responded by asking, "What wall?" but to this day he has never told me that part of the story.
The bruises remained for a week - the one on my thigh, which probably took the brunt of the fall remained for two weeks. But, that didn't hurt as much as my bruised ego. I felt like a total fool. I'm fortunate that someone in that crowd did not have a camera and film me to post on U-Tube. I'm sure it was funny enough from an outsider's perspective that it would have gone viral within 24 hours. Thank you God for that!
Did I learn anything from this experience? Well, yes...don't ever drink that much again and never, ever drive if by chance you do. I'm lucky that I got home safely. I've learned that even if you look really, really good - which I did that night - you really don't if you've had so much to drink that you are falling down.
I also learned that no matter how much you adore a man, if he's married you just can't do anything about it. I learned that no matter how much it hurts - and it does hurt more than you can imagine - I have to stay away from my friend...again...because being around him, even if other people are there, is just too painful. I've learned that no matter how hard it is, we've done the right thing. Neither one of us wants to hurt anyone and I should know that because I was hurt by my ex. Now he is just a dog and jumped into anyone's pants at any chance. But...even though my situation is different it's still wrong and would hurt people eventually - including me.
Over the last month I've beaten myself up over all of this. I feel unattractive and unloved. I feel as if I've lost a friend - not a "friend" as I've referred to him throughout this story - but the friend I had before all of these feelings started bubbling up to the surface. I've beaten him up for this, too. I got strong signals from him constantly when we were together with other people and alone - I'm not stupid. But, again, I can't speak for him...that's his story, not mine. I've continued to hope that one day my friend will call me and want to see me; tell me that he wants to be with ME no matter what the consequences. It is not going to happen and if it ever really did happen I would have no defenses to resist or reject him, and would step over that boundary.
I still absolutely adore the man - mind, body and soul - but it's time to move on, stay away from him and hope that one day I can get over him. I don't know how long that will take but I can't continue to let it occupy my mind continually, making it hard to think about anything else. Yeah, I know...easier said than done, as they say. But I'm trying. It is so hard when, as I said in my last blog, something is so wrong but so right. And, I suppose "falling down drunk" could be a metaphor for how hard I fell for him after so many years of just being a friend. So, it took me to literally fall down drunk to feel like a fool, go through the last month feeling miserable and sad to finally reach a point where I just can't do it anymore.
So, my friend, I won't be seeing you for quite some time. An occasional e-mail or text with what is going on or something funny would be nice, but there haven't been many and it still hurts. Time and space didn't work the last time - I'm hoping that it will this time.
Hey...it could have been worse. I could have passed out on the floor of the club or thrown up all over him as I'm hoping to get a good night kiss. Falling down drunk would have been the least of my worries then. Always a silver lining somewhere in a bad situation.
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