Another one of the hats Steve wore around the house was dog walker. Unfortunately the dog being walked was my dog Molly. After Steve's dog got tragically killed, I gave him more leeway with Molly than I ordinarily would have. I was afraid that Steve would let something happen to Molly in his highly inebriated state or maybe even fall on her doing one of his "face plants." I did make it clear that if something happened to Molly under his watch I would shove a Jack Daniel's bottle right up his ass without the benefit of getting to drink it first.
Steve staggered all over the neighborhood with Molly in tow. He took her to the neighbor's house, down to the mailbox, down to the creek, and they pretty much staggered all over the neighborhood. For whatever reason, Molly liked the booze hound Steve. Every once in a while she had to snap at him as a means of telling him he stepped over a line. As Charlie Murphy once said, "He was a habitual line stepper." I think she felt a compassion for him. When he moved out about three months ago, Molly went into a deep depression for a couple of weeks. She even started sleeping in Steve's closet. I can only imagine what their walks were like but at the end of the day, Molly was always waiting at home for me and that is all I could hope for. It was probably more of a scenario where Molly helped Steve find his way home or when Steve was really sauced, she acted as his seeing eye dog.
Tuesday, September 22, 2015
Monday, September 21, 2015
Tittyous
Every once in a while, the woman whi is my girlfriend "invents" a new word that I should probably enter into the Urban Dictionary. Yesterday's word was "tittyous". She was attempting to say the word "tedious" but it came out "tittyous." I immediately thought of what context that word could be used in the English language. I think it could be used as an adjective or an adverb and the definition could be "Acting like or in the process of being a titty," with titty being defined as sometimes looking good but for the most part useless." A friend of mine's father used to tell my friend when he complained about doing his chores, my friend's father would say "C'mon, Gene, don't be a titty!" So don't be tittyous in your actions and first and foremost, don't be a titty.
Sunday, September 20, 2015
Steve The Exterior Decorator
Steve wore many hats during his time as my roommate and one Saturday morning he thought he would try his hand at "exterior" decorating. I remember one of the Cheers story lines for a short while had Norm Peterson as an interior decorator. He had a flair for interior decorating but he had to act gay in order to attract clientele. Steve didn't have to act drunk because he really was drunk.
I got up this particular Saturday morning and I look out of my living room window and Steve is in the front yard messing around with the lawn furniture. I had two plastic lawn chairs and a table that I had bought on the cheap at Wal~Mart. Steve would move one of the lawn chairs over a couple of feet under a tree and stand back and study the chair intently for a couple of minutes and then he would study the chair at a different angle. He would then position the other lawn chair with it and then the table in between the two. He would adjust them a couple of inches one way or another and then study the set from all angles. It looked like he was getting ready for a tea party but I am sure his brand of tea would have been a special blend of iced tea from Long Island.
When he was finished with his "work" he stood back with a look of pride on his face. I stood at the window watching this the entire time until I could finally stand it no more. I knew better than to ask but I had to find out what the hell he was doing. I leashed my dog Molly and walked outside and casually asked what he was doing.
"I am rearranging the lawn furniture. The creative juices are really flowing today. It looks good, doesn't it? " I don't think it was so much the creative juices as it was the cheap Canadian whiskey he drank.
The sad part was is that Steve was serious. I complemented him on his expert placement of the lawn furniture and I said "Steve, you are a goddamn genius!" In his state of constant inebriation, Steve completely missed the sarcasm. He thought I was serious. I went on to tell him that he had staggered, I mean stumbled, into a new career path, "Steve the Drunk Interior and Exterior Decorator."
I got up this particular Saturday morning and I look out of my living room window and Steve is in the front yard messing around with the lawn furniture. I had two plastic lawn chairs and a table that I had bought on the cheap at Wal~Mart. Steve would move one of the lawn chairs over a couple of feet under a tree and stand back and study the chair intently for a couple of minutes and then he would study the chair at a different angle. He would then position the other lawn chair with it and then the table in between the two. He would adjust them a couple of inches one way or another and then study the set from all angles. It looked like he was getting ready for a tea party but I am sure his brand of tea would have been a special blend of iced tea from Long Island.
