NOTE: Penned Monday, posted Saturday
Bad moon rising?
Last weekend (OK, the weekend before last) was boring. This weekend was angst-filled for everyone except, it seems, me.
I'm blaming drugs on my lack of recent diaries.
I owe a very nice lady a phone call, but I have to call after 8:00 PM and Patty always has the long distance phone (free LD on the cell).
A month ago (plus a few days or so) I went to the doctor to get my Paxil refilled. I had been dosing down, and then quit for a week or two, thinking that it has been long enough that I should be able to get off of the damned things.
But then the first anniversary of Evil-X's leaving passed without my having as much as a date, let alone sex (except the one fifty cent oral), and it really got me depressed. So I went back to the Doc to get my prescription refilled.
She changed it and said she wanted to see me in a month.
I had been on the straight dose 20mg of Paxil; she put me on the time-release 37.5mg ones. I felt like a lifeless zombie, incapable of any emotion. Including the desire to log on to K5 much.
I didn't like it a bit.
So when I went back, I asked for the old ones back, and she wrote a new prescription. When I went to get it filled, I found out why the new time-release Paxil had been prescribed.
Apparently, Paxil's patent ran out. I got generic, and only had to pay seven bucks; the real deal cost me fifteen, and that was my co-pay; the actual bottle of drug was well over a hundred dollars.
Hooray that our patent system, unlike our copyright system, is really time limited like the Constitution proscribes. Thank God that the patent holders don't have nearly as good of lobbyists as the copyright holders, who “own” the copyrighted work forever, at least compared to a human's life.
So anyway, I went downtown to Dempsey's. No band. Interestingly, it was in the process of changing hands again; the guy with the expensive mixing board was buying it.
There not being any music, I just drank one beer and went home. OK, maybe I drank two beers.
Monday or Tuesday I walked home from work for lunch, and was greeted by an angering and depressing letter: the divorce hearing had been pushed back by X's lawyer. I thought of calling my lawyer to ask if it was legal to shoot lawyers, but that would have eaten into my retainer fee. So I didn't.
When I got home, there was another letter, from my lawyer. The hearing was now on the 24th, and it was a “status hearing”, whatever that is, and I don't have to be there.
Friday night I went back to Dempsey's. One of the old owners, Joe, a large, muscular, linebacker-type fellow who obviously is no stranger to freeweights and steroids, was tending bar. No band.
I drank one beer and left, and walked down to Bread Stretcher's. I got two subs, ate one, and stuck the other in my coat pocket (BIG pockets!).
I walked on home, put the big sandwich in the refrigerator, drank another beer and went to bed. It was just as well I got to bed early, as I had gotten a letter from the city saying if I didn't cut the overgrowth in the alley behind my house down, the city would, and would charge me $275.00 per hour for the privilege. I guess they have a couple of lawyers cutting brush.
Of course, when I got up Saturday it was raining. And there was no string on my weed eater (I had stupidly let Evil-X borrow it).
I had Patty give me a ride to Dempsey's.
It looked to be another one beer night; no music. But it wasn't busy, and Mandy was tending bar and needed someone to talk to. So I stuck around to lend an ear.
She was upset; she had kicked her boyfriend out a week earlier. They had been together for years.
So, I stuck around and tried to make her feel better, talking to her and the bouncer, a heavy guy who appears to have more experience with a TV and potato chips than freeweights and steroids.
The new owner was to take over Monday (that's today).
Joe Owner came in. He was drunk. He was pissed. I somehow got the idea that he had been screwed over royally in the bar deal, maybe even losing his entire investment in the place. I don't know the details, though. But he was very, very upset.
He wanted his “goddamned remote control!”
Mandy didn't know where it was. Bouncer didn't know where it was. Joe got aggressive and physical, in a pushing match with Bouncer. Mandy was screaming and crying - she was already upset about breaking up with her boyfriend and obviously didn't need this.
As I contemplated stepping in and helping Bouncer (and surely getting my old ass kicked in the process), Joe turned his attention to a couple of large fellows at a table who obviously thought the whole show made Monty Python look somber and serious in comparison.
Bouncer was on his cell phone. “Damn it, I need cops here NOW! NOW, do you hear me? He's going to tear the Goddamned place apart! Get some help here!!”
Mandy was sitting on the stool next to me sobbing. Joe Owner left, maybe two minutes before four armed men in uniform came in. Bouncer talked to them, and took over Mandy's bartending duties until she could compose herself.
Things quieted down, the few folks who were in there left, and Joe Frew came in. He was looking for a name for his new band. So, what are your ideas for the name of Joe's new band? Joe is about the best blues singer I know. He makes a lot of the famous, recorded blues guys sound like shit.
Eventually the place closed. Mandy drove me home.