Roadtrips and coffee

Day 5 of New Sobriety.

I have been fully vaccinated from COVID for over a month. And since the CDC said fully vaccinated people can travel at no risk to themselves now, I decided to take a short roadtrip to the mountains.

Once again, work has made keeping away from alcohol easy the past few days. And when I arrived at my hotel, I was very tired. But as I now have coffee in the lobby and see the beer bottles lined up behind the bar, my first thought it “would be nice to have one tonight.”

My dark roast

But maybe if I return to blogging almost daily, (I am not gonna commit to daily), I can be accountable to something to remain sober.

I need to reread my drunk mistakes that I started blogging about 7 years ago so I know what one’s I wrote about already. But for now, I will post a more recent one.

I was living in Saudi Arabia. I thought it would be easy to keep sober in a country where alcohol was illegal, but no. Almost every expat has easy access to alcohol.

I went away for a night to visit another city a few hours away. A guy I met on Tinder, another expat, offered to allow me to stay in his guestroom. It was not smart but I was depressed and lonely. Those two combined leads to desperation.

When I arrived, he gave me a tour of the city in his car. He seemed like a nice guy. He was living in Saudi for several years. We did not talk about our lives back home. Only talked about our experiences in the Kingdom.

That evening at his place, he made us pork ribs. Yes, another thing illegal in that country. Enjoying the forbidden was a special high. With dinner, he served us gin and tonics with Tanqueray that he smuggled in. He made me drinks very strong.

After dinner, we kept alternating sharing music we liked via YouTube videos on his television. At some point after many drinks, we began kissing.

Let me back up though to the times his phone rang. He would answer it and leave the room. He would go to the kitchen or down the hall to chat. This happened twice. He spoke in his language but I understood when he said “I love you” before hanging up.

During out makeout session, as the clothes were starting to come off, he confessed. He said he was married. A smarter woman, or a sober woman, would have stopped there. But alcohol was clouding my mind. I just yelled at him for telling me. Then we had sex. I don’t remember much of it except it wasn’t good. Then I passed out asleep.

Then next day, I had a wicked hangover. He tried to wake me up for morning sex and I just growled “I need water.” He got me water, and then kept trying to kiss my shoulder. I kept pushing him away. The regret was worse than the hangover. I kept scolding myself “he told you he was married and YOU STILL had sex with him! You are a horrible person!”

I kept pushing him away. “I need sleep!” He finally got out of the bed and let me sleep in. When I did wake up hours later, I noticed all the crosses and religious icons in the room. I then remember a bit of the conversation of him being a devout Catholic. This was making me mad cause not only did I have sex with a married man, I had sex with a hypocrite!

I emerged from the guestroom and entered the living room. I said I needed to have lunch. The previous day he did mention a restaurant in town I wanted to try. He began saying lunch could wait and started to try to kiss me. I kept pushing him away. I was so disgusted with myself and him.

I began texting my friend back in the USA. She told me to just leave. But his home was on a military base. Uber was not allowed on the base. So I couod leave until he drove me somewhere. I wanted to return to a tourist site where I could request a taxi or Uber home.

He began to say “I want to do what we did last night.” He wouldn’t say sex. Just kept saying those words like it was something pre-pubescent game where you couldn’t say that 3-letter word. I kept pushing him away and moving couches or room.

I finally said “what would your wife say about it?” This upset him.

“Why would you say that? Don’t say that.”

Phone rang. Maybe she sensed it.

I went to grab my bag. I also put on my abaya. (Abayas are the robes women wear over their clothes in public. Abayas are not mandatory in Saudi anymore, but many places it felt uncomfortable to not wear one so I had to always carry one.) When I returned to the living room wearing the abaya and my overnight bag in my hand, he got the point.

We left and went to the restaurant. I needed a greasy burger and fries. Since public displays of affection are taboo in Saudi, I did not have to worry about him attempting to kiss me.

After lunch, he dropped me at the taxi stand. He helped me negotiate a price with a taxi driver. Then I was gone. No hug. Just waved and I hopped in the car.

He kept texting me afterwards. He said he wanted to see me again. I finally blocked him.

Before moving to Saudi, I was worried about getting involved with a married man. I heard too often about the men that go there to work and conduct affairs. It happened to a friend of mine and ruined her marriage.

I was lonely, so I wondered if I did not drink gin that night, would I still have had sex with him? Probably not, cause he was about 4 inches shorter than me. I didn’t know beer goggles also added height.

The Disease of More

I hear that phrase all the time. I feel I should have a medical record with that diagnosis.

I definitely suffer from the disease of more. More booze was destroying my life.

But what about the other things I always crave? More likes on Facebooks. More comments on my photos. More shares of my jokes. More Happy Birthday day posts. (I actually count them.) More compliments. More gifts. More followers. More views. 

I have started a coffee addiction. I keep wanting to kick my Diet Coke addiction but I think I will wait until 90 days sober for that attempt.

Internet is addicting. Smartphones are addicting. I deleted my Facebook app to attempt to cut down. I deleted my Foursquare app; the app for more stalkers. More Groupons. (Great to buy sobriety milestone treats.)

Sometimes I feel the AA meetings are like an addiction. Replace the bar with a room full of dry drunks. Instead of venting your frustrations to a bartender, you vent it to a room of addicts. Sometimes it seems some people are there to help others because they want to stroke their own ego. Sometimes people use AA as a crutch like they used to use liquor. The validation they used to get when drinking is being fulfilled by sharing in discussions. They are obsessed with steps. Jonesing for a daily meeting.

I need to develop an addiction to exercise. More weights. More reps. More miles. More resistance. More burn.

Less junk food. Less depression. Less temptations.

Mistake # 40 – My husband and I started to have parties every weekend. His friends from work would come over. They were Navy guys that lived in the barracks so they loved having an apartment they could chill in. I started to become friends with his friends and their girlfriends. I started to get invited to other parties when my husband was on deployement. At one of these parties, I met a guy, BP. I thought he looked like Vince Vaughn. One night when my husband was on a short deployment, BP started to play footsie with me. I enjoyed the flirting. I liked having more attention.

One drunk night, I let him kiss me. And over time, an affair started. I can not blame the affair on booze. It was my disease of more. I wanted more than what I was finding in my marriage. The affair lasted on and off for two years. It ended because he moved away. But that did not stop me from going to visit him.

We met up in Memphis. I went there with thoughts of trying to figure out what did I want: my marriage or to run off with BP. We got very trashed one night on Beale Street. The next morning, I was puking. Later that day, BP asked me if I took my birth control pill right before my vomiting episode. He asked if I might have thrown up my pill. I was not sure and also did not know what to do. I was naive. 

I went back home to my husband. My visit with BP was not as glorious as I hoped. I decided I would work on my marriage. Then my peroid was late. I kept trying to call BP. His roommate kept telling me he wasn’t home. I was confused. I was regretting that drunk night on Beale Street. What would I do if I was pregnant? How could I be sure of who was the father? I told my husband I went to visit my mom when I went to Memphis and returned his calls that I let go to voicemail. Could I continue with a pregnancy and let my husband believe it was his? 

My period came 10 days late. So I guess this is actually more of an almost-mistake.