Back to school, back to all that entails, the apathy and boredom, the longing, all the commiseration, the mistakes and the drinking, drinking, drinking. Ryan Spain blew back into town in the rain, and we set off once again on that self-destructive road to oblivion. This weekend obviously we were too intoxicated for me to do much writing but now I am going to change that.
Drinking story, to be mixed with an account of the weekend.
So Friday Ryan and I set out to complete the Trifecta, that is, a flask of liquor, a bottle of wine, and a sixpack of beer each. Well we didn't quite make it, as after the wine (which we drank far too quickly) we both started throwing up, and though I don't remember much of this (Matt had to recount most of it for me) I do remember that I threw up for practically forever, and was in no shape to continue, though Ryan wanted to. I ended up having to wash my sheets, and I managed to forget about them and ask matt five times where they were, five minutes or so passing between each inquiry. I then managed to make my bed, though I don't remember doing it, but I definitely put the sheets on upside down. We may try again next week, and be more careful in our pacing. Friday was a lot of fun otherwise, as I hadn't been that drunk in a long time.
Yet the highlight (lowlight?) of the weekend was last night, at Mallet's long-awaited Pirate Party, where Brian did his best to get me stupid drunk and for the most part succeeded, and I had to fight down the bile towards the end of the evening but mainly kept it together. I had to try not to throw up, either. Seeing some people just makes it hard, wondering where things went wrong, realizing that it was me, always has been, always was me who fucked it up. I was reminded of when I was leaving, going back home, and she kissed me hard and I promised to be hers until the bruises faded.
And even though it was just a couple little marks, there was still a genuine sense of loss when they were gone.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Neglect
So I've been neglecting this blog, but this is for several reasons. School's back in session, and lately I've also found it harder and harder to get drunk. Sometimes the company we keep makes things difficult. I spent yesterday drowning myself in rum, and while I had an amusing moment this morning where I couldn't remember what I did for a few minutes, it all came back to me. Almost a fifth of rum will do that to a man. I broke my flask too, busted the weld on it.
There's really not that much to say right now. Maybe I'll be drunk and wordy later.
Sorry. I wonder how much of life we spend being apologetic.
There's really not that much to say right now. Maybe I'll be drunk and wordy later.
Sorry. I wonder how much of life we spend being apologetic.
Monday, August 10, 2009
These nachos were simultaneously a great and terrible idea.
A few weeks spent living, spending, living and spending far beyond my means but being something close to happy, a few days doing nothing I regret in Nashville, eating antelope in a whiskey blackberry sauce, sucking down cuba libres like there was no tomorrow, listening to music, spending time with friends I don't see enough, sitting on a riverboat, letting Tennessee wash my worries away.
Then back home again, long enough to touch base, before I was off again to the nation's capital, to Washington DC and an old friend I just met. Four days of letting myself ride the bitterness, of nostalgia and adventure, of finally getting down to living, being who I want to be, having all that pressure to be interesting but realizing that the best plan was just being myself, letting the self confidence my lovers gave me show through, being nice and dangerous, unapologetic.
A selection from my journal, the day I landed: "The life of the summer dead had begun to weigh heavy on me, and all this uncertainty has left me wanting more. I'm excited, exhilarated, accelerated, need need need to do something go somewhere be someone, I need to kiss every girl I love, need to be needed, want every love to be returned equally, exactly."
All this time spent regretting everything and nothing, all those things undone, words unsaid, all those things I can never say or do now, because it's too late, always has been.
I've resolved to be more, I've decided I am tired of being cut down, and the only thing standing between what I want and me is myself.
I really am relieved that she was like an old friend I just met, reminding me so much of her best friend, who when I saw her again that day all those years ago, it was like she never left, like all the years never happened.
Scribbled this on the plane:
Finally heading home
With some brand new tales
Got the sun at my back
The wind in my sails
I'd grown too old in my wandering days
Maybe it's not too late to change my ways
DC was an adventure, days of adventure, a nonstop whirlwind of expectations and danger and mystery, of realizing once again that I'd made a mistake, that I'd fallen a little bit in love with another forbidden fruit, recognizing that it wasn't because of who she knew but who she is, and how twisted the former would have been. I always leave a little bit of myself behind, wondering if you worry about me.
