An Evergreen Refresh Note from Rob (2026): This is the final chapter of a raw three-part series from 2013, capturing the rock-bottom moment that forced me to completely change my life. Reading the chaos of this night—the splintered memories, the anger, the broken wall, and the genuine fear I caused the people I loved—is still incredibly difficult. But this post doesn’t end in darkness. It ends with Day 17 of sobriety. Looking back 13 years later, I don’t see a night of shame anymore; I see the exact catalyst that started the rebuild. No glitz. Just the work.
The following is a re-telling of an event that occurred on the night of Saturday, June 8th into the morning of Sunday, June 9th, 2013. It is on a very short list of the most shameful experiences of my life. It has taken me literally two weeks to process everything that occurred, get multiple perspectives on the chain of events, mend the most essential fences, and finally have the nerve to re-live it. I chose to write this now because I realize that this blog may one day burn some bridges with its brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires…
At this point, I should also mention that I ordered a shot of something called “liquid cocaine” (I think mine was closest to the number 2 recipe from what I recall). Later, Phred had ordered a couple of pitchers of beer, but she wasn’t feeling good and ended up leaving early. And guess who decided to “take one for the team” and finish them off?
Apparently at one point, one of The Auteur’s friends asked the Hick if I was okay. He said, “I’ve seen him drink way more than this.” The only problem was that the Hick didn’t join us at the bar until almost midnight. Maybe he was just trying to downplay the situation. Either way, I don’t blame him. But The Auteur and her friends knew the Hick got there late. How the hell would he have known if I was okay?
Things then went right from the toilet to the sewer as we left the bar shortly before closing. As we were walking out, some guy cut in front of The Auteur, putting his hands all over her, trying to come on to her. The guy was so out of line that I would have come to the defense of any female in our group under the circumstances. The fact that this was my girlfriend only served to make me even more angry. I, literally, got in this guy’s face and said, “We got a problem here?” Even as trashed as I was, I had no intention of fighting this guy whatsoever; but I wasn’t going to tolerate him acting this way toward any of my friends, let alone my girlfriend. I simply wanted him to know that The Auteur was with me. All I wanted to hear was a “hey, we’re cool,” but that was probably wishful thinking.
I remember The Auteur literally stepping in between me and Wandering Cock 2013. I’m told that one of his friends got up behind him, and at this point, the Hick showed up behind me. Somehow a bouncer caught my attention and suggested that I leave. So I did. I thought that the group was directly behind me; but evidently, I left the bar at an even faster clip than I realized. I walked back to Phred’s apartment, alone. The Hick got into his car and left. The Auteur and her friends got a ride with one of the girls who showed up late and beat me back to Phred’s place. The Auteur, who had taken the proverbial high road all evening, simply suggested that I “sleep this off.” I passed out at Phred’s place—only after putting a hole in her wall—and drove home at about 6:30 that morning.
That morning, I spoke with the Hick, Phred, and The Auteur, and I was forced to do some serious soul-searching. Phred suggested that I talk to somebody (i.e., a counselor or psychiatrist). I told The Auteur that I would, and that I was giving up alcohol. I ruined her birthday celebration and I scared her. To be honest, I scared myself as well. I made an atrocious first impression on several of her friends simultaneously. Even now, as I type this, I’m nauseous thinking about the entire experience.
At one point in our conversation Sunday morning, The Auteur said something to the effect of: “You can’t act like this anymore. You’re not 20.” The fact is, I could not have even done that when I was 20. Since my divorce, I started drinking A LOT more than I ever had before. I have seen my tolerance steadily increase. I had had a few scares similar to this: one time not knowing where or when I spent all my cash; another time not even remembering my drive home. This incident with The Auteur’s birthday, combined with my other scares, led me to the conclusion that I had to stop drinking. As of this writing, I have been sober for 17 days with absolutely no intention of ever taking another drink.
Click HERE to read part one of this story. Click HERE for part two.
Rebuilding a life takes grit, consistency, and a lot of ‘Option C’ thinking. Whether I’m closing in on 1,000 consecutive days of blogging or reflecting on the decade of work that brought me here, the mission remains the same: No glitz. Just the work. New to the blog? Start your journey here to see the blueprint and the ‘Tricorder’ perspective behind the rebuild.
Thanks for stopping by Rebuilding Rob. Be sure to like, 👍 comment and subscribe to my blog below. It’s greatly appreciated! Also, feel free to follow me on social media as well! Check out my most recent posts as well as some earlier, related (and perhaps, not-so-related) posts:
- “I Did It” — Finding Meaning in a Christmas Vacation Meme
- The boys are back in town
- The case for a slower life
- Rebuilding Rob: The Podcast Season 3 Premiere: The Cape is LIVE!
- The First Mistake: A Perspective on Travel
The article “Some Kind of Monster, part 3” first appeared on Rebuilding Rob.
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