When he was finished with his "work" he stood back with a look of pride on his face. I stood at the window watching this the entire time until I could finally stand it no more. I knew better than to ask but I had to find out what the hell he was doing. I leashed my dog Molly and walked outside and casually asked what he was doing.
"I am rearranging the lawn furniture. The creative juices are really flowing today. It looks good, doesn't it? " I don't think it was so much the creative juices as it was the cheap Canadian whiskey he drank.
The sad part was is that Steve was serious. I complemented him on his expert placement of the lawn furniture and I said "Steve, you are a goddamn genius!" In his state of constant inebriation, Steve completely missed the sarcasm. He thought I was serious. I went on to tell him that he had staggered, I mean stumbled, into a new career path, "Steve the Drunk Interior and Exterior Decorator."
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Barbecuing Steve Style
Steve's drunk ass was always wanting to barbecue and I know if I heard the phrase "jerk marinade" one more time, I was going to shove a grilling fork in his ass. One day he staggers into the kitchen and offers to grill us some hamburgers. He didn't want to grill me just a hamburger, he wanted to make it his way. He gets the hamburgers out and soaks them in tabasco sauce and barbecue sauce and when I objected to this torturous treatment of the hamburgers, he said after they were grilled, I would not even be able to taste it.
He went out to the grill and came back in about 15 minutes later and I could smell the tabasco sauce as soon as he walked in the door. I politely told him I was not eating that so he wolfed down both burgers and was telling me the entire time I did not know what I was missing. Yes, yes I did. Five minutes after he finished them, he was vomiting in the kitchen trash can. When I asked if the burgers were just as good coming back up as they were going down, he swore up and down that it was not the burgers. He went and passed out shortly after that. Maybe he should have had his own cooking show "Drunk Grilling With Steve." Justin Wilson stayed sauced on his Cajun cooking show but the difference is, Wilson could actually cook.
He went out to the grill and came back in about 15 minutes later and I could smell the tabasco sauce as soon as he walked in the door. I politely told him I was not eating that so he wolfed down both burgers and was telling me the entire time I did not know what I was missing. Yes, yes I did. Five minutes after he finished them, he was vomiting in the kitchen trash can. When I asked if the burgers were just as good coming back up as they were going down, he swore up and down that it was not the burgers. He went and passed out shortly after that. Maybe he should have had his own cooking show "Drunk Grilling With Steve." Justin Wilson stayed sauced on his Cajun cooking show but the difference is, Wilson could actually cook.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
He Held On To That Cigarette
One of my first stories about Steve has to be the "cigarette incident." When I moved in, Steve told me he only smoked about three or four cigarettes a day and he probably should have amended that to three or four packs a day.
It was getting close to the winter time so Steve started going out back on the balcony to smoke. We had been roommates for about three months and by this time I had started shutting myself in my bedroom to get away from him and his stories. I was in my room about 7:30 one night and I heard something fall on the balcony and it shook the house. I came out of my room to see what it was. I see Steve through the back door laying on the balcony. I was afraid he had a heart attack or something. I tried opening the back door but from where he was laying he was blocking the door and I could not get it open.
I yelled through the door, "Steve! Are you OK?"
"I think I hurt my hip."
After several attempts to get out the back door and he wouldn't budge, I said, "Forget it. He'll get up when he gets up," and went back to my room.
I came to check on him about 15 minutes later and I finally managed to get out the door. He had fell in a pile of dry leaves with a lit cigarette and Steve AKA Boozo the Clown AKA Drunkenstein kept smoking the damn thing. That drunk dumbass could have burned the house down but he kept laying there smoking that cigarette until he had smoked all of it. He was proud of the fact that he had smoked the whole thing while he was laying there and thought it was quite the athletic feat worthy of ESPN's Sportscenter or the Drunk Hall of Fame.
I asked him what happened and his version was that a bench sitting on the balcony had flipped over on him when he sat down on it. The closer to the truth version is that his drunk ass went to sit down on it, missed the bench, and fell on his ass. The important thing to remember is that he held on to that cigarette and smoked all of it.
