Dial-a-Geek

I wake up, and I have no idea how I got here. Wherever it is I am, it seems familiar, like my apartment. I am naked, have a hard-on, and reek of Tequila. I don’t know what time it is, though it feels early. I threw out the mattress, cause I saw a bedbug on it, and I threw out the couch, because I woke up one morning in my own piss. So all I have left to sleep on is my love seat. Its not terribly uncomfortable, I just have to sleep in the fetal position and share it with my two cats, that’s all.

Its not that I can’t afford a new mattress or new couch, I have the money, and its not that I am lazy, I work 6 to 7 days a week. I am far from lazy. I just have absolutely zero organizational skills, and an even worse mind-set. If you aren’t on the top of my mind, then you aren’t in the picture. I don’t care how good your pussy is, I’ve already had it. I don’t care how good the drugs are, they don’t get me off anymore. No sir, cash goes to the front of the line every time.
I’m a geek, and in an economy where everyone is crying about how broke they are, I couldn’t be busier. I always ask my friends “is it really that bad out there?” and what the fuck is a recession anyways? Here is a recession. People still have money to go out and drink, order take-out food, buy drugs, pay the utility companies, these are all things that cannot be removed from the budget. So instead they just nickel and dime every other aspect of their life. Instead of once a week getting their hair and nails done they do it once a month, and boy does it show. People still take vacations, but instead of staying at the Hilton they book a room Tick-Tock Inn, or even more demeaning, they have a staycation. A staycation is when everyone stays home, drinks heavily, skips showers and sleeps in.

In my eyes, the most tragic casualty of nickel and dimming is the booze, people always buy cheaper booze. It used to be Patron but now its Mante Alban. What was once Grey Goose, is now Royal Gate, oh dear Christ say it isn’t so. I mean I understand putting well liquor in cocktails. Lets be honest, unless the place has freshly squeezed orange juice, why the hell would I mix top shelf Tequila with Sunny D. I Mean I know people do this everyday, but if you actually stop and think about the idea of mixing top shelf anything with bottom shelf mixers, it’s absurd, and kind of disgusting. Would the average person go into a corner store and get Sunny D, when they could have Tropicana, no, but they do it all the time in a bar.

But lets go back to the beginning. What the fuck am I doing on the couch, at  God knows what time in the morning, still drunk from the night before? Listening to Billie Holiday’s “good morning heartache”, and not knowing how long the music has been playing? What a foul routine…  drinking till I pass out only to wake-up not giving a shit. In January I was depressed and it became understandable why I was doing it, but now I am just a drunk, without an excuse.

Shit, lets face it, the past seven months were just fucking brutal; at least in New York it was. I know so many people that have horror stories about this past winter aside from the economy turning to shit. On an epic scale, things just got bad. Couples broke up, friends had lifelong partners die, houses stood ablaze while landlords demanded more rent, pets ran away and were found weeks later floating in the East River, and the weather… Listen, if there was someone in the city who actually physically controlled the weather, his house would have been firebombed. That’s how bad it was. Just seven miserable long hard months that were either freezing cold, snowing, raining uncontrollably, or some fucked up mixture of all three. Everyone I talk to mentions “seasonal depression”, loosing faith in god or just plain being miserable. It transcended class, race, religion, and bound us all. The winter of 08/09 was crap and we all went through it together.
There are those who were “smart” enough to leave New York for the winter, but they aren’t real New Yorkers. You got to go through the shit and truly embrace this city in order to have those sort bragging rights. I mean don’t get me wrong, the key to staying sane in this city is knowing that you need to leave now and again, if anything just for week, I understand this. If you live here then you know how it feels to be on that plane or in that car, getting out of town, and in your head you’re saying to yourself “thank god. Thank god I got the fuck out of that city, alive and in one piece, that whole fucking place can just burn down for all I care. fuck it”, and when you come back you have this overwhelming feeling of “thank god I am home”. New York city was a toilet, and Mother Nature spent all winter eating at White Castle. However this wasn’t the beginning of my problems.
Lets just start out with what I do. I work for myself as a computer geek. Mac, Windows, linux, laptops, desktops, hardware, software, bootlegs, data recovery, password recovery, I do it all. I go in peoples homes, the projects, mansions, rich or poor, it doesn’t matter. You paying in cash? Great! I’ll be there, just as long as you are within reasonable walking distance from the train. Other than that, I don’t give a shit how bad the neighborhood is. I have been in the Marcy projects, Myrtle ave, the LG, Linden, even the Pink Houses out in Brownsville. My aunt Theresa actually lived there when the place first opened up. I remember her describing them to me, “oh yeah, they were so nice”. Well, they aren’t nice anymore Aunt Theresa…. On a hot summer day, you can smell the piss in the elevators from the street. I know. I was there.

