It was Thirstday, after all.
My neighbors, Jeff and Davina, had seen a map I posted on Facebook of one of my hikes on the My Bitch trail. That path runs through the hills behind our subdivision, and Jeff asked if I’d show them where to go. Of course, I agreed, and we made plans to do so on Thursday. Well, it was a rainy morning, but to my surprise, they still wanted to go. Fine by me, wet with sweat or soaked with rain, it’s all the same.
At beer o’clock, we visited my old darts haunt, Alley Cats. Owner Flor had given me a beer card for my birthday, and those six free beers weren’t going to drink themselves. I only managed four before prudence dictated I should go get something to eat.
So, we successfully crossed the highway and made our way to Mango’s.
Swan got messaged by some of her friends that they were hanging out at Annex Bar, so when Swan asked if we could stop by, I, of course, agreed to do so. They hung out in the back doing what girls do and downing tequila shots, and I sat up front enjoying the highway view, whilst sipping a cold San Miguel Zero.
We did our nightcap at Green Room, but Swan drank water there. She’s a lightweight when her peers entice her to join them in shots of the hard stuff. I would be, too. That’s why I stick to low-alcohol beer. We made it home safe and went to bed early. Right after Swan finished throwing up. She made it to the toilet, though, so good on her.
In sad news, we lost a member of the Hash, Fucking Old Man (Jerry Walsh). Jerry had the most Hash runs of any living Subic Bay Hasher. His familiar face will be missed. I recall my first-ever Hash as a tourist in Subic back in 2017. Jerry was in his 80s and looked it, but the gal standing beside him was a hottie. I knew then that I’d find contentment in the Philippines!
Our new housekeeper from Samar province is settling in.
Darts, at one time, were a big part of my life, and in this post from October 2012, I explained my cricket pointing strategy. Probably sounds like Greek to anyone who doesn’t play, but it does reflect my level of dedication to the game, even if my ability to execute was lacking.
This day in my Facebook history included:
Thirteen years ago, I was playing around making memes:
Today’s YouTube is the follow-up to the one I posted yesterday. The vlogger leaves AC and spends the next five days in Subic. He wasn’t impressed. Hey, it’s not for everyone, but I like it just fine here. The video captures the Barretto vibe. As I mentioned, I am not familiar with this vlogger’s work, but I did notice that the narration has a different accent from the AC video. That was weird. I randomly looked at a third video of his, and it is back to a more normal-sounding voice. I’m guessing they must all be AI-generated.
Humor time:
Alright, it is time to head out to Angeles City, courtesy of our neighbor Jeff and his lovely wife, Davina. I’m not a big AC fan, but I do like an occasional change of scenery. Jeff has some places in mind to show us, so we’ll see how it goes. At least you will have something different to read about here.
Have a nice tirp in AC~
Enjoy your field trip. As for this:
You probably have to be an old fucker like me to get this one.
I may be 56, but I know a thing when I see one.
As for the Popeye meme: in the book Tuesdays with Morrie, Morrie Schwartz, who’s dying of ALS, makes up a new aphorism: When you’re in bed, you’re dead.
Thanks, Bruce.
Dear Sir Blessed Sweet Gentle Dear Sir Glorious John,
It has been said that with its salt content the ocean is a soup. Are you to be think of soup when you see the ocean? Presonally I think soup is delicious and if so I will drink all the waters of the world.
Thank you dearly,
Cherry
Okay John, you are going to have to explain the joke about the girls name to me….
Re: perspective on aging
Yeah, weird how 70 doesnt seem that old when you are that age or close to it. To someone in their 20’s, someone 70 is pretty darn ancient.
Enjoy the weekend. Good to change things up. Familiarity can breed contempt.
Brian,
Noelle = no “L,” i.e., no letter L in her name, which is written “HIJKM,” skipping the L.
I overthought it at first, then it occurred to me that the puns John likes are reminiscent of SAT-math problems: not meant to be overthought. Et voilà.