It was getting close to the winter time so Steve started going out back on the balcony to smoke. We had been roommates for about three months and by this time I had started shutting myself in my bedroom to get away from him and his stories. I was in my room about 7:30 one night and I heard something fall on the balcony and it shook the house. I came out of my room to see what it was. I see Steve through the back door laying on the balcony. I was afraid he had a heart attack or something. I tried opening the back door but from where he was laying he was blocking the door and I could not get it open.
I yelled through the door, "Steve! Are you OK?"
"I think I hurt my hip."
After several attempts to get out the back door and he wouldn't budge, I said, "Forget it. He'll get up when he gets up," and went back to my room.
I came to check on him about 15 minutes later and I finally managed to get out the door. He had fell in a pile of dry leaves with a lit cigarette and Steve AKA Boozo the Clown AKA Drunkenstein kept smoking the damn thing. That drunk dumbass could have burned the house down but he kept laying there smoking that cigarette until he had smoked all of it. He was proud of the fact that he had smoked the whole thing while he was laying there and thought it was quite the athletic feat worthy of ESPN's Sportscenter or the Drunk Hall of Fame.
I asked him what happened and his version was that a bench sitting on the balcony had flipped over on him when he sat down on it. The closer to the truth version is that his drunk ass went to sit down on it, missed the bench, and fell on his ass. The important thing to remember is that he held on to that cigarette and smoked all of it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Thus The Story Begins
First of all, I recognize the fact that alcoholism is a disease. I consider it an infectious disease that affects everyone in the alcoholics life. The alcoholic does not realize that. It affected me, even as his roommate, more than I am willing to admit. I am trying to make light of a very serious, debilitating illness but I can only deal with serious issues with my sense of humor. It seems to be the only way I can process information and I deal with it the only way I know how.
My friend referred to Steve as a "functioning alcoholic." I was not exactly sure what that meant but I quickly learned the meaning. You could not tell how much Steve had to drink at any point during the day but if he got to where he was falling down drunk, he had drank enough to kill 99.9 percent of the human population. In the 10 1/2 months he was my roommate, I only saw him that way three times although he drank from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed.
My friend referred to Steve as a "functioning alcoholic." I was not exactly sure what that meant but I quickly learned the meaning. You could not tell how much Steve had to drink at any point during the day but if he got to where he was falling down drunk, he had drank enough to kill 99.9 percent of the human population. In the 10 1/2 months he was my roommate, I only saw him that way three times although he drank from the time he woke up until the time he went to bed.
Drunk And Drunker
I used to have an alcoholic roommate. Since I was an aspiring writer, he always wanted me to write his story. He thought his life was that fascinating. Outside of the fact that he was the only man on the planet that drank Milwaukee's Best Ice with a cheap Canadian whiskey chaser, and that I have never seen a man drink that much and still be functional and still be alive, his life was not that fascinating.
For reasons of anonymity I will call him "Steve." I was telling a mutual friend of ours Steve's delusions of grandeur and he met the story idea with the proper amount of skepticism. He asked me "What are you going to call it? Drunk and Drunker?" We both laughed at that but there is a ring of truth to it. Our friend asked me "How are you going to start it? 'Well, there was this one time I was drunk...' or 'I got drunk this one time and got my ass beat...'" We both laughed about it but as Steve and I continued to be roommates, I realized that he did have a fascinating story, just not one the Walter Mitty type of story that he envisioned. Steve was a legend in his own mind so Steve here is your wish, I am writing your story but it is from my perspective.
For reasons of anonymity I will call him "Steve." I was telling a mutual friend of ours Steve's delusions of grandeur and he met the story idea with the proper amount of skepticism. He asked me "What are you going to call it? Drunk and Drunker?" We both laughed at that but there is a ring of truth to it. Our friend asked me "How are you going to start it? 'Well, there was this one time I was drunk...' or 'I got drunk this one time and got my ass beat...'" We both laughed about it but as Steve and I continued to be roommates, I realized that he did have a fascinating story, just not one the Walter Mitty type of story that he envisioned. Steve was a legend in his own mind so Steve here is your wish, I am writing your story but it is from my perspective.
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