Friday? What? Gone?

I went to The Lamp Post again last night after work; therefore, I spent most of today, unproductively either in bed or zoning out and mulling over some things.

This time I sat in the middle of the bar, which apparently is some invisible age line. To my right sat an elderly couple while all along the bar and tables to my left flocked (and shouted and sang) all the young dudes and 3 women (all blondes).

The elderly couple left early on, so that left me staring at the potato chips for sale and eavesdropping on the very drunk (and progressively more so) owner James talk to his friend Frank Kelly. Frank grew up in the neighborhood, went/goes occasionally to Northern University in Dakalb, IL, and wants to be a firefighter in a suburb.

Jackie, the hotter of the 3 bartenders Mike and I viewed during The Lost Weekend, goes to Northwestern University for her Masters/PhD in Stem Cell Research. She'd only seen James this drunk one other time since she's worked there. Her sexy bod and smug/seductive (sucker the boys into big tips) smile worked its magic on me and I ended up staying for a fourth Jameson on the Rocks. I fall for bartendresses and waitresses so often, it must be a psychological disease.

And now I'm going to Chump's for drinks to wish Backseat B. Farewell on her transfer, later/whatever to Fannie on her transfer, and congrats/whatever on "Honey" A. on her promotion to Floor Supervisor. General agreement is that she's going to be a "ball-buster" on the floor. We will keep on eye open.

I predict many see-ya's, keep in touches, beer, overpriced appetizers, "fake husband" jokes (me and Backseat B.), overly-sensitive moments that create momentary arguments I am only half into, cigarette cravings, more beer, might switch up to whiskey depending on the level of boredom, and then, lamely, we all break up for home around eight or nine o'clock.

I'm always the Young Jerry Lewis

Never the cool Dean Martin.

"Hey Laaayyydieees!"

A man after my own heart (or liver)

TMFTML may be out for a moment.

Pass a glass with 3 Cubes, please.

I'll get back to you

I promise.

The Binge is winding down tonight.

I promise to respond to all your emails sitting in my Inbox.

Extend me a little more patience, please.

I don't even care anymore

That's a lie.

That's what I want to do.

Early this morning, I do a search on Flickr that amounts to searching for "smith" on Google. A needle in a thousand haystacks. But I click on: like 1200 pictures. I hate myself for it.

A $240 fuck-up today. City sticker.

Work was long and boring. I don't know where I want to be, but surely not here. Except when I made Amber Chunky Globes turn red with laughter when I did my "wearing silk boxers" routine.

I don't want to go home. Nothing but heat and memories there. I park on Touhy and enter The Lamp Post. The possibility of Momentary Relief lures me in, like a moth to the flame.

I sit alone at the farthest end of the bar. Stare, and pretend to give a shit about the Cubs v.s. San Francisco game. Cubs win! Mac loses.

I can't escape it, even here. Patrick says "the hardest game in life is love. Being in love and loving someone." His sister died and he got The Phone Call here. I feel like crying overhearing this.

Courtney in the Cubs hoodie went to Lollapalooza with her "new boyfriend!" And he's "so cute!" I watch the other couple make out at the bar and cringe. I kiss another Jameson on the Rocks and a Camel. I hate myself more and more after each drag.

I watch the party on the balcony across the street. A group of black guys and girls in red and white t-shirts. I should be there, but I don't know why. I watch the 13 year old girls at the table by the window, especially the one with the stuffed pink teddy bear. I want to talk to her, hear a fresh innocent perspective on things. They sip their Cokes, and chat with The Lamp Post softball team members dressed in red. Everyone is with a date.

The rain starts up again.

Patrick's blonde friend puts her legs up on the barstool next to me. Her black dress twisted.

"What are you drinking there? You have to watch him, he's drinking that dark liquor, like Scotch or something. What are you drinking?"

"Jameson."

"Ahh, a fooking Irish! Keep a watch on him."

"I can handle him," the older blonde says, and then they pay me no mind.

I have to work tomorrow, so I head out into the rain for home. There's a parking space open right by my back gate.

It was all, sadly, meant to be.

God.

Extending The Lost Weekend

A bird shits on me while I walk to Dominick's.

