2 June 2005
Yesterday, I awoke in a sour state, I don’t know if it’s psychosomatic because it marked thirty-four years of Dickbreathe’s evil existence on a human plane but whatever it was, I was a cranky bitch. Stacey has been staying here with the baby for the past couple of days –he’s been my 7AM wake-up service (he was the one to release me from my foul mood) -and it’s been a pleasure having them visit. Stac and I have been getting on splendidly. I think we may have evolved from quarrels, petty disagreements sometimes vicious fights and I am more then happy to exit from that shit. Ya-ya and Papou love to see Darien, even if he is a handful, he brings such joy and laughter to our souls.
Stac took me for a haircut then to physical therapy and we discussed going out for a drink after she put Darien to bed. Why the fuck not? She needed to unwind. I’ve definitely question my decisions about having children after Darien. Don’t get me wrong, I love the little shit but you need a three-day respite after being with him the whole day. Even the dog goes into a comatose state after an afternoon with him. And only the Gods know how long it’s been since my last night out so I needed a drink just as bad. We’d celebrate my new do and Stacey’s night of inebriation. Suz joined us in our quest for a bar that had ladies night and found it at the nutty Irishman in Bay Shore…
Stac and Suz can hold their own whereas I’m not a drinker, at all -two drinks and I’m half in the bag- I can recall, quite vividly, two nightmarish experiences with getting crocked to the point of excessive vomiting episodes. Black Haus is FORBIDDEN in my presence, the name alone makes me gag. Thank heavens for Bob and Erin; they were my guardian angels that night. And too much red wine does not end pleasantly. With this knowledge and the memorable result, I limit myself to four drinks (they’re small) of coconut rum and pineapple juice for the evening.
We arrive close to 11, all looking pretty foxy (if I do say so myself), ready to enjoy ourselves. I decided I’d used the wheelchair (Bessy) due to my latest fracture, my legs are still weak and I didn’t want to add to the growing number of broken appendages. Upon our entrance, a young lady tells Stac and Suzi (I’m in my own world, checking out the surroundings from my viewpoint) of a raffle they’re having tonight for a prize of one-thousand dollars, so we enter and hope for the best. The bar was surrounded while the establishment possessed the feeling of a ghost town, which is fine by me. Drinks were free for the ladies which work out great for us; we ordered then found a bench to park their asses. It’s pointless for me to attempt having a conversation with anyone due to my almost mute voice. I’m either asked to repeat myself eleven times or looked at as though I’m certifiable, unsure if what they just heard was what I actually said. But one kind soul braved the unknown; Jack approached with a warm smile and extended hand, introducing himself. He asked how I, and my evening, was and if he could buy my next drink. Seeing as how ladies night had ended, I figured fuck yea; I’m single, I’m happenin’, and I’m desperate –appreciating his kindness and hopeful he’ll give me some lovin’. I’m already on my newly second and last complimentary drink, courtesy of ladies light, when Jack says you better hurry or something to that effect. Not a problem, they glide down like water. He comes back and hands me another coconut rum and pineapple after a confusing understanding of my cocktail. Jack had joined our little group after my feeble, and a bit tipsy, attempt at introducing my cohorts. He told us of his friend and fellow officer, who became a quadriplegic due to a suspect’s rash decision and quick finger and Stacey told him of my situation while I inhaled my drink as if it came from the breast of Ms. Jolie. A cover band was playing, maniac, and they did some pretty cool tunes –teasing me with a riff from Voodoo Chile, bastards- but I told them if I hear one note of Bon Jovi, I AM OUT! Luckily, thankfully, there was none. Another drink, pee and butt break, and noted we were getting a little hungry. We went for some grub and decided Stacey would run in to hear the results of the raffle and make the 2AM deadline, after we satisfied our grumbling stomachs. Most of our late-night snack was wrapped due to our eyes being bigger then our stomach and, of course, for our chance to be a thousand clams richer. Stac jumped out and ran in catching the end of maniac’s final song for the evening. A young lady came on the P.A. system and asked if the ladies were ready to hear the winner.
“Yeah!”
“Ok…oh, I can’t even pronounce this name. Vas…”
“THAT’S MY SISTER! OH MY GOD! VASSO, YOU WON!”
Suzi and I hear screaming across Montauk Highway, emanating from the bar. One of us won, we’d recognize that bellow anywhere. Stacey is now by the front entrance screaming “Vasso, YOU WON! YOU WON!” Isn’t that kick you in the crotch, spit on your neck fantastic? I could not fuckin’ believe it. I guess it pays not to go out for a few months.


* Perfect reason why I don’t drink; Dead Kennedys Too Drunk To Fuck –it has been way too fucking long since I’ve had sex and there is no fucking way in hell I’m chancing it.