I'm still reeling
, but I don't really know why. Last night started innocent
ly enough. It was Tuesday
, they go to The Brewer's Art
on Tuesdays, and everyone gets a little drunk. I decided to go along, as I'd get to see the lady with whom I am quite smitten
, I'd get to hang out with the cool geek
s and noder
s, and they have really good beer
there. I like beer
I arrive at her house, and I am immediately struck by bliss. She runs down the stairs, and attacks me with a ferocious embrace and a deep series of kisses. I can't help but smile. I decide to drive (since she has a great parking spot that she doesn't want to lose), and we find parking merely a block from out destination. Could the evening possibly be more perfect? "Maybe I should start searching the ground for lottery tickets," I think.
We get there. We grab some beer. We discuss how she looks just like Juliette Lewis in Kalifornia when she wears that dress. I get another beer. In the dim lighting, we mistake some turkey for a french fry, and then for ham. We decide to order some fries. I get another beer. I discuss politics, specifically the presidential candidates, with someone who follows these things a lot closer than I do, and is quite probably my intellectual superior (granted, a dog was my intellectual superior in my inebriated state). I get a small glass of expensive beer, then get another less expensive beer.
It suddenly occurs to me that, after five glasses of tasty 7% alcohol beer, plus the two bottles of Killian's that I had with dinner, I am quite drunk. Whoops. I start to get paranoid that I'm making as ass of myself, as I tend to do when I'm drinking too much. I stick around for some more entertaining discussion, of which I will not recall a single word in the morning. I kiss my girl, and people laugh at our unabashed cuteness. We look at the time. It's 11:15, and we have to get up at 6:00 so she can get to work in time. We say our goodbyes, and I challenge Knarph to a duel. As I am more than a bit intoxicated, she takes my keys and sits in the driver's seat (much to my protests, and demonstrations that I can touch my nose).
Upon arriving back at her place, we decide we are not yet ready to lay down for the night, so we grab my cigarettes and a bottle of cheap blackberry brandy, and head out to the balcony. We talk about tattoos. I discuss my burning flame of undying love for her. She sighs, laughs at me, and tells me I'm drunk. I give her a foot rub, she gives me a kiss. Bliss. I assign to her the nickname of Missy, even though it's totally inappropriate. I realize I've finished the brandy, and I have no idea how. I must have been chugging it. My stomach burns like fire.
We get into bed. I'm really not feeling well. We talk for a few moments. She gets me some Advil. I'm really not feeling well. She asks me if I need to vomit. I'm not sure that I do, but we decide I should bow down before the porcelain god for a few moments and see what happens (it will probably make me feel better). She holds my hair. I fill her toilet with lentil soup (with a tasty splash of cilantro) and rosemary-garlic french fries. "At least I don't have to worry about all the saturated fat in those fries," I think. I realize that the Advil is probably gone, too, but forget to ask for more. I brush my teeth, and we get back into bed. I think I fell asleep shortly afterwards, but my memory after leaving the bathroom is pretty much absent. My next experience is being awakened by the phone.
It's 7:30. She's late for work. We overslept. She must have accidentally set the alarm for PM. As I rush to put some clothes one and brush my hair, I thought occurs to me. "Am I parked on St. Paul?" She stops in her tracks, and looks at me with horror. St. Paul Street is a tow-away zone after 7:00. I throw on some shoes and run out the door.
I briefly try to remember on which block she parked my car, but the tow truck peeking around the corner answers that question quite effectively. I wonder how much cash I have on me. I've seen movies where they had to bribe the guy to let them keep their car. He's cool about the whole thing, though. "Overslept, huh?" I nod, and give a weak grin. He unhooks my car, and writes me up a $35 ticket. I breathe a thousand sighs of relief, and get into my car to move it to a legal spot. There's a terrible grinding sound. She put on my parking brake when she drove us home last night. I never use the parking brake. That noise didn't sound very good, but I don't think I did any damage.
I walk her to her car. She gives me her spare set of keys, so I can go inside to get my cigarettes. She leaves. I leave. I get an orange carrot SoBe and a blueberry Nutri-Grain Bar at the Sleven, and here I am now. I'm tired. My throat burns. I'm drinking lots of water. I'd rather not be here today. I'd rather still be in her bed. In her arms. In the midst of sweet caresses and timid morning kisses. I'm happy, though. Life can be good. Life can be really fucked up. Either way, you're guaranteed an interesting ride.