Although, you don’t have to be in a bad neighborhood to see some wild shit. You could be anywhere in the five boroughs and never really know what you are going to walk into. I have clients who are pensioner pimps, Turkish drug dealing kindergarten teachers, transsexual Puerto Rican prostitutes, gay investment bankers on meth, obscenely obese radio personalities, deviant Hasidic Jews with a taste for brown sugar. All of these people are real, all of them have computer problems, and all of them have one thing in common…me. They will feed you, give you wine, offer you their drugs, and of course sex, and I just roll with it. I don’t care if you wanna fuck chickens in front of me, as long as you are willing to pay my hourly rate, I will be there. However, I want nothing to do with any sort of pedophilia. Everyman has got to have a code, and that’s mine. No pedos! End of fucking story.

Alright, I need to sober up already. I can’t sleep anymore that’s for sure, my cats wont let me, no they just start circling me like a couple of vultures demanding food by meowing and purring till they have woken me from my slumber. Why should they care if I need my sleep; there is food in the cupboard and they know it, and that’s all that matters to these two greedy cats. They aren’t alone, I need food too. If I am to sober up any time soon I need two things: Emergen-C, and an egg-cheese-with some sort of pork product sandwich. I get dressed put on my sunglasses and head down to the bodega. Christ it isn’t even sunny outside. It doesn’t matter, the glasses stay, nobody must see my eyes when I’m in such a state, for if they did they would see the truth…That my eyes are two little lost souls drowning in a river, which flowed right down to my liver, which is an island in an ocean of Tequila and Rum.

I mean don’t get me wrong, it’s all really good Tequila and Rum, it’s just a lot of really good Tequila and Rum. I have a stink of days old alcohol on my breath…pure death breath, and if you are the guy behind the counter unlucky enough to be taking my order right now, then you would know. Probably because your eyes would be burning, and your nose hairs would just fall out at the first whiff of my stench. Dying beached whales don’t smell this bad.

When you are hung over for a morning, it may suck, but it’s just not that bad. However when you have been waking up hung-over every morning for more than a couple of months. Well, then it begins to take a toll. Aside from the fact that your neighbors begin to realize that you obviously like to drink, you will notice a slight euphoria that begins to blanket the mornings, like frosty dew out on the front lawn. If that sounds fun, let me be the first to say: “Yes it is”. Especially if you don’t work nine to five like most of the other cretins out there. Yeah, if you got the first few hours of the day to yourself, have neighbors who don’t care how loud the music is, and you don’t mind laughing hysterically at your own jokes (because believe me, you will be alone)… then yeah, go ahead and over indulge yourself.

Remember, it’s still legal to smoke in your own house, they haven’t outlawed that yet. So don’t hold back, light up and smoke to your little black hearts content, while you and moan and carp away till your foaming at the mouth like some rabid dog. Come on, its always fun to start the day scowling and making hurtful remarks about people… snipe and sneer at this, damn and blast that, burn and bludgeon everything else until there’s nothing left except ashes and bones. It really has got to be the best way to wake up in the morning…in a boiling hot lake of fire with box of parliament lights.

