"Don't wanna wake grandma" : Book excerpt #6

A haphazard reunion with an old friend goes awry. Back on my home turf of the Monterey Peninsula, I reconnect with another friend after the other one ditches out. We drink, he drives me back to my buddy’s grandmother’s house, where he is living with his fiancé, and hilarity ensues.

Enjoy...


* * *


“Hey, hey, hey!”

I looked over and saw Alexander walk out onto the patio. He hadn’t changed a bit since last I saw him. Long blonde hair pulled back into a tight pony tail, suede shirt coat jacket, western jeans over clunky cowboy boots and still carrying around his saddle bags slung over his shoulder filled with random notebooks and business proposals. Alex and I hugged. I was quite relieved to see him.

Alex and I went inside to get another round of beers, while sneaking in shots of rye, which was always a favorite of his. Alex had all sorts of great stuff going on; his greeting card line, his publishing company and he was even thinking about opening up a café / oddball toy store in the near future.

“But I still have to do contracting and construction to keep the money coming in,” he said.

“Dude, I have to bartend at the strangest place on earth, run by Satan’s alcoholic uncle and staffed by immigrants, drug fiends and beautiful blonde women.”

“What category do you fall under?” Alex asked.

“I haven’t figured that one out yet.”

Back on the patio, the conversation was brisk and lively, except between Dave and myself. He chose to put his attention in his future bride while Alex and I cracked jokes and dug up mischief from the past.

“Remember you drank so much coffee at Tillie Gorts that you ended up tap dancing in the middle of the street for ten minutes after they closed?” I recounted.

“Or the time we went to that strip club in San Francisco and you got that mysterious stain on your pants after that ugly crackwhore lapdanced on you?” said Alex.

“Dude,” I said, “I now live three blocks from that same strip joint. Every time I walk by it I think about that night. Good times.”

The importance of this gathering was the fact that I was here to reconnect with Dave and see if after a decade we were still pals. Turns out the guy I saw just a year ago and keep in semi-contact with, Alex, was far more engaging. Shannon seemed to dominate the conversation anyway, seeing as Dave just went along with what she said or wanted to do. To be witness to that made me a bit uneasy. Dave used to be tough, a fighter, and extremely funny. The few hours I had been there made it apparent that he gave into the disability of both his back and this girl.

About 8pm the Blue Anchor was jumping and filled with people Alex knew. I was a little drunk but feeling great thanks to the energy of reuniting, that familiar smell and feel of my old hometown and an occasional helping hand from my powdery friend. I made sure to do it in small increments, just to keep me going and coherent. Last time I did blow with old friends the result was ugly and I sure as heck didn’t want to revive that embarrassing juncture. So I kept it at a bare minimum.

Dave and Shannon said they had to get going but would leave a key under the backdoor mat for me. I hugged them both, told them I would see them either in a few hours or in the morning and I would be silent as silent could be when coming in. We said our goodbyes and I returned to the little patio party that Alex seemed to have organized.

We ended up bar-hopping later that night around downtown Monterey and I actually started kissing one of Alex’s lady friends around last call. She was a very cute and slightly portly girl, who seemed willing when my hormone fueled drunkenness kicked in, allowing me to pin her to the wall outside some bar and make out with her. It didn’t last very long as Alex pulled me away and drove me to Dave’s grandma’s place.

“Who was that girl?” I slurred heavily.

“I don’t know,” Alex said. “I think she was friends with Jessica.”

“Who’s Jessica?”

“A friend.”

“The one with the face or the one with the boobs?”

“They all had faces and boobs.”

“I like...boobs.”

Alex dropped me off around 2am to which I immediately had to switch into “I’m really drunk but I have to be really quiet” mode. We silently said our goodnights and goodbyes to each other and had a good laugh about the situation and the fact I had forced some random girl to make out with me, which I had never done. Well, at least not in front of him. Alex then drove off and I stood in the bleak chill trying to gather enough chutzpah to enter a house I had only been through once and now had to navigate in total stealth, in abject darkness, hastened by a staggering beer plowed body.

Pacific Grove in the dark early morning hours is a mausoleum. Cold, quiet, tenebrific and dead. In fact, the silence was so loud I felt as if that mild squeak in my left Vans were echoing down the street as I approached the backdoor. The house was pitch black. This was going to take some experienced drunk guy ninja artistry.

The key was, thankfully, under the mat and I gently slid it in the lock and slowly turned the knob which made a distinct “clack” that resonated in eternity. Once inside, I stood wobbly in the kitchen trying to get my eyes adjusted to the dark. Eventually I began my tip toe creep-fest to the “office”, which was a few steps to the left and to the right down the hall if memory served me correctly. I found the room, slowly opened the door to avoid any unwelcome creaks or clicks, located the light switch on the wall and switched it on.

