an open letter to everyone i drunk dialed last night: hi. i imagine you were having a delightful time without me, when suddenly your phone rang and there i was. i hope that was ok. you see, i remember starting at the top of my cell phone contact list with the intention of working through it to the end. skipping parents, most relatives, ex-girlfriends, of course. i don't know how well i did with that. i don't know how far i made it down that list. if we made any plans, you should give me a call to confirm. i wouldn't want you to be stuck standing in the rain with a rented elephant, wondering where i am, kicking mud and cursing my name. i don't recall making plans that involved renting an elephant, but i wouldn't rule that out. i can't really rule anything out at this point. i cleared out at work at about two-thirty yesterday. don't tell anyone. actually, tell anyone. i only left because it seemed everyone else was gone. certainly no one saw me duck out. i wasn't even ducking. bart is nice and empty at two-thirty. i managed to sit reading my book, making it all the way to rockridge without some man's sweaty ass crack hovering with only a thin layer of cheap, synthetic blend trouser fabric between it and my face. dancing cheek to cheek with the bounce and rumble of rapidly transiting light rail. walking up college from rockridge bart i passed barclay's. well, to be honest, i didn't make it past barclays. i sat on the patio and drank a couple beers. barclay's beer comes in twenty ounce pints. i had a paint the town red, which was on a nitrous tap. then i had a pliny the elder double ipa, which, as it turns out, is fucking outstanding. and 8% alcohol. that is roughly when i lost any concept of time. i started to walk up college towards the house i stay in several nights a week. i stopped in at the liquor store and bought a six of rolling rock from the korean. rolling rock is what i was drinking the first time i ever got drunk. my liver's initiation to the new life. my liver was looking forward to revisiting old times. i guess. i'm really not sure why i picked the rolling rock. maybe the pretty horse. maybe i wanted to wonder about "33" again. either way, i got to the house and drank four of them while waiting for my friends to get home. then i drank a fifth with my buddy. then i walked to the seven eleven and bought a twelve of heineken premium light. don't ask, i don't have any idea. i also bought two packages of hostess cupcakes and one package of ding-dongs. again, don't ask. on the way out i gave a beer to the woman begging change. i asked her what she had said when i was walking in, and she said "oh, i just asked if you could spare anything so i could eat." so i gave her a couple dollars, and, i think, the seven eleven receipt. i'm fucking happy right now. and generous. i'm not sleeping much, and not suffering for it. i'm prone to sizable bursts or rapid talking. clearly, the meds are not quite to the working dose. i'm a little worried about the coming week. but fuck it. with a heineken premium light in my hand, i started down the phone list. i was in the house of the first person on the list, so i know i didn't call him. the next person is my ex, so clearly i immediately violated the not calling ex girlfriends rule. i haven't been with her for over five years, though, so maybe that doesn't really count. anyway, that's how it started. i hope i was more entertaining than annoying. if not, i apologize. but really, we all know, sins you don't remember really aren't sins. and now, i just remembered, i wrote a joke while sitting on the patio at barclay's. i don't know if it is funny or not. or, rather, i should say, i'm not sure anyone other than me will find it funny. but, here it is, as written, which means, raw: the farmer and his cows there was an old dairy farmer who lost the four fingers of his left hand in a hay bailing accident. they called him thumbs up in high school. that was a hundred years ago. he had no wife. he had no daughters. this is not that kind of joke. one day he went out to the milking stable and found the milker was rumbling with a funny noise. he took his large wrench to the thing and with one twist the wrench spun around and broke his arm. his right arm. the funny noise stopped. in fact, the whole machine stopped. with one broken arm and one hand with only a thumb, the farmer tried to get the machine going. nothing he did could get it started. dejected, smelling of machine oil and gasoline, the farmer returned to his home. standing in his kitchen he looked out over his field and his dozen cows. their udders heavy, full of milk. he had to get them milked. with one thumb on one side and a broken arm on the other there was no chance of him milking the cows himself. he picked up his phone and called his brother. his sister-in-law answered. she said that his brother had seen smoke rising up over by old pete's house and had gone over to investigate. the old farmer knew his sister-in-law's hands were twisted into arthritic claws, so he didn't even ask. he thanked her and hung up. he walked over to his parlor and looked out the window in the distance. indeed, there was smoke rising in the direction of old pete's. back in the kitchen the farmer picked up the phone and called old pete's house. maybe one of his four sons could come help milk the cows. old pete's blind sister alice answered the phone. she said the barn caught fire and pete and the boys were out trying to put it out. in fact, seemed like every able hand around was trying to put that fire out. the farmer said he'd be over there himself, but he'd just broke his arm. alice said, well i hope you feel better. the farmer hung up and looked out over his field of cows. their udders were swollen to the point of being shiny. he had to milk the cows. but every able hand was helping put out the barn. the old farmer went out to his shed and found a piece of plywood, a can of paint, and a brush. with a barely legible broken arm scrawl her painted his request for a milker on the plywood. laboriously, with broken arm and fingerless hand, the old farmer dragged his plywood sign down the half mile of gravel road that stretched from his farm house to the highway. the sun beat down on his ancient shoulders. sweat soaked through the back of his shirt and trickled from his armpits down his ribs. he propped the sign up against his mailbox and wandered back to his house. sitting at his kitchen table he drank a glass of iced tea and hoped a good soul would come milk his cows. looking out over the cows in the pasture he imagined them falling to their knees under the weight of their milk full udders. he imagined their cries in the night as their udders burst and their milk ran thick into the cropped grass. down by the road the sign sat, crudely lettered: if you milk my cows, i will let you screw one of them. so, when i saw that, of course i milked his fucking cows. rim-shot. yeah, i'm fucking awesome. i hope i didn't tell any of you that joke last night. sincerely, your loving, hung over friend and his grumpy liver

