Monday, November 06, 2006

No Tomorrow

Holy crap I took myself to the land of intoxication on the weekend. Friday and Saturday were solo theatre nights, then on Saturday when The Dreaded one finished work we stayed in and got trashed. Couch, dooner and being trashed while the weather turns nasty is rather a nice way to spend a night. Sun came up, we kept talking nonsense. I grabbed a couple of hours of sleep, sobered up, wrote a review, then re-commenced Mission: Intoxication.

A friend called to say she was in town for a week, invited us to a party at Bondi. Went straight from a boozy lunch to the party. Was great to see her. She's crazy. Kind of girl who gets married to a maffia guy because she wants an Italian passport and he wants an Australian one. Seriously. She's got a million friends, all of them really friendly. One of them insists that she has met me. I've never seen her before. She insists a bit more, then can't recall where we met. Then she admits, okay, maybe we haven't met, maybe C has just talked about you a lot - you're that guy right? Writes the funny stuff for the magazine? Under the name of Grumpy? Yeah that's me, I'm that guy. I look over at C. She's talking to one of her millions of friends.

Other familiar faces. One guy, I don't think he liked me very much to begin with. I think he was pretty protective of C and wasn't sure what I was all about or why she and I were so close. He's DJing. Looks up and smiles a real smile, comes over and shakes hands later. I guess I've stood the test of time.

Talk, more talk. What did we talk about? Dance, laughter. Someone gets me to write in the birthday card. What did I write? I'm talking to this woman and she wants my phone number and I give her my card and I remember she's laughing a lot but I'm damned if I can remember what I was saying. I know I told her about doofs and she wants to come to one. I know she was cute and had a great laugh but I don't know her name. There are cowboy hats everywhere but C didn't tell me it was a cowboy party. There's even an Indian, full feather headress, buffed body, shirt off. He's the birthday boy. I've met him before but can't remember where. Wonder what I wrote in his card? The place is rammed and everyone is dancing like there's no tomorrow, even though it's Sunday night. More booze. Everyone is flirting. There is just so much laughter. You just can't cram any more fun under one roof. It's that feeling again: One life, no tomorrow, we are immortal.

I wake up on the couch. I don't remember how I got there. I know there was a voice, my voice telling me it was time to go, I've had too much. I wonder for the millionth time why I do it. I know I'm not immortal. I've checked that one out. And yet I do it.

Today I feel fine, and truth is I'm not sure I would have changed a thing. Even though I still wonder why I do it.

4 comments:

Invisible said...

Yeah! I don't know how you did it, but you suddenly appeared on my bloglines. Now I can keep up.

I visit the land of intoxication far too often.

overnight said...

That's the stuff!

Quick said...

I fiddled with the feed wotsit, invisible, just for you.

That's the problem, OE, lots of stuff.

Margarita Milongita said...

I went there too last night. Now I'm in the House of Pain and please god give me noodles or give me death.
Fucking Noodle World decided to shut shop for the public holiday.
Bastards...