- @DearOprahW Best or worst New Years eve.
With the exception of the years I was married I never had a date on New Years. I had a few long distance relationships, but we were never together on New Years. So every year is about the same. If I was at a bar I turned in a circle to find somebody to kiss. It never led to anything more. One year my wife and I had a party at our condo and I watched a guest telling a story and eating the peel and eat shrimp (I have this amazing recipe) without taking the shell off first. I kept wanting to raise my hand and interrupt him with a, “Holy Christ, man! What kind of insanity is this?” but I couldn’t because he hadn’t arrived at the story’s punchline. That was probably the wildest thing I ever witnessed on NYE.
- @breannaldh How about the nicest thing someone did for you when you were a teenager.
I was sixteen and working in a bar/restaurant called Shooters. The owner, Sue B, was awesome. She’d run you hard but then give you a plastic cup and go, “You have ten minutes at the keg. Have fun.” My partner Reed and I would drink fifteen cups of beer in ten minutes. I’m not joking. We’d get hammered in ten minutes and finish our shift as busboys. Sue would have a holiday party at their house for all the staff and allow us to drink. That was good stuff.
- @mandileigh79 Write about the most awkward Christmas situation you’ve encountered. Truth is usually the funniest 🙂
I once stabbed a drifter on Christmas Day. Okay, that’s not true. I don’t really have one myself, but I’ll throw my sister under the bus. My aunt and uncle live in Seattle and always send us these insanely juicy pears. Well, about seven years ago my sister and I got up early and went downstairs before my parents. We found the pears and dove in. When everyone gathered in the living room to open presents she make wind and knocked everyone out of the room. By the way, she’s a VP for the largest cosmetics company in the world. She doesn’t do that. But she did.
Ooh, and last year I vomited and pooped the entire day. I was horrifically sick and still wrote about it. I couldn’t make it even a few minutes without puking. It was hilarious. And terrible.
- @macronikki The impending doom connected to the rise of justin bieber.
Since none of the women I want to hit on are into Justin Beiber he sort of gets a pass from me. Sure, he’s lame and I hope he develops a freebasing addiction, but other than that, I don’t care about him. Canadians are just weird in general. Nicest people on the planet, but weird. The stripey shirts, for chrissakes.
- @drakedmiller A barking cat, because I have one.
Okay, I know all about omens. I studied omenology in college (nearly minored), witnessed seven omens myself over my lifetime, and I own the entire Omen Blueray box set. This is an omen. What kind of omen? How the fuck would I know? Put it on YouTube and enjoy the ten million hits you’re sure to get overnight.
Part II tomorrow!
About halfway through the day it occurred to me that I was sick. Which, for the past three years, has become a rare event. I was violently ill last Christmas Day and missed the holiday lying in bed puking. Don’t feel bad for me. I still received all the gifts. Wouldn’t that be awful if my parents had returned my presents because I wasn’t downstairs opening them with family? Even at thirty-six I would have been devastated. Do that to an eight-year old and you’ll create a future sociopath.
The bummer about realizing I was sick earlier today is that I still had a ten mile bike ride home. I piped in some psychedelic tunes and floated along the lakefront path. Still drenched with sweat as usual, I enjoyed being non-present as my body pedaled home. In my mind I was in the lotus position taking rips off a group hookah with The Beatles from 1967.
It should be noted that I can’t even touch my toes, much less achieve nirvana through yoga poses. Also, I don’t use drugs or ever drink. I’m boring.
Once home I went to the couch and did a little of nothing for two hours. It was 8pm. Too early to fall asleep for the night? Not for this guy. In bed I’ve been for the past five hours.
To answer the initial question – I’m up because I’ve committed to write each day. I will be returning to sleep momentarily.
The best part of being divorced is the re-realization that I’m the most important person in the universe. Some may tell you it’s the opportunity to fall in love with someone new. And that’s okay, I guess. My girlfriend Jessica is a real peach. She lives in Georgia, by the way, and I wanted to try out that expression.
But when you live with someone, married or not, you cannot always pass out at 8pm. The other person might drag you to a non-refundable French cooking class. Maybe it’s your turn to do the laundry. Or it’s date night and your turn to drive to Applebees.
And what if you have children? Well, if you’re married and your spouse is a member of the human race (Are humans a race? I’m pretty sure that’s not right.) you dump the children on her/him. “Hey, if those monsters make even a peep I will storm out and tell them Santa Claus died in a fire today.” Then, your spouse or partner takes care of the kids and you pass out with a chestful of Vicks Vapor Rub.
But what if you’re a single parent? You can’t just go to sleep when sick. Those kids need to get fed and stuff. You might have to change diapers (gross) or help them with their geometry homework (gross). Plus, lunches and laundry for tomorrow can’t be pushed. In short – you’re screwed. Oh, and your ex-partner is probably a shithead and you have deal with their nonsense daily.
To sum up – I was able to sleep in my own filth this evening because I didn’t feel well. My cat and dog, the only other beings in the home, were thrilled to join me. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning, and while the condo will be messy, nobody will see it. And, as a result, I’ll be better by tomorrow evening. I pumped in ten hours of rest, and I’ll probably do the same tomorrow.
No chance a single parent can do this. So, they won’t recover as fast because they’ll have to go to a soccer game and cheer on their little one. Or take the Brownie troop on a tour of the Playtex factory (I have no idea what Brownie troops do).
Single moms and dads, I am sad you are no longer the center of the universe. May you find a handsome benefactor who will whisk the children away to a palatial estate whenever you are sick. Hey, those rich people have to date someone – go to the yacht club and skank it up until you catch someone’s eye with a III at the end of their name.