Kelly you were right, and you weren't the first to see it, everybody I've been close to has seen the sadness, the result of getting my heart shattered as you put it, telling me I needed to find a girl who won't leave or be left. It's because it's always been the same, I've always been irresistibly attracted to the same kind of person, because I am always leaving or being left. You're a wise girl, and I hope it is not another eight years before I see you again. Come to think of it, there are so many wise girls I have not seen in years, and I wish that weren't so. With few exceptions, I am closest to those who are furthest away.
As much as I try to hide it, the sadness, the bitterness, it's always the same, I get quiet, I look off into space, and you know something's wrong, I'm somewhere else now. Before then, after, those long spaces of quietness, I look at you and I smile and I really and truly enjoy you. She thought I was so deadpan but the truth is there is so much love, and I always try to hold on, never let go.
I long to lose myself again in the lips and embraces of my lovers. Always trying to light that fire. And here I am, swearing I won't go, wishing I could stay, anything to keep from moving on, from falling to the wayside, trying to remain first in your heart.
I'm realizing how far we've come since we were thirteen, how much has changed, how much we've grown up, how much we have changed, how much this place was meant for living and then for moving out, how much we needed our wising up, our growing up, our growing apart.
So here I am, leaving, being left, another day to cut me down, thinking maybe my heart is giving up on all this abuse. I miss you all. I always have. I always will. And I've never really blamed you. I'm always dreaming that you could be mine, and I could be yours, and really mean it.
Then back home again, long enough to touch base, before I was off again to the nation's capital, to Washington DC and an old friend I just met. Four days of letting myself ride the bitterness, of nostalgia and adventure, of finally getting down to living, being who I want to be, having all that pressure to be interesting but realizing that the best plan was just being myself, letting the self confidence my lovers gave me show through, being nice and dangerous, unapologetic.
A selection from my journal, the day I landed: "The life of the summer dead had begun to weigh heavy on me, and all this uncertainty has left me wanting more. I'm excited, exhilarated, accelerated, need need need to do something go somewhere be someone, I need to kiss every girl I love, need to be needed, want every love to be returned equally, exactly."
All this time spent regretting everything and nothing, all those things undone, words unsaid, all those things I can never say or do now, because it's too late, always has been.
I've resolved to be more, I've decided I am tired of being cut down, and the only thing standing between what I want and me is myself.
I really am relieved that she was like an old friend I just met, reminding me so much of her best friend, who when I saw her again that day all those years ago, it was like she never left, like all the years never happened.
Scribbled this on the plane:
Finally heading home
With some brand new tales
Got the sun at my back
The wind in my sails
I'd grown too old in my wandering days
Maybe it's not too late to change my ways
DC was an adventure, days of adventure, a nonstop whirlwind of expectations and danger and mystery, of realizing once again that I'd made a mistake, that I'd fallen a little bit in love with another forbidden fruit, recognizing that it wasn't because of who she knew but who she is, and how twisted the former would have been. I always leave a little bit of myself behind, wondering if you worry about me.
Kelly you were right, and you weren't the first to see it, everybody I've been close to has seen the sadness, the result of getting my heart shattered as you put it, telling me I needed to find a girl who won't leave or be left. It's because it's always been the same, I've always been irresistibly attracted to the same kind of person, because I am always leaving or being left. You're a wise girl, and I hope it is not another eight years before I see you again. Come to think of it, there are so many wise girls I have not seen in years, and I wish that weren't so. With few exceptions, I am closest to those who are furthest away.
As much as I try to hide it, the sadness, the bitterness, it's always the same, I get quiet, I look off into space, and you know something's wrong, I'm somewhere else now. Before then, after, those long spaces of quietness, I look at you and I smile and I really and truly enjoy you. She thought I was so deadpan but the truth is there is so much love, and I always try to hold on, never let go.
