I was so caught up in the story of the boy, that I managed to skimp on the details of that night.
To be fair – my memory is pretty foggy on said details.
It’s possible (probable) that I had far too much to drink – although, I continue to maintain that it wasn’t my fault and that I was in fact roofied.
For the record – I’m 99% positive I wasn’t actually roofied. That did happen to me once in my life, and it was a bad, bad situation; so I’m really not trying to make light of something that I do get is actually quite serious. I’m pretty sure that’s not what happened here. I just got WAY more drunk off FAR less booze than I normally would have. Likely because I starved myself for the entire week prior in order to look perfect in my New Year’s Dress.
And so far, the situation I’m describing is just sounding more and more unhealthy… But seriously, that dress hugged every single curve on my body! I did not want any extra bloat or chub going on that night!
I suppose I should start at the beginning…
It was a few weeks before New Year’s when I was with Dee and her husband and another set of friends. We were discussing New Year’s, and what we should plan to do – what with Dee and Lindsey both knocked up (Mrs. King was already planning on being in Hawaii with her family). It wound up turning out that Lindsey and her husband Blue had long-standing plans at her parent’s cabin, but me being single and still looking – that simply wasn't going to do.
I wanted to get hot and dolled up and find myself a man.
I still hadn’t been with anyone since the boy pulled his epic disappearing act months before.
OK, so that’s not entirely true. There was one guy; a man I’d met when I first moved to Alaska who I was ridiculously attracted to, but then never saw again after that initial meeting. I remember him telling me about having lived in Australia, and I had been instantly smitten.
It’s fair to note that he also happens to be one of the most attractive men I’ve ever actually seen in real life. The epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.
So when I went out with some girlfriends in November to see The Rocky Horror Picture Show (such a blast!) and spotted him in a bar after, I walked right up and staked my claim.
Liquid courage contributing to my being far more aggressive than usual.
Let’s just say… I brought him home.
In my defense, I was heartbroken and the boy had left me feeling pretty crappy about myself. Nabbing this gorgeous man was a win I needed!
And to be fair – I stood firm in ensuring that all activities that evening remained above the belt.
The next morning, we went to breakfast and then a movie with some of his friends. He was sweet and attentive and charming the entire day.
I kind of loved it.
A few days later I flew home for Thanksgiving, and when I came back – he had a ton going on. We talked for a couple of weeks, and attempted to make plans (plans that kept falling through) and then… we just kind of stopped.
Nothing came of it, and at this point – I’ve been telling people he died.
So not counting that one very brief dalliance that turned into nothing, there had been no other men in my life.
And I was determined to go out on New Year’s Eve and find myself one.
Dee and her husband both seemed open to going out, and we decided it would be fun to get a big group of people together for dinner that night and then head out to the bars just before midnight.
So, that’s exactly what we did. The three of us:
My roommate and her boyfriend:
And a few other friends as well. There were 9 of us total.
We had a blast. Big dinners like that are pretty much one of my favorite things ever. I love ordering a ton of food and picking off everyone’s plates, laughing and talking and drinking the night away.
But I can for sure say that at least at dinner, I really did not have that much to drink.
Still… I left already tipsy as we found our way to one of my favorite bars in town.
And that is where the fun began.
If you ever see me out in a group sober, you likely won’t notice me. I tend to get uncomfortable around people I don’t know, and blend into crowds as best as possible. I can be shy, and standoffish, and awkward without ever really meaning to be.
But get a few drinks in me, and suddenly – I am the life of the party.
The happiest most loving drunk you have ever met.
I talk to everyone, and always (I mean – always) have an eye out for the next man in my life.
And I have no qualms at all about going up to him myself once I spot him.
Again, something I would never do sober!
This was one of those nights though. I really don’t think I had all that much to drink, but I suppose I must have had a few. I spotted a guy across the bar who seemed marginally cute, but one of the friends we were with said he knew him from high school and that he had a less than desirable STD.
He also told me the guy was only 22.
I immediately began looking elsewhere.
It was maybe 15 minutes later when I got up to get myself another drink, and the next thing I knew – this guy had come up behind me and put his finger in my mouth.
He said he was fish-hooking me.
I was horrified.
And not even because I had just heard what was very likely only speculation about his sexual history.
No, I was horrified because some stranger had just put his finger in my mouth.
That’s disgusting!
I had no idea where that finger had been!
So I expressed to him my revulsion.
And he expressed to me a desire to get my next drink.
Which is when my lack of a filter combined with my less than sober state, and wanting only to get this guy out of my line of sight I blurted out “I heard you have herpes.”
Bad S.I.F.!
He looked at me for a second before saying “Where did you hear that from?”
Which is when I pointed to our table and said “That guy told me so just 15 minutes ago.”
I said it completely matter of factly, like this was normal bar fodder.
BAD S.I.F.!
Somehow (and I’m still not sure how), this managed to not turn into a fight.
But the guy did leave less than 10 minutes later.
