The shows have opened and I’ve been drinking.
At the opening night gala (of cheap wine and cookies) I drank and felt my face turn numb after a while and saw myself being a fool to friends of others in the cast and crew. My friends already know I’m a fool, so there was no problem there.
Last night, Spence had a party at his place, which is walking distance from the theater, and I considered not going. Being tired and all, that would have been the best option. But the aforementioned condition of being a fool intervened. That mixed with the morbid contemplation of having a quiet evening at home, how I long for it, yet it seems to me that I avoid it more often than not (I’ll call this the “Quiet Evening paradox). Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m still young, and get stir-crazy way too fast. Well, a quiet evening would have been what the doctor ordered, but no, the group and I ambled over to Spencer’s, where there was a fire going, the alcohol flowing and as I would later find out, the fiery blaze of -censored- was in effect.
So, what do I do when I arrive to Spencer’s? I’ll tell you: I pour myself a nice amount of Crown Royal (which Paige and brother generously donated) and dilute it with Coke. Nice. Having only ate a few cookies earlier, I try to cover up for my violation of drinking rule #1 (never drink on an empty stomach) by stuffing myself with chips, and later smores, and later chips(again). So several cups(maybe 2) of Crown Royal and Coke later I’m tipsy I pass by Spencer’s room and smell -censored-, as he is exiting. I acknowledge my recognition and enjoyment of the fragrance and like any good host, Spencer ushers us into the back patio and we indulge. From the get-go, everything’s cool. Then Spence brings out a -censored- stuffed full of some interesting smelling -censored- and we partake. I asked Spence, but I forgot his answer concerning what that stuff was, all I know is moments later I was not in my right mind. Things started downhill when my short-term memory began to shorten and disappear and my thinking convoluted. It was actually rather enjoyable for a while, but stupid me kept drinking, without eating. And soon, I was simply in outer space.
I’m not sure how to explain the experience of it. I was conscious of everything going on, and to the outside person I may appear normal. I was responding to people, and stuff, but inside I was completely out-of-it. It was like I was running on auto-pilot and I felt totally lame. I was examining myself from the side and thinking if this is how I act normally maybe I should reconsider any confidence I have in my ability to relate with others. I didn’t feel clever, quick, nothing. I’m sure I wasn’t acting as down-and-out as I was feeling, and I was only feeling quite so down-and-out because of the mixture of alcohol and -censored- and exhaustion and empty-stomach and Oleg. So I had an excuse, still.
On a bright note, before any of the previously noted festivities began we made smores! I don’t remember if I’ve every made real smores over a fire before with real sticks and graham crackers and marshmallows and chocolate (I suspect I may have once before), but we did! And I felt slightly more American with every smore I made (so in the end, I was three smores more American). That was awesome! Good thinking and excellent implementation by Spence and Katrina.
So now back to the regularly scheduled fear and loathing in Los Angeles, on my computer, on Oleg’s blog…In Oleg. So here I am. Totally out of it. The crazy thing is that I have quite a good memory so despite that fact that some things are a little disjointed, I remember most of the evening. After a while of out-of-it-ness, sitting on the couch in the living room with a few people, talking (most of the conversation going completely over my head). I head over to the bathroom, pee. Exit. Sit down for some more, go back to the bathroom, throw up(cleanly I hope(seemed that way at the time) note to self-call Spence make sure I didn’t foul bathroom up), stand up and compose myself as best as I can(not so good), thinking that I’ve been in the bathroom too long, I begin to execute my ill-composed plan to take off.
At that point I had had enough, I wasn’t feeling well (indicative by my vomiting) and I wasn’t able to follow conversations too much so there was really no point for me to stay and feel all lame. The problem was that the car seemed sooooo far away. In my inebriated state, thinking ahead was difficult to impossible; the future was drenched in a dense fog; a haze which prevented much planning. But I knew this for sure. There was no way I was driving home. I figured a walk would sober me up a bit, then I would nap in the car and eventually drive home. Which is pretty much what happened. The walk to the car was cold and weird, I took a roundabout way, considered going to the beach, but decided against it (too cold, didn’t want to pass out on the sand), my vision was really blurry so I couldn’t take heed of the people around and I was walking all crooked hoping the cops wouldn’t see me. Apparently they didn’t because I found the car, go into it, and passed out/in/out/in/out for a while, at some point I saw some of the people from the party passing by and I somehow responded to them. I don’t know if they saw me, doesn’t really matter. All I know is that eventually I passed out completely and woke up at around 4:45…At that point I took stock of the situation, realized that I was no longer in a weird condition and was able to drive.
Of course, if I would have been stopped, it would have been nothing good. But I drove home quite safely keeping my freeway speed a cautious 60-65, much of the time. I got home a little past five and my dad was leaving to work. I told him I got drunk and slept it off, and he told me to go to sleep. Which I gladly did.
So, here I am, 2 hours awake, a bit shaky, stomach vacuous, head-in-the-air cloudy. I hear drunkenness dehydrates a person. Well, considering this, and the fact that I am not in any condition to do anything serious, I think I’ll spend a few hours vegging out watching football and hydrating. Beer you say? Oh no. At this point beer is for the birds (drunk birds! Ha funny image).
Moral of the story: DO NOT VIOLATE DRINKING RULE #1
Moral of the story: If one does not feel like partying, follow instincts and go home.
Moral of the story: Do not eschew the quiet evening at home (especially after more than a week of rehearsals and shows nightly).
Moral of the story: Consider quitting all substances (alcohol included) again. At least for a while.
Okay, football, water and rest await. Good day all.