Fuzzy Recollections

The last time James and I had gone out it had been he who was drunk. I didn’t mind because he was so adorable that it’s impossible to feel like he was being a burden on anyone. Men, when drunk with their friends at a club, usually turn into these massive testosterone spewing monsters of touchy-feely asshole-ness. James is the exception to this rule and for that I am glad to say that I know him. As a consequence of the alcohol I got to be the one to tease about his funny doings that he had only a fuzzy recollection of.
As a part of fair play we agreed that it was my turn to be the next intoxicated silly person so that he could enjoy a good round of teasing when I sobered up enough to feel embarrassed. Starting at his house he made this interesting concoction of vodka and crystal light. We both agreed that it would get me drunk but the recipe needed more investigation.
Assured that the Sonics would pull out, I managed to tare him away from the game we were watching in Hi-Def, which had been a mind blowing first for me, and start making our way out the door. After filling a water bottle with more of the crystal-vodka-light I was introduced to his baby, which was a monstrous diesel truck with huge ass tires that made the step up to the cab a near adventure. Zooming down the highway it was awesome to be looking down on all the little cars and feel like nothing in the world could stop us.
After a couple laps of the area, checking the scene, we rolled up hill through this fenced in parking lot that he remembered being paid parking. It was right across the street from the club, but the signs posted were stating the lot as reserved by permit only. The fencing gave one a better sense of security but the idea of being towed was not so appealing. On the other hand it was incredibly close and the lot was empty except for three cars and a local bakery truck. We apparently weren’t the only ones with this idea.
After parking his big truck at the top of the hill by the club, we looked around and agreed that no one would want to try and tow the beast. If anything the remote on his alarm would warn him while we were inside if anyone tried messing with his baby. Even though I was feeling pretty toasty when we parked, my main concern was that James would be worrying all night about his truck and have no fun at all. He assured me he would be fine but probably keeping an eye on his alarm remote. With that settled out came the water bottle filled with his vodka brew.
When we finally decided we were both ready off to head into the club I was totally starting to feel drunk. I was definitely past toasty and rushing right on by tipsy without so much as a backward glance. Everyone has their own terms and definitions for the different stages of intoxication. The obvious fact that we all react differently to alcohol leads a person to give themselves little markers to chart their progress. These personalized markers can be anything; how they’re feeling physically, their emotion state, or the strange separatist’s observation of their actions. My markers are dependent on how fast I’m drinking. In the last year or so I’ve developed this naughty habit of just flying through the whole process from sober to drunk in way too short of a time period.
On a good night while pacing myself, which was what this night was, my first marker is Toasty. I’ve described Toasty in the past as: nicely warmed and outwardly funny. It’s that moment where I really just kick back. I’m comfortable with my surroundings and myself. I’m also more confident to involve myself in conversation, as silly as it may end up being I’m unafraid to look foolish for the sake of a good laugh. The next step is Tipsy. This is the point when I start noticing my motor skills are starting to go out the window. I’m a little clumsier as well as taking more care with the words I’m using when I talk. The warm feeling of well being is still firmly in place yet there’s a saucier kick to it. My actions as well as my words are increasing in boldness.
As things move beyond Tipsy to Fuzzy there is also this slow progression of what I call “separation” in my mind. There becomes this inner sober person that is narrating the rest of the affair for me. This Sober Spectator hands out advice and cringes in total embarrassment as the outer self begins it’s slow decent into melt down. Of the few times that I’ve gotten Fuzzy, the one thing that is most vivid to me is the almost tangible cloud that seems to hang over my ability to process even the simplest of information, while the Sober Spectator is calling out encouragement. “Whoa there girl, slow down the walk and remember… straight line. Doing good, doing good, you’re almost to the bathroom. You certainly have to pee a lot when you get like this. Now lock the stall door. Com’mon this isn’t hard. Slide the latch… No shut the door, then slide the latch.”
Fuzzy is still a stage that I’m able to know when to quit, if that’s my intention. I know perfectly well that I’m gone enough to be a silly mess but without the ability to drive, and without the need for anything more than water to drink. Fuzzy, sadly enough is also the point where I start losing memory of my antics when I sober up later. It’s usually best that I stay on the dance floor so that I don’t notice how much my balance is off. My conversations on the other hand have are pretty much whatever I have to say at the moment, bold or simply foolish. The filter between my mouth and my brain is no longer functioning.
When I become fully aware of my inability to move about without stumbling, I’m to the stage of Messed Up. My emotional state can stay with giggly, but most of the time slips into this guilty sort of apology phase. The “I’m sorry’s” just seem to come spilling out of my mouth over the silliest things. A lot of that has to do with my independent streak and the fact that I know damn well I’m unable to get through this experience without someone else’s guidance. Anything past Messed Up is just going to end up as Fucked Up. Fucked Up is when the fog has completely rolled in and the Sober Spectator’s only real job is navigation based on the primal needs of survival, which does include the hunt for the least embarrassing place I can throw up. Any memory I have of this time is going to be either sensation or odd little snap shot flashes of certain moments, nothing really linear.
