I did it again this week. I had a relapse. It happens whenever I have too much fun. I am out in this world loving it, meeting all kinds of crazy people and seeing all kinds of crazy things. I get so wound up and energized. Then I crash. I just do it to myself, again and again and again…….

This past weekend at 11:30 p.m. I got that text from my friends (yes I have them). I have to go out with Stacie and Alicia because they have sooo much fun when we all go out together. I look at my watch. It is Saturday night. Too late for me to venture out. I should just stay in. It takes time, money and energy to go out. Do I really feel up to it?

Laziness is sitting in my bed. He is rubbing his big fat belly wanting me to lie down next to him. He reminds me that I have more depressing things to do like write in my journals and read my books. He points out I don’t really have any cool outfits to wear and that I don’t look so hot. He points out I really do look rumpled and tired. I need to stay in and just keep him company.

Opportunity barges in the bedroom. He overheard our conversation. He tells Laziness to just shut up. Opportunity insists that I need to go out. He points out that I don’t get invited out very often. He grabs my cell phone and scrolls through my text messages. “See three texts for you to go to River City Saloon means that they really want you to go.” He guilts me. He tells me that if I don’t go they will just stop calling me. So the arguments to go or not to go bounce on that teeter totter. Laziness and Opportunity start in on a roommate war. They are starting to shout. It gets loud and I grab my car keys. I hope they don’t start throwing things at each other while I venture out.

I went. I drank one beer. It was late enough in the evening where a lot of people in the bar were tanked. I take in these people who come to a bar named River City Saloon located on the West side. The women, now in their 60s, are still wearing an 80s hairdo. They are bleached and wrinkled tan. Their breasts sag. I wonder for a second if it looks like I fit in. As I enter the bar I become self conscious and I remind myself not to look too long at anyone or hold a gaze. I am in no mood for mindless chatter with a unknown person. I want to find my table full of friends. The men to me look the same: old, fat and bald.

The evening unfolds itself easy. The band is great. The music is loud but not too loud. We dance and are having more than sweaty dance floor fun.

Then ‘it’ happens on break between the sets.

It was in the form of a too drunk, hippie haired, nose ring, biker chick—sea hag. She whips off her tank top. I am looking at the glory of her bare pink boobies.

This is the moment I look at my fellow beer drinkers. I am pinching myself. Is this scene real? I am looking around.

“Hey, do you guys see what I see?”

Her boobies continue to flop and flail. Her tire of fat rolls onto the dance floor. She runs and sways and is shaking her arms in the air.

We all in unision yell, “Cover that shit up!”

An excited 4 ft. Fabio then decides he is going to do a cartwheel on the sidelines in proper cheerleader fashion.

This apparent shocking nudity (that I did not pay to watch) is something I am not accustomed to. Our table explodes with whoops and hollers.
I am embarrassed and in awe.

Over the course of that evening these events transpire:
Laura gives a handsome married man a lap dance
The band’s drummer lets me in on his drums
4 ft. Fabio’s twin brother makes moves on Alicia and she is not having any part of it
the sea hag’s brother singles me out (lucky me) and wants to carry on a conversation
(All I do is laugh and he gets mad at me and frustrated with my apparent lack of any meaningful conversation & takes it upon himself to lick my arm).

The table witnesses all of this. Everyone is full of beer and rolling with hysterics.

Opportunity slides up next to me. He is so goddamn handsome. He whispers in my ear, “See I told you this would be crazy fun.”

I nod and agree.

The next morning I text the friends who did not go on this adventure. I tell my girls about it in the morning. I tell my prune faced mother. I make my classy family proud that I have ventured into this dark cave called the River City Saloon.

I don’t care what they think.

I am on a hillbilly high throughout the weekend and it spills over to Tuesday. Then it starts to wane. On Wednesday I start feeling that hole and gap in my life. I am slipping back into my depressing funk. I realize I need another fun fix to keep me moving forward.

I need another fun adventure or contact with this crazy world to keep me from crying. I feel it is getting chilly outside. My head is heavy with my business worries. I have trials. I have work.

Real life has an appointment and he is sitting across from my big lawyer desk.

I shut the door for this appointment. I secretly confide in him that I need another snort or hit of last Saturday. I ask him what is he selling and how much is it going to cost and most importantly, “How soon can I get another fun fix.”

Real life just looks at me unblinking. He refuses to answer any of my questions.