Memoirs of a Drunken Rock Star Poker Player

Once again... the latest.

Went out with the 5 Dog this weekend... drank way too much, came home, drunk dialed a few people, and lost $20 playing garbage hands in poker. I really need to cut down on drunk poker playing... I think it's becoming hazardous to my wealth.

Anyway, an insane night of debauchery. We pretty much went everywhere on Alexander St. & East Ave., and once again had the pleasure of checking out The Taint at A Street. Anthony offered to put me up on stage once again, but once again the Rychkid had a few too many cocktails and managed to decline... probably a good thing. Typically when I get a few in me, I tend to think I'm a rock star, however the stage legs feel quite the contrary. Now, you may find this hard to believe, but a couple times when I've had the honor of sharing the stage with my favorite local band... I've frozen like the proverbial deer in the headlights.

However, it doesn't end there. As much as we hated to do it, we wound up going to Soho for last call... well, 1AM, so, I guess, an hour before last call, but once again I had to stand in line with the drunken silk shirted hair gel mavens waiting to take a piss, so there's 20 minutes right there. At Soho, Paul Strowe was playing... the guy knows like 900 songs and he's way, way, way better than me. We started talking, and the drunken rock star decided it'd be a great idea to play a couple songs. Yeah, that didn't turn out as well as I saw that happening in my mind. I played "Patience" and "Brown Eyed Girl" and massacred them both. Think next time I'll stick with the alcohol and live out my rock star fantasies at home, alone, with a few Budweisers.

Regardless... on with the drama. I've been writing a lot lately about how my mom's pending nuptials are right around the corner, and the day is looming ever closer. Once again, I still don't know how I feel about that... still having the mixed feelings and all that bullshit. Be that as it may, I woke up on Sunday morning with a headache roughly the size of Rhode Island to the sounds of the theme from "The Magnificent Seven" emanating from my cell phone. I stumbled out of my room, saw that it was mom, opened it up, said, "what?", and lit a cigarette... all the while thinking, "there better be a God damn good reason for this call," until I looked at the clock and realized that it was, in fact, 3:00 in the afternoon. I guess the rest of the normal world doesn't have the respect for drunken late night poker players with a Jones for drunk dialing as I do. Either way, the reason for the call was that she wanted to know how things went with the hand job guy. If you don't know what I mean by "the hand job guy," you're going to have to read some of the earlier posts. Sorry, I'm not going to regurgitate that story again... although it does still make me laugh. Anyway, I told her my thumb was fine and that I was returning to work.

Now, here's the tricky part. I still don't know why this thought entered my mind or why I decided to ask her, but I did, knowing in my gut that I already had the answer.

First, let me preface this. A little while ago I wrote about how the love of my life got married a few weeks ago and how upsetting it was and all that lover's lament and bleeding heart crap. Her name's Beth, and her mother and my mother are pretty much best friends. Hence, that begs the question that I asked; "did you invite Beth?" Her response floored me. "Oh, yeah... of course." As if to say, "yeah, dipshit, I did... get over it." The rest of the conversation is as follows;

Mom: "Are you OK with that?"
Me: "Do I have a choice?"
Mom: "No."
Me: "Hey, it's your wedding."
Mom: "That's right, and she's been like a daughter to me."
Me: "I'll be fine."
Mom: "OK."

The thing is, I'm sure I will be fine. I think it's just going to be a bit of a gut check to see her with her new husband... and when I say "her," you may ask if I mean my mother or Beth. The truth is I don't know... a little from column A and a little from column B. See, I thought once Beth's wedding day was over, that would bring closure and I'd be fine... and I was right. Now, her showing up at my mother's wedding is just going to be a pain in the ass... as if it's not going to be a stressful enough day as is. I called my sister and talked to her about this little issue, and her solution was pretty simple. She said she was going to park her ass at the bar and that she'd meet me there. Sounds like a plan... that kind of thinking must run in the family.

Here's the thing, and I'm almost ashamed to say/write this because it almost seems like the mature thing to say, but... it doesn't matter. Whether or not I'm comfortable is immaterial. It's her day, and however the fuck comfortable I am or am not is of no consequence. I know this is so unlike my normal cynical-asshole-sarcastic-wiseass self, but that's the deal. Could it be that finally in my 34th year of life that I'm actually maturing? Jesus, I hope not. I thought it might be so for a minute, but then I re-read what I wrote earlier about going out, getting shit-faced and then playing poker until all hours of the morning. Never mind, I'm back. However, I do promise you, my loyal readers, that I won't create a scene, I won't be a wuss, I (probably) won't punch Beth's new husband in the throat, and I won't get drunk. Well, scratch that last one.

Honestly, I am fine with it... so I didn't lie to mom when I said that. After all, this whole debacle isn't about me and I know that. It's about my mom starting her new life with this guy and all that happy horseshit. I'm not going to write about that... this whole post is a little too sappy already, and for that I apologize.

Also, I must apologize because I've been a little blog lazy lately. This whole work thing is really getting in the way of my penchant for fucking off. You, my fans and loyal readers, have my word that I will try my very best to update more often. Until then, it's late and I'm still working. Well, waiting for my f'ing laptop to transmit so that I can do some more work.

Really, though, I do need to get to bed. I have some dreaming about being a rock star to do.

Until next time...

R