So, I have been having all these stomach problems. About 2 months worth. It has been suggested that I have an ulcer, gull bladder issue, Red Bull sensitivity, delayed gastric emptying, stress, hiatal hernia, and reflux. All of these suggestions have been made by my family, close friends, and the lunatics that run those panic inducing medical websites. I have yet to see an actual doctor. I have an appointment on the fifteenth of June, and will hopefully get some answers.
Regardless of what the problem is, there is one symptom that is bothering me most of all. I. Can’t. Drink. That’s right. Can’t. And it sucks. I try. I try and force a glass of wine down, a beer here and there…hell, I was drinking a Caesar at camp for God sake. But it’s no use. Whatever I drink just comes right back up. If it doesn’t come back up, I spend the next several hours feeling nauseated and miserable. And it’s not just drinks either. It’s cigarettes. And food, too. Basically my three favorite things in life are off limits. As things have been getting worse, I have been eating less. I have basically been living on frozen waffles and ice cubes. Great for losing those pesky pounds I wanted to lose for Wikki’s wedding. Not so great for my mood and energy level.
Point in case…Saturday. Saturday was the Kickoff to the Summer of Weddings. HP and I have about 383 weddings to attend this summer. Actually, we have three…but they all occur between June 5th and July 3rd, so it surely feels like a lot. This past Saturday was the wedding of a very dear friend of HP’s, a girl he has known forever. July 3rd is the wedding of HP’s former co-worker, and June 25th is Wikki and Wad’s…which HP and I are BOTH in. Seems like HP is more popular, doesn’t it? Not the case. It’s just that most of MY friends don’t believe in marriage. Weirdoes.
Anyway, HP was looking forward to this wedding since we got the save the date card several months ago. This girl is a very good friend who he hardly ever gets to see anymore, so he was practically jumping up and down as we were getting ready to leave. He kept saying, “We are going to be LATE!!” Because we were. But HP has never, in the seven years that I have known him, cared about being late for ANYTHING.
We got there just as the wedding was starting. The DJ yelled at us to MOVE BACK. He wasn’t very nice for a DJ. At first I thought he was the wedding coordinator the way he was bossing people around. That started me on a path of nerves, which was not good.
The bride looked gorgeous. Gorgeous!! HP shed a tear as her dad gave her away. (See, he is a huge softy. Possibly gay. More on that later…)
After the ceremony, HP got us both drinks. A whiskey and coke for him, a Captain and diet for me. I figured what the hell, I had dosed myself on Dramamine (which I have taken to affectionately calling just Dram). What’s the worst that could happen? We were served a lovely sit down dinner and HP’s delightful mood and the half Captain and Diet that I had consumed made me feel like I might actually be able to eat. So I did.
Big mistake. Huge.
Upon my last bite of cake, as the newlyweds were taking the stage for their first dance, the old familiar waves of nausea crashed over me. Faaaaaacccccck. HP knew by looking at me how I felt. He looked like a disappointed child who was being asked to leave a birthday party. But I was not about to do that to him, so I quietly excused myself and went to lay down in my truck. HP had about a split second of guilt as he watched me walk away…I know he partly felt bad that he was letting his sick wife go sleep in a vehicle while he partied down at a wedding with his whiskey and a room full of single, tipsy, wedding-horny women. That moment passed quickly. Can I blame him? Hell, no. He would do it for me in a heartbeat.
He stopped out to check on me periodically. Each time, he was slightly more intoxicated. HP is not a huge liquor drinker. He is mainly a beer man with an occasional scotch on the rocks. But that night, he was a whiskey man. He was reporting to me on who was getting drunk and which of the wedding-horny women were hitting on him. I felt too shitty to care.
As I was laying there, waiting for my third dose of Dram to kick in, I remembered…we had MB’s housewarming party to attend that night also. After about two hours, which brought me to 9PM, I called HP and asked him to come out. I explained that we needed to leave soon to fulfill our other party obligation. He said, “Ok…HIC…let me finish my…HIC…drink and I will be back out.” Nine turned into nine thirty which turned into ten which turned into ten thirty which turned into me being irritated as hell. My dram had finally kicked in and I was ready to go. Despite the black eye makeup that had smeared down my face from gagging, I mustered up as much dignity as I could and walked back into the reception hall.
