Eric channels the dead, speaks in tongues, and makes eyes at a bartender, and not necessarily in that order

Last night, I called Eric to see what was on his plate. He was tired from a week of Tonybeest, a prior evening of fencing, and a general infection of ennui, I believe. He wanted to party. So he said he was coming to get me, and we were going to JJ's Hideaway, henceforth known as The Hideaway since everytime he tells someone he's going to JJ's, they think it's a person's house. While I was waiting for him to arrive, I got online and was pleasantly surprised by Faggotman sending me an IM. Faggotman (henceforth known by his real name, Michael) and I must have talked two hours and change on IM. He's a funny guy, and joined the Mutual Admiration Society (patent pending) that I have going with Sara, Eric, and anybody else who is funny, writes funny stuff, and also thinks I'm funny.

I called Eric around 8:30 or so since he wasn't here yet, and he had fallen asleep. I was willing to call off the idea of going out, but he said hell no, he'd be here in a flash. So around 10 or 10:30, he arrived, and whisked me off to the Hideaway. Inside, the place was packed. No where to sit, even. So we got back in the car, and drove a couple of blocks uptown to The Shamrock, a bar owned by Logan's Irish friend, Matt. Matt wasn't there, but there were two bartenders named Chris. Eric kept oogling the one who was serving us. He just knew Chris 1 was gay because, Eric said, Chris 1 waxed his eyebrows. ??? I guess I don't have "gaydar".

We drank lots. I had about five or six rum & cokes, lost count, and Eric had at least five or six glasses of Guiness stout, with a couple shots of Jaegermeister and a shot of Tuaca thrown in for fun. Bleaaggggggghhhhhkkkkk!!!!!!!!! Seventy bucks later, I managed to convince Eric that we needed food. So off to Benito's, where we had quesadillas, papas y huevos, y huevos con charizo. To top that off, Eric had three shots of tequilla, and a chaser of sangrita or sangrilita or some such.

What made the evening memorable was that #1: Eric kept oogling the bartender. I even offered to ask Chris 1 for his number, but Eric wouldn't have that. #2: At Benito's, Eric ordered everything in Spanish, impressing the waitress, and also talking in Eye-talian. In fact, he was getting Spanish and Italian confused after a while. I guess the tequilla was kicking in. What made all this interesting was the fact that shortly after we were seated, a hippy looking guy came in, sat down near us, and ate in silence, looking over our way a lot. Well, I admit, there was no one else there that time of night, and Eric was being a bit flambouyant (and loud, which will piss him off when he reads this), and there was the incident of him telling me, in Spanish or Italian or a mixture of both, I don't know or know why for that matter, "fuck you and all your dead relatives", THEN translating that to English for me, loudly. Then the loud comment about needing music, whereby (I'm sure GLADLY) the waiter turned up the radio. When we got ready to leave, Eric "made first contact" with hippy guy (I didn't catch his name.). Eric guessed he was a bass player. Hippy guy said sometimes, but that he usually played keyboards. Eric offered him a job, then found out the guy had a day job as a graphic designer, whereby Eric offered Hippy guy a better job, more money, etc., and gave him his number. Hippy guy seemed a bit wary, but interested. I'm curious to see if Hippy guy follows through Monday or not. Fifty dollars later, we were out the door.

But what to me was the most memorable thing was #3: Eric channeling the dead. I admit we were drunk. I admit I get a bit maudlin and weepy sometimes when I'm drunk. But Eric isn't the sentimental type. Out of the blue, he started a conversation about Mommy and Pappy and the afterlife. He told me all sorts of typical cold reading type things, like "they're at a better place", "they're busy with what they are doing now and don't worry about the little day to day stuff", and "that in three to five years, a big, life-changing event will happen" to me. But then he said that Martha knows about all my little disappointments, and that I can be so much more, if only I stop settling and get off my ass and accomplish something. He said Pappy thinks I should have big plans, plans for the future, rather than just plans for next week or tomorrow. Okay, I admit, that sounds like gypsy fortune telling, too. I guess I was just feeling weepy and wanted to hear something good. Eric knew Mommy and Pappy, so of course, he would know their mind set. Eric seems to think he can feel the presence of their spirits. He said he even talks to them.

I don't have any definite beliefs about the afterlife, except that the jury is still out as to whether or not there is one. The scientist part of my brain scoffs, yet the spiritual part of my brain can't dismiss it out of hand. And then there's the sniveling, weepy, childish part of my brain that is terrified by the thought of nothingness when our bodies give out, give up, give up the ghost. Is it that nature loathes a vacuum?

All I know for certain is that I always believed I would be able to sense my mother's spirit. I never really thought that Pappy would hang around afterwards because he always seemed so at peace, so settled, when he was alive. Mommy's spirit seemed agitated in some ways, excited in others, reminding me perhaps of a boiling pot of water, always in motion. Restless. So I have never been able to accept that she could really just move on once she died. I always thought she would make contact with me, especially since we often talked about what the afterlife could be like, if it existed. She believed in it a whole lot more than I did at the time. I suppose the fact that she has always been a whole lot more spiritual than me is the reason. She was a questing soul, always seeking the unity with God which, in her mind, was really the purpose of life. We spend our earthly existance wanting to be reunited with our maker. I've never had what I would consider a religious experience, one where I truly felt some sort of omniscient presence, except when holding my newborn children, alone, with no doctor, no nurse, nor even the baby's father present. When I was alone in the hospital, holding my baby, I felt a power not of this plane. This happened with each child, Beth, Wesley (named Paul when he was adopted), Brighid, and Weyland, but particularly with Brighid. The reason for that, I suppose, is yet to be revealed to me.

Shakespeare got it right in Hamlet. "There are more things in heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." Of course, this begs the question about heaven. But that is for another blog. How this post turned from a discourse on "Fun With Eric" into a rant about spirituality, I dunno. I thought it funny this morning when I woke up that when in our cups, we wax all metaphysical, see spirits, and wet our pants with laughter, but in the bleary-eyed light of day, with my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth and my urine the color of lime Gatorade, indicating a powerful need for fluids other than the alcohol-laced varieties, my mind perceives the evening, rather, as sad in a funny sort of way, and that all drunks have this in common: a heightened imporatance of self.

All this aside, Eric has changed a lot from the Eric of partying twenty years ago. Last night, he gave me $80 to cover his part of the cost of our evening. I hated asking him to reimburse me after he paid to have my car towed a couple of weeks ago, but I would have been almost broke if he had been unable to repay me. So tonight, when I go out with The Gals (Herbie, Heather, Susan, and Shellie), at least I won't go into hock for my dinner. We're going to go eat lobster, check out Shellie's new house, then adjourn Chez Wilbanks for dessert, perhaps a movie, and - get this - SOBER knitting. Yeah. Right. We'll see about that. A couple of Bailey's laced hot chocolates later, the cats are stringing the yarn all over the house, Herbie's calling us all drunk bitches, Heather's shaking her head in despair over us drunk bitches, and Susan, Shellie, and I are showing our tits. Oh, wait -- that was last time we got together, drank a whole bottle of vodka AND several appletinis, some red wine, and ate lots of chocolate. Susan promised Steve she wouldn't drink this time. We can still have fun together without booze, right??? Honestly, yes we can.

I've enjoyed playing the train of thought game with you this afternoon. Next time, on "Melodrama Theatre", we'll talk about... boyfriends! Every single one of them!! Oh, short list. Make that lovers then, past, present, and future. Should keep me busy for several weeks, then.
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