Thursday – The Lush Life
Nov. 20th, 2008 02:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about Shelly and Chris, a couple I used to know though my old coworker Bren, who had grown up with the two of them.
Shelly was an Amazon of a woman, tall and big boned. She liked to have fun, and for her that usually involved getting drunk. I've never met another person – man or woman – who could drink like Shelly. She is the only person I've ever met who always ordered two beers at a time so she could have one in each hand.
She enjoyed drinking, and was grateful that she didn't the kind of issues that would mean she shouldn't drink. Holding her beer in each hand, I often heard her say (no doubt because she had forgotten she'd mentioned this before), "Both of my parents are alcoholics. Thank God I'm not one!"
She was deadly serious about this, too. I understand, because being an alcoholic would have meant she would have a moral responsibility to give up drinking, and that would have put a major crimp in her lifestyle.
When Shelly slipped off to the ladies room at a bar, she used to like to paraphrase the anti drug public service commercial that used to play on television. The ad featured a yuppie walking in a circle saying I do coke, so I can work harder, so I can make more money, so I can do more coke. Shelly used to chant, "I drink beer, so I can pee more, so I can drink more beer, so I can pee more…" until a stall opened up and she could make room for the next beer with a loud, "Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Chris was also not an alcoholic, but (unlike his wife) he didn't act like he was one. He seemed kind of miserable, but at least this misery didn't drive him to the bottle. A quite and polite man, he sat back while his wife grabbed the spotlight and only talked if you spoke to him first. Since Shelly tended to talk nonstop when she was drinking, it may have just been a lack of opportunity to get a word in edgewise that made him seem so reserved.
Chris made good money in his information management job and it allowed them to rent a spacious five-bedroom, two-storied house for the pair of them and all of Shelly's cats. What struck me as odd about the house was that it was furnished with just enough stuff for a two bedroom apartment and many of the rooms were empty. They had a table in the breakfast room, but not the formal dining room. They had a couch in the family room, but the formal sitting room was bare. The nursery (or what had been the nursery for the former occupants, judging by the wallpaper) was full of litter boxes and toys for the cats. Only one bedroom besides the master had any furniture at all. Shelly loved this house and just had to have it. I guess the thought she and her big personality were enough to fill it, since Chris only lived in it on the weekends. His job was 4 hours away in Dallas, but Shelly had refused to move to Dallas and leave behind her friends and family and the beautiful house that they didn't own.
"I'd rather divorce you than move to Dallas," she told Chris. So he rented a bachelor pad with a couple of other guys from the office.
"Considering she doesn't work, I think if he asked her to move to Timbuktu for his job, she'd be smart to follow him," I mentioned to Brenda when Shelly was out of earshot. I wouldn't have said this to her face, because she tended to get very defensive when she was drinking, and I never talked to her when she wasn't.
I remember one night in particular when we were all gathered at Chris and Shelly's house after the bars had closed. Shelly had dragged Bren into the kitchen and left me alone in the family room with Chris. He was slumped glumly into the couch cushions with his arms crossed over his chest. Guys seem to like talking about their work, so I asked him what he did.
His sat forward and began to explain the intricacies of information management and the data systems he created and maintained. It was boring to a non-gearhead such as myself, but I feigned interest and nodded where it seemed appropriate. His eyes lit up as he talked and I could tell he enjoyed what he did. After a minute or two Shelly walked into the room and heard what he was talking about.
"Oh, for Christ's sake Chris, shut up!" she bellowed, "Nobody here gives a damn about your job. It's boring!"
Chris silently sunk back into the couch and crossed his arms back over his chest.
"I asked him about his job," I told Shelly.
She waived her hand dismissively. "Yeah, well I've heard what he does and it's not interesting. Let's talk about something else." So we girls did, while Chris sat and looked depressed.
Bren told me exchanges like this were the norm for Chris and Shelly when Shelly drank (which was every weekend). "I'm always calling her up and telling her, 'Shel, you need to apologize to your husband for how you talked to him last night.' Then she'll ask what she said, and I'll tell her, and she'll say, 'Well that explains why he's not talking to me today. I was kinda wondering about that.' "
"Poor Chris," I said.
I really did like both of them. Shelly was fun if you were bold enough to hold your own with her, and her lack of boundaries made her entertaining. Chris was genuinely sweet and always a gentleman, which made him nice company, as well. As individuals, they each made sense in their own way. As a couple, really they didn't make any sense at all. So it didn't surprise me when Bren got a call at the office from a tearful Shelly one day.
"Chris told Shelly he wants a divorce," Bren said.
"Oh, no."
"He's moving up to Dallas full time, and he told Shel she needs to find another place to live because he's not renewing the lease of the house for her."
My emotions were more than a little mixed. "Poor Shelly," I said.
Bren nodded, and we exchanged sad looks.
After some consideration, I added, "Good for Chris."
Bren nodded again. We weren't being insincere on either account. It was impossible to hate him for his decision. His sanity depended on it. We were both surprised he'd stuck it out so long.
Chris stayed in Dallas and remarried a year later. Shelly lived off the two years of court ordered alimony Chris had to pay until it expired, then found a job in retail. The last time I saw her, she had a beer in each hand and was still thanking God that she didn't have a drinking problem. She probably doesn't remember running into me that night, though, since she was pretty drunk.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about Shelly and Chris, a couple I used to know though my old coworker Bren, who had grown up with the two of them.
Shelly was an Amazon of a woman, tall and big boned. She liked to have fun, and for her that usually involved getting drunk. I've never met another person – man or woman – who could drink like Shelly. She is the only person I've ever met who always ordered two beers at a time so she could have one in each hand.
