25 June 2012

There's Sloppy Drunk, Stupid Drunk, Black Out Drunk, and Then There's This Guy

It is not often that I get to experience the wonder of someone drinking themselves schizophrenic.

But when I do?
It's always memorable.

So these two guys walk into a bar... One of them is average size and build and one of them is a motherfucking giant. 
For real.
I'm 5'2", with shoes on and I came up to this dudes nipples.
Aside from the fact that he is a giant, he has those weird bugged out eyeballs.
You know, the ones that Cesare Lombroso theorized were a physical trait of criminality.
So, yeah.
 Fucking super.

Average Size Buddy orders two beers and hands one to the giant. 
The giant has yet to speak.
He takes a long drink of his beer and shifts his weight unsteadily to lean on the bar. He calls me over and asks me my name before confessing that he loves me.
I, of course, tell him that I love him too, and then leave the general area to let his sober friend take care of him.

I should have cut him off.
But he seemed in high spirits and his friend assured me that he wasn't driving anywhere and that he would take care of him. 
So, I served him one more beer and a shot, and he went to play pool.
I mostly forgot the guy was there until I heard him knock over a bar stool.
He staggers back to the bar and orders another shot.
I pretend not to hear him and he forgets that he ordered it.
He then makes his way from one end of the bar to the other, introducing himself to strangers, hugging them and shaking their hands.
His face looks angry. but he seems to be happy on the inside.
Warning sign number one.
When your expression and your emotions do not match... you're pretty much way past fucked up.

He sits down between one old skinny guy and his small friend.
I couldn't understand what he was saying at first, and neither could the old guy, all I heard was,
"What?! You're a Latin King?" Old guy looks thoroughly confused.
Drunk Giant answers, "Nome...My name is Larrrry KING."
Old guy still looks confused. "You say you're a Latin King?"
Now Drunk Giant also looks confused. "Larry? Larrrrrryyyyy King. Kiinngg."
I am laughing so hard that I have tears in my eyes when I translate Drunken Giant's statement to the old guy. Old guy still looks highly uncomfortable, so I ask the giant where his buddy is.
He looks at me and tells me quite seriously that he has no friends at all.
Then he looks at the old guy sitting to his right and proclaims him to be the best and only friend that giant has left.
I am now making no attempt to hide my laughter from the drunken giant.
Which is rude as hell, but I can't help it.

The guy staggers down to the other end of the bar and plops down next to a young couple. He grins and points at the lady and tells her, "You are sexy as Hell. But you already know that huh?" 
Then he introduces himself to the young man, who must be given credit for taking it all in stride and smiling and nodding.

I walk away, so I do not know what happened to convince Drunken Giant that he should absolutely take his shirt off, but when I return to that end of the bar, I find him bare chested and smiling at absolutely nothing. 
The older guy to the left that the giant has decided is his uncle, follows course and removes his shirt as well.
I think he is not really the guy's uncle, but who knows?
The young couple abruptly move to the other end of the bar. The lady even leaves her purse sitting on the bar....
And then a guy we will call Ben, because that's his name, walks down to the end of the bar. Ben is pretty much a giant as well, but Ben is sober. He stops and notes the now three shirtless men at the bar, because Average Size Buddy has reappeared and decided to remove his shirt as well.
I have tears rolling down my face.
I make a mental note to purchase waterproof mascara.
It's become difficult to speak through my laughter and my
 stomach is beginning to hurt.
Ben does not help.
Ben puts his arm around Giant and says, "Holy shit, it's gotten quite gay out over here."
Fuck you Ben, I'm gonna pee my pants.
And then I almost do, because after his gay statement, Ben picks up the young lady's purse, swings in over his arm and walks down to the other end where the couple are now sitting, to return the purse to the young lady.

Drunk guy refuses to put his shirt back on even after everyone else has. He is to busy hugging his newfound uncle.
He bangs his fist down on the bar suddenly and tells me he wants another beer. I nod and smile and walk away, having just poured out the beer he did have.

At some point he makes his way down to the middle of the bar and places a hand atop Kensey and  Bob's heads and introduces himself and then tells them he loves them and wants to kill them.
He then hold Kensey's hand over his chest and closes his eyes.
Okay, then.
I tell him it's probably time to leave.
He staggers over to the end of the bar and leans against the post. 
I ask him if I can help him.
He shakes his head and tells me that he just wants a drink. but since I have told him that he can't have one, there is going to be evil happening.
I ask him what kind of evil and he shakes his head, almost sadly, and tells me that it has already begun.
I glance around the bar and cannot find any sort of anti-Christ or burning pentacles or upside down crosses or anything, so I pat the guy on the back and walk away, deciding that should he start any fights, I am simply going to kick him in the nuts and call the cops.
Maybe in that order even.
I never, ever, ever call the cops.
But this guy is fucking huge.

