The Sobriety Experiment

 
Some people say we’re all going to Hell. Well, I’ve already been there and back. Beyond the ninth circle of Hell is the deepest and darkest of them all; it’s a special place where people from all the other circles go to play and they call themselves Hashers.


I discovered this unorthodox group almost a year and a half ago and was immediately intrigued by them. However, my sentiments have vastly changed now.
 
I knew going into this weekend that it would be my last event for a long while, if not forever. I had already made a vow to stop drinking while training for my big run, so this would definitely be a weekend to remember. After getting passed-out, blacked-out drunk at a previous event, leaving with my dignity and memory of everything would be the optimal way to go. Besides, I was curious to know how being completely sober would affect my perspective of things.
 
The weekend started early with trail on Thursday night. Little did we know what shenanigans would befall us that evening. After traipsing abandoned roads into the woods and thru the darkness, we stood around a fire to keep us warm from Old Man Winter’s cold grasp. Before the official business of circle begun, a domestic argument got heated and the flames only got hotter from there. Hurt words were thrown. Couples bickered. Jealousy turned into rage. People were threatened; lives were threatened. Personal property was mistreated. Individual privacy was violated.
 
Well, there were a couple good things that came out of the night, including people running around in T-Rex costumes and a game of Naked Chicken by the fire. It never takes much coaxing for him to get (mostly) naked, but I certainly didn’t mind. As he stripped down to his tiny shorts, one of the girls exclaimed, “I want your body!” “You mean to trade?” he replied. Maybe that’s what she meant, but the thoughts in my head said otherwise.
 
We had stopped speaking to each other after a heartbreaking fallout, following a whirlwind weekend in Tahoe. I’m still not sure exactly why he didn’t want contact with me anymore (something about my prolificity with emails or making him uncomfortable for touching him?), but I obligingly heeded his request. Yet, there he was being groped by someone who was publicly expressing her desire for him and he did not complain. Neither did her boyfriend who seemed to encourage it. Hasn’t either of them learned anything from their past on the perils of poly-amorous relationships? Oh, my poor Eskimo brothers, how quickly you forget.
 
Later, during the naming ceremony, she flaunted stories about her partner’s sexual prowess, of the oral kind, since “no one here has ever had sex with him before.” I looked across the circle and exchanged a quick grin and wink. OK, Eskimo sister, I’ll hold onto this secret for now. And speaking of Eskimo sisters...
Meanwhile, back at his condo, there was another gathering forming of our extended, dysfunctional Eskimo family! Wait, did he even know she was coming to town? Yup, this is going to be a very interesting weekend, indeed.
 
My friend & I left early before we turned into pumpkins. So far, the good things about being sober is that I don’t have to worry about not being able to get home because I fell asleep on someone’s couch or can’t drive. I also won’t get sick or hangovers the next morning. Plus, the people-watching is top-notch :)
St. Patrick’s Day has always been a standout occasion for me, not just because of all the hooligans that come out on Amateur Drinking Day, but as the last holiday before the next season begins. I tend to hibernate during the Winter, but come Spring, I am renewed with energy for the coming year. The calendar may start in the dead of Winter, but my Four Seasons starts with Spring.
 
This year, St. Patrick’s Day would be celebrated with a Full Moon Hash and Christmas tree burning, complete with Thanksgiving Dinner and me fully clad in red Valentine’s attire. No, it doesn’t make sense at all, just go with it.
 
I found it uncanny how he would always stand directly across from me in circle, no matter where I stood. Occasionally, I would test this theory and move around; sure enough, not longer after, so would he. Seems like he always kept me in eyesight or at least within earshot. Or so I will believe. But I know he sees me and I know he hears me. If I close my eyes, I can tell where he is, just by the sound of his voice which I can easily pick out thru the din of the crowd. I’ll often catch him flinching in my direction at the sound of my voice or laughter, too. Yes, we are so tuned into each other; it’s almost like we can feel each other’s presence just by our energy.
 
Even though we weren’t talking to each other, we would still exchange stolen glances. I hated not being able to talk to him. I hated being ignored. I especially despised not being part of each other’s lives anymore. Every time I saw him politely hold back PDA with his “quasi-girlfriend”, I tried not to completely lose it, as just seeing them together was already eating me up inside. Just look at the fire and how pretty it is; hold it together and don’t let him see you cry!
 
