Enjoy Life


Long ago I realized that I am two shots of cheap bourbon away from being happy. 

Or a bong hit of homegrown.

This has been a simple way of life for me.  I do not recommend this to anyone else.  I have been happier–the years from 1970 to 1979–but I was younger then. 

I will stop being bad when I die.

Enjoy life. Often.


The Saturday Night Crowd


The Saturday night crowd partied together for over forty years.

It was 1969: The first guest would arrive at my parents’ home around 8 pm, Hi Bob, Hi Ann!  That’s when my brother and I would go to the top step of our stairs and listen in.  Gin, Bourbon, and Scotch were consumed in large amounts, along with many cigarettes, the smoke rising up the stairway.

My uncle Bill was always telling corny jokes. He’d say that he has reservations about Indians–he calls them his Indian reservations. Mrs. Curtis and Mrs. Rice looking stunning in their newest swanky outfits. My mother the perfect host, smelling wonderful with her Chanel Number Five, she was the life of the party.  There could be as many as thirty people there, almost every Saturday for nearly forty years.  The Cold War with the Atomic bomb, pressures from working, and raising families, these cocktail parties were a welcome relief.

My generation might say to them, “Party on, dudes.”

Love and Heartburn


Life can be challenging. My doctor told me I have something called GERD. I must stop drinking alcohol.  Fried foods and chocolate are a no-no. These were my favorite things in the world next to marijuana. I told this to my girlfriend. I think she blocks out most of what I say–she suggested we go get a drink.  I tell myself one bourbon won’t hurt. The fried cheese balls she orders are only inches from my reach. I eat a few. On the way home she breaks off a corner of a Hershey bar and says, “go ahead it’s only a little piece.”  Later the burping brings acid from my stomach into my esophagus.  The heartburn pain is unbearable. Tums don’t work at all. I have learned my lesson. No more alcohol, chocolate or Fried foods. Most important avoid my girlfriend whenever possible or suffer in pain and agony…

The First Time


After the first time I had sex with a woman, I remember thinking, what’s the big deal?
Granted, I had had at least one thousand self-induced orgasms before this big event. My sexual fantasies progressed to the highest level of female lover, and, in my mind, I had made love to Raquel Welch, Sophia Loren and even Betty White, many times.

The first woman I was with looked like Betty, only heavier.
Don’t get me wrong. For the record, we went at it for nearly three minutes, with almost one minute of foreplay, and we laid there for ten minutes in afterglow. Then, we were back to the bar, where I held my shot of bourbon in the air and said something romantic like, “Yeah, baby, that was great.”
At the time, I weighed about 300 pounds, and she was large. We were lucky her antique bed didn’t collapse. It was also the first time I attempted to put on a condom. I never mentioned it, but it disappeared. We exchanged phone numbers and kissed. I didn’t go in that bar for another six months, and I stayed away from that part of town.