Guys, it's 4:30 PM on a Saturday, and I'm sitting in my pajamas in my house, no plans to go out. Let's do an old-school MySpace survey (copied, actually, from my old Xanga, but I feel like the term "MySpace survey" is a bit more ubiquitous).
1. What is your name?: Joe
2. What is your favorite color?: Kelly green.
3. Are you allergic to any foods?: Not that I know of.
4. What is your favorite variety of M&M's?: I'm pretty partial to the peanut butter jawns, but regular peanut is growing on me.
5. What is your full name?: I will not disclose this here, because I like to pretend that if I don't use my name, the police won't be able to prove who is actually typing this, you know, in case PoYB is used in some criminal investigation. It could happen!
6. What is your blood-type?: I honestly don't know, and I know that's not good. I'm the asshole bleeding on the side of the road, wasting all the paramedics' sweet, sweet O- blood because I don't know what other blood I could actually handle. Mom, if you read this, please call me and let me know what my blood type is.
7. When was the last time you cried?: I cry a lot when I'm drunk. Never in public! It's not like I get loaded and then the tears start flowing. But, at the very end of the night, if it was a particularly bad one, maybe things didn't turn out the way I had hoped, maybe my wife is similarly drunk and fighting with me, maybe, I dunno, maybe I cry sometimes. Sober? Rarely. Most funerals, some weddings, an extremely occasional career-fueled stress cry. Not much more.
8. Have you ever faked sick?: I remember doing this a lot more when I was younger. I remember with white-hot embarrassment and shame multiple times faking sick during sports games so I wouldn't be counted on in the big moment. I remember faking sick occasionally during grade/high school, days when I didn't want to deal with that shit. (Surprisingly, I don't feel as much shame for those days, surprising due to my career now in truancy prevention.) Nowadays, I don't fake sick. Usually, I fake well. No use missing a party because of a silly sore throat or flipped stomach.
9. What was the last lie you said?: I told a client that I had a family thing and that I could not make a home visit today. It was a lie. I didn't want to work today. I wanted to come home, put on my pajamas, sit on the couch, and do a goddamn Xanga survey.
10. Have you ever cried during a movie?: Usually, I get choked up with emotion during movies—the really good ones—but I don't think I've ever actually, full-bore cried. Closest I've ever came was probably
WALL-E. Something about the closing credits montage, the one in which silhouettes are starting a new civilization, something about it gets me every time.
11. Who was the last person you couldn’t take your eyes off of?: See, one should probably assume that this question refers to the one with whom you are smitten, the one that figuratively holds your gaze irrevocably. The answer to that question, obviously, is my wife. But if we are taking this literally, I guess I'll go with the junkie I saw sleeping while standing up on the westbound side of the 15th Street El stop. I on the eastbound side, he straight across, I could not keep my eyes off him, because I was afraid he was going to sleep-fall right onto the third rail below.
12. What is your political persuasion?: I am registered independent, which is a pain in the ass during primaries in our closed-vote state of PA, but otherwise I am happy with my decision. I am not a Democrat, and I'm certainly not a Republican. These parties are run by the elite, and they disdain people like me. I am but a number to these fat cats. Look, I don't know enough about politics to say anything more than this (I don't even know enough to say Vote Bernie, despite the fact that, yeah, parts of this paragraph sounds suspiciously like #feelthebern): I don't trust a single fucking politician, they are all corrupt, fuck them all. My viewpoints are not really helpful when it comes to making this country better or whatever, but when it comes to politics, I'm forever a cynic.
13. Have you ever been in a car accident?: Technically, yes, but let's all pretend no. It was 5:30 in the morning, I was driving my parents' long-time minivan, and I was pretty sleepy at a red light on Rising Sun Ave. My foot hit the gas instead of staying on the brake. I hit the car in front of me. The vehicle was an SUV; it didn't have a scratch on it. My minivan's hood was ever-so-slightly bent on the driver's side. No harm, no foul. The other guy agreed. We went our separate ways. I arrived at my then-job as a police dispatcher, and checked the police records in the area to make sure the dude didn't two-time me by calling 911 later. He didn't. The van still drives to this day.
14. How old were you when you received your first kiss?: My wife kills me when I make the joke that I know the exact date of my first kiss. Even though it's true, I do know the date, it truly is that—just a joke. No, the only matter of importance regarding that first kiss was that it was the first in a very long line of kisses with an equally long line of drunk and/or stupid women, and counting from that first kiss all the way down the line, I eventually ended with someone I wanted to kiss again. That someone is now my wife. This is how I try to frame the joke when she gets upset.
