A Marvelous Way To Go

I’m going to drink myself to death, just like Nicholas Cage did. Vodka. No more champagne–it’s gone.

I’ll drink at home. I won’t go out anymore. Or maybe I will. My humiliation is complete, so it doesn’t matter. This morning I woke up naked in a strange man’s bed, underneath a dirty, ungroomed dog. I had a throbbing headache, and I could hardly open my eyes. I knew my breath was bad, so I blew in the dog’s face, and he actually lapped the air! What a dreadful beast.

I looked over with a feeling of deep regret. The man was lying face-down. His back was hairy. I didn’t care to see him, so I pulled myself out of bed.

“Where you goin’?”, he asked, all groggy.

“Your dog smells like excrement.”

“Haha! That’s just deer poop.” He turned over. “He likes you!”

Oh my god. I was in LaPine. I knew it all of the sudden. I pulled up my skirt and buttoned my blouse.

“I was never here,” I said.

“Suit yourself, lady. You weren’t so good nohow. Nice hair, though. Maybe you’d be better sober.”

My right heel was broken, so I took it off and threw it at him. He just laughed. I walked to the door. The dog frisked and waggled. It had to pee. I pointed at the beast. “Pee on the floor!”

I walked out and kicked off my other shoe. Good lord, where was I? My car wasn’t there. It was still at the bar in Bend. I walked down the street, and it was practically just a dirt road. The lawns were as much pine needles as they were grass. I couldn’t tell if the houses were trailers or sad tries at real houses.

The town is like a little corner of hell. How could it exist like that? So close to Sun River? I could see the highway from the end of the dirt road. I don’t even remember the walk. I think it was long. I walked to a greasy spoon on 97.

“Tough night, lady?”

“Call me a cab.”

“A cab?”

“Yes. Call me a cab from Bend.”

“Oh lady, someone can drive you. People are going that way.”

“Call me a cab.”

The wait was interminable. And everyone was looking at me the whole time. But what’s the difference when your life is dead to you?

The cab came. I had to stop him after just a couple of miles to get out and throw up. When we got to my house I didn’t even have any money. He took a new set of mens’ golf clubs and some nice shirts.

I’m staying in and it’s vodka all day long and all night long. It’s all over. The sun is gone, too. Perfect. Just depressing drizzle. It’s all just perfect. A perfect ending.

They are both gone. If I ever see either one of them again I swear I’ll kill them. I didn’t go to Sisters on Friday. I had a terrible upset stomach. When I got into the house I heard the theme from The Flintstones playing loud in the bedroom. I went in and Jennifer was bouncing on top of Bob. She was wearing nothing but a black rabbit-fur bra and, get this, had a bone tied in her hair! Have you ever heard of such a thing? I don’t know whose idea it was but they are both sick, sick people. I better never see either one of them again. The man I will never forgive. The girl, I could have, if she had been underneath him.

And, of course, there’s no money. When it rains it pours. I don’t know if Bob took it somehow or spent it somehow or just never made what he said he made. I’m going to die. How did this all happen? I need another drink.

Tags: booze, bubble, real estate