From underneath the desk a swift white furry animal darted out that caused me to scream out in abject terror.

“JESUS DONKEY BALLS!” I cried. “WHAT THE HOLY CHRIST WAS THAT!?”

Obviously it was a cat, but having it shoot past me like a fuzzy banshee out of a slingshot gave me quite the scare. It was then that I realized that I screamed much too loudly as my intoxication and fear of dark grandma houses took hold. As I sat on the easy chair, trying to regain a normal heart rate, I heard a shuffling from the room next door.

“What the fuck,” whispered Dave coming into the office with nothing but boxer briefs on. Chalk up another phobia: Thick and hearty man junk wobbling in my face at 2am. No bueno!

“I’m sorry man,” I said breathless and whispering. “It was the cat. It was...under the desk... Scared me man. I’m sorry.”

“Are you just getting in?”, Dave asked perturbed.

“Yeah. We went barhopping. You should have been there. It was fun. I made out with some chick.”

Dave looked at me despairingly. He had a hairy chest, which I always knew about, but the newly formed man-gut over those briefs with what looked like a taco shell shoved down the front made me long for the safety of the garage and comfort of the model train table. Foamy toy mountains make great pillows I bet.

“Just keep it down alright?,” Dave murmured. “Don’t wanna wake grandma up.”

“No,” I said. “Don’t wanna wake grandma.”

Dave and I said goodnight and he closed the door. Through the wall, in their bedroom, apparently, I could hear Shannon ask what was going on and Dave saying that I was drunk and got scared by the cat. She didn’t sound pleased. Nor did Dave.

The next day I was happy to find Dave busy with various things, such as a doctors visit and a meeting with his business partners about, something. This was all described to me as I stood in the sterile kitchen drinking his grandma’s horrible coffee shaking from an intense hangover.

“Mark, I hear you made quite the ruckus last night,” his grandma said. She was a nice old lady that looked much older after almost two decades or so of not seeing her. I’m sure the trauma of losing her husband of fifty years recently put on some age. She was sitting on the couch doing a crossword.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Your cat gave me quite a start. I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

“Oh I didn’t hear you dear,” she said. “I’m on so many pills that I could sleep through a bomb if it dropped right here in the living room.”

“That’s awesome.”

"Frieda gives me ecstasy": Book excerpt #5

“Frieda gives me ecstasy”: Book excerpt #5

A girl that I was “sort of” dating decides she wants to do ecstasy with me, not knowing my aversion to psychotropic drugs. The result was pretty interesting.

Enjoy!

* * *



Between work, the club and the radio show, not to mention my own need to hide either in the corner by the big window at the Crowbar or back at the apartment reading, writing and watching bad movies, I really didn’t see much of Frieda. That first night together really freaked me out but when she said she wanted to see me and “do something” together I figured Amanda’s place would be best. I found a night where I didn’t work and Khamish was gone for a few days filming in Oakland.

Frieda came over and looked as cute and sexy as ever. Even knowing what I knew then and her showing up in a multicolored sock cap and North Face jacket, it was good to see her. Although apprehension was looking over my shoulder along with carnal curiosity.

After I took her out for some amazing Thai food and drinks after at the Crowbar, we ended up back at the apartment. There was some kissing, some drinking and me trying to get the vibe if she wanted to do it or not. She didn’t seem all that interested but she did suggest something else.

“Look,” she said, “there’s something I want to do with you but I don’t know if you’ll be into it.”

“What is it?”

She unzipped her jacket that was lying on the floor and produced a tiny ziplock baggie with two large white pills inside.

“It’s X. Have you ever done it?”

I almost did once, ironically, at Burning Man, but warnings from friends and camp mates made me too hesitant to go through with it. They said it would “make me feel good” and make that god forsaken trance music seem more tolerable while at the same time comparing some basic effects to mushrooms and acid. After trying mushrooms once I decided that hallucinogens, even mild ones, are no good for me. I already have enough voices and phantasmagoria in my head thank you, I don’t need some drug to accelerate it and turn me into a drooling buffoon throwing rocks at the moon.

“Will I freak out?” I ask.

“It’s a distinct possibility,” she said. Frieda could even quote Animal House. If I wasn’t so afraid of her, I just might fall for her.

To be quite honest I had been curious about Ecstacy since the early days when it came out and I was exposed to it either at work or in clubs. San Francisco in the late 90s was weird man. All these down and out bars were turned into “lounges” and rock clubs got shut down because dot commie millionaires bought “live work lofts” above them and couldn’t take the full throttle of pseudo bohemian living. I had co-workers, roommates and even bosses that did it. They all claimed it was the bees knees.

