Nervous. Shaky. Clammy. Sweaty. Hot. Fidgety. Another two day hangover. Nothing accomplished. 10pm. I walk out the door. Friday night. Excited. Tired but excited. Just finished my first beer. Oatmeal Stout. Always need to drink one before I leave the house. Old habits are hard to break. Jump into the car. Dizzy. Edgy. Put on The National. Fake Empire. Crank the music and drive to The Keg. Excited. My one night out. I park the car and walk to The Keg. Go inside. Mumble a few words to the host. Hoping for a hostess. Getting a gay host instead. Mumble a few words and then go to the bar. Sit at the bar. Say “HI” to the bartender. The male bartender. Look around. See cute girls everywhere. Waitresses. Patrons. Bartenders. All cute. All young. Pull out Bukowski’s “Tales Of Ordinary Madness.” Let it sit on top of the bar. Don’t read it. Just sits there. Lonely. All alone. See Jessie. Say “HI”. Smile. Order a bottle of wine. Male bartender pours it into a decanter. Lets me do a taste test. Give him the nod. Sweating. So fucking hot. Why are restaurants and bars and coffee shops so fucking hot??? He now pours me a full glass. Grab it. Grab it and take my first real sip. Going to be many more. See Jonah. See Scott. See Ang. See Mischa. Say “HI” to all of them. Bukowski still sitting on the bar. The four seats beside me are empty. Soon to be filled. Distractions. Always distractions. Four young cute girls enter and take the empty seats beside me. Young. Cute. Bubbly. All wearing slutty summer dresses. Teasing. I can almost see their panties. Showing leg. Peak over. Not getting caught. Look again. And again. So close. Panties right there. Cute panties. Young panties. Smooth legs. Cute girls. Young girls. Girls half my age. I could be their Dad. Still trying to get a glimpse of panty. Not succeeding. Trying but failing once again. Life full of failures. When will it get better?
Finish my first glass of red. Drink another. Order a steak. Bukowski still there. Jonah trying to convince me to perform a monologue for his fundraiser. I HATE FUCKING MONOLOGUES. Boring chatter by boring actors reading boring monologues. I say “NO.” Always say “NO.” Wait for my steak to arrive. Drink more wine. Car still outside alone. Text Ben. Invite Ben to come down. He accepts. Still trying to get a peak at young panties. Horny. Looking up. Seeing young girls ass in front of my face. Tight jeans. Tight ass. Not flabby yet. Soon to be flabby. Always gets flabby. Old age ruining everything. Why do we have to get old? Feeling hot. Face pulsating. Thoughts racing. Steak arriving. Drink more wine. Eat steak. Amazing. Young girl beside me looks over. Looks at steak. Not me. Wait for Ben. Eat steak. Drink wine. Observe. Observations. Panties. Legs. Laughs. Dresses. Jonah. Scott. Jessie. The guy bartender. Ben arrives. Hyper. Full of energy. Laughing. Drinking. Talking. Dunksy beside me knocking my leg. Not saying sorry. Khaki pants on. Friends with the young girls. Gay accent. Getting drunk. Me. Not him. Always getting drunk. Still no glimpse of panties. Torture everywhere. Married. Getting old. Getting drunk. Young girl beside me gets up to go to the washroom. Spreads her legs right in front of me. Need to look. Need to look. Need to look. I can’t. Look away. TORTURE. Sweating. Another missed opportunity. Finish my steak. Finish my bottle. Drunk. Order a glass. Girls leave. Going to another bar. Wanting to get laid. Probably will. It’s easy for girls to get laid. Guys will fuck anything. I would fuck anything tonight. I’m married. Drink more. Think of Laura…my wife. Think of Taylor…my daughter. Home. Sleeping. Get my bill. Pay the bill. Even with my discount I still fork out 100 bucks. Get one more glass of red. Chug it. Teeth red. Face red. Eyes red. Blurry. Horny. Walk over to a British Pub. Order two Guinness’. Drink them. Chug them. Give Kim a story of mine to read. WANTING HER APPROVAL. Don’t get it. Look at her nice tiny tits. Perky tits. Tiny tits. Tiny and perky. HATE BIG TITS. “What do you think?” I ask her. “It’s just a personal story,” she replies. Saying it as if this is a bad thing. Another follower. Stuck on the notion that Shakespeare is good. Society winning the battle. Forcing opinions on minions. Top ten books. Top ten movies. Top ten plays. Top ten cars. Top ten actors. Top ten cities. Who makes these lists? Boring people with boring opinions. DON’T THINK. FOLLOW. FOLLOW. FOLLOW. FOLLOW. SHAKESPEARE? Does anyone really like Shakespeare? Drunk. Rejection from Kim. Opinions. Dumb opinions. Not listening. Drunk. Ben still there…I think. Last call over. Get the bill. Pay the bill. Stumble outside. Fall into a cab. Arrive at home. Not sure how. Blackout. Drunk. Three in the morning…I think. “WAKE UP…DADA…WAKE UP,” Taylor whispers in my ear. She wakes me up. Six in the morning. Still drunk. Taylor not knowing. I am now up. Blurry. Drunk. Smelling. Now asleep. Again. “WAKE UP…DADA…WAKE UP,” Taylor tries again to wake me up. It is now eight thirty in the morning. I am up again. Still drunk. Head pounding. No coffee. Eight Tylenol’s. Laura barking. Taylor playing. Sunny outside. Beautiful day. Sweating. Smelling. Shaking. Everything still blurry. Looking for my glasses. My wallet. My pants. My shirt. My bag. Everything made it home safely. Usually does. Sometimes not. Pathetic. When will I learn? One bottle limit. One bottle limit. Waste of night. Waste of day. Waste of money. Waste of opinions. Waste of time. Waste of love. Everything was a waste. Alcoholic? Yes. But I’ll do it again next weekend. Why?
Life and Love. I love you Laura and Taylor.
notanotherphony. 