Feast of the Virgin Year XI

I celebrated on the correct date this year only because Domino’s was having a 50% off special. And that is the only time I will buy pizza these days, when there are deals like that. But even at 50% off, it was still at the very top of my budget at $20.

And look at this:

Did this sauce not have garlic in it originally, so it had to change? Oh, let me check the ingredients lists. Huh. The only difference is the new “flavored” version has “Bioengineered Food Ingredients.”

Anyway, the only reason I got this post written so soon is because I am actually writing it before the above pic was taken, on a Friday afternoon in the office, where I have fuck-all to do.

Yep, still a born-again virgin. There was a glimmer of hope back in April that I might not need to celebrate/commiserate this year when a person of the contradictory gender bought me a peach and jasmine flavored iced tea (I didn’t have the heart to tell him I do not drink tea, hot or cold). It was a maintenance guy doing some work at the office and he was there for a few days, and we got chatting and he spotted the accent (although he did guess Irish at first) and then on his last day, he brought in the aforementioned beverage. But I never saw him again, so I guess the chemistry was in my mind.

But then along came Elvis.

OK, so before we go on, I really should tell those of you who don’t know what my ideal type of man looks like: short, dark-haired, wears glasses and is Jewish. And let’s get the Electra Complex issues out of the way now–yes, my father is short, has dark hair and wears glasses, but I swear that is not where I get it from. Truly, I don’t, because whilst I do love my father, as a father, I don’t actually like him as a person, and I think that were we not related and let’s say, for example, I worked with him, I wouldn’t like him for myriad personality issues, most of which I share (I have no idea which Freudian complex that falls under).

So, with that in mind, I was shocked to have my libido sparked recently by the movie Elvis. Now, I have never been much of an Elvis Presley fan. He’s as big in the UK as he is here, and I have two American friends who saw him in concert and I worked with someone who met him, but I own only one CD of his, a collection of number one hits. But the only reason I have that is because I got it back in the day when Columbia House did that 12-CDs-for-a-penny deal (fellow Gen Xer’s, remember that?). And I took advantage of that offer to start my CD collection and pack it with the classics (CDs by Fred Astaire, Tom Jones, Shirley Bassey, and The Clash were also purchased), and Mr. Presley was simply included for those reasons alone.

But I never looked at Mr. Presley in a romantic way (and, yes, I am fully aware he has been dead for the majority of my life, but that has never stopped me crushing on hot guys before–Napoleon Bonaparte and William Shakespeare and Rupert Brooke come to mind).

And during award season when Austin Butler, the actor who plays him, was EVERYWHERE, I did not give him a second thought either because, 1. He is pretty much the antithesis of my type–tall, blonde, good looking; and 2., well, yeah, I do not have a Jocasta Complex.

But this movie changed my view of both these men. Hunka hunka burning love indeed.  Mr. Presley, I guess I can understand why, because of the dark hair and the talent, which, along with intelligence, is another huge turn-on for me.

But, on paper, there was no way I should be drooling over Master Butler. So why was I getting so riled up about a tall, blond, Christian who occasionally wears glasses? It bothered me so much that I did some online research. I even re-watched the SNL episode he did that I first saw before I watched the movie. And whilst I sure wasn’t creaming my jeans when I first watched it, I did the second time–for the most part. Because I realized that it was only whilst he was doing Elvis that my loins got a little inflamed. Yep, his turns in Hannah Montana or Zoey 101 or Once Upon A Time in Hollywood did nothing for me. That was a big relief.

But even if he did it for me in a non-Elvis way, during my online research, I discovered that Master Butler is dating someone 10 years younger than him so there is one strike (of so, so many) against me. And Mr. Presley liked getting blowjobs from teenage girls, so there are two strikes there, because, owing to a very small mouth and a very intense gag reflex, I am not skilled in the oral arts. And if there are any of my former paramours reading this who were on the successful receiving end of a blowjob from me, well, sorry, I think you can infer what that means!

But should Master Butler ever find himself in need of crossing off from his Sexual To-Do list any of the following, I would not be averse to helping him out: Fat Chick. Um, wait, that is about it. Normally I would add English Chick, but he spent two years in Australia, so I am sure that one was crossed off then. And it probably goes without saying that I would also be happy to help out in any Oedipal fantasy he entertained (as long as he dressed up as Elvis). And also (wow, this list keeps getting longer) should the chance (and other things!) arise, I would be OK with Master Butler punching my Cougar Card (Zac Efron, Chris Pine and Chris Helmsworth would also be welcome to do the same). As long as they don’t expect blowjobs.

