Hey guess what? Chicken butt! Guess what else? BRICK! Installment five. Mix a martini, crack a bottle, or pop a cork. Enjoy.
Back story goes here, here, here, and here. K, thanks.
Wine Doesn’t Belong in a Glass
You may recall that the wine is in the tub, and the glass was broken. When I moved in with Brick I had a nice set of 12 wine glasses. We hosted many wine parties and these always came in handy. By the time Brick moved out I was down to six wine glasses. All of them died in mysterious accidents. One such accident took out two glasses at once.
I came home to find Brick lying on the floor of the kitchen drinking wine from the bottle, and glass shards were completely surrounding her on the kitchen floor.
“Holy hell, what happened? Are you ok?”
“My hands, they couldn’t hold the glasses, so they fell. Wine doesn’t belong in a glass anyway. Have a seat and grab a bottle.”
She had been sitting there for about three fourths of a wine bottle, completely surrounded by two shattered wine glasses, and she had not a single scratch on her. AMAZING.
Birthdays are Bullshit
Brick always threw a huge party for her birthday every year. And it was always legendary. We catered in, hired DJs, and had a kickass theme. This particular year I approached her with caution about her birthday because she was about four months into crazytown.
As a strange surprise Brick informed me that she didn’t want to throw a big bash this year, and preferred for the two of us to have a nice quiet movie night at home. Great idea considering her manic behavior of late. About a week before her birthday she asked me if she could see the guest list for her party. Umm, what now? I reminded her that she chose not to throw one this year and she started crying. WTF.
After listening to her cry about how no one loves her enough to show up for her party, I talked her off the ledge of doom and promised to throw a last minute bash. At this point I was annoyed but thinking that maybe being surrounded by her friends would be healthy for her. Maybe, just MAYBE she’d come back from crazytown.
I’m such an optimistic fool. The day before her birthday I showed her the guest list, the food list, the drinks list, and the box ‘o tricks we call decorations. She flipped out on me.
“Why did you plan a party?! I told you I wanted to spend my birthday with my boyfriend! I’m so tired of everyone being so needy and wanting me to perform like a monkey for them! Cancel it all!”
Silly me. What was I thinking?
PS. The short version of this story goes like this:
Brick always throws legendary parties.
Brick doesn’t want a party.
Brick does want a party.
Brick doesn’t want a party.
Dawnie drinks all the booze bought for the party.
PS. This is probably the last Brick is Crazy installment, mostly because I've blocked the rest of my time living with her from my memory banks. But also, because there's no need to beat a dead horse with more stories. I hope you've enjoyed these though. Someone should get to laugh at my pain while I drink it away. Right?
A note about comments. I love them, because I love hearing from you. Also, I just switched over my commenting to a new system. Older post comments might not be in the correct order, which means my replies are all jacked up. But I like the new system so whatever.
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