Sunday, February 12, 2006

OXFORD CONFIDENTIAL:
Pabst Blue Ribbon, The Dangers of Blue Sharpies, and Women Who Listen to Johnny Horton

OXFORD, Ohio (ZP) -- In the beginning, there was darkness. That darkness soon gave way to bright winter sunshine, pouring through my bedroom window and digging holes into my eyelids.

There's nothing like a Saturday morning hangover, especially when you have no clue how you got home the night before.

The last thing I remember, a colleague and I were in a Starbucks, trying to sober up after a bit of workweek-inspired bar hopping. I had put down three liters of that lovely ambrosia that is Pabst Blue Ribbon, a Red Needle, and a Captain Morgan's and Sprite. I walked with him back to his car, completely intent on going home and sleeping it off.

My cellphone started bouncing around in my jeans pocket. I tried ignoring it but it just kept vibrating. So I walked back to the coffee shop to sit down, further sober up, and to find out what was so damned important as to call at midnight.

After that, I know I hooked up with a party of girls on a pub crawl. And I know this one woman - an emergency responder from a nearby large metropolitan are - thought I was lying about being a librarian, because she'd never met a straight male librarian before, especially one who wore workboots and tee shirts to the office.

The rest, a day later, is still a bit of a gummy haze.

Waking up after a night of drinking is an artform. Having done this quite a bit when I was an undergrad, I approach the piecing together of a night's events like a surgeon removing an appendix. First, I examine the body for strange markings. I had blue Sharpie "tattoos" all over my arms. Let's see...there's the "I'm a man eater" tag that somebody put on my arm. There's the anchor tat, which looks like my own handiwork. Then there's the name Brandy written in the middle of a heart and the number 16 underneath.

Okay. Not bad. Could be worse.

Then I notice the clothes on the floor. I don't wear women's low-rise jeans. I have don't own anything with an Aeropostale label on it. And I'm certain I don't own a pair of high-heeled leather boots.

Shit. Fuck. Shit fuck goddamn it to hell.

I got this pain in my gut. I looked at the clothes, then back at the Sharpie heart tag. The number 16, for some reason, left me feeling a bit sick to my stomach. I couldn't, wouldn't...no, there's no way...

Continuing my hangover forensics, I located a purse on the floor. I hate the idea of even sticking my hand into a woman's purse, but, dammit, I'm not going to sit in my own house terrified I may have something in common with R. Kelly. Unless I was slipped a micky, there's no way in hell my moral compass could've gotten that far off balance.

I notice the stereo playing in my living room and somebody singing along to Johnny Horton's Honky Tonk Man. There is also the smell of waffles in the air and frying veggie breakfast sausage.

I found an ID. Nope, not a Brandy and not 16. A emergency response personnel ID and a driver's lisense that reveals that whoever's singing downstairs is 33 years old, 5'7, and an organ donor. How the hell did I end up with a female firefighter in my house and what the flying fuck did I just do? At least I woke up in my own house and the bills in her purse weren't addressed to Mr. and Mrs.

Damn. This is going to be awkward. Its been years since I had to do this - the long march towards a post-stupor introduction.

Getting out of bed seems to be a problem. My ribs hurt; upon inspection, I seem to have a rather large bruise across my chest. I also notice that two of my knuckles seem to have been split open and are sore.

Dammit. What the hell did I drink? Only Jack Daniels puts me in the mood to get into a barfight - another one of those old bad habits I thought I'd outgrown long ago. Given the relatively mild look and feel of my hands, he obviously had a glass jaw. I just hope it wasn't somebody I know.

Charles Bukowski, wherever you are in the afterlife, you can kiss my ass. At least there's no classical music playing and I'm not in a flophouse with a hooker.

At least I was pleasantly surprised when I went downstairs. Apparently, this woman had driven me home in her pick-up ( a monster F-350 sitting in my driveway) and had the designated driver from the pub crawl drive my truck home. And, well, she was pretty darned cute. Reminded me of this actress, Karen Allen, circa Animal House. Dead ringer.