Idol's Old Enough To Drink Now

 I had not planned on writing much about this season of Idol, but I am at work and bored to death and no one is here, because it is the Friday before a three-day weekend and of course my co-workers are a bunch of P.O.E.T.S. (Pissed Off Early Tomorrow’s Saturday). (That’s a throwback from my brief time in the English newspaper business.) So here goes.

Can’t be arsed to go back and read my old Idol posts but I am pretty sure I have made it known my dislike of any contestant who not only has a sob story but also milks it to (the) death (of their best friend/mother/father/cousin, etc.).

Maybe it is me, but I think it was way worse than normal with Iam Tongi. That James Blunt song didn’t help, of course, but those damn Idol producers have never met a dead person they didn’t like.

But I think even without that issue, I still would have not liked Iam and I really don’t think he was all that good. I thought he was very one-note. And I am going to predict a Justin Guarini-level of success for him, rather than a Carrie Underwood one.

And for the first time in a while, I did have a favorite - Wè Ani. I thought she was amazing. Ironically, though, I think it was her speaking voice that did her in – that squeakiness sure was hard to listen to at times.

And there was some talent among the rest of them, but these stereotypes of the white guys with guitars and hot rock girls and not-so-hot gospel girls and the rough-around-the edges Country guys are getting tiring. At least the prerequisite crazy one (this year that role was filled by the aptly-named Nutsa) had a modicum of talent, unlike many of her predecessors (I am talking about you, Catie Turner).

And of course, I did have my usual “deal breaker” contestant; i.e., the contestant that, should he or she win, would mean that I would never watch Idol again. This year it was Lucy Love. And you should all know me well enough by now to know that my hatred of this person was not based on racist issues. And for once it was not based on lack of talent issues, because she wasn’t that bad. No, it was just her attitude that rubbed me the wrong way, her smirky facial expressions and all that sort of stuff. But she did not win and so of course I will be watching again next year.

And, as always, let me end this on my annual declaration of love for the wonderful and sorely missed Brian Dunkleman.

Last night was the Last of the Last (at Last!)

Yeah, I think you’re gonna need to read this post for the following to make any sense.

So, first off, I have never been ashamed of how much television I watch. Unlike some people who were–and always had a tell (at least they did back in the day when there were only 100 or so channels): at some point in a discussion about television, those who did in fact watch a lot always said something along the lines of the following: “I really don’t watch that much television, mainly the Discovery Channel and the occasional episode of The Simpsons.” It’s like those bible thumpers who, after they have run out of rejoinders to my inquiries about why their all-loving higher power allows children to starve and men to rape and cancer to kill, they always bring up free will. It is their get out of jail free (will) card.

OK, so, yep, I broke my Lost/Revenge pledge–not once, but twice. The first time was with This Is Us (TIU). But, in my defense, I was set up for failure from the start.  The previews all mentioned two of my positive trigger words–fat and twist. I will absolutely be watching anything that has a twist in it and/or features fat people. (My negative trigger word? One mention of vomit and I am outta there.)

So, TIU: oh, how I loved that show. Like I did for Lost and Revenge, I avoided tigers and wooden objects and squirrels in the run-up to the final ep. I considered doing a post about it, but was too emotionally drained by such a wonderful show and kind of embarrassed that I have broken my Lost/Revenge pledge.

So why this post now? Well, yessum, I did it again. This time my partner in crime was A Million Little Things (AMLT). I started to watch this only because it involved suicide and my inner Goth chick (her name is Elsinore – a nod to my paternal grandmother, Elsie, and my love of Hamlet, and one of Google’s top ten results for a search entitled “names for a Goth girl”) has a bit of a suicide obsession. (She does–I do not.)

So, yes, last night was the last episode of AMLT. The avoiding of tigers and wooden objects and squirrels was tamped down a bit because there were no loose ends to tie up, unlike the three previous shows mentioned (only two of which did so satisfactorily and the other not so much (yeah, I am talking about you, Lost). In fact, I think the only concession to it being the last ep was that I did not drink as much as I usually do on a school night (I have already started making up for that tonight (we can’t have Franzia going bankrupt, now can we?)).

