College Chastity Choice Game 2

I don't go home right away. I need to decompress a little, but doing what?

It's too early for a bar, and I don't really want to be with guys who will hit on me.

Sure, I wear my wedding ring, but you would be surprised how many jerks either don't see it or don't care about it. It's as if they expected most of the married women to cheat on their husbands. Don't our vows mean anything?

Ok, fine, I do cheat on my husband, but it's not the same thing. Shut up. Don't judge me, I love Miles but he is married, plus, I was dating Miles before I got married, and my husband knew about it.

It's not like I am doing this behind his back, I'll inform you that he was told full well where I was and for why. So shut up.

You know what I think it missing? A female only dive bar.

Don't know what a dive bar is and why I want one?

Fine. Bars are expensive and well decorated places to drink and dance. There is this place on main street, I mean, I think there is a bona fide dress code. Oh, I currently fit with it so I could go, but people go there later in the evening, drinks are expensive enough that you usually leave a $10 on the counter for almost every order and it would take me 5 minutes before three guys, one of which is there on a fake ID, to come talk to me about my hair.

Oh, and the music! Most likely some sort of electronic garbage. I went there, it was electronic garbage, but I can't promise it's like that every night.

After all, I went to the Crazy Czar twice, that stupid no alcohol dance floor. Once because I thought it was a bar, the second time with some of my students. They aren't 21, so Czar is the place.

On the first night, I had stayed. I had stupidly paid the cover charge, and the "music" was just irritating noise.

But with my student, they had a guest DJ and while it was still electronic music, it was more palatable. I couldn't complain at much either, they enjoyed it.

As it turns out, the guess DJ was the girlfriend of one of my students, Angie. Sometimes, Angie was in the DJ Booth with her, but sometimes, the DJ came to hang out with us. She's nice. Poor girl with some vitiligo. At least, she doesn't seem too concerned with it, at least, no one mentioned anything.

I only know because an African American girl I studied with suffered from it, but of course, in her case, the white patches were even worse on her black skin.

Fuck, I don't really want to go home, and I have nowhere to go.

Do you know what is the most fucked up in my field of study?

Interior design is more than just matching colors. I mean, sure, it's not a protected title, so anyone can become an interior designer, no studies required, but hear me out.

I park in the nearby strip mall, to think.

So, interior design is all about making a livable space, well, livable. Pleasant. People think it's all about which color to paint your walls, but it's more than that.

It's about proper space organization and balancing.

Ok, so a few people have a home office. I don't know whether it's a good or a bad thing, but I know that a lot of people don't have a room dedicated to it.

So, that's where the problems start. Do you put it in the living room? In the kitchen? In the bedroom?

If in the living room, you block your family from enjoying a movie when you are working. If in the kitchen, you're working where you eat, so many put them in their bedroom, where they sleep.

The problem is that each of these places already have a function.

My solution is to provide some sort of spacial division. Perhaps use different colors or styles to divide a room. I like the use of a large carpet to "box" the desk so that you have a clear division between work and rest areas, but there are other options.

Where was I?

The shrinking of the third place. There. That's what I wanted to talk about.

I teach a whole class on the third place. Students in interior design are required to take it, to learn what I have to teach them, and to pass it. Otherwise, they can't graduate.

I explain the importance of the third place in human socialization, and while there are three classes on drinking establishments, two on recreation centers, one on public libraries, another on gyms, but there aren't a single one explaining the tragedy of the third place.

Ok, fine, I explain it on the first class, but it's not on the curriculum and I talked to my department supervisor who told me: "Georgia, leave that to the sociology teachers. Our job is to teach students how to design living spaces, not worry about their disappearances"

I think he fails to see how important our role as mentors and teachers is.

And so, I sit there in my car, wondering if there is a third place I could unwind at.

Your home is the first place. It's where you sleep, where you normally spend most of your time. You sleep there more or less 8 hours per day, shower there, usually have breakfast there, so at least one of your meals, and, well, it's where your stuff is.

Your workplace is your second place. You spend more or less 8 hours per day there, and on your lunch break, might eat on location or near it.