Damn brunettes with slate-blue eyes. Damn them all. But it could've been a lot worse. The last time this happened, I was a grad student in Baton Rouge and the person rooting around in my kitchen made Forest Gump look and sound like a Nobel laureate. I spent the morning of my 25th birthday playing along with an LSU junior who thought I believed her whole I'm a law school student story.

No, she was one smart cookie - we had a rather normal, uniteresting conversation about shopping for miter saws at Home Depot (I'm a DeWalt guy, she's a Makita gal) and the finer points of the recent change in Reds ownership and baseball's steroid problem.

She indicated that she thought I looked less like a Jason and more like someone who should go by his middle name. I noticed my LIS degree was sitting on the kitchen table, as opposed to the shelf in the living room where it normally rests.

Guys aren't the only ones who use CSI-style skills in the aftermath of a one night stand. Any guy who thinks otherwise obviously knows less about women than I do.

That's just what it was. It's usually easy to figure that kind of stuff out within the first ten minutes of post-stupor conversation. Nothing good ever comes out of a drunken fling - not the basis for a healthy relationship, which is what I'm really after, in the long run.

Honestly, I've been around the block enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon of meaningless flings. I'm dissappointed in myself, but I've been in worse situations. At least this fling made a point of making sure I made it home okay and stuck around long enough to help fill in the blanks.

For some reason, I don't feel like beating myself up over it, because, well, she was cute and seemed like a nice person. And she made waffles.

Bruises and busted knuckles? Some asshole made a comment about some girl asking to be raped because of how she was dressed. Apparently, there are guys who think any group of women walking through a dark alley are fair game for groping and unwanted cat calls. I can barely tolerate that kind of behavior sober, much less intoxicated. Apparently, even drunk, I tried walking away, but he punched me in the ribs.

The guy did have a glass jaw. Two punches and out like a codeine addict. No drunken brawl. Probably split my knuckles on the silver spoon sticking out of his mouth.

Normally, I'd be beating myself up over the whole thing. Why I didn't just go home after a six-hour drinkfest with coworkers is beyond me. Some regrets, but no need for unnecessary punishment. I regret the fighting part, but not the motivation behind it. I really regret not making better decisions, but, like I said, it could've turned out much worse. I realize I was very lucky this time.

C'est la vie.




19 comments:

kristy said...

I carouse at home exclusively. All I have to worry about is what sort of bizarre comments I might have left on other people's blogs...

Of course, I'm old and stodgy. Your milage may (and obviously does) vary.

KFigment said...

I will never know how you do it. I will say this I needed the laugh and have this picture of you in the oh shit what did I just do moment. Classic Jay!!!!

Anonymous said...

Um yeah. now i know who you are for sure. you were in the place where i work friday night with a bunch of people and some tall guy threw a paper airplane and came this close to getting asked to leave but you guys were pretty funny. You guys were hammered and yeah check your reciept. you only got charged for two of those pbrs :)

You kept drinking after you left?!? You were fucking wasted dude. Was it with the girls whose shirts you signed???? Which one was the chick?

sorry if i'm secretive but i don't know who i work with who might be reading this. love the blog and yeah miami students can be really stupid sometimes. thanks for sharing and i'll say hi next time you come in because it must be kind of creepy. i feel like i know you but duh! its a web page :)

The ZenFo Pro said...

Kristy:
Yeah, I've gotta learn to do that. The longer I live in this stupid town, the more I feel like I regressing back to my college years.

Mileage? Lol... I feel like a 1979 rusted-out Pinto with a pine tree air freshener.

Kfig:
I don't know either. It is pretty funny, I guess. Painfully awkward, but funny. Sadly, I think it is classic me. Not the good classic but...

Anon:
Lol...yeah kept drinking. Probably won't go drinking again any time soon. Feel free t come up and say hi, though. Yes, creepy sometimes, but its nice to put a face to a commentator.

Finally! You win the "privacy is a virtue" award. No worries. Thanks for the free liter! I'll tell the tall guy to not throw anymore airplanes.

Alice: In Wonderland or Not said...

I'm pretty disappointed in you too but then again I am not the mother of the blogeshphere and I tend to be pretty judgemental ;I just pretend not to be.

Maybe I'm just jealous as it would never occur to me to even consider getting drunk enough not to remember if I brought someone home and slept with them, or to be taken home by someone drunk enough not to remember who I am.