Per usual, when the bonfire died, the party moved into the hot tub to stay warm. Well, some people were already in it, but it was getting crowded quickly. The last time he & I were here, I was pulled away from our heavy make-out session. And that was the last thing I remember. This time, I could not be there to watch them. As if I wasn’t already hurting enough.
 
I went inside, where a card game was being set up and I was convinced to stick around. Meanwhile, in the front room, another hasher was being treated for falling in the bathroom and bumping his head on the sink, knocking himself out; in the other room, my friend was balling her eyes out and being comforted by others. OMG, what’s happening here?! You sure see a lot more when you’re not drunk!
 
Eventually the game ended, everyone came inside, and people starting passing out. It was late but I wasn’t necessarily tired. However, I knew I needed to get some sleep as tomorrow would be another long day. The cuddle centipede formed on the couch and I was sandwiched between two people. He was looking for crash space, too, not a place to “bang it out”. Well, good. I didn’t need the thought of them having sex nearby haunting me thru the night. I already wasn’t going to get any sleep with all the people snoring around me. She later came back into the kitchen; however, I only know this seeing FB posts the following morning. Thankfully I was somewhat able to drift in and out of consciousness.
 
Between my short REM cycles, I overheard various conversations. There was an impromptu MM meeting, or more like a gripe-session about the thankless jobs of being GM or hare-raiser. There was also a very loud altercation between a “widowed” fiancé and someone who certainly has no qualms about voicing her opinion. That one woke me up and I finally escaped the tangle to use the bathroom.
 
I retreated back to the couch and resumed my position in the snuggle puddle. Laying there in the arms of someone who might as well have been a complete stranger, appropriately just a “drunk neighbor” at best, I realized how empty I was feeling, despite being completely wrapped in somebody’s arms. There was no warmth or energy between us, like I felt whenever I was with him. I closed my eyes and envisioned myself in his arms, feeling the echoes of my body pressed against his. Ah, that’s much better.


By morning, most people had already left. I rescued my friend, who had been abandoned by her “almost-boyfriend” (who admitted sleeping with another girl a few weeks ago), and I took her home. Oh boy, and this weekend has only just begun.


We showered and changed for the party and made our way to the Oceanfront. Fortunately, the rain stayed at bay, unlike last year. When we were unleashed, throngs of green dresses took to the boardwalk, drawing the attention of many people along the way, including witnesses waving from hotel balconies. I immediately darted toward the water for my requisite sand note, commemorating the event, then rejoined the pack.


Strangely, even though I didn’t have a single drop of alcohol, the day was still a big blur. Lesson #1: I don’t need to be drunk for my memory to fail me. I remember an impromptu shot check (which was supposed to be a song check) before the first official bar stop. Then we headed upstairs at the first bar, where I had lots of water and played a few rounds of Category. Note to self: bone-up on Presidents, car makes, professional football teams, and sex toys!


The next stop was a repeat from last year as we crammed into the tiny upstairs of Baja Cantina. At this point, I noticed he was wearing someone’s underwear around his neck. Um, way to keep it classy! I later learned it belonged to my Eskimo sister! I never really got good vibes from her; she was overtly territorial at “her” house, which she only recently moved into after only dating for a few months. Well, so much for not being interested in doing the open/poly thing again, like he told me a couple months ago. We’ll see if he really sticks to that.
Somewhere along the way, there was an actual outdoor shot check. Of course, when we saw shopping carts, we had to get in them, too. By we, I mean, everyone else.


We weren’t at the final bar stop for long. However, it was long enough for me to discover that I had a severe wardrobe malfunction, where my entire zipper broke. Borrowing safety pins from a sign that someone was wearing on their back, I temporarily patched up my dress. Meanwhile, at the other end of the bar, his “quasi-GF” was twerking on tabletops and soliciting people to slip dollar bills into her underwear as she lifted up her dress. Something something attention something? Apparently the look on his face was not that of pleasure. Alas, hash flash failed to capture this Kodak moment; I’m sure it was priceless.


I promptly left for the hotel to find alternate clothing, since I brought nothing else with me and I certainly wasn’t planning to be completely naked at the party. I borrowed someone else’s dress, which I was a little embarrassed to wear at first since it was practically see through and required me to not wear any underwear; however, no one else seemed to mind :)


During circle, there was the usual honoring of shenanigans, which included a reenactment of the twerk-off, which quickly escalated into a strip-tease. Looking around, several folks had a WTF?! expression on their face, whose sentiment I also shared. Um, that’s not why she was called into circle; clearly, she loves being showy and was even prepared for it with her pasties. Food arrived and the music started. Now let’s really get this party started!


