Week in Review
As I look back on the week, I’d say I had a splendid time. Not everything that happened was terrific, though. I’ve been thinking about one event in particular that’s been sticking out in my mind. All week, great things were happening. My sister got married yesterday and we spent all week preparing for it. Relatives and friends alike came from out of town to stay. I jammed with my Uncle Steve on the guitar, I helped with the wedding preparations, and then some.
Thursday night, I went to dinner with my brother, his family and Steve at the Lighthouse Café in San Rafael. A band was playing the blues right outside and the older of my two nieces was spinning like a top. So who should I run into but a good friend of mine who for the purpose of this writing will remain anonymous. He was set to go see “Tropic Thunder” with some of his friends, so I decided to join him after dinner.
After leaving the family behind and having an impromptu reunion with another old friend, I followed my friend down to hang out with his buddies down on Fourth Street. While hanging out, I chatted up with some folks who seemed rather nice. Someone almost an over my head with a bicycle on purpose just to watch me jump up. He was lucky I have good reflexes.
That should have been a sign to me that things weren’t going alright, but alas, I had a movie to watch. And as the evening went on, it became more and more apparent that we weren’t going to see the movie. So instead we headed out to a place they call “The Basement,” an actual basement of someone’s parents’ house that many people like to go to as a hangout spot. I’d heard of the place before and some of the things that happen there. Drugs and booze are things I can deal with, so long as I’m not the one doing them, so I went. Big mistake.
We went into the “Basement” and found a group of social rejects who probably haven’t changed since high school. Matter of fact, it’s like they started partying back in the day and proceeded to continue throwing their lives away after that. A total stoner hangout, in short. To make matters worse, the owner of the “Basement” had a shotgun leaning up against a wall. Within the first five minutes of my being there, the owner picked up the shotgun, loaded it in five seconds with buckshot and aimed it at one of his friends just to watch the guy run out the door.
Buckshot. That’s right, buckshot. I was in the line of fire and so was my friend. And to think that this guy actually had the never to later tell me that the matter in which he treated his weapon should never be repeated. If that’s the case, then why the hell do you think it’s appropriate for you to be doing it yourself?! Buckshot can take out anything in a several foot radius. Don’t ask me, ask Dick Cheney.
I should have left then, but the movie was still a possibility. And then it wasn’t. Not having anything better to do, I stayed there, mostly on the couch, while grown men and women around me got high, drunk, talked about dirty things and exposed their privates. There was even a room full of raunchy sex toys: whips, sticks, bondage equipment and anything else they want to use.
So I sat there on the couch and I got to thinking: I’m an uncle now. I have a family and friends. My sister is getting married on Saturday. And here I am at some complete stranger’s house where everyone’s getting stoned and high while guns are around and women are flashing people. What am I doing here?
My friend does not do drugs or drink. He just hangs out with people that do, which is bizarre. A few weeks ago, he thought that I was a gun nut for making a sarcastic comment about protecting my family with guns. If that’s a gun nut, then what the hell do you call loading a shotgun and aiming it at you friends? Why do I have to be perfect/
So I asked him later why he hangs out with those people and he basically said that they were the only folks he could hang out with on Thursday nights. Frankly, I’d rather be alone on Thursday nights than go there again. And yes, I have told people about this. I’ve told my friends and family about it and we’re going to try to try and help my fiend out before he winds up as a statistic.
As for me, I’m going to enjoy life the safest way. Over the weekend, I partied at my sister’s wedding, I ate, drank and was merry, and last night I danced my heart out. I’m glad that I don’t throw my life away like so many others.
Thursday night, I went to dinner with my brother, his family and Steve at the Lighthouse Café in San Rafael. A band was playing the blues right outside and the older of my two nieces was spinning like a top. So who should I run into but a good friend of mine who for the purpose of this writing will remain anonymous. He was set to go see “Tropic Thunder” with some of his friends, so I decided to join him after dinner.
After leaving the family behind and having an impromptu reunion with another old friend, I followed my friend down to hang out with his buddies down on Fourth Street. While hanging out, I chatted up with some folks who seemed rather nice. Someone almost an over my head with a bicycle on purpose just to watch me jump up. He was lucky I have good reflexes.
That should have been a sign to me that things weren’t going alright, but alas, I had a movie to watch. And as the evening went on, it became more and more apparent that we weren’t going to see the movie. So instead we headed out to a place they call “The Basement,” an actual basement of someone’s parents’ house that many people like to go to as a hangout spot. I’d heard of the place before and some of the things that happen there. Drugs and booze are things I can deal with, so long as I’m not the one doing them, so I went. Big mistake.
We went into the “Basement” and found a group of social rejects who probably haven’t changed since high school. Matter of fact, it’s like they started partying back in the day and proceeded to continue throwing their lives away after that. A total stoner hangout, in short. To make matters worse, the owner of the “Basement” had a shotgun leaning up against a wall. Within the first five minutes of my being there, the owner picked up the shotgun, loaded it in five seconds with buckshot and aimed it at one of his friends just to watch the guy run out the door.
Buckshot. That’s right, buckshot. I was in the line of fire and so was my friend. And to think that this guy actually had the never to later tell me that the matter in which he treated his weapon should never be repeated. If that’s the case, then why the hell do you think it’s appropriate for you to be doing it yourself?! Buckshot can take out anything in a several foot radius. Don’t ask me, ask Dick Cheney.
I should have left then, but the movie was still a possibility. And then it wasn’t. Not having anything better to do, I stayed there, mostly on the couch, while grown men and women around me got high, drunk, talked about dirty things and exposed their privates. There was even a room full of raunchy sex toys: whips, sticks, bondage equipment and anything else they want to use.
So I sat there on the couch and I got to thinking: I’m an uncle now. I have a family and friends. My sister is getting married on Saturday. And here I am at some complete stranger’s house where everyone’s getting stoned and high while guns are around and women are flashing people. What am I doing here?
My friend does not do drugs or drink. He just hangs out with people that do, which is bizarre. A few weeks ago, he thought that I was a gun nut for making a sarcastic comment about protecting my family with guns. If that’s a gun nut, then what the hell do you call loading a shotgun and aiming it at you friends? Why do I have to be perfect/
So I asked him later why he hangs out with those people and he basically said that they were the only folks he could hang out with on Thursday nights. Frankly, I’d rather be alone on Thursday nights than go there again. And yes, I have told people about this. I’ve told my friends and family about it and we’re going to try to try and help my fiend out before he winds up as a statistic.
As for me, I’m going to enjoy life the safest way. Over the weekend, I partied at my sister’s wedding, I ate, drank and was merry, and last night I danced my heart out. I’m glad that I don’t throw my life away like so many others.
posted by Jaimetud at 4:03 PM
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