1701

Damn. I’m drunk tonight.

1702

Whoa Nellie!

Join the club. But why can’t you folks post music videos for us drunk fools to enjoy?

I can do it… See?

1703

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCazFSJFjm8

Ironic? Fuck you!!!

1704

That post owned, man. Seriously.

1705

This owns!!! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BZ6pFdvnnCA&feature=related

1706

Oh yeah!!!

1707

Because if I post links to music when I’m drunk I might be able to compete with you for terrible taste in music.

I’m not even going to click on that link, I’m just going to assume that it’s Katy Perry demonstrating that she cant hold a tune in a bucket with a lid on it or that other band that you like and save me three minutes of intense anger.

1708

Dude. It’s Patsy Cline.

1709

My nose has been broken more times than I can remember. Even now, if I use two fingers to move the bridge of my nose it makes crunching sounds. It kind of creeps me out when I do it. But the fucker never sets right.

So one day in the past, I spent a lot of money at AC. But I was still flush. At least reasonably so. I hit a decent paycheck after losing over a grand at poker. Let’s say I hit 21 once or twice. So I’m in a cab and don’t want the wife to know where I was.

I took a yellow cab from casino (I think a Trump shithole) to Brooklyn.

This was maybe 1986.

So I tell the cab driver wait. Go to (address) of my parents house. Instead of my actual house.

Then I tell him, drive up the street. Almost to the end.

Dude, I say, you want a big tip? Do this for me. Punch me in the face as hard as you can.

Black (driver) guy is like, what the fuck is this? You trying to get me busted? I’m like no, just bloody my lip. You get $100.

I don’t want my wife to know I still have cash. So I give him the cash and he breaks my nose.

I’m leaning against the cab. Nose like a faucet. Blood everywhere.

He gets scared. Jumps in the cab and drives away like the devil was after his ass.

I hit the street. I’m dizzy. I’m bleeding.

Eventually I get up. See I’m thinking, hit me in the mouth. Maybe not too hard. But this guy clocked me. I pull a bandanna out of my back pocket and walk to the parent’s house.

Tell them the bullshit story. I got robbed in the subway. Get driven to the emergency room by dad.

Once again they pack my nose and set up a return appointment to set the fucker.

I never go back. Next day the wife (at the time) she gives me the look. She says, “Rich, this isn’t bullshit is it?”

No honey, I was robbed. I was beaten. Look at my face.

She was so cute back then.

1710

Just how drunk do you have to be for this to sound like a good idea?

1711

So drunk that the hangover coupled with the pain of the nose had me seriously considering suicide the next day.

1712

I’m going to drink all this whiskey just in case I might feel happy afterwards. I give it 50/50.

1713

1714

Well on a happy note, my dog always made me feel better when I would do something really stupid. She was a black lab mix that we got from as a rescue. I’d lie on my bed in the morning, considering evil things and after the wife left, she’d come and jump up on the bed. The wife didn’t like her on the bed, and the dog knew it.

So I’d lie there cuddling the dog and she’d lick my face. I was working night shift at the WTC at the time. So I really had to get some sleep. But I’d lie there all depressed and the dog knew it. I dare anyone to say otherwise.

1715

Are the terms with that ex- any better now?

1716

Actually yes. My son is 26 and the ex and I are speaking terms. We talk occasionally on the phone. My son is working his ass off at Columbia University in NYC. He works as a manager there at the animal lab they have. He comes by a few times a month. But he’s a workaholic and usually does six day weeks. Sometimes seven.

He’s going to take the NYC firefighters test soon. It will mean a cut in pay to start with but he really wants to do it. He was a troubled kid for a while. He got popped for tagging a mailbox when he was 14. I had to go to a meeting with him and a parole (probation?) officer. He was scared shitless. Turned his ass around big time.

Thanks for asking. I’m really proud of my kid.

1717

You know, I’m actually glad I’m single when I’m sober, and nine times out of ten I give zero fucks when I’m drunk, but once in a blue moon I just get all melancholy that I’m not coming home to cuddle afterwards.

Sigh. Pour another one, I suppose.

1718

{{{{mrmolecule88}}}} Hugs man. Much hugs.

1719

Only one more Rickard’s White after this one.

NOOOOOOO!!!

1720

Phew! Thanks, Rich. I’ll exchange your kindness for an anecdote.

The problem last night was that I had been reminded about someone I had a fling with last summer. Normally, I would laugh about it and think about someone else, but my saturated brain wouldn’t be dissuaded last night. Anyhoo, the story is as follows: We were both working at a summer camp, both senior staff (let’s call her E). Which meant we saw each other fairly often and could make plenty of time (well, relatively) to flirt and tease. After two weeks of this, we had our first day off together along with an assortment of other staff, including one of her best friends (who we’ll call S). S invited us to her house to “Drink quietly.” To coconut fruit drink thingies later, we moved downstairs to the couch, where E and I commenced to “getting handsy,” as S put it. The night wore on, one thing led to another, and the making out lead to an invite upstairs. I brushed my teeth, creeped upstairs, found E, and started going to town once more. I was just diving headfirst into second base when we heard a sharp RAPRAPRAP on the door.

“E! If you do this, we’re not friends anymore! This is totally disrespectful!”

It turns out S had told E to sleep in her little brother’s room, in his bed. D’oh. Being a gentlemen, I suggested we postpone our festivities to a later date. Which we did, later, under the neon glow of a 12-hour frasier marathon.

Ah. It’s a much better memory sober.