Some people need alcohol to loosen themselves on the dance floor; however, I am not one of those people. If there is music, I will dance! Lesson #2: I don’t need alcohol to have fun; I can go all night long without it. I was surprised to even see Mr. I’m-not-wearing-a-green-dress-to-the-Green-Dress-Run-and-I-don’t-dance out on the floor. You don’t have to win the Mirror Ball Trophy or even be remotely good, just dance. Ultimately, this is one of my must-haves, to be able to get out there and have fun. I can dance by myself or with anyone who is willing; it’s all about having a good time! Besides, I needed a lot of distraction from the make-out show that was happening every five minutes. Apparently, whenever they weren’t playing tongue twister, she was throwing her boobs into other guys’ faces for motorboating, to which he was again visibly sneering and unhappy about. One of our friends must have seen my own look of discontent and said, “Hey, if that’s what he wants, let him have her! You’re so much better than that!” Had I been drinking, I most definitely would have started crying right then. Thank you, I really needed to hear that.


Dancing was interrupted by the Lunar Shot Trail as we were let loose in the partially constructed hallways of the hotel. That was the only reason why we were allowed to stay there, since it was already in a state of disarray. Up and down the hallways and stairwells we went, in search of the person with the secret jungle juice. For the first time the entire weekend, there was a moment where he & I were actually face-to-face. He looked me straight in the eyes and said nothing. Not even a smile or hello. If this was his way of being “civil”, then I’d hate to see what his definition of RUDE is. I couldn’t bear to be near him a second longer, so I proceeded ahead into the stairwell, where I opened the door and instinctively pulled it shut behind me. Where one door closes...


By the end of the night, I had been picked up by several guys, danced in a few soul trains, jumped, twerked, and twisted to my heart’s content. I knew the night was over as people were slowly passing out all over the room. And then the crazy photo-taking began. At one point, he was laying on the ground, clearly already in Narcolepsy mode again; however, his “cock holder” (a term coined by a fellow friend) proceeded to grind him without any reaction from him. Not long after, they all left. And I didn’t even get to say goodbye.


When I was finally done dancing, I found my friend and asked if she was ready to go. “Wait, let me go say something first.” She finally found the courage to call it quits. She came back and burst into tears as we left the ballroom. I escorted her back to my car, where I finally started crying, too. Lesson #3: No matter how much you try to numb or suppress the pain, it’s still there. Sometimes the only way to let it pass is to let it all out.


It was a long car ride home, where we tried to distract ourselves by turning up the music and singing obnoxiously loud to sappy songs. We collapsed into a heap on my couches. It’s over, it’s finally over. And I won’t miss any of it, not a single bit. Before going to bed, I made the bad decision of checking FB, as I was dreadfully welcomed by a picture of him passed out with his face buried in her crotch and a huge grin on her face. Um, that’s not exactly the sort of thing I would happily be posting about. How unfortunate that after having foreplay all night, undressing, and redressing in a sexy, red teddy, that he was too drunk and narcoleptic to perform the final act?! On the flip side, I can honestly say that was never a recurring problem with him for me; in fact, he was the one trying to wake me up, poking me in the middle of the night after a long day of traveling and drinking. OK, if I were to happen upon those pictures at all, I’d much rather see him passed out, instead of kissing and naked in a shower.


It’s only been a few weeks of no drinking. So, what has this sobriety experiment taught me? I think the most important lesson: although drunkenness reveals what soberness conceals, what drunkenness respects, soberness rejects. In other words, there’s a reason why hashers need to be completely wasted to justify/do what they do; in real life, we would think twice
about it because we know that this behavior is frowned upon or even just plain illegal. No self-respecting person wants their private, personal life shared or on public display for everyone to gawk at; happily married or otherwise committed couples know how to enjoy the company of their friends when out with them; true intimacy is a sacred act, not a show.
So, will I quit drinking forever? Absolutely not. I do still love my wine and cocktails, perhaps even the occasional cider. Will I stop hashing forever? Probably not. But for now, I don’t want to see the likes of Quasi-anybody. For the healing of my own heart. Maybe he’ll drink enough to forget everything that happened between us (since he likes to use it as a convenient excuse, anyway) and we can start completely over. Not a second chance; I’d like a total re-do.

This is the first week of Spring. Starting today, I’m not going to be anyone’s Flavor of the Month. I want to be someone’s calendar girl for All Seasons. Cheers to that!