"How're You Doing?": A Response

     Today, via MySpace, I received a curious e-mail.  Not curious in content, but in timing and also, perhaps, in directness.  It was a message from an estranged comrade, asking simply "How are you?", and including a few words to ensure I recognized sincerity and not some sort of ironic malice.

The inevitability of this text had been with me for some time-- I was fairly certain the message would come sometime, but like death or El Dorado it was "further, always further".  To find it suddenly in my inbox was to be taken aback as one always is when distant things are suddenly thrust into the present, but also aback due the the fact that only a few days prior I had thought for a moment about the likelihood of receiving such an e-mail.  Another case of Parrallel Synchronized Randomness, I suppose.  Unfortunately, for boring and complicated reasons I was unable to reply.  So, in optimistic response and for the general populous, this is how I am doing:

I've taken to drinking in excess whenever I choose to drink, and my drug use is ravenous.  I look at these things objectively, from the outside looking in, and sense issues might be arising but... my mind usually dissents and things continue normally.  I'm in a state of tiredness most of the time, have come to averaging twelve hours a night whenever possible, but that could potentially be explained by the prior issues or by other things, but, quite honestly, it was never that unusual.

Despite the afore-mentioned drug an alcohol intake, my food diet is healthier than it's ever been-- I've almost entirely given up soda and dairy milk, and cut fried foods drastically.  I lost almost 30 pounds on the Appalachian Trail-- I've gained 15-20 of those back, but a percentage as muscle, which, as larger people like to say, "...weighs more than fat."

I'm also faced with the possibility of diving headfirst into a live-in S/M relationship with a man in Grand Isle that I am considering despite all the entanglements and complications of my on-the-road lifestyle.  I fear I may be overestimating my cleverness, emotional reserve and/or escape ability--

You see, I've purchased a bicycle which I plan on learning to ride as soon as the weather improves and I can find the time-- then I plan on taking it cross country on a series of whimsical missions a friend of mine is devising.  I'm staying with her in Metairie until after Mardi Gras, as I've committed myself to work at the Ohm Lounge 'til that point. Metairie is... awful, and I'm in a state of continual restlessness that finds me endlessly surfing travel sites and reading travel books and perusing my old road trip photos.

Reading back over this, I think it may be the most honest account of my general well-being I've ever written. 

 

Semi-Charmed Kinda Life: Lessons from the Weekend

Things I learned this weekend:

*If you smoke crystal meth out of a water bong that is filled with orange juice, you avoid that awful 'meth mouth' taste that dries you out and makes you feel icky.

*The quality of cocaine in Austin, Texas is a great deal higher than the quality of cocaine in New Orleans, Louisiana.  It's cheaper, too.

*If you're screwing around with a guy in a long-term relationship and his boyfriend in turns gets a crush on you, issues arise.  It's probably best to avoid these types of things.

*Poppers and blindfolds will make you lose your mind.  Not in a good way, either.  In a 'HOLY FUCK WHERE THE HELL AM I AND WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!?!?' kind of way.

*It's fun to steal hardcore pornography from annoying gay Republican suburbanites, even if you really don't have any need for the porn.  Also, apparently, gay Republican suburbanites are some of the kinkiest people you will ever meet, and have plenty of accessories and toys and the best porn ever (until you steal it).

*If you check into a hotel with an incompetent staff after night audit, you're likely to get a free night.  Or maybe it just really is America's Best Value Inn...

*Cialis works.  Really well.  For a long time.

*Meth is not as glorious as it seems, and returning to it after more than a year's absence is a bit underwhelming.  Somehow, when I've done it in the past it's had a much more pleasurable effect.  This weekend was just kind of blah... but it could have been the company and not the chemicals.

*It's not a 'walk of shame' if you leave on Friday afternoon and stumble in on Tuesday morning... It's a 'miracle you're alive'. 

*You can always find trouble if you know where to look, no matter where you are or how long you've been there.

And finally...

*Drugs are bad, sleep is good, and truer words were never spoken.

