why I drink

Why do I drink ? You see it's simple.

I'll give you Saturday night for an example.

I started a poker league. Its a year long series and Saturday was the first event for the year. I invited a bunch of players, had a couple of people coming from out of town, and was excited to get the thing started.

A couple of weeks after setting the whole thing up, two good friends decide to hold suprise birthday parties for their spouses at the same time, on the same night. Obviously bad timing for me. So I'm between a rock and a hard place and a week out I'm already stressed about how to try to fit in all in. So after some quick math, I work it out and tell the host that I can get to the first party and I'm good until 7:30...then I can get home in time for everyone to arrive at my place.

I got to the party early. Like 20 minutes early, which considering who I'm married to is understated. That's like saying that Doogie Houser graduated high school early. Unfortunately we sat at the bar for 25 minutes until everyone got there.

Now I was trying to enjoy myself and be polite but the clock was running and I realized that by the time that we got seated and got menus and people showed up, that I was going to have to leave just as everyone was getting settled in... and I was going to look like a douchebag. So by showing up, I'm a bigger asshole than if I didn't come.

I should note that I'm a socially manic person. Severely. Either I'm entirely comfortable ( rare and often facilitated by copious ammts of alcohol) or I'm disturbingly uncomfortable and paranoid, especially in groups. Let me just say that I wasn't drinking and you can derive your own conclussions as to my state of mind.

I tried to stay focused and make conversation where appropriate and then my phone started to ring off the hook. People were calling to cancel, calling to ask if they could come, or asking directions to my house. I self-consiously excused myself, handled the calls, finally turned off my phone. Then went to the bathroom, took a leak, washed my face and collected myself. "OK", I thought to myself " stop getting worked up, everything is fine...just go back out there, relax, enjoy myself, make some conversation and when you have to leave, politely excuse yourself and do what you have to do. No one will even notice that I'm there or that I've left"

Somewhat calmed I started back to the table.

Then I could see HIM. Wearing, of all things, a bright orange shirt, like the color of a DOT workman or a hunter. I could see him from the other side of the restaurant. And he was seated in the chair right next to me. It was the doucheblogcyclist , my arch-nemisis.

This guy has a PHd in fucking with people. He has a annoying tic. I don't mean he has a tic that I find annoying. I mean his tic is being annoying. He has super powers that allow him to find whatever thing makes you the most uncomfortable...then he focuses in on it, and keeps pushing that button until you crack.

And in this situation I was wearing I giant " fuck with me" button right in the center of my forehead.

I took a deep breath....this was going to be fine...I'm overreacting...we're all adults now...I'm sure he's going to be polite. As inconspiculously as possible I slid back into my seat and offered a polite hello.

" HEY FLICK ! I DON'T KNOW WHAT PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT, YOU'RE NOT THAT FAT !!!"

Everyone stopped their conversation, turned to see what all the commotion was, stare at the two of us, and I suppose, assess just how fat I've gotten.

So much for people not knowing that I was there.

Of course my natural instinct was to find a snow shovel or a broom handle and start swinging. But out of respect for the birthday girl and out of a desire to be as invisible as possbile I just smiled, started eating a roll and didn't say shit for about 15 minutes.

After a while I started feeling awkward for not saying anything, so I tried to make idle conversation with the side of the table away from my tormentor. I mentioned that a mutual aquaintence had just won a poker tornament for $115,000. That prompted a joking comment about when I might win a tourament and make some money. As I began to explain that I play for pennies and for fun, a voiced bellowed from behind me..

" FLICK IS GOING TO WIN THE WORLD SERIES OF POKER ...HE'S ALMOST A SEMI-PROFESSIONAL !!!! HARDEE HAR HAR HAR !!!"

That was all I could take. I gathered up my shit, shaking with with self-conscious embarassment trumped only by rage, and got up to leave.

I looked over to Mrs. Flick who, for the first time all week was sitting there with a beer and a smile on her face. Just because I was on the verge of committing a felony, there was no reason for her to leave. I quietly told her, " I'm going, you should stay". Of course, she said, " No, I'll go with you." and her friends said, " no, stay stay" and then it all started up.

Instead of slinking off into the shadows, I was standing in the middle of the room engaged in 5 differnt conversations, " you should stay", "how will I get home ?"..." I'll get you"..." Where's he going ?"..." I think he's going to play poker"..." Do you think he has a gambling problem"..." You don't want you to come back and get me"..." I don't mind"..." gambling problem ? I hear he's a semi-professional hardee har har"

I finally said, " call me when you want to come home and I ran out of there. I went directly to the pizza shop across the street, ordered a large draft and chugged it.

You'd think the story would end here. You problably wish it would. Me too.

I got to my house and we started playing. Then my phone rang...the caller ID read 'doucheblogcyclist". In the middle of the hand I picked it up....no one there. Two minutes later it rang again...now the guys at the game started giving me shit, " dude, what's with the phone calls are you playing poker or what". Doucheblog again. Hang-up again.

Now I excused myself and called him, " WHAT ?"

" Heh heh heh. I didn't call you."

Two minutes later phone rings again. Now I'm pissed, " WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT ?"

It was Mrs. Flick. Oops.

" I'm sorry to bother you" she said, " I'll take a cab." then I could hear everyone in the background saying " no, we'll drive you...he's not coming to get you ?", meanwhile, I hadn't said shit.

" NO, I'm coming to get you like I said I would, it's no problem I'll be there in a minute"

I excused myself from the tournament, costing myself some chips but no big deal, and set off to fetch my wife.

When I got to the restaurant it was pouring rain. The parking lot was not only full, but all the arrogant assholes who were too good that have to park and walk in the rain had parked in the fire lane, and all the other paved areas anywhere near the front doors. I was going to have to park a quarter mile away. " fuck this" I thought, " She's right there waiting for me."

I double parked in the middle of the parking lot and turned the flashers on and ran to atrium. No Mrs. Flick. I went inside to the sitting area. No Mrs. Flick. I walked trought the packed bar...nada. Finally I ran upstairs to where to party was and she was sitting there at the table drinking a beer. " Umm, hun we gotta go."

" Oh HI. Thanks for getting me. Let me finish my beer and say goodbye."...she was killing me. I was pretty sure that by this time I was either getting towed or someone I had parked in was tearing the wiper blades off my windshield.

" I am double parked, I have to go outside now. We have to leave", I started down the stairs and she soon followed.

So after all of that. After going when I really didn't have time to go, after doing my best to be polite while someone is riding my ass, after trying to be a decent guy and have my wife stay and enjoy herself, and after leaving my game to drive back and pick her up, I get this IM this morning....

GM: douchblog told us that you were rude at the party and inconsiderate to your wife on Saturday night.

That's what I got.

So there. That's why I drink. I drink to stay alive.

In fact, I think I'm going to have to stay a little bit alive a lunch this afternoon....and then stay a whole bunch of alive when I get home tonight.