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Wednesday, October 15, 2008

Heaven has a road, but no one travels it; Hell has no gate but men will dig to get there.

The following may in fact be my actual ticket to hell; rather than marrying again. It is a bright and shining example of the dark and shitty place my sense of humor will take me, given enough alcohol.

It is a fact of the restaurant business that the first one's for dinner are your older patrons. They are there to avoid the crowds and take advantage of any early bird specials one may be offering.
It is also a fact that in the eighties the restaurant business was a hotbed of substance abuse (not much has changed) and the break between lunch and dinner-the launching pad of bad behaviour for later in the evening.

There was a bar and grill across the parking lot of the restaurant and a few of us were pounding down cocktails to steel us for the slow and crushing onslaught of the geriatrics at five o'clock.

I may have been overdoing it.

As I began to go into a black-out before four p.m. there seems to be no question of it. I was always cursed or blessed, depending on how one looks at it, with being able to maintain and function even in the darkest, most incomprehensible of binges.

It was if my sense of humor rose to the surface of my consciousness and took over, steering me past the rocky shoals of complete annihilation, bringing me to berth at a safe and sound location.

Except this time.

My first table was a man and his wife; both probably in their eighties-man in a walker; woman, outfitted with what I can only refer to as the voice box prosthesis given to trachea cancer victims, or what I lovingly refer to as "the cancer kazoo."

I was dimly aware of standing in front of them, weaving a bit, with the full intention of explaining the evenings specials when suddenly I was possessed with the spirit of Bill Murray's lounge singer, grabbing the said 'kazoo' and going into 'the bit.'

"Hey, what a great crowd, anybody here from out of town?" The man became apoplectic and I found out the dear old lady was attached to the apparatus so as I weaved about the table, she lurched and jerked along with me. That was when I broke into the song "Feelings."

You haven't lived until you have heard that schmaltzy song run through someone else's voice box.

The entire waitstaff was absolutely silent and stood open mouthed, watching the debacle.

I have never been fired so fast.

Experience is what life gives me when I don't get what I want.

My Mother loved the fact her boys were together. In some way it made her more complete. I think it simply enabled her to drive us both bat shit with one phone call.

I had found another 'her' at a Mexican restaurant where I was working in Los Colinas. She was five years older and an ex-cheerleader.

I was hooked. We saw each other every day for a month and culminated the relationship with four lobsters, a lot of drawn butter and plastic sheets on her bed. (I said my depravity was not bottomless, I didn't say it wasn't deep.)

We hung out with some friends of hers who were into staying awake for a week at a time and who also smoked weed. I stayed off the crank, but got right back into the weed. I have a huge denial system, one that will tell me as long as it's not alcohol it's okay. Today, I know that anything I do to cut me off from reality is doing more harm than good, so I elect to feel the hurt, knowing it will eventually go away.

My grandmother died at my Mom's house during this period after a lengthy battle with cancer and she left my brother and I both $1,000. If I don't sound broken up about this it's because we were not close. She thought me far too much like my Dad, and hated us both.

We took a trip to Florida with the cash and I took my new 'her' with us. We went to Crystal River and swam with the Manatees. Awesome experience until she woke up in the middle of the night screaming I was her dead grandfather (who as luck would have it had a similar tattoo and molested her as a child.) The crazier they are the more they love me.

She wound up moving to California for her career. The nerve. (This was the late eighties when it was considered cool for a woman to tear your heart out to further her career, so she was the coolest.) Yeah, I could I have gotten that attached in a you forget who we are dealing with?

This was back when that was all I needed to fix whatever the fuck it was that was wrong with me. This meant I had to find another one, and do the dance all over again. (I was starting to tire of the process, but wouldn't become completely exhausted with it for another 12 years. Talk about never say die...Jesus wept.)

So I found a new seafood place to work in, not half a block from our apartment. Started hanging out with another waiter who was a part time musician, who had done time and I started drinking on the sly. I at least think it was sly, as I didn't do it in front of my brother, but felt it okay to smoke weed sitting in the open windowsill of my bedroom, while my brother literally prayed in the next room.

The dark was starting to close in again and I soon performed an act that will probably seal my fate and send me to hell. Not as bad as if I were Kosher and ate a bit of bacon, god forbid, because I think my God is bigger than sending me to hell over a fucking side dish, but, pretty bad all the same.

My new disclaimer...yeah I know.

Okay, the old disclaimer was tired. The ideas were outdated and keeping me stuck in a place I don't want to be now for something more refreshing.

I have recently changed my views regarding women. Seems I had some issues with the fairer sex due to past pain and self- centered fear. (Yes...duh applies.)

I'm done with that.

Being in recovery has helped me change my entire life, perceptions and attitudes. I cannot change my history but I can change my today and my future.

I recently realized that the women I know in recovery are some of the strongest, bravest, most gentle and kind teachers I have ever had. You exemplify integrity and spiritual growth, and I hope you know who you are.

Some may know of my past marital and relationship history and been a participant in them as well. It's past and that's where it the past.

I own my part in those failures but claim no more responsibility in any misery you may be experiencing. I am sorry, but it's time to get off the cross. We need the wood.

Thank you all...