Lemonade - and a rabid outflow of revelation

I was in a beautiful mood today despite a most disturbing dream I had during my hangover siesta. In fact I kind of want to forget I ever had that dream...I've dreamed some fucked up shit - but this was some eerie ass Ed Gein shit - yea...


Anyways...I had a great Thursday - maybe a little too much beer but then again, that's generally how great Thursdays go. My day began with work, never really an enjoyable thing when you work at a video store - but thankfully, it's never really a terrible thing either. Afterwards was a two hour crash session with my physics textbook. Thanks to my inability to stay completely awake in class, I had a fare amount of catching up to do. Of course there was the gym, then shower, then class, followed by an almost aced exam. What's so great about all of that? Nothing really. Work is work, the gym's the gym, and an aced exam is just another aced exam. But afterwards, there was an old friend, new conversation, live music and of course - beer.


We talked for a while in the bar's outdoor seating area before the band began to play. And the fact that I hadn't eaten a full meal since breakfast became quite evident when I was just a couple beers into the evening and my buzz was quickly becoming much more than I had originally intended. I was a bit embarrassed especially when I knew I had to order a couple waters for myself to even out. But I wasn't about to let myself get sloppy drunk either.


The music was loud, and I recognized one of the bands from the Wild Flower Cafe at the close of the Southside Film Festival. And the other act was ridiculous to say the least. The lead singer was constantly on the floor screaming, singing, whatever you wanna call it. Then he took off half of his clothes, thankfully it was just the top half. But the highlight of the evening's musical acts was a solo 3 song act by the lead singer of "Jazzam", a semi-local self-proclaimed jazz-soul act (holy hyphens Batman). The big man's got soul. This guy belted out Al Green, Marvin Gaye, and one of his own personal songs, I can only refer to it as awesomeness.


Right around one-thirty, we headed over to a place that sold pizza. It was a weird mix of a bar, a club, and a pizza joint. While the place sounds interesting, it really wasn't. The frat boy, dude on dude love was funny at best, and at it's worse it was a cavalcade of body odor and an abundance of cologne - not to mention several examples of Bethlehem's not so finest, over make-uped, faux tanned, bleach blond, Lehigh University broads. But they did have pizza and an unoccupied outdoor area with tables and chairs. She was hesitant at first when I asked her if she wanted a slice. But she fibs with a telling smile that's unmistakable. And even if she didn't, who the hell doesn't want pizza after a dozen or so beers? Which I by the way was thoroughly impressed with. She easily drank a couple more beers than me, and showed no signs of sloppiness.


We sat out on that lawn furniture laden patio for roughly two hours, talking about Spain, California, girls, boys, loves, and hates. We even discussed the very essence of pizza. She was a tall glass of lemonade on these warm Summer nights, a most welcome diversion from all that was the Lehigh Valley. I've said it before, and it still holds true, this town is a great place to miss.


I took the inside roads to take her home, as I've grown pretty aware of where the cops may be hiding. I was in no situation to afford a DUI, then again, who really ever is? I parked in front of her house and we said our goodbyes. With a hug, some curious smiles, and a promise to see each other again, she was off. I stayed for a few seconds to make sure she got in her house ok, and proceeded to get lost in her neighborhood. I do that quite often, getting lost I mean. Wonderful Miguel, it was just two damn turns from the main road, seriously I'm horrible with that stuff, and I'm even worse when I've got something on my mind.


I bet you're thinking, I read that whole blog and no sex? - not even a kiss? - not even an attempt? I'm not as bold as I used to be. And quite frankly rejection sucks, notice how they don't say it's better to have tried and be shut down, than to have never tried before. Besides, I was sober enough to realize that I may have been drunk enough to misconstrue something that wasn't. (Holy convoluted sentence structure Batman.)


Regardless, I had a fun time, although I may have suffered a slight hearing loss, I feel that good times are all about a little give and take. But the next day, after my nap...and the uber creepy dream, I came across a few words and a photo about San Francisco. The photo strangely enough was taken no more than two blocks from where I used to work. I guess it's not really that strange, I'm sure a lot of people travel through downtown. But a massive pang of anger, sadness, and regret hit all at once. Fuck I was so close, I could have made it. But all the drinking and the durgs...I was in no state of mind to succeed...frankly there is no excuse, I was simply too fucking weak to deal with shit. I could have gone to school out there, I could've made it work. Fuck everything else, I have no one to blame but me. Perhaps that's the root of my anger, my real inability to move on, or whatever whomever wants to call it. But fuck if I tried everything, I really didn't. I drowned every problem I had in equal parts beer, liquor, and drugs. I faked a sense of reasoning, I fucking gave up. Fuck it. I'm dealing with it. I'll always deal. I'm getting my shit together and I'm getting the fuck out - the right way, or at least a better way than I did before.