I long to lose myself again in the lips and embraces of my lovers. Always trying to light that fire. And here I am, swearing I won't go, wishing I could stay, anything to keep from moving on, from falling to the wayside, trying to remain first in your heart.
I'm realizing how far we've come since we were thirteen, how much has changed, how much we've grown up, how much we have changed, how much this place was meant for living and then for moving out, how much we needed our wising up, our growing up, our growing apart.
So here I am, leaving, being left, another day to cut me down, thinking maybe my heart is giving up on all this abuse. I miss you all. I always have. I always will. And I've never really blamed you. I'm always dreaming that you could be mine, and I could be yours, and really mean it.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
I've seen the cruel and hard, and I've seen them hard on you
Another few days spent out of stasis, living in the half-life of the Tuscaloosa summer dead, another few days spent drinking and sleeping on the floor and trying not to let the night get to me. I'm not drunk right now but I am hungover so let's let this still count, ok? I've been hungover for days, waking up in the middle of the night covered in sweat, the last vestiges of a truly intense nightmare fleeing my memory, and all I can think of is I wish you were here, because maybe I'd sleep better with somebody to hold.
Another couple of nights spent making promises I can't keep, can't remember to remember to keep, even simple things out of reach. Trying to drink and occupy my time and try not to worry too much, erasing my memory with Irish Car Bombs and waking up on the floor again, another morning after with the sun streaming in the windows and wondering how I made it home alive again.
I'm ready, finally ready, I think, take a deep breath and jump in with both feet, to be you and me. Lately I've been thinking a lot about these things and how cute those kids are together and how love gets into our lives and messes us up, how we were regular people once, with regular people dreams and then those changed to be a big house, sixteen cats, enough room for everything we ever wanted. I've been thinking of being that right blend of nice and dangerous, and I started again because you can't be too perfect, you need something to disapprove of, because people need fixing. These past few days I've spent sitting in a half-empty apartment, trying not to succumb to the fear, staring into space and knowing I'm wasting all my time but unable to stop.
And so all I can do is talk about it, I guess.
Time for a drunk story. Yesterday, I was very hungover when michael decided it might be a good idea to pour everclear on an open candle. Well you know that scene in Joe Dirt when the oil-covered guy pees on a fire? The flame shoots up his pee stream and immolates him. Well, it was basically like that. The fire shot up the alcohol stream into the bottle, where it turned the fumes inside into a fireball, shooting burning everclear out of the bottle all over the floor and walls. We watched the burning puddles for a good couple of seconds before michael realized that he was on fire and began to furiously pat it all out. I got up and walked into the kitchen, got a glass of water, sighed, and poured it on the fire like this was an everyday occurrence.
Maybe it should be, it was definitely one of the more interesting things I've seen all year. At least these sorts of problems have actual solutions.
If I'm not the only one, I at least want to feel like I am. I'd try my best to do the same.
Another couple of nights spent making promises I can't keep, can't remember to remember to keep, even simple things out of reach. Trying to drink and occupy my time and try not to worry too much, erasing my memory with Irish Car Bombs and waking up on the floor again, another morning after with the sun streaming in the windows and wondering how I made it home alive again.
I'm ready, finally ready, I think, take a deep breath and jump in with both feet, to be you and me. Lately I've been thinking a lot about these things and how cute those kids are together and how love gets into our lives and messes us up, how we were regular people once, with regular people dreams and then those changed to be a big house, sixteen cats, enough room for everything we ever wanted. I've been thinking of being that right blend of nice and dangerous, and I started again because you can't be too perfect, you need something to disapprove of, because people need fixing. These past few days I've spent sitting in a half-empty apartment, trying not to succumb to the fear, staring into space and knowing I'm wasting all my time but unable to stop.
And so all I can do is talk about it, I guess.
