New Years was all bollocksed up. The boy I know was nowhere to be seen, replaced by his occasional doppelganger, Mr Schizotypal.
Everything started off well enough. We journeyed down along the beach to a BBQ with some of G's old nerd friends. They were an eclectic bunch but very nice. We picked up a bottle of vodka and some juice to last the night and ventured forth to Tom's, with an intermission to feel each other up while I picked up my camera battery.
There were a lot of people at Tom's. They spilled out of every door and hung from every window. Some of them were awfully good company, and I was having a jolly old time until this twat we know arrived. He's the kind of bloke who comes along to things solely because someone's shot him a pity invite. And with good reason.
"Hi Anna," he said, taking a seat next to me. "God, you're built like a lumberjack."
As the night progressed he insulted anyone in close vicinity. The pretty young thing Michael had an eye on became "the girl with lunch lady arms", though she can't have been more than 60 kilos after a full meal. My new best friend Dave was "the guy who didn't need any more Doritos". We had a nice patio area that we'd settled into, which eventually emptied as it became obvious that the tirade would not wane.
Somewhere in the course of this happening, I noticed an empty vodka bottle next to G's chair. I am always on high alert when there's alcohol around. You see, G has alcohol induced schizophrenia. And he likes to wander when he's been drinking. He also has a tendency to become deeply suicidal.
At some point, the aforementioned twat got the best of me. This guy is all about cars and weapons and visiting prostitutes. He's obviously the product of a very complicated childhood and whilst I do feel sorry for him on some level, Jesus there is only so much a girl can bear.
"Hey Anna, do you want to hurt me? Can you get a cheese knife and cut my face? I've always wanted to say 'a chick gave me this scar', that would be awesome."
"No."
"I don't know what G sees in you."
"Great."
"Seriously, hurt me."
At this point I turned around and with actual fire shooting from my eyes growled, "I don't want to hurt you. I want you to stop fucking talking. Right now."
We sat in silence. G came out and walked past, citing 'toilet break' as his reason. 20 minutes passed and I thought I might look for him, in case he'd gone walkabout.
When I walked out on to the street, his car was gone. I had had his keys, but he must have taken them from my bag when I was otherwise occupied. So G and a bottle of vodka went for a drive. His phone was off and he had my wallet and keys in his car too.
Around 3am I got a message saying "Every once in a while you have to do something to feel alive!" I was beside myself with worry and anger and a general feeling of absolute horror. I thought he had probably gone home, but with no car and no way of contacting him I had no evidence. My options were to get lifts with the various inebriated idiots around me, or to call Michael and ask for his help. When a tow truck came hurtling down the street and headed in the direction G would have gone, I became a complete mess and began screaming into the phone to Michael.
G had made it home, and had even had the forethought to fold his side mirror in.
I'm mad that he drove drunk, I really am. But moreso I'm worried about why he did it, and whether he's okay now. I punished him by having my children jump all over him while he was hungover, and now I am going to punish him further by taking him to see Marley and Me.
Not the ideal way to see in 2009. Hopefully it's an indication that it's all uphill from here.
Everything started off well enough. We journeyed down along the beach to a BBQ with some of G's old nerd friends. They were an eclectic bunch but very nice. We picked up a bottle of vodka and some juice to last the night and ventured forth to Tom's, with an intermission to feel each other up while I picked up my camera battery.
There were a lot of people at Tom's. They spilled out of every door and hung from every window. Some of them were awfully good company, and I was having a jolly old time until this twat we know arrived. He's the kind of bloke who comes along to things solely because someone's shot him a pity invite. And with good reason.
"Hi Anna," he said, taking a seat next to me. "God, you're built like a lumberjack."
As the night progressed he insulted anyone in close vicinity. The pretty young thing Michael had an eye on became "the girl with lunch lady arms", though she can't have been more than 60 kilos after a full meal. My new best friend Dave was "the guy who didn't need any more Doritos". We had a nice patio area that we'd settled into, which eventually emptied as it became obvious that the tirade would not wane.
Somewhere in the course of this happening, I noticed an empty vodka bottle next to G's chair. I am always on high alert when there's alcohol around. You see, G has alcohol induced schizophrenia. And he likes to wander when he's been drinking. He also has a tendency to become deeply suicidal.
At some point, the aforementioned twat got the best of me. This guy is all about cars and weapons and visiting prostitutes. He's obviously the product of a very complicated childhood and whilst I do feel sorry for him on some level, Jesus there is only so much a girl can bear.
"Hey Anna, do you want to hurt me? Can you get a cheese knife and cut my face? I've always wanted to say 'a chick gave me this scar', that would be awesome."
"No."
"I don't know what G sees in you."
"Great."
"Seriously, hurt me."
At this point I turned around and with actual fire shooting from my eyes growled, "I don't want to hurt you. I want you to stop fucking talking. Right now."
We sat in silence. G came out and walked past, citing 'toilet break' as his reason. 20 minutes passed and I thought I might look for him, in case he'd gone walkabout.
When I walked out on to the street, his car was gone. I had had his keys, but he must have taken them from my bag when I was otherwise occupied. So G and a bottle of vodka went for a drive. His phone was off and he had my wallet and keys in his car too.
Around 3am I got a message saying "Every once in a while you have to do something to feel alive!" I was beside myself with worry and anger and a general feeling of absolute horror. I thought he had probably gone home, but with no car and no way of contacting him I had no evidence. My options were to get lifts with the various inebriated idiots around me, or to call Michael and ask for his help. When a tow truck came hurtling down the street and headed in the direction G would have gone, I became a complete mess and began screaming into the phone to Michael.
G had made it home, and had even had the forethought to fold his side mirror in.
I'm mad that he drove drunk, I really am. But moreso I'm worried about why he did it, and whether he's okay now. I punished him by having my children jump all over him while he was hungover, and now I am going to punish him further by taking him to see Marley and Me.
Not the ideal way to see in 2009. Hopefully it's an indication that it's all uphill from here.