Just Who I Am: To Adrian and Ty

"Now that I've met you, would you object to never seeing each other again?" (1)

 You can't hold me because I'll push you off.  You say you love me and I'll say I don't.  You try and kiss me and I'll turn away.  With you, only with you, I'm too honest for our own good.  I've got walls too high to scale, scars so thick they look like skin, regrets to wide to get around and you're just another drop in the bucket.  But this levee won't break.  You can't get in.

Lying in bed, looking at you, you're both the same.  Too beautiful for our own good, so I'm going to ruin everything again.  But I can shoulder my mistakes with a smile.  Practice makes perfect-- these things are easier the second time around, but these things don't get any better.

Commitment is a four letter word, and it's one that I don't know.  

"So kiss me hard, because this will be the last time that I let you." (2)

I always walk away before I get too attached.

But believe me, baby.  You can do better that me.

 

"One day you're going to find someone, and right away you'll know it's true-- that all of you're seeking is done and I was just part of the passing through.   And right there in that moment you'll finally understand that I was better as a memory than as your man." (3)

Footnotes

1, Aimee Mann

2, Chris Carrabba

3, Kenny Chesney

Sexy Detox Weekend

(Note:  As you may know, but you probably don't, the following article originally appeared as four separate posts littered throughout the day on Saturday.  I decided that was not an aesthetically pleasing way to present the information, and combined the four posts into one.  It's my blog, bitches.  I can do that.)

Part One

Hey, Josh!  What are you doing this weekend?

Well, let me tell you!  Adrian and I spent so much money last weekend and did so many things that were, to say the least, uncouth, that we both felt like shit all week.  So, this weekend we're not going to do anything.  We're going to camp out in my hotel room and have 'Sexy Detox Weekend '08'.

 What is Sexy Detox Weekend, you ask?  SDW consists of staying in a confined space for an entire weekend, eating only fruits and raw vegetables and drinking water.  Watching television, listening to music, and turning the heat up and screwing around to sweat all the nasty toxins out of your system.  We think it will be a grand old time.  

 Of course, the nature of SDW means there can be no drugs nor alcohol ingested over the weekend, as well as no grotesqueries such as soda or candy or 'fried food'.  It shall doubtlessly be trying.  It shall doubtlessly be hard.  But really, no harder or more trying than customizing cars or learning new hotel programs after being up for 48 hours tweaked and rolling, and we aced those tests on Monday.  And Tuesday.  And a little bit on Wednesday.  Goddamn, it was a hard week.  Updates to follow.

Part Two

 Sexy Detox Weekend is hard.  We are hungry and a little irritated by this room.  We're out of potato chips and ice cream.  It was a bad idea to have them here anyway, but-- fuck it, I love butter pecan ice cream.  And Adrian like Lays.  Ha!  No pun intended.  But, anyway, we got the Baked Lays.  And they really, really taste like hell.  So we had to get dip for them.  And for the broccoli.  We're breaking the rules of our own game, but it's not a fast, for God's sake.  It's a no pointless spending on drugs and alcohol weekend.

 We started out watching Friends on DVD.  Oh, Friends!  How nonthreatening you are.  I can not pay attention to you for an extended period of time, then return, and know precisely what I missed.  I love you, Friends.

 Later, Adrian wants to watch The Lord of the Rings.  All of them. In order.  Nonstop.  Perhaps, if we do this, I'll never have to do it again.  I certainly admire LOTR more from a distance than when I'm actively watching it.  I've recently come to the conclusion that Peter Jackson can't hold a shot to save his life.  That trilogy is edited like a music video.

 

 There's cough syrup in the bathroom.  But that goes against the spirit of SDW.  Stupid Sexy Detox Weekend.  So, i'll just eat another tangerine... Ugh.

Part Three

 Sexy Detox Weekend has failed.  We've breached the hull.  After checking online banking to discover that, what's this!?!, we both received our direct deposit on the same day, we could not resist the lure of real food.