He tells me that he loves me again and goes back to talk to his buddies some more.
Fucking super.
I won't lie.
I was relieved when Average Size Buddy finally gets him out of the bar and into his car to go home. He left his hat, but at least he remembered his shirt. 
Hopefully, he will come in to get the hat and I will get the opportunity to tell him that he was a fucking douche bag and also that he made me laugh until I cried.

16 June 2012

Nair... Hair Removal My Ass

I operate strictly on impulses. I refuse to analyze why that it is. It simply is. When the impulse to buy Nair Hair Remover Lotion strikes me in Walgreens one day, I simply went with it. I bought the shit, took it home, and promptly used it, visions of silky smooth legs dancing around in my head. That commercial, you know with the girls singing, "Who wears short shorts..." Yep, I was singing it in my head while I read the directions for use.

First of all, you are supposed to test it on a small area of your skin and then wait 24 hours to make sure you do not have any adverse reactions to the lotion.
 Hmmm. Yeah, probably not.
 Does anyone actually do that? 
With any product?

So, I skipped over that shit, and went on to the part where you are not supposed to put Nair in your eyes. 
Got it.
I am now an expert in this Nair shit, having read or skimmed most of the label. 

I did not read the ingredients, because who does that, right?
 Plus it wouldn't have mattered if I did, because the fine print is too tiny to see.
 And by that I mean it's invisible.
Meaning that I am making this shit up right now...

Ingredients: Smell good shit, hydrocloric acid, lye, white fucking phosphurus, more smell good shit and aloe.

Um. Yeah. Probably only the aloe registered in my brain at the time.

Directions: Squeeze lotion into hand.
Thank you Captain fucking Obvious...Is it any wonder I barely skimmed over the rest of the directions?

Smooth on a thick even layer to cover hair. DO NOT RUB IN. Wash hands immediately after application. Red flags? Nope, not a single one. In hindsight of course, one has to wonder why it is okay to leave lotion on legs but not on the palm of your hands for three to ten minutes.

Leave lotion on for three minutes. Check a small area for hair removal.
Nope. Still hairy.

If hair does not come off after three minutes, leave lotion of for a few minutes longer. DO NOT EXCEED 10 MINUTES of total application time. 
Um. 'Kay. I'll just sit in the bathroom and Facebook for four to ten minutes then. Just clicking on shit and sharing other people's pictures and HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF GOD MY LEGS ARE ON FIRE! IS THAT BLOOD? HOLY SHIT, IT IS BLOOD! I guess I should rinse this shit off then.

To remove hair gently wipe off the lotion and hair with a damp washcloth. Do not rub. Once all hair has been removed rinse skin thoroughly in the shower and pat dry. 

Ha! What it should actually say is that after you wipe significant amounts of your flesh off with a damp washcloth, hop in the shower and vigorously wash your legs with any and every soap available in a futile attempt to stop the chemicals from penetrating any more layers of skin. After the burning stops, look at legs and wonder how in the Hell you can be missing flesh and still have leg hair for fuck's sake. Bite on rope while shaving the hair off of your inflamed, angry legs. Wear pants to work anyway because you appear to have been in a meth lab explosion from the knee down.

Having had this experience with Nair Hair Remover Lotion, I can only assume that this is a fake product. Like the bath salts that are not bath salts? Nair lotion is actually used to dissolve dead bodies in your bathtub. It is in no way to be used as a hair remover, as evidenced by the melting of the flesh AROUND the hair....

15 June 2012

Holy Crack in a Bottle...

Redbull does not give me wings. Redbull does not phase me. Products containing ephedra don't do a damn thing for me. I live on five hour energy and Monster energy drinks.

That sign that says, "maximum of seven sugars with coffee" at McDonald's? I probably inspired it.

Three shots of espresso in a small coffee with ten sugars just barely gets my motivation motor running.

I have an unnatural tolerance for stimulants. 

And so when my brother asked me if I had ever tried Redline, aka Methamphetamine in a bottle, I was more intrigued than any normal person should be. Which is not to say that I am in any way normal...

