Getting To Know You

So my brother Michael came home from prison last week. We are in the Getting To Know You phase in our relationship since we basically just met. This has been more difficult than I imagined. Firstly, his release was a surprise. I mean I knew he was being released, but coming home to find his shit in front of my front door was not how I expected to find out. His stuff in my house is making my ocd go haywire. I had to usher him out of my house this morning just so i could clean around his stuff. I'm becoming rather anxious. In addition, I wanted to tell my sibs that Michael was in my life. After repeated attempts, it is clear my brother is avoiding me for some reason and I haven't spoken to my sister yet. So I go it alone. Michael and I look so much alike, but the similarities end there. Here are a few golden nuggets just from 7 days of him being in my life.

Golden Nugget #1 
I work in law enforcement.  
Michael: what's your job like?
Me: what does that mean? Michael what Is my job?
Michael: I know what you are, but what is your job?                                  
Me: Michael you have been to court before you know what my job is.
Michael : . . . Wow dig.

Golden Nugget #2
Choking on his laughter he tells me the most brutally inappropriate stories about illegal activity you can imagine. Considering my job and temperment, none of this shit is amusing. He said his uncle let him hold a gun at 14. I asked if he fired it and he said not yet.
Me: yet?
Michael: maybe one day I can get a license and go target shooting.
Me: Michael with your long list of felonies, I don't think your right to bear arms will ever be restored. 
         
Golden Nugget #3
I took him to the movies. The girl taking tickets was cute from what I saw from behind. And young very very young. Michael set his eyes on her. Despite my plea that the girl was maybe 22, when we sat down he asked for my pen so he can get her #. When the movie was over, I see the girl working and I said there she goes ask her for her #. I'll be outside. He comes out after a few minutes. 
Me: Did you get her #?
Michael: no I gave her yours. 
Me:WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU GIVE HER MY #?
Michael: what # was I supposed to give her?
Me: you were supposed to get her #
Michael: are you mad?
Me: it doesn't matter.

Golden Nugget #4
I'm a flirt. I harmlessly flirt with old people of both genders, young people, gay boys. . . Oh do I love my gay boys. Anyone I speak to, I will flirt with them.
This tiny itty bitty twink is standing behind me on the subway platform trying to see what train it is. He was so cute and tiny, I could fit him in my pocket. I told him what train it was. He asked me for directions and I flirtatiously gave it to him and I watched him nervously get on the train

And I smiled at him as he sat down. He smiled back. Enter Michael. 
Michael: you want his #?
Me: (jokingly) I would love it.
Michael attempts to storm the train and demand this lil ass gay boy give me his #. I grabbed his arm before he made it to the door.
Me: what the fuck are you doing? 
Michael: I'm getting his #. He's smiling at you and you are smiling at him so . . .
Me: Michael he's gay I don't want his #.
Michael: he might go both ways and he was smiling at you. I know how men think.
Me: Michael it's called being nice. I don't want to fucking date him. I don't need your help to get numbers. 
And then he pouted for a full ten minutes. It's like Tarzan and Jane with him. This road to getting to know him sure is bumpy. Sigh!

90 in 90

I went to AA.  Not to admit I’m an alcoholic, but to support my bestie as she huddles in The Rooms and reads The Book and completes The Steps.  It’s all very organized, and they even serve you coffee (water or soda for .50).  I’ll admit it was a comfortable space, much like a living room, if your grandmother decorated with AA Sayings and AA brochures (Support for those who love an alcoholic; AA for Beginners).   Even the clock was inspirational.  In giant gold lettering the face read “One Day At A Time.” Get it? Time?  Hilarious.  The meeting was fine, everyone was nice, I beat it out of there as soon as the clock struck 11:30. 

I was starting the day on empty having spent the night before SOBER and hiding all of my booze.  This would include my extensive wine collection and a whole other collection of cooking wine.  I didn’t resent doing this so much as my apartment is small and open real estate is at a premium, making it a true challenge to find hiding places.  I felt strange and out of place as I welcomed her late Friday night.  Usually we’d have been halfway to the bar before she even took her pillow out of the car.  It isn’t that our relationship is consumed by alcohol, more like we both enjoy drinking, sometimes too much, and have spent many a crazy night working on a killer hangover over the past decade and a half.  I just didn’t know how to act.  I’m a bit of an acquired taste and with her overblown sensitivity no longer dulled by the drink, I was trying hard not to slap her silly with sarcasm and cynical wit.  She had already complained about something I said ‘harshly’ while giving her directions (I still have no idea what I said besides ‘look for exit 20A’). 

I moved through the weekend like a ghost of myself.  I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that there was a point where I considered, just for a moment, how I could retire early and enjoy a carefully selected vintage in the comfort of my bedroom, where all the booze was hiding.  I’m a naturally anxious individual coupled with the characteristics of a Type A over-achiever.  Deadly combo when faced with a challenge such as this.  I was simultaneously engaged in an epic battle of MOST FUN SOBER WEEKEND EVER and Don’t Say Anything to Trigger a Bad/Stressful/Traumatic Memory.  Epic Fail #1 came as I was washing dishes, chatting with her about AA (duh), her sponsor, and a guy that comes to meetings every week after a bender and says ‘three days clean’.  She looked over at the wall and saw my kitchen calendar, from my liquor store. Literally, it has the logo of my liquor store, complete with monthly recipes for tantalizing cocktails.  She began to read April – Melon Ball. Shit. We laughed it off and I made a mental note that it’s completely unnecessary to advertise my vices (for years I hung a High Times calendar).

Epic Fail #2.  There was a moment of pure panic.  We sat down to eat at a food court and my OCD was on over drive.  We were hanging out at one of those dirty indoor flea markets where everything is sold in troughs.  Just breathing the air made me feel like I needed a long, hot shower.  It wasn’t enough to wash my hands before eating a pretzel.  I needed to douse my hands in sanitizer the minute I walked out of the bathroom in order to feel even 2% clean enough to eat.  I went around the table squeezing out sanitizer and after I gave her a shot she immediately recoiled and said ‘does this have alcohol in it?’ Um, yeah…..Her face contorted and she said it smelled really bad and she had to get it off her hands.  My mind was racing: Did I just break her sobriety? Was it my fault she just relapsed by absorbing alcohol laden hand sanitizer through her hands?  Did she have to start the count all over again? 

She ran to the bathroom and I had a mini panic attack.  I had been so careful and now I had made a very careless mistake.  Sobriety is a lot to fucking think about, plan for, execute, and maintain.  I was exhausted.  She told me everything was fine.  She didn’t realize she had gotten so sensitive to the smell of alcohol.  Again, we laughed it off and I know I am the only one holding myself to perfectionist expectations.  She smiles at me and says she’s just happy to hang out and spend time with me.  I feel exactly the same way.

As she drove back north Sunday afternoon, I was immensely proud of her dedication to the cause. She has been sober for 87 days. I’ll toast to that.