Beard Boy and I just bought a bottle of bourbon to have around the house. I love good bourbon all the timein the wintertime. So much easier and warming than hot cocoa and the like. I mean really, step 1: pour in glass, step 2: drink. No messing around with heating up milk and blah blah blah. Seriously. Find a brown liquor you like (anyone of the Glens will do) and stock it in your cabinet. You will thank me.
Anyway, while contemplating whether or not I should have a glass last night (of course I should!), I was reminded of the first bottle of bourbon I purchased for my own self. It was a big step up from the cheapo wine and 6-packs I normally stock and I remember it fondly. I bought it with The Economist after we mistakenly went to see "In The Bedroom" one night when he was visiting -- if you've seen that movie, you know why the bourbon was necessary: De-Press-ING -- and I savored every glass.
In fact, it was with that very bottle that I charmed the pants off a new "friend" I had just made. Sure, I had a mystique going already since my Shock and Awe campaign started at a John Waters event where I told him he looked 23 (he was 46!). To be honest, I thought he was younger than me because after he offered to buy me a beer, he wanted to share it, but he did also have a youthful face. Anyway, I gave him my number. I know! So forward! After some emailing and pointed not calling his home number, he came over to my place to "hang out." Ew! Not like that! Although...Ahem, anyway, when I asked him if he'd like a bourbon, it was my shining moment. He so thought I was the shit. Admittedly, it's not that difficult to be cooler than someones day-in day-out wife of 10 years who happens to also be named Bernice(!), but having someone continuously exclaiming how effing cool you are despite the glaring truth of dorkness is very heady. I mean, YOU might be used to being cool and cutting edge, but I'm the anti-hip, I have always been the anti-hip, I'm usually quite fine with being the anti-hip, and being that cool was just a new phenomena that had to be experienced. Sue me.
In any case, our "relationship" was doomed to failure. He was bound to find out the truth eventually. And so he did, when I refused to participate in some extra-curricular activities that involved a present he bought me from the sex shop. I think my shocked reaction was a slap to his face. I tried to cover up, but it was no use. Soon after "The Present Incident," we stopped talking.
I used to keep that present in my underwear drawer, still in the original never opened wrapper. I would constantly obsess about what would happen if I died unexpectedly and my mother had to clean out my apartment and she found said present. Heart attack for sure. It got to the point that I made my friend, Smith, swear, more than once, that if I were to die, her first action would be to get to my house faster than humanly possible and get rid of the evidence. Why couldn't I just throw it away? Well, it was a present and my mom taught me not to throw presents away. Plus, if I had thrown it away, I wouldn't have had the pleasure of mailing it back to him, sans note, right before I left for Seattle.
Moral of the story: Mailing strange sex toys back to your married ex's house and good bottles of bourbon may not be Good Things (ala M. Stewart), but they definitely are fun things.
PS illustration courtesy of liquid medication
"Anyway, while contemplating whether or not I should have a glass last night (of course I should!)..."
Amen to that!
Posted by: ANDY | December 22, 2005 at 02:52 PM
Hells yeah! PS I love your comic.
Posted by: C Ro | December 22, 2005 at 03:17 PM
Thanks for the comic props! Use it and abuse it all you want!
Posted by: ANDY | December 22, 2005 at 08:42 PM