Sobriety

As mentioned I’m my previous blog, the question of why I don’t drink anymore has come up many many times in the past…wow, almost 7 months that I've been completely sober. I didn’t really drink all that often anyhow, but when I did bad things happened. Boobs were grabbed, wallets were stolen (see the P.S. for that one) and waitresses (and one waiter) were brought to fucking tears. For the most part, this isn’t the usual funny blog. It’s a story, but it does have its funny parts.

Now if you know my family, you know that there is quite a history of alcoholism. On both sides. Some of my earliest memories were of the smell of vodka and cigarettes as I crawled into my fathers lap to get him to read me “Curious George”. Now don’t get the idea that Bruce was a bad father from that. Sure he was drunk, but I still got read to and he played catch with me and stuff. From the stories I hear about my paternal Great-Grandfather were of him getting drunk, having all his teeth pulled one night during a bender into town while he was drinking with the town dentist, and him falling off a horse that knew the way home many times. So we have it from the Robinson side. On the other side, my Moms’ mother left her and her brothers to pursue a life of being an alcoholic scam artist and failed marriages. She was in and out of rehab many times throughout her life, which was probably a good thing since she was the meanest drunk ever. Think of the meanest, stupidest, bat-shit craziest angriest drunk you know. Got it? Now picture that as an old lady. Now double the alcohol content. Yeah, that was my Grandmother. So I have the genetic disposition to be a stupid, mean, clever, asshole of a drunk. As you read this story, you’ll know why I decided to wage war on my heritage before it waged war on me.

This story takes place very late the evening of December 29^th/December 30^th 2005: The night of the "Sir Beef Wellington" blog if you’ve been a fan for a long time, or feel like looking it up on my Myspace page.. I had just gotten off work at maybe 8 or so, went home, changed clothes, showered and headed to the trashy Town Tavern bar in Louisville. I know, it sucks, but people were home for The Christmas Episode, and I wanted to see how downhill most of the girls I went to high school went since graduation. Most pretty far. Like rock bottom third anonymous father pregnancy far. Anyhow, they had this special where you could get a big draft mug of beer for $1. I bought no one but myself drinks that night, because I don’t buy girls in bars drinks. It’s a rule. Unless you drove me, and I know you. So like $20 was spent that night, which if you remember from grade school math = 20 beers. We close down that bar and blindly stumble across the street to Floyds to get beers that I have no idea how I paid for. People were buying me drinks in exchange for stories I think. Or I just didn’t pay. I don’t know really. Either is completely possible. So we close that bar down and I drive to Wal-mart in Alliance to get some food since I hadn’t eaten yet that evening. You know, because I’m super smart like that. Plus, it was the only thing open and they’re used to drunks on a Friday night. I check my voice mail while I‘m browsing the chicken nugget aisle and while I had been in mid debauchery I had gotten a call from Turd Ferguson who was back by popular demand to guest star for the Christmas Special. So I call him, and proceed to drive back to the Warnatorium on the snowy icy roads going waaaaaay too fast (via the back way through hillbilly country) to visit with Steth, Bob-o, and his brother Crazy Ben (also back by popular demand for the Christmas special).

We started to play cards, I think and I drank like 4 Windsor and cokes. In like half an hour. Somehow I broke my watch on a street sign I had braced against the door to keep D.W.'s girlfriend out so I could smoke cigarettes where it was warm, there were people that didn’t want to arrest me, and there was booze. From what I recall, much booze fueled fun was had by all. After the guest stars had left, I watched The Jim throw up in the street with an old man’s driving hat and aviator sunglasses on (no clue. The booze may have rewritten the data on my memory card there), and then drove home even more filled with holiday cheer, but mainly booze, than I was earlier that evening.

New Years Eve morning, I woke up at like 10 am, not really hung over, but you know the pseudo-hangover you get where you just drink lots of water and poop fire every quarter hour? Yeah I had that. We’ll call it a Hold Over for the sake of conversation. The kicker was my Aunt and Uncle (my Dads’ brother and his wife) show up to my haggard pseudo-hung over ass watching M*A*S*H in my bathrobe and my dad who had, apparently, completely lost his damned mind. He was supposed to wake up at 10 and go out to brunch (God I HATE that yuppie ass word!) with them. Where was he? He was in his underpants, very drunk. He then proceeded to tell my uncle the same anecdote three different times, and that he was having a nervous breakdown from too much alcohol, the impending divorce, going through his first holiday season without my mom, and not being able to remember how to fix a dishwasher the day before. That’s kind of all the old man knows: How to fix things. So you can understand his fear at losing the one skill he had. I mean if one day you woke up and forgot how to read or something, you’d be pretty freaked out too. I then find out that my Uncle is also an alcoholic, and had gotten more than his share of D.U.I.’s and had been in and out of rehab/AA for YEARS. So after my dad stopped weeping about losing his goddamn marbles and got some coffee in him, they went to an AA meeting. Apparently they have those like 8 times a day during the holiday season. I am learning all this while i'm trying not to ruin my pajama pants with draft beer-shit as I drink a gallon of water and chain smoke.

So at this point one of the little guys that live in my head and sits at the dashboard that controls my thoughts turns to the other stations up there and says "OK….. That’s fucking it. We drove around very very VERY drunk last night...IN OHIO SNOW, and now we find out this shit is completely genetic from both sides. That’s it lads (the guy on duty that day was British), New Years Eve or not, we are not drinking until at least 2007. Pack up the booze: its Coke, water, Gatorade, and chocolate milk from here on out!"

I could elaborate several more pages as to why, even without the DNA reasons, that I quit drinking. But most of you reading this read things like “threw up in a cat’s litter box”, “needed 15 stitches from where he hit the beer pong table”, “was caught raping mailboxes” or “passed out naked on the hood of my car” and be all offended that I was “talking mad shit” about you. So we’re just going to leave it at my crazy drunken family and call it a day.

Thanks,

Dr. R

P.S. Ok, I promised a stolen wallet story here: here it goes.

We’re at Sadie Rene’s to see a few bands and this guy gets up to use the bathroom or choke a prostitute or whatever skuzzy looking guys do at bars alone and leaves his wallet to save his seat. In a dark corner. Now, I was pretty drunk by this time and in full Bizarro mode, which means something that will make a great story is about to happen. So I think (and maybe said aloud) “Hmmm….Me thinks that t’was foolish thing for that lanky man to do! I shall teach him a lesson he won’t soon forget!” Then I twirled my mustache, flapped my cape menacingly and swiped the dude’s wallet with my top hat. Think of it as a PSA for the drunken masses. Don’t use your WALLET of all things to save your seat in a dark bar! All I have to say is he got off light. He had like $12 and no credit cards. He should consider himself lucky. Bizarro would have WRECKED his credit score by morning. So if you’re reading this, Eric, you need to use a bank instead of a credit union, I did you a solid by stealing THAT license picture, and $14 is too much to pay for a haircut. Especially THAT haircut. Oh and sorry about jacking your wallet and all.