Tag Archives: blackout

Some Kind of Monster, part 3

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 experience 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 it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires. 

Click HERE to read part one of this story.  Click HERE for part two.  

If you have to compare your behavior to that of Doughboy, you better believe you've got  a problem

If you have to compare your behavior to that of Doughboy, you better believe you’ve got a problem

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 pitchers of beer, but she wasn’t feeling good and ended up leaving early.  And guess who decided to “take one for them team and finish them off?

Apparently at one point, one of The Auteur’s friends asked J if I was okay.  He said “I’ve seen him drink way more than this,”.  The only problem was that J didn’t join us at the bar until after 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 J 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 guys 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 even more angry.  I, literally, got in this guys 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, J 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.  J 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 J, Phred and The Auteur and I was forced to do some serious soul searching.  Phred suggested that I talked 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 my 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.

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Some Kind of Monster – Part 2

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 experience 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 it’s brutal honesty; and I want to show future readers that I am just as willing to hold myself to the same proverbial fires. 

Click HERE to read part one of this story.

Many of the details that follow from the bar I received second or third hand.  There are some things I do recall; I assume they occurred during my brief moments of clarity.  To paraphrase Prince: I was drunk when I lived this.  Forgive me as I went astray.

I remember all of us getting a round of drinks and me toasting the Auteur a “Happy Birthday”.  A little later – although it may have been during the same round – I remember one of the Auteur’s friends – whom I shall code name “The Set-Up” wanting a Jager, but not having any cash.  I apparently offered to buy her one – not really thinking anything of it – just extending an olive branch to one of the Auteur’s friends.  Apparently right around the same time that I was offering to but The Set-Up a drink, our waitress was coming around to collect on our round.  The waitress was giving me an opportunity to pay for The Auteur’s drink, but I was too fucked up to pick up on it until about the second or third time she said so.  The waitress took my money and gave The Auteur back hers as well.

After this point, I didn’t even know what happened to all the money I had on me.  Granted I was only carrying $40 or so, but STILL.  I had no recollection of who, where or what I spent my money on.  I’m starting to wonder if I didn’t give the waitress mentioned above an extra $20 on accident.  Something similar to this happened to me one night when I went out with a few friends from the Social Club; only that time I didn’t think much of it.

Throughout our evening at the bar, I made several trips to the bathroom.  This is not all that uncommon as I will typically visit a restroom at the slightest inclination my body has to urinate – drunk or sober – that’s how my body functions. Seeing how this was a bar and I had clearly had too much to drink already, one might assume that I was going to the bathroom to vomit.  This was not the case. I think that I experienced a few blackouts while I was in the bathroom.  I didn’t throw up and I didn’t pass out.  And yet, this was a case of something far more than just losing track of time.  An article on Wikipedia refers to this experience as  a fragmentary blackout or  a brownout.  Once again, it was only after I discussed the night with The Auteur that I realized what had happened.  Even now, over two weeks later, I have only vague recollections of standing at a bathroom stall for an excessive period of time.  If my stomach, liver or kidneys had refused to take part in this alcoholic decathlon I was subjecting them to, it might have been an easier night for me.  Instead, it was as if the booze had gone straight to my brain, literally.

Click HERE to read part three of this story

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