Memoirs 2

Inspired by the success of Koren Zailckas's Smashed: Story of a Drunken Girlhood (am I being overly suspicious, or were the comments to this post on Miss Zailckas’s blog written by Miss Zailckas herself?), here are some excerpts from my forthcoming memoir (movie rights still available) Blotto: Tales of a Tipsy Tot.

From Ch.1:

I’m not sure how it started. Maybe it was something my parents did – or didn’t do. Maybe it was all the doom and gloom and chaos in the air during the early 70’s. Maybe it was the pressure of being four when everyone else in kindergarten was five. Maybe it was my genes. Whatever the case, I was a tipsy tot.

From Ch. 3:

We were supposed to be making animals out of Play-Doh, something I was usually good at. I tried to mold an elephant. My hands were shaking, and I kept messing up. I was sweating. How much did I have last night? 8, 9 drinks? Some of the kids were staring at me. I put the Play-Doh down and rubbed my eyes. I felt like I was dying. When was nap time going to get here?

From Ch. 7:

I strolled around the corner, saw no one was looking and pulled the fake moustache from my pocket. The class had put on a little Christmas pageant (you could still do those back then) and I had been one of the three wise man (the one with the myrrh I think), and I figured the beard and moustache from my costume might come in handy. I put them on and strolled into Vito’s Lounge. I ordered a French 75 and lit up a smoke. The bartender stared, but he bought the disguise. The bar was about half full. I turned to the couple sitting next to me and said, “A duck walks into a bar, orders a scotch and soda. The bartender says ‘That’ll be two dollars’ and the duck says ‘put it on my bill’. Get it? You see it’s funny because the protagonist of the joke is a duck.”

They laughed. I was having a good time. I finished my drink and ordered another. I told more jokes. People started buying me drinks. And more drinks. Then there’s a gap. It’s like waking up, only you weren’t sleeping, and are in fact in the middle of something. In this case I seemed to be in the middle of an argument, as the lady half of the couple had left, and the guy who was with her was red faced and jabbing his finger at me while saying something about Nixon. I was a big Nixonite at the time, not because of Nixon’s policies, but because I hated his enemies, so I had probably started the argument. I noticed I still had an almost full drink on the bar, I decided to down it and get out. Bad idea. I could feel myself sliding off the barstool, but I couldn’t do anything to stop it. As the scene faded to black I could hear a voice saying “Something’s wrong with that midget”. I woke up in a hospital.

From Ch. 12:

I leaned against the chain link fence, dejected. The kindergartners had never upset the 1st graders in kickball before, and I had blown the perfect chance. Marvin came over.

“What happened out there, man? I’ve never seen you play so bad.”

I tried to cover. “Did you see how their pitcher rolled the ball? I’d asked for baby bounces – those weren’t baby bounces man.”

“I know what’s going down man. “ Marvin stared at me. “I know why you’re so protective of your Planet of the Apes lunchbox.”

“It’s a good lunchbox,” I said, trying to play it cool.

“It’s what’s in the lunchbox – or to be precise, what’s in the thermos in your lunchbox,” Marvin said, and walked off.

I walked off too. What I needed was a drink and some quiet. Luckily I had a thermos full of bourbon and ginger ale. I never liked kickball anyway.

From Ch. 25:

I woke up, still tired, and still slightly buzzed. I was late for school, so I decided to pedal instead of walk. Then it hit me: last night when I came home from the bar, where had I parked my Big Wheel? I couldn’t remember.


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