Blackout. Then I'm awake. Blackout. Aware. I'm fading in and out, piecing together a weekend gone without me. My girlfriend screaming at me and shoving me. We were in San Diego then.
Peanuts and Beer, the strip club in Tijuana. A bathroom stall with three people in it -- you, me, and Juan. Forty dollars' worth of crystal and the sun coming up.
A bottle of Captain Morgan. A bottle of Coke. Driving to Las Vegas.
"Where the hell are we?" I ask.
"Sports Club of the Orleans."
"The Orleans? This place is a dump. Is that a real alligator?" I ask. "It just moved."
"You've been awake for three days."
I wouldn't say I've been awake. The booze whispered in my ear, "go to sleep," but the crank chewed on my neck and ass and kept me a zombie for 70-something hours.
"What the hell are we doing here?" I ask.
"We took out 400 dollars each at midnight last night." Yeah. Okay. "We've got to wait until midnight tonight because the ATM won't let us take any more out today."
"How much money do we have until then?"
Fifteen bucks. We'd blown our roll at the blackjack table. We put ten bucks on the Chargers game so we could sit in the sports lounge all day. We didn't have enough for a hotel. We didn't have enough for gas. We didn't have enough for lunch.
"I've got a lime in my drink," I say. "That's good. It'll keep me from getting scurvy. You've got an olive in your drink. Hell, that's nearly a salad."
I pawed at my pockets and pulled out a baggie with a dusting of clear amber crystals clinging to the plastic.
I remember arguing with a border guard because he asked me my nationality and I answered, "Italian and Portuguese."
"No, dumbass!" he yelled into the car. "What country do you live in?"
When I couldn't remember, he waved us through, convinced only an American was that stupid.
More details come to me. Tijuana to Vegas in the middle of the night. Hugging a pudgy Eskimo at the craps table because she promised to get me an AK-47. I wrote my name and address on the back cover of a matchbook and tore it off for her. Good lord, I hope she loses that. I don't need a fluffy Inuit gunrunner showing up at my house unannounced.
Hmm...I sip my drink and suck at the lime. Go Chargers.
WHAT I WILL AND WON'T WATCH THIS WEEK
Thursday, October 12
FOOD 8:00 p.m. People's mouths creep me out. Let me rephrase that. Men's mouths creep me out. I can't watch anything on the Food Network because there's a chance that some man will say the word "mouthfeel," and I'll jump up, pull my arms up like I'm a tyrannosaurus, and yell, "Yiggyiggyiggyiggy!"
Lies My Mother Told Me (2005)
LIFE 9:00 p.m. Easy, Tinkerbell. Just because Santa didn't die when you kissed a boy is no reason for all this resentment. I know, giving high fives at the end of every date until you were 30 really cut into your social life, but let's move on, hmm? Also, we have to talk about what happens to unicorns when you gain 15 pounds, but not right now. We'll discuss it after you've had a good cry and a nap.
Friday, October 13
Point Break (1991)
Encore Drama 10:05 p.m. Oh, Keanu. You surfing FBI agent with the flippy black hair. Keanu. I wrote you a poem. You can't see it. It's in my diary. No, Keanu! You can't have the little key I wear around my neck to open the shiny brass lock on my heart-shaped journal. I know you want to read my poem, but you can't! You're a bad boy. Oh, Keanu. Oh, Keanu. (Woof. I even grossed myself out with that one.)
Saturday, October 14
Sorority Boys (2002)
COMEDY 10:00 a.m. Hijinks! Girls dressed like boys. Boys dressed like girls to win a sporting event, or acceptance to a prominent college, or to catch diamond smugglers. There are a hundred movies out there with the same plot, and while some may say they'd rather watch a camel take a lumpy crap, I say it's madcapped hijinks! Someone takes a basketball to the goolies while he's dressed as a she and, WHOA, watch the sparks fly! American cinema and Comedy Central, how can I tell you I love you? I've got it! I'll put on a sports bra and a tennis skirt and sneak into your dorm at night and then...
Wheel of Fortune
NBC 8:00 p.m. I'm writing a Wheel of Fortune movie. Vanna's kidnapped by a crazed pack of evening-gown designers and little clues are left behind with missing vowels and only Patty Elmherst of Kissimmee, Florida, Wheel of Fortune 's reigning champion, can solve the puzzle to bring Vanna back. Pat Sajak's hair makes a special appearance in act three when it teams up with Judge Wapner's robe and Shelley Winters's martini glass to foil a plot to blow up the wheel. There's a bomb set to go off if the wheel lands on "Bankrupt." Get it? Bankrupt? The script is still a rough draft.
Sunday, October 15
WB 8:30 p.m. I've got a game for you. It's called "Why Does My Chair Smell Like That?" and it has to do with a crockpot full of corned beef and polyester shorts. The winner gets a candle and a book of matches.
Monday, October 16
MTV 9:00 p.m. Fez trading insults for cash? No thanks. If you get the redhead and that little brunette from That '70s Show to trade lingerie and pillow-fighting tips... I'm sorry. What was I saying? Kind of spaced out there for a second.
Tuesday, October 17
The Interview With Ryan Seacrest
E! 9:00 p.m. Can't I go a day without this ass darkening my doorstep? Here's the interview. What do you like, Mr. Seacrest? "I like good things." What do you dislike, Mr. Seacrest? "I dislike bad things." Thank you, sir. Report to the hair stylist for a fresh frosting, and Satan would like to speak to you about your progress on sucking every bit of art and soul from America. Ass.