I understand how you feel old, John, because oy vey what a day.
Back to involuntary detox for being a broke bitch and the WDs have been rough. I’ve only been on lite beer with the occasional mouthwash thrown in, and it’s been worse than going cold turkey off months-long vodka benders in the past.
Woke up this morning feeling relatively fine, thinking I must have properly tapered off over the weekend and the suffering wouldn’t be too bad. But instead the symptoms came in disturbingly quickly over the course of the morning.
I suppose I should have paid heed like two or three weeks ago when I went for an AM booze run. WDs came on unusually quickly then too. Maybe 4 hours since last drink and I had a racing heart, sheeted in sweat, a bit wobbly. When I got to the gas station I had to use both hands to steady my debit card to go into the reader, and I was visibly struggling with typing my PIN. I didn’t think I’d be able to do it, as my fingers kept mashing two or more buttons, and considered for a moment asking the teller to type it in for me. There was a line behind me and people would have seen there was something clearly wrong with me, which ramped my anxiety right the fuck up and made my shaking worse.
I was able to make the purchase, though, and beat it the fuck out of there, feeling infinitely better not being a withdrawing alcoholic making a spectacle at a gas station. The walk home would make up for it though. On the final leg of the trip the streets were suddenly full of people: dog-walkers, joggers, cyclists, people out for a morning stroll. I almost always go to that store very late at night, and I’d forgotten the streets around my place are thronged with people in the AM, taking advantage of the cooler mornings to walk their dogs or get some exercise in.
My shaking gets worse when other people are around and I feel like they’re looking at and judging me. It’s like an anxiety negative feedback loop. That’s why I try not to leave the house when I’m withdrawing. I can’t do what some people here do and just head right into work on a Monday after a weekend of smashing the vodka. I’d be a mewling, quivering, puddle on the floor with other people around, like in an office environment. Walking past all those people that morning was a struggle. As they came closer to passing me I could feel my legs getting so wobbly I thought a few times I was going to topple over and must have appeared to be walking in a jerky, robotic, fashion. My heart rate spiked and I was periodically gasping like a fish because I felt like I wasn’t drawing in enough air as someone passed.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve had shakes that bad, but today beats that.
As with the prior episode, the symptoms came on fairly quickly, and the worst one was the shaking. As I said, I try not to leave the house when withdrawing, to help with the anxiety, and unlike some stories here my shakes at home are normally reasonably manageable; some mild trembling if I’m doing something like chopping food or (dry) shaving, but I can still pick up small objects on the first go and roll my cigarettes.
Today I couldn’t even do the latter. The first couple of breakfast smokes I rolled came out just fine, then I felt the trembling quickly increase so I had to focus and try and steady my hands. Then I accidentally ripped in two my first cigarette. My hands were shaking so badly trying to delicately roll the paper over that trying to steady my hands provoked some overcompensation in brain signals, I guess, and I just tore the thing in twain, like the Hulk or some shit.
Damn it, just have to try again. I jerked and dumped all the tobacco over myself and the porch. I had a sip of water and gave it another go; I crushed it to pieces in my thrashing fingers. Again and again I tried to make it work. I was getting frustrated with my total inability to simply roll a fuckin cigarette. Even the two times I managed get one to 90% and I brought it up to my lips to lick the gum line, my head and neck were shaking too, and I ended up either biting into the paper or applying so much slobber the paper fell apart in my hands. It was only something like a couple of hours from being able to roll my smokes ok to being completely unable to.
I couldn’t keep doing that. I needed to make the tobacco and papers last. I don’t have the money to go out and buy more, and the rate I was destroying papers and tossing tobacco around I’d be out sooner rather than later.