Time for a drunk story. Yesterday, I was very hungover when michael decided it might be a good idea to pour everclear on an open candle. Well you know that scene in Joe Dirt when the oil-covered guy pees on a fire? The flame shoots up his pee stream and immolates him. Well, it was basically like that. The fire shot up the alcohol stream into the bottle, where it turned the fumes inside into a fireball, shooting burning everclear out of the bottle all over the floor and walls. We watched the burning puddles for a good couple of seconds before michael realized that he was on fire and began to furiously pat it all out. I got up and walked into the kitchen, got a glass of water, sighed, and poured it on the fire like this was an everyday occurrence.
Maybe it should be, it was definitely one of the more interesting things I've seen all year. At least these sorts of problems have actual solutions.
If I'm not the only one, I at least want to feel like I am. I'd try my best to do the same.
Sunday, July 19, 2009
DIIIIIIIIIIIICKS
So last night was my birthday. Actually 2 nights ago was my birthday, when we went to celebrate it at midnight. The great thing about that is, you get drunk, you go to sleep, you wake up, and it's still your birthday. I can't really remember too much about my birthday except that I woke up and tasted jager and cigarettes. I didn't even have jager.
I didn't have a sense of balance today. That was pretty great, especially the part where I beefed it in the hallway outside my room and lay on the floor for a while. It's been an interesting couple of days. Apparently last night I ninja kicked open the door to the Downtown Pub and yelled DIIIIIICKS just in time for like 9 people to see me. I don't really remember any of this. I do remember talking to Dr. Eby about life, the future, and how much I appreciate his son. I remember paying too much for crappy Dr. Peppers. I kind of remember the 40 oz margarita. I remember the fine people who were present.
All in all, even though I didn't die, I think it was a good birthday. Even if I think it was the very moment I became old, where I wondered if 2 in the afternoon was too early to start drinking.
I didn't have a sense of balance today. That was pretty great, especially the part where I beefed it in the hallway outside my room and lay on the floor for a while. It's been an interesting couple of days. Apparently last night I ninja kicked open the door to the Downtown Pub and yelled DIIIIIICKS just in time for like 9 people to see me. I don't really remember any of this. I do remember talking to Dr. Eby about life, the future, and how much I appreciate his son. I remember paying too much for crappy Dr. Peppers. I kind of remember the 40 oz margarita. I remember the fine people who were present.
All in all, even though I didn't die, I think it was a good birthday. Even if I think it was the very moment I became old, where I wondered if 2 in the afternoon was too early to start drinking.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
No Country For Bad Movies
So let's talk about something else for a change. Today was interesting, spent it with Ashley and Drew getting melted at the zoo, then drinking a bit and smoking hookah with them and the wujciks, where we tried to figure out some new names for matt and I's apartment. I'm feeling good about The Abattoir, he likes The League of Bad Decisions.
Anyway, I wanted to talk about No Country For Old Men. Maybe this is dated, but I think by now most people have seen the movie. Anyway, so it won Best Picture a couple years ago, but why? The movie is utter shit. If you've seen it, and enjoyed it, watch it again. This time, try to justify logically everything in the movie. If you still don't see a problem, ask yourself this simple question: Why didn't Llewelyn leave the state?
Maybe he did leave the state. Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. That's okay. Why didn't he leave the country? This is the single biggest hole in the movie. Why didn't he leave? Let's think about it.
1. He found over 2 million dollars. This is a lot of money. This is important in a second.
2. He dragged it out of the hands of a dying guy, surrounded by more corpses. This was his first sign that this money was fucking trouble, and this is important too.
3. He sent his wife away, realizing that the money was trouble, and that they were in terrible danger.
4. Despite this, he STAYS in the state. We're coming back to the money now. He has 2 million dollars in stolen money. It is in CASH. He has a truck. It would be a simple matter to buy a plane ticket, or just hop in his truck, and leave. As far as he knows, nobody knows he himself has the money (and beyond that, at first, nobody DOES know). Therefore, nobody could track HIM. If he left, that would be that.
5. It's not like he had a lot keeping him around. He lived in a trailer. He sent his wife away. He knew people were looking for the money.
