It was 8:30 in the morning when my face met the bathroom mirror on Saturday. I had grown darling freckles under and around my eyes. My first thought was to send them back…as if I need any more help in the department of woo.
And it came back to me…Roosevelt Hotel…black tie party.
I started with beer, switched to red, champagne toast, back to red to champagne. When I went out for a breather, I talked the bartender into pouring me a Jack and diet. But there’s just something about getting done up…a craving to sip and swirl crimson. Back to red we went.
Off to Tropicana…
I remember the 4 bottles of Grey Goose and 2 bottles of Dom hitting the table.
After that, any tales I tell will likely be a moist blend of faction, so I’ll refrain. I soon realized the methods by which I grew charming ocular freckles must have been anything but…charming.
Don’t ask me how I woke up any time before noon that morning. The point, my dears, is that I did. The point, my dears, is that I always do and always will…even without an alarm. How?
Because I’m a bright and shining fucking star.
…
On Saturday, I saw the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Fuck it, I’ll speak for you as well. Don’t bother to Tommy Top My Story. You’ll fall on your face.
We have this girl…this darling beyond darlings, Krisi. Southern Belle to the bone. Deep, beautiful Arkansas accent. The moment I met her, I heard screams of victim hearts…simultaneously crying over the past injustices she had caused. Like a new millennium Trail of Tears following the footsteps of her life.
We were on the field before walkthrough…all dragging our feet, participants in the greatest mass hangover I have ever lent affiliation. She dropped her glasses, passed off her Marlboro and flipped her feet over her head with a casual grace that nearly pulled a proposal from depths of me believed to be sealed in an impenetrable time capsule until the rough age of 32. Her hand never touched the ground. When she stuck the landing, which was immaculate, she reached for her cigarette and took a drag before falling back to the ground. I don’t think it’s possible I’ll ever forget that…
Or the after party chat I had with the guy who LOST the ultimate fighting championship the night before. Though, I’m not sure if it was the conversation or the demolished face he was sporting.
…
I loved my time on this project, the people, the problems, the successes, the failures. Now that I’m here, three weeks later, I love that it’s over.
Because it was the second week when I hit a slide. There was a point I didn’t realize, but remembered…
Somewhere, somewhen…this voice graffitied my insides with a string of delicate words. The sort you pass on the subway in awe, hoping the NYCDOT turns a cheek and permits eternal life.
This voice left something that clung…something that builds on itself as I continue to grow older…as my progressively foolish path continues to grow. And it’s no whisper. If I remember correctly, it’s always been in the equivalent form of a bastard asshole screaming into my ear.
The message was Latin…so I never know what gets lost in translation, but the important parts always remain intact…
You have been given a gift that defines remarkable…a gift that is limitless. You have been given a currency, however, that is limited. Spend generously, yet carefully. Spend like a time bomb, yet with a steady mind. Spend as if pain and loss failed survival. Spend forever and never stop…else all you’ll become is a give in.