I had an idea then. I remembered the ex had bought a couple of weed pipes last year, when she was trying to sell me on the idea she could cure her alcoholism if she got into weed. Those throwaway ones you see at smoke shops everywhere; glass, about 3″ long. Probably cost her like a couple of bucks for each and she just left them here. I could use one as an improvised tobacco pipe. No rolling involved, just pack the bowl, and no risk of wasted papers. Genius.
Results were…mixed. My hands, arms, neck, and head were still shaking like mad which made trying to hold the pipe steady in my mouth, while aligning the lighter flame with the bowl, an exercise in frustration. Sometimes I could feel the glass of the pipe clattering against my teeth, sometimes I’d abruptly jerk and toss the tobacco in the bowl everywhere. Lighting the thing was a bitch; I’d twitch and jam the lighter into the tobacco, it was so small I had to hold the lighter upside down which got me a burn blister right at the tip of my thumb that hurts whenever I use a lighter. Even when I was able to successfully light the tobacco, the bowl’s capacity is so small I got through it in 4 quick puffs or so, meaning I had to repeat the process all over again constantly.
I noticed my neighbor had opened his living room blinds. His unit is perpendicular to mine and he can see most of the yard from it. Depending on where he’s stood he could technically also see me sat down, smoking. I wonder if he glanced out of his window, saw me struggling with the pipe, and the way I was trying to light it, and assumed it was crack or meth I was smoking. He probably thinks I’m a mentalist anyway from all the times he might have seen me walk through the front gate with the ex, freshly-acquired booze openly in hand, or the recycling bin suddenly filling up halfway with empties one weekend. Even if he’s not actively snooping on me he would have seen me frequently walking past his window, on the way to/from the booze shop, looking like a crazy homeless person.
I spend a lot of the day sat outside, not only to try and roll cigs and get the pipe working, but to try and get in a better headspace. The anxiety and depression over my job/housing/bills situation were kicking my ass, and I needed something to help me relax. I thought if I could get a little relaxed, not worry so much, maybe the shaking (and other symptoms) would abate a little. In addition to not leaving the house when withdrawing, I generally try to avoid chores, obligations, responsibilities etc. I don’t even like talking on the phone to people. Clear my schedule, as it were. Just chill, rest, and relax. I’ve always thought that’s gone some way towards making my home detoxes somewhat less unpleasant than some of the horror stories I hear here. I also smoke like someone in rehab when I’m detoxing, so my inability to roll cigs and my struggle with the pipe were making it frustratingly difficult to get my nicotine comfort that normally helped me through WDs.
It was an unusually windy day today. Howling gusts of wind coming and going for hours, kicking up dirt and sand everywhere. I was shakily getting up out of my porch chair to go top up my water when a strong blast of wind popped the top half off my porch lattice panel out of its seating. Fuckin thing smacked into me and I was so weak and shaky I fell back down onto my ass in my chair. My first thought was eh, just leave it for now. I was in no shape to be doing maintenance work and I figured the neighbor wouldn’t care if I left it like that for a few hours. But I felt strangely exposed with the neighbors, and passersby, having an unobstructed glimpse of my porch. Truth be told I was also embarrassed about people seeing the absolute state of my porch and all the ex’s crap accumulated there. I decided to try and fix it then; I didn’t want people thinking this place looks even more like a crack house.
It took some work. Drunk or totally sober I can easily lift up one of those panels with ease. But in my enervated state I struggled. I could see my arms violently wobbling with the effort of trying to lift one above shoulder height. I was sweating like the Jordan Peele meme. To make matters worse the wind was still gusting, so I couldn’t just let the panel sit on top of the bottom one or even the lightest breeze would dislodge it again. I had to work quickly, leaning against each panel while I threaded zip-ties together – no drill bit, screws, or nails available – to secure the panels. No easy feat when your shakes are especially aggravated by trying to use fine motor skills. I thought of my neighbor again, wondering if he heard the crash of the panel and was watching me try to fix the situation. I must have looked a state, shirt darkening with massive patches of sweat, hair slick to my head with it; visibly shaking like I had Parkinson’s. But I managed to get everything tied down and I felt strangely accomplished.
