Man, I had really planned to spend some time writing a quality post tonight, but just before I began, I remembered that I had art homework, so I had to spend three hours drawing a teapot. I think it’s a teapot. It’s beside a teacup and a vase. I don’t know.
Mine doesn’t look like a teapot, really. Mine looks like…well, I’m not real sure what mine looks like. Remember the Walt Disney version of Beauty and the Beast? With all the dancing dishes and shit? My teapot kind of looks like that, but if one of the characters was taken to a dungeon and tortured mercilessly for information.
“What is a 6B graphite pencil for, Mr. Teapot?”
“I don’t know! Shading?”
“I’d like to believe you, I really would. But…”
“Ahhhhhh! Please, stop! I’ve told you everything I know!”
“Maybe you have, and maybe you haven’t. We’ll find out soon enough.”
“No! Not the kneading eraser!”
“I’m afraid so.”
Poor Mr. Teapot. All he wanted was a date with Ms. Vase.
The point of all that was this: I got nothin’. Lucky for us, Karen was silly enough to comment in another post about drinking alone:
I drink alone, because I AM alone. Should I invite someone over just so I'm not drinking alone? I'm also an introvert, so screw that, I don't feel like having someone over—people annoy me. And I like drinking at home—it's comfortable, and safe (no drinking and driving). And yeah, being a parent won't stop you from drinking (responsibly, obviously). I don't think it should. (shrug)
She makes a valid point, of course. If you’ve spent any amount of time around here, you know that I detest most of the world, and the idea of bringing someone over just so I don’t look like an alcoholic is repulsive. Plus, then I have to share my booze.
But I’m not above being a major hypocrite if I can get a post out of it. So I decided to stage an intervention:
Me: Karen, hello. How are you?
Karen: Who are you? What are you doing in my kitchen?
Me: It’s me, Ray. You know, from The Strangelands?
Karen: Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. How did you find me?
Me: That’s not important, Karen. What’s important is that we’re worried about you. You’re throwing your life away, and you don’t even know it.
Karen: What? What the hell are you talking about?
Me: This is an intervention. Because of your drinking. And drugs. Do you do drugs?
Karen: Absolutely not!
Me: Okay, okay! Calm down, rummy. Just drinking then.
Karen: Did you just call me “rummy?”
Me: Let’s not focus on the past. Unless we’re focusing on the past where you’re drinking. Because that’s what I’m doing here is telling you that we’re worried that your drinking has gotten out of control.
Karen: Who’s worried?
Me: Your friends and loved ones.
Karen: You aren’t my friend or my loved one.
Me: I’m here on their behalf.
Karen: You need to leave, before I call the police.
Me: Look, let’s just calm down. You want a beer or something? I know you do—alcoholics love beer. It’s like their god. Here, have a beer.
Karen: Get out of my refrigerator!
Me: Is that really want you want, Karen? Because I don’t think that it is.
Karen: And quit drinking my beer!
Me: The first sign of an alcoholic is people who don’t want to share their booze. By telling me to quit drinking your beer, you’re admitting that you have a problem.
Karen: Fine, drink the damn beer. Did you just put one in your pocket, too?
Me: Quit being an alcoholic about it, Karen, geez.
Karen: What the hell are you doing here?
Me: I told you—intervention. I’m saving you from yourself. Remember that comment you posted on The Strangelands?
Karen: The one where I said I drink alone because I don’t want people around?
Me: That’s the one. As soon as I read it, I knew I had to come find you.
Karen: I’m calling the police.
Me: The police are for alcoholics, Karen. You don’t want to be an alcoholic, do you?
Karen: You’re insane! That makes absolutely no sense.
Me: Maybe it just doesn’t seem to make sense because you’re drunk.
Karen: I’m not drunk.
Me: Alcoholics never want to admit they’re drunk. So this is Indiana, huh? Where’s that guy Nedroid? He’s from Indiana, too. That guy’s funny as hell.
Karen: Look…just…can you, like, go?
Me: I’m gonna be honest here—I don’t really know how an intervention works. I mean, when people show up to do it to me, I’m usually blitzed out of my gourd and choking on my own vomit. It’s kind of hard to pay attention when you’re projectile vomiting, you know? I guess what I’m saying is, do you feel properly, um, intervened?
Karen: If I say yes, will you leave?
Me: I will if you give me the rest of that beer.
Karen: Fine, take it. Just get the hell out of here.
Me: You got like a bag or something I could put it in?
Karen: Yes, here. Now get out of here!
Me: Hey, I thought you mentioned you had a daughter. Is she like single, or whatever? Not that I’m looking, but you know, if maybe we could do a little of that mother/daughter stuff like in Penthouse forum-
Karen: See this knife? If you so much as mention my daughter again, I will cut you from throat to ballsack. If you don’t leave right now, I will jam it into your eye socket.
Me: Fine, I’ll go! Ya fuckin’ mean drunk. I’m glad we had this talk.
So yeah, we really connected, I think. Sure, she’s probably angry now, but she’ll eventually thank me. I mean, I practically saved her life, you know?
Oh, it should be noted that Karen didn’t actually show up for the intervention (probably she was out drinking somewhere…alone). So I kind of had to, uh...well, the word “fabricate” seems a little harsh. Let’s just say I used extreme empathy for her side of the conversation.