Easter

I'm not what anyone would call a Christian and so Easter is an odd time of year for me. It's very specific to the Christians, unlike Christmas which has been bastardized into being everyone's holiday. People wish me a happy Easter and I accept and wish it back, like it means anything to me at all.

Sometimes I think I agree with George on Seinfeld -- we need Festivus. A holiday for the rest of us.

I think the closest thing non-religious people get is their own birthdays and frankly, that just seems so self-serving even to me.

In other news, I went on a shopping binge yesterday while my fiance was on a drinking binge. I got the expected drunk call and wound up going to pick him up from his location after midnight.

It always fills me with mixed emotions when he has one of these drinking with the boys days. For one thing, it's VERY rare that it happens anymore and he looks upon it with an excitement I can only compare to little kids at Christmas time. As the week leads up to the event, the palpitations about the amount of alcohol that he will consume fills the room. One of the emotions that I go through is jealousy. I wish I had someone to go and spend the day just drinking and acting stupid with. I wish I had the stamina to drink and be stupid all day. I had a few days like that in my past and I've always looked at them fondly. But, now the thought of it just has visions of toilet bowls dancing in my head.

Also, I'm a drunk that needs a lot of validation and support. I will get too drunk or too sloppy or too needy or whathaveyou and need babysitting that will range from quite a lot to mild supervision. This is not Scott's strong suit. Not to say he's not willing to help me out when I'm at that level, but he definitely doesn't enjoy it. I wouldn't say that I enjoy the caretaking side of it either, but it's different. When he's drunk, his defenses are way down and he will usually allow me to take care of him in ways that he normally throws up walls about. I like that part of it a lot. I guess it's nice to be openly needed once in a while.

Which is interesting, because one of the reasons that he really doesn't enjoy the "caretaking" side of being the sober one in that situation is because he's had bad experiences with past drunk girlfriends. Tell ME about that -- I was married to someone who was drunk a fair amount of time and hence, another of the mixed emotions in the works. I try not to hold that against Scott, but I know that it comes out in passive-aggressive ways when I least expect it. It's not his fault that just the mere idea of being around a man that is that drunk harkens back truly dark times in my life and I try to not tie in the two. After all, for Scott a day drinking with the boys is an occasion to be lauded because of its rareness, but that guy I was married to -- it was just another Tuesday night. (Or Wednesday or Sunday.)

Skew tangent... Actually it has taken me a fair amount of time to come to terms that not all men who drink will treat me badly. One of the first men I dated after my separation couldn't come to terms with how uncomfortable I was just being around Jaegermeister -- but once you associate something with having a belt wrapped around your throat and someone choking you, well... That's just a little difficult to shake. Which is what I told him, to which I was informed that if I was dumb enough to marry the guy AFTER that happened, then shame on me and I should just get over my hang-ups.

Indeed.

Needless to say, not only would Scott never say or do anything like that to me -- he's probably at his absolute nicest to me when he has been drinking too much. All the barriers are down, all the defenses. Just soft and yet strong.

Just human. And that's what I love. Men try so hard to be Superman for us and run around and leap buildings and save us from the unknown. We don't want that. We've been doing that on our forever. We really just want Clark Kent -- someone human, someone there for us, someone who needs to be appreciated and appreciates us in return.

Anyways. Some things to think about.

HP