The Wedding Drinker

I have ten brothers and sisters, of that I am sure. What I am a little cloudy on is how many nieces and nephews I have. I have tried to add them up in my head on more than one occasion, and each time the number comes out different, so I will give a ball park figure of twenty. Twenty nieces and nephews. Add on to that the fact that they are now reproducing, and you can see why I am often in a fog when it comes to family matters.

This month I am attending the wedding of one of my nieces, and although she lives in Florida, I have to schlep all the way up to Chicago for this one. I guess I should be thankful she didn't have it back in January. This wedding is another in a long line of weddings I have attended over the last forty plus years, and will add another layer to the confusion I have as to who got married when, and where. In my mind they have all blended into one jumbled pile of churches, wedding chapels, and reception halls. I do have some clearer memories of the ones I attended in more recent times. That's mostly because I slowed way down on the marijuana and vodka as I got older. This time I don't plan on drinking hardly at all, and I may even take some photos. That's another strange thing, I have very few photos of any weddings that I have gone to, and I think it's because I was too busy drinking at the time. I'm sure if I ask around, my sisters all have pictures of me at their weddings with bloodshot eyes, and a drink in my hand.

Alquitrán Niño

When I lived in Chicago, after a long and brutal winter, that first nice sunny day with the temperature over sixty degrees was like a holiday. Hoards of people would be out walking around the city in shorts and flip flops, acting like it was Florida even though there were still those occasional dirty piles of snow melting into the grass. And even if every square foot of grass along the sidewalk was filled with freshly uncovered, defrosting dog poop, everyone was in a good mood. On days like those I couldn't wait to throw open the windows and let the fresh air blow through the house and push the stale, dry, winter air out. Unfortunately I almost never got to keep those windows open. Invariably somewhere in the neighborhood, somebody was getting their building re-roofed and the noxious fumes would fill my apartment requiring me to close the damn windows again. I don't know why, but it always, always, happened that way.

This has been the coldest winter in my memory here in South Florida, so when the temperature finally climbed towards seventy degrees I ran around opening windows. 'Ahhh, fresh air', I thought. Within minutes the house filled up with the choking, sulfuric fumes of hot roofing tar. I went outside to see where the smell was coming from, and up on the roof of the building directly behind me were a dozen Mexican men busily spreading tar. Three days later, they were still up there working just as hard as the previous two days. In my swimming pool was a thick oil slick floating on top of the water, the two outdoor cats were hacking up tarry fur balls, and inside the house Mark was having terrible coughing fits. Yes, I thought, it’s springtime. There are two bad smells that actually trigger good feelings in me. First there is the smell of diesel exhaust, that mentally brings me back to the streets of Chicago, and all the fun I had there. Then there is the horrible, gagging smell of hot tar, that always reminds me of beautiful sunny spring days.

Photo Friday

"Wait until he finds that pile of poop behind there."

Video Thursday

Alan and Dennis Go To White Castle

I don't mind product placement in movies and television. It's kind of comforting to see my favorite product in a movie. To know that Brad Pitt and I drink the same beer somehow brings him closer to me, and not in a dangerous stalker kind of way. One product that I always look for in old movies, and television shows are Studebaker automobiles. I can always remember Mr. Ed, the talking horse, selling Studebakers on TV when I was a kid. Studebaker isn't in business any more, but you still see them pop up in movies once in a while, mostly because of their peculiar looks.

I just got done watching a program that I had recorded from Sunday night called Undercover Boss. It featured one of the owners of White Castle working undercover at various locations. I really didn't pay that much attention to the tear jerking stories in the show, because all through the program all I could think about was, 'I need a bag of sliders!'. This is genius product placement. An entire one hour show with constant close-ups of those greasy little burgers. At one point in the program they showed a White Castle that I used to go to in Chicago. That was when my eyes glazed over, and I started drooling uncontrollably. Yes I know they are disgusting, and bad for you, but I love them. Unfortunately the closest White Castle to my house is 860 miles away, so I will have to settle for the frozen ones that they sell here in the super market. But all is not lost. We have a trip to Chicago planned for this month, and I’m sure at some point I can convince Dennis to make a slider run with me. Later I’ll be doing the slider runs in Dennis’ bathroom, but that‘s another story.

Mee-owww

It was pitch black, I was laying in bed and this is what I heard.

Mark: "Get the hell off me kitty!"
Carlotta: "Meep?"
Chandler: "Snort!"
Carlotta: "Hssssss...."
Mark: "Goddamnit, that little bitch scratched me! I hate that cat!"

This was followed by the lights coming on, revealing the dog at the end of the bed, the cat skittering out the door, and Mark with a bloody little scratch on his arm. I have had Carlotta for seventeen years, and she has never hissed at me or scratched me. For some reason skinny little Carlotta, and skinny Mark just don't get along. She loves me, that's why she was curled up in the bed to begin with, but she and Mark barely tolerate each other.

It seems that when I raise a cat from a little kitten, they take on an obsessive personality about me. Before Carlotta, it was Nina. Nina didn't like anybody but me, and everyone who visited our home knew not to try and pet her because all they'd get is a loud hiss, and possibly some cat scratch fever. On the other hand, every full grown cat that I have adopted or rescued, is sweet as pecan pie. Fat Kitty is an all around lover, and the two girls outside will crawl all over you if you sit down out there. So is this a reflection on me? Am I an anti-social loser who projects his personality onto his kittens, who then grow up to be she-devils? I don't think so. I think it is because I am so sweet and lovable that Carlotta and Nina don't want to share me with anybody. And if you don't think I'm sweet and lovable, you can just go screw yourself.

Don't Get Cheeky With Me

Did you know that Rush Limbaugh got out of the draft, and thus out of serving in the Viet Nam War, because he had some kind of boil on his ass? If I had known it was that easy, I'd have never told them that I was gay. Although, I think my way was less degrading.

About a month ago I noticed a rash on my buttocks, and despite using every cream I could find in the medicine cabinet, it continued to grow and increase in itching. I finally went to the doctor, and he told me it was a fungus. A fungus? All I could conjure up in my mind were a bunch of little mushrooms growing on my butt. It gave me the creeps. The doc gave me an antifungal cream and in just a few days the rash disappeared. Then last Wednesday something else popped up on my right ass cheek about the size of a potato. Reaching back and giving it an inspection by hand, I immediately thought to myself, "Holy crap, the fungus is back and this time it's huge." I figured it would go away with the cream, but within twenty four hours it had doubled in size, and every time I sat down it was like a knife jabbing me in the butt. Once again I was off to the doctor. "It's a boil, and has nothing to do with the fungus.", He advised me. So now I am on antibiotics and have to sit in the bathtub three times a day. The doctor told me it would come to a head and drain out, and if that didn't happen I should return and he'd lance it. I hope it goes away soon. I can't sit, I can't walk, and right now I am kneeling on the floor in front of the computer writing this. Maybe the draft board should have looked for guys with boils on their asses instead of deferring them. It would make them really mean and nasty. Just ask Mark.