I guess that last post needs some explaining. I was, in fact, a very lazy man. Like crazy lazy. Like...I think I had bed sores. I was also what programs call a recovering alcoholic. I also had a hatred for women that burned hotter than a thousand suns....they know what they did.
You know what, let's explain the recovery. At 13...14...one of the two I got sent to outpatient rehab for my drinking. I can't say that it was a bad call for the courts. I was a little fledgling lush. It was in my blood. By 12 I was remembering to keep a quarter handle under the bed to get rid of my hangover and get a jump start on the days drinking. By 13 I had tried most substances there were to try. I assure you that shit will all get a post. But we're talking about the drinking.
On any given night I had a handle of skol vodka. I had a preference for it because of the bad taste (I liked to earn my drunk), and $10 a handle price tag. Gotta teach the kids to be smart shoppers while they're young.
On the night in question...well it was any other night. Met up with duh, drove around, picked people up, peeled out on people's lawns while honking the horn (not only were me and my friends shit heads but we liked people to see the destruction we brought), and we drank...a lot....like a lot a lot.
We started hitting parties around green mountain and Kencarl vally. Because when you're drinking and peeling out on lawns, what you need is more alcohol. One party we picked up a man I'll call B. B had BB guns. Realistic BB guns.we continued driving. We hit more parties. We drank. We threatened people with the BB guns. Oh yeah...we were bad asses.
Well duh had a shit car. It couldn't drive up hill. In the Denver metro area, that's worse than worthless. It's dangerous to anyone around it. Combine that with the booze and whatever else and it was just asking for us to get pulled over.
We go slightly up hill and instantly drop from 55 to 5 mph. As you can imagine your average police officer would think it a tad strange. Boom, lights. It was a full car but I don't remember who was in it. Let's just say it was me, duh, and B but I think there were people in the trunk(that was common). Cop walks up to duhs window, gives him shit about smelling beer( I think he was going for a bribe at this point), and then looked in the back seat. Hey, guess who and what were in the back seat...if you guessed me and the BB guns, you guessed right. As it turns out cops are jumpy about guns. I found this out when the cop pointed his gun at my head, screamed for me to get out of the car, handcuffed me, then proceeded to kick the shit out of my spine.
I up to this point only had a fear of cops when I was doing something wrong. After that though...I got myself a near crippling fear with every cop I see. Getting kicked in the spine with cop boots will do that. Well needless to say, all the other cops said that they didn't see it happen. What they did say happened was me being verbally abusive toward the officers...that...did happen. You try taking a boot to the spine and not calling the kicker a cunt.
The rest is just the boring minor getting arrested stuff. Finger printed, mug shots, blah blah. I got a drunk tank all to myself since I was so young...so...you know...bonus. My mom picked me up, believed the cops that I wasn't beaten, then nothing really happened to me until my court date.
Everyone else who was in the car got off easy. Light probation, little bit of community service, easy. I got six months of rehab. Out patient, no drug screens, just counseling. It wasn't a huge deal but it was enough of a pain in the ass to not want to go back. So rehab worked...sort of. I decided not to drink again until I was of legal drinking age. And that's what I did...I didn't drink. I can honestly say I didn't care for it. There were a few people stopped hanging out with me because, I don't know, I sucked at parties now. But I stuck to it.
So like jj said in his blog. There were parties, I'd sit. There was beer, I'd sit. It was a trial even five years later not to booze it up. But hey, I said I wouldn't, so I didn't. And I regret it. I waisted years of valuable teenage years keeping myself away from the bottle just to hit a Finnish line where I picked up where I left off. Only now I was shitty at drinking.
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