That's missing, is a place to unwind between the two. A place where you could spend the rest of your remaining 8 hours. Sure, it's less than eight, since you commute, you have a self-care routine to shower, handle your hair, shop, etc...

Still, that's missing.

The first place is with your family. The second place is with your colleagues. The third is with your friends.

Well, where can you hang out with your friends?

A coffee place? Sure. A bar? Of course. A library? Most likely. But they are not designed for it.

In the past, we had public places. In some countries, there are courtyards in many residential blocks where people could have a communal meal, dance, play music and play domino.

Ok, maybe not domino in particular, but certainly something. Like boccie, corn hole or some other game the locals enjoy.

In short, a place to hang out without spending money. A dependable safe place.

This strip mall, for example, could have had a place to unwind, but instead, there is a currently closed florist, a pet food store and a nail salon which appears to be open, but with only one lonely employee browsing on her phone.

Wait, there is a liquor store. I can't drink there, but it can help handle my sorrows. I stop the car and get in.

As soon as I get in, I begin to browse the aisles and soon spot exactly what I want. A bottle of Philips Peach Schnapps. And before you say anything, I am a girl, I can have as much peach schnapps as I want. Well, as I can handle (and then some).

Now, where did they hide the white rum? This is Florida for God's sake!

Right, this is mainly a Russian town when it comes to minorities, but I don't want a sex on the beach, I have no use for vodka tonight.

Ah, there they are. What a pitiful selection. I am not coming back here again, but likely, I'll never see this strip wall again, even if liked this liquor store.

I end up with a Havana Club Anejo Blanco. To my surprise, they have a Rhum J.M. Agricole blanc from Martinique. Instead of molasses, it's made from sugarcane!

It has a much richer taste and honestly, it's the only one I enjoy drinking straight up, but it's twice the price of the Havana club, and for the same size!

We have plenty of orange juice, but they have, oddly enough, some cranberry juice. It's more expensive than at the grocery store but I don't want to run around.

I get carded, which always makes me smile. Back when I had a fake ID, I passed easily enough to not even have to show my fake ID and now, I was getting carded even if I was more than legal.

That's life for you...

I get home, and am I am glad not to find Gregor home. He is most likely with his Russian friends. I mean, I can't blame him. It's not like he is living the life with me!

I kick off my shoes, and get to the freezer. Yes! We still have some clear ice. I love it. I make them with hot water, so that when it freezes, it doesn't have those white lines in it.

In the drawer, I find my ounce measuring cup for drinks, and in another, the cocktail shaker.

I pour one ounce of each of my three new bottles and two ounces of orange juice. I stir and add the ice.

And that, is my favorite drink. The Georgia Peach Drink. Get it? It's my name...

The first one is sipped. It always is. I turn on my Bluetooth speaker, and put on some music. I always start with my favorite song, Brutal, by Olivia Rodrigo, and begin to dance in my kitchen to the shifting rhythm of it.

Gregor says that the only reason I like her is because of the aesthetics of her video, even if he admits that Traitor is a good ballad. In fact, he says that all she is good for, is ballads because of how serious she takes everything.

He says that Brutal is a hack of a song, and that Olivia is just too melodramatic for her own good, and that all she does is rely on gimmicks and teenage girls insecurities so that any adult to likes her is pretty much retarded.

Do you know what I have to say about this as I finish my drink? Fuck him! Yeah, fuck him. He likes stupid electronic music without any fucking lyrics anyway all made with fucking synth virtual machines on a computer.

I laugh. He would like songs made by a fucking AI, but I like songs written by an actual human being I can relate to. Driver's license plays next. I didn't choose, it just auto-plays, but it suits me.

You said forever but I drive alone past your street. I like what she has to say, but he says that all she has to say in most of her songs is, her ex dropped her despite saying it was forever but after only two weeks, he has a new girl.

So what? It's like, universal. I finish my second drink when Good 4 U starts, which is, well, about how she is mad that her ex is happy and made a new girlfriend after only 2 weeks and moved on so easily.

