Tales of a Drunk, Part II

Part II, in which I call people "fuckers"....

Now, if you have not read Part I, please do so below.

Thanks.

Kind of bad, huh?

I know I know. It happens.

Clearly, after that night most women would have dropped me like I was a bag of herpes. But Curly stuck it out. My mom and most of my family were quite surprised.

But there's more.

Every weekend on or around the Fourth of July there is a large fireworks show on the lake where my mom keeps her boat. This is an all-day in the sun drinking bonanza, ending with a wonderful fireworks show. Beer and boats are two of my favorite things. This is, by far, my favorite thing to do all year.

So, I had to fly home for it.

Again, I pretty much had it in my head at this point that things between Curly and I were not going to last, but I continued to soldier on, thinking perhaps she would, what?, become an alcoholic and start having fun with me? Who knows? But I didn't want to fold so easily, even though I was holding a pair of threes.

The morning of the lake fest my brother, B.G., was dispatched to the grocery store to pick up beer. You probably could have guessed how the day would end if you eavesdropped on my conversation with B.G. when he returned.

[I glance around, surveying the haul.]

Me: "Dude, do you think this will be enough?
B.G. .....[blank stare]....."Are you kidding?"
Me: "Well, I mean, you only ha-"
B.G.: "Scott. I have 12 Oberon's for you, plus a mini-keg of Oberon. Just. For. You."
Me: [registering]..."I know. But, we're going to be out there all day...and people will probably be plucking from mine because they're fucking good."
B.G.: "I'm not going back to the store. I promise, this is plenty."
Me: "Fine.........But there'll probably be shots too, right?"

Let's hit "Pause" for a sec.

Now. I am going to tell you the rest of this story and you are going to think that I am a horrible, belligerent, rowdy drunk. That's rarely true. But I have learned that the more nights in a row I drink, the worse it becomes. And, the more exhausted I am, the worse it is.

This year July 4 was on a Wednesday. So, Tuesday night the roommates and I were hanging out with our neighbor and got drunk. Wednesday nobody worked and we decided to have an impromptu cookout. It ended at 5 in the morning. I think my last drink was at 4:30 a.m. On Thursday I got some work done and later that evening I went to the airport to catch my flight back to Michigan. When I got to my mom's that night, my sister and I, who I hadn't seen in a month, caught up while drinking and I, well, got a little drunk. On Friday night Curly took me up to her college town because it was her friend's 21st birthday. Want to guess what happened that night?

Right. Not only that, but we were in bed at 1 and woke up at 5 a.m. to drive back for the lake fest.

Needless to say, I was exhausted. And I was about to enter my fifth straight night of drinking heavily. (Sorry, liver.) But, I had no intention of skipping the lake and having a nap and a relaxing evening at home with a fucking movie from Netflix. I came back to Michigan for one thing.

OK, hit "Play."

It was me, Curly, my mom, B.G. and my future sister-in-law, my sister and her friend Blueberry (So named because on the same lake fest the year before we found her the next morning covered in her own vomit of blueberries.) We load the three coolers of alcohol onto the boat and shove off at about....1 p.m.........and fireworks don't start until about 10 p.m.

For about three hours we hung out in this little cove on the lake with some of my friends and my mom's friends, drinking, smoking, swimming and eating.

Heaven.

By 8:30 p.m. I have finished both 12 packs and put a dent in some of B.G.'s beers. I had barely eaten a thing and I was dehydrated as shit.

And that's pretty much the point I blacked out.

The rest of the story I either recall from mini-flashbacks or was told to me.

We return to the lake house where I jump onto the dock and go searching for my mini-keg of beer. I bring it onto the boat and pop it open. I drink more. And then I drink more. Apparently I have no off-switch once I reach a certain point. I go 'til I fall.

Someone decides that it is a great idea to play another game of water volleyball. I am told the next day that I would lunge for balls out of my reach, fall into the water, and then, once the ball had already landed in the lake, swing my arms up underwater in a sad attempt to hit the ball, and even then would miss it.

I am told that when someone missed a shot on my team, I called them a "fucker."

I am told that when someone missed a shot on the other team, I called them a "fucker."

A bunch of us hop on the boat and start singing songs. Loudly.

I was sitting in the Captain's chair and try to stand up, unsuccessfully. I stumbled back and hit my back against the throttle. At this point I didn't feel pain. I also look down at my legs and wonder why there were scrapes and blood coming from each of my shins. Huh.

I am told that I finished the mini-keg.

I am told that, at one point, while we were singing all manner of songs I stopped dead, turned to my friend Matt's wife -- who showed up late -- looked her in the eye and said "Don't hate." And then I returned to singing. I am also told she was quite put off by this comment.

I am told that while we were all settling in to watch the fireworks show Blueberry asked me to turn off one of the lights on the boat. My classy response?

"Go fuck yourself."

I am told that, upon seeing what was probably a very impressive firework, I said, loud enough for the tranquil night air to be broken that, "I don' care what anyone says, that was the best fuckin' firework I've e'er seen."

I am told that I passed out on the back of the boat, and my mom had to wake me because she was worried about me rolling off the back and drowning.

I am told that my future sister-in-law drove us home and that at some point during the ride I perked up just for a second, looked at her and said "You'll be a good mother."

I am told that I tried to help by closing the garage door but that my mother's tailgate was up and that the garage door shifted off it's rail and was broken.

I am told that I tried to get another beer out of the fridge but that someone, mercifully, shoved a water into my outreached hand instead.

And then I wake up the next morning. My back is scraped to shit, my shins our bruised and sore and I can barely move my tongue it's so dry.

My mom was a little pissed at first, but by noon she and my sister were already laughing about it. There was one person, though, who wasn't laughing.

The next night I was back in DC when I get a text message from Curly that says she wants to talk.....

Bottom line was this: She really cared about me but couldn't handle me if I was going to keep drinking. I told her that, while she was great, I really enjoyed the booze and wasn't ready to surrender it quite yet (or ever). And we went our separate ways.

In my defense this was probably the drunkest day/night in my life. I blacked out at 8fucking30. When I told my family, no one was quite surprised. Apparently during one of the blackouts she was going around to my family telling them how she "just couldn't take it anymore." Lame. And they thought she was, while very sweet, just not the right match for me.

No shit.

And now, when people tell me that drunk and a sober relationships don't mix, I absolutely understand.

Lesson learned.