xoxox

there are a few people who only call me when they are drunk a lot less do since i changed my phone number, five years ago? nice to hear your voice on my answer-phone

awww. i guess i really didn't skip the ex-girlfriends.

hi nate

is your area code 704?

no.

I should give you my number.

I'm sorry I didn't call you back but after I left that message, I called my mom and talked to her for awhile and then fell asleep.

I thought you were laying off of alcohol? That was a pretty big consumption. I hope you didn't feel too bad the next day. You don't feel your meds are working? Be careful, some meds don't mix with the alcohol. But I'm with ya on the Hostess treats!!!! :)

i didn't feel bad the next day. it seems like i'm getting drunk once every other week. not too bad. i do feel like the meds are helping, but maybe not completely? i certainly felt in some ways mildly manic on friday. i've not entered into the expected depression, though. i feel pretty good. who knows. fucking brains.

too bad you didnt make it to the Ps.

I know, the brain is amazing, and so complex. I think thats why I went into the field I did, because I am absolutely fascinated by it. There's so much we don't understand. My dream is that one day, we'll be able to do a color scan, and be able to see exactly where the deficit is, in any given brain, and be able to give the exact medication to give the patients some relief, without them having to go through the frustrating trial and error process. Kudos for you, on such a major decrease in your alcohol consumption! I'm REALLY proud of you. Thats a major accomplishment. Put a large feather in your cap. You deserve it! Thats a behavior thats really hard to change, and you're doing a hell of a good job. Make that an eagles feather!![and I bet your liver thanks you, too!] I'm really glad to hear that the depression hasn't been plaguing you. A little mania is much easier to deal with. So maybe the meds are helping! Its just a timely process. Glad you didn't feel grim the next day. I was getting a little green around the gills, just reading what all you consumed! [My drinking skills have deteriorated, over the years.] Oh, I've been meaning to mention, that I enjoy your writing. Ye spin a good tale. Keep em coming. If I can ever be of assistance to you, in any way, with any questions, or just tossing around ideas or thoughts, I would consider it a heartfelt priviledge. J has my email or cell, and you can get them from her. You keep up the good work. I'm behind you 100%.

I have not been drunk dialed since May 2005 when my cousins phoned me from Long Island while I was in Chicago at a bear event to tell me they were pissed I wasn't at the wedding with them. They called on 8 different phones hoping, praying I'd answer one of the unfamiliar numbers. I finally did. And lost the signal. Nate... how do I get on your list?