WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? What the fuck is this? Hey, Fuckers? Number 28?!?!?!?!?! Yeah, I haven't written a Hey, Fuckers column in almost ten years. But I wanted to commemorate something, and I didn't want to use Goodnight, Fuckers for it. Rather, I'll have a similar GF on Monday celebrating something related to what I want to talk about right now.
Most alcoholics celebrate the anniversary of quitting the booze. I'll be doing that tomorrow, and then I'll tell you all about it Monday night. But Hey, Fuckers was a column for when I wanted to discuss things right off the top of my head instead of waiting for it to be the last thing I do before bedtime. And there is something I want to celebrate today.
Two years ago *this* day I drank for the last time. This time two years ago I was hammered out of my mind. I'd spent the night previous talking to this guy named Sonny, possibly the most Italian man I've ever met, and I'm Italian, myself. Whenever I was in the hospital for booze related illnesses, they'd send him in to try to convince me to clean myself up. He'd sit down and talk at me for at least a half an hour each time, and he was somehow more profane than I am. But I talked to him that night. I talked to a few others. The conversation I had with my buddy, Zeb Carter, is the one that tipped me over, helped me decide that yes, I'm going to call Sonny and have him help me quit the sauce. (Incidentally, Sonny looks eerily like Mad Sam DeStefano.)
This time two years ago I knew the following day I was going into detox, but I had all this booze still in my bedroom, including the dozen or so hiding places I had for back up bottles. (I didn't find them all. Not too long ago I found the rest of them, including a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 that still has an inch of bourbon left in it, which I have not thrown out. I keep it as a reminder.)
I hate it when things go to waste, so I decided I'd better drink up everything I had. Later, when I was in detox, I decided I was going to drink when I got out. I thought it would be a good idea to continue to drink, just not nearly as much as I used to. I'm super glad I didn't feel the urge to actually follow through on that. Now that my head's on straight, I know that I would have tried that, but I would have failed spectacularly. I'd be back to guzzling directly from a handle of cheap shit in no time.
[Here's an aside. I went back and forth on posting this link because contrary to popular belief I sometimes *am* embarrassed by myself. But if you really want to know how bad I was, you should read this. I am absolutely mortified by my behavior in that post. I do not remember driving that day. I *do* remember the sunlight coming through the open curtains destroying me, and I remember picking up that handle of Fleischmann's so I could continue drinking that morning. And then I blacked out again almost immediately because I don't remember anything else for the rest of the day except the moment at the strip mall where I can back to myself before the booze took over again. I don't remember anything else until I woke up the following day. I cannot stress this enough: I SHOULD NOT HAVE DRIVEN THAT DAY. I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've driven drunk when I shouldn't have. But I know this story is 100% true, because others have told me about my black outs, and they stress me shouting everything and calling people YOU FOOL! So yeah, if you think I made a mistake by quitting the booze, then read that post and realize that I was like that OFTEN.]
I figured I'd throw myself a little party. I had about two inches of cheap Canadian shit in a handle, so I drank that. I forget what it was called, but you could get a handle of it for six bucks at Corner Cottage. I also had some Fleischmann's, maybe half a handle, so I drank that. I had a sleeve of Jim Beam airplane bottles, so I drank that. And I still was not drunk enough for this to be my final hurrah. (Yeah, I was a fucking heavy drinker if you weren't around for that period of my life. I was like Julian on Trailer Park Boys, always with a drink in one hand. The problem is, unlike Julian, I didn't pace myself, so I was always rip-roaring Jim Lahey drunk.
Back then I aged my own whiskey, so I had a small barrel on the kitchen counter filled to the brim with high proof whiskey. So I drank that, too. I don't remember finishing it, but I did because the next morning I went looking for hair of the dog and found none.
The guy Sonny sent to pick me up got me and drove me out to Carol Stream. Along the way he told me it was nice not driving someone who was shitfaced to detox because he, too, was an alcoholic. In that moment I realized my foolishness. I should have saved some for the ride over. What was I thinking?!?!?!?!?!?!
But that all happened two years ago *tomorrow* so we'll skip that. This time in 2022? I had the blowout boozer to end all boozers, at least for me. And I really enjoyed myself, from what I remember.
To quote a great man, "OK for now." To be continued in Monday night's GF.
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