Literally as soon as I finished and stepped away from the front of the lattice to walk back around into the porch, I felt a curious sensation of an imminent pass out. Like my legs were a microsecond away from just giving out under me and I’d fall over, like a doll with its strings cut, and I’d black out for a moment. That would really have put on a show for the neighbors. I think it was from the exertion of getting things quickly fixed, and my body and brain obviously being in a fucked up state. I have actually fainted once before in my life, and that was before I was even a crippled alkie, so that’s how I knew the feeling. But after a second the feeling passed and I went and sat down to treat myself to some cold water and yet another failed attempt at rolling a cigarette.
Had a bit of an oops moment later. I waited until early evening (when perpendicular neighbor’s blinds were shut) to try and take out a few empties. The fruit flies are becoming annoying as fuck and I’m sick of having to dodge around cases of beer littering the place from weeks or months ago. I pick up three cases and pinch them between the fingers of one hand as I step out to go throw them in the recycling bin.
Just as I’m about halfway there I see the wife/girlfriend of the family in the unit next to me pull into the driveway. Too late for me to about-face without looking weird, and my cases of Natural Light/Ice are clearly illuminated in the headlights of her car. I guess now she/they know I’m the one half-filling the recycling bins with empties from time to time. I try not to give her an embarrassed sideways glance as I walk out to the bins. They’ve been living there for like 7 months or something and we’ve not so much as exchanged a “hi” despite seeing each other virtually every day. Not trying to be rude or anything, I just hate awkward social interaction with strangers, withdrawals or no.
I dither at the bins, a few yards away from her vehicle. Wobbling intensifies. I’m trying to take my time so I neither have to go past her vehicle and blank her again, or end up walking beside her for a forced social interaction. My shaky hand drops one of the cases on the ground and empty beer cans spill out. Just a trifle embarrassing. I’m not sure I can lean over to pick up the cans without falling over so have to get on my knees to put the cans back into the case. I hear a car door open behind me and foot steps heading in the opposite direction. At least she didn’t stop to chat. I can safely go back home now, at least.
The last ‘gift’ my shakes have given me is it took me fucking ages to write this. I started last night and now it’s 5:40 in the morning. I don’t think I’ll be getting much, if any, sleep thanks to WD insomnia.
I still can’t roll a cigarette, and I’m not even 70 yet like you, John. Cheers?
Is Gary that frequently posts here and regularly insults other posters the same Gary that you Hash with – the handsome blond fella? Weird if so…..that gentleman seems quite affable and charming, not the slightest bit as aggressive and insulting as his cyber-namesake here.
Yvon that is none of your concern thank you very much. John knows exactly who I am and that is all that matters. Let’s all try to respect privacy here please thank you very much.
Gary, I honestly have no idea who you are other than your comments. If we’ve met, I didn’t make the connection.
Yvon, nope, not the same Gary. You’ve pretty accurately described my hiking buddy though.
Nice to hear from you again, Thompson. I was wondering how things were with you. Sorry to hear how sucky life has become. This too shall pass, hopefully.
Next time you have some spare coin, pick up a proper tobacco pipe. Back in the day, I puffed my nicotine fix that way. I’ve never had to deal with the withdrawal symptoms you describe. I’m doubtful I could handle that. Good luck with your recovery.
Luck is a very thin wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.
Hunter S. Thompson
Kevin, I thought the Noelle joke was as easy to get as a-b-c.
Brian, Kevin solved the mystery. Once you see it, it seems obvious.
Heh, I can remember when I thought people in their 30s were old. I never thought I’d make it this far in life, but I’m still enjoying the ride!
Greetings to you, Cherry. Nope, never thought of the ocean as a soup, but I understand it is full of vitamin sea. Having seen what’s in the water around here, I would not want to drink it.