8.19.2006

Drunk Boy

Hey people, sorry for the MIA lately, but things have been nuts. To give you an idea: a couple weekends ago I stupidly didn't use sunscreen while at the beach, and ended up with heat stroke and a horrible sunburn that resulted in a purplish-coloured leg and a swollen ankle for a week.

And now back to the story of my dating history...

Our college days finally came to an end, and with it a reality that hit like a ton of bricks: we were adults.

My part-time job at Home Hardware (a.k.a. "Home Hell" or "The Hell") wasn't going to pay the bills, so it was time to get out there and find a real job. Easier said than done, apparently. Graphic design jobs were few and far between, so I spent hours online hunting for something, anything. Receptionist, administrative assistant, effing go-go dancer...I didn't care. I traipsed around the city in my suit, my feet covered in band-aids due to new shoes, going to interview after interview, waiting for calls that never came.

I began to sink.

April turned to May, and I found myself awake until all hours of the morning, chatting online with strangers to pass the time. I slept by day, and put in my few hours a week at The Hell.

On the days I didn't work, I simply stayed in my pyjamas, crawling out of bed just before Angie came home from work, so as not to seem too pathetic. Unless I had an interview or work, I didn't leave the apartment. The end of the four and a half year relationship had come with a loss of friends, and I began to shut out the ones that remained. Heartbreaker had gone off into the abyss. I was sad, jobless, alone, and the depression had come on so gradually, I didn't even recognize it for what it was.

One Friday evening I sat in my pyjamas (having gotten out of bed only an hour previous) and went on MSN to see who was online. Frank messaged me to ask if I would go to a bonfire party with him, and I refused. He asked me why. I told him I was in my pyjamas and not ready to go anywhere. Frank told me he would be at my place in an hour, and he would drag me out of my apartment even if I was still in my pjs, so I better get ready...then he went offline. Omigod. OMIGOD! I tried to call him on his cell, but he wouldn't answer it.

I had a choice to make...I could sit at home for another night and be miserable, or I could get up and get ready. Somehow, I chose door #2, and Frank arrived an hour later to pull me back from the depths that threatened to swallow me whole.

The bonfire was a good time, and as I talked to people and had a couple drinks, I started to feel like myself again. I got along with everyone so well that I was invited to a cottage the next weekend, and since I had already opened door #2, I chose to walk through the doorway -- I booked the next weekend off of work and headed up to the cottage with Frank.

As drunk as we got that weekend, none of us held a candle to a guy I shall dub "Drunk Boy". Drunk Boy drank alcohol like it was water, had to be helped to the bar down the road, would pick up on a phrase and never let it go (ie. Mendosa! and [insert name here], did you pick up the phone? ...Lyndsey, Paulo and Frank are laughing right now), threw a borrowed shoe in the water, and ran back from the bar through the woods in bare feet. He was hot, but not the brightest crayon in the box.

Back at the cottage, everyone claimed beds and mattresses on the floor for the night. As I was new, I simply curled up on a small couch and fell asleep. It must have been three or four in the morning when I was jolted from a dead sleep because someone was climbing on top of me. I froze, terrified, ready to scream. It was Drunk Boy. He lay on top of me (and did I mention he was a big guy?) and I whispered, "Drunk Boy? What are you doing?"

"I'm just going to sleep here," he whispered loudly, still drunk.

"Uhm...I'M sleeping here!" I said.

He mumbled something I couldn't make out and started rubbing my side. I lay there underneath the big oaf, not really sure what the fuck was happening. Then he began to snore.

"Drunk Boy? Drunk Boy!" I said, as quietly as possible, shaking him.

Nothing.

Fuck. FUCK! The guy was heavy and breathing was becoming an issue. Over the next hour, I slowly inched myself out from under him, over the back of the couch (I had to go that way due to how he positioned himself), and I finally landed on the floor in a heap. Nobody woke up. I let myself out onto the deck and sat in a chair, smoking cigarettes while the sun rose. As people began to wake up, they came outside and gave me quizzical looks. I told them not to ask.

A few days later I was talking to Frank on MSN, and he informed me that Drunk Boy liked me.

"Wait, WHAT?" I said.

"Has a crush on you. Likes you. Wants to hug you and squeeze you and call you George," Frank replied.

"Oh."

After a few more wing nights and barbeques with the group, Drunk Boy finally worked up the nerve to ask me to dinner. I agreed. He arrived in his huge truck with a bouquet of blue daisies and took me to this adorable little Italian restaurant. We had a really good time together, and we started talking on the phone almost every night and seeing each other on a regular basis.

I finally got a job with a mechanical/electrical/communications company as a dispatcher (and it was a good thing too -- my parents were threatening to stop helping me and force me to move back to London), and life was finally starting to really look up.

One Tuesday night when we were at the bar for wings, he asked me to come out to his truck with him. He opened the door, pulled out a fishing rod and handed it to me. I had recently discovered a love of fishing and he had given me a fishing rod of my very own. I loved it.

