2004-07-05
Oh. Hello. Um. I'm thinking that you're wondering where I've been.Soooo, the last few days have been... a wee bit hazy. I began the week with a wedding and ended it with no car and a radically fucked up face. Let's play catch-up.
Julie and Tim tied the knot after 8 years together, reaffirming my sick need to grab the nearest woman I see and drag her down the first aisle available. It doesn't even have to be a church. Also, I drank a lot of beer in the limo and at the reception and did the "Thriller" striptease for the bride. It's starting to become my schtick at weddings. Katie, beware.
Then... hung out at Scout camp with Jake. Went to Abingdon and made it back in one piece. No incident.
Then... came home to STL and brought my car in for service. Jake had previously diagnosed a bad ball joint as the catalyst of my car's incessant angry rumbling. I said great! That'll only run my mom a hundred bucks or so! Well, I was right. It was the ball joint on the left front tire. It was fucked. What I hadn't planned for was the damage to the wheel itself that the missing ball joint had incurred, and that the other front tire was equally damaged. And my brake hoses were shot to hell. The car wouldn't even pass the state saftey inspection. Plus, I was overdue for an oil change.
OFFICIAL DIAGNOSIS FROM SCOTT AT NAJJAR CAR CARE: "I like you as a customer, Andy, but shit! This thing's gonna kill your ass if you keep, you know, driving it!" Total cost of repair: $1300. Blue Book value of car as is: $0. Blue Book value of car after repairs: $250. (Incidentally, value of car stereo: $275.) So bye bye, Old Sticky. We've had quite a run.
Therefore, here I sit in Peoria, hunched over the Journal Star's classifieds, trapped in my hometown until I'm the proud owner of a new (to me) car. Mom came to STL on Thursday, we packed my shit, and home we went. It couldn't come at a worse time, really. Back in STL, it's crunch time on mine and Rob's senior overview, and we STILL don't have an actress. We shoot a 23 page all-dialogue script in less than two weeks. It's NOT my fault that all this misery is happening, for once. Rob and I had everything running well until Lizz dropped out and we've been in limbo ever since, and I shoudn't feel responsible but there's still that nagging feeling...
So considering the imminent failure of my four point five years at Webster, boy was I glad to have Saturday night's family wedding reception at the Madison Theater with open bar! I ended up going with Spike and Carolyn (whom, by the way, I'm breaking my diary silence about. We started talking shortly after Amber and I broke up, and I didn't want to discuss it on here because I KNEW that it would upset Amber. After a while, leaving Carolyn out just became habit. But I think I've reached the point where I'm so far separated from Amber that I'm doing Carolyn a disservice by omitting her from this page. And... I just don't want to do it anymore. So... yeah. Sorry, Amber.).
Now then. My cousin Maggie had gotten married a few weeks ago and they had saved the reception for Saturday night. We all got dressed to the nines and went downtown to the Madison, Peoria's second largest concert venue outside of the civic center, which my wealthy family had rented. And, as I mentioned, the two most beautiful words in the English language: Open bar.
HOW TO NOT THROW UP WHEN DRINKING:
1. Remember to eat beforehand.
2. Do NOT, under any circumstances, mix your hard liquor.
Follow these rules I guarantee, and vomit-free ye shall be. So I can only blame my impulsiveness and idiocy when I arrived on a practically empty stomach and proceeded to whet my whistle with everything available behind the bar. Beer, whiskey, wine, gin, rum, and vodka. And in all honesty, I was doing very very well until the very very end of the night. The last thing I remember is ponying up to the bar with Mike and Carolyn and ordering a shot of rum for each of us. Next thing I know, I'm waking up to my mom rubbing some sort of salve on my cheek. I hear her voice: "Oh my God, Andy! This is terrible!" Then Mike's voice: "Come on, it's not that bad!" Then nothing.
Here's the first hand account from Carolyn. I did the rum shot, which was apparently the straw that broke the camel's back. But no, Mike had to get me another shot. Then Mike had turned around to talk to my uncle, and when he turned back to me my head was on the bar and I couldn't even speak. So he and my cousin Eddie started helping me outside. I allegedly hurled first in the lobby, right before making it outside. But, always one to cover my loose ends, I made sure to hwark outside on the steps, too. And out the window on the way home.
BUT. Before I even got to the car, disaster struck. Mike, who was also mighty well dipped in the sauce, offered me a piggyback ride. Apparently, this seemed like a great idea! So I jumped on Mike's back, apparently with the force of an elephant because he couldn't support my weight. His knees buckled and I went up and over his back. Fortunately, I managed to break my plunge to the sidewalk with my face.
The right side of my face is scraped, cut, generally very... hurt. I didn't have to go to the hospital, nor did I lose any teeth, and my pride took the worst beating of all, but at the end of the day, I'll be no worse for the wear. Carolyn thought it was hilarious and I was actually the toast of my family at our lake Fourth of July celebration yesterday. Relatives patted my back and offered a blend of congratulations and admiration as if I had just received the Purple Heart or something. But that's the Hobins for you.
So here I am in Peoria, hardly wanting to leave the house because of my gaping wounds, but realizing that I don't have to worry about leaving! After all, for an indeterminate amount of time, I'm without transportation! And you know what they say. You can't spell "carefree" without "carfree," I think to myself as I bring the compress back to my eye.
Call me or IM my phone. It's cold here, and there are wolves after me.
-Andy