2004-10-04 - 8:28 p.m.
Alaska: Day Two. I've Insulted the Alaskans?
My second full day in Alaska ended with me being very drunk and being carried to my bed by Gunther. Beware children, whiskey is an evil thing.
Sunday, after going to a bookstore, and shopping for warm clothes and shoes, Liz and Gunther took me to the fifty-somethingith birthday party for their friend Martin. Martin and his wife Edie own a house a few miles away from Liz and Gunther. Their friends Charlotte (an attorney) and Bill (the owner of a construction business) were also there as were Martin and Edie’s daughter, Brook and her boyfriend.
En route to the party we stopped at a liquor store, where Liz and Gunther told me to get the liquor of my choice. I declined, saying that I preferred not to drink. "Anything you want. You’ve got to get something," Gunther explained. "No. No," said I. "I’ll be the designated eyes tonight."
I ended up being the undesignated drunk.
Martin is originally from North Carolina and his wife made him a traditional southern meal, which meant there was meat in everything except the water. There were some puffy, fried corn things that also didn’t contain meat. I ended up eating several pieces of bread, several of the puffy, fried corn things, and some collard greens. There was a giant bottle of something called Tullamore Dew on the kitchen island, so before dinner, I decided to try it. I poured just a little bit into a large glass and was surprised at how smooth it was. I then decided that, although it smelled like alcohol, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been and I therefore needed just a little more. At the dinner table I decided that after drinking some water, a bit more of that stuff wouldn’t be so bad. This went on during the course of the meal, which lasted about an hour. About half-an-hour into dinner, Bill, a big burly man, asked what I was drinking. I told him and he asked if there was water in it. "No, it’s straight," I told him. "Wow! I’m impressed. A man after my own heart," he laughed. As I sat at the table I could feel my face and ears turning hot and red.
We talked, ate, laughed, took photos of the dinner party, and then it was time for Martin to open his gifts. Liz and I sat on the floor. The next thing I remember is trying to open my eyes. When I was finally able to open them a little, I realized I was staring at the ceiling.
So, what Liz told me, and the pictures on her digital camera sort of filled in the blanks.
I was attacked by a cat; I kissed the bottle of booze that turned me on (I wanted to have sex with Charlotte), and would later turn on me; I asked Bill if he would be Zeus/God in one of my paintings; and when we got home, I undressed and (Gunther told me) talked at length about the (supposed) European cut and styling of my underwear. (Gunther is from Germany and said he knows nothing about my underwear being European.)
So what do I remember? I remember being flat on my back, not being able to open my eyes, sitting next to Bill, talking to Charlotte (all the while thinking "I would really like to put my willy inside you"), being carried to the car by Gunther, feeling HORRIBLY nauseated, and taking off my clothes in the company of Liz and Gunther.
Gunther gave me a bucket to vomit in in case I needed to, and I was sure I wouldn’t need it. That is, until I was in so much agony this morning. I figured the diarrhea wouldn’t last all day, and there would be no need to vomit. "I’m a MAN dammit!" I thought. That lasted until the man turned into a frightened little boy and wanted to go home. "Fuck it," I thought. "I’ll puke." At that point, I had no conscious choice anymore. I thought about Cher, who, last month, told me that she felt ill and felt better after throwing up. I thought about my friend Joe, who after a late night (or nooner) echoes Cher’s sentiments. "Be a man," I hear him say.
"OK," I thought, still trying to reason with myself, "let’s do this. HOOOOWAAAAAAH!!!" It was the most fucking disgusting experience I’ve had lately. [I must digress and interject here that Joey ate buffalo testicles a couple of weeks ago.] I thought of the time my friend Steve, with whom I used to deliver pizzas, said he felt sick. We got out of his car, he vomited, and kept walking. "BE A MAN!" I thought. I puked a few more times throughout the morning and generally felt like ass.
I e-mailed Cher, Joey, Mrs. DLH, and Max this morning, and recieved this from Cher:
"Fucking finally—golden boy "drinker" gets his due—a hangover! HA! Here's what you do—drink water--
more of it than you ever have before—Gatoratorade is even better. Pop three Tylenols and a vitamin. Keep popping the tylenol (or whatever) like every 6 hours. Eat some pizza or a hamburger—-keep eating all day. Lie around in bed and groan a bit. Think about all the stupid things you said and did last night- become paranoid- check your underwear for blood stains. Get drunk the next night.
Love always,
Cher
P.S. You still won't feel good tomorrow."
Mrs. DLH lectured me.
"Jesus, boy -- will you quit w/the drinking already. YOU DON'T DRINK!! (except for a Corona here and there.) Knock it off. I had to laugh at Cher's response. So no matter what you do, you won't feel better today or tomorrow. So think about that the next time you get an urge to go beyond your one Corona. You don't want to be thrown out of Alaska now -- do ya'? OK, I snickered at your pain and it makes for good writing, but please you're a guest in somebody's home. You want to be invited back - yes?"Oh, how I miss Chicago.
This evening, Liz, Gunther, their friend Chris, and I went to see an Argentinian movie about an eight-year-old boy who lives with his grandmother, and wants a normal stable family. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m a total wuss, but I cried. He ends up making his own family from the adult friends he has in his life.
‘Nuff said.
