Living With An Alcoholic
I had a really intense dream last night involving this guy that lived on my block that I went to the same high school with named Chris Smith. I have no idea where in my mind the memory of him came from, but the dream was emotionally, and at times sexually, intense. Basically, there was an emotional connection between us. Sometimes bordering on lust. Sometimes just an intense feeling of caring and devotion. As far as I know, before this I had not even thought of him in years.
I felt so raw when I woke up and my bedsheets were literally twisted into a pile as if I had been doing somersaults all night in my sleep. I thought I'd try to Google him this morning but it's to no avail. Partially because the name is so basic there are probably a million people with the same name. And maybe also because he was terribly straight and from the south suburbs. A combo that doesn't usually translate to an Internet presence for a person.
As far as drama at the party, aside from Rockwell ignoring Belding and Belding getting blitzed to the point of not being able to stand, not much happened. I did walk into the kitchen once or twice to see Belding groping these friends of Costanza's. Once with hands down this guy's pants.
I would not call my reaction one of jealousy per say. More of an annoyance that if *I* was caught doing that exact thing by him, he would probably run around crying, screaming his head off and embarrassing me in front of everyone. It did rub my trust issues the wrong way for sure. Alcohol his no excuse for doing something you'd want to do when you're sober but don't have the balls to.
Belding also spent a lot of time raving about Airscale. I came to find out that he has been intensely reading his blog for a few weeks now, and finds him so amazing and inquisitive. He even went as far as to say that *I* don't write in that same way anymore, the few times that he reads my journal. That all I do these days is complain.
Wow.
Mind you again, if the roles were reversed there would be hell to pay in the form of drama for me to be complimenting or talking positively about anyone. I don't like the double standard thing. That is unless the double standard works in my favor.
And he promised me he would control his drinking all night. He didn't get psychotic like he did at Pride and briefly at Market Days. But, he hits a point where he gets all weepy and spineless. He was almost crying at one point after almost everyone was gone and blurted out in almost indecipherable drunken mumbling, "I love you so much".
Ugh. Grow a spine. Please. You have no idea what love is. You just hate yourself so much that all of your energy is focused on worshiping me like the god I am. "Love" if it does exist is so beyond a six month gay relationship's capabilities. It's something that requires years to forge. So don't give me that crap that you "love" me. It makes me shudder at the very mention of the word. I want to burn all my skin off with a hot iron, gouge my eyeballs out with a kitchen knife, cut off my tongue, swallow a cup of broken glass and jump from a 100 story window at the very mention of it.
This is no reference to the vomiter, only to Belding, when I say that I just DO NOT understand people that cannot handle their alcohol. I do not get alcoholics. His sister is one. He always comments on how gross she is when she gets drunk and passes out at home. A mother with two kids no less. Yet, he's following right in her footsteps.
Oh wait, it's a disease and the booze hounds can't control themselves. Boo hoo. Where is their fucking parade? They sure do "love" their bottles.
Love. Ha! What the fuck do human beings know about love. Everything we touch, we destroy. All we are concerned with is greed, gluttony and hatred. All we want to do is kill those we perceive as weaker than us and take as much as we can hoard. Don't tell me a person in this world knows what "love" is.
I felt so raw when I woke up and my bedsheets were literally twisted into a pile as if I had been doing somersaults all night in my sleep. I thought I'd try to Google him this morning but it's to no avail. Partially because the name is so basic there are probably a million people with the same name. And maybe also because he was terribly straight and from the south suburbs. A combo that doesn't usually translate to an Internet presence for a person.
As far as drama at the party, aside from Rockwell ignoring Belding and Belding getting blitzed to the point of not being able to stand, not much happened. I did walk into the kitchen once or twice to see Belding groping these friends of Costanza's. Once with hands down this guy's pants.
I would not call my reaction one of jealousy per say. More of an annoyance that if *I* was caught doing that exact thing by him, he would probably run around crying, screaming his head off and embarrassing me in front of everyone. It did rub my trust issues the wrong way for sure. Alcohol his no excuse for doing something you'd want to do when you're sober but don't have the balls to.
Belding also spent a lot of time raving about Airscale. I came to find out that he has been intensely reading his blog for a few weeks now, and finds him so amazing and inquisitive. He even went as far as to say that *I* don't write in that same way anymore, the few times that he reads my journal. That all I do these days is complain.
Wow.
Mind you again, if the roles were reversed there would be hell to pay in the form of drama for me to be complimenting or talking positively about anyone. I don't like the double standard thing. That is unless the double standard works in my favor.
And he promised me he would control his drinking all night. He didn't get psychotic like he did at Pride and briefly at Market Days. But, he hits a point where he gets all weepy and spineless. He was almost crying at one point after almost everyone was gone and blurted out in almost indecipherable drunken mumbling, "I love you so much".
Ugh. Grow a spine. Please. You have no idea what love is. You just hate yourself so much that all of your energy is focused on worshiping me like the god I am. "Love" if it does exist is so beyond a six month gay relationship's capabilities. It's something that requires years to forge. So don't give me that crap that you "love" me. It makes me shudder at the very mention of the word. I want to burn all my skin off with a hot iron, gouge my eyeballs out with a kitchen knife, cut off my tongue, swallow a cup of broken glass and jump from a 100 story window at the very mention of it.
This is no reference to the vomiter, only to Belding, when I say that I just DO NOT understand people that cannot handle their alcohol. I do not get alcoholics. His sister is one. He always comments on how gross she is when she gets drunk and passes out at home. A mother with two kids no less. Yet, he's following right in her footsteps.
Oh wait, it's a disease and the booze hounds can't control themselves. Boo hoo. Where is their fucking parade? They sure do "love" their bottles.
Love. Ha! What the fuck do human beings know about love. Everything we touch, we destroy. All we are concerned with is greed, gluttony and hatred. All we want to do is kill those we perceive as weaker than us and take as much as we can hoard. Don't tell me a person in this world knows what "love" is.