Even after reading this warning label:
WARNING: NOT FOR USE BY INDIVIDUALS UNDER THE AGE OF 18 YEARS. DO NOT USE IF PREGNANT OR NURSING. Consult a physician or licensed qualified health care professional before using this product if you have, or have a family history of, heart disease, thyroid disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, depression or other psychiatric condition, glaucoma, difficulty in urinating, prostate enlargement, or seizure disorder, or if you are using a monoamine oxidase inhibitor (MAOI) or any other dietary supplement, prescription drug, or over-the-counter drug containing ephedrine, pseudoephedrine, or phenylpropanolamine (ingredients found in certain allergy, asthma, cough or cold, and weight control products). Do not exceed recommended serving. Exceeding recommended serving may cause adverse health effects. Discontinue use and call a physician or licensed qualified health care professional immediately if you experience rapid heartbeat, dizziness, severe headache, shortness of breath, or other similar symptoms. Individuals who are sensitive to the effects of caffeine or have a medical condition should consult a licensed health care professional before consuming this product. Do not use this product if you are more than 15 pounds over weight. The consumer assumes total liability if this product is used in a manner inconsistent with label guidelines. Do not use for weight reduction. KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN. Do not consume synepherine or caffeine from other sources, including but not limited to, coffee, tea, soda and other dietary supplements or medications containing phenylephrine or caffeine. Do not use for more than 8 weeks. Use of this product may cause your skin to be extra sensitive to UV sources, such as artificial or natural sunlight. Avoid excessive exposures from these sources. Discontinue use two weeks prior to surgery.

And after also realizing that I had already taken two five hour energy drinks and that I was more hungover than I have probably ever been, I decided that I certainly could handle four ounces of the stuff. So, I drank it. Because my brother had issued a challenge of sorts and also because I desperately needed some energy.

You see, I thought the hangover was going to kill me.

I am reasonably sure that hangovers do not actually kill people, but I thought I was probably dying.

And then I drank the crank in a bottle and I was absolutely certain that I was going to die.

Just moments after drinking the ass-tasting energy drink, my hands began to shake.

My heart was pounding. I could feel it beating against my sternum, probably.
I could feel my heartbeat in my freaking eyeballs.
That shit's not normal.

I could not sit or stand still, not only because of my overabundance of energy, I was afraid that if I stood still for a few moments too long, people would notice my heart beat through my chest. 

I was sweating.
And freezing.
The closest I can get to explaining this hot-cold thing is the really awful fever chills you get when you have the flu... the really bad flu.

Which is funny really, because the next thing I experienced was mind numbing nausea.
You know, the kind where you are afraid to even breathe for fear of puking right there in front of everyone?
Mouth watering, stomach gurgling, whole body shaking and sweating, I figured  I should probably go the fuck home and die already.
Once there, the vomiting began and refused to let up until well into the wee hours of the morning... and I drank half a fucking bottle of this shit!

I wish I could say it ended there when I finally passed out, but it didn't.
The light headed, spacey feeling persisted well into the next day, at least until the diarrhea started. 

I found out during a discussion later with the gas station lady about how the shit almost killed me that it is used as a work out aid!
I have visions of people simply keeling over on a treadmill after drinking 2 to 4 ounces of the stuff.

So, probably, the next time someone offers me meth in a bottle I am going to tell them that I just did a few lines of the real stuff, but thanks anyway...

10 June 2012

Road Trip Observations and Interpretations

In no particular order... things that occurred to me on our 1800+ mile marathon road trip...These are not to be confused with facts. 

South of Chicago? There is a whole lot of nothing to observe in Illinois, other than it is forever fucking long and flat. I suspect there is a single field that runs the entire length of the state.

Either Arkansas smells like shit, or Art had gas.

This is the first I have noticed highway signs that declare "STATE LAW" across the top. I have since noticed them in other states. Before I noticed them in other states, however, I could only draw one conclusion...
People in Louisiana? 
Like to fuck with people. 
They have to put STATE LAW on the top of the sign because probably Louisianans are prone to placing fake road signs on highways.

This wasn't a spontaneous conclusion. It began with the fact that all along the highway there are road work signs. The declare "Road Work in X miles" and then you drive X miles, carefully observing the reduced speed limit, only to discover there is no road work.
 So obviously? 
They are fucking with people.

Also? Every few miles, there are signs that say, "STAY OFF MEDIAN" which led me to ponder whether people in Louisiana commonly use the median for an extra lane.
 Then I noticed that there was a fence running through the median in places. This road, by the way, is somewhere near butt-fuck Egypt, Louisiana, so I am assuming that the local youth are not prone to loitering in the median...
So who the fuck is the sign for?

At the funeral home, there was a truck from Texas.
 It was the only out of state plate that I saw.
 In all of Louisiana.
So, obviously?
Only people from Louisiana drive to Louisiana. 