 So we ordered Chinese.  Gross, soggy sweet and sour chicken.  Thick, disgusting egg rolls.  Greasy fried rice.  After a half dozen tangerines and Roman apples, it all tasted like heaven.  It was all fried and awful and wonderful.  Fruit is good.  Chinese is better.

 What's more, we had to leave the room to procure said Chinese delivery.  Tromping down stairs to the ATM to get cash to pay little Asian man is not supposed to be a part of Sexy Detox Weekend.  But the weather was wonderful.  It must be said that returning to that dark room after feeling the cool night breeze was a trying thing.  SDW may be dead, but it's principles live on.

 Anyway, now the refrigerator is filled with Chinese leftovers.  We've eaten all the fortune cookies.  I think we're going to watch Chicago tonight, and tomorrow go to the laundromat.  And to see Stop-Loss.  Sexy Detox Weekend will go down as an admirable failure.  That cantaloupe we were going to have for lunch tomorrow is mocking us.  Shut up, cantaloupe.

Part Four

 Sexy Detox Weekend has morphed suddenly from failure to fiasco.  May I, dear readers, offer some sage words of advice?

 Never, ever have sex while chewing gum.  Because, if you do, the gum will likely fall from your mouth at an inopportune moment and get stuck in your partner's hair.  And then, the sex will be over, because you'll have to cut a big swath of hair out of your partner's head to remove the gum.  And he'll look stupid.  And he'll be irritable.  And the rest of the evening will be spent trying to trim his hair so that it looks normal and presentable until he can get it fixed professionally.

 However, in hindsight, if you're talented and lucky and after a shower and lots of reassurance, you may come to the conclusion that the two of you have done a good enough job on the clipping that a visit to a professional isn't even necessary.  Thank you, Adrian.  You saved me thirty bucks.  And no, you do not have to get dressed and leave.  But if this happens again, I will kill you.

Thin Lines

Content Warning:  The following post has explicit sexual overtones and hard drug use.  Read only after consulting and adjusting your own moral compass to decide if this is really the post for you.  

God, I wanted him.  A little piece of perfection at the end of the bar.  Handsome.  Rugged.  Straight.  Drunk.  He had left and come back, shot down by the girl he had spent so much time and money on; now moaning pathetically about the sorry state of his life. He hadn't had sex since July 4th-- that seemed appropriate.  He was in the military, back from Iraq and shortly headed to Darfur.  

But there's a thin, thin line between making an advance and taking an advantage. 

I was behind the bar, working at the Ohm Lounge-- not so much to make money but to occupy myself while I did mounds and mounds of blow.  Two hours earlier I was the king of the world, the paragon of self-confidence.

But there's a thin, thin line between invincibility and instability.

And I had done it.  I was past casual party and into an indulgent binge.  Shaky, stuttery, uncomfortable-- I needed to go for a long run alone.  Alone being the key word: people are strange but I was stranger, woefully out of whack.  Still, there was a knee jerk reaction in my loins when he asked the bartender if she knew any gay guys.  He was desperate, he said.  He went to a gay bar once in San Diego and felt "respected."  He wanted to feel that way again.

But there's a thin, thin line between bad karma and genuine misdeeds. 

Scenario A has us leaving the bar, walking the two blocks to my hotel and indulging in coke-fueled pornographic fantasy, the kind you see in Treasure Island videos.

But there's a thin, thin line between performance and pathetic.

And I had done it.  Scenario B has us leaving the bar, walking the two blocks to my hotel and suffering through about 30 minutes of awkward, useless fondling before he came and went, after which I jerked off, irritable and limp to a Treasure Island video. 

I walked the two blocks to my hotel alone, did more coke, and took a long shower.

"You gotta go after the things you want while you're still in your prime..."

But desire has taken on new dimensions, with consequences cocaine can cause seem irrelevant.  Two hours earlier I wouldn't have gone home alone.

There's a thin, thin line between feeling okay and falling apart.

There's a thin, thin line between good ideas and bad.

There's a thin, thin line between desire and death.

I haven't done it yet.

No plagiarism here!  Post contains an excerpt from a song from 'Avenue Q'.