Drunk Boy and his dad owned a boat that was kept at Port Credit and one weekend, Lyndsey, Paulo and I went to spend the night on the boat and go salmon fishing the next day. We had a couple drinks, watched a movie and then crashed for the night. I wasn't sure where I would be sleeping until Drunk Boy asked me to crash in the bed under the front of the boat with him. Now THAT was an experience...crawling through this little opening into this small space with a bed. It was dark and the boat was rocking on the water and I could understand how people got sea sick.

Suddenly, Drunk Boy leaned over and kissed me, but it was so dark I hadn't seen it coming, and his face basically smashed into mine. I thought he would ease up, but he continued to kiss me so hard that my mouth hurt and my face hurt and his stubble felt like it was tearing my skin off. I couldn't breathe and his tongue was everywhere (I was half expecting it to go up my nostril or in my eye) and my face was just soaked. YUCK! How can people make it so far in life with those kind of kissing skills???

Guys, let me give you a tip...when you kiss a girl and she says, "Ow!" or "Ouch!"...STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING!

Anyways, I was willing to overlook this...I just figured I had a LOT of teaching to do.

Drunk Boy asked me to go to the "SARS-Stock" concert with him, and since I worked just down the street, I agreed to meet up with him and the group after work.

That day, Drunk Boy called me a couple of times, but the phones kept cutting out and I couldn't get a hold of any of my other friends. When I got to Downsview, all I could see were people...and more people...and more people. I had never in my life seen anything like it and had no idea how I would ever find my friends. That problem was solved when, by some miracle, I spotted Drunk Boy standing outside the gates, looking angry and confused. Drunk Boy had gotten kicked out of the concert because he had been trying to call me from a restricted area of the park. He had said a few unkind words to the security guard who asked him to leave, and they escorted him out of the concert. Fantastic. We grabbed some dinner and then Drunk Boy bought another ticket and we headed into the park.

Madness.

There were people as far as the eye could see and it was difficult to hear, move, or even think. People were sweating and drunk and sunburnt and screaming and dousing themselves in water for relief. Drunk Boy walked us through the same groups of people over and over again, but he could not remember exactly where our friends had been. Our cell phones wouldn't work. Finally, we gave up and found a section of grass to lay on and chill to AC/DC.

Before the Rolling Stones finished their set, we decided we were exhausted and should leave to beat the crowds. As we passed by a booth selling ribs, Drunk Boy decided to stop and get some. I was completely against this, because Drunk Boy had a habit of making a big mess, but he wouldn't listen to me. He ate a big pile of ribs and there was rib sauce EVERYWHERE. He told me that he had some rib meat stuck in his teeth, and could he use my shirt for a second?

"Uhm, NO!"

"Come on! I really need to use something to get this out of my teeth!" he said.

"Drunk Boy, NO! Use your own damn shirt!"

He waited a few minutes and then grabbed the side of my shirt and went at his teeth with it before I had a chance to fend him off.

"There, got it!" he said and laughed.

"What the FUCK is the matter with you? That's disgusting!" I replied.

He just laughed, grabbed my hand and wouldn't let it go.

We walked down Allen Road to Yorkdale, where we were able to catch a cab back to my place. We made out for a bit (read: he sucked my face off) and crashed for the night. In the morning I kicked him out because I had to get to work.

Drunk Boy and I had made plans to meet up at the Warped Tour and then head up to his friend's cottage, but when I finally spotted him and walked over to say hi, he was distant and weird. Fine. I left and hung out with my friends for the rest of the concert. He finally called to say they were waiting for me at the parkinglot because they were heading up to the cottage. I slept most of the way there, and had a couple drinks with everybody before passing out in a chair on the deck. I awoke to Drunk Boy's friend shaking me awake.

"Redhead, wake up," he said.

"Huh?" I mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes.

"Get up. You can't sleep out here on the deck."

"I'm fine," I said.

"You are NOT sleeping out here. Come with me."

He helped my groggy ass out of the chair and into the cottage, where he led me to a mattress on the floor where Drunk Boy was all comfortable and passed out. The friend poked at Drunk Boy and told him to move the fuck over. Drunk Boy mumbled something incoherent (he was drunk...surprise, surprise) and the friend said, "Redhead is here. Move OVER!"

Drunk Boy rolled over and I climbed onto the mattress, told the friend thank you, and immediately fell asleep. I woke up as he was getting up in the morning to go fishing, and he left without even asking me if I wanted to go.

That was the end of Drunk Boy and I. From what I've heard, he told people that I stopped calling him, which is bullshit because he stopped calling me.

Either way, I knew it wouldn't work out anyways...I like my crayons bright.

3 comments :

  1. Anonymous9:11 PM

    Have I ever mentioned that I'm horribly HORRIBLY sorry for that whole ordeal?
    But whatever, we got our old non-cranky(ish) Lysh back, so I call it a fair trade.
    Also, the horrible awkward dating was just plain funny in my book. As our friends later said "Damn. Drunkboy is about as smooth as a bag of nails"

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  2. Haha, no worries! I'M the one who continued to see him, even though I knew we really weren't right for each other. Live and learn.

    Also, thanks for saving my ass...I was headed to a very dark place and I don't know how bad it would have gotten if it weren't for you guys.

    :)

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  3. Anonymous12:24 PM

    WTF? where you at?

    ReplyDelete