She enjoyed drinking, and was grateful that she didn't the kind of issues that would mean she shouldn't drink. Holding her beer in each hand, I often heard her say (no doubt because she had forgotten she'd mentioned this before), "Both of my parents are alcoholics. Thank God I'm not one!"
She was deadly serious about this, too. I understand, because being an alcoholic would have meant she would have a moral responsibility to give up drinking, and that would have put a major crimp in her lifestyle.
When Shelly slipped off to the ladies room at a bar, she used to like to paraphrase the anti drug public service commercial that used to play on television. The ad featured a yuppie walking in a circle saying I do coke, so I can work harder, so I can make more money, so I can do more coke. Shelly used to chant, "I drink beer, so I can pee more, so I can drink more beer, so I can pee more…" until a stall opened up and she could make room for the next beer with a loud, "Ahhhhhhhhh!"
Chris was also not an alcoholic, but (unlike his wife) he didn't act like he was one. He seemed kind of miserable, but at least this misery didn't drive him to the bottle. A quite and polite man, he sat back while his wife grabbed the spotlight and only talked if you spoke to him first. Since Shelly tended to talk nonstop when she was drinking, it may have just been a lack of opportunity to get a word in edgewise that made him seem so reserved.
Chris made good money in his information management job and it allowed them to rent a spacious five-bedroom, two-storied house for the pair of them and all of Shelly's cats. What struck me as odd about the house was that it was furnished with just enough stuff for a two bedroom apartment and many of the rooms were empty. They had a table in the breakfast room, but not the formal dining room. They had a couch in the family room, but the formal sitting room was bare. The nursery (or what had been the nursery for the former occupants, judging by the wallpaper) was full of litter boxes and toys for the cats. Only one bedroom besides the master had any furniture at all. Shelly loved this house and just had to have it. I guess the thought she and her big personality were enough to fill it, since Chris only lived in it on the weekends. His job was 4 hours away in Dallas, but Shelly had refused to move to Dallas and leave behind her friends and family and the beautiful house that they didn't own.
"I'd rather divorce you than move to Dallas," she told Chris. So he rented a bachelor pad with a couple of other guys from the office.
"Considering she doesn't work, I think if he asked her to move to Timbuktu for his job, she'd be smart to follow him," I mentioned to Brenda when Shelly was out of earshot. I wouldn't have said this to her face, because she tended to get very defensive when she was drinking, and I never talked to her when she wasn't.
I remember one night in particular when we were all gathered at Chris and Shelly's house after the bars had closed. Shelly had dragged Bren into the kitchen and left me alone in the family room with Chris. He was slumped glumly into the couch cushions with his arms crossed over his chest. Guys seem to like talking about their work, so I asked him what he did.
His sat forward and began to explain the intricacies of information management and the data systems he created and maintained. It was boring to a non-gearhead such as myself, but I feigned interest and nodded where it seemed appropriate. His eyes lit up as he talked and I could tell he enjoyed what he did. After a minute or two Shelly walked into the room and heard what he was talking about.
"Oh, for Christ's sake Chris, shut up!" she bellowed, "Nobody here gives a damn about your job. It's boring!"
Chris silently sunk back into the couch and crossed his arms back over his chest.
"I asked him about his job," I told Shelly.
She waived her hand dismissively. "Yeah, well I've heard what he does and it's not interesting. Let's talk about something else." So we girls did, while Chris sat and looked depressed.
Bren told me exchanges like this were the norm for Chris and Shelly when Shelly drank (which was every weekend). "I'm always calling her up and telling her, 'Shel, you need to apologize to your husband for how you talked to him last night.' Then she'll ask what she said, and I'll tell her, and she'll say, 'Well that explains why he's not talking to me today. I was kinda wondering about that.' "
"Poor Chris," I said.
I really did like both of them. Shelly was fun if you were bold enough to hold your own with her, and her lack of boundaries made her entertaining. Chris was genuinely sweet and always a gentleman, which made him nice company, as well. As individuals, they each made sense in their own way. As a couple, really they didn't make any sense at all. So it didn't surprise me when Bren got a call at the office from a tearful Shelly one day.
"Chris told Shelly he wants a divorce," Bren said.
"Oh, no."
"He's moving up to Dallas full time, and he told Shel she needs to find another place to live because he's not renewing the lease of the house for her."
My emotions were more than a little mixed. "Poor Shelly," I said.
Bren nodded, and we exchanged sad looks.
After some consideration, I added, "Good for Chris."
Bren nodded again. We weren't being insincere on either account. It was impossible to hate him for his decision. His sanity depended on it. We were both surprised he'd stuck it out so long.
Chris stayed in Dallas and remarried a year later. Shelly lived off the two years of court ordered alimony Chris had to pay until it expired, then found a job in retail. The last time I saw her, she had a beer in each hand and was still thanking God that she didn't have a drinking problem. She probably doesn't remember running into me that night, though, since she was pretty drunk.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 09:28 pm (UTC)I'm a drunk, not an alcoholic. Alcoholics have to go to those meetings.
Hoooooray for Chris. Life is too short to spend it tied to somebody you'd prefer to bludgeon.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 10:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 10:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-20 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 02:57 pm (UTC)I love them both, just not as a married couple. My dad and I are so alike, and he understands me like my mom can't, but I'd never hurt my mom's feelings and tell her that. Also, I can tell my mom things that would give my dad a coronary and she doesn't bat an eye.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 07:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 03:09 pm (UTC)I guess I'm glad I stay sober so I remember the good parts of my life. LOL
no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 07:43 pm (UTC)I still liked her; she was fun. Irresponsible people often are, I guess.
no subject
Date: 2008-11-21 08:04 pm (UTC)