And then we spent the rest of the night making fun of him and his fish hooking.
I mean, really; who does that?
I wish I could say that was the worst of my shenanigans that night, but really; it went from bad to worse.
About the time when Dee and her husband took off for the night (making it until almost one, which officially makes Dee a rock star pregnant woman in my book!) I decided to intensify the search for my next boyfriend.
In a bar, while wasted, on New Year’s Eve.
Midnight had already passed, and sadly; no one had kissed me.
But I wasn’t about to let that stop me from my quest.
I’m pretty sure I became that girl.
Wandering around a bar pathetically introducing herself to every available man she could spot.
I swear, I’ve never been that bad before. I just think… there was a lot going on for me. A lot of residual hurt from the boy that I just wanted to shove away with a new guy. And here it was, New Year’s Eve; the night we had met a year before.
He was definitely on my mind.
And I didn’t want him to be.
So, I was looking for his replacement.
In all the wrong places.
And failing desperately.
Likely because by this point, I was pretty damn sloppy.
I wound up running into a girl I’ve met only once (and briefly at that) and immediately declared myself her best friend.
When the roommate and her boyfriend decided it was time to go – I decided I should stay behind with my new friend.
This is something I do. Pretty much any time I have too much to drink. I make friends and insist my real friends leave me behind when they decide it’s time to go.
I’ve been doing this for years.
Like I said, get a few drinks in me and suddenly; I become the life of the party.
Somehow it has always worked out just fine for me. But that still doesn’t mean I think for even one second that it’s safe.
I’m so convincing though. It’s not like my friends are bad friends (they’re not!), it’s that I’m a 28 year old woman, and when I tell them I’m fine and want to stay – what are they going to say?
For the record, I have since told them all that it’s OK to push me to come with them. I know myself, and I would never put up much of a fight. Even drunk. If they said it was time to go, I would go.
Which really is preferable to me continuing to hang out in bars drunk and by myself.
Technically though, in this case, I wasn’t by myself. I did know the girl I had latched on to.
Barely.
But… latching on to her made me the invariable 5th wheel.
She kept saying it was no big deal, but waking up the next morning – I was embarrassed.
Especially because, when it came time to head home, none of us could find cabs.
At all.
We wound up hanging out in the lobby of a local downtown hotel, goofing off and taking pictures:
(Yes, my shoe is unzipped. Also, I’m fairly sure that rather than just
being elegantly posed, I had actually fallen.
Classy-class.)
We stayed there until almost 4 in the morning, when the guys finally opted to buy out an hour of the hotel’s limo service to get us home.
They didn’t make me pay a cent. And when we got to their house, they made sure the driver was good to take me home as well.
So there I was, 4 in the morning on New Year’s, pulling up in front of my house in a limo.
By myself.
Drunk, and sloppy, and… with some sort of nastiness all over the front of my dress.
I swear, it looked like I had hugged a sappy tree.
I joked the next day that if someone had roofied and later attempted to molest me – it was definitely the stain which looked far too much like chew on my dress that stopped them.
Either that, or my Spanx.
Which could possibly be a new motto for Spanx: Slowing down lazy rapists one woman at a time.
Regardless; I was a mess.
I crawled up the steps and needed to bang on the door to get my roommate to let me in, because I couldn’t find my key (it was definitely tucked right into my purse).
I immediately stripped down and crawled into bed, before violently jerking up 15 minutes later when I remembered my list.
The list I had absolutely forgotten to burn at midnight.
It was freezing outside, and I had no intention of getting dressed again (I’m not even sure I could have at this point), so instead I dug the list and a lighter out of my purse and went to the bathroom.
I burned my 14 words over a toilet, so drunk that I was resting my head on the seat as I did it.
Classy-class.
Even then, I was pretty sure that all symbolism in this act was pretty effectively ruined.
Once it was gone, I crawled into bed and… you know the rest.
I began composing a novel for the boy. Until 7 in the morning, when I finally saved it to my drafts and passed out.
Needless to say, it was the next morning (whilst recovering from a pretty horrific hangover) that I declared myself off the cock and booze.
I haven’t had a drink, or a man, since.
I realized that in the months prior, I had been nursing a pretty gnarly heartbreak. And trying with all my might to pretend as though I wasn’t.
Which didn’t exactly seem to be working.
Finding another man wasn’t going to fix this.
And neither was drinking myself into embarrassing stupidity.
So instead, I pledged myself to a few months of taking care of me. To writing my book, and training for a half marathon, and not cluttering my mind with alcohol or boys at all.
Not until my other goals have been reached.
It turned out to be the best thing I ever could have done for myself.
The thing I needed to do in order to finally feel refreshed, and excited, and well taken care of once again.
It just so happens that, I’m the one doing the caring.
For me.
Which for the record: Is something I highly recommend.
And the next time I put that dress on (because yes, I did somehow manage to save that thing after many washes), I vow:
I will not ruin its supreme sexiness with my own supreme sloppiness.