Then again if you had a good time and no one is any worse for wear ........but if you can't remember what is the point?

The ZenFo Pro said...

Alice:
No worries. Kinda disappointed in myself. Not exactly what I was looking for, and I wish I could simply blame it on a shitty week (work, friend went into rehab, another friend has health problems, another has marriage probs., etc) but I learned a long time ago that I'm still responsible for me, even when the shit hits the fan. There was no point - that's the problem. I'm nowhere near being perfect; wouldn't want to be because then I'd lose my humility. Part of me is pissed at myself, the other part is nonchalant about it. Shit happens. Can't change the past. I'm the first person to admit my mistakes - and there have been too many to count. This is, actually, the last thing I'd judge me harshly on, other than for being stupid.But there's obviously something I didn't learn from the past. Or maybe I did. Flings like this are, well, boring and awkward. There isn't really a purpose, so why do it?

I actually remember more now that I've posted about it and discussed it a bit. It wasn't just me who was past the point of making a rational decision, either. Yeah, probably shouldn't have gotten into this girl's truck in the first place. I hate getting that drunk and haven't been that intoxicated since, well, that LSU event. That didn't end nice and clean either. And I kind of feel icky even blogging about it.

Lol...see, feel free to cast judgement. I keep tellng people I have thick skin and I also realize this kind of flips the table on a lot of people's perceptions of me. I'm kinda braced for some harsh comments...

Stacy said...

damn dude. can't really think of anything to say been trying to think of something for like an hour and nothing. sorta see where like Alice is coming from and sorta see where you're coming from. I'm a bit dissapointed but yeah you're also human too. don't beat yourself up. i think you probably got played more than you think. Women are fucking evil and manipulative and having a vagina myself I'll be the first to admit it.

Voodoo Child said...

harsh comments would be pointless. you lived your evening how you did. most of it sounded fun, but there's always a divot in a game of golf. at least you didn't drive that hammered, and that's mostly what counts, you made (mostly) rational decisions. i've yet to drink myself into forgetfulness. i attribute that only to the heavy german blood in me.

shayna said...

I can honestly say I have never been drunk enough not to remember a one night stand... LOL! Glad you are alright and can tell the story! ;)

Anonymous said...

Are you sure you werent slipped anything. memory loss is a sign sometimes and that happens to guys around here just like it happens to girls. I had it happen to me once man. Not fun.

KFigment said...

I can't take it anymore. I have sat here and read all the bitches. How chaste of you all to comment on a guy going out with his friends letting loose and taking the one time in a blue moon to get so smashed. Then to go on and comment on two consenting adults who used each other to have a good time. Who talked it out over a breakfast of waffles and left each other with the memory of a good night a great morning and all and all a fun time.

IF this is a bad thing I missed that page in the book of right and wrong. No one got hurt (except for the asshole who was talking about raping women) and everyone involved had a good time.

Get over yourselves and live a little.

Ms. Monkeythong said...

At least you didn't get drunk and sing karaoke...or did you? Bwwhhhaaaaa! ;-)

LibraryTavern Liz said...

Damn, man! If I got so drunk that I couldn't remember anything from the night before, it would probably take me 3 or 4 days to recover.

That's partly due to apparent hypoglycemia, but it's also something that just happens with age (and I don't mean geriatric time--keep blogging after you turn 30 or so and then tell us about a night drinking. It will be a different story).

All that said, I did once find myself on a dance floor in a bar I had never been in before with nobody else I knew on the dance floor. It was kind of freaky.

As for the one-night-stand part ... well, it's not my thing. Flings, yes. One-nighters, no. If you don't mind one-nighters, then what's the problem. Or is the problem that you do mind. Or is it that you can't remember so you don't know whether it was worth it?

Anonymous said...

Was your butt sore and did you have a funny taste in your mouth?

You may have been abducted by aliens and probed.

It happens...

The ZenFo Pro said...

