12 April 2012

Dead Pigs, Homicide, Hammers and Communism

I warned him before he came to meet me for beers that I was in one of those moods, frustrated and emotional and cranky. I told him maybe he would be taking his life into his own hands by coming up to drink with me. T did not believe me. T has the balls to ask what is wrong and the floodgates open after the second tequila.

I tell him about work, about how I keep getting laid off from the bar we are drinking at. I tell him that it seems like I simply can't get my shit together and talk about how much I loved bartending there.. I complain about money and work and $4 a gallon gas and then mention that just in general? Life blows right now. I tell him how I feel about my marriage and maybe cry a little bit when I try to explain that I feel like I should be able to be happy, how I wanted to keep our family together, but that I was going to have to leave anyway because I simply can't do it any more. 

We argue about my feeling like a bad person because I am unable to simply suck it up and just be happy not being unhappy. I mention that I love my husband, that I love hanging out with him, but that we are unable to really have a relationship, with all that we have been through this last year. I tell him how much I love to see Husband smiling and laughing and being a good dad and that I don't want to ruin it. I wonder if I am a selfish prick for not being able to go on this way. 

He makes valid points, tells me everything that I would have told someone else, but I don't care. I am all sad and feeling sorry for myself. I maybe tell him to shove his irritating optimism up his ass before steering the conversation back to shallow waters by discussing the state of communism in China. 

I think we were arguing in earnest about my stubborn refusal to see less than the best in everyone when Boss Lady bounces up to the bar and shows me a paper. She tells me that they are going to have a hog roast at the bar. T offers to fill the bar with bikers and then asks if I am working Saturday. I tell him that I am unemployed at the same time Boss Lady tells him that I am bartending Saturday.

I am thoroughly confused by this, so I do the only thing I can think of and offer to kill the pig for the hog roast. With a hammer. Because I like hammers.

 I pluck the list out of Boss lady's hand and begin to write "kill pig" on the bottom of the paper. I proclaim it to be my list of shit to do. I then wonder what would happen if someone found the list and maybe thinks I am talking about killing cops. I spend a long time trying to figure out a synonym for pig that cannot be confused with a derogatory term for law enforcement. It is not as easy as one would think. 

Upon returning the list to Boss Lady I agree to a number of things. Someone mentions bringing a dish. I offer to bring chips and dip because I don't want to kill anyone. I offer no explanation as to why people would die if I didn't bring chips and dip.

The bartender pours us shots and asks us if we know that feeling, where you really just want to hit someone with a beer bottle. I tell her hammers are better, but who brings a hammer to a bar anyway...

T and I spend several more minutes arguing about killing people for various reasons when I realize the lady sitting next to us is staring with what can only be described as trepidation. 

I remember T's recent statement, "Fuck yeah. Because I would have killed that motherfucker." T has a way of looking really serious and mostly scary even if he isn't.

I laugh at the poor lady and tell her that T is only joking. Mostly joking. Actually he's maybe dead serious. Who knows?
 I am doing nothing to relieve this woman's fear. I maybe mention that T does not kill people just for no reason. Unless there is vodka involved, then everyone dies.

I tell T that is why he has trouble making friends. 

We return to arguing until we decide to annoy the shit out of each other by playing songs on the juke box that we know each other hate.

When I sober up in the morning, I realize that I have agreed to several things. I retract my offer to kill a pig via text to Boss Lady. I ask T if he remembers what days I have agreed to cover for the bartender that served us. He does not, but he pretends he does and ends up telling five different things before he admits he has no clue either.

3 comments:

  1. Wow. And to think, I already published a photo of this conversation. Wish I'd been a part of it. I really gotta start paying more attention to what's going on around me. Another really good job Kris.

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  2. Sometimes I would like to be the one listening in on some our conversations... not very often, but sometimes.

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  3. The only time you would be on the listening end of those conversations is in a drug induced state inside a 1960's mental institution. I completely pictured T saying he'd "already have killed that motherfucker" (possibly due to the multiple times he has threatened to kill me)....Heavens to Betsy, do I miss that man. He's going to start wanting royalties in the blogs if you aren't careful....M

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