7pm

I cracked open a Coors Light and started the coals. 30 minutes later I slapped some chicken titties (credit goes to Super Brannon for the term) on the grill and chilled the fuck out to some skillet radio.

What’s that? That… that sounds like The Silver Fox’s truck. Nah, can’t be. I sat on my balcony in my camping chair, drank my beer, and relaxed.

The Silver Fox’s truck ROARS into the parking lot. What the fuck? The Silver Fox stormed up the stairs, not saying a word to me. He went to the fridge, cracked open a beer, and slammed it. He slammed another. He opened his third, and finally joined me on the balcony. We still haven’t spoken.

The Silver Fox takes a seat in the lawn chair next to mine.

“WHAT’S UP DUDE? SORRY I DIDN’T CALL AND WARN YOU. I COULDN’T FUCKING TAKE IT ANYMORE DUDE.”

Shit, I don’t care. The Silver Fox, hell, any of my friends are welcome at my pad at any time. My mind was racing. The Silver Fox’s here, I’m unprepared, what are going to do?

We had a nice dinner of shicken, rice, and green beans washed down with ice cold beer. We stood on my balcony, music blaring, and pounded beers.

10pm

“Let’s go to the Oasis dude! We’ve never been there before!  It looks cool, let’s go!” The Silver Fox slurred, already on his 8th Coors Light.

I shrugged. “Fine with me, let’s rock.”

We walked past Joe’s–dead. We continued downtown to the ATM–nobody’s out and about.

As we get closer to the Oasis we see quite a large crowd milling about in the parking lot.

“What the fuck dude? What is this place? Is that the line? Are we going to get in?”

Shit, I don t know. The place looks hoppin  tonight. We must be in the right place!

11pm

Tuesday night, 11pm, Chico, Calfornia, The Oasis. The bar is slammed. Jam packed. Overflowing. All four pool tables in the back are taken. The foosball table is taken. The ping pong table is taken. Galaga, Dig Dug, and Star Wars pinball are all taken. Jesus, don t these people have school tomorrow?

The Silver Fox and I mosey on up to the bar and order a pitcher of Coors Light. The bartender plops the brew down and gives us two ice cold pint glasses.

Three dollars please.

WHAT? WHAT DID HE JUST SAY? The Silver Fox and I look at each other at that moment, dumbfounded, stricken. The deer-in-the-headlights look, so to speak.

Guys? Three bucks please.

Our vacant expressions slowly turned into goofy, shit-eating grins. We slowly began to nod our heads, conversing in that unspoken guy-language. Tension mounting, and releasing with some sort of Beavis and Butthead laugh.

I gave the bartender a fiver, shit-eating grin still plastered on my mug. I poured The Silver Fox a beer, then me. I turned to The Silver Fox and we both said at the same time:

“I think we’re staying here.”

We drank deeply of our Coors Light, the nectar of the gods. Many pitchers later the room began to spin. Not long after that we were forcibly ejected from the establishment. One pedicab and five bucks later we were back at my apartment. Passed out.

9am.

That motherfuckingcocksuckingpieceofshit alarm clock is going off. I have to get up. I HAVE to get up and go to class. I was still drunk. My head was pounding. I was dehydrated, I felt like crap, and I had to go to class.

On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have three classes. The first two classes I m allotted three absences for the semester. For every class after three that you miss, it s one letter grade off your final grade. I ve already used my three absences. I had to go to class.

I suffered through a few hours at school, and managed to pound three liters of water. All I could think of was going home and napping.

1pm

When I got home, The Silver Fox was still there. Still there, and drinking a beer.

Let s go play golf dude! I slept in, showered, had breakfast around the corner  I m ready to roll! Let s go, come on! Don t be a pussy!

Dammit. I can t be a pussy. Fine. FINE! Let s go.

The Silver Fox and I drove out to Bidwell Park Golf Course. We played like shit, but it was still fun. I love playing golf with The Silver Fox. We aren’t competitive at all. We don t even keep score. We just go out, drink beer, and have fun.

Why play a sport if you re not going to have fun? I don t understand why some people get all serious and competitive and aggressive when it comes to sports. They want to win SOOO bad. When they don’t, or when they play poorly, they get all bent out of shape. That doesn t sound like fun to me. Why play if you’re not going to have fun?

The Silver Fox and I played with two guys that took golf way too seriously today. These two jackasses were all gussied up in their $200 golf shoes and $100 Ashton polo shirts and crap. One guy talked on his cell phone constantly. They lined up all their shots, cleaned off their ball on the green, took off their gloves to putt, all the dumb shit. They took forever. They hardly spoke to each other. Maybe they were in  the zone ? Who knows.

What a couple of jackasses. The Silver Fox and I were hung over, and drinking, and drunk. We were playing shitty golf, laughing hysterically when one of us sliced a ball off into the woods. I once swung the club so hard I fell down. The two PGA tour guys got all huffy and starting sighing loudly and forcibly. I cracked open another beer, pounded it, and burped as loud as I could all the while staring the two jackasses in the face.

Dude, if you re not going to have fun, why play golf?

