The title is a little bit misleading. I may talk about a lot of things, but I’d never write about who I’m banging. Heck, I don’t mention when or if I’m dating a girl. (You won’t believe how many times I’ve heard this nag: “How come you never write anything about me? Funny stuff happens to us. You should write about us.” Hell. No. I’ll tell you why. For one thing, not writing about current lovers is the only shred of near-classiness I have left, so I’m clinging to it. Also, writing about girlfriends bores the ever-living shit out of your readers. It’s as nauseating as watching a stand-up comic who one day has children and lets his once edgy routine suddenly turn all Full House on you when he trades in his coke jokes for jokes about baby carriages.. Besides my current relationships, everything else I consider to be “writable,” but when it comes to girls of recent times, I usually won’t even describe what ladies I have even taken in a movie with. No good ever comes out of that shit. I only stand to lose
That being said, let me tell you a story that happened at a time we won’t call “last night.” I’ve never been a big substance user. I like the drink, but every blue moon or so, I dip into the milder recreations. (Read: I’ve never done crack, x, coke, heroin, acid, mushrooms, or meth. Now think of the things I left out. Those few minor-league things come into play about 2 to 5 times a year.) This night in question was one of those nights. I was having a green day. That crap makes me so hyper. I know it’s supposed to mellow you out, but substance often has opposite effects on my weird ass. For example, Xanax makes me hyper, too. It makes me do a stand-up comedian for all my friends. Drinking makes me a damn hippy peacenik who never wants to fight anybody unless of course they hit me first. Benadryl? That shit never makes me sleep. Hydrocodone gives me boners. And it also makes me smoother than a lounge singer. When I take take the codeine, I can hit on three girls at the same time and they will all love it. I’ll be making a drink for one, lighting a cigarette for another, and telling a hilarious one-liner all Groucho Marx style to the third one - all at the same time. It makes me so 1940’s. And adderol makes me have sex on my front porch standing up in the daylight in front of traffic in my downtown neighborhood. (I wish that was an exaggeration.) (No, I don’t.)
So here’s the thing with substance: it doesn’t make me make crazy things happen, it makes crazy things happen to me. For example, on this night we will once again call “not last night,” I met my friends at the bar down the street from my house. None of them ever have green days. And I only have like five a year at max. So of course, what were they talking about for the first ten minutes when I met them there: green days! It was really weirding me out. They even pointed out how none of them do that, and how I almost never do it. But I could tell that they didn’t know I was currently green. So I finally said, “You guys are weirding me out. You guys never talk about this subject. And the one time I’m “on the subject,” you’re talking about it.” They were like, “You’re currently ____?” Wow, we couldn’t tell…until now.”
Then when I got home the night got greener. And SOMEHOW I ended up on the phone with a girl I’m friends with but haven’t seen in forever. She’s crazy. I mean for-real crazy. But she manages her crazy just enough to make her cool. She knows she’s nuts and she doesn’t run from it or use it as a crutch. She also was currently on powder. So she did all the talking. And because I was green dayed, I was completely cool with doing all the listening. It was a match made in heaven. Then she started saying stuff so funny and weird that I thought maybe I was so fucked up that I was hearing her wrong. But I wasn’t hearing her wrong. Remember - when I’m zonked, other people do the crazy stuff. Here’s what she said to me:
“Dude, we are totally fucking by the way.”
I said, “Are you saying you’re trying to arrange this?”
She said in her coked out pace (so read it fast), “Oh, hell no. I’m never sleeping with you again. But since you were the last guy I had sex with - which was like forever ago, I picked you.. By the way, why would you even want to sleep with me again? You know I give boys bad sex on purpose? You didn’t? Yeah, I totally do. That way they won’t try to love me and be with me afterwards. Because I don’t want to be loved. I can’t handle it. I’m crazy. What? You thought I was good? That was me trying to suck. Here’s what I was getting at when I was saying that we are fucking: I don’t have sex anymore. But it makes my life sound boring and it makes men think they can approach me. So when people around town ask me if I’m doing anybody, I say: “Oh yeah, totally. There’s this guy name Roth Wriscey. We fuck all the time. But only when I feel like having him around. Then when he gets annoying I kick his ass to the curb for a while. That‘s who I‘m doing.” So if you ever hear from anyone that you are currently fucking me a lot, it’s because I told them that. I don’t know why I picked you for my fake-fuck guy, but you just seemed like the right choice.”
Yeah. Imagine hearing that while you’re baked.