Keeping up Appearances

I swore I would never go more than a week without updating.  However, like many of my goals, that resolution has not been met.

But here I am.  Updating.  For your viewing – well, reading - pleasure. 

Since we last spoke, I:

- Applied for two jobs that I’m not going to get. 

- I started something that I don’t think I can properly finish.  

- I repeated a troublesome past mistake, albeit from a different angle (and I’m going to have to fix in soon). 

- I was asked, repeatedly, “do you like your job?”  To which I replied, “No – and no, I don’t want to talk about it.”  By answering that question in that manner, I managed to do some “networking.”  Let’s see how that plays out.   

However, I do think things are going to be all right.  Eventually, of course. 

I also realized that a calm and reasonable demeanor can come in handy at the most unexpected times. 

This weekend, I went to a club for a friend-of-a-friend’s birthday.  The day itself was busy- I woke up unreasonably late, ate, showered for an extraordinary amount of time (Saturday is my “excessively long shower day”), went to the bank and liquor store, then drove to a far-off (well, not really) city to park my pussy wagon for the night, and then headed downtown with a friend.

Once we arrived, I began pre-drinking (which I never do).  I avoid pre-drinking because it almost always dooms me to suffer a terrible evening.  Every time I’ve gotten a buzz pre-club, something has gone wrong later in the night.  These mishaps can range from moderate to severe.  Some grieve me for hours, others for months. 

So here I am, sitting in a friend-of-a-friend’s apartment, intoxicated while watching people play video games.  It was the wrong time to be feeling the booze, only because it was horribly pre-mature.

The limo arrived, and we went to the club.  My buzz had worn off, but I was beginning to feel nauseous.  I hadn’t eaten since noon, and I’m not one who can drink on an empty stomach.  However, I willed myself back to a passable semblance of perfect health and unbeatable vitality. 

When I walked up the bar for my free shot, I knew I couldn’t do it.  One shot would have been the vomit-on-the-shoes death of me.  A near-stranger’s birthday party would be soiled on my account – and I couldn’t have that.  So I opted to start my “water-only” period at 10:30 PM.

On the upside, I saved a lot of money. 

As the night wore on and the crowd grew larger, the excessive presence of sweaty humanity became too much.  I was going to puke.  There was no more negotiating with my stomach.  I couldn’t beg my body to shut the fuck up and relax any longer. 

I was far – far! – away from the washroom.  In fact, there wasn’t one to be found on the main floor (which was precisely where I was located).  I moved, swiftly, through the crowd and towards the staircase. 

Do you have any idea how hard it is to navigate your way through hundreds of towering men and gyrating couples?  Do you know how difficult it can be to make your apology sound sincere when you’re holding back vomit and various people are yelling, “bitch, what the fuck?” while you shove them out of your way? 

They don’t know or understand your plight.  They can’t feel your pain, desperation or agony. 

When you have to puke, you don’t have an incredible window of time to prepare.  It’s not like having to pee.  With some exceptions, urination is something your body gives you adequate time to prepare for.  You have the luxury of saying, “hey, I should probably make my way to a bathroom within the next 10-15 minutes.” 

People who are about to throw-up do not have a comfortable grace period.  They have less than 30 seconds.  When the body wants something gone – by God, it’ll make it gone! 

So I ran up the stairs, trying not to cough or breathe or open my mouth.  I didn’t want to cover my mouth, because that just screams, “holy shit I’m going to puke!”  I wanted to be discreet.  It’s something I’ve managed to pull off in the past, actually. 

However, the stairs were too much (what with the bouncing and all).  I made it to a garbage can (which, in my estimation, was far better than the floor).

I almost managed to finish in peace, when I felt a strong, distinctly male hand on my shoulder.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Shit.

“I’m not drunk.  I’m sick.  I actually haven’t bought a drink yet tonight.”

“I don’t care, you can’t do that in front of everyone, that’s inconsiderate.  There’s a bathroom on this floor, you should have gone in there.”

“Well, you see…that was the plan.  However, I had to walk the entire length of the club and run up a flight of stairs.  My progress was impeded by the massive throngs of humanity blocking my way.  I’m surprised I even made it this far, and a garbage can is better than the floor, no?”

“Get your friends and get out.”

“Fine.”

Needless to say, I didn’t leave. 

I wonder if, had I been a man or a bitchier girl with serious attitude, he would have followed me down the stairs and escorted me to coat-check. 

I understand that it’s uncouth to vomit in a club.  However, I took issue with being told I was “inconsiderate.”  I’d be inconsiderate if I’d thrown up on the floor or staircase.  I’d be inconsiderate if I purposely drank beyond my limit and vomited on myself and others.  I’d be inconsiderate if I didn’t at least try to make it to a bathroom. 

However, I did none of those things.  Etiquette and dignity were great concerns when I made my way to the washroom.  I suppose I was just angry that my efforts – which were vast – were ignored.  I did the best I could under the circumstances. 

No more pre-drinking for me…ever.