6. Hell, why didn't he even take it out of the bag?
7. The hitman tracked the money not with some fancy gps device, but a thing that beeper more the closer he got. With this electronic version of "hot and cold," there was literally no way the dude could have found him if he did something as simple as not driving just ten miles down the highway and sitting in a hotel for three days.
Here's the thing. The first thing any rational person would have done after finding the money is count it. Hide it. Maybe put it in a different damn bag. Then skip town. Especially if you had a crappy life in a trailer. Especially if you KNEW the money was dangerous enough to send your wife away. Therefore we can only conclude that the main character was, in fact, mentally retarded. In this case, the whole movie is a case of "look what happens to people who totally have it coming" and is a wankfest over the hitman character, who is a "badass" despite doing things that make absolutely no goddamn sense for no reason. The coin flip game? What? Why? What did that establish? That he's a sociopath? That's cool, we knew that already cause he kills people for money. And what did Tommy Lee Jones even do? If I remember right all he did was find the guy who found the money at the very end, dead in his hotel room, and say "oh well that bitch totally deserved it" and then eat a donut.
No Country For Old Men blows.
Anyway, I wanted to talk about No Country For Old Men. Maybe this is dated, but I think by now most people have seen the movie. Anyway, so it won Best Picture a couple years ago, but why? The movie is utter shit. If you've seen it, and enjoyed it, watch it again. This time, try to justify logically everything in the movie. If you still don't see a problem, ask yourself this simple question: Why didn't Llewelyn leave the state?
Maybe he did leave the state. Maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. That's okay. Why didn't he leave the country? This is the single biggest hole in the movie. Why didn't he leave? Let's think about it.
1. He found over 2 million dollars. This is a lot of money. This is important in a second.
2. He dragged it out of the hands of a dying guy, surrounded by more corpses. This was his first sign that this money was fucking trouble, and this is important too.
3. He sent his wife away, realizing that the money was trouble, and that they were in terrible danger.
4. Despite this, he STAYS in the state. We're coming back to the money now. He has 2 million dollars in stolen money. It is in CASH. He has a truck. It would be a simple matter to buy a plane ticket, or just hop in his truck, and leave. As far as he knows, nobody knows he himself has the money (and beyond that, at first, nobody DOES know). Therefore, nobody could track HIM. If he left, that would be that.
5. It's not like he had a lot keeping him around. He lived in a trailer. He sent his wife away. He knew people were looking for the money.
6. Hell, why didn't he even take it out of the bag?
7. The hitman tracked the money not with some fancy gps device, but a thing that beeper more the closer he got. With this electronic version of "hot and cold," there was literally no way the dude could have found him if he did something as simple as not driving just ten miles down the highway and sitting in a hotel for three days.
Here's the thing. The first thing any rational person would have done after finding the money is count it. Hide it. Maybe put it in a different damn bag. Then skip town. Especially if you had a crappy life in a trailer. Especially if you KNEW the money was dangerous enough to send your wife away. Therefore we can only conclude that the main character was, in fact, mentally retarded. In this case, the whole movie is a case of "look what happens to people who totally have it coming" and is a wankfest over the hitman character, who is a "badass" despite doing things that make absolutely no goddamn sense for no reason. The coin flip game? What? Why? What did that establish? That he's a sociopath? That's cool, we knew that already cause he kills people for money. And what did Tommy Lee Jones even do? If I remember right all he did was find the guy who found the money at the very end, dead in his hotel room, and say "oh well that bitch totally deserved it" and then eat a donut.
No Country For Old Men blows.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
When anything that's anything becomes nothing, that's everything
It's been an eventful couple of days I guess. Where to start, since the last time I wrote? I've been bombing out my future. I don't know where I'm going anymore, and it's just a horrible feeling, being powerless. It's awful, wanting to do something, and not being able to, knowing that you were the one who messed it up. I didn't work hard enough, as ever. It was Nathalie who said, girls like to be pursued, and she teased me, for refusing to play the game. It's that way for everything in my life I guess. Post-graduate studies, girls, whatever. Anything, everything.