It was there that I found HP, the bride, the bridesmaids and a couple random girls dancing to ‘Stroke It.’ HP’s shirt was unbuttoned and untucked and he had the whiskey glaze in his eyes. He insisted that we stay until the end of ‘Stroke It’. I sat down, trying not to look pissed off cause really, this was not about me. I just wanted to get home, put my jeans and tank top on, and get to MB’s before the band stopped playing.
HP said his goodbyes, finally, and I drove us back to the house. HP thanked me about 100 times for taking one for the team and spending the entire wedding in the truck. I felt like an asshole, and knowing that HP had a blast while I sat in the truck made me feel even worse. So by that point my mood had gone from irritated to down right miserable.
We finally FINALLY got to MB’s. And of course, everyone was hammered. HAMMERED. Except for MB and Wikki, thank God for small favors. I was not about to make the same mistake that I had made at the wedding and drink any alcohol. I settled for ginger ale.
I found Wormy sitting at the bar. I went to give her a hug and accidentally stepped on her foot, and since she was very tipsy, she yelled at me. Then she got over it and gave me the Smart phone that she had found cheap for me on Craigslist. SCORE!! HP came in and I showed him my new phone and HE started yelling something about it being one-more-goddamn-thing for me to occupy my time with and blah, blah, bullshitshutthefuckup. All the yelling was too much for me. I was sober, dopey from the Dram, and surrounded by drunk people yelling at me. It was too much for me to handle. I burst into tears. Soooooooo stupid.
I cornered Wikki and followed her everywhere she went for the next hour. When she wasn’t around, I followed MB. I needed to be around the people who were at my stupid sober level. Hindsight, that was probably a bad idea. No one was keeping an eye on HP. When I reemerged to the patio 2 hours later, HP was standing there, much like a Weeble Wobble, holding a giant can of Olde E. His eyes were half closed and he was making no sense at all. The party had thinned out considerably. We had planned to spend the night, but HP got it in his head that he wanted to go home. So off we went.
Being from the North Hills, the south of Pittsburgh is a mystery to me…even though two of my best friends live there and I have been visiting there for years. I only know one way to get home from there and that way is straight down West Liberty Ave and through the tunnels to 28. HP knows another way, but he was passed out with his head in a bucket so he was about ten degrees less then useless.
I drive down West Liberty, towards the tubes and GUESS WHAT!?!?!? The mother fucking road is BLOCKED. Some stupid dick of a power line had chosen that night to fall over, destroying all the street lights and making it impossible to go home.
I knew MB was in bed so I called Mav. He slurred that we should come back. HP was whining that he wanted to go home, and I said fine, tell me how to get there. He couldn’t and yet he was still whining. We got back to the House O’ Bling and HP refused REFUSED to get out of the car. He was being a belligerent idiot.
I was thinking HOW DARE HE!! After I stayed in our truck for 3 hours, gagging my face off while he was at a wedding having fun, after I got yelled at by everyone and cried like a 13 year old at her first boy girl party, after I stayed sober the ENTIRE NIGHT…he’s gonna act like this at 2:30 in the morning?? No…no, no, NO.
I got Mav. It was my only option. My emotions were about to their boiling point and I didn’t know what else to do. I was exhausted and just wanted to lay down. Mav came down to the truck, took one look at HP and said, “Heesh kinda cute, ishin’t he?” He proceeded to pinch HP’s nipple and give him a wet willy. He said, “Come on, cutie, I’m gonna take you into bed.” Sweet-Jesus-Marching-At-A-Gay-Pride-Parade…what the fuck is going on??
HP starts to giggle like a little girl and says, “Stttttoppppp ittttttt!” Who knows if he really wanted him to stop it. MB and I are gonna have to keep an eye on those two. We finally put HP to bed where he slept it off until morning, needing to be reminded by yours truly of just EXACTLY what had gone down the night before.
Moral of the story: I stayed sober for 18 months of my life, 9 per pregnancy. I never intended to do it for any length of time again. No one invite me to anything until after my doctors appointment. I can’t deal with My Fabulous Life without alcohol.