Puddles form spontaneously. 
Out of no where.
 Either that or it rains in tiny little circles in certain places.

In the states of Louisiana and Mississippi?
 You actually have to chew the air before you breathe it.

86 degrees in Mississippi is vastly different from 86 degrees in Tennessee.

I had expected to find people that spoke funny in Mississippi. I had expected to not be able to understand the accent. The only person I had trouble understanding was the Indian guy at the hotel's front desk.

Judging from my extended drive through the state?
 I can only assume that there is actually no law enforcement  there. 
 In the whole state.

Everything is bigger there. 
The bugs are more like small birds. 
They are also smarter, with an innate ability to strike the windshield right exactly in the center of my visual field. 
Without fail.
They do not have blood in them like our bugs do. They have some sort of blood/glue combination that can not be removed with windshield washer fluid and wipers. 
You should actually pack a chisel and hammer to travel through Mississippi.

The rain drops are huge. 
And fast. 
And they come right out of no where.
 It's all sunshine and birds singing and then you are a torrential downpour that rivals hurricanes.

They only the post the speed limit once in Tennessee. 
No one follows it. 
At all. 
I don't mean 5 miles over. I mean the limit is 55 and I was doing 70 and still getting passed. There are multiple possible reasons for this...

In Tennessee, you simply don't tell people what to do. I mean, you can, but they are going to do as they damn well please anyway.
So, I'm thinking the states posts the limit right at the state line with no actual intention of enforcing it.

Or, they have some sort of pack mentality... as in, if we are all doing 20 miles over the posted limit, who is the cop going to pull over?
 Safety in numbers and all that.

Bridges in Tennessee are more fun to drive over. I do not know why this is so, but they are...bouncy, for lack of a better word. I refuse to analyze whether this is due to the bridges needing repair.

That's about all I have for today, but surely more will occur to me later.

04 June 2012

Rest in Peace Paul Gomez

Photo via Facebook
We met by accident.
He was the friend of a mutual friend.
We never met face to face.
We were going to.
Someday we were going to drink beers and talk about gnomes and tequila and guns.
He read my blogs and wrote a review for my book.
When my life went to Hell this last year, he wrote and checked on me.
Checked on my kids and offered to bring me a keychain from Isreal.
He told me I rocked.
12 times.
I counted.
He answered all my questions and emails at ridiculous hours without fail.
Somehow, this man gave me hope and comfort during the very darkest days of my life.
He's mentioned here.
He probably didn't save my life.
But he saved my sanity more than once.
He was one of those people that make you want to be a better person.
One of the people that give you faith in humanity.
If there were more men like him this world would be a better place.
He's gone.
Died at home, from what I understand.
I didn't know him as well as I would have liked to.
But my heart is aching from his loss.
I will miss him.
So many people will miss him.
The world is a bit darker without him.
But also brighter for having had him in it.
Rest in peace my friend.
You will be remembered fondly.
I am blessed to have known you.

01 June 2012

Ass-less Ranting

I just saw on GBBL that it is National Donut day today. Which is awesome, because I was just about to post some nonsensical rant about donuts. 

Because just before I saw that donut thing, I saw this picture on Facebook.
Yeah, well. Fuck you too, Lady.
And this picture irritates the Hell out of me, because, obviously, I have no ass.
I have these ridiculous chicken-legs that are also distinctly NOT curvy.
The fact that I have some really awesome push-up bras is beside the point.
With out the push up bras, probably I could be mistaken for a 12 year-old.
The point is that I have been eating donuts like it's my goddamn job... and still I am unable to grow an ass!

So I see all these damn pictures and stuff on Facebook saying how curves are beautiful and how real women have curves, and I feel the need to justify my lack of curves.
I'm fairly thin.
I always have been.
I do not diet or puke after I eat. 
I work out once a year, on New Year's Day, before I promptly abandon any life improvement plans I made the night before. 
And I'm thinking?
How the Hell would everyone like it if I started putting pictures up and saying that real women have no curves and ribs sticking out, huh?
They would probably come and lynch me.
In any case, my point is... I get the whole everyone is beautiful just as they are and all that shit.
But the whole real women have curves thing?
Just makes me want to go out and buy padded underwear so that I can pretend that I have an ass. 
So while I am all down for building self-esteem and believe everyone is beautiful just as they are...
The whole curves campaign is backfiring in my little corner of the world.
I am off to eat more donuts now.
And google padded underwear.
This is a picture of my non-ass. With an Ass. Somewhere in Amish country.
Don't ask.