6pm

We finished 18, finally. We bought some Coors Light tall boys and drove up to Bear Hole, and swam for an hour in Chico Creek. It felt fantastic. As I laid in the sun I kept repeating, “I love this town.” The Silver Fox agreed with me.

7pm

Exhausted, we drove back to my place and bbq ed some tri tip. We hung out for a bit.

10pm

The Silver Fox drove home.

I am so tired right now I can barely type. I might even fall asleep before midnight tonight. Hey, isn t today Cincqo de Mayo? Hmmm… Maybe I ll just go out for a bit. I ll just have ONE beer

Ole!

Wednesday night. I’m at home, sitting at the computer. Reading, studying, stressing about how much shit I’ve got to do. No dammit, I’m not going out.

Cell phone rings. I look down, it is Kellie. No, dammit, no. I’m not going out, I’ve got too much to do. Phone continues to ring, then goes to voicemail. One new voicemail. Don’t do it Tom. I go back to reading.

“If we examine the polarity of the schism betweeen Catholicism and the traditional gods…”

Phone rings again. Dammit, I can’t go out tonight. No, not tonight. I look down, it’s Janden. Goes to voicemail. 2 new messages. Don’t do it Tom.

“The Byzantine empire emerged as a result of the remnants of the old Roman empire…” Phone rings again. Fuck. Fucking shit. I can’t go out tonight, no. Goes to voicemail. Ah hell, let’s just see what they’re doing. I’m not going out, no. I’m just gonna see what is going on tonight.

“Dude! It’s Janden! Let’s go to Joe’s! Are you down? Gimme a call, Kellie is going.”

You fuckers. You fucking fuckers. You cats are going out on a school night, and here I am trying to be good. Dammit. Damn you all to hell.

My Id goes nuts. “Drink. DRINK! Do it! Come on, you’re only young once! It’s not like you’re going to fail your classes! DO IT!”

My Superego replies. “Thomas! Stay home and study! Get good grades! Be a good student! No going out on a school night, you know this!”

And back and forth. And back. And forth.

The Id wins. I dial Janden’s number.

“What’s up dude?”

“What the fuck is up?”

“You wanna go?”

“Are you going?”

“Let’s fucking go.”

“I’m going.”

“Joe’s. 10 minutes.”

“I’m there.”

Fucking shit. I’m supposed to be reading and studying and writing and all that responsible student bullshit. Come on, I’m an adult. I’m supposed to be a good boy. Right?

I run, not walk down to Joe’s. I’m so excited about meeting my friends for a night of boozing I can hardly contain myself. I get to Joe’s. No line. I skate in.

I look around. Barely anyone here. Oh what’s up? I see the cute girl from Roman history. Oh hey, ‘sup? I see the girl from History of Mexico. My eyes survey the scene. Light crowd, but fun. Peeps I know. Hey, there is Janden!

He’s hammered. Damn, I love this guy.

“Tom! What’s up dude? Rum?”

We shoot Captain Morgan’s (‘cuz that’s what pirates drink). We shoot again. We shoot rum again. 3 pints of Sierra, and we head out to the patio.

Janden are in prime form. He’s pretending he’s a pirate, covering his left eye with his left hand. I’m laughing my ass off and making random conversation with the peeps outside.

This goes on for quite awhile. The waitress comes around and asks us if we want anything to drink. Does the Pope shit in the woods? Does a bear wear a funny hat?

Minutes later we’ve got shots of rum and another round of beer. Janden proposes a new shot.

“Drink it, gargle it, spit it back in the glass. Shoot it, and yell, “ARRR!!!”

I gargle the rum and it splashes in my eye. My eye is burning. I soldier through it anyway. I am so hammered I’m starting to slur. Fantastic then.

I can feel it. I’m starting to spin. Keep it together, Tom. Hold on, Tom. I stare at the floor for a bit.

“Janden, ready for another shot?”

“Fuck yeah!”

We head to the bar and order 3 more shots of rum. The bartender gives us the look that says, “No fucking way.” Awww, come on dude. I slip him a $20 and we’ve got another round (on the house).

I love this town.

10 minutes later (I think) we’re on the patio at our favorite table. Janden has his head in his hands. I poke him. Nothing. I shove him. He falls over. No response. He’s done.
Time to go.

I’m hammered. I’m seeing double. Triple, even. Time to go. I leave.

I get a greasy slice of pizza at the gas station. I come home, and sit down to write. I make a bazillion corrections to my horrible grammar and prose.

I think I’m going to be sick. Nah, I can make it. I finish my 7up.

And now… I sleep.

Last night around 10pm I left the house. I just wanted to go downtown to the ATM, grab a coffee and a cigar, and walk home. I wasn’t really feeling anything in the air—it didn’t seem like a crazy night—so I wasn’t in the mood to party.

Just to make sure, I walked past all the bars and took a peek inside. Yep, just as I thought, they were pretty empty. I started to feel pretty good about my decision to make it a mellow night, and I whistled a little tune as I walked home.