Personally I like to have happy and peppy music playing while I’m thinking about the more morbid things in life… like the end of the world for instance. Picture it: the sky goes from black to blood-red. Everything is either on fire or crumbling to pieces. All around you the earth is slowly opening up and you turn to the person next to you and say, no wait… you scream. You will have to scream over the sound of random explosions, planes falling from the sky, and kids crying uncontrollably. It’s the end of the world, and God knows that the noise level, will be off the charts.  So, you’ll scream to the person next to you “WELL JIM, IT LOOKS LIKE WE REALLY FUCKED UP THIS TIME!”. And in the background, some rich yuppy cocksucker’s condo will be a raging inferno, but the radio will still be on because its battery powered, and playing on that radio, will be Wham’s “wake me up before you gogo” (or whatever the title to that song is). Now I don’t listen to Wham per say, but I do feel that under those circumstances, I could get into that song.

Well it’s not the end of the world for me…more like the end of a really bad storm. A storm that I guess if I was to be honest started around a year ago. Man I am tired of telling this story so lets make this time be the last time.
When I came back from 6 week binge drinking tour of Europe, I came back to a relationship that was crumbling, a fallout with 3 close friends and drug habit that was finished. Drugs are a great thing…and for 7 years I had the time of my life swallowing Oxycontin and Percocet only wash it down with Tequila. When I started using it was my little slice of heaven which slowly turned to fire and brimstone, no high, just insomnia, a vicious temper and a limp dick.
In this time I had also wrapped 3 years or recording in which I finished up 3 albums of new music. Any artist knows that when you finish a project there is an aftermath in which one has to just sit down and exhale all the time and labor they poured all over their work. You just sort of collapse in you chair and practically loose it like a mom who just gave birth to triplets. And low and behold was the winter… like a group a vulture silently waiting for its prey to be too weak to defend itself from such an onslaught. I was ripe for the picking.

Come January I hadn’t exercised, let alone seen the sun in months. I hadn’t even picked up an instrument or tried writing any new music, was heartbroken from the fallout with my girlfriend, and had cross-addicted from pills to heavy drinking. I was still able to work yet I had know idea why anymore. I just knew I was in the midst of a heavy depression and all I could do was tell myself to hold on, and brave the storm.

You know whenever there is some big hurricane that comes thru and levels an entire town there is always some reporter on standby waiting to snap a shot. The shot is always the same; there is always some man, with his wife or family, and all around them is the ruins of where their house use to be, or where their neighborhood use to be, which has now been reduced to rubble. The man in the picture always has the same look on his face. If that picture could take, it would say “what am I doing here?”, which is what I feel now.

Why am I waking up drunk ass shit from the night before….well isn’t is obvious that I have no clue. What difference does it make…I’m just one man, what the fuck could I possibly know about anything, let alone my own predicament. Whether I planned it or not, I am here in my apartment all alone, on some morning, I have no idea what day it is, nor does it matter…when I am ready to get on with my life I will simply do so. Until that point, I will sit and eat my greasy breakfast sandwich, suck down my orange juice and listen to Celia Cruz on full blast to my hearts content. I mean if this really is the end then what’s the difference?
I could be happy with this being my last meal. Juice, grease and salsa, what else could I ask for on judgement day except maybe a snooze button. But this isn’t the end.

I fall back on the floor and cower in a ball at the throbbing pain in my head as if a lightning bolt has struck with full force. The dirt and filth of the hardwood floor in my face, the stench of alcohol makes my nose twitch. The grime under my fingernails, the sweat on my back, the sock hanging off my left foot, and the other one gone missing somewhere in the night, only the Tequila knows where she may be. The ache in my neck, could use a pillow. The sleep in my eyes could use a washing, and the wax in my ears have got to go.

Times like this…forget getting your life in order… what I need to do is just pull the big knife out of the draw. At this point I don’t blame anything on the alcohol although it is implicated.  No sir I have no one left to blame other than myself.

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~ by thmjklmstrymn on June 30, 2010.

2 Responses to “Dial-a-Geek”

  1. Oy, clean yourself up man. No one gives a shit. Everyone feels the same. If you check out, no one still gives a shit. One less Geek to take business from another drunk Geek.

  2. still one of the best fucking rants I have ever read…

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