a housecat let loose in the jungle

An innocuous text about an office party led me down the garden path to a world I never knew about last week.

It all started with this, at 4:05 p.m. on a Thursday: “Watcha doin! Oilfield party tonight you should come”

A couple of texts later I learned that it was an office party, going till 6. The invitee was my airplane boyfriend, which is a whole ‘nother story for a whole ‘nother day, but to set things on the right path, we are completely platonic.

Needless to say, I wasn’t even sure I was going to go, which is always how the best stories start. I ended up sick of people and work at around 5, and managed to get to the office party around quarter to six.

My airplane boyfriend met me in the lobby, then took me to the office and started introducing me around. Then he started introducing me around, again. I quickly realized he was shit faced. We laughed about it and he offered me a drink. We went back to the kitchen area, which by this point had morphed into a full scale bar, complete with 5 texas mickeys, cases of wine and beer. Still unsure of how long I wanted to be there, I went for a beer – plus being part-native means I shouldn’t ever touch the mickeys.

Big talkers with big stories were these oilmen. Characteristically sleazy, the owner actually said things to me like, “you look like you have a great body under there”, and “just a little kiss”, and “I just want to talk to you”, in the midst of trying to pet me.

After my third beer, the above and some other characteristically slimy and un-characteristically nice people started to become infinitely entertaining and I decided to hang on. Airplane Boyfriend promised that at the end of the rainbow was a nice steak dinner, paid for by some start up oil related company, so I held on. In addition to liking drinking, I love to eat, and we live in cowtown where the steak is worth the wait.

However, the wait became a little arduous, I’m quite the hypoglycaemic (I know, I know, this makes me sound like a whiny hypochondriac), but it was, let’s get out of here and get some food, or I’m leaving to find my own. I’m a big girl; I know where all the $2 pizza slice joints in the city are.

So we left. Airplane Boyfriend and his baby faced friend who had talked to me about travelling and relationships and who knows what because I was drunk by that point. We ended up at their office, which hadn’t been decimated by some rowdy ‘office warming’ party, and had a sublime rooftop patio overlooking downtown. Blasting some rap and watching the stars – sounds romantic right? The friend sure thought so, and before I knew it, we were making out. Niggling at the back of my head, was that he had a girlfriend, he was in an 8 month relationship, I kept pulling away, asking where my rational thought had gone. I started to question the allure of ‘downtown’. I was like a housecat let loose in the jungle.

Another girl showed up and we headed to the Vintage. I couldn’t tell if she was Airplane Boyfriend’s girlfriend, but her name started with a C and I knew he was dating a C, so I assumed so. I vaguely remember some type of girl gossip/bonding session in the bathroom. I had two bites of the sublime prime rib. We made out instead of ate. I have no idea if I drank, and if so, what. I wind down at this point.

Airplane Boyfriend and C leave. Niggling feeling doesn’t. I know he wants to take me home, but I’m a big girl now and need to handle these situations with some inkling of class. Sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend is not classy. So I leave him, cold on the street and take a cab home, out of the jungle.

heartburn

Not to be mistaken with heartache, I have heartburn. It's this sick feeling that comes from my gut, and burns all the way up. It's the feeling that I created on my own. That's the part that makes me feel sick. No one did this to me, I subjected myself to a sustained situation where I basically gave a minor a license to drive drunk. I knew he couldn't do it, I just really really wanted him to be able to do it this time. So, shame on you the first time, shame on me the second time. But what about the seventh or eighth time? Pure insanity. I'm sick of myself frankly, and sick of what I'm created. If what we did together was a crime, we'd both get a life sentence. At this point, I feel like I deserve it, but feel incredibly lucky I got away.

d-runk. work stylez.

I started to notice today that my spelling is off. Also, it's incredibly fun to play with bolding and CAPS and spell thingz with a z. This points to the fact that I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk from last night and have to be at work and that must be what you do when you are, as I am, d-runk at workz........

Other signs that you are under the influence at work:

• Did the lights get brighter, or did I always need my shades inside
• That typing noise is really fucking loud
• People are backing away slowly when they talk to you. Probably smell like a barroom floor.
• Writing an email to colleagues with one liners, like "Shut up!"
• Listening to club music and swearing the lights are flickering to the beat
• Suddenly the grimy carpet looks inviting for a nap
• Wondering if the vegetable juice down in the cafeteria might mimic the effects of a Caesar
• Trailing off mid-sentence because you have no idea what you just said or who you said it to, where are you again?

Time to go home. Or time for post-work drinks. If you can't fight it, join it!

sometimes, in the morning

...I wake up and think about all of the things still in store for me. It gives me a shiver of excitement. Hope.

...I wake up and think about all of the things still in store for me. Makes me want to cry.

Get there. Stop.