Weekend of The Gods

I think, if at all possible to avoid hyperbole in a situation that absolutely begs it, this was the most awesomely strange weekend of my life. I haven't even thought of offing myself in at least three days now. Ain't that something?

So here goes...

Obviously last week ended better than expected. Wednesday was a bit of shit, but not that bad. Thursday I got to spend time with some of my favorite people and catch a decent movie. Friday was a halfway decent workday and I knew I'd be going out Friday night. So, you know, good good all around.

Friday night turned into a Legend Maker pretty early on, but it wasn't till about three in the morning when one of the guys was puking out of the back window of my Hummer and we stopped for breakfast that the status of the night was truly set in stone.

The real (and most disturbing) part of the evening happened much earlier without the other guys. Keep in mind this is a pretty fucked up story if you want to stop reading right now and skip on to a later bit. Or better don't. Just click that little red "x" on the top of the screen and go read a book. Because this next bit is fucking bonkers.

I stopped for a drink (or ten) at one of my old haunts in the early evening and ended up talking to a very pretty go-go dancer for a bit. At one point we headed upstairs to the private rooms where we got a bottle of champagne that neither one of us probably needed and we chatted for a while. So later on she's sort dancing for me and she's so fucking incredible that it's making me a little uncomfortable because I'm about the worst heterosexual male in the history of the world. We're talking this whole time. I pause look away for just a second to grab my champagne glass and have a drink, when all of a sudden her hand is down my pants.

Now some people might be thinking totally single unattached no prospects 28 year old guy, hot chick with her hand down his pants, cool beans. And people who know me and understand that I'm not even big on shaking hands are probably quietly chuckling to themselves and thinking "Oh boy this is going to be good."

Call me old fashioned but if you've got your hand on my cock I should, at the very least, know your last name and favorite color. Maybe even your social security number, I don't know. So I bolt up out of my chair with a "What the fuck?" totally mortified that I may have given off some unintentional signal that this was what I was looking for. Ten seconds before we'd been talking about her mom and now I'm mortified and she's ashamed and we're both sitting there thinking "WHAT THE FUCK?"

So now we're sitting there, after spending a good five minutes trying to convince each other not to be embarrassed about what just happened and boggling at the fact that anything about the situation seemed remotely normal. We start talking again, a little more awkwardly than before, I look up and I realize...she's fucking crying. There were obviously a lot of other things going on in her head, and she turned out to be really nice sweet (albeit slightly confused) girl. But all I took away from the situation was that I'd made a go-go dancer cry...again. Only me folks. Only me.

So a little later on I'm with the guys and they're drinking fairly heavily. I've slowed down since earlier in the evening, but I've already got enough in me that I really don't want to be drinking anymore and getting behind the wheel. I'm starving so I convince the others to go to the diner with me. On the way one of the guys is clearly not feeling well, opens the back window and gurges all over the side of my car. It's three in the morning, I couldn't care less. We end up in the diner where we all order a bite to eat. The sick guy orders a bagel, and then ends up yakking in the bathroom before it even gets there. When he comes back he picks up half the bagel, turns around and heads back to the bathroom. The waitress (who is either stoned or more drunk than any of the guys) looks at those of us left at the table and almost in shock croaks, "Did he take the fucking bagel into the bathroom with him?" We left a decent tip for the trouble. One guy walked out with his soda glass in his hand. Nobody even really seemed to care.

Saturday morning I finally get a look at my car in the sunlight. There's so much vomit on the side of the car I have no choice but to take it to a car wash. It takes them seven minutes with the pressure washer to get it all off. Something I ate at the diner didn't sit right with me and I'm seriously considering the fact that I may have food poisoning. I'm hurling and shitting at a pace that modern science would have a hard time explaining. I'm pretty sure I've got a fever as well. I really don't want to go out to dinner with the family, but I man up, get dressed and head out. We have a relatively nice dinner, it inolves a fair amount of red wine and a few Glenlivets. And although I didn't eat much what I did eat was fairly rich. Which wouldn't have sat right with me after eating mostly bland stuff lately anyway. I also quickly realize that the reason I stopped vomiting and shitting was that I was totally empty. And suddenly I'm full again. See where this is going?