“There’s a feeling I get, when I look to the west…”

That title has no real relevance to this post, I just heard Stairway to Heaven in the car today.  It’s not a song I often hear while driving, mostly because it’s old.  It’s classic, yes, but it doesn’t get a great deal of airplay.

It seems to me that current rock music, though occasionally soulful in its own right, is lacking the abstract passion of the songs of decades past.  It’s not all bad, nor is it all shallow, but it’s not as…prolific, dare I say?  It doesn’t contain as many long guitar solos and abstract allusions to metaphors you’d find in romantic era poetry. 

 I have no idea what Stairway to Heaven is about.  I don’t know what feeling I should get  when I look to the west.  I don’t know why there’s a lady standing on the road that I’m supposed to wind down on.  I don’t need to know to appreciate the song - and it’s a song I appreciate on more than an auditory level.  I’m a fan of most catchy beats, but they don’t hold any long-term fascination for me.   Stairway does, and I wasn’t even alive in the 70s. 

I suppose this entry’s title is relevant  . 

When I started this blog, I promised myself that I’d try to write once a week.  However, I’m not one to talk about my day.  Trust me, you don’t want to hear about it.  Almost every blog turns into an essay, albeit an “I” essay.  One occassionally laced with tasteful profanity – yes, profanity can be tasteful. 

One thing I’ve noticed is that most of this site’s hits come from people sifting through entries with sex tags.  I don’t judge, I do the same thing.  If I see a tag that says “anal sex”, I click – even though I’m not all that interested in rectal intercourse myself. 

So on an inappropriately sexual/mildly political/deeply controversial note, allow me talk about drunk sex - or rather sex had while a woman is drunk.

Some friends bought me The Guide to Getting it On for my birthday.  It’s a book about, yes, getting it on.  It’s long, intelligent, helpful, open-minded and appealing.  It touches on every subject associated with sexuality – kink, fetish, porn, biology, society, psychology and assault and abuse. 

Sexual assault and abuse are serious subjects.  They’ve been very real realities for an astounding number of people, male and female alike.  However, it would be unrealistic to say that adult men are at as great a risk of sexual battery and assault as adult women. 

The Guide is sympathetic towards victims, and rightfully so.  However, it declares women who have had sex under the influence of alcohol – willingly and enthusiastically – as much of victims as survivors of short and long-term sexual abuse.

That’s absurd.

If a woman consumes alcohol willingly, she’s made an adult decision.  If she chooses to leave with a man and proceed to have (or perhaps even initiate) sex with him, she’s made a choice, albeit one spurred on by imbibing potent liquids.  If her drink was drugged, or her protests to “just kiss/cuddle/sleep” etc were ignored, then yes, she was raped. 

However, if she consented to sex, she consented to sex.  Perhaps its sex she’ll regret, but her regret and embarrassment is less serious (and life-altering) than his potential imprisonment and life on a sex offender’s registry. 

Also, the book mentions that it’s a man’s – and only a man’s – responsibility to determine the extent of sexual activity when the woman has had more than one drink.  It is his duty, drunk or not, to err on the side of caution and refuse the woman’s advances.  This is a noble principle in theory.  However, in a situation where sex seems evident, it’s hard for some people (male and female, drunk and sober) to cease activity that is, in fact, consensual. 

And to be fair, some women get drunk in order to feel more comfortable initiating sex.  It’s common to consume at least a few drinks with a date/partner/fuck buddy/whathaveyou on any given evening.  Consuming some alcohol – even a lot of it – does not render most people immobile or unconscious (that said, no one has any right to initiate sex with someone who has blacked out).  It lowers ones inhibitions and leads to hasty decisions, yes, but it’s drank with those effects in mind. 

It is true that sleeping with a person far drunker than yourself could constitute you taking advantage of another’s altered state.  However, there is a difference between taking advantage of someone and brutally, maliciously assaulting them.  It’s not necessarily right and/or ethical to desire a woman simply because she’s drink and therefore more likely to engage in sexual activity.  But as long as that woman participates, willingly, in sexual intercourse, no legal recourse should follow the events of the evening. 

Yes, being used can leave one feeling vulnerable and upset, but these are feelings from which can gain some degree of wisdom.  But it’s not fair to have a man arrested for having sex with a conscious woman who said, “yes”, just as it would be unfair to prosecute a woman for having sex with an intoxicated but conscious man who said, “yes.” 

Just as you can’t blame a beer company for making you run naked through a suburban park at 2 am, you can’t blame a horny partner for your feelings of regret following a night of voluntary drinking and fucking. 

I’ve had sex while drunk.  I’ve had sex while very, very drunk.  I’ve felt compelled to do and say things during drunk sex that I might not do or say during sober sex.  However, I’d never dare accuse any of my partners of anything close to rape or sexual assault.  I’d expect actual rape/sexual assault victims to loathe me if I did.

Anyone can put down a bottle and go home at any time.  You know before you buy that drink exactly how you’re going to feel at the end of the night. 

Better to be the one experiencing a little morning-after embarrassment than two to 10 years in prison.