But what really makes this noteworthy is that I really think it is the last scripted mainstream broadcast network episodic television show I am going to watch. Because unlike I have done in past years at the start of this TV season I did not pick one new show to watch and am, in fact, down to just two shows I watch on a regular basis: American Idol and one or more from the 90 Day Fiancé franchise.

So, maybe it is time to drop cable and shell out for Netflix or one of its ilk. That way, I can be sucked into an emotional vortex but I can binge all the eps at once and won’t have the need to avoid tigers and wooden objects and squirrels. You read it here.

Year in Review - 2022 Edition

I know, I know, super late, right? I wish I could say it is because I finally have a life and no time to write but nope, still boring and bored!

But 2022 was pretty quiet, even by my standards. No large purchases, no lockdown, no major work drama (although I do get a new boss next week - my fifth in seven years).

The first half was spent obsessing over the last episode of This Is Us, breaking a promise I made to myself after the last ep of Revenge (newbies can check that out here). It did disappoint, as it was bound to because I had built it up in my head so much, but it wasn't as bad as the last Lost ep (yep, still bitter - and confused - 12 years later).

I was also kept busy trying to stick to a new year's resolution I made – “I will not eat chocolate in 2022.” A birthday care package from my parents, full of English treats, threatened to put the kibosh on that, until one of my alter egos saved the day. I don't think I have told you about Lucy Loophole, have I? She is the natural-born lawyer in me who can find a loophole in anything. With the chocolate resolution, it was to simply change it to “I will eat, but not buy, chocolate in 2022”. That was good until Easter when those Cadbury Mini Eggs were on sale. I love those things but they are only available seasonally. So, once again, me and Lucy drafted a new resolution - “I will eat, but not buy, chocolate in 2022 unless it is only available for a limited time.” That one lasted two weeks until I went to the store shortly after Easter, where there was a 75% off sale on the aforementioned mini treat. Back to the drawing board it was. And so, the final resolution was “I will eat, but not buy, chocolate in 2022 unless it is only available for a limited time and/or on sale for at least 75% off”. That one I did keep, even though I still ate chocolate pretty much every day. There was a spell from mid-September until after Halloween when my supplies dried up and I had to result to eating gummy worms or banana flavored Laffy Taffy, but those aren't chocolate, so I was breaking no version of my resolution!

Oh, how about this creepy once-in-a-million occurrence: my old car, the one that crapped out on me a few years ago, showed up in the parking lot where I live. Shut the front door, right? I mean, what are the odds? I texted the Triple A guy, to whom I sold it, and he said he had fixed it up and sold it, and obviously to someone who lives in the same place I do. First time I saw it, I drove past it and thought, “Wow, that car has the same torn front bumper my old car did”. Then a couple days later, I walked past it and noticed a dent in the passenger side door and thought, “Wow, that car has a dent in exactly the same place as my old car”. Then a few days after that, I drove past it and it was parked in reverse and I saw scratches on the rear bumper. I was halfway through the thought - “Wow, how weird that that car has scratches on it like my old car…” - when I realized that I had not seen three separate cars that had three similar mishaps as my old car, but that this was, in fact, my old car! I confirmed this when I took a closer look at the rear bumper and saw two spots where stickers had obviously been removed. Spots that were the same size and shape as the Steelers and “GB” stickers I used to have on my car. But, seriously, what are the odds that it would be purchased by someone who lives where I do? But whoever purchased it was not a Steelers fan or from the UK, obvs.

What else? Oh! Facebook just remined me that I met Clarence Gilyard. Not only is Die Hard my favorite non-traditional Christmas movie (it's a tie between Love, Actually and Elf for my favorite traditional-traditional Christmas movie) but also it is in my Top Ten Favorite Movies of All Time (well, definitely top 20, if not top 10). So, to meet someone from that movie was so cool. Although I do think one time I was on the same tube as Alan Rickman. This was when I was still in journalism school and I had just seen him in Les Liaisons Dangereuses at the Barbican (wait, sorry, I have to pause here - could those two previous sentences have been any more pretentious?) But that was way before Alan Rickman was in Die Hard so it probably doesn’t count, because we didn’t meet, and it might not have been him. Although, once, in my hometown, I was on a bus with an actor I'd seen previously in A Chorus Line, and I asked him how they did that costume change at the end so quickly.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, so I met Clarence. He taught a class where I work, and I'd been hoping to meet him for a long time (I think I might have been stood behind him in line at the Student Union’s Panda Express once, but I was in a shy mood), and I finally did this past summer. Good thing too, because he died in November.

