Blackouts and Breakdowns (24 page)

“Hey!” the balding gay kid said to me. “My name is Brett.”
He was clearly giving me the once over.

“I’m Mark,” I responded.
I tried to listen to what Brett had to say but could not pay attention.
My eyes were following the handsome model as he was walking toward the door. Damn you Brett for ruining my love life!
Who did this kid think he was?
After all, this man was most likely to be my true love.
The model walked out the door and I turned my attention to back to Brett who was rambling on about some gay AA meeting that took place down the street.

“It’s a really great meeting,” he said.
“Sometimes afterwards, we go out for frozen yogurt or cupcakes.”
I tried to pay attention to what he had to say but his breath reeked of halitosis and I was really pissed that this kid had totally just cock blocked me at AA.

“Whatever,” I said.
“Call me when you guys start going to Happy Hour after the meetings.” No one cock blocks Mark Rosenberg.
I turned and walked out the door looking for my hot model as I turned each corner down the street.

Suddenly, I had a renewed interest in AA.
Tomorrow, I was going to have to come looking my absolute best.

DAY TWELVE

I came to AA that day looking like a million bucks.
After almost two weeks of not drinking, I had pretty much lost my beer belly.
Pair that with the fact that I had been working out like a maniac,
I was beginning to look less like a bloated Alpine and more like how a respectable gay man was supposed to look - a gym rat.
Today I was wearing an outfit designed by Diesel (especially designed for me, if the hot model were to ask).
I had on a tight long sleeved shirt and an even tighter pair of jeans to show off what little ass I had.
As I walked in, I saw my model and made a beeline to sit next to him.
No one but me was getting their claws into this one.

The meeting began, as it always did and the leader of the group did his usual shtick.
I was still relatively new to the meetings, but whoever the speaker was pretty much said the same thing. They were a drunk and now they aren’t thanks to AA.
Pretty standard.
After the speaker finished, the meeting was open and my hot model boyfriend raised his hand to speak.

“My name is Victor, and I’m an alcoholic,” he said. I thought his name was perfect.
We could name our first daughter Victoria, just like on
One Life to Live
.
Victor went on to tell his story. He revealed that he was, in fact, a model many years ago for a very recognizable brand.
I suspected Calvin Klein, but you never know.
There were always a lot of sad models standing under waterfalls for Gucci as well.
While modeling, Victor would be invited to parties where the booze was abundant.
He began drinking regularly until it became a problem and he soon found himself smoking crack out of a Coke can under the Brooklyn Bridge.

Yes!
Now we are getting down to the real shit.
This is what I wanted to hear. Victor concluded by telling everyone that he finally had hit rock bottom and came to AA, where he has been for the past four years.
He, like everyone else around me, was grateful for what AA had done for him.
He had come from the very bottom and was now healthy and successful again.
His story was inspiring.
If he could stop drinking and smoking crack out of Coke cans surely, I could make a better life for myself.

As the meeting continued, I decided that mine and Victor’s second child would be named Bo, if it were a boy and Tina if it was a girl.
After the meeting, I mustered up enough courage to will myself to speak to him, but people bombarded him.
Everyone was interested in him.
And I had some stiff competition. Palmer Courtlandt was eye fucking the shit out him during the whole meeting.
As people surrounded Victor, I saw out of the corner of my eye that Brett was approaching.
Damn him and his awful breath and cup cake chatter.
He had already foiled my plot to speak to Victor yesterday, and I was not about to have him do it again.
I slipped into the bathroom, giving him the,
I am about to shit my pants look
and waited there for about five minutes, until I figured Brett would have left.
But when I came out of the bathroom, Victor had gone.
That was the last time I ever saw him.
People that beautiful don’t live in D.C. and I should have known better.
He had probably been whisked away to Milan shortly after the meeting ended.
I would have to put hopes of meeting my future baby’s daddy on the back burner.

As I was leaving the meeting, a friendly looking guy walked up toward me.

“Hi, I’m Luke,” he said, sticking out his hand and I shook it. “You’re new here?”

What did I have a fucking sign on my back or something?

“Yes,” I replied.

“Here,” he said as he took out a card from his briefcase and handed it to me.
“Take my card and call me if you need anything.”
I took his card and he walked away.
He was pretty cute, and always being on the lookout for ass, I took his card and put it in my pocket.
However, I did not know at the time that taking his card was going to be the smartest thing I had done in sobriety, because he was going to be there for some of the hardest times in my life.

I had decided to attempt to be a nicer person in sobriety.
Surely, I had not gotten sober to be miserable and make everyone’s life around me a living hell.
I was beginning to listen more when people around me were speaking and would even respond with helpful hints.

“I really need to get a new sling for my apartment,” a friend would ask.

“Try the Leather Rack,” I would respond, Google mapping it on my phone.

Sobriety also helped me focus more and one thing I was definitely focusing on was keeping in good shape.
After all, no one likes a fatty.
Especially one who spends his afternoons with a bunch of alcoholics.