I finished my cigar just as I was walking up the steps to my apartment. The robusto size is perfectly timed for a walk home, nothing wasted. I fished my keys out of my pocket and swung the door open.

Hmmm… I think I’ll leave the door open. It’s a beautiful night and I’d like to get some air in this place. I put on my oh-so-comfortable lounging clothes (Old Navy shorts and an oversized t-shirt) and sat down at my computer to write.

I leisurely finished my coffee and wrote for fun (see last night’s posting). I could hear the sounds of drunk people already at 11:30pm. My neighbors were blasting Guns ‘n Roses again, and the girls were screaming “whoooooooooooa sweet child o’ miiiiiiiiiine” at the top of their lungs. I briefly considered going over to say hello when my cell phone rang.

It’s Kellie. She’s on her way down to Joe’s with Janden, Steve, and Hillary. OK, this sounds pretty good. Janden and Hillary are always entertaining. They love to drink more than I do. OK, sure I’ll meet you down there.

By this time it’s almost midnight. I know I’ve got to get down to Joe’s with the quickness or I’ll have to wait in line. I throw on the clothes I was wearing earlier, put some goop in my hair, and scoot down to Joe’s.

I get there just in time. I beat the line and get inside without a wait. My favorite bartendress is working, and I get a Heineken over the crowd. She wears a shit-eating grin as she scoops her $5 tip off the counter, and everyone wonders why the tall guy 3 rows back got a drink before they did. I head outside.

Everyone but Janden is here. I talk for awhile to Steve about the usual stuff—guns and politics. I really want to talk to Hillary, but she’s sandwiched between Kellie and some other girls. I suggest we all move to the table in the corner, and strategically place myself between Kellie and Hillary.

Hillary is a damn cool chick. She was once so drunk she had to be put on a pedicab (half mountain bike, half carriage) home. She cussed out the driver the whole way, a stream of expletives fading off into the distance. She likes to surround herself with trustworthy friends so she can get pissy, blackout drunk. She’s a riot.

Janden arrives on the scene, in style. He’s so hammered it’s unbelievable. He hits on every girl as he makes his way back to our table, and strikes out every time. When he gets close he takes a running start and JUMPS up on our table. He lifts up his shirt and massages his nipple, and shakes his hips in a lame Shakira impression. The whole patio erupts into cheering and laughter, which only eggs him on. He knocks over a few drinks and then sits down.

By this time we’re all suitably drunk. As usual Steve clams up. When he drinks too much he doesn’t speak. He just sits there, pretty quiet, and sways until it’s time to fall over and sleep. I am not like that when I’m drunk. I gesticulate wildly with my hands and slur my words. You can’t shut me up. Janden and I decide it’s time to kick it up a notch.

The 3 of us head to the bar and order a round of shots. Can you guess what we had? Can you? I slam my empty shot glass down on the bar top and yell in my best piratey voice, “ARRR!” Janden has that look in his eyes like he wants to double up. Fine with me, let’s do it. We do another round of Captain Morgan’s and then another. It won’t be long now.

It’s 1:30am and the bar is closing, so we all stumble outside.

Who said pizza? Damn that’s a great idea. We walk down to Franky’s walk-up window and each get a slice of the most delicious pizza on the planet. Who said more booze? That is a fantastic idea. The girls take a pedicab back to Kellie’s apartment, and the three boys are left to walk.

Steve disappears into the bushes to relieve himself. Janden is swaying, bumping into me every 3 seconds. Hey where is Steve? We wait. And wait. And wait.

“Pedicab!” We climb aboard and start to abuse the driver. Janden is dragging his shoes on the ground to make the poor guy pedal harder. I’m trying to get him to behave. I think I hear a girl shout my name, so I turn around and look behind me. As I do this I promptly fall out of the pedicab. Janden is dancing around me, pointing and laughing his ass off. I’m so drunk I don’t feel a thing.

A few minutes later we’re back at Kellie’s house. Kellie is pissed we left her boyfriend, Steve, behind yet again. She goes to look for him, and we raid the booze. Where is Hillary? Hillary passed out on the pedicab ride home, so Kellie took her home and put her to bed.

Janden and I put on some music and go out on the balcony. Kellie and Steve get back a few moments later. Kellie puts Steve’s drunk ass to bed and joins us on the balcony.

The 3 of us stay up for a few more hours chatting, smoking, and drinking. My buzz is starting to wear off. I think I see the sky starting to get a little light. I look down at my watch. Oh shit, it’s 5am. I say my goodbyes and start the long walk home.

The air is still. It is sooo quiet. Nobody is driving anywhere at this time of day, so I walk down the middle of the street with impunity. I look up and see a clear night sky full of stars. Every time I do this I think about how nice and clear and relatively pollution-free it is up here. In SoCal you can’t see shit for stars. Up here there are so many it’s amazing.

I love this time of night/morning. It almost feels like you’re breaking the rules, like you’re doing something bad. You’re not supposed to stay up all night partying, and walk home as the sun is coming up. ESPECIALLY when you’re 32 years old. I feel very alert and awake, but most importantly I feel fucking alive.

I grin the whole way home.