Gimme That Funk

I didn’t realize it till yesterday. I’m usually the happy go (un)lucky guy (oh goodness, I almost typed “gay” instead of “guy.” Which reminds me of a mini story with the neighborhood gay guy last night. He said his roommate was having a hard time with him being fresh out of the closet and all. I told him I have a hard time with him being gay too, but usually the “keep it in place” briefs don’t show how hard of a time I have. Seriously, I am straight, and the fact that I have to keep defending myself on this stupid website is starting to scare me.)

Anyway, my demeanor doesn’t change much. If I lose $10 on a baseball game I’ll be down and out for all of 10 minutes, but I’ll bounce back to my normal self in no time. 10:05, lose baseball game. 10:15, looking for neighbor’s cat. 10:17, running to hospital with a serious allergic reaction that leaves my penis red, itchy, and very inflamed. I know I’m allergic to cats, but I always forget when I’m loaded and high on white out.

If you’re my neighbor and you read this, I really haven’t had sexual intercourse with your cat.

Yet.

But after the week I had last week and meeting someone who very quickly became very special to me, this week really fucking sucks. Last week it was like I was on vacation, staying in a hotel downtown, going out every night, hanging out with newly acquired friends, and spending a lot of time with the previously mentioned person. This week its back to normal, going to work, going to the corner bar at night, the same old shit I do every day. While not exactly boring by any means, it just doesn’t compare to last week.

So I’ve been in this mini depression kind of state. Like I said, I didn’t notice it until yesterday. I was at work, walking down the hall to the smoking area, when I noticed my recently purchased turn-30-weight-gain pants were pretty damn loose around my hips. Actually, they were resting on my hips and not snug around my waist like they usually are. Today I wore jeans to work that just two weeks ago would have been hard to button standing up let alone sit in for eight hours and still be able to breathe. I haven’t mentally been doing anything different from usual as far as diet and working out are concerned. Well, I did start riding the stationary bike in the basement a little since I realized I needed to after performing certain physical exercises (sex) last week left me gasping for air and unable to do talk for five minutes. But the whole 8 minutes on Tuesday and 10 minutes on Wednesday would not amount to any kind of weight loss whatsoever. (On Tuesday I came up the stairs after riding the bike and the Renter asked me if that was all sweat that covered my shirt and head. 8 minutes on the bike = massive quantities of sweat. Yeah, I’m in shape.)

A couple of days this week at 5:00 I realized that I hadn’t eaten anything since 9:00. This is a major departure from the normal 9:00, 11:00, 1:00, 3:30, 5:30, 12:00 midnight feeding schedule I usually adhere to. I didn’t even realize I was doing this nor noticed that I was hungry during any of this. The only time I’ve really been depressed in my life was when I was a junior in college and the girlfriend of three years broke up with me. I would eat the meat out of sandwiches and leave the bread, make my lunch last me a whole day, and smoke cigarettes like they were going out of style. I went from 220 lbs to 185 lbs in two months.

I’m not even close to that kind of state right now, even though the dramatic weight loss wouldn’t hurt me one bit. I’m sure by next week I’ll be back to normal, eating like a cow and pooping twice a day (because everyone needs to know that I poop twice a day).

But the cool thing about this little funk that I’ve been in? I’ve had a LOT of alcohol this week. Now, you might have thought that I drank a lot before, going out every night and having four pitchers of beer and possibly peeing/shitting on myself. While I have not peed or shit on myself this past week, the usual four pitchers has been upped to five or six. (Hey, it’s baseball season, this is what I call stepping up to the plate.) Combine that with less food consumption and you have one very good week of drinking. Sitting at the bar you would not have been able to tell that I was in this funk. I played many a dice game and chatted with the patrons like I always do. But walking home (or trying to), jumping on the hood of the Renter’s car, waking up to find a taco spread all over my sheets and in my belly button and other late night actions have been a bit out of the norm lately.

I know this sounded like one of the Renter’s frequent and painfully long depressing blogs. Every once in a while the FA (financial advisor for your newbies) will call and ask if she’s ok. I do believe his exact words were “Oh boy, one of those again. Did you read it?” to which I usually tell him that I just skimmed through it. I’m really not in a bad mood, just not quite myself. Actually, today I’m quite happy. At 5:30 tonight the FA is picking me up, we’re going to pick up a case of beer and in the great Milwaukee tradition we are going to tailgate before the Brewer game starts at 7:00. Just like when I was out with the women and had an hour and a half till the $1.00 beer specials ended, I will be sitting outside of the Brewer’s stadium chugging beer with a passion. I should note that the FA got the tickets from one of his sports buddies and had to drive to Hartford to pick them up and I thank him very much for that. Supposedly they are terrific seats eleven rows back from the action with a face value of $95. I’m sure I will have plenty of stories to tell you later about how I got drunk and fell down a flight of stairs or how I got drunk and puked on the 80 yr old lady sitting next to me or how I got drunk and ran on to the field wearing only my brand new Nike Waffle Racers (with socks on, because putting my sweaty feet into shoes without socks on is just disgusting and foul).

On a side note, do you realize that the FA would have words with me if I hadn’t mentioned the whole Brewer thing? I swear he gets off on this shit more than I do. Literally, I can picture him at home with his penis in his hand while he reads this. Every once in a while he’ll call and tell me a story and ask if it is blog worthy. And then he’ll complain when I don’t write about it. Of course, the stuff he tells me that is directly followed by “you can’t put this in your blog” will eventually find its way on here. Like the time he was telling me about his wife’s breasts and how ginormous they have gotten since she had their daughter. And of course the FA will have words with me when he gets around to reading this one too (hopefully after his erection goes down).