Adventures With Alcohol
They happen so damn often too!
They did it again. My Cousins Murphy did it even thought I swore they wouldn’t. Yet again, when I go to visit, this time for Thanksgiving, they seemingly treat me like a Gollum, dragging a bag of urban filth into their perfect suburban life. I promised myself last time, when I was berated for being me that I wouldn’t visit. Or if I did I would be me and not care.
This time, I tried, I really did, to be kinder, gentler Wayan. One who they wouldn’t think is a bad influence on their kids. A cooler, older cousin that Sam, Peter, and Alice could look up to as they grew up. One they wouldn’t yet again berate for real or imagined slights.
I can’t imagine where they get this image of me. Why do they think I such negativity, such indecency, such unadulterated evil? Is it because I am found on random boats instead of daily career-focused work? Is it because I am divorced instead of happily married to my sweetheart? Or is it because I live my life to the fullest every damn day, consuming each second with lustful passion?
Yeah, that’s it! That must be why! Living life like this little Friday after Thanksgiving night out:
Friday night starts with me rounding up two of my crew, my housemate Frances and my coworker Carlos, for a little pre-drink. Slamming vodka straight, we get lit before we even leave the house. Then we head down to Adams-Morgan, to a bar where Carlos knows the bartender, and we hammer more drinks.
Soon I have Frances working two girls in from outta town. Military types maybe, but horny types definite. He’s making action when I point out a new option for Carlos: the redcoat girl. Never one to pass such an obvious girl-out-for-fun, I fall on my sword setting him up. So there it is, me with two wingmen hooked up and I all by my lonesome. Calling in backup, I head to the Blue Room to await my friend Jeff and his crew.
There I realize that I’m way to wasted to function. I can barely stand much less make a play, and its time for me to head home. Into a cab I dive and home I go. I know I had a pint of Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk, but I cannot confirm much else.
I have no clue how I wound up in Frances’ clothes bin, and without the digitized proof, I’d deny it to this day. Alas, I must accept it happened. That I somehow ended up asleep in his clothes bin, fully clothed thankfully, but so damn embarrassed the next morning.
Yeah, that must be why the Cousins Murphy see me as Gollum dragging a bag of urban filth into their perfect suburbia. Who would want their kids to be exposed to such a reprobate? You?
Me? I know I would!