How it went down

Disclaimer:  If I happen to be married to you and you are reading THIS blog, you do so at your own risk.  We talked about this, Dood.  It may or may not be about you-you're taking your chances!

I sent a text message to my new friend to see if she wanted to go to a hockey game the other night.  She responded with "Sure."

The half a fifth of Jagermeister she got into the car with should have been my first clue.  The slurring should have been my second.  I guess the third would have been when she pulled out a doob.  I only take one or two hits at a time, and I didn't want to smell like a big fat joint, so I asked her not to light it and instead, pulled out my little one hit pipe.  Her eyes got real big and she said hungrily "You got METH?"  I looked at her like she'd started babbling in tongues.  "Meth?" I said.  "Are you on CRACK?"  She looked at me kinda funny.  I tried to blow it off.

I started talking about picking up the Egg from school and explained to her that he has cerebral palsy and epilepsy, but that he is a hockey WHIZ.  She started talking in a rambling sort of way about her ex-husband, who used to be our team's orthopaedic doctor, and how he would make deals with the team that if they won, she would flash them all her tits.  She talked about road trips they had taken to Albuquerque and Anchorage and and and, and each and every trip she spoke of involved her making out with someone, or getting fucked up with this team member or that, or all of them together.  I figured, "Okay, she's getting it out of her system before Alex gets in the car."  Meanwhile, she's steady sucking on that bottle.

We pick Alex up, I make introductions, and she leans back to say hi and offers him a swig out of her bottle, which he politely refuses.  He asked me if I had any of his medication as he was feeling seizure-y, so I asked her to pull the baggie they were in out of the glove box.  She pulled it out and was all "OH WOW...WHAT ARE THESE?  THESE LOOK LIKE LORTABS.  ARE THESE LORTABS?  THEY LOOK JUST LIKE LORTABS."  I grabbed the bag from her and handed it to Alex, who looked at me, looked at her and shook his head.  He took his pills with a sip of water, and when she said "Do you want me to put them back in the glovebox?" he just shook his head and rolled his eyes at me.  I shrugged.  What could I say at this point?

We go to eat at King Buffet and she is just plain drunk by this time, and slinging profanity from one end of the restaurant to the other.  I'm in a hurry to get out of there, because this is one of our favorite family restaurants, and there are kids in there, for God's sake.  She, on the other hand, was having a grand old time, and ate like she was starving, keeping up a running commentary about all her travels with the Seawolves again.  In graphic detail.  Oh, and did she mention that she knows _____ and _____ and _____ PERSONALLY?  Anyone that was mentioned, she knew personally.  And oh, did she tell us that she had been on road trips with the team to Albuquerque and Anchorage and and and?  I finally guided her out by the 2nd ice cream cone and poured her into the car, where she promptly picked up her bottle and took a refreshing swig.  I think I threw up a little in my mouth.

We got to the coliseum early, so she pulled out her IPod and proceded to show Alex a bunch of pictures from her former marriage of her and her ex-husband visiting the Playboy mansion.  Alex finally looked up from all the titty shots and asked "When did you take all these?  When did you go on these trips with the Seawolves?"  I hadn't thought to ask-I figured this had all been pretty recent, the way she was talking.  She tried to figure it out but I think math was beyond her at that point.  Turns out though, that this was all back in 1999.  

I bought our tickets in our regular section-we always sit where we used to have season tickets because we know everyone in that section.  She was not happy with this decision, as she wanted to be close to where the team comes out onto the ice.  I told her she was welcome to go hang out there (she wanted to go talk to the coach, who used to be a player back you know when) but that we were going to sit in our seats, and she could just join us after she had achieved her objective.  She said okay, then wandered off in search of alcohol as she'd finished her bottle.  We watched her as the team came out to practice as she leaned over the tunnel where they come out.  The coach did eventually come out and talk to her for a short while, then disappeared.  She staggered back up to our seats, the drink she was carrying spilling directly into Alex's shoe.  She starts fumbling with her phone.  I asked who she was calling, and she says "Walbs" (her nickname for the coach, who hasn't seen her in 9 years).  She said he had given her his number while she was down there talking to him.  Turns out, he gave her a wrong number.  Go figure.

Well, this pisses her off and she starts wailing about "That bastard is acting like he doesn't even KNOW me!  He wouldn't let me kiss his bald little head like Buddha for luck.  He kept telling me he had a JOB to do!"  Over and over.  Everyone is staring at us, and I'm wanting to sink into the concrete.  Eventually she realizes that she's out of booze, so she goes off in search of another drink.  When she comes back reloaded, she goes back down to the team entrance and spent the remainder of the night down there trying to get him to come talk to her again.  I let her stay down there until the team had returned to their locker room after the (losing) game, then told her we needed to leave as we had an hour drive ahead of us.  Fortunately, it was a very quiet ride home, with the occasional mumbling of "That asshole acted like he didn't even KNOW me."  

Next morning, bright and early, I get a text message asking if I have any money, presumably to loan her.  Was I wrong to text back an emphatic "NO"?  I just don't think I am ready for this.  For one thing, evidently she is living in the past.  For another, she is obviously more fucked up than I am prepared to deal with.  I don't have the resources to dry someone out who is not asking for help.  And from what I can see, girlfriend will eat/snort/injest in any way possible any mind/mood altering substance she can get her hands on.  Now I'll be the first to admit that I like my beer when the Unit is home, and yes, I smoke a little herb, but I don't want to have to be worrying about somebody chowing down on my son's seizure meds or snorting up all my fucking Ajax, ya know what I mean?  And although I offered to help her with a resume and to give her some suggestions as to where to apply for jobs, I'm now in the position where I don't want her using MY name as a reference, because I am not going to recommend someone for a job when I'm sure there are going to be problems passing a peepee test not to mention attendance issues and job performance.  That would be MY good name she'd be besmirching.  So, am I an asshole for reneging on my quest for a third wyfe?