I have a III at the end of my name, but my estate is 1250 square feet with a few hardwood boards that have been ruined with cat pee. Find another III.
photo credit: Great Beyond via photopin cc
]]>Actually, that’s not entirely true as we had two cats when I was born but I think they bit me or my sister and were removed.
As a cat, Shadow was decent. Not a home run, but not a caught-looking-strikeout either. I hope that expression sort of makes sense. Since then, I’ve owned (yes, owned) three other cats, and they all have totally rocked balls. Great pets, cats.
The worst thing about Shadow was that she didn’t respond to cat nip. The best thing about Shadow was that she had about twenty random white hairs scattered about her fur.
I can’t tell you why, but I had to pluck them. It was pure ecstasy to me. I used to watch the hairs grow back months later, and I would wait until they were fully ripe, only to then be plucked again. I’m not exaggerating an iota about how awesome this was. My mom used to really yell at me for it, because it kind of bothered the cat.
Well, tough titties to that! I started plucking the hairs in private, bedroom door closed. I had to engage this addiction.
A few years later Shadow started peeing everywhere in the house and my folks gave her away to a nearby pig farm. She became an outdoor cat which probably sucked because she didn’t have any claws. It was very sad time for me.
My white hair pulling addiction did not get to surface again until I met my now ex-wife. She had a few white hairs along her part line. I noticed them one day as I was giving her hair the “sniff-test”.
In that moment my eyes glazed over and I suddenly lost all interest in her as a person. Her head became the most desireable thing on the planet. But I couldn’t just pluck one white hair without permission! Could I?
I totally fucking did.
She yelped, and I explained I just had to pluck it. It’s how I’m wired up. Ultimately she thought it was great because I was getting rid of white hairs that she didn’t want people to see. I would watch them grow back and wait for just the right time to harvest the crop. Every year her head would add about seven to ten new white hairs. It was like Christmas Day, as if they were a presents from the dead pigment and follicle fairy.
I don’t currently have any white head hairs, so I can’t indulge myself. I need a partner.
My current girlfriend Jessica happens to also love getting her white hairs yanked. This could not be more important to me, and I consider it an act of love.
We only see each other every six weeks or so, and during those weekends I spend at least twenty hyperfocused minutes going through each wave of hair on a treasure hunt for white gold.
Lest you think this freakish, it’s probably my only vice. I can live with myself.
Do you have anything obsessively wacky that you do? Unburden yourself! This is a place of safety and non-judgement. Reveal thyself and be set free!
]]>Really, I just want to feel less like a weirdo, so if you have to, make something up.
During the cleaning, we had set up an assembly line with my sister and mother bringing over all the glassware and dishes to the sink. Al, my sister’s boyfriend, washed everything by hand and then handed to me for the drying. My dad was breaking down the bar.
After twenty minutes and twenty dishes, I announced I needed a breather. I sat down and felt that vaguely familiar feeling of being drunk. Now, mind you, I haven’t had a good alcohol high in nearly eight years. And the worst part, from what I remember, is when things started to speed up instead of slow down.
Alcohol is a great relaxer. Sure there’s some folks that get crazy on whiskey and tequila tallboys and punch out a bar-back, but for most of us, drinks mellow. At least it did when I boozed. But when things start blurring and the room gets bright, that’s when the trouble starts.
I sat down, took a few deep breaths, and then stood up again. I nearly passed out. Apologizing as I headed upstairs, I needed to sleep.
In my bed I couldn’t get comfortable. I felt something in my throat pushing, wanting to come forth and out. But it wasn’t quite bad enough yet for a manual eject and I tried to fight it.
Throwing up totally sober is among the worst experiences your body can handle. I mean it’s not quite the same as that dude from the movie who cut off his own arm, but I don’t mountain climb, so this is my version of that. It’s a strange thing because you know you’re going to feel better after, but the act of puking is painful. Maybe I’m just a giant pussy. (Not literally)
I ended up puking six times throughout the night. Also, I’m having what I would delicately call “stomach issues.” Less delicately I would call it extreme shitting. If it were an X Games competition, I’d be on tour and sponsored by Charmin.
In fact, and I think this was funny, one time I’m sitting on the toilet doing the deal, and I realize I have to puke. Since I was mid-liftoff, I couldn’t change position, hit the ground and throw up into the bowl. Still sitting, I grabbed the mirrored garbage can to the right of the toilet and unloaded. It was perhaps the saddest moment of my life.
The next morning, being Christmas Day, I was awake only two hours. I missed the opening of presents, the dinner at a family friend’s, and any semblance of holiday cheer.
Plus, since I was sick, my thoughts were as dark as my continuously spouting bile. I starting evaluating my life as a total failure. I couldn’t speak, but I called the girl I’m dating and asked her to reassure me. She convinced me that I’m not a total piece of shit, but that I’m just doing a lot of shitting and not to trust my thoughts during this time.
I actually made it downstairs for twenty minutes of gifts. I couldn’t crack a smile I was so miserable. And nothing is worse than not being able to feel good when you’re opening presents that people have lovingly purchased for you.
The only picture I have that day is from the second gift I opened. I thought I looked okay, and with my fever-brain, I should have known better. For some reason I took the gift that Al had given me, one of those headbands to keep warm when you run, and wore it. Dana took two pictures before informing me I wasn’t smiling.
I forced a smile, and she commenting, “Ooh, go back to not smiling. That doesn’t look right.”
However, even though I technically missed Christmas, it wasn’t a total loss. I had several great days with my family, a few good parties, and great food.
What I initially thought was food poisoning turned out to be a nasty flu, and two days later I feel mildly better. Sure I almost passed out at work today, but I made it through.
Thank you for all the well-wishes during my illness.