Facebook also remined me that someone famous or famous-adjacent liked a comment I made on some random post. It was from the ELLEN.DEGENERES page and whilst I am not naive enough to think it actually was Ellen DeGeneres and not a lackey or even someone who has no connection to her whatsoever and is running the account in her name, I do still think it was cool and even if it wasn’t her, my comment might still have been pointed out to her, and, if she still had a show, she might have offered me a job on it.

Anyway, this post is already too long so I am going to omit the usual stats (mileage, Target, weight, etc. (but if you want those stats, slide into my DMs)) but I did want to mention one of which I am quite proud: I actually saw a movie at the movie theater! (Death on the Nile - I am a huge Agatha Christie fan, although, if I wasn’t before seeing this movie, it certainly wouldn’t have turned me into one, it was pretty bad (the 1978 version is way better)).

And so, I am going to end this post on what was easily the highlight of my year: finally meeting my dear friend C.'s daughter, JMM (that first M is the same name as my only M!). It was a long time coming, 12 years to the day, in fact (it was her birthday). We celebrated with fish and chips at a Strip restaurant and saw the Bellagio fountains and took tons of pics, none of which I am going to publish here, because I'm in all of them and I don't want to subject anyone to having to look at me!

Sammy’s 11th Annual Holiday Message

 

Look at him. I know I am biased, but he cannot take a bad photo. Not sure what he was looking at, but he was sat behind me on the sofa, and I just happened to have my phone with me and he stayed that way long enough to get the shot.

Oh, and I know I am two days later in posting this, but for some reason I thought I posted it on the 19th, instead of the 17th. I know it is one of those because the 18th is not a good day for me (too painful to discuss, but you’re not really missing anything, just one of my little drama queen tics).

Happy times whatever it is you celebrate!

Feast of the Virgin Year X

I remembered this year!

AND… I celebrated on time!

AND… I took a pic and didn’t accidently erase it and so did not have to re-stage another pic with what I had on hand and so, no, it wasn’t what I actually ate and drank for that particular year’s celebration!

BUT… Well, it’s late September so, yeah, been a bit lazy.

Also unmotivated. I mean, I have had the time to write up and publish this post, but I just couldn’t be arsed to do so.

And that goes for some other posts too. I have been meaning to do one on the run-up to the last season of This Is Us, because I broke my Lost/Revenge vow and did in fact again get so addicted to a TV show that I was once again praying to a god I do not believe in to keep me alive long enough to see that last ep.

And this year that wish had more than a hint of desperation behind it because I am the exact age two of my cousins were when they died of heart attacks. And I think I have mentioned before that I do believe if I am not taken out by quicksand, rabies, or an escaped tiger, that a heart attack is the way I am going to go.

But because I am the most boring and bored person in the world and do nothing and go nowhere, I have a ton of PTO to use up and so I am going to try to get my life in order (first mammogram and my car’s annual oil change and Sammy’s $700 kidney tests are top of my list), so watch this space!

 

I Guess I Should Do A Post About This Season's American Idol

 Meh.

Year in Review – 2021 Edition

So, my 2021 started on a high point - both literally and figuratively: for my birthday, I dined at Top of the World, the revolving restaurant at the Strat. I’ve wanted to do it for ages and a generous birthday gift in the form of one of those gift credit card thingies facilitated it. I timed it perfectly – just as the sun was setting. I was alone, of course, and even with the gift card I couldn’t afford to eat or drink too much (two cocktails, an appetizer and a side came to $90 with tip), but it was a great start to an… average year.

I “worked” from home for the first six months of the year. The first thing I did upon our return on July 1 was customize my outgoing email signature to include the following quotation, from George Bernard Shaw:

"The only person who behaved sensibly was my tailor - he took my measure anew every time he saw me; the rest went on with their old measurements.”

Less than 24 hours after returning, more than one co-worker was treating me like shit. Oh well.