I arrived at the gym that afternoon, feeling all right.
Maybe Victor was not my future husband after all, but I was going to work out and forget about all that. I walked into the locker room and found that I was the only one in there, except for an older man who was changing.
I walked over to my locker, put my bag down and began to change.
The older man walked over to me.
I hate making conversation with old men at the gym.
It’s like they don’t even work out; they just sit and the locker room and wait for someone to talk to. I decided I would be nice to the elderly gentleman.

“Did you play sports in high school?” the old man asked.
I had hoped that this conversation was not going to turn into a sexual fantasy for him later.

“I ran track briefly,” I said.
“I was subsequently kicked off the team after I started smoking.”

“That’s nice. I played football in college.”

“Oh,” I replied, putting my sneakers on.
I was changing at warp speed, but he was still rambling on.

“I remember the first time we all had to shower together after a football game,” he continued.
I think he must have played football before the birth of the NFL.
But I decided that the new, nice Mark was not going to comment.
“I remember standing under the water in the shower and it was very cold.
All of the sudden, I felt a warm sensation on my chest.” I did not like where this story was heading.
“Then, I looked up and saw that the quarterback was peeing on my chest.”

“That’s revolting!” I said.

“It was kind of like initiation,” he said. “But, I kind of liked it.”

Ew, I thought. This was turning into really low budget porn.

“Do you want to pee on me?” the old man said.
I lost it.
I could not be nice anymore.
This man was filthy and I could no longer be cordial.

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH?” I yelled as I grabbed my things and ran out of the locker room. So much for trying to be a nicer person.

I really hate D.C.
Everyone is such a mess here.

DAY FIFTEEN

The next few days passed uneventfully.
I was beginning to get into the swing of things and living my life without drinking.
But one thing was bothering me.
Many people in the meetings told me that I needed to get rid of the people I used to drink with because they could turn out to be bad influences in my life.
As it turned out, people had stopped calling me anyway. I had told everyone that I would be able to go out and socialize without drinking, but no one seemed to believe me.
To prove it, I surprised a group of friends who I knew were going out and met up with them.

Everyone seemed to be happy to see me, but everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around me. It did not bother me that everyone else was drinking and I wasn’t, but it seemed to make everyone around me uncomfortable.
I walked up to one of my friends who I had not seen in a few weeks and we chatted.
When a friend of his that I had not met came up, my friend introduced me to the stranger.

“This is Mark, my friend I was telling you about,” my friend said, “He does not drink anymore, but, don’t worry; we’ll have him back soon!”

On that note, I left the bar.
How could my so-called friends be willing me to fail at my latest venture?
These were people I had been through so much with.
I simply could not believe that our friendship hinged on whether or not I drank.
Maybe the AAs were right. Maybe I could not associate myself with these people any longer.
Maybe they were not good people for me to be hanging out with anymore.

I went home and felt defeated.
I felt like everyone around me was trying to make me fail. When Erica Kane went to rehab on
All My Children
, everyone was there to help her.
Even her cokehead brother Mark made a cameo to show his support.
But no one was really supporting me and I was beginning to feel more and more alone.
As I got ready for bed, I went on facebook to see what was going on with everyone.
Facebook is great for keeping up with people who you have not seen in a long time and reconnecting you with former schoolmates.
However, it can also remind you why you don’t keep in touch with certain people anymore.
I had gone to Dr. Jake’s page to see what he was doing. It said that he was currently in New York.
This, of course, pissed me off even more.
Everyone was having fun but me.
I threw myself a small pity party and ended up going to bed very angry that evening.

DAY SIXTEEN

I went to AA today and was trying to erase the memory of the previous nights’ events.
I bumped into Laura Lesbian and she told me that she had faced many of the same problems that I was facing right now.
She told me to just hang on and that things would eventually work themselves out.
After all it was God’s way.

One thing that I was not really grasping in AA was the whole God thing. I was never a very religious person and was not sure that I could grasp the whole concept that everything was God’s plan.
After all, I am Jewish, and don’t my people believe in self-pity and butting into other people’s business?

After the meeting, I went home and felt very lonely.
I felt as if I had no friends and everyone was against me. I had tried to put forth a positive attitude, but it seemed that I could not will myself to feel any better.
That evening, I decided to call Luke, the guy who gave me his number a few days before.

“Hey, I am glad you called,” Luke said into the phone.

“Oh, thanks. I was just calling to say ‘hi’,” I said.
“I am feeling a bit like I have no friends in the world.”

“It’s OK, I felt that way the first few months of sobriety as well, but, as they as they say, this too shall pass.”
There was that God business again.

“Whatever.”
I was hoping to just ignore this God nonsense for as long as possible.
“It’s weird because I am feeling great physically, but mentally I am a freaking mess,” I said.

“Yea, I remember when I first stopped drinking.
I went to a therapist who basically told me that I was crazier than a shit house rat,” he laughed.
“But, we all are, and as long as you don’t drink, today will be a good day.”

I wondered if it would.
Some of my best days had been drinking days.
Maybe it was time to change my attitude a bit.

“I guess,” I replied.
“But, I work in a bar and I cannot seem to find another job.
Everyone I know drinks and I feel like I am constantly missing out on things.”