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The End Of My Week pt 4 before/after So Lydia left on Saturday. Some of Don's friends, and his girl stopped by. Don had gotten me pretty well messed up before they showed. Two bits of J.V.O.F.C.E. and a bunch of weed. I smoked ciggarettes and drank a few beers just to grab ahold of my ass. Janie and this cocky guy walked in, with Shelia in tow, and her manic stare. I let them go, and stayed put. Elvis stopped by and we went to the bar at which everyone was supposed to be. Joanie was there with Garret and Marty. Marty looked moody and anxious. I sat down and Joanie immediatly greeted me. coo-coo-ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson. Jesus loves you more than you will know a woah, woah, woah. I greeted eveyone, and talked to Garret. "Mullet! Mullet. Two of them!" I said. "What?" he said, and I pointed the mullets to his attention. "I've been spotting mullets." I said. "Dude, do you know how funny that is? I've been spotting mullets. Ha!" he mocked. A girl tapped Marty on the shoulder and said "Excuse me, is your name Marty?" "Yeah, why?" he said, anxiously tapping his bottle of beer. "I think these are yours." she said, handing him a bottle of prescription meds. I immediatly started laughing. This is too funny. "Excuse me, sir, is this your prescription medication? " How crazy is that, having your anxiety medications spill out from you wherever you go? How appropo. Mr. Cool , blown right out of the saddle. I felt bad, but the imagery was too much to contain. Everyone else forged ahead. Mrs. Robinson started a conversation with a young guy and a cripple in a motorized wheelchair(that looks like a scooter) who whizzed about the bar. The cripple kept his beer in the basket at the front of the chair. I leaned into Roomie and explained the imagery. He thought it was funny, also. "Garret, C'mere. I have someone I want you to meet." Joanie said. "Okay." he said. Then under his breath to me, "Oh great, I have to go meet the handicapped guy." He went over and was down-right ebullient. After a bit, Joanie came back to my table, completly sloshed, bitching quite loudly about the young man she had met. "...and this, this, guy, says he has marital problems, immediately comes down to the bar, and..." she slurred. I paid my tab and made my way to leave. They extracted promises for me to meet them at Charlie Brown's for Sunday Karioke. I agreed, although I detest karioke. The things I do for friends, that they never realize. We went over to a friends, who had several bits of J.V.O.F.C.E for us. Good stuff. We rapped for awhile, and then went to another bar. Roomie asked the bartender out, and got turned down. In the process, I got swathingly drunk, making the bad decision to drink heavily. I felt right with it at the time, but in retro-spect, it was a bad idea. I drove home, to find Don and his friends. Tony, the cocky guy, had a nasty cut over one eye, with a butterfly bandage keeping it together. Apparently, Tony had gotten his ass kicked for being a cocky jerk. There is karma in this universe. Shelia was there, with her booming guffaws and manic stare. I pretty much block her out of my line of sight anymore. Evidentally, and I didn't peice this together until later, Tony had worked his way between a guy, and a girl who was clearly his girlfriend, and slung his arm around her, hitting on her. Tony is not a large guy. So the guy took him outside, and thrashed him. Later on, Don would say, "I walked out, and all I saw was Tony lying in the gutter, bleeding. The guy grabbed me, and hit me a couple of times, because he knew I came with Tony. So I fought back. Kicked his ass." At the time, however, Tony played it like he had done nothing wrong. To get away from all of this, I checked the phone messages. Lydia. "Hi, Arg. This is Lydia. Call me when you get this message." By then it was two-thirty. So I called. I woke her up, but she still wanted to talk to me. We had a sweet conversation, and told each other about our nights. ( I told her the Marty story, she told me about going dancing, and turning guys down who asked her to dance. What a good girl. I never asked her to do so.) It felt good to talk to her. I felt a real sweet feeling for her just then. Something true. I went to bed feeling happy.
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