The apartment burns, melting ice Cubes in record time. A blink of the eye and the Amber light turns clear. My sweat dries in the fan's breath. I rub the glass across my forehead slowly: Momentary Relief.

Isn't that what we all look for? Momentary Relief.

And it's all over. In the blink of an Eye. A flash of a lash. A flick of the ash.

I breath in the smell of Athens tonight. I swallow the taste of Tony's. I ask for help from the Amber Blood of the Irish. I inhale 20 friends of the past, my Prodigal Lovers. Self-medicate. Go with what I know. Push it all down deep inside, never let it see the light of day again because it always rains when I do. I lost my umbrella. Did I ever have one?

I feel like my old Self tonight in the wet heat; I feel like all the bad parts of my old Self. The living parts that lead to death.

Lilly yells at me, telling me I'm doing this all wrong. Get it together. She says I don't know how to love, how to live. "Saigon...Fuck...I'm still in Saigon." I'll be the 35th passenger scrambling for the helicopter that only holds thirty-four. My fingers touch the shell and slide off. My hand outstretched for the Sun behind the Clouds. My eyes reflecting the greyness. I see nothing. Maybe I never wanted to truly leave.

The apartment feels empty. A life force has left, leaving a vacuum. Choking.

The Blue-haired Demons are always gathered outside the Wall. I thought I could hold them off, but that's a lie. Always a couple sneak in the cracks in the Wall. They snicker in the corner of The Cube, holding what I want just out of reach. Their teeth flash in the flame's flicker. My skin turning red; they bath in poison ivy and eat Love.

They know I cannot kill them. I embrace them tonight.

* * *

The Lost Weekend.

Fragments come back to me like shapes moving hunched-over, just out of sight, in a fog. Random shadowy scary alluring mysterious well-known haunting tempting so close disappear re-appear. Everything is out of order tonight.

The Lamp Post.

A beacon in the fog. A lighthouse in a stormy night. A haven in the turmoil. Guinness, Jameson on the Rocks. Smoky. Dim. Wood. Music. Something to look at, two out of 3 times. Traded Confessions. I hear cries for help, but cannot answer as I am screaming myself. We are both treading water in uncharted territory, for the most part.

Can two men drowning save each other?

