I Fell Down The Stairs

I love the Raymond Carver poem where he describes getting drunk for the first time with a girl who spit on him. In the words of the great St. Ray, "I kept getting drunk and getting spit on for years." The first time I got so drunk that the floor spun was in college with my one and only roommate, Sarah. At the time, she was engaged to a rich Arab guy whose main contribution to their relationship consisted of teaching her how to swear in Arabic. We'd gone over to his apartment obstensibly to make a cake for his birthday, but instead ended up getting ass-out drunk on some cheap jug wine and peppermint schnapps while listening to old Bob Dylan on the boombox, the height of technology at the time. We drank from noon until five when she was supposed to pick him up from work. I did what all drunk dumbasses do which is pick up the phone and start to call friends who couldn't believe a control freak like me had whittled away a Friday afternoon under the influence of cheap liquor and bad politically-incorrect pizza as we had ordered a special from Dominos which I mangled -- the cheese will sober me up! and raided his freezer for popsicles.

Told my friends I was fine to drive back to the dorms, in fact, perfect, before collapsing underneath the staircase in a pile of laundry. Sarah tried to find her beloved's car keys. Bob sang on about being in his dream if he could be in ours. We finally pulled it together enough to make it out the door, no cake, no balloons, nothing. Sarah got a little hysterical -- her betrothed was not above beating the shit out of her if things weren't going well. Things are fine, I said. Things, of course, were not fine. Were in fact a fucking trainwreck. I can drive home, I told my friends. That popsicle sobered me up all right! Nothing bad happened, though. Sarah managed to pick up her betrothed after passing the exit three times and having him curse at her in English the rest of the ride home. My friends found me and picked me up so I wouldn't have to drive while I sang (the real tragedy of this story) out the window. The times, they were a'changing or so it seemed until the next morning when Sarah came over covered in bruises. I fell down the stairs, she said. Too much wine, she said. Booze, it seemed, could cover a multitude of sins.

Michelle's Spell of the Day

"What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner." Colette

Cocktail Hour

Drinking essay suggestion: "Quality Time Keeps Love Fresh" Lewis Nordan (printed in The Bastard on the Couch)

Benedictions and Maledictions

Happy Friday!

19 days until The Sopranos airs!