Saturday, May 28, 2005


I've left a message or two for Suzanne.

I'm sure cooler heads prevailed. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'll try to call her again here in a little bit, but imagine that I'll be mailing her camera to the address on her business card.

I hope she's o.k. - seems the cards in her hand right now are pretty shitty.

But we've all got to play the hand we're dealt, don't we?

Several of my usual suspects and I were whiling away the afternoon with $0.99 margaritas in a local watering hole when Linda finally made it.

She looked terrific. For the life of me, I could not remember what silly moral code I'd made up for myself that would prevent me from leaving there with her, and spending the next two days making up for two years of wanting her.

That's a lot of sexual tension.

At the table we tried to remember all the cabinet positions, and to decide if there was anyone at the table we would have on our cabinet should any of us become President. I believe I got a vote for Secretary of State, and perhaps one for Commerce.

What can I say, it's a brutally honest table.

The subtext between Linda and I had not vanished, or diminished.

But it became much more explicit. Much more text, than subtext.

And I remembered something.

If there is anything I hate more than waste, it's fucking hypocrisy.

I had to stop being friends with a person I've known for 30 years, because his behavior towards women is unconscionable. I don't care that he fucks everyone he can.

I can't stand that he lies about it.

And other things, but mostly it's the lying to his wife/girlfriend/evening's entertainment.

And while I'm not currently having the kind or quantity of sex I'd like in my own relationship, I can't just start fucking everyone who might want to, without being the worst kind of hypocrite.

But the waste!

How can I say no to a woman I've been thinking of fucking for more than two years?

Actually, that's possibly a gross exaggeration. I do not recall Linda offering.

But I was worried that she wouldn't, and as worried that she would.

And much more worried that I would suggest it.

So I did the honorable thing: I drank myself into a coma.

I was slyly satisfied when I realized as we started to make the switch from one bar to another that I was way, WAY "too drunk to fuck."

I was much less satisfied with myself when, hours later in my drunken stupor I smashed my head, for the second time, into the soap dish in my friends shower.

My family has imparted to me a sense that when one is expecting a hangover, dramatic action is required.

For me, that means water, and lots of it.

Drinking it is good.

But not as good as drinking it while resting on the shower floor.

I don't have any evidence that it helps with the hangover.

It does lead to unremembered bruises.

But I'm a great believer in tradition, so in the shower I went.

But I'm a little too tall.

And sitting in the same position on the shower floor is exhausting when one is suffering from alcoholic deafness.

So I moved around.

And bashed my head into the soap dish.


"Stupid soap dish."

The worst part was realizing that I could very well be bleeding, and need stitches, but not caring.

Well, that was the worst part before the hangover wore off.

Is it o.k. for men to look "heroin chic?"

I was planning on wearing eyeliner to the wedding tonight anyway, but this might be too much.

Nevertheless, I survived the evening.

Even after spending much of the week before justifying sending Colton into the wild.

The best one I came up with, was that I SHOULD sleep with someone else, just to try to remember if sex, of the kind and quantity I believe I want, is worth giving up what I'll have to give up, apparently, to get it.

I can consider it an exercise in cost accounting.

It would sure help me make a more informed decision.

And I'm not sure I can't eventually accept that rationale.

But by the time I remembered that justification, I had already had a few drinks.

And coming from a long and fairly distinguished line of alcoholics like I do, I know better than to make big decisions while on a bender.

So I didn't.

And didn't find out if I could have.

I also didn't have a big boy conversation about it, and hid behind booze.

I want to be the person who can have the conversation.

I was congratulated for choosing liquour.

I suppose it's a start.

As part of my effort to seduce Linda, I led her to this blog.

I wonder if she'll comment.

I know my recollections are all pretty fuzzy.

So, darlin', if you're out there, say "Hi!" and set the record straight.

The rest of you?

Please get back to your regularly scheduled sex.


At 3:13 PM, Anonymous Collette said...

Well, some of us are in the same boat--albeit married. I admire your unwillingness to lie because, like me, if we were willing to lie, we could be getting laid all the time. I say trade-offs, you say cost accounting--which is a far more interesting turn of phrase. Nouvelle Vague covers the Dead Kennedy's "Too drunk to fuck" wonderfully. A new theme song perhaps? ;-) (If you'd like, I'll email you the song.)

At 3:06 PM, Blogger Madeline Glass said...

Colton, baby.

You really should learn how to hyperlink in your text...if collette had not commented on Nouvelle Vague, some readers would have never been led to them.

This would be a damn shame.

At 6:26 PM, Blogger Madeline Glass said...

Oh, and can i just add,

Nouvelle Vague also covers "I Melt With You," by Modern English....

Goddamn, I love that song.

At 11:50 PM, Blogger ThreeOliveMartini said...

i think the only one of us that has "regularly scheduled sex" is Jefferson.. I wonder what would happen if he lost his planner ..

and oh .. yeah.. honesty is always the best policy.. even if it happens to be brutal..

At 7:49 AM, Blogger Jefferson said...

God, the thought of losing my planner has me in a tailspin.

Your battle with the soap dish is too damned funny.

The battle with your conscience, though . . . man, that is a mighty struggle.

I suppose you survive with your honor intact, even as that devil "Colton" scowls and scours the calendar for a future opportunity to feel desire.

At 9:22 PM, Blogger Colton said...

That particular soap dish is a devil.

And I DO feel desire. And not all of it is directed at people I read here, either.

I'm glad I realized this while I was in Texas. But more on that later, I think.

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