February 1st. I'm sitting with a bottle of Dom right now this morning as I write.
Kidding. But I WILL break my fast today, even if only symbolically. I don't plan to take up drinking at the level I was. It will be a damp February.
That's the plan, at least. . . and we all know about "plans."
But this is not good conversation unless you are in A.A. There is little that is less interesting than hearing about people's diets. Exercise talk is right up there, though. Maybe I'll start beauty treatments and massages and that sort of thing. I think I might be able to fascinate you with that.
"I had a little reaction to the botox today. I couldn't feel my lips and apparently I was drooling."
Now that is just a wicked guess. But I could find out.
Without a real life, however, I seem to have had two experiences--drinking and not drinking. But, you know what happens to writing when one falls in love, right? It is even worse.
The best, I think, is when you can write about other people. That takes some work. You have to get out and be someone others will want to talk to. That is a whole skillset in itself. It is one easiest to develop in mid-life when you are most attractive to others. It is much easier, I am guessing or projecting, if you are a woman. I can't imagine the success I would have had had I been an attractive woman. Men love to talk about themselves. Jesus, as an attractive woman, I could have had men tell me anything. Anything at all. I could have been the Mata Hari of literature.
But, you know. . . people grimace when an old person walks into a room. You are, at best, a comic figure. At worst. . . .
Still, as bad as the party is. . . I'm not ready to leave. I can see that some people are still having fun.
I will be more jovial with a drink in hand, even if it is a Michelob Ultra.
My cousin may be coming to stay with my mother soon now, though, and it is the best time of the year here in my own home state, so I may take the opportunity to hit the road and travel here a bit. Maybe. It is hideously expensive now, especially at this time of year. The state used to be a real paradise. There were mom and pop motels on every beach on either coast. You could get a room for $50 or $60 a night easily. There were mom and pop places to get good fish sandwiches and icy beers. And there were miles and miles and miles of empty beach. Now, it is nearly impossible to stay anywhere near a beach for less than $300 and you will have to search hard to find that. Plan on $400. But you will still be fairly slumming because somewhere near you, there will be a resort with miles of pools served by fifty bars with the beautiful people wandering about ordering margaritas and h'ors d'oeuvres. It will be the place to be. But unless you are on the corporate tit or are a rich gymroid, you won't be able to afford it. This place is money.
As on my last trip to Miami, I end up staying somewhere else, far from where I want to be in something like a Yotel.
In my thirties, I was still driving to the beach in my VW van with my surfboard, sleeping bag, and alcohol stove, and pulling into a spot under some Australian pines. I would surf, get cleaned up, go to a Lum's restaurant right on the beach down the road, and get a beer steamed chili cheese dog and a schooner of icy beer as I watched the sun set through the big plate glass window. Then I would head back to my spot under the pines to light a Coleman lantern, make a rum and coke, and read until I was ready to fall asleep on the floor of the van. I'd wake in the morning, make coffee, find a place to do my morning ablutions, and surf along a deserted shoreline.
That place is just a long string of big condos now.
I miss the boiled peanut and smoked fish stands that lined the road back home. Fresh vegetables. Strawberries. There were roadside stands for just about anything.
I think of buying tackle and gear to go fishing, but the fishing spots have all been developed, too, and besides, there are no fish.
You know, I think there might be a project somewhere in there. Anyone care to GoFundMe?
But, as I've said and done quite often. . . I like staying in the beautiful places, too. I love shacking up at The Breakers, and I told Tennessee yesterday when he finished his workout and came out to see me sunning by the Club Y pool, "We should be doing this at the Fountainbleu, drinking icy margaritas and watching the scenery." He gave me some advice on how to find a less expensive way to stay there. Yes. I would love that, too.
There are other treats that have disappeared. Shuffleboard. There used to be shuffleboard courts EVERYWHERE. You can't find one now. That's a real shame. Shuffleboard and cocktails. I can remember playing with my parents and the other adults when I was a kid. It was great fun. Lots of jovial conversation. That was usually just before piling into the car to head to some restaurant for dinner where they advertised the "Bottomless Cup of Coffee" on a big neon sign.
If you don't live here in my own home state, you probably still have all that.
I had a job that paid me very little money, but I was still able to afford a slip for my sailboat in a nice marina. I travelled the globe with my buddies climbing mountains and running rivers. I stayed in Key West with the famous artists and writers for next to nothing. Now, if I want to eat at the newest restaurant on the Boulevard with the local "see and be seen" crowd, I have to pay $99 for a steak dinner. Excluding drinks.
After writing all this, I understand why I have spent so much of my time drinking at home and streaming shows on the t.v. Dry January is over. It is going to be a challenge.
But right now, I'm looking forward to fish tacos and an icy cold beer. Let's put on some music and silly dance! That always makes me happy.
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