During that long hot summer there was always a house to drink at. Boisterous, drunken affairs that always seemed to wind down to quiet conversations in small, shadowy corners. The air that hung over everything seemed dark and heavy.
She attended a few of the parties that summer but he never paid her much attention. One night he stumbled upon her as he stepped outside to take a piss. She was seated on a quiet back patio and she invited him to sit with her. They talked and got drunk as the warm night slowly cooled.
They eventually made their way inside to a smattering of bodies lazily draped across each other on couches, beds and floors. In a front room they held each other close and caressed one another until dawn broke pale through a picture window and he heard her snoring in his arms.
Over the next few months she was vigilant to be with him.
They sat outside her apartment one rainy night and he told her things he never told anyone. She held him and stroked his shaved head as the rain beat on the hood of the car. The windows fogged and their breaths steamed in the cool humidity.
Eventually she gave up on him and those meaningful yet fleeting emotions that seemed just out reach. She was the first person that gave him hope and made him believe in something bigger. His gratitude dissipated into the ether and he hoped she understood how much those fleeting moments meant to him.
He awoke in dark bedroom laying in a heap next to a passed out girl he had never met before. They were both clothed, which was disappointing. He attempted to rouse her to ask her where they were. She didn’t move. He checked to see if she was still breathing and then stumbled out of the room and into the chaos of a raging party.
The apartment was small and packed with people. Music blasted making it difficult to think clearly. Smoke hung at eye level like an ominous fog. Around him he saw familiar faces. His body felt heavy, like a gravitational shift occurred the moment he walked out of the bedroom.
He made his way outside to a biting yet comforting cold. He walked down stairs and was surprised to see snow covering a vast parking lot. The flakes fell softly and quietly and the party became distant.
The quiet was almost deafening. He couldn’t tell if his ears were ringing from the party or from the silence. He trudged along in the snow and found his way to the street. It was deserted in both directions and the street lights cast a haunting glow over the white landscape.
He walked down the middle of the street for a long time, his feet crunching with each step. He fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag and spit, his saliva seemingly freezing before it the ground.
He then cursed as he tried to remember what happened to his coat.
A recipe for Guinness ice cream. Before that tattooed freak Jake turned the wife and I on to Guinness Floats (two scoops of vanilla ice cream and one pint of Guinness Stout) at the Exchange Tavern one hazy evening, I would have cringed at the thought of a Guinness-based ice cream. Now all I have to say is, “Fuck yes.”
Saturday saw the send off for my buddy Wil who is walking the Earth for the next six months to a year. He will return home whenever his money or his transsexual hooker sugar daddy connections dry up (literally). We procured a limo for his last evening in the city and took a dive bar tour of Denver in style. Some highlights:
The limo was compliments of one of my work clients who hooked us up with an amazing deal. He gave us a two week old Mercedes Benz limo for the night and stocked it with complimentary beer, gin, whiskey and champagne. The whip was so new that the stereo could only play CDs as the sound system was like the Death Star in Return Of The Jedi and not yet fully operational. We only brought one CD between the seven of us. Said CD was a shitty local techno band and ended up being fired from the limo window by night’s end.
Number of individuals in our group that ordered bacon: 2.
Number of individuals that asked the waitress to “Look away” as he attempted to pick up and eat a strip of bacon that fell of the floor: 1.
The Hilltop, my favorite college-era haunt, did not fail to disappoint (except for the omission of “Ballad Of The Green Berets” from the jukebox which was the traditional way to close all drinking benders back in the day). While walking into the bar a guy came out yelling “Who needs some blow? Some meth? Some X?” While sitting at the bar some troll-looking kid was attempting to start a fight with the a gentleman three times his size. The bartender encouraged smoking after asking if we were cops and than proceeded to light up and “fuck the anti-smoking laws.”
Changing the name of a strip club from Cheerleaders to The Player’s Club does not make your joint instantly classier. You still have to wash the vomit and sweaty ass from the carpet.
Number of individuals in our group that had their wife pick them up from The Player’s Club: 1.
Number of individuals in our group that lost an electronic device sometime during the night: 2.
Number of individuals in our group that were called by the limo company with the whereabouts of their lost electronic device: 1.
Be sure to rubber up in the jungle, Wil. Once you establish your white warlord presence in Belize, we will be down to slaughter cattle with machetes in front of the locals as a lesson not to cross you. In short, be safe and enjoy your adventures.
She Who Will Not Be Named and I had an extraordinary time in Vegas. Many seven and sevens were consumed, fake breasts were flaunted and I broke even thanks to a good night playing Let It Ride and having enough sense to walk away when I was up. Highlights from the trip:
On Sunday night we ate Mexican food and gambled at Caesers Palace. The casino is a dump and most of the dealers are older than dirt, but I did win $100 playing blackjack. Caesers is building a gigantic stadium for Celine Dion modeled after the Roman Coliseum. According to my friend, “They paid that bitch millions of dollars to sing there.”
Monday during the day, we relaxed by the pool drinking Pina Coladas and sleeping. At night, we attended the La Femme show at the MGM Grand after a gorge fest on king crab legs at the Rio’s all you can eat seafood buffet.
Yesterday, I turned 27. My parents and She Who Will Not Be Named took me out for a delicious steak and numerous 24-ounce micro-brews. It was a nice evening and thankfully I was not tuned up on amphetamines and cutting off my own penis.
One thing being on vacation taught me is that work sucks. I do not look forward to going back on Monday.