Monday, August 29, 2005

My name is Jeremy and I am a Drunk - Volume 3

So somewhere along the lines I became funny, I don’t know when that was, but it has been a common theme amongst those that read my Blogs, that I have a decent sense of humor. In reality I think that my gratitude for being alive today resonates among those who have the same feeling in general. Of course I was born with the ability to add irony to anything that I come across, and I add a lot of that to my life experience. Almost everything can be construed as funny, if it is placed in the right light at the time. My grandfathers funeral for instance {please note that THIS is truly how my grandfather would wish to be remembered} tends to be looked at as a bunch of people who really hated this person {trust me on that one} who stood around crying because they had just lost him. My mother, as a good example absolutely refused to talk to the man for the last two years before he died, and to this day shows no remorse for it. My aunt who had been separated from the family for at least 12 years, cried like a baby, while the Greek Mafia that she had married into, stood off to the side, partly looking overbearing, but mostly looking scared. My grandmother who never had a good word to say about the man was a mess, my first wife was standing there with the man she was going to be living with in about 2 months {or should I say the day after I moved out … this is ex 1 we are talking about}, and all of his drinking buddy’s were well drunk. None of these events were much different then what any of us would experience at a time like this I would imagine, I mean we were about to bury Archie Bunker, for Christ’s sake, and most of us are still convinced that he was drinking beer all day, and thought a few extra belts of insulin would take care of the extra sugar. I wonder if he actually used the other side of my family’s death cry .. “Hey ya’ll watch this!!” as he was killing himself.

Well here’s where it is different, and I can now break into what you all come to expect of me, levity, and explain this situation from the eyes of the one family member who actually liked this man, and it is shown every Memorial day, as I stand over this mans grave smoking a cigarette, and lighting one that I buried in the ground just over where I think his head would be. He had quit smoking for almost 30 years and swore he was going to start again at 70 because he loved it so. He of course died a couple of months before 70, and that irony has always amused me. Now keep in mind I at least think the head would be there, but I wasn’t allowed at the burial, and it is a family plot with a headstone in the middle, so I assume that it is at that end. He would think it was funny that I go there every year and give him a hot foot too, so I am pretty safe. A lot changes in 2 months you see, but let me get back to telling the story of my grandfathers death properly. Let me tell you that as the only family member who actually liked this man, and the only one who was sober at the time {9 years to be exact}, and quite frankly the only one who had actually heard the giant popping sound that only comes, when your head comes out of your ass.

I got the call from a friend of my grandfathers. I was living with my first wife, and was actually sleeping with my second wife {she didn’t know it yet either}, Captain ADHD was actually on the way, and we didn’t know it yet. “The Meanest Woman God Ever Created” and I had decided many months before this to accept her affair, and try to get past it. Keeping it to ourselves you see, wasn’t working out, and when it had become obvious that it wasn’t ending any time soon, I did what anyone with 9 years sober would do, I got even with her! Oh I am sooooooo well! So I pulled out my brick sized cell phone (at the time it was the ultra compact model, it only weighed about 3 pounds) and answered from my soon to be second wife’s bed. “Your father is in the hospital Jeremy, it doesn’t look good!” came the voice on the other end, and I shot up out of bed, and started trying to differentiate between my clothes and the future Mrs. Sicko’s, and off I went. I was terrified, I mean my father was pretty bad in the alkie department. He sold his car when he couldn’t find it one night, on a bender. He often left food burning on the stove, and I would go over to his house to check on him ALOT. I couldn’t believe that he was in the hospital, and I was in another state {mental note … when having an affair don’t drive so far for it next time, try that chippie down the street or something}. Upon arriving at the hospital, I was met by my grandmother, my wife {The Meanest Woman God Ever Created} and … my father? Oh yeah, my grandfathers friends were all drunks too, I thought at the moment, before I even batted an eyelash. My grandmother was crying, and it couldn’t have been good. Well yeah he was dead alright, I looked over his body, and the first thing I could think was, wow he lost about 30 lbs, that diet was working pretty good for him. Needless to say, that little experience infuriated my wife at the time, she had to field a lot of “Where’s Jeremy, and why are you with Namechangedtoprotecttheinnocent?” oh yeah, guess where she was at the time? You probably guessed it. We left together, and pretended that all was right with the world, and it all turned into a “So I guess you were having fun?” argument from both of us. This lasted of course right up until the funeral, which happened 3 days later.