So, why not? If it’ll make sex with Frieda even more exciting it’ll make up for all the dry spells I’ve had post Malory and Amanda. Well, except for Nicole but...I didn’t want to think about that.

She handed me a pill. We stood there with those big white aspirin looking things in our palms.

“Are you ready?” she said. “Go.”

Frieda plopped hers in her mouth and after a split second of hesitation I did the same.

“When...um...when does it take effect?”, I asked feeling the chalky horse pill race down my gullet.

“About fifteen or twenty minutes,” she assured “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“Well don’t be,” Frieda said. “My friend said this was really pure stuff and it’ll just make you feel really really good.”

“That’s what they say.”

So we sat in the bedroom talking, drinking while listening to Portishead and Cocteau Twins when something started happening. After just ten minutes of swallowing the X pill, my body began to get really warm, as if a fever was taking hold. My vision started to blur, my perception began to give out, my knees buckled and my head swam as if I was immersed in a pool of tepid water.

“Something is happening,” I said. “Oh yeah...something is definitely happening!”

Pretty soon the bedroom was awash in a red glaze and I started spinning as the music foamed around me and the lights started to mold and throb. I wasn’t feeling good. I was just tripping balls.

“Jesus Christ!” I said. “You gave me acid. This is acid right? Oh my god. Is X supposed to feel like this?”

Frieda was watching me with concern and confusion while at the same time giggling.

“What are you talking about?” she said. “I don’t even feel anything yet. You’re just being a freak. It can’t hit you that hard that fast.”

Her words spun through my ears and I could take in the information but I could not comprehend. My body was on fire and I felt as if I was in some air pressured submarine. Everything had gotten angular and my extremities twinkled with fairy magic.

“Well...whatever,” I grumbled. “This is...uh...well...this is here. This is...what is this?”

Frieda was on the bed looking up at me. Suddenly her head bobbed down and she slowly craned back up with her eyes shut.

“Oh boy,” she said. “Um...wow. Yeah, this is really good stuff.”

“Is that...good?”

Frieda was silent for a while, what seemed like an eternity. Finally she spoke up.

“OK, Mark,” she began, “this is about as close to an acid trip as I had ever experienced without being on acid.”

“Oh jeeze!” I yelled. “This is not good. My brain is eroding.”

I was so hot that I stripped down to my boxers and started running around the apartment. Everything was crystal clear but had totally changed. The apartment looked more like a maze from Dr. Caligari than a space I was taking care of for Amanda. I started to get into it, but it was too much. I honestly had to have Frieda talk me down.

“Mark, it’s okay. You’re with me.”

You? Who are you? I barely know you! You’re trying to kill me! You’re the devil itself! I’ve heard you scream! No angel would make a ruckus like that!

“It’s just a drug. Just a powerful, wonderful, heavy ass drug.”

That’s right! You’re trying to poison me! That’s it! Lobotomize me with cheap pharmaceuticals and turn me into your sex slave! That actually doesn’t sound too bad except for the lobotomy part!

“Just calm down. Shhhh...”

Frieda then cradled me in her chest and I actually started to relax a bit. For some reason, be it the drug or the fact that I was attracted to her, I was actually thrown into a more reasonable state for the moment. Still reeling from the psychedelia that surrounded and gripped me, I was actually able to clasp into a brief twinkle of clarity.

“Maybe we should go outside and do stuff,” I warbled.

“Uh...no!”

For the next few hours I rode out the effects of that super potent hit of Ecstasy and learned to enjoy it. Music was fun, dancing around was fun and Frieda’s shrill screams of abject lascivious voracity later was actually quite lovely. In fact, she wasn’t loud enough. I do believe I threw the window open and announced to the world of our post orgasmic beatitude.

Take that Phil Collins! Let’s see you drum your way past this chick.

"Phil Collins": Book excerpt #4

“Phil Collins”: Book except #4


Even in the depths of my early morning dreamtime I could hear something. As my mind wandered through abstract images and memories I had collected from the past, a noise was breaking through. A thudding of some kind. Was someone knocking at my door?

By now I was used to the convex noise that permeated from Columbus Avenue. Sirens, busses, honking, religious freaks with megaphones, brakes slamming, late night drunken hollering, early morning delivery trucks, streetcleaners, bands performing in the park and the occasional parade were nothing new to me. By now it had all become white noise, much like the sleep machine I use every night. In a strange way, that constant cacophony was almost comforting. Now I can attest to those in rural states that insist it doesn’t bother them that the train goes by their house several times a day. You just plain get used to it.