15. Have you ever had an online relationship?: So many AOL chatroom five-minute relationships. So many 17Fs from like Colorado, who all weirdly claimed I was cute even though all they saw was the words I was typing. Then I found the one I love and want to marry, and THEN online dating really took off, so I missed the boat on that whole thing.
16. Have you ever had phone-sex?: If you're asking whether I ever jerked myself off while the girl on the other end of the phone line was ostensibly fingering herself or something, then the answer is: Yes. Once. But this was eons ago, when texting didn't exist, and the fifteen miles between us might as well have been 150,000 because neither of us had a car, and I was sixteen and a virgin and horny and the phrase "dick pic" wasn't even a blip on my goddamn radar. I don't have phone sex anymore because why the fuck would I need to?
17. Have you ever been rejected by a crush?: No. And that answer is gonna sound sooo douchey, but I swear, that's not what I meant. I've either: A) Had a crush, been accepted by said crush, steadily lost the "crush" part, broke up with the crush or, B) Had a crush, and not acted on it because I was a pussy and maybe I knew that it wouldn't work anyway, or, C) Had a crush, drunkenly made out with her, then woke up the next day thinking maybe she isn't a crush after all, or, finally, D) Had a crush, acted on it, accepted, yadda yadda yadda married. I think option B is key to understanding the answer to my question. I've had crushes, but any crushes that I've lucked into reciprocation have never been me pulling the trigger. It either happens or it doesn't, I've never TRIED to make it happen because, again, pussy, coward, etc. Moot point, because of option D, but hey, I'm just answering the goddamn question.
18. Is there anything that you have done that you regret?: Of course. If you are the type of person who says they regret nothing, you're a fucking liar. But—and I know this is corny as shit, but I'm gonna say it anyway—but, the way I look at it is, every regret that I have ultimately helped pave the path to where I am now, which, on most days, is a-fucking-okay.
19. Have you ever danced in the rain?: One time, I was drunk on the edges of La Salle's campus, imbibing heavily on a summer night with a few friends, when all of a sudden thunder cracked and the skies opened up. We ran outside, and if my hazy memory is correct, we literally danced in the rain. That was a weird night, only in retrospect, and only because a pair that I danced with would be wrapped up with me in some high-stakes drama by the end of the month. Obviously, the less said the better on that subject. That was the summer of 2008. Almost eight years later, and I still feel weird, even though the drama is long dead and buried. It was weird because that one instance that summer was so carefree and joyous and benign, in such juxtaposition to what happened a few weeks later, and that one later memory curdled everything that came before. And that's the time I danced in the rain, everybody! Come back soon!
20. Have you ever tried drugs?: No, I haven't (alcohol is a drug, but for the purposes of this exercise, let's pretend that it's not). I think I made the decision when I was like sixteen to not do drugs, and at the time I'm sure I was just being a huge fucking pussy, but over time it's kind of warped into a strange, humorous thing that I wanna keep going. Like, people look at me and spend time with me and assume that I smoke weed. And I probably give off that vibe, so these assumptions aren't baseless. So I find it funny to be a contradiction, a marijuana-lookin' dude who doesn't smoke pot. (This is the inverse of the personal joke that sometimes I'm the biggest drunk load in the room but the only one with a mortgage and a wedding ring. I don't like being pigeonholed.) I don't have anything against drugs. I'm not that guy. Just not my thing.
21. Do you smoke?: I used to be pretty cool smoking cigars, and when I say "cigars" I mean like the cheap shit such as Black & Milds or Philly Blunts. When you're eighteen years old and you got a Beast pounder in one hand and a sour apple philly in the other, you're cool as shit. On my wildest nights, I could be that guy. But that was back then. A decade has passed, a decade during which I beat the shit out of my stomach with beer and junk food, and now my stomach is weak and can't handle smoke on top of everything else. There are mornings after smoke-filled bars when I put on the jacket I wore the night before and just about want to die. And: There are blackouts when I find myself inexplicably holding a cigarette in between my fingers, but rest assured, these aren't the nights that I'm making that many good decisions in the first place, so it's like, what's one more fuck up on top of all the rest?
22. Have you ever been drunk?: *deep breath* The short answer to this is: Yes, I have been drunk.
The long answer to this is: I have been drunk more times than I could possibly count, and every night with my friend alcohol is a coin-flip. It could be the best night of my life, and it could be a night that produces enough nightmare-quality memories that I could fill a Stephen King novel.
