“The Journal of Wall Grimm” 190: The Timey Wimey Journal That Goes Ping & Tossing Figurative Cookies

June 11, 2014

 

I realized that in my list of recaptions I need to make I neglected to mention both Gary Oldman (II) and Gary Oldman.  I kinda miss Gary Oldman, haven’t talked about him in ages.  Ages is an inaccurate estimation, I just like the expression, sounds kind of days of yore-ish or old timey wimey (reference Dr. Who which reminds me of the machine that goes “ping” reference Monty Python).  This is what happens when I don’t write in my journal for a while.  I lose my mind.  Maybe because I’m not storing it anywhere so it’s free to roam around and cause mischief.  But yeah, I think ages is a term that is synonymous with years, so essentially what I said above isn’t true, if that’s the case, but it sounds good anyway.

Gary Oldman (II) is just fine, still comes with me everywhere, except she didn’t go to the performance with The Convoy.  I don’t like to take her to places like that where she can get lost or stepped on.  But then she gives me an attitude when I come home.  I tell her I’m just trying to protect her, but she gives me a look as if to say, “Hey Pancho, it’s my job to protect you.”  I don’t know why she would call me Pancho though.

And Gary Oldman, well more about him below.

Now I’m going to travel back in time a little bit in order to recap my drunkenness that evening with The Convoy.  (My journal sometimes doubles as a timey wimey machine that goes “ping”).  There’s not much I remember about the rest of the evening.  I remember Emma having to leave and then I snuck off to the liquor store for whiskey since Pete took my vodka and I hate vodka but I bought it so I could fool everyone into not noticing I had been drinking since it’s relatively odorless even though I was clearly drunk.  I forgot about the obvious change in behavior and lack of bodily control and the disabled use of language.  So since it was obvious, I decided to go for the good stuff and I got some Jameson’s.  I drank it outside the building for a little while once I returned, smoking cigarettes until Pete came out and asked where I’d been, people had been looking for me.  The evening was breaking up after The Convoy was done playing.  Then he noticed the bag in my hand with the bottle in it.  He noticed because I drank from it right in front of him.  He called Cola and said, “yeah, I got him” so she came out.

They told me to give them the bottle.  I said no and made the most pathetic attempt to pull it away from Pete’s reach to grab it, so he was able to grab it on his first try.  The next thing I remember is being in the bathroom once again with Pete, Cola, and Hasty.  The abstract vomit on the stall doors had already been cleaned up.  They were all standing around me putting a wet cloth to my face and asking me how I was feeling.

Then some guy comes in because it was the men’s room after all.  The guy looked early 30’s, we didn’t know him, but he looked like a Winchendon, MA kind of guy, kinda boondocks, but when he walked in, Pete, Hasty, and Cola all turned and couldn’t take their eyes off of him.  He walked in, went straight to the urinal, then stopped and looked over, frozen in action as he realized he was being gawked at by a gay guy, a trannie, and a luscious married woman.

He paused and looked at them, they waved and said hi.  He nodded, turned, and used the urinal anyway.  They watched him as he went out the door.  I interrupted their swooning by moving over to the sink and tossing my figurative cookies.  It was pretty much all liquid and easy to rinse down.

While they had been gawking, I was leaning against the wall, crouched over with my hands on my knees, ready to collapse and feeling like I was going to die.  Anyway, that’s when I really began to black out.  The next thing I remember is walking with Cola and Pete down the road to Pete’s car.  I don’t remember what happened to Hasty, she must have left.  I could barely walk so they were holding me up.  I struggled away telling them I could walk on my own, in these words, “uh ca wampuma owm”.  But then this invisible guy comes over and sticks his foot in front of me causing me to trip.  I hit the pavement and rolled a half a block away.  It seemed that’s how it happened at the time anyway.

We made it to Pete’s car and as he was getting out his keys, I just bent over the hood of the car, flat on top of it, my arms splayed like I just landed splat in a cartoon or something.  Cola was standing directly behind me when I did that and she said, “you don’t want to be getting yourself into that position with me, Caballero.”  C-O-L-A Cola.

And the very last thing I remember from that evening is Pete laughing at that comment.  Then I’m completely blank until the next day and the hangover that kept me from work.  Cola and Pete were both taking care of me, we were at Pete’s.  And when Cola showed me a picture on her phone of the vomit on the stall doors, and said, “look, it’s beautiful, isn’t it?”  I puked my guts out.

That was the end of that relapse.  I didn’t feel good until two days later.  I didn’t go to Blues Monday mostly because I was ashamed I think Howard and the guys were disappointed in me.  I know Howard was because he said so, but he also said he understood.  Then he told me a story about a friend of his who was an alcoholic who ended up losing his family and all his friends because he isolated himself by being so obnoxious and hostile people began to be resentful and just gave up.  He said the guy died from cirrhosis.  I told him that I’m not usually hostile to my friends when I’m intoxicated, though I will attack anyone else who pisses me off.  But I do that when I’m sober anyway.  I added I wouldn’t die from alcohol because otherwise I take good care of my body with healthy eating and lots of exercise and I’m trying to quit smoking again.  That’s the thing is the healthier my habits, the worse the hangover is when I relapse, deterring further relapse.  So that’s good anyway.

Now that was three weeks ago and I haven’t had any more to drink.  As I said in my last entry, there’s change on the horizon.  So until next time, I will close with my mention of Gary Oldman.

All I have to say is I love this guy.  He did a couple commercials for the HTC Smartphone and…strange, I feel like Bogart when I think of how cool Gary Oldman is.  I just want to punch someone because he’s so cool.  I think I get it now.

Yeah that’s brief commentary on Gary Oldman.  Brief but insightful:  He did commercials.  He’s cool.  But not because he did the commercials.  The commercials are cool because he did them.  ‘Nuff said.

My theme song for today’s journal entry is “Pet Sematary” by the Ramones, because upon the horrific event of Gary Oldman (II)’s death, I would never bury her in the pet sematary.  I wouldn’t bury Gary Oldman there either.

 

*******

next Grimm 191: Sweetheart’s Letter http://wp.me/p41c99-V0

previous Grimm 189: Rigamacaronified, Nondignification, & Rising Up Against the Dick-Tator http://wp.me/p41c99-Ux

Hasty is based on herself from http://hastywords.wordpress.com/

For a list with links to all the previous journal entries go to: http://wp.me/P41c99-J

Check out the Character Directory Pages to learn about characters mentioned in each post.

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Categories: JOURNAL ENTRIES 186-210 | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 38 Comments

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38 thoughts on ““The Journal of Wall Grimm” 190: The Timey Wimey Journal That Goes Ping & Tossing Figurative Cookies

  1. Reblogged this on SageDoyle.

  2. I don’t get the connection with Gary Oldman fetish unless you just like him and being random or if he is your lover.

  3. I may have to write a journal entry on how I remember that nights events. And thanks for the luscious married woman comment. Just goes to prove just how drunk Grimm was ;)

    • That would be awesome, you should do that. The other part of this night is in the post with Emma’s song, #188, but you know that, right? And you are a luscious married woman!

  4. Hey Sage, It’s great that Hasty messages you all day long but goes in vacation with Grimm. Did she ever call you?

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