Meant to post as journal entry originally...

I don't think I quit drinking for myself. At the time I thought I did but seeing as I'm sitting where I am now, I have a chance to reflect and see the things I have been telling myself. Rather, lying to myself. At the time, I was just out of a second go-round relationship with (what I thought) was the nicest guy I could ever hope to be with. Now don't get me wrong-I didn't love said Mr. Nice Guy. I wanted to...and for the first time in my life I desired something good for me. Something stable, no weekly melodrama, no disappearing acts, no hang up phone calls, no high-intensity make-up sex. Damn, I was going to miss that part. Instead, I was trading up for all that. I was trading up for A LIFE. A life with someone who didn't yell, didn't cheat, didn't lose his libido. Instead, he didn't hesitate paying for dinner, whine about where I wanted to go on a Saturday night, sulk at family get togethers, or get a glazed over look when I talked about anything unrelated to soccer, food, or sex. He was kind. He was consistent. He was available and he was handsome. And the best part was...well, he drank like me. And actually, I had to keep up with him! I guess my would-be fantasy life came crashing down on New Year's Eve this year. It was the most perfect evening I'd ever had with him. His brother was in town from New Mexico and I was "meeting the family." I couldn't be more thrilled. I had bought a long, black, cowl-back dress (backless, in other words) and it was stunning and I was stunning in it. I was going to meet them at the party and not drink. I had to drive, afterall, and I wasn't intending to get another DUI. Because I think ahead. I'm smart. I knew his brother was a very heavy drinker. Heavier a drinker than my boyfriend, anyway. I get there, walk in the door, and it was one of those time stood still moments when my man looked at me in that dress. As I drew closer, I noticed the blurry look on his face and realized he didn't get intoxicated while looking at me. He was just intoxicated. They had been drinking since Noon but what the hell? It was New Year's...and his brother was in town...why should I feel the least bit cheated because he's already hammered? I still don't have to drink. Until...well, until I'm offered one. That's all it took. That's all it ever takes, really. And damn it, he's a lot more fun while drinking anyway. And I'm hotter. Riiiigggghhht. I had had a cab driver friend (yes, drunks tend to know at least one) who drives this beautiful pearl-white Escalade from very pretentious places in Scottsdale and I had called ahead that day to find out if he'd be working that night. Remember, I'm smart. So, while I hadn't INTENDED on drinking, I plan nonetheless. So it was a "back-up" plan. My cabby said he would be working and because I'm such a special girl, he would keep his route open around midnight in case I needed a ride home. Said that even if he couldn't be the one to get me, he'd be sure to send someone else for me. Quite a nice cabby. I'm lucky as well as smart. His brother and I hit off immediately and I flaunted my extra-boisterous banter and he laughed and threw his head back to swig from the bottle of rum they had been slurping all day. Some cheap, local New Mexican crap with a crude label. I saw my boyfriend merrily (and with great skill and concentration) balance a coke bottle on a chair to pour 2/3 rum in 1/4 coke. He'd disappear from time to time to go out to the garage and play some dice game while I ever so gladly amused and worked my way into his family. When he'd get back he'd kiss me and play boyfriend when normally he was the guy who didn't like public displays of affection. He's conservative. A gentleman, if you will. That dress was REALLY worth the money! At one point, he cornered me in the bathroom to make out and grope for a while with his coke bottle in one hand and my ass in the other. Our most romantic moment together. Alcohol has afforded me the luxury of compromising my standards. So now not only was his brother in love with me (as if there was ever any doubt), now it was certain that my boyfriend was indeed a boyfriend and not just some person I had dinner with, had overnights with, hung out with friends with, cooked with, shopped with...you get the idea. In my mind, this is as official as official gets and I was high on it. There is a period of time in dating that feels more like swallowing bubble gum by mistake. You feel it, you know it's there, you're just not very sure at first which way it's going to head. As soon as you know, you can breathe a sigh of relief. Until then it's just uncomfortable and the only thing you can think about. Maybe I'm the only one that sees it that way... Dick Clark, in what (hopefully) will be his last New Year's Eve bash, prepares for the ball to drop and the room is full of the feel-goods. It could've been the booze but it still was like a Kodak moment to me. My guy is kissing me and thanking me for being there with him to ring in the New Year, everyone is smiling and laughing and loud. Then the chatter in the room tapers to a synchronized countdown and he looks me in my eyes...and I never felt so good. Then room explodes with noisemakers and hugging and kissing. I didn't even notice his drunken breath, how much louder than usual he was talking, or the sloppy way he was hanging on me. I was too buzzed (literally and metaphorically) to care. A minute later, at 12:01 on the dot, my cab driver calls me. He's outside. I tug at my boyfriend's sleeve and say I have to go and he's stunned for a moment when he insists onwalking me outside. We walk out of the front door just as the driver is opening my door to this gorgeous ride even P. Diddy would be proud of, in his three-piece suit. My man looks as me, face slack, and says, "Is that your ride?" Just perfect. No other words can describe it. Just perfect. The two of them chat for a bit while I make sure my car is locked up and I do a silentprayer that I find it in the same condition in the morning as I left it. I get in the SUV and he kisses me through the window, asks me to roll down the window to kiss me again, and I waive like Ms. America as we slowly pull away. My driver gets me home and I tell him how perfect he helped make my night. He's a South African man with an adorable accent and he says, "Miss, is that your boyfriend?" And I say confidently, "Yes, he is." Finally. "He's a good man, Miss." Yes, I know. The driver didn't charge me anything for the ride either. My friends called me Cindy for a week after this night. Fast forward three weeks and come to find out that I was the only one there for my "perfect night". He doesn't remember a thing. Let me repeat that...does...not...remember...a...thing. Well, that's okay. You're a blackout drunk. You don't remember the greatest night I ever had with you, okay. It still happened. You're still my boyfriend. Wait...what's that? You don't want a relationship with me? Huh? Are you serious? But we just spent Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and now New Year's together. We drink together every weekend and have almost a tradition of it. I've met your family. You've PAID FOR DINNER! I paid $80 for that dress!!! I tell guys now the reason women date assholes. Women who date assholes have trust issues. Women who date assholes know they are dating assholes and therefore...even if we say/believe/think/swear we love them...we love them only for the assholes they are. To date a "nice guy" is the real risk. Because if you're a woman like me, who drinks like me and already feels she's "not enough", dating a man who YOU THINK is worth anything can be devastating when it ends. For me, it was solidifying what my diseased mind already believes. I'll never get any better than this. I'll always be with an alcoholic. I'll always BE an alcoholic. And I'll never get off of this roller coaster. Through that experience I was able to see my alcoholism through someone else. It was staring undeniably back at me. I saw myself not as the precocious, witty, cute, charming, fun "great catch" I felt when drinking. I now saw a sloppy, tired, out of shape, lazy, angry, miserable, desperate, pathetic woman who was still trying to party like a rock star because she's "the cool chick". This man, who never had a single riveting thing to say in the year and half I'd known him, was able to reduce me to a rubble of what used to be ego, dignity, some semblance of sense, maturity, and innocence. All by wagging his finger in my face and screaming, "I don't want a relationship!" True story: I looked in the mirror and saw EXACTLY what I would look like in ten years. It wasn't pretty and in that moment I didn't blame him at all for not wanting to be with me. I didn't want to be with me either. I'd been trying to run away from me for as far back as I could remember. I thought I stoppedrunning when I found AA a month later but four months into that, I'm drinking again. No wonder, really. Guess there really is no Cinderella ending. That's why it's called life.