Somewhere in there I also get a hold of an "old friend", it's been quite awhile so I know I'm going to see her even though I'm not feeling well and have no money whatsoever (damn ATM's). I almost hurl in the parking lot of the restaurant, but I manage to get to the office before it starts to come up. I've also caught a bloody nose at this point and I'm starting to wonder if this is food poisoning or fucking Ebola. So I'm trying not to bleed on my nice shirt and to hurl neatly into the office toilet when after one particularly powerful heave I realize that I've just literally shit my pants.

No...really.

I know how to use the world literally. I'm not one of those people who say things like, "It was hilarious. I literally died." Because no you fucking didn't. If you had literally died someone else would be telling me the story most likely at your fucking funeral you fucking moron. When I say I literally shit my pants what I mean is I actually had to throw out a pair of underwear. At this point I'm curled up fetal on the floor of the bathroom with a spattering of vomit everywhere and half a load in my pants sweating and bleeding and seriously wondering if this is what it's like to die. And then I realize I'm empty again. And I feel a hell of a lot better. So I shed my unders (shit), my shoes (vomit), and my shirt (blood and vomit) and actually head out barefoot and commando in the freezing cold with only a guinea T and a thin pair of dress pants on. It's twenty degrees out, I'm beginning to wonder if I would have been better of dying back in the bathroom.

I head home, drive over my lawn so I could get as close to my house door as possible so I'm freezing to death for as short of a period of time as possible. I run in, take the longest hottest shower I possibly can. Throw out my pants just for good measure. Get all dressed up again and head back out.

I really need a fucking drink.

I meet up with my "old friend", get her thoroughly focking smashed, and proceed to tell her the ridiculously embarassing story about the night before (I don't tell the shit, vomit, and blood story...even I have standards). At the point where I lament the fact that I've made a go-go dancer cry she reminds me that she is a go-go dancer...and I've made her cry before. Well played me, well played indeed. We spend the next three hours drinking and laughing, and I quickly watch every worry I have in the world right now evaporate for just a few hours.

I felt pretty good by the time I left.

Sounds strange, I know, but this is me we're talking about. When was the last time anything about me even registered on the normal scale.

I head home, play some video games, catch a quick nap and head over to the Youth Room for an early Antioch meeting. It is, as always, the highlight of my week. Those kids are, without a doubt, the very best people I know and I would be totally lost without them. We're really starting to get geared up for the weekend and I couldn't be more proud of them. And the fact that I get to see so many of them so often outside of the church, well, very few things in my life make me happier than that.

We're out early for the Super Bowl like usual. I've got no plans, but I just found out the Rookie will be home alone. My mom and Turi are going to a friend's, little sister is going to one of her friend's and the Rookie's got nothing going on at all. So I'll head over and spend a bit of time with him.

I really don't think I've ever had a more splendidly fucking odd weekend. And this week is certainly shaping up to be pretty fantastic as well. We're planning something small for the Antioch group, might make a run at a comic shop with some of the younger guys on Wednesday, have to set up a prayer service with some of the older folks, Comic Con is coming up this weekend and our last regular Antioch meeting will be this Sunday.

First time in a long time I'm coming off a good run and looking at another one lining up.

I take it as I can get it nowadays folks. The good with the bad and just running with all of it. But I'm not ashamed to admit I needed a run like this. I put myself in a bad situation Friday night and ended up proving that I'm not as bad of a guy as I sometimes think I am. I got to have fun and a great conversation with someone I wish I could call a friend on Saturday. And today I got to spend time with people who have, over the past few years, become some of the most important people in my life.

And I shit my pants.

Only me folks.

Only me.

And I don't suppose I'd have it any other way.