It's sober day 42 for me and it's dead cold out there. Overcast to the point where it almost looks like midnight out there. We're feeding the squirrels - yeah, we're saps for a sob story. You can see them freezing their little brown squirrel asses out there, thanking us for the food so they can survive the freezing cold winter here in Sactown. Hope I survive this winter, too, me with my desert skin.
Bit of good news, though. Seether, my new favorite band in the world (next to the genius of http://www.mp3.com/bigego), is coming to concert next week and Ra is opening for them, and their debut album rocks ass, so it's fucking double trouble, and I'm going to get backstage for free because I'm friends with Papa Roach now.
Let me paint the picture for you.
It was this past tuesday and I was closing the bookstore that night. I was planning on going to the bar, trying their new Coors Non-alcaholic, and saying hello to all the old friends. And also because of Collyne. The semi-old flame. She had called me earlier in the evening. Looks like her divorce had gone through and she was planning on going to the bar and drinking it up in celebration.
I would be remiss if I didn't say that a large part of me arriving at the bar was for her. We had our little flingy-type relationship those handfull of months ago and some really serious emotions were born there and still remain between us. I do have very strong feelings for this woman and on more than one occasion, more so now that I'm sober, I have found myself at the small, dark, dank, white trash-infested kareoke dive bar known as the Maple Room just to be able to look at her.
Well, when I got there she was shit-faced. Ripped off her ass. And being a little too physical for my tastes. What's worse is that the big Him, her now EX-husband, was there, and call me crazy, but having a woman rtub your crotch and suck on your neck is all good, but in front of your known to be violent-prone ex-husband isn't kosher.
Most of the rest of the night was pretty moody for me. Sitting in my back corner, writing my poetry, my songs, and drinking my coffee and soda, looking at the big Him crying and shooting my death stares while her ex-wife who has the hots for me goes around drunk like a rock star when she's not sucking on my neck or begging me to take her home with me.
I mean, I really do love the woman. I have such feelings for this woman that I'm almost scared. It's just that ever since my bender and my proceeding sobriety I've had a very low tolerance for drunk people. For alcahol in general, even having it around me. I'm all about eating semi-healthy and working out right now, no smoking, no cigarettes, and I still go to that bar to sing my songs and hang out with my friends and fellow Woodites.
I love this woman, this Col, this little mamacita of mine. It's just that the drinking isn't my forte anymore.
She went to pray to the porcelain god and I, in typical Sober Steve fashion, got very sad and depressed and started to wonder where my life went wrong until the band Pappa Roach walked in.
They were there with a woman named Charmain, a very beautiful young girl that works at the Red Lobster near my work. All the Red Lobster women are frighteningly attractive and they are all flirts and they are always at the Maple Room getting drunk, another reason why I love to go there. Many of them have adopted for almost a year now sort of adopted me as their cute little Steve that they can joke with and dance with and talk to.
Great. I'm their gay male friend but without the gay part.
Charmain always told everyone that her boyfriend was a road manager for the band and damm if anyone ever believed her. Hell, I;m a good friend of her and even I was a bit speculative about the validity of that shit, you know? But these past two days I've been with Papa Roach, well, not the lead singer, but after hearing me sing "She Loves Me Not" at kareoke they all say jokingly that they need to get a new lead singer.
Don't expect you to believe me. Hell, I don't even believe myself. But today is my day of rest. No work. No troubles. Just comic books to read, wrestling tonight, and my thoughts of the women I've hurt. And tomorrow I party my ass of with the boys in the band.
Sober through all this, too. Neat-o trick, huh?