I very often stuff hundreds of ounces of liquid down my throat, and for what? To have less control of my limbs; to become obnoxious and loud and crude; to piss often and sometimes inappropriately; to not being able to communicate as if I have been struck mute; to act like such an asshole that it's to the point that I'm literally writing a reminder list of people I have to apologize to the next day. And yet, goddamn do I love it all.
A few life events have convened recently that caused me to be sober this weekend, this very weekend that I am typing this in pajamas with the sun still up, not a drop of alcohol in my veins. There's some shit that is popping up from my weekend's sobriety I want to get off my chest.
With a half-marathon that I foolhardily signed up for months ago looming but days away, and $300 at stake in a cut-throat weight-loss competition, I found myself leaving work at 4 PM on Friday, committing myself to not drinking this weekend. Like, at all. This led to me attending a Phillies game stone-cold sober for the first time since I grew pubic hair. This led to walking through a semi-crowded but loud Xfinity Live! and being faced with the prospect of dancing, and then backing away slowly, slowly, until I backed up right into the subway car home. This led to staying at home on a Saturday instead of facing another bar armed with only a water w/ lemon.
If the above paragraph makes it sound like I am scared, I am. I'm scared because I stripped away alcohol for not even 48 hours and I find myself faced with the mawkish realization (again) that, maybe it's not that good that I feel at that base of my being... that I... might
need alcohol to function.
Woah, woah, okay, let's take a step back here. This is me, pitchfork in hand, keeping the AA zombies and alcohol counselors with $$ for eyes and knowing cynics at bay. Stay back, fiends. You're right that I said I may need alcohol to function, but let's examine the very specific way in which I do.
Because I don't get the shakes when I don't drink. I don't wake up craving a beer. I can choose to go cold turkey for any length of time (an hour, a day, a week, more) without a single white knuckle in sight. I have a rock-solid relationship with my wife, a stable house in which I live and of which I regularly upkeep, an even more stable job with benefits, a job that I (in general) succeed at. None of these things have been threatened by any type of alcoholism of any kind. I am sober for the majority of my hours awake. This isn't some classic-AA Denial shit. I'm self-aware.
What scares the ever-living fucking SHIT out of me is that, yeah, despite all that, I don't think I'd be able to live without alcohol. Let's call it a social disease.
For the past eleven years of my life, 99% of my GREAT TIMES have been when I was drunk or surrounded by alcohol. I call it a social lubricant, but if it's not for me? What if it's the lubricant and the gears and the nuts and the bolts and the whole goddamn machine? What if I can't function socially, like, at ALL, without alcohol?
What if the person you know in social settings isn't me? What if it's Drunk Me?
What if everyone likes Drunk Me, and no one even knows who the fuck Me is?
This is what has been haunting me over the past 24 hours. I feel like, sometimes, that maybe I made a mistake drinking so early in life. Maybe I should've built some kind of personality first, and then layered the alcohol on top of it. Because if I didn't make any mistakes, then why do I feel like a goddamn ghost if I'm the only one without a beer in my hand?
What's shitty is that it isn't even the alcohol itself that is bad. I've drank 10,000 beers in my life, and my life is still fucking great, and the trajectory is only pointing up. What's shitty is that now, since my life is great, maybe now I'm starting to question whether it would be just as great if I stopped drinking? Would I be able to find meaning in my life?
Here's the part of this blogpost where a less-wise Joe would commit to MAKING A CHANGE. I would say something like, "I'll drink less!" Or maybe I'd make some kind of concession, like, "I'll only drink on Saturdays!" Or (and this would be a whopper), maybe "I'll stop drinking all together and just get used to it!"
But I'm not stupid. I know there are situations in which I'm going to drink, and I'll fucking enjoy doing so, and that's okay. I'm not going to be sober at a goddamn wedding or something, ya know?
I just wish... I mean, I guess the whole point of this sad-sack shit rant was to say that, I wish I didn't feel that way. I wish I didn't feel so uncomfortable in my own skin when I sober in a drunk atmosphere. I wish I could enjoy myself whatever the context.
The fact of the matter is, when I find myself with the opportunity to drink, and I choose not to, I feel like a fucking jabroni. And maybe, emotionally speaking, that ain't too good.
23. What's your favorite fast food restaurant?: Wendy's.
