I should have gone out with a five gram coke binge. Topped it off with some nasty skid row black tar. But this will have to do.
I’ve been sitting inside all day hung over. Reading stupid shit on the internet and listening to Opie and Anthony. Masturbating to small penis humiliation videos. I have work to do, important work. Big real estate project and a bunch of writing stuff. I need the money. I am too hung over.
I met up with another man-o-sphere blogger. First time doing that. I’d imagined they were all furious chromosome-damaged woman haters. But this guy was cool. We exchanged fuck stories. Four martinis with him. The bus back from Los Feliz drops you in front of the liquor store. I bought half a pint of brandy. When I’d finished it I got a text from a girl. She brought wine. I began pounding it. She has a beautiful body. She let me take a naked picture so I could send it to the man-o-sphere guy. So I would look cool to him. I am almost forty years old and I tell men I meet off the internet to smell my finger. I finished the wine. We watched Virgin Suicides on the couch. When Heart played I squealed with delight. I was too drunk to get an erection.
Tonight I’m gonna join AA. I thought it would be a church basement, but it’s a senior center. The place where old people go to not die when it’s hot. My ex found me a meeting where the people won’t scare me off. She’s been in this shit for years. Her brother got murdered in a small town drug beef. She started drinking handles of store brand vodka at fourteen. Huffing spray paint and sucking dick at truck stops. She never returns my texts but when I asked about AA she got back faster than the speed of light. They’re evangelists. She knew I’d end up here but she didn’t gloat.
I don’t want to stop drinking. I want to have three glasses of pinot and catch a nice buzz. I want to have a rager once in a while, maybe get some Mexican high school girl pregnant. But I can’t control it. I get blackout drunk on a fucking Tuesday.
So this. And what if it makes me fuck up with girls, I think. What if I can’t write. What if I have no more stories. People read me because I’m like Charles Bukowski. He never stopped drinking. What if that’s why he stayed good. Every other old guy sucks. What if, what if. Well shit, if that stuff happens I’ll start drinking again.
Maybe it’ll actually give me material. Except Alcoholics Anonymous has been so done to fucking death. Every “creative” jerkoff is in AA and won’t shut the fuck up about it. Anything you say is already a cliché.. I’m an asshole and that’s fine but I don’t want to be that kind of asshole. That AA asshole. Still. Three fucking blackouts a week, man. Jesus.
My higher power is gonna be art. Suck my dick if you think that’s pretentious. My higher power is going to be this fucking web site about pussy, and my book. I will have energy. I’ll be agitated to write things. Great things. Or shitty things, who knows. Watch this space.
Who fucking knows. In two days I could be hammered again. In the meantime, it’ll be nice to be able to drive at night. But then where the fuck am I gonna go.