What else? Oh, yeah: I am still playing Words With Friends, but the bloom is certainly off compared to last year. I have taken to cheating quite a lot but not with real friends and not with people whose profile pics do not annoy me. What I mean is, when playing the chick with the MAGA frame on her pic, I pull out my cheat sheets – “Two-letter words”, “All 47 Q words without U”, “Words that start with X,” etc., etc. Or go on to a website named “Words With Friends Cheat”, and, well, cheat. This applies also to anyone whose pic features dogs or cats. Actually, pretty much any animal - I once scored 69 points with “quinsy” (noun; acute inflammation of the tonsils and the surrounding tissue) against a guy whose profile pic featured an iguana (I love animals so much I want hundreds of them). I also cheat against any female player whose pic features a hot person of the contradictory gender (“picot”; 57 points; noun; a small embroidered loop). And pretty, skinny chicks too (“aerobe”; 71 points; noun; an organism, such as a bacterium, requiring free oxygen to live) because I am sure they have gotten the colonoscopy their doctor wants them to get because they have someone to drive them to, and pick them up from, the appointment.

I got the two vaccines and the booster. Had no side effects from the first shot; a slight headache occurred after the second; the injection site for the booster still had a rash and a bruise three months later (it’s gone now).

I placed a bet on a horse running in the Kentucky Derby and won $16. The horse’s name did not come to me in a dream like previously, but rather from a tip from a client at work who shares the same name as the horse (Charlie, if I am remembering correctly).

Got three pedicures. A low number because my local Payless closed down so I didn’t have any new cute toe-baring sandals to wear this summer.

Another zero-movie year.

And this post about C-TGs certainly hit the mark: I received not a single one for either Xmas or my birthday. On the downside, however, one of my British friends who was one of the worst offenders in the C-TG giving department did not send me any gifts. Guess I must have really upset him with that post.

Or he could be dead. I don’t mean to be facetious, but after what happened with Kim, and add Covid and my advanced age to the mix, one never knows these days. But death also hit a dear friend of mine, PLL. Her husband Vic passed away in the summer. I tend to hold quite a cynical attitude towards death in the sense that when someone dies I still remember their faults. It seems that most people’s memories falter upon the death of someone. Not me. But Vic is the one rare exception to that rule – every tear shed for him, every heartfelt message left for this man, every tribute, was thoroughly deserved. He was one of the nicest, kindest people I have ever met. He was moral and intelligent and funny; he loved animals and he was an extremely talented photographer; but it was in his relationship with PLL that he excelled. Oh, how he adored her and never let her forget it. I could fill up pages detailing the sweet gestures he made to her. But here for once I don’t mind saying that I am a little angry with him. Because, on those rare occasions when I do want a partner and not a chauffeur, I think of Vic and how he treated PLL and it makes me angry because wow, did he ever set the bar so flipping high. I do not know if any man could ever compare. And I do compare them to him. I miss you, Postman Vic, but thanks for those amazing ISS sightings! You can read more about Vic on PLL’s blog: thewidowspeek.blogspot.com

I spent $166.64 at Target; $188.46 at the Post Office; and $352.24 at the dollar store. That latter number is significantly higher than normal for two reasons: my two nearest branches both closed down and so I did a lot of stocking up; and it is where I buy my banana-flavored Laffy Taffy. I am obsessed with it. Who knew ambrosia existed on earth and came in yellow-wrapped packets of pure joy.

Put 985 miles on my car.

Lost 11.8 pounds. Have not checked, but I suspect I may have gained a significant amount of that back over the Xmas/New Year/Birthday celebrations, because I hit it pretty hard.

And I hope you all get a chance to hit it hard too.  Just be careful.

Happy new year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sammy’s 10th Annual Holiday Message

 

Someone who has already seen the above pic mentioned he looked a little disgruntled in it. And whilst I do agree it is not one of his best shots, you need to know that I chose it shortly after the picture below was taken. Makes sense now, doesn’t it?!!!

Kim

I met Kim in the spring of 1998. But first I thought she was Monica Lewinsky. Seriously. She was the image of her and this was at the height of MonicaGate. I am not exaggerating the likeness; she was once chased through an airport in Germany by the paparazzi who too thought it was Monica. My co-worker, M., had gone to high school with her (Kim, not Monica Lewinsky) and she introduced us.

She lived in Denver and travelled a lot for business and at the time I was still living in Boulder, but our friendship developed fast and fierce, especially over the telephone. She would often call me from her hotel room, bored and lonely. (It goes without saying I was as equally bored and lonely but at least she had the excuse of being in a hotel room hundreds of miles away from her friends. I didn’t.) Those phone conversations sometimes lasted hours and they nourished my soul like nothing else could.