Fine, she does have a pattern, but who cares? Many bands succeeded with only one subject. This one speaks to me.

"But Georgia, you don't have an ex-boyfriend who dumped you and even less dated another girl within two weeks while you suffered?", he often tells me.

I usually tell him that it's about the female experience or about sharing her feelings, but you know what I should tell him?

Well, I should ask him to go fuck himself.

He does like the song that auto-plays next, 1 step forward and 3 steps back. He says he related to it. I don't understand how. He isn't even a girl.

Stupid Gregor.

As I finish my third drink, however, he shows up, and the first thing I see is him rolling his eyes.

"What the fuck Gregor, did you just roll your eyes at me?"

"No, at the music you are playing. I would never roll my eyes at you", but he gets closer to me. My drink is empty, and he gets it.

Wow, I only had 3 drinks and the room is spinning.

"It's probably not 3 drinks", he says

Wait, did I think that or say it?

"Georgia, when you are drunk, you say out loud everything you think."

"Well, fuck you"

"Sure, Georgia, I take it that it didn't go as you hoped with Miles", he says, holding me. I push him back, but almost fall in the process, so he grabs me and keeps me up.

He looks at my bottles.

"Georgia, if you put an ounce of rum and one ounce of schnapps, that's two drinks per glass.", he gently pulls me to the bottle, and picks up the white rum one.

"So, 6 drinks in total? Let me guess in like 20 minutes? It's dangerous", he says.

"Aww, look at you, all worried about your wife"

"Well, yeah, I am actually"

But I laugh. It's so ridiculous. The situation is so ridiculous.

I move away from him and serve myself another drink. I do not need the stupid measuring cup, this isn't my first one, I can judge the quantity. I am not a fool.

"That's almost two ounces of rum, Georgia", he has the nerve to tell me.

"You are all the way there, and I am here. What do you know?", I tell him, as he holds my left arm to keep me up.

"Georgia, you don't need that drink"

"And I don't fucking need you, Gregor. I married you so you could stay in America. They were going to deport you and it's not like Miles was going to marry me. He was already engaged to Simone. To fucking Simone"

"That's almost three ounces of Schnapps, Georgia", he tells me.

But I laugh at him.

"If I did put 5 ounces of alcohol, there would be almost no room for the cranberry juice and the OJ", I say. "This is a 6 ounce glass, jerk face", but I try to put orange juice and it almost overfills.

"Oops", I tell myself. "I know how to fix this", so I scoot down and drink from the side of the glass until it's low enough.

"Don't you think you drank enough already?", he says

"Don't you think you overstayed your welcome already?"

"Hey, I contribute. I pay half the rent, most of the groceries, in fact, I do most of the grocery shopping, I clean, I do the laundry"

"Hurray, you are a good roommate, jerk face", I tell him as I realize that I didn't free enough space for the cranberry juice. I drink some more, put the red juice, but then, there isn't enough OJ, so I drink a little more, and top the glass up with OJ.

"I am more than a roommate. I even change your sheets"

"Fine, you are a great roommate. But that doesn't make you my husband, like, for real. My heart belongs to Miles", I say, as I wonder why I was so focused on emptying my drink because the glass is almost full. Did I see it wrong? Who cares.

"But Miles' heart doesn't belong to you. Simone has it"

"Oh, right because you figured life out already. Didn't Katia dump you, jerk face?", I saw, as I realized that my glass is now empty. Fuck. I must have spilled it on the floor in the agitation.

"Katia was deported. You know that", he says

"Then you should have married her", I tell him. "Not me"

"Georgia, neither of us had citizenship. How would that have helped?"

"I don't know. I still don't understand why I even bothered marrying you. It's not like I love you or anything. We don't even share a fucking bed"

"Georgia, I'll bring you to your room. Can you please not drink more? I'd rather not send you to the hospital for alcohol poisoning again"

I laugh. "Alcohol isn't poison, stupid"

But I suddenly got dizzy, and I see the ceiling, only it's moving. I change room for a reason or another and end up in my bed.