I have been trying to crawl out of a cavern of shame since Friday night. I went to the Black Cat for Cryfest (a Cure/Smiths night) and was having a great time until I had a bit of a fifth drink. There must have been something in that drink, or I was officially over my limit, because all of a sudden the staff was trying to throw me out. It wasn't until this happened that I started to get unruly, demanding that I be allowed to get my coat from upstairs. After telling them exactly where my coat was, that it was long black wool and had a Metro card in the left pocket, I get a short black coat with no pockets. I'm not saying that the staff of the Black Cat is stupid, but after giving the same description to a friend who luckily happened to be outside at the time, he quickly came back with the right coat (Thanks so much Joel, I owe you big). What's worse, after the staff tried to give me the wrong coat, they said I'd have to come back tomorrow and make my way home with no coat or Metro card. They'll have to forgive me for not exactly trusting them to hold onto anything overnight. Even when I was crying outside after being told to come back in the morning, and was not causing any more trouble, they refused to let me back in. I know it's all over now, and it worked out for the best, but I keep thinking; what if things hadn't worked out? What if Joel hadn't been outside? What if I had kept shouting and the staff called the cops and I ended up in jail? All I should be thinking about is how I narrowly escaped a disastrous moment, and what I can learn from it. Drinking has always been a social crutch of mine. I become more talkative and less reserved when I drink, and I try to keep it going. It's caused other problems in the past, mostly sex-related with guys I never should have even talked to, but never anything on this level. I was fine until I started on that fifth drink. A guy who was clearly trying to get in my pants bought it for me, so I have my suspicions, especially after I started acting like a maniac immediately after I took a sip. But it was probably just too much alcohol combined with the natural stress of having to explain myself to an unyielding staff who doesn't appear to be helping. I've told myself before, after yet another disappointing one-night stand, that I will drink less, but it never sticks. I'm hoping that, remembering my embarrassing Friday night, I'll make it stick this time.
Before I went out on Friday, I learned that my grandfather had died after a long, off and on struggle with cancer. It hadn't even hit me when I headed out that my grandfather was dead. He was among my favorite extended relatives, but I can't say we were exactly close. In a perverted way, maybe getting drunk and making an ass of myself was the best way to honor his memory, in the spirit his alcoholic Irish Catholic clan.