Dingleberry Gazette

Well I woke up Sunday morning

With no way to hold my head

That didn’t hurt.

And the beer I had for breakfast

Was so good I had another

For dessert…
(Respectfully borrowed from Kris Kristofferson.)

Much like the song, Sunday morning was a little rough. I’d fished out a Wild Cherry Pepsi, then remembered I had two bottles of Obsidian Stout hidden in the crisper. Maybe they (along with the remaining inch of gin in the bottle) would put to death this roaring headache. I pried the beer cap off with a Buck knife, poured a shot, and as I finished my first recovery dose, the phone rang.

“Did I wake you again?” It was Mizelle. She calls about the time I get up, but I’m usually not up. This time I beat her by about five minutes.

“Nah, I’m moving, but I had kind of a wild day yesterday.” I told her about my adventure with Clairissa, and filled in some of the spotty details from afterward. *I* had to stop and try to remember.

“Would you like to go to breakfast? We’ll pick you up…”

“Hell yes! Can you give me about an hour? I have a couple of things I need to finish.” One beer down, one to go. Maybe three shots…

Three shots were more like five. By the time they rolled up, I was ready to either barf, pass out or have a big breakfast. Since they were driving and I got to choose, I picked Podnah’s. Trout hash never sounded so good.

I made it through breakfast and the drive, but the food slowed me way down. The portion seemed larger than usual, and the biscuits (proclaimed best ever by Mizelle) were hot little hockey pucks of flaky goodness. After a bunch of “You just had a baby?” and “Ooh, she’s soooo cute!” we were on the way back to my house.

On the way, we passed Clairissa’s shop. Her OPEN sign was out, and I could see signs of life. If there were a way to fit her in the car, I’d have kidnapped her.

Upon arriving home, I called her, expecting to get the machine. She picked up, “Hey you! Whazzup?”

“We just drove by your shop, I saw you were there, and wanted to kidnap you, but there was no room in the car. Raincheck?”

“Of course. What were you doing over here?”

I told her of breakfast, and recounted the evening after leaving her. “Well, I went downtown, ran into a bartender friend who bought me a 20 oz. Long Island Ice Tea. On the way home, I stopped and got a six-pack of Obsidian Stout. I sipped on that for a while, then my bro-in-law was making a run for grub, so I rode along and stopped at the liquor store. I bought a bottle of fancy gin and sat up all night writing and playing records. I mean CDs. CDs of old records. I haven’t listened to The Wall in years. It’s got to be one of the best albums ever made.”

I ran down the list of drinks I consumed over the 24-hour period. Ten beers, a Long Island Ice Tea, and a fifth of gin. Jesus. It didn’t seem like that much, until I went through my wallet in the morning.

“What are you doing now?” she asked.

“I am about to curl up and die for a while. I’m going to sleep until work time tomorrow, and hope like hell I’m functional. I just wanted to thank you for yesterday. I needed a friend. I wrote about breaking your clippers. You should read it before I post it; it’s kinda personal.”

She laughed. “I know what you write about me, it’s okay. I’ll see it sooner or later.”

“Oh, and thank you for the panties. I will treasure them always. I do want to photograph you in them, you know…”

“You will.”

With that I drifted off for an eighteen-hour nap. The darkness that are my hangovers wasn’t as bad this time, and the urge to go on an extended bender has subsided. Just because I’ve ‘gotten away with it’ a couple of times doesn’t mean I can go back to my pickled lifestyle. I still feel like crap, but I don’t crave booze anymore. Sometimes I just have to blow the cobwebs out.

As I began to nod, I looked over and saw the package of blank DVDs Mizelle and the Frenchman had gifted me. I’d forgotten to say thank you. Thanks to the miracle of modern science and technology, this was easily fixed. I called Mizelle on her cell phone.

“Hey, just wanted to thank you for the DVDs. And for breakfast. If you hadn’t called, I’d probably be a mess right now. I didn’t eat yesterday.”

“You should get some sleep, and you are welcome. Breakfast was good. We should make a habit of it.”

“I’d like that.”

Except the hangover part. I’m not going to make a habit of that…