Stacy:
Not beating myself up. Just feel kind of stupid and juvenile. And yes, there are evil and manipulative women. I've been involved with way too many of them :)

VC:
Lol...actually, I remember a bit more than I did when I posted. Haziness, but no permenant memory loss. Just had to think about it. Yeah, my Scots-Irish, German, and Cajun genes that get me into trouble. I would've posted a complete inventory of what, exactly, I drank, based on my receipts but that would make me look like a complete lush. (lord, am I in trouble when the end of the month gets here...)

Shayna:
Thanks! Yeah, sometimes I take my Hank Williams connection a bit too far (my grandfather's brother was actually fired by Hank for partying too much...hell, the stories I grew up NOT hearing until I became an adult.)

Anon:
Almost positive. Let's just say I had enough booze in me to kill most average drinkers. Luckily, it was paced over 6-8 hours (5:30 pm - last call, which here is 2:45 pm). Thanks for the concern. I was involved with a woman who was slipped ruhypnol at a frat party when I was an undergrad. Thank you for the concern!

Kfig:
I was wondering how long you could take it ;) And I think the waffles thing is starting to sink in a bit - that is kinda impressive, huh? At least she was, well, a career-minded and down-to-earth. No history (that I was aware of) of borderline, antisocial, or narcisistic personality disorders, nor any visible signs of suicide attempts or substance abuse (yeah, that's gonna make a fun post one day ;)

But you know more than I post about the fuckedupedness that has been my romantic history.

For those unaware, waking up next to anybody has, well, been a bit of a terrifying exp. for most of my life. Anybody wanting to judge me too harshly...hey, when you've been awakened by somebody only to be asked "is it normal that I like to paint in my own menstual blood?", call me and I might give a shit.

Damn. Sorry if that was harsh.

MM:
Lol. No karaoke. But plenty of blue sharpie :) I e-mailed a few of my coworkers Sat. to find out what happened. They waited until Mon. morning to make fun of me...

Liz:
What is this being past 30 shit, chica? Why is it every single woman in her 30s starts sounding like they're ready for Depends and Matlock reruns? (sorry...topic of conversation Saturday morning...touchy after having somebody five years older than me acting like she had robbed a cradle...Lol...) You're only as old as you feel...biology be damned, I tell you ;) Besides, have the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old - keeps me young :)

The one night stand thing does bother me, actually. I don't know how many times I've criticized students for doing the same thing - makes me feel a bit like a hypocrite. But...lol...it really could've turned out worse.

Don't feel bad about the dance thing. Hell, I once woke up in the wrong city when I was in high school. Hitched a ride with a few folks who I thought were headed to Lynchburg, Va. (near my hometown) and ended up in Petersburg (60 miles in the wrong direction.) That involved a jar of white lightning, some Hawaiian Punch, and a few pints of MD 20/20.

Lol...now that I think about it, maybe there is something for alcohol tolerance declining at 30 :)

Anon 2:
Lol...I really hope you're not the same anon as before. No anal probes and no funny taste, other than cottonmouth.

shayna said...

Happy Valentine's
Day
! :) Go by and pick up your gift... hope you like! ;)

LibraryTavern Liz said...

Jason,

It's not that your alcohol tolerance declines after age 30. If you drink pretty often, you can have a very high tolerance, if by that you mean appearing sober/not being drunk. The problem is, you don't even have to get drunk to find yourself feeling sick the next day. Like I said, there are some blood sugar issues going on here, so it's not just about alcohol. Hell, if I don't eat right I don't feel good the next day whether I drank alcohol or not.

As for robbing the cradle ... I always feel that way with younger men. I like younger men, but it always feels awkward, so I understand what your 'date' was feeling.

Anonymous said...

http://www.analsexyes.com/toys.shtml

Watch your butt!

The ZenFo Pro said...

Shayna:
Hey, and a happy V-Day to you, too. Thanks!

Liz:
The lowered tolerance was part of m prolem, I think. When I was a bigger guy (240 lbs), I had a higher alcohol tolerance. But I've never adjusted myself for a) a 165lb build or b)the fact tatmy bloodsugar was definitely off balance from not eating much that day. As for eating, I also feel lousy.

It depends on how old or how young, I guess. I generally, according to friends, have an 8-year window (19-35 currently) based on past relationships.

Anon:
That's pretty funny. No need to watch my butt.