GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #103: I'M NOT PROUD OF LAST NIGHT

I blacked out last night. Usually, I'm OK with that, because it gives me the opportunity to piece together what happened the night before in a Faulkner-esque way. I love mysteries, and that's the perfect kind. But I'm 36 years old, and that's too old to be getting black-out drunk.


I did not expect to get that way. I'm trying to figure out how it happened, and I have a few thoughts. They're not excuses, because I should have known better, and I went ahead and was an asshole anyway. To anyone I might have hurt while blacked out, I apologize and hope you can forgive me. Usually, if I hurt someone, I have messages on my phone, but I don't have any now. I don't think I hurt anyone, but if I did, I'm sorry. (And if you didn't send me a message, and I hurt you, please let me know. It's the only way I can fix my ways. I can't repair myself if you don't let me know.)


Whenever I drink these days, I water my booze down. Last night, I didn't. I got excited, and I forgot to do this. I wound up drinking a pint of Bulleit and a half-pint of Wild Turkey 101, which is insane for someone who has suffered from pancreatitis. I remember my friends warning me, and while it didn't kill me, I should have heeded those warnings, and I didn't because I'm stupid. I also had gin last night, which I never have, so I can't say how badly it effects me. One of my last solid memories of last night was having gin shots because I lost a trivia game. There are a few flashes after that, but that's the last memory I'm certain about.


I'm thankful that the husband/wife team who threw the party let me sleep on their couch. Who knows what might have happened otherwise? The last concrete memory I have is of watching the next team of game show contestants taking their seats after me. The next thing I knew for sure, I woke up on the couch because my alarm went off (I at least had the foresight to set the alarm, or I would have missed my dentist appointment).


Honestly, blacking out drunk is a thing for younger men than I. It was fun in my twenties, but now? I'm almost forty. I can't be doing that shit anymore. Whenever I drink, I have a few while I'm at home, watching movies or TV shows and generally being mellow. When I'm out among other people, I get out of hand.


Here's what I'm thinking: I should stop drinking when I'm out with others. When I'm at home, it's never crazy. When I'm out and about, I have a few too many. At home, I only drink to get buzzed--and I always water and ice my drinks--but when I'm out with others, even when I know I have a place to sleep the booze away, I drink too much without watering or icing my drinks. I lose myself. I know I don't do terrible shit, because if I did, someone would have told me by now.


But if I did? Please, tell me. I don't want to be hurtful or a creep or any of that shit. I just want to be fun FOR OTHER PEOPLE. Not for me. I consider myself to be an entertainer, and I don't want to make people feel miserable.


From here on out? I don't think I'll be drinking outside of my home, if only to prevent myself from going off the rails. This upcoming week, I'm starting my new diet, which involves juicing. Spoiler alert: next year for Halloween, I want to be Cassidy from PREACHER. But he's waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too skinny, and I'm waaaaaaaaaaaaay too fat. If I can lose that weight? Cool. That's my goal. Drinking in public holds me back. I'll see what I can do.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #14: I'M DRUNK! DRUNK!

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Or something like that.


Seriously, I could never in a million years describe what happened tonight. I'm suddenly reminded of my youth, when any number of crazy things could happen--and then actually did.


This old man's got to rest his bones. I'm going to be 36 next week, and I have all sorts of medical problems. I should probably stop doing all the ridiculous shit I'm doing . . . but . . . well . . . when Charles Bukowski was a younger man, he was told by a doctor that he must stop drinking or he'd die. It depressed him so much he went directly from the doctor's office to a bar, because he needed a drink.


The dude lived for DECADES after that, drinking heavily the whole time. He didn't even die from his habits. Leukemia got him.


But still. I bet you fuckers thought I wouldn't post anything before passing out. Hell, I'm with you. I should have passed out hours ago. I'm not supposed to drink this much. I've had a half-pint of Jameson, a half-pint of Wild Turkey 101, five shots of Bulleit, a Gonzo Imperial (thanks, Katrina!), and maybe--MAYBE--four shots of Fleischmann's (but that was in the afternoon, when I was getting ready for the night).


My doctor is going to murder me. He's going to take one look at me and kill me with his eye lasers. FUCK.

ONE QUESTION INTERVIEWS: JOHN EVERSON

John Everson is a Stoker-winning horror novelist located in Naperville, IL. He was one of the Dorchester writers before the company collapsed. Under their banner, he wrote books like COVENANT, SACRIFICE, THE 13^TH and SIREN. He is now working with Samhain. I first met him at Flashback Weekend, where I bought the limited edition hardcover of THE 13^TH, which has amazing artwork on the dust jacket, and I ran into him again at DanCon. This is my question for him:

ME: I noticed in the acknowledgements of THE 13^TH that a lot of the book had been written in bars, notoriously loud places with plenty of distractions. How do you manage to write in such a strange, loud environment?

JOHN EVERSON: That one’s easy, actually. The wall of noise creates a Cone of Silence, really. If I’m in a bar when they’re not playing music and there are only a few people in there, my ear will immediately pick up the conversation at the table next to me, and I won’t be able to do anything. When it’s really busy and the music’s loud, it’s just a buzz, and I can go into my own space. The thing I like about writing in that environment is, unlike in my house, where there are a million things that need to be done—I can feed the birds or clean the bird cages or clean up my office or make dinner or whatever, or talk to my son. In a bar, I can’t do anything. I’m not going to just walk around. I stay seated at the booth, people bring me beer, which is always a good thing until the bill comes, so I get a lot done there. I’ll spend three or four hours there, and it’s private me time.

His new book is VIOLET EYES and can be purchased here. Usually, I just leave plugs nice and simple like that, but he said a bit more when I asked him about the new book, and I thought you might enjoy this, so here you go.

JE: The new book is called VIOLET EYES, and it was also written in many bars. It’s sort of my big KINGDOM OF THE SPIDERS book. It was a lot of fun to write. And in the acknowledgements, I say I’ve always done a lot of writing in pubs. In this one, I put where it was written. Bars in Ft. Worth, TX, Florida, Toronto, Vancouver and Munich, Germany, my first trip abroad. I went there for business a few days and got some writing done.

John Everson’s website is here, and you can follow him on Twitter at @JohnEverson