Hmmmm.

It’s now 11:09 p.m. and at this point, my inclination is to just either 1) drink more beer and not blog at all or 2) write for 53 minutes while drinking beer so that I’m not actually posting before midnight and therefore “missing” my “deadline” but still be posting before Carlson or Dwin or Dwin’s evil (and vile) twin Sheila decides to post anything to my Facebook page.

Why would I choose only these two options? Well, that could be the beer talking.

Many times it’s the beer talking. Mainly because I like beer. And in case you didn’t know, I like to let beer talk for me.

“Hi. My name is JT. I like beer.”

Take tonight for example. It was a perfect night to let the beer do the talking.

Sugar-mama is out of town for work since Monday morning when I last saw her. And she won’t be home till Wednesday night.

Now, don’t draw the wrong conclusion here.

I love being around Sugar-mama and we have a great fucking time together when we’re not having a shitty time together, most of the time because I’m being an asshole. I admit this willingly. In fact, most of the time things are fucked up in our house, it’s because of me. I know this. But it still doesn’t change the fact that we’re really good together and work well together, despite my love of beer.

In fact, I’d say I enjoy her company more than anyone else in the world, especially people. Mainly because I don’t like people.

But with her out of town for work — which is what makes her “Sugar-mama” in the first place and for which I’m extremely grateful — I had the chance to go out for drinks with some people from work. Not that I couldn’t on nights when Sugar-mama is in town, because I could for sure, but I feel guilty because I like being with her and so it’s easier on my conscience to go drink with the peeps when she’s not around. Or when I’m not around and on the road myself.

Unfortunately, they didn’t seem to want to drink tonight. I got stood up. None of the five I invited responded that they wanted to go get a beer tonight. Fuckers.

So, I did what any self-serving, part-time alcoholic (read: wishful thinking) would do: I went to the bar by myself.

Now, before you start judging me — and I basically am saying this for my Islamist friends, who after the past few days are probably not as prone to read  here as before, but I’ll still cop a few points to them — let’s take a second to reconsider.

First, I didn’t go to the bar I originally intended near our work since no one else was going. Instead, I gave up the great dinner I could have gotten there (the Fish Shew is incredible) and drove to the bar closest to my townhouse. I was being responsible and I went to the place that was easily within walking distance of home. And it wasn’t totally because I was driving Sugar-mama’s new SUV, although I was potentially somewhat, kinda, maybe, in a little way scared of what would happen if I even got behind the wheel of her vehicle which my name isn’t even on the title within two hours of sniffing a beer.

No worries. It wasn’t within the same walking distance as when I lived in BFE, Iowa, where I could go to the bar and the pizza place and back to my house in about 100 steps, but it’s still within two blocks, literally.

So I went and had a couple beers by myself. It was weird because while I drink by myself all the time, it’s been a while since I’ve drank by myself in public. But don’t worry. I was able to handle myself fine and I didn’t disgrace anyone, including myself, for once.

No. Everything was fine, so I just came home and grilled some food and drank some more beer and decided I need to decide on a topic for tonight’s Tuesday’s Memories blog.

So, hold on a second while I grab another beer and we’ll jump right into it.

Yahhhwwwwwn.

Okay. I’m back. So now where were we?

Oh yes. This week’s memories.

Well, instead of just drunken possibilities of things that could have happened, how about I get specific and tell you a few actual happenings? That’d be refreshing, eh?

With all the shit that’s happened in the past 60 hours with Osama bin Laden getting bumped off, let’s just talk about times when you know you’ll never forget where you were.

Sunday night is one of them. No question, I’ll remember sitting there in the living room, playing on the computer and about to go to bed when I heard that the President, on a Sunday night late, after 10 p.m., was going to address the nation. I also will always remember the way that my Twitter and Facebook accounts just lit up with people wondering what it could be and then it started trickling through as to the possibility.

The whole idea is quite unreal in the way it played out and even in my own, weird little corner of the world that affects no one by myself, it’s strange to think how the whole night played out. But it did and I think in a strange way it played the same way as millions of others.

Now, that’s not to say that what I do or think is in any way normal or standard. I doubt that to be the actual case.

Like, what are your other memories where you are completely involved and have that “I will always know where I was when this happened” feeling as it happens.

I can name a few:

  1. O.J.’s chase: I was unemployed and sitting on my step-mom’s couch, watching daily soaps and just being a sloth. I had no idea what to expect, but I quickly became completely enthralled. It was crazy how quickly the chase just pulled you in. At least it did for me, as I had nothing else to pay attention to at the time.
  2. Christian Laettner’s shot against Kentucky: one of the few sports moments that I remember vividly, which is especially impressive considering it was one of my most drunken sports moments of all time. It doesn’t top the Green Bay-Denver Super Bowl and the Zima-induced rant that happened when Elway went spinning sideways through the air, but this shot by Laettner was one that just can’t be pulled from my subconscious. I was 20 years old, sitting at the bar in Boomer’s, one block from my college campus and three blocks from my dorm. I hated the fact they won, and I was drunk as a fucking skunk ($4 picchers of Long Island Iced Teas set this up) before the game started, but it was such a crazy, seminal moment in sports history, it just stands out how the place erupted, for both good and bad.
  3. Walter Payton’s death. This one is a bit harder to swallow and I may save this one for a bit because it was the “Bunny Costume” night in Greenville, but there is little chance that I’ll ever forget the night that I first heard (mistakenly, it turned out) that  Sweetness was dead.

Well, it’s 12:01 a.m. and I need to get this posted. I don’t care that it’s technically Wednesday. This was on purpose, just to fuck with you Sheila. But those are a couple things that I’ll always carry with me as pieces I remember as they happened. There are more.

I’ll just save those for another beer.