whiskey talk

I woke up this morning and my teeth and gums were throbbing.

I brushed them and they felt better. So I grabbed my bottle of Jameson, a small glass and a bucket of ice and headed to the porch. It was raining outside, just like it had been raining when I went to bed 11 hours ago. Pouring the whiskey into the glass, I admired the color. I didn’t bother with the ice, this time, as I just finished it off quickly. The day was starting off better than the one before.

A beautiful girl strolled by on her way to the beach. Yellow bikini on, towel draped across her shoulders. She couldn’t be more than 22 years old. I smiled my broken teeth grin as she moseyed on by. She awkwardly looked away when she saw me. Not at all a surprising reaction. As she continued her saunter to the beach, I continued to admire her. Not so much leering at her as appreciating her beauty. I knew I’d never see her again, so I had to remember the moment. Her black flip flops made a soothing sound that quickly was drowned out by the ocean waves.

I poured another glass of whiskey, this time plopping two ice cubes in. The fall heat wasn’t nearly as oppressive as the summer version, but the humidity was wicked today. A tropical wave was stuck on the coast and delivering constant rain and constant pain to my sinuses. Which helped the teeth to hurt a little bit more as well.

The best advice I ever got from a movie was from Wyatt Earp. Of course, it’s advice I never listened to. “Take care of them, they cannot be replaced.”

A chuckle comes up from my gullet and I let it come out, audibly. A pair of tourists are unloading their car across the street. They look at me, then quickly grab their bags and assorted beach wear. A full laugh comes out right before they hit the “beep, beep” of their car alarm.

Off in the distance a giant thundercloud is building. It’s going to be a short day at the beach for these folks today.

A short swig fills my throat with a nice burn. I look at my toes. They’re small and perfectly symmetrical. I was told that by the last girl who saw them. She admired them for that. Her feet weren’t anything special. An ant craws across my left foot. I stare at it. Hoping it will just continue on. But, it bites, so I squish it between my fingers. Another piece of God’s grand plan destroyed by man. The more I think about it, the more I think we’re not built in His image. Instead, it’s the squirrels or the birds. They just watch us with disdain. And laugh at us believing we are them.

Another swig of whiskey and glass No. 2 is done. I pour the third. One piece of ice will suffice. I put my finger in the glass and then dab it on my gums. I’m like a mother treating her baby. I laugh again.

My notepad is sitting on a milk crate beside me. I pick it up and try to write down some words:

“Agony isn’t ecstasy.”

“The girl with the yellow bikini. She walks so nicely. It makes me wonder what it would be like to be 22 again. Then I remember how my 22nd year was spent. In a one-room studio apartment. No car. Making $4.25 an hour as a cashier. Chasing after a lesbian who took pity on me and talked anyway. Meeting the first girl whose heart I would break. Starting to build my mountain of debt. Yeah, those were the days.”

“Slipping into drunk at noon. It’s not madness. It’s not greatness. It’s just drunkenness.”

“I won the lottery once. A three-dollar prize. I don’t play the lottery much anymore.”

“When you eat cheese, you poop cheese later.”

“Lost in all of this madness is the thought of one day being happy.”

“Scream for me Long Beach! Scream for me Long Beach!”

“Do you know why we love to play California? Do you know why? Because you people, you really know how to party!”

I know it’s time to stop when I’m just writing down the in between song banter of heavy metal singers. While those albums are vital pieces of my adolescence and teen years and beyond, the importance of writing them down is simply non-existent.

Don’t try. Try. Don’t give up. Give up. Sleep. Wake. Eat. Starve.

I finish off drink No. 3 and look at the bottle. It’s half full. Ha! There I go, being an optimist today. Must be the whiskey talking.

Klaus Meine

The light struck my face. “Ugh,” was about all I could muster in thought or word.

Something felt odd. This hotel room is not a good place to be. Red Roof Inn just outside of Raleigh, North Carolina. Two beds. One not slept in. One disheveled.

I looked around the room. 10:45 a.m. Damn. Going to have to get up soon to leave.

I’m still drunk.

Then I see the smashed up Cds on the floor. A quick flashback to the night before. Me coming back from the concert. No. I don’t remember that. All I remember was throwing those Cds very hard on the ground. I look at them now. One is completely shattered.

I don’t remember why I did it.

The Lucero show was great. In fact, all of the bands were awesome. And I didn’t even feel weird being alone at the venue for over two hours. Looking at the bands. Tapping my feet. Swaying a little every so often. Even checking out the women. It was a good time. The Big Boss beers going down nice and easy. They’d better at 5 bucks a pop.

The redhead and her buddy arrived late. She’s so damn beautiful. So damn everything that I’d ever want in a lady. Good taste in music and whiskey. And she laughs at my jokes. She thinks I’m odd and doesn’t care.

Yet, she doesn’t like me the way I’d want. And, usually I’m cool with that. I can chase. Hell, Joey said everyone needs something to chase, so, I keep chasing. Like a dog trying to get its tail. Like a guy trying to blow himself. Some things just aren’t meant to happen.

The drinks keep flowing. Even some Jameseon is swilled. When Lucero goes on, we’re close to the stage. It’s great.

I sing like a crazed beauty pageant momma -- awfully and unselfconsciously. I’m having the time of my life. Every time I go to a show with her, I see her looking at me while the songs are going. It’s the only time her eyes give me the time of day. It’s in those moments that I want to believe that she digs me the way I dig her.

But then the music dies and so do the looks. She goes and chats it up with one of the band. I actually talk this time. I remember saying something about Social Distortion. I also remember it not coming out the way it was in my mind. All of this should have clued me in to how fucking drunk I was.

I don’t remember much else.

A bad joke about riding in the back of the dude’s truck. Getting the Cds.

That’s it.

A good hour of my life, gone. Never to be remembered.

I don’t like blacking out. It makes me think of my dad. The awful person he sometimes becomes when he drinks too much. And then in the morning, everything is supposed to be normal again.

That’s the person I become in those instances.

Usually, I’m a happy drunk. Not caring about anything.
But she brings this side of me out more than anyone else ever has.

And I do mean ever.

I’ve had girlfriends that I’ve been that drunk with. They didn’t bring this out.

Only her.

It’s got to be a sign.

That I have to get away.

Maybe my words last night did that for me. I don’t know.

I just have a broken cell phone to show for it.

And another friend telling me I called her at 2:30 in the morning. God only knows. I called her up the last time this redhead got me drinking and out of my mind.

What is it about this girl that does this to me?

I’m scared to ask her if I said something stupid. Maybe I made some kind of advance on her. Ha. Advance. What is this, “Leave it to Beaver”?

I was probably more pissed off about the hotel room. That I paid for. Like the tickets. And didn’t get paid back. Did I ask for the money? Who knows, but probably not.

And because I’m so destitute at the moment, I used it to build up some rage.

Fuck. I don’t want to be like my dad. At least in this respect.

What is it about this girl…? And why do I keep coming back for more…?

Driving home from work tonight, I put on the Scorpions. Why can’t my world be more like Klaus Meine’s? His song writing tells how he sees it. Everything is in absolutes. There’s no guessing. There’s no hemming and hawing. I’m Still Loving You. I’m going to Rock You Like a Hurricane. I Really had a Blackout!