Here’s Part Two of That Thing With the Really Long Title

 “Red hot mama, velvet charmer/times come to pay your dues…”

So now I was messing with a son of a bitch, as Jesus of Nazareth says. I had never had a one night stand before, or whatever that was, so to me it meant I was in a relationship now. I was really putting the cart before the drunk horse (“whiskey for my men, beer for my horses,” like that was ever a good idea. Toby Keith thought it was). But this was my Journey, and I was straight Stone(d) in Love (sorry I’m listening to a lot of music while writing this).

Now every night I was cracking a Busch tall boy and carrying the other three to his house so I could get a whiskey and ginger ale later, because like I said I was drinking again and I was gonna do a good job of it this time. You know what your nana says, practice makes perfect. Plus the alcohol gave me the munchies and this dude made some good food on the grill (have you ever had a tomahawk steak?) I think I was really, in reality, using this dude for the alcohol and food, and whatever else came along with that (but he started it!). But I did like him, and I didn’t think I liked older guys (you don’t know til you try right? (Speaking of, I never thought I’d be writing about my life on the internet, but you don’t know til you try)).

I got so involved (or so drunk) that I was spending every night there, and he actually mentioned that i should spend the night at my place every now and then. Not for mine or his sake, but for Tommy’s. He said Tommy must be lonely, and he probably was, but I didn’t think it was my job to babysit him (when he got drunk he made a mess in the kitchen), and plus the money I gave him every month was almost all the rent on that one room trailer (I did care about Tommy, but I cared about the whiskey more (Well, gee I could have bought my own whiskey…)). So I don’t think I spent one night at my place in three months and I was paying rent there. 

We were still doing the church thing because he was a man of God, after all. I was getting tired of that crap, even though I wasn’t hungover (I handle alcohol pretty well), but I wasn’t a sixty year old seasoned drinker either used to keeping commitments and responsibilities. So we got in the habit of having beers after church (which did communion every Sunday with grape juice), which he was used to but I wasn’t, but it wasn’t the first time I had drank in the morning. It was a little late for hair of the dog; it was more like bite of the pussy cat (?) Again, before I drove to work. The only problem was the drinks kept getting earlier and I was drinking more to get buzzed (honestly I was going to work stone cold drunk). Three beers was not unusual for me. Maybe four. People would stop by and see me drinking and be like aren’t you going to work? No shit (the drive was 30 min. I must have a guardian angel and he must be pissed).

We did stuff on my days off, and I only worked four days a week, so there was plenty of time to take the boat out and get drunk and sunburned. We brought little snacks, like ham rollups with cream cheese (aw how cute (not)). We started with Busch and followed with cocktails (probably the most ginger ale I’ve ever had in my life. Let’s call it my seagrams phase). A lot of the boats parked out on the island, down the river where it almost meets the ocean (I have no idea how we got there, because I was looking at him driving the boat, which was sexy. Damnit). One time I stepped in dog poop out on the island, that was embarrassing. We always ran into people he knew, it was crazy. And here I was this young girlfriend, and I don’t know if he was slightly embarrassed of me (sometime people think I’m a teenager), but I wasn’t of him( I guess that’s how it works). Anyways the ladies at work were like, wow you’re getting so tan! I think they hated me (because I was the only skinny one in the bakery) and were jealous.

So things were peachy keen (more like peach crown royal. I had a bottle of that) and I lived a double life, sober at work, drunk in the park…so we went on a cruise. Yeah, one of those carnival Caribbean booze cruises (like we didn’t already drink on boats enough). My family had invited me on and offered to pay for cruises before, but I wouldn’t go, and here I was going with someone I only knew in the biblical sense (dad, I hope you’re not reading this). I won’t describe the cruise, I’ll just say I didn’t get my bang for the buck with the buffet cause I ate with the mindset of a drinker: less is more room for alcohol (but I always wanted to try a rum runner and I did…and it was gross). We bought a 18 pack of BL the morning we got back into cape Canaveral. I could already tell I was developing a physical dependency. 

*****do I have to write a Part III to this thing? I’m not sure how long I have to make these things.