Tonight's buzz is brought to you by RIM Blackberry and Skyy vodka.*
Something else I'd like to get off my chest right up front:
There are three very definite things people can do that will instantly get me to label them as a Giant Douche.
- Refuse to put your phone on vibrate when you are at a conference.
- Talk loudly to the person next to you while you are sitting behind me.
- Wear your stupid, LED blinking bluetooth earpiece 24x7 like some kind of retarded cyborg wannabee.
Last night, as we were heading up to our rooms after the JamFest abortion, My friend says "I'll meet you down by the fountain at 7:15." Normally, we don't have to show up for breakfast until 8 or so, but he wants to get an early start so I agreed after some haggling.
I was pretty beat, and I knew I'd be up late writing, so around 1:00 am I set my cell phone alarm to go off at 6:30. I hate doing that because my alarm sounds like a fire engine siren and it always scares the living shit out of me when it goes off. Jumping out of bed with my heart in my throat and scrabbling around for a non-existent AR-15 is not a fantastic way to wake up. I never remember my dreams when I wake up like that, and I have to tell you, I have awesome dreams so that pisses me off.
Anyway, the alarm went off, I screamed and leapt out of bed. I finally stopped hyperventilating, and jumped in the shower and got dressed. By 7:10, I was down by the fountain waiting. 7:15 comes and goes, then 7:20. Finally at 7:30, I checked my Blackberry and there's a text from scott that just says "I'm not meeting you."
Goddammit. The last time this happened I had to take a bus to downtown Cleveland and I ended up sitting across from moleman. At least this time I wasn't depending on him for transportation. I sent him a text message back that told him how much he sucks, and a few seconds later I got a reply that said, "I have a good excuse." I replied that the only acceptable excuse would be "I have a severe case of the runs" but he never replied. Later on, after I ran into Special Dark, I had to amend that short list of acceptable excuses to include:
"I am currently passing a jagged, baseball-sized rock through my urethra, and I am being rushed to the hospital as we speak."
Yes. Ironically, Big Tool Scott had Big Tool issues. Big Tool Scott had a kidney stone, and his kidneys were having a little trouble with the handoff of said stone to the bladder. This was all pretty new to him, but thank god for the internet. He was able to get on-line in the hotel room and self-diagnose. He narrowed it down to either Ebola or a kidney stone, and since he still had most of his skin when he got out of the tub, he figured it was the latter. Of course, even after all this, he did what any self-respecting 32 year old father-of-two-with-one-on-the-way would do:
He called his mom.
It was his first stone, and we were all so proud of him when he finally gave birth. I didn't find out the actual time of birth, but even so, I think we should have a small celebration every year on this day.
Also, at some point late this afternoon Special Dark realized he had his new T-shirt on backwards. Blackberry was giving out free T-shirts, and they must have given out 300 of these things. Everywhere you looked, there was someone wearing this shirt. I am not sure if it was his enormous sense of self-worth that allowed him to think that he was clearly right and everyone else so clearly wrong, or if it was just that he has no clue that the little white tag goes in back, but it was awesome.
Also, I've discovered something. It's pretty easy to write when you're sober. It's also pretty easy to write when you're drunk. But it's pretty hard to write when you're rapidly losing your buzz and the only option is a 15 oz., $13.00 dollar bottle of cheap merlot in the mini bar. My kingdom for a corkscrew.
*with special guest, Bombay Gin