21st Century Drunken Snafus

So Frankie and I went to Tahoe with four women: Missy, Sam, and two of Missy’s friends – Veronica (“Ronnie”) and Therese (“Teri”). I’m telling you, it was like having backstage passes to chickapalooza. I didn’t realize that women in their thirties were just as neurotic as they were in their twenties (or their teens). I wish I could say that I learned more about women from the experience, but I don’t think I did.

Here’s a classic “woman” moment from our first night there. Sam got a text message from some dude that she’s sort of dating. We call him “Meat Head” since his claim to fame is that he’s a cage fighter. Not my nickname, and I’ve never met him, but if the shoe fits and all . . . anyway, the text message read: “do you miss me?” And all four women in our group spent what must have been half an hour discussing what that meant and what Sam should text back. As all four were seriously soused when they were doing this, it was extremely comical. I didn’t read the final product, but I swear, they ruminated over including the word “the” for a good three minutes. The Declaration of Independence was written in less time than this response text.

A few days later, Sam and I were laughing about how funny it must have looked to us when they did this. And I tried to explain to her that guys don’t really think that much about what they text, and that while it took a full half hour and input from four females for her to respond to it, Meat Head had probably sent the initial message as part of a mass text. I was a little drunk myself during this conversation, so to prove my point, I told her I would demonstrate. The first female in my phone’s contacts list is Allie Roth. So I texted Allie: “do you miss me?” No response.

Bone Fever

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but my dad had a much more interesting life than I did in his youth. Among other things, before he got drafted into the Army, he got a degree in forestry and worked for the U.S. Forest Service. For many years, he and my uncle were seasonal forest fire fighters. Members of a fire crew, they would get called up to go fight forest fires wherever the need arose. My uncle was on a Helitack crew, which I still think sounds impressive to this day. I was too young to remember any of that, but they did it until I was about three or four.

I can’t say that my dad’s ever been particularly good with small children – I really haven’t seen him interact with many. Even in my childhood, I think he treated me more like a little man than like a boy. He was, however, my hero, and I soaked up what he told me or taught me as if it were the word of God. I remembered my dad when I was at the casinos in Tahoe last week. When I was in fourth grade, he taught me how to play craps. One thing that the fire crews used to do to pass the time at camp, he told me, was gamble. Pickup craps was one of the most popular games. For some reason that I can’t recall, he decided to teach it to me. Using my toy-box as a back-stop, my dad taught me the basics of a craps game – on a come out roll: 7 or 11 you win; 2, 3 or 12 you lose, but you remain the shooter, etc. In my house, we had a plastic Slush Puppie cup commemorating the 1984 Olympics that we would throw our loose change into and we would divide the money in it into equal piles before we’d start to play. I never won or lost much more than a couple of dollars, but our games would last for a half hour or so. We played craps off and on until I was in about middle school, and then my folks taught me poker, my mom got in on the fun, and we passed the time playing poker, along with any uncle, cousin, or friend who happened to come by the house.

Perhaps most memorable were the craps rhymes that I picked up from my dad, which he had picked up from God knows whom. To this day, I can’t play craps in a casino without reverting to those rhymes. They get a strange turn of the head at the craps tables –usually from my friends – and I’ve never heard anyone else use any of them in a casino. And when I tell folks that I learned the rhymes as a 10 year old kid from my dad in our dining room, they just can’t believe it. Of course “eight, skate, and donate” and “nine, skline, the money’s mine,” are pretty benign and catchy cants. But when your point’s a five and you say: “fever in the whorehouse, run girls, run!” or on a ten point: “looking for a big dick daddy from Cincinnati,” it definitely raises some eyebrows.

The more things change . . .

I had to give Frankie a ride home from the airport when we got back from Reno around 9:00 p.m. on Tuesday. After I dropped him off, I checked my phone to see who I had to call to wish a happy 2008. Turns out the ex had left me a message wishing me the best. I figured it was a new year, and a time for new beginnings, so I should put aside any resentment and bitterness and call her to return the wishes. After all, I’d just gone to Tahoe with a whole new group of friends, and I’ve been getting out there, and I’m pretty sure I’ve moved on after a whole year and some months have passed.

So I called her as I was driving home, and it turned out that she was reading at a Starbucks that was literally on my way home. I told her I’d drop by – I hadn’t seen her in a while. I got to the Starbucks, and it was pretty full of the usual Starbucks bar-fly types. I saw the ex, and gave her a hug. We sat down, and she asked what I had done for New Year’s Eve, and I had a good response to that (as opposed to last year). I had my digital camera in my jacket pocket, and I showed her the photos. She had spent New Year’s Eve with her family, and it sounded like she’d had a good time of it as well.

I was starving and asked her if she’d already eaten. She hadn’t, so I suggested we go across the street to Houston’s for dinner. Houston’s has never been one of “our” places. In fact, prior to that evening, I can’t recall ever having gone there with her. We sat at the bar, rather than a booth or table. The bartender, Tom, knows me because I’ve been there a few times for work happy hours, so he greeted me and asked what we were drinking. I opted for a greyhound, and Keri (the ex) asked for a Sapphire and tonic. We split an entrée that consisted of barbecue ribs, Brussels sprouts, and butternut squash. We had another drink with dinner, and a postprandial cocktail as well. She’s still seeing the doctor that she’s been seeing for a while now, and he’s taking her to Paris later this month. I’m not going to lie, that hurt a little to hear. We talked some more, reminisced, and one thing led to another. She asked if she could come over to my place and I acquiesced.

She awoke and left my place at around 5:00 a.m. on Wednesday, and I couldn’t help but think back to this post, and I said to myself: “She’s someone else’s problem now. . . .”

A New Year's Prologue

I think I mentioned this in a previous post, but my 2007 New Year’s Eve was the worst I’ve ever had. I had broken up with the ex in October, and most of my friends were out of town doing their own thing. I ended up going to a house party with a bunch of couples and that depressed me more than if I had just stayed home and gotten drunk by myself instead. Needless to say, I was hoping for a better one this year.

In early December, I got a text message from Missy: “SLT NYE.” I responded: “WTF?” Turns out the suggestion was South Lake Tahoe, New Year’s Eve, and Samantha and Frankie got the same message.