I woke up to a new sound though. Khamish never played music loud and if he did it wouldn’t be this early in the morning. A check of the clock said 8:15. No, it wasn’t him. But just to be sure I sprung out of bed to see. His door was closed so I gently knocked. No response. I quietly opened the door to see his room, pleasantly messy as always, but no Khamish. This guy was the best roommate ever.

Pretty soon I noticed the noise was coming from upstairs. I always knew there were people living above Amanda but I never saw them. Up until today, I never really heard them. Once in a while I would hear the upstairs door close but that was about it. Whoever was up there was sure playing some bass heavy music.

Walking halfway down the hall I found the hotspot; the area where it was booming the loudest. The big painting on the wall was even shaking a bit. This person had their music cranked. And at eight in the morning This guy likes to party.

It was then I deciphered the song. It was Phil Collins’ “In The Air Tonight”. I could hear that chiming beat with Phil lightly singing “I can feel it...coming in the air tonight...oh lord.” Then that famous and very distinctive heavy drum beat, boom boom-boom boom-boom boom-boom-boom boom!, and the apartment nearly shook from it’s foundation, which didn’t take much as it was 100+ years old and rickety so I often got rattled when a large truck would idle outside.

For real, the music was deafening. I was tired. I closed out the Crowbar that night and didn’t get to sleep till four. Not that I was doing the drug, it was the fact that I caught Black Belt Jones on the late-late movie when I came home. Jim Kelly is my hero and I just had to make it to the end.

So half asleep and cowering from the loudness that only Phil Collins could provide, I opened the front door, walked upstairs and knocked.

The music was thundering. So I knocked again, louder this time. Nothing. I started pounding on the door. Still nothing. Maybe this dude offed himself and wanted Phil to be the last thing he heard as he exited this world. It’s a good song to do it to. Pretty cathartic and rather symbolic. Still though, I wanted to go back to sleep.

BLAM! BLAM!! BLAM!!! I was hammering the door.

Finally the music cut out. I heard footsteps which stopped right on the other side of the door. A sort of shuffling really.

“Hello?” It was a man’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Um, hi. My name is Mark and I live downstairs.”

A lock unhinged, a chain slid loose. The door opened and standing before me was a frail old man, maybe in his 70s, in a light blue, rather unwashed, terrycloth bathrobe and house slippers. He was taller than me and looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while.

“You know Amanda?” he asked.

“Uh, yes. Yes I do.”

“You her boyfriend?”

That stumped me. “It’s too early to give you an honest response,” I said.

The old man then gave me the once over as I stood there kind of not knowing what should happen next..

“Well,” he grunted, “what do you want?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, your, um, music...time...but, uh, it’s pretty early sir and it’s really really loud.”

He just looked at me as I stood there in my boxers and Skeletor tee shirt rubbing my hands in solicitude.

“I thought kids your age liked loud rock music,” he said with no air of humor at all. It was almost like he was challenging me.

“Yeah, I do,” I said, “but I’m actually thirty five and need to get some sleep.”

“Thirty five ” the old man shouted. He seemed drunk. “You don’t look a day over twenty.”

“Well, thank you. That’s...that’s nice of you to say.”

The old man leaned in real close and whispered. “What’s your secret?”

“Um, well,” I stammered, caught a bit off guard, “I drink a lot of water and moisturize every day.”

“Moisturize huh?”, he said with suspicion. “Aren’t ladies and fags the only ones to do that?”

“No. Not at all. In fact ladies and, uh...homosexuals...have great skin so why can’t I?”

“Point taken.”

“Plus I don’t smoke. Oh, and heavy metal will set you free!”

“Say again?”

“Never mind.”

The old man leaned his head back and looked around his apartment and the hallway. I really didn’t know if this guy was high on those awesome old people meds that deviant grandchildren always steal or just a nutbag filled with a shovelful of crazy.

“Look,” he said in a low voice, “I’ll turn it down, but just remember...”

He was pointing a finger at me and paused.

“Um...yes sir,” I uttered.

“The wife is out of town for a few days and Phil Collins rocks my shit.”

I blurted out a puff of a laugh, to which I quickly crossed my arms and held my lips as if I was pontificating what he had just said.

“Uh huh,” I twittered. “Well, you know, I was a fan of Miami Vice when I was a kid and this song...”

Slam! The door shut right in my face.

All I could do at that point was go back downstairs and go climb into the bed. I lay there in stone silence and perfect stillness. Sleep didn’t come. I was in too much awe to do so.