Marty and Elayne, my adopted LA grandparents, featuring Gordon Bash on the upright Bass and moustache.
With Apologies to Various Mikes….
Yesterday was the anniversary of my birth, which I spent trying to kill myself. It wasn’t the original plan, but as often is the case, adjustments were made on the fly to accommodate new desires. The best part is that I may have succeeded.
It’s been said that alcohol is the only intoxicant in the world where people have to tell you that you’re intoxicated. All others, be they pills, plants, or powders, cause the user to almost immediately exclaim, “Hot damn! I am WASTED!” With booze, nobody ever believes it. They assure you they are totally fine, and that very little of their abilities have been impaired. They say this while they’re laying on the floor.
I ended my birthday last night laying on the floor. A cake on the table, gifts from the Redhead next to it, and the Redhead looking on as I listened to Cracker and bemoaned my “carsickness.”
