When my phone rings at midnight or later, it can only be a select few people. Most everyone I know is under the impression I will royally fuck them up if my beauty rest is disturbed. However, the chosen also know if my phone rings after the aforementioned time, and they have a good story to tell, then all is forgiven.
Tonight when the phone rang at 12:30 in the am, I had been asleep for approximately 14 minutes. My hair still somewhat damp and fruit-scented from my evening shower. My eyes popped open on the second ring, and then 3...4...CUE ANSWERING MACHINE:
ANSWERING MACHINE GO: Hey Jimmy, it's your buddy T. Sex, from college, just calling to see how you are and regale you with some tales and hahas from my recent adventures or lack thereof. Seems to be you are not at home, maybe you're out living that life we always dreamed with $$$, power and gameshow hostesses. If you think of it when you get in, give me a call back or I will try you again next month.
Seriously, that was the message almost verbatim. At this time of the night, on as little sleep as I am running on, I can't even make that shit up.
It lay in bed chuckling to myself, replaying the message in my head, laughing harder cause even though it sounded like T. Sex was suicidal, I know it's just the tone and cadence of his speech that elicits this thought from people. The fact that I know the kid to be a certified genius and yet still have spent time in a drunk tank, makes the story that much better. I debated and then debated more. Five minutes later, I picked up my cell phone and speed dialed one of the only people from college, I still keep in contact with.
Just as I thought, T. was home and picked up the phone like he was surprised it rang. We updated each other on the small and somewhat significant peccadilloes that make our worlds spin and after awhile we decided to drop what we thought would be the bomb to break the camels back. It's a time-tested ritual which usually has both of us in fits of laughter on our respective floors. I thought I had tonight's contest locked up after I spun my yard about drinking 10 Heart Attacks, (Heart Attack ='s stoli razz, splash of cranberry and can of redbull)
and then trying to flirt with anything not nailed down.
I would have been correct in thinking I had victory until T. whipped out a little ditty about Randy Random.
Apparently my good friend, Mr. Sex, had finally finished doing renovation on his first house. After completing the arduous task, he decided to have a rager to celebrate. Friends were invited and people came. There was music, merriment and of course adult beverages. Some mutual college friends came and one friend brought the friend of a friend who shall be know here after as Randy Random or RR for short.
As one might have guessed by this point, RR's social skills were not the best and maybe stopped developing at the age of 15. He was heard to have said things like, "I like that new Star Wars movie, cause I can really identify with it." "I don't think my leg makes a very good guitar." and "beer is like deer...except with a D." Needless to say, most quests found RR's attempt to connect with society somewhat ill-fated, and so without much dialogue with the rest of the world, RR drank...and...drank...and Drank...and..DRANK.
Later on in the evening, when things had quieted down some, people noticed RR was missing. Seeing as how there was no booze left, it was a good thing. Friends shook hands and said their good-byes. Mr. Sex turned off lights & went to bed. Upon beginning his evening washroom routine, Mr. Sex found one RR, passed-out, naked, with head hanging in toilet bowl, and an empty bottle of mouthwash next to the sink.
10 minutes and one 911 call later. Nudie McDrunkenstein was on his way to the hospital, and ultimately detox.
Only if I had fucked a mule and punched a cop out, could I have beaten that story.
Sometimes I really am not as cool as I think I am.
I hope you all are well,
JJ
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