About to turn five years sober. Found this journal entry. From right before I stopped drinking.
If you want to talk about sobriety, email me.
If you’re some kind of authority figure reading this, it’s fake. I’ve never tasted alcohol or experienced pornography.
**
Tonight I’ll try not to drink. First night voluntarily in five years. There were two days I was too sick. Last time, Mexican diarrhea. Couldn’t leave the toilet to buy liquor. I didn’t get delirium tremens. Proof of concept. It won’t kill me.
Prompted by the bars. I’ll get a pint of brandy coming home from work. Pound it. Still don’t feel good. But don’t want to go back to the liquor store. See pity in the clerk’s eyes as I buy another pint. So Littlejoy. And the first couple times I went there were girls. 8PM on a Monday and Tuesday. First night it was a pair. Cute one wanted me but the ugly one was the talker. Wouldn’t stop horning in. You won’t get anywhere with a pair of girls out.
Second time this little Mexican college girl was going solo. I forget what I said but I was a missile. Took her back to my bench seat. Making out with her in ten minutes. She said she had to meet people at the Gold Room and I should follow her there. But Littlejoy had a shot and beer special. Two more drinks put me over the cliff. I stumbled home.
First two nights there were girls. Next ten dudes dudes dudes. Strike up conversations. Chew people’s ears off. What do you do, they ask. I work in real estate. Write OKCupid profiles. Shoot porn. They want to know about the porn. I shot one Wednesday. The girl squirted in my face. It smelled. I almost puked. I can’t jerk off now. It’s like, I used to like steak. Then I worked in a slaughterhouse.
Post up with whoever’s next to me and talk and talk and talk. Go out smoke and talk and talk to the bouncers. Can’t remember what I said. Something about Mexico City, how they say “guey.” How it sucks LA doesn’t have a football team. I don’t like football.
Wake up not remembering. But with a sense the other guy must think I’m a fool. That black gulf of memory. What if I said something stupid. Racist. Who knows. I don’t have it in me. But every morning scared I went out and said “N-(REDACTED) (REDACTED) (REDACTED) I love raping b-(REDACTED) fuck you fat stupid M-(REDACTED) and get away from me you dirty J-(REDACTED).” something like that. Did I pick a fight. I never do. But can’t be sure until you try to get in the next day, and they don’t let you.
Drank a pint and walked down hill to the bar but my neighbor’s dogs started barking. So I leaned on their gate for 20 minutes to bother them. Put my hand right up to them and let the border collie scream. Rub the tips of his teeth on my palm trying to bite me. Neighbor across the street came out. Asked: what are you doing.
I was torturing some dogs because I hate them. But I said: trying to get to know them. So they recognize me. I feel compassion for these beasts, trapped in this fence. I want to befriend them. She introduced herself. I forget her name now. She thinks I’m a fool. She’s right.
Went to the Short Stop. Chewed some college kid’s ear off. Why is there no football team in LA. Ordered another. Bartender said I’d been overserved. Left for Littlejoy. Bothered everybody. Young girl bartender with a perfect face. Thinks I’m a fool.
Drink. Cigarettes. Wake up hung over. Every day. Chasm of fear. Have to go to work. Can’t talk to people. Can’t write. Went to the bar with a big pile of money. Wake up with impossible amounts gone. One of these days someone’ll have coke. I’ll blow the rent.
But to stop. Can’t talk to people without it. Can’t fuck without it. I hate people who don’t drink. Touchy. Flinchy. Cruel. Go out sober, they say. Look at the drunks. That’s what you look like. Well better to be the jerkoff than the guy who suffers the jerkoff. Be the biggest jerkoff in the room.
Can I even do it. Psyching myself out. Thinking and thinking about it. When the sun sets I’m fucked. Get a drink. Get a drink. Well fuck that. One night. You can’t do this anymore. You feel nothing. When you feel nothing you write nothing. When you write nothing you’re a jerkoff making cold calls in the desert. Ten dollars an hour. Alive so your mother won’t be sad. You’re pointless.
So you’ll feel bad, but fuck. You wrote so much shit feeling bad you almost felt good. Had a reason to be on the planet. Get it back. Stop chasing it away. Or at least, stop chasing it away every single god damn motherfucking night. Jesus Christ. All right. Let’s see how it goes.
delicioustacos 
Now not only does LA have one football team that got two, and a new stadium coming. And football has sucked for the last 20 years so who cares anyway.
This is good better than anything youve written on your blog in a long time. We’ll see about your book but I’m guessing its exhausting my narcissistic because I know you.
The larger point is that in my perception you have become whiny.
You criticize me for tough love but that’s all you’ve ever given.
One must not only be good at the craft these days. Maybe once that was true. But today one must also be good at living.
reader request: can you share some of your recipes. they look deceptively simple. hunk of meat on a rack with chopped veggies below. preheat oven to X, roast for Y minutes, let it rest for Z minutes, etc. what are some good seasonings. do you use the same “go to” spices. maybe it can take you out of the usual drugs-alc-pussy topic that you’ve begun to find repetitive over the years. talking about non-salacious daily activities could offer something fresh, both for you as a writer and for your readers, who are young men looking for useful info on how to live better. they seem to love your insights into fitness and wageslavery. cooking homemade nutritious meals is relevant to both areas. you mention Karl Ove Knausgaard…i hear he writes detailed descriptions about “banalities” like making tea, taking care of his kids. somehow people find that stuff interesting enough to buy his books. just a thought. not advice. i’m just a goy with a netbook and wi-fi connection. even a hobo can have such things.
This post brings up memories of my drinking days. The blackouts, forgetting how i got home, the clerk at the 7-11 smirking as i bought another 30 pack of cheap beer. Ugh. I will hit my 4 year sober mark in May. Keep up the good fight, brother
This reminds me to be gentle with certain people in my life. If I wasn’t such a Delicate Flower (one of my blog posts) I may have met the same challenge.
reader mailbag:
are you gluten-free
do you avoid wheat/sugar/dairy in addition to kicking the alc habit
what healthy behaviors have you been doing to maintain fizzeak
pls respond
excellent poast. a nostalgic “throwback” to classic delicioustacosian prose. future literature professors will delineate your writing according to the Before-Sobriety (BS) vs. After-Sobriety (AS) phases.
p.s. found this randomly just now, but in case anyone wants to see how big a problem alcoholism/dui is…search google maps for “ignition interlock”…many results in a big city like LA…its basically a breathalyzer device connected to a car, that a driver has to blow into before the car can start. what a weird thing to exist.
You should do more podcasts. You’re hilarious. The one with Christian Mcqueen was gold
So you worked in hollywood and pornography? Do you think cameras really do take a part of your soul?
Correlation not causation, etc. People who flock to LA in general to get in front of the cameras to crowdsource admiration from a safe, sterile distance have already sold their souls before they ever plant their ass on a casting couch.
Five years goes by fast. Nice going DT.
Good stuff.
>18 days without new poast
yikes
perhaps this halp u:
stay pozitive 🙂
u must stahp rushing tacos. he must write in peace.
Dear DT – Who are you really? I think I’m the only one of your 395 followers who doesn’t know. If it tips the balance, I did order the paperback. No need to include a photo unless you feel compelled.
You can find out easily by being an attractive woman in my area.