- 12:37 p.m.
My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket just walked into my office and stood in front of my somewhat-cluttered desk to ask me a simple question. As she stood there, I tried desperately to focus on her… to see the person standing in front of me, but it was no use.
All I saw was a giant DIET COKE™ with my girlfriend/ same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket/beverage-of-choice’s head on top. Don’t get me wrong, that’s quite a sexy head, but her human head was hovering above the steamy/sexy carbonation of the DIET COKE™.
She told me that if I do nothing else today (which is a great possibility on most days), I must write about my recent DIET COKE™ DEMISE.
For years, DIET COKE™ was my mistress. I’ve written about it in these very pages. HOWEVER, almost a year ago (that’s right, almost a year of DIET COKE SOBRIETY) my therapist (ish) and I (yeah, and I, right…) decided it might be good if I weren’t quite so mood-dependant on DIET COKE™.
I gave it all the power. It was my Scientology and I was it’s Juliette Lewis (Tom Cruise would have been too obvious); It was my electric car and I was it’s Ed Begley Jr; It was my QVC™ and I was it’s Marie Osmond’s Life-Like/Life Size Ceramic Dolls™; It was my WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION™ and I was it’s…. toppled statue.
So, back-story and obsession-level in place, we cut to the weeks leading up to last week; World Events, Local Events, Good Friends breaking up (and me, the fixer, unable to fix it); My girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket’s involvement(ish) in an brief POP CULTURE SCANDAL (2 nights on ET, Magazine coverage, etc), Mothers Day (ish), and a side order of ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ELSE, and I was at the end of what used to be my rope but was now a poor excuse for dental floss.
It wasn’t pre-meditated. The wagon-fall-off-age. Not at all. I hadn’t even been thinking about DIET COKE™. I’d gotten used to the signage, the TV commercials, hearing other people order it at restaurants, passing the 7-11’s etc. It had become commonplace for me. No big deal. Temptation? What temptation??
Suddenly, it’s last Thursday and I find myself in a “healthy fast food” Mexican Restaurant for lunch (Let’s say Rubio’s Baja Grill™… it’s real name) and I ordered my usual salad sans the salsa (salsa should be a choice) and I found myself ordering the LARGE self-serve cup. Hmmmm, why? I usually get the bottled water. Oh, maybe my subconscious was planning to treat itself to a sugary drink like a SPRITE™ or a HI-C FRUIT PUNCH™ (how kicky and playful of my sub-conscious).
I made my way to the BEVERAGE STATION with all it’s choices and viewed them thoughtfully:
Barq’s Root Beer ™ , Minute Maid Lemonade ™, Coke ™ All were no big deal. My eyes didn’t even pause at these spouts. I continued, perusing the Sprite ™ and the Hi-C Fruit Punch ™… but couldn’t commit to either one. I moved my GIANT EMPTY CUP under the ICE CUBE CHUTE and began filling my GIANT EMPTY CUP, as is the foreplay to any self-serve beverage situation. It was as that GIANT EMPTY CUP was filling with the perfectly formed small-ish ice cubes that my eyes settled on the DIET COKE ™ spout.
It looked at me, I looked at it… then we both looked away. Then it looked at the older guy standing behind me at the ICE TEA DISPENSER, then back at me, then away again… quickly, as if that second look had never even taken place. Oh, but it had.
I looked over my shoulder, the way a mother-f’n crook/addict does right before they are about to be crooked or use…. And I put my now-filled-with-ice GIANT CUP directly under the DIET COKE™ spout…. And I pushed. I pressed into it the way a sexy couple in a darkened doorway would…. Urgent. Faster, I thought. It looked at me as I pressed into it and we both knew the magic I’d be feeling soon. I loved it and hated it at the same time, simultaneously, if you will.
Meanwhile, at the SALSA STATION/BAR/SITUATION, my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket was busy “salsa-ing up” (similar to lawyer-ing up) and she didn’t even know that there was an outside world that existed beyond her and the SALSA STATION/BAR/SITUATION. She enjoys her condiments.
I now had the contraband in my hand and I carried it like a virgin bride to our table. I watched and pretended to listen to everything my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket was saying, but as her mouth moved, all I heard were the effervescent bubbles of the DIET COKE begging me to partake. I knew I needed to be casual, as I wasn’t sure I was ready to come-clean (so to speak) just yet. I knew that since I had leapt, there would be AT LEAST one refill involved.
So… I drank… and drank… and drank some more. I refilled. Yes. Twice.
Just before we were ready to leave (salad? what salad??), I realized I needed to confess my sin. Yes, in addition to being my girlfriend/same-sex partner/lady-lover/meal-ticket, she also had to be my DIET COKE SOBRIETY SPONSOR.
I fessed up. I wept. I belched (maybe).
That night, I had the most intense, guilt-ridden MIGRAINE HEADACHE in the history of intense, guilt-ridden MIGRAINE HEADACHES.
The subsequent days were filled with guilt, flashbacks and more guilt…. And fantasies about how I could manage my life USING DIET COKE IN MODERATION. Oh, the sadness. Moderation, my ass. Never.
So, now… still…. Yet…. I crave. I wish. I know I can’t manage it. I soooooooo know that I am one step away from doing my own version of LEAVING LAS VEGAS with me in the Nicholas Cage role and DIET COKE in the Alcohol role.
Not gonna happen.
So, I begin again. My name is Lv2write00 and I’ve gone 4 days without a DIET COKE.
Welcome to my personal hell (ish).