Mustache to Mustache

Ok. Seriously. Friends need to stop coming to town for visits. I mean, my friends, we are all raging alcoholics, and I don't need any further encouragement. I think one of these days my liver is going to give. I love you, but c'mon.

...

Granted its been a blast. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning, the sun starting to rise, and the dreaded bird song that when you hear it, you know you've had a decent night out, and are probably really, really drunk.

Saturday night was probably the pinnacle of the recent festivities. First there were the mustaches. I had three fake mustaches that used to reside on the door frame of my home, left over from mustache parties thrown by the ex, that I used to joke about saying they were like symbols from the Underground Railroad that signaled safe haven for mustache kind. I brought them to the The Bar, and the ladies I was hanging with all wore them, and there we sat in our booth, four mustaches all united.

Then a drive cross town to a party in the hair salon, which was entirely crazy. Pretty much anyone and everyone I know was in attendance, and quite drunk. Including the ex, which was awkward as always. So I did the only thing I could do to protect myself from that influence, and I drank even more.

Later we all came back to my house for yes, more alcohol (drinking whiskey and then wine at five in the morning = not a good idea) and we played songs and sang for each other on the guitar, like we used to do back in the day. It was joyous.

...

My new tattoo is itching like crazy. Most of the scabs have fallen off, though there is still dry, dead skin all about it. But it looks super-sweet, and I'm already planning my next tattoo. I'm thinking a broken hearted robot of some kind, holding a flower. A. has similar plans for a tattoo, and I think we're going to go together to get them done, our broken robots.

And if one remembers my previous analogy, yes, that tattoo is itching, too. Whenever I run into her in public, it always puts me in a mood for a few days. And I have to be careful about it. I'm still feeling the need for intimate human bodily contact, though not as overpowering as it has been.

...

I have to be careful. As she was leaving the party, something came over me, and I asked her to join me for a cup of coffee, you know, to talk about things...

I'm not sure it was the best idea. I'm still angry about a lot of things that happened between us. And there's still a part of me that cares very deeply.

A friend advised me to know what I want to get out of this talk. She mentioned 'closure' but I'm not really sure what that word means. Sometimes I think its just another word for getting the last word in.

I'm feeling confident enough in myself these days. I can handle it.

Tomorrow evening is going to be interesting.

...

Speaking of anger, work is utterly asinine. Mainly my work load, which thanks to the big O-pah, has increased ten fold. I now basically just make large piles of beef, and huge batches of baked beans. The show aired Friday, and we're still selling this particular product like its going out of style. It just figures it has to be my responsibility, well, and my counterparts.

They named me employee of the week because of this. Which is a joke to begin with. People know I don't exactly show school spirit around the work place, so they just love to comment on my employee of the week status. They literally gave me the coveted title, in the vain hopes that I don't ape-shit and start hurting people. Cause there were a couple times I was raising my voice over this. In a joking manner, but swearing and yelling all the same.

...

My parents are coming to town for the monthly bread run/take me out to dinner. Its going to awkward and hilarious. Because as long as I've known him, my father has had a mustache, pretty much the same style that mine is.

And there we will be, at the dinner table across from each other, mustache to mustache.

And I think about this scene in my head, and I start cracking up.