Sunday, February 20, 2011

Where They Shrink His Gold

When I start drinking, anything that could be used to transmit a message should be taken from me. Maybe even pen and paper. I drunk texted someone last night. Yes, I did. I made sure to tell the recipient that although I was drunk, I could still spell. I've joined a comically shameful club.

Josh's family came to town yesterday. My family came to town last weekend. My family didn't come into the house once. Josh's family stayed at the house. Our families are so different.

I got extremely drunk with Josh's family last night. I saw some things I'd love to write about, let me tell you, but I won't, ever. What I saw was complex and amazing. What I saw was love, duh, and it is none of your business, but it was beautiful. Everyone should be so lucky to have a family like Josh's.

We all went to brunch this morning, unshowered and looking HAWT. My hair was the best it's been in a while. There were some attractive men serving us our biscuits and gravy, and for that, I'm so thankful. This one guy had lots of arm tattoos. It pressed my buttons. I had a slice of peanut butter pie. It tasted better than any other slice of peanut butter pie I've ever had.

I brushed my teeth this morning, but my mouth still tastes like the air in an old pickup truck. Josh's sister was plying me with cigarettes last night. Cigarettes remind me of home. Not home as I've defined it now, but home like my childhood. That home. I think that's why I don't consistently smoke. I don't want that feeling of home to be replaced with routine. I want it to be on command when I'm drunk and nostalgic. I want to be dizzy with it.

One of my vegetarian friends had the unfortunate pleasure of debating food ethics with Josh's drunken family. We wondered whether we could kill the animals we eat. I said I could maybe kill a chicken. Last summer, I accidentally ran over a snake with my car. I don't think I could really kill a chicken.

Later in the night, there was crying. Sometimes when you're drunk, you cry. I didn't cry. While the other people were crying, I had to cover up a smile. I was so happy to see other people feeling something. After three bottles of wine and countless beers, you should be feeling something. They were feeling such pain. Years and years of pain. Their voices disappeared. It was all faces and feelings. They knew what they were trying to say. I just sat there and watched. There was no way for me to participate in this profound event.

Yesterday at lunch, Josh's brother told us about LEPRECHAUN 4: IN SPACE. We laughed and we laughed, our fingers yellow with curry.

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From the mouths of beasts.