One from the archives…
Background details: Yes, absinthe. Not the original version that made Nicole Kidman and all her little friends have visions and then sing about it in that one movie, but the modern version without the supposed hallucinatory properties. A certain resident of Denton, TX, felt compelled to introduce this substance into our otherwise chaste social gathering, resulting in questionable activity and conversations devoid of merit or logic. I submit to the court the following evidence…
1.My uvula is swollen.
After many years of field research and careful analysis, I have discovered that the hangy thing in my mouth only achieves an engorged state when two activities take place at the same time in an evil convergence: One, I have consumed something other than beer, my usual choice for a recreational beverage, and Two (as a result of One), I have been compelled to vocalize endlessly on subject matters that no one cares about. This means that I was improperly-lit and bellowing at some point in the evening. Probably several points. I’m so proud of myself right now I could spit.
Minimally-related side note: Isn’t “uvula” one of the most annoying words in the known universe? Seriously, I don’t want something with that designation residing in my mouth. It just doesn’t feel right.
2. There’s a small bruise on my right shoulder.
A very specific, perfectly-circular bruise, as if someone didn’t care for my behavior during a game of billiards and viciously stabbed me with a cue stick just to stop the madness. (Was it something I said? Probably.) But we don’t have a pool table, or at least we didn’t when the first guest rang the doorbell, so I’m going to assume that something else happened.
Maybe I got shot at some point during the evening? Entirely possible. We live in a very excitable neighborhood, with drive-bys and such, and folks around here have a tendency to celebrate significant milestones, like the receipt of food stamps or the clock striking midnight, with rounds of gunfire. It’s not unheard of to be felled by whizzing, anonymous bullets during the simple act of reaching for the remote control.
3. The toilet paper dispenser in the guest bathroom has been refreshed incorrectly.
There is only one proper way to load this thing, people. One way. This would never have been allowed to happen if I hadn’t been distracted by distilled spirits and/or that one guest who doesn’t bring anything but eats everything.
4. There is a fine layer of sea salt coating the top of the refrigerator.
Really? Was there a wedding in the kitchen and we didn’t have any rice?
5. The chairs on the patio have been arranged in an odd manner.
Okay, then. What do we suppose happened out here? Based on the configuration layout, I can only think of two things: an impromptu meeting of the Society for the Preservation of Avocado-Colored Appliances, or a ritual sacrifice. Both of these things alarm me equally.
6. The cat might have been shaved.
Still working out the details on this one. It’s difficult to make a full assessment when said cat refuses to come out from under the bed, alternately popping sedatives and speaking in hushed tones to his lawyer on his cellphone. I’ll keep you posted.
7. There’s a “Sonny & Cher” CD in the stereo.
Pray that there were survivors.
8. The pantry door is locked.
Prior to last night, we didn’t have a lock on that door. I can’t even begin to imagine what this means.
9. New people appear to be dwelling in my house.
I can hear them now, muttering in the guest room, and probably making further plans for world domination. The voices sound like the invitees who won the crowd over last night with the stuffed mushrooms and the bacon-wrapped jalapenos. Granted, those items were extraordinary and I had multiple orgasms throughout the night, but the bestowal of new living quarters as a reward seems a bit excessive.
Initially, I just thought they were in there sleeping things off before hitting the road, which is fine, and an option that I highly recommend. However, I just discovered that there are additional names on the mailbox, and the china pattern in the hutch is not one that I would personally choose. It seems that we’ll be having a difficult conversation here in a bit.
10. Some of my furniture is missing.
Granted, I vaguely recall a boastful round of dialogue wherein I might have uttered something along the lines of “I can TOO sing all the songs from the original cast recording of ‘Cabaret’, betcha five bucks I can!”, and then things may have gotten a little out of control, with increasing wagers and heightened delirium. But it was all in good fun, and no bartering exchanges should have actually taken place. Friends don’t take advantage of their friends who are disadvantaged.
So, to whom it may concern, please bring my couches back. Thank you.
P.S. Is anyone missing a sequined jockstrap? Text me.
Originally published in “The Sound and the Fury” on 03/13/11. Some changes made. Those of you with a keen eye will note that the opening photo is one that just appeared in a post a few days ago, a snap otherwise known as “Past Imperfect – #2”. Mea culpa. Sometimes my muses are mute and I’m forced to double-dip when it comes to the artistic ambiance here at Bonnywood.
Categories: 10 Reasons Why