Happy Hour

I went to a happy hour last night. Not the best place for a person in recovery, right? But I had fun. I went there to meet other people that go to the festivals I enjoy. I planned to try to ask around if anyone knew of any sober festival goers, but I got wrapped up in conversations about projects and volunteering. I really enjoyed myself. I had a group of people whom with I shared a different experiences outside of parties.

This particular place had a water cooler next to the bar. I could help myself to as much water as I wanted rather than having to ask the bartender and wait. They had a trivia night going on in the main room and I started remembering how much I loved bar trivia night. Would I now kick ass at bar trivia against drunk people?

I spent most of my time there talking with one woman. I got there 2 hours after the happy hour started and she was obviously drunk. I now find it hard to have conversations with drunk people but it also reminds me of what I used to be like. I spoke with a few other people. I was proud that I was meeting people without liquor lubrication.

I am not going to make happy hour a common evening. This one had a specific theme. I don’t think I could have handle it three to six months ago without caving in and getting a beer. But it was a “happy hour” because I definitely left there happy.

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Mistake 177- I went to a “white party”. It was not a race thing.  It meant everyone had to wear white. I had a flowing white skirt, white tank top, and white blouse. I was drinking before the party and drinking lots at the party. I went out to dinner with friends after the white party. They said I kept swaying my head. They thought I was going to pass out in my food.

A guy who knew my friends offered to give me a ride home.  But I was too drunk to give him directions. I just moved there and could not remember the address. My driver’s license did not have my new address because I was living there temporarily.  So he drove me to his place with plans to drive me to my car in the morning.  But once at his place,  I started to make the moves on him. I ended up in his bed. I do not remember the night and had to ask him his name the next day.

We started dating. A month later,  we turned it into an exclusive relationship. Then it ended a month later.  I think I was always self-conscious of the way we met. But he had his own emotional issues.

Booze before Buddies

Sometimes I look back and think of the times I was such a shitty friend. But I am not a bad person. A lot of people will describe me as caring and heartfelt. I go out of my way to help those less fortunate and have done volunteer work. I get emotionally upset at tragic world events. I cried a lot when I heard news of the 2004 Asian tsunami and 2010 Haitian earthquake even though I did not know anyone affected.

But when I drink, getting drunk becomes a priority.

I do sometimes act very protective of my good friends when drunk. I have threatened bodily harm to men that try to take advantage of my drunk married friends. But if my friend ignores my help, I will take it personally and stop talking to them or some other pity punishment.

I can become super bitch when boozed up.

Mistake# 37- My friend from Mistake 36, that I blogged about yesterday, was in town for another night. At first she said her boyfriend was going to rent a car and drive three and a half hours to pick her up. Then he claimed there were no car rentals available. Either he was lying or a complete idiot. I was able to find several car available online. I said I was okay with buying her a bus ticket back home. The problem was there were only 3 buses a day and they all left before 7am. I think the times were 4:30am, 5:30am and 6:30am. We were invited to a party on Saturday night so I told her I would take her to the bus on Monday morning.

She said she wanted to leave Sunday morning. She said she was missing her boyfriend. His kids would be visiting and she wanted to spend time with them. I wonder if my drinking on Friday night helped her form this decision.

I told her she would have to get a taxi to the bus station. I was planning to get drunk and would not be available to drive. She tried to talk me out of the party. “Why are we going to this party? You only know a few people.”

“Yes but I will meet more people and make more friends. Besides, it is a themed costume party and I love dressing up!”

The theme was Mardi Gras. I had a gold dress with purple stockings, purple sheer scarf, and purple wig plus big purple, green and gold Mardi Gras beads. (I did not earn these. I have no idea what happened to the huge pile I earned in New Orleans.) I kept offering my friend to borrow something to fit in with the theme. I had a huge chest of costume pieces. She refused. She said it wasn’t “her thing.”

Since she kept pestering to leave on Sunday, we came up with a plan. Since I did not want to drive after hitting a wall the night before, I was going to drive to my friend’s house and get a ride from there. We would put her bags in my car and she would get a taxi from his house. This friend’s house was actually my “friend with benefits.” I knew I would most likely stay the night there with him. We parked my car and she left her bags in my backseat.

The party was good. Lots of great costumes and a King Baby cake. My friend spent the whole time sitting on a couch on her phone. She was texting her boyfriend. She did not mingle. I am not sure if she was uncomfortable with all the drinking or because of her medication. Or maybe she was just shy and I never noticed. I ignored her and enjoyed meeting people. The hostess and I were having a conversation about costumes and wigs. I mentioned my wig was itchy and she offered to let me borrow a head cap. We went into her bedroom to search for it. When we came out of the bedroom, my friend was standing at the bedroom door. She looked like a lost puppy. “I didn’t know where you went.”

I don’t know why but this irritated me. I felt she was being a buzz kill. It was a small apartment and she got worried when I was out of the room for a few seconds. I tried to encourage her to talk to others but she went back to her couch. I thought “fuck it. I am gonna have fun.” I was also irritated that she was insisting on leaving the next morning at my expense.

I did not want her to ruin my night. I started doing jello shots. There were other kinds of shots too. There was a lot of liquor. At some point, everyone started yelling “show your tits” and all the girls started flashing. I think there was some drinking games involved.

I woke up at my FWB’s bed. Hangover, of course. His bedroom was too bright and I always bitched at him to get blackout curtains. He complained my blackout curtains always made him oversleep at my place. I checked my phone and there was a text message from my friend “thanks for the weekend. I hope you find your keys.”

I asked him where was my stuff. I followed the path of my clothes out to his living room. There I found my purse with my wallet but no keys. We texted the host of the party to find out I left my keys there.  The bad part about leaving my keys at the party: I could not get my friend’s bags out of my car. And she still insisted on leaving that morning. My FWB said we stopped at an ATM so I could get money on the way to his place and then called her a cab. I checked my bank account. I took out $100. I had $80 in my wallet the night before. I had nothing in my wallet the next morning. I gave her $180 when a taxi might cost $20 and the bus should be about $60.

I never sent the bags and she and I have not talked since. 12 years of friendship gone. It might have been crappy for her to take advantage of me financially like that but if alcohol was not such a focus of my life, the weekend might have turned out different.