Not like I am proud of this.

I miss waking up, two days later, with buyer's remorse.

But, should i get through these two 1.5 liter bottles of [yellow tail] pinot grigio tonight without calling evil tony – tomorrow will mark two weeks spice, and Raina, free.

Which may explain the lack of posts.

In honor of D-Day.

Yes, it sure as hell flor de cana be done.

Yes, one human being, without spice, or calling Raina, and asking her to come over, with spice,  can in fact drink an entire liter of rum, by himself, over the course of an evening, and still wake up in time to buy tw0-stroke motor  oil before arriving at the marina at 8:00.

On the plight of Miami’s other “native americans”.

The Barnacle. Miami's version of the native american wigwam.

I’m not from Miami. I am from New England. So don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining. That said, I often wonder what it would be like to grow up somewhere, and in my lifetime, see its entire culture and native language change. At one point, not too long ago, this was an English speaking city, populated by refugees from the north and midwest. Now, well, you know what it’s like now. It is truly the Northernmost South American City. Hell, more than a few times, I have gotten wicked nasty looks when i had  to admit ‘no hablo‘. Honestly, if that happened to me where i grew up in Connecticut, I’d be bitter, resentful, and frankly,  one hell of an angry racist bastard. Like I said though, I am not complaining.  I love it here. I am living abroad, in a foreign country,  just a crazy 48-minute drive away from the States.
But this is the Miami I chose to move to.  Not the Miami that chose to move to me.

What’s in your garbage can on a Sunday morning?

When it's Raina, I'm poorer.

Here’s a list of the things i found while cleaning up this afternoon after yet another monastic weekend: six partially used disposable razors, two empty bottles of rum, five coconuts which had been drilled and drained, near a half dozen empty cans of fruit juices and nectars (passion fruit, guava, mango, papaya, and guanabana), two ashtrays filled with marlboro reds and another, as yet unidentified brand of cigarette butt, an empty wallet, a bag from McDonalds (containing the wrappers from two big macs, two cheeseburgers and a large fries), three empty two-liter bottles of Guarana Antarctica’ soda, an Andrew Blake Movie in the DVD player, multiple empty condom wrappers, a can of creme de Pirouline Rolled Wafers and a plate in the microwave which had been licked clean but still had the rolled up ten on it. All that, plus, I found my pubic hair had been shaved.

Not just moronic. Oxymoronic.

Now with 20% more viagra?

Maybe it’s an age thing, but if you ask me, the first, and frankly only,  diet cola for men is regular fucking cola.

And I thought the North won the Civil War.

Stupid cotton pickin idea.

I am about the most politically incorrect son of a bitch on the planet. But I find the idea of auctioning off interns truly offensive. As anybody who has ever worked at an ad agency will tell you, especially as an intern, they are literally nothing more than slaves. I know, I have seen it. “Hey, one of the copywriters got drunk at lunch and threw up all over his desk again. Get one of the interns to clean it up.” (OK, so it was me that threw up on his desk, but that’s besides the point.) Believe it or not, Crispin got somebody to pony up over 17k for three months of servitude from a trio of interns by holding this auction on e-Bay.  And I hear they are planning on taking some of the younger, more comely interns, putting them in a double wide outside Vegas and offering clients access to the CP+Brothel. But that’s just a rumor.

Keeping the ‘functioning’ in ‘functioning alcoholic’.

Sadly, it's a term they use out west that means river or something.

I am very much at peace with my addictions. I have slayed some of the more destructive ones from my past, like, buying pints of ben and jerry’s chocolate ice cream, putting them on my bedside table to melt, then using them to quench my thirst should i awaken during the night. The booze thing however, what with living alone, and working from home, well, let’s just say it’s a real challenge keeping this particular 80 proof genie in the bottle. A real challenge. So I’ve quit trying. I don’t even squeeze limes into my rum and cokes any more, too time consuming. And I have completely done away with ice. Just glug glug glug with the Flor De Cana into a very tall glass and enough coke zero to keep me from gagging as i inhale it in huge, breathy gulps. But I do have rules. No drinking on weeknights unless I have been to the gym. And I always start drinking early enough that I am in bed by nine. Bed, or curled up next to the toilet. Or passed out in a pool of my own vomit on the kitchen floor. But always by nine.