Here I was sitting in a big manly truck that is parked on a slant and I’m feeling strangely closer to the Fuzzy stage than I had expected with the given amount of consumption. We hadn’t even gone into the club yet, nor was it past ten o’clock at night! Talking for a minute more, we both moved to get out of the truck. With nothing more than the happy anticipation of dancing on my mind, I stepped out like I was getting out of my car. Big mistake! The strange thing of it all was that I could have just landed on my butt, or rolled a bit on impact but no… I did nothing so simple as that. As I blissfully stepped out of the passenger side, one boot heel hit the pavement with a resounding crack, while the other foot strangely decided to stay in the cab of the truck. This left me hanging for a moment from the safety belt and the door handle. As I hung there in that strange position, precarious as it was, the only thing that crossed my mind was whether James was still in the drivers seat watching this whole thing. Through the cab, as I righted myself, I thankfully saw that he had just turned his back to me and slipped gracefully out of the truck without any sort of special attention paid in my direction.
Even at a stage of outwardly funny, very little can break past my inability to deal with looking totally stupid in front of other people. I will try and play off any sort of situation, acting like nothing ever happened, long before I’ll own up to a foolish action. Smoothing down the shirt I was wearing and making sure my hat wasn’t noticeably askew I came around the tail of the truck, acting for all the world like I had exited the truck in the same manner James had. This whole charade was blown completely out of the water with the look of concern that he met me with, as well as his telling question of, “Are you okay?” Stubborn as always I brushed past him heading toward he club claiming that everything was fine. “Are you sure? It sounded like you fell.” That was when I stepped into the street right in front of a car and James had to grab my shoulder to pull me back. In my desperate flight to avoid the whole embarrassing line of questioning, I was blindly just heading for the doors of the club without thought of much else. Things were definitely close to full on Code Fuzzy.
As I checked my coat and the bouncer waved James through without charging cover, I looked at my watch then to realize that it was still early. Walking through a disserted lobby and glancing around a rather empty front bar, I was starting to wonder what kind of a night it was going to be. We ordered drinks and went to sit down in order to wait for the dance floor to open up at eleven o’clock. After drinking part of my Lemon Drop shot, I headed to the bathroom to take a call from Jimmy. He planned to come down and join us, and also shared the sad news that the Sonics had totally lost. How depressing!
When I returned from the bathroom where I had run to take the call, the dance floor was open and James was still sitting by his lonesome. My single mindedness was starting to take over as I did my very best to coax him away from the table, promising that I only wanted to sit in the other room and let him finish his drink. That turned into an empty promise being that we sat for probably two seconds.
Moving across the empty floor I stopped to wave to my friend who was spinning. We sat for a moment while I finished the rest of the shot and the two of us talked. Getting up with the intention of merely putting my glass somewhere a bar back could pick it up, I turned to go sit again and just couldn’t do it. I really can’t explain it more that the moment just really took me. That and I was probably trying to show off for James. I remember being worried as I watched him get up and walk to where I had dropped my glass, that he was going to be upset with me and walk back out to the bar. Instead he stopped right where I was and began to dance with me. It was the most awesome moment! After our talks about liquid courage being needed and other sorts of nervousness when it came to dancing, it was so totally great that he just rolled out with me, even on an empty dance floor, and was totally showing off his great moves as well.
As par with my state of intoxication… everything gets fuzzy from here on out. We danced for a while and I was having a ball because James was not only keeping up with me and a great dancer, but he seemed to be having as much fun as I was. Taking a break I went to the bar to try to send a drink to my DJ friend only to have the bartender treat me like I was a dumb drunk person (which maybe I was). After another shot and a drink bought for James the fog was rolling in.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Jimmy showed up and I remember dancing with him a little bit. Whenever he asked how I was, all I could say was that I was drunk. I also had to run to the bathroom constantly, which was frustrating the heck out of me. I’d be totally getting into a song and then would just turn and head to the bathroom. James was losing track of whether I was coming or going to the bathroom, I was gone so often. Jimmy suddenly was being really clingy when I was dancing with him later, which was making me worry that James would feel forgotten. He was already melting into the crowd around the dance floor and not out with me anymore.
By then I knew that I couldn’t really walk straight anymore. Every time I got off the dance floor I kept stumbling and bumping into things. Even in my frequent flights to the bathroom, the whole process was becoming more and more difficult. I’m just glad that I never ended up feeling sick. James was handing me water every chance he got, but Fuzzy was progressing toward Messed Up.
At some point we finally headed out, which lead me to searching around trying to remember which boot I had stashed my coat check ticket in. I’m sure that must have been a great little spectacle for whoever was walking by us at the time. From there I remember very little. James practically had to give me a two handed boost back into the truck. I found it kind of ironic since I fell out of the truck the first time and had to be shoved back in to get home.
Even with the fuzzy nature of my recollections and the hangover I suffered through the day after, I really had a great time. It’s always way more fun to be out dancing with someone you know. There’s something about the energy that a person can give back when they’re having fun the same way I am. The bottom line is that James is an awesome guy who took care of me when I’m sure I was a sloppy pain in the ass. He’ll get his chance to tease me later, as was the point. I just hope I didn’t make too big of an ass of myself that he’ll actually want to tease me later.