I'm not quite drunk. I guess just enough to appreciate my waking hangover. Guess I shouldn't have been hitting the sauce so hard earlier today. I've already thrown up, a few minutes of vomiting straight acid and beer behind a Steak-Out dumpster. I guess the easiest way to recount the days is to start with today and work backwards. Today we went on an adventure. Actually, it started that way and quickly progressed as we got lost, so I had to upgrade it to an Odyssey. Anyway we finally reached our Ithaca; the Cahaba River, a languid and memoryless body of water, perfect for a day of drinking. Inner tubes, beer, fireworks combined to make a decent fourth of july, better than last year at least, which I will recount as my requisite drunk story soon. But the Cahaba was treacherous, and I got pretty damn cut up. Also swallowed some disgusting river water. I'm not proud of what I did. Ups of the trip: the absolutely awesome dogs the owners had, the rope swing over the water, an inner tube holding an assload of beer.
Before I forget: the fourth of july story from last year. Montgomery has an annual fourth of july fireworks display and we thought it would be fun to go to it, so me and trevor and meghan and grace decided to grill up some burgers, drink a bit, and go see em. It started out well until I got to grace's dad's house and, seeing that nobody was there yet except for her, decided to get started. Bad idea. A bottle of peppermint schnapps, three hours of puking and a couple of adorable kittens playing in my shoes later, I stumbled out of the bathroom and asked if I missed the fireworks. Guess I didn't, since it was barely 8 o'clock. I somehow crammed an entire night of drinking and puking into about three hours. Oh well, it happens. There's a picture of me cross-legged and passed out in the bathroom on trevor's phone somewhere.
What else? Not much. Beyond the drinking, and the powerlessness, I've been spending some time with some pretty girls and some cool dudes. There's been a really nice cat hanging around the apartment at 3 in the morning. I've spent a couple days just lying around in bed. I've spent a week doing nothing I regret. I love it. I'd almost forgotten about responsibilities, about life. Not that I would have done anything about it. I guess I'm just that way. I need to figure out what's going on with my life.
I'm not quite drunk. I guess just enough to appreciate my waking hangover. Guess I shouldn't have been hitting the sauce so hard earlier today. I've already thrown up, a few minutes of vomiting straight acid and beer behind a Steak-Out dumpster. I guess the easiest way to recount the days is to start with today and work backwards. Today we went on an adventure. Actually, it started that way and quickly progressed as we got lost, so I had to upgrade it to an Odyssey. Anyway we finally reached our Ithaca; the Cahaba River, a languid and memoryless body of water, perfect for a day of drinking. Inner tubes, beer, fireworks combined to make a decent fourth of july, better than last year at least, which I will recount as my requisite drunk story soon. But the Cahaba was treacherous, and I got pretty damn cut up. Also swallowed some disgusting river water. I'm not proud of what I did. Ups of the trip: the absolutely awesome dogs the owners had, the rope swing over the water, an inner tube holding an assload of beer.
Before I forget: the fourth of july story from last year. Montgomery has an annual fourth of july fireworks display and we thought it would be fun to go to it, so me and trevor and meghan and grace decided to grill up some burgers, drink a bit, and go see em. It started out well until I got to grace's dad's house and, seeing that nobody was there yet except for her, decided to get started. Bad idea. A bottle of peppermint schnapps, three hours of puking and a couple of adorable kittens playing in my shoes later, I stumbled out of the bathroom and asked if I missed the fireworks. Guess I didn't, since it was barely 8 o'clock. I somehow crammed an entire night of drinking and puking into about three hours. Oh well, it happens. There's a picture of me cross-legged and passed out in the bathroom on trevor's phone somewhere.
What else? Not much. Beyond the drinking, and the powerlessness, I've been spending some time with some pretty girls and some cool dudes. There's been a really nice cat hanging around the apartment at 3 in the morning. I've spent a couple days just lying around in bed. I've spent a week doing nothing I regret. I love it. I'd almost forgotten about responsibilities, about life. Not that I would have done anything about it. I guess I'm just that way. I need to figure out what's going on with my life.
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