• "So here's the story..." and Wilco comes on the jukebox. A movie moment. We laugh in gallow's humor so I don't go insane. I'm not crazy, I'm neurotic. It's funny, in an absurd way. I see the beauty and ugliness of Life in a 3 minute second. Another round.
• "Dude, listening to Kid Rock in the shower hungover is traumatic."
• "I don't know what to do." "Neither do I."
• "There's two apartments open here!"
• "Singles was a bad choice...should have put in Apocalypse Now."
• "Did I just smoke a cigarette?"
• So I'm at work. And this Department Head I barely know sees that we're working at the same counter and gives me this big-ass hug out of no where. WTF? And then, The Croatian Gyration Sensation keeps hitting my arm, Amber Chunky Globes keeps touching my arm and calling me "Pookie," and S.W. pushes me so hard, I fall into the stairway wall.
• Freaking out on the corner of Wilson and Lincoln, inhaling a Camel Light. Staring at the bar's entrance. People in pairs. "Mac, don't beat yourself up. Anyone would be nervous in this situation."
• "Die Yuppie Scum?" "No. I said, 'Can I have a piece of gum?'"
• "I am so glad to see you."
• "So, I'm driving home from work tonight. And I'm like, 'what is this weird feeling?' And I realize I am in a great mood."
• "No, man, pain is pain. Don't compare yourself."
• "You kissed her, too?!?!"
• Constantly: "L.C. or L.S.?"
• "Did you two sleep together?" How did...?
• She never learned to ride a bike until Africa. In the sand.
• "Sorry, I thought you said, 'Elmer College.' Like, Elmer Fudd, like it was a hunting rabbits technical community college"
• "Want another drink?" "No, I'm driving."
• "That's amazing how you smile just talking about his sister like that."
• And I'm looking at her chin. It's cute. And she touches my arm, talking about Gambia. Meant nothing, but cool.
• And she's sitting next to me, squished into the booth. She's leaning away from someone else toward me, and our arms touch for 3 minutes?, a half an hour?, a second? and I'm thinking, "this is exactly where I want to be."
• "Well, I picked that up from the way you were totally staring at her."
• "What is up with all the people singing in this bar?"
• "That blonde is annoying the Hell out of me"
• "Dude. It's like a 6 to one ratio of women to men in this bar."
• Sitting on the porch at five in the morning. The sun is coming up between the trees at the park. I'm drinking the last half of an Old Style, rubbing my head. Hating myself. Looking at The Thin Line Between. I remember the line from Some Kind Of Wonderful-- "I'd rather not see you, and have you think good thoughts about me, than see you and have you hate me."
• "Where's my wallet?"
• "Oh, keys would be good."
• "Dude, seven fucking years! J.B. and I figured out a two to four plan, but seven fucking years!" "Yeah, that's a long time."
• At work, "I'm hiding in flutes section, you can't see me." S.W., as a joke, "Drunk! Nobody wants to see you!" That whole sticks and stone may break my bones but words will never hurt me is a fucking lie.
• And I'm sitting in the booth at The Grafton. I'm pretending to read the menu knowing I won't eat, nervous, self-conscious. I down a Jameson on the Rocks, yearning a Clonzepam. Smoke a Camel Light, watching the door. Anticipation. Dread. Get the Hell out of the way, you fat bar manager! Squash the smoke, order another drink. Wait and need Mike to return. And she walks in looking radiant in the dim light. A smile. A cool white shirt with a martini glass print and jeans.
• Rehashing memories about 76 N. Congress, Bald Zach with that lipstick swastika on his forehead, 120 N. Congress, 48 Mill, telling about the awkward drunken 3-way in The College Inn, "Her kisses were all teeth, biting my lips and shit, not cool. And the conversations in the bathroom; I just wanted to see the band at The Union. They were so hammered." A.R. loading the bong for a game of "I Never." Leaning on the end of the bar at O'Hooley's while he DJ-ed. "Supposedly she drank blood, but, yeah, she was a great kisser." Gay Politics 101, Ron Hunt. "She dated that Asian lesbian, right?" "Yeah, right after me." "All I remember is drinking Old Milwaukee Tallboys, and she's sitting on my waterbed, you know, before Zulu popped a hole in it, and all of a sudden she stands up and starts making out with me." "What did you do then?" "I think we went to Tony's or a party"
• "You can buy Meigs Gold in Amsterdam." "Fuck off, really?"
• Everyone's been overseas but me.
• "WTF? I got pictures of everyone except who I really wanted pictures of!"
• "I haven't seen you in a long time." "Yeah, that ain't right."
• "Okay, don't make eye contact with that guy. He's drunk and dying for conversation. He'll start talking to us." "Nah, he's won't want to leave his seat, but keep an eye on him."
• "Shit! Our bar tab is $107 dollars!"
• "I'm drunk, boys, give me a cigarette."
• "I'll have the same."
• Staring out my kitchen window at the cop car double parked across the street. Totally enthralled, like a movie. They drive off. Aww, show's over. They just wrote a ticket, and the owner of the car comes out. "Damn, man, they wrote me a ticket!" We can't take our eyes off the scene. And then laugh at ourselves, hard.
• "What's up with this MTV dance party shit music?!?"
• "You've never seen The Wall?!?!?!?!?!?!"
• "Kid's T-shirt said 'Charlie don't surf' on the front, but probably had no idea what it was from."
• "Oh my God! It's 4:35 in the morning!"
• "I never really liked the Hop Leaf either."
• "4 a.m. bar?" "Dude, I'm old."
• Lilly's been under the bed the whole time.
• "That's a blog post right there!"
• "Are you done with the computer?"
• And, like a Budweiser commercial, only with actually substance behind it: "I love you, man."
• "You know how Eskimos have like 40 definitions of snow? Same thing with love."
• "Mac. We're pathetic." Ha ha ha.
• I think I am going to pass out on Cybele's porch. I keep staring at the candles and humming Led Zeppelin songs.
• "You know, the fucker lurks, the least he could do is leave a comment."
• "So the river just disappears?"
• "Put on the red dress, pleeeeease."
• "He called your mom for bail money?!?!?"

And a million more that I can't remember now. But wish I did. Remember Everything. Feel free to add in the comments all y'all involved.