Ok here comes the funeral, it was the usual, funeral home, casket in the corner, friends of the deceased and family. Soon to be exes all around, and many different types of people to deal with. My Aunts “chosen” family was all there, each and every one of them totally intolerable. Her husband, the mentally abusive newspaper editor, who slept with everyone except her, and her two totally spoiled rotten creeps, of children. I of course had to stroll over there first. This dickhead always looked scared around us, because like most total pigs, he always had that air of “who’s on to me” about him. Being the total hypocrite that I am, I walked over and pointed out the group of men on the other side of the room, and casually said “They’re cops, and you are alive because they are here, don‘t f***in talk, and leave as soon as you can,” and I walked away, with the shock and horror that I was used to from those three anyway. Now as I tried to make it out of this room the Sergeant of this bunch, who I had always been on a first name basis with {totally out of hatred on both ends} pulled me aside, to have a word with me. “You see your grandfathers store is full of guns, here are the locations of the really illegal ones, and there is a garbage bag of marihuana in the cubby behind the desk … don’t forget all of those cable descramblers …” I was staring at him with that “why me” expression on my face, not saying a word, he said “You are the one who would know how to get rid of that stuff, if anyone in your family could” and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, as I said, “And fortunately I am a lot smarter than you, so I know that you would get your balls cut off for setting me up … entrapment,” which he said “Yes” thus showing that he didn’t much care about what I had to say anyway. Please keep in mind that the marihuana was not a joke either, my grandfather never smoked it but took great pride in growing it. It was his way of showing society I guess, that they can‘t bring him down! My grandmother just wished he would stop growing it in the front yard in pots so that everyone driving by could see it. “Can’t you just grow it out back, in the ground, and make it look like it was accidentally there or something?”

My grandmother was going on and on talking about what a beautiful man he was, and this sure was different then what she used to tell me, and everyone else, but hell it was her day I guess. She later became the artist known as “Greektradgedius Inyiddish” In my writings. My semi-famous mother {semi-famous is so much worse than famous or not known at all in the way that a semi-famous person constantly name drops to make herself feel important} was walking around the place trying to be the Diva of the whole event, she even made sure to tell everyone that, just in case they hadn’t noticed for themselves, and my aunt was desperately trying to kiss her stupid, sports hating (unless you count hunting) loser of a husband, ass so that he would stop whining about how mean I am. Now mind you … at this time in my life I had hair down to my ass, and I was dressed kinda like a goombah, I think but probably more like a pimp with better taste. My grandfathers friend who found him just told the story of how he tried to give my grandfather mouth to mouth, and all the bile came wooshing into his mouth … AGAIN, and there was only one more fabulous disaster to undergo before the night could be complete. How could it possibly get any better?
It was after my wife was caught kissing my best friend, I think, that she decided to make the drunken proclamation, that I had been having an affair. “Well Jeremy is of with his whore all of the time!“ Everyone there including the pastor was staring at me, many of these people whom I have come to enjoy being smarter than, and having the leg up on were just salivating as they stared at me. The hole that I wanted to just open up in the floor and swallow me, just wasn’t coming, and I was so screwed. Despite my desperate want to just stand up with a butcher knife and yell “THANKS FOR RUINING THE FUNERAL!!!!!” because it seemed to always work in ending the other family get-togethers, I was left to stand there gulping. Now my freaking ex had been cheating on me WAY longer, and we (I thought) had decided that it would stay in house, the rules had changed somewhat. The sad part was, as life often goes, those first with the news are often right, in the minds of everyone. The scum sucking crap, that I had been forced to admit being related to for so many years, completely disowned me from that point on, and I am not joking. Was it a blessing or a curse?

I found out a few weeks later that EX2 was pregnant, and my family wasn’t talking to me, my soon to be ex wife, and her boyfriend were going to all of my family get-togethers, and I wasn’t allowed. I missed my grandmothers 70th birthday, because my ex and her boyfriend were there, and the whole family ignored my next birthday. My mother finally showed up at my sons birth, to look at him and proclaim that he isn’t mine, and I finally was able to cut loose those ties. You are only as sick as your secrets, I guess is what I learned from all of this. Total honesty, has helped me to avoid this type of crap now a days, as any of the nasty little secrets that most people keep are simply common knowledge when dealing with me. Unfortunately all of the family did come back to me years later {after my father got furious with everyone and questioned their sanity, because he had seen EX1 cheating on me all the time}, many of them had amends, the ones expecting amends for things that didn’t involve them still know that they can go to hell, as far as I am concerned. This includes my mother by the way. Any woman I have been with from that point on has known point blank, day one, you cheat on me I tell everyone, and paint a big scarlet letter on you, and then you leave to be miserable, elsewhere! No more second chances so that I can look like a fool. Manipulation does not come naturally to me, so when I end up with a woman, she is usually very good at it. So my only line of defense against it which seems to work is removal not compassion. Of course the truly important message in all of this is that I have learned from every stupid thing I do, as well as what I try to think I am brilliant for … In the coined phrase of “Some are sicker than others,” I often throughout my sobriety have fallen under the heading of some as apposed to others. ;8o)