But we did get together in person occasionally – she had a house party once to which I brought along my friend ?, who ended up giving a blow job to this superhot guy up against a tree a block or so away from Kim’s house. After, every time we drove past that tree, we shared a lascivious smile and, Universe forbid anyone else was in the car with one or both of us, for they got a blow-by-blow (see what I did there?) account of why that tree was named “?’s Blow Job Tree”. We spent New Year’s Eve 1999 together on a rooftop in Five Points (aka Denver’s “ghetto”). When I moved to Denver in the summer of 2000, our friendship got stronger - we went to the circus, where I discovered she was afraid of clowns; the following weekend, we went to The Butterfly Pavilion, where I discovered she was not afraid of tarantulas (I stood several feet away whilst she happily petted one). I got to go to a concert at Red Rocks Amphitheatre because of her (a 1980s trifecta of The Psychedelic Furs, The Go-Go’s and The B-52’s). I took her to see Billy Elliot less than 24 hours after I had seen it for the first time because I knew she would love it as much as I did (she did). Over the telephone we both watched the opening ceremony of the 2000 Summer Olympics and made bitchy comments about the athletes and their attire and had so much fun that we vowed to always watch the ceremony together (spoiler alert: we never did again). On 9/11, she was the first person I called; she was sat on her hotel balcony in New Jersey watching the towers burn. We saw Rent at the Denver Center for the Performing Arts; we both loved Supermarket Sweep so much we considered dressing up as a pair of contestants for Halloween (her plans changed so we didn’t); she put together my IKEA TV unit for me (the day before she’d attended Lilith Fair – she called it her Lesbian-in-Training Weekend). We spent a Christmas Day eating Chinese food and singing and dancing along to the soundtrack from A Chorus Line that my parents had gifted her when I told them how much she enjoyed mine. We were pretty much inseparable.

Then she met a boy.

She’d met other boys during our friendship of course (there was one with us on that NYE rooftop) but this one was different. It wasn’t that she started doing things with him that she had previously done with me – that was only to be expected and I would have done the exact same thing had hell frozen over and I’d been the one to get a boyfriend. (He was the cause of our Supermarket Sweep Halloween plans changing.) No, it was when, as the relationship developed, she started doing stuff with his sister.  That was when it began to hurt. Then she started doing stuff with his sister-in-law. That really hurt. Then they got engaged.

My friend D., whom Kim had met on several occasions, got to see the ring first because she happened to live in the same apartment complex as Kim’s future mother-in-law. Now, I am not that petty – it wasn’t the fact that D. got to see the ring first, it was the fact that Kim had known where D. lived for months and told her on several occasions that she would stop in sometime. But she never did. Then she got a rock and she did. I think I knew then that our friendship was doomed.

That was confirmed a few months later when, deep in planning the wedding, she blew off my birthday celebrations. Because of myriad issues I have surrounding my birthday (the timing of it being the primary one) I am ultra-sensitive to being dissed on my birthday. But when over a week later, I had still not heard from her, I decided to be the bigger person and give her a call. When I had had enough of hearing her woe-is-me tale of being so overwhelmed by the wedding planning that she had taken to her bed for a week (one of the issues she was grappling with was whether or not to have a koi pond at the reception venue (oy)) I told her I needed to go and I hung up. That was about 20 years ago and the last time I talked to her.

Last month I found out she died three years ago.

I had reached out to her a few times in the intervening years, some with positive intentions, other times, not so much. Like, at the next Olympics after our break-up, I drunkenly called her during the opening ceremony and left a message reminding her of the fun we had had together and asked her if he was worth it. Then I developed an obsession with wanting to know what she looked like on her wedding day and on more than one occasion sent her emails asking if she would send me a picture. I never heard back. But then, maybe about five or so years ago, I did hear back. Our communication did touch briefly on our break-up and even though most of the exchange was cordial, it was obvious that too much hurt still existed on both our ends and the friendship was irreparably damaged.

Every six months or so I would check out her Facebook page but there was no activity on it. But, for some reason, a drunken Friday night a few weeks ago, I decided to Google her using her married name. That was when the obit popped up.

I reached out to M. for more details. They too had drifted apart, and so M. is not exactly sure of the cause of death but thinks it might have been the result of a head injury sustained in a fall during an alcohol-induced seizure. She’d been to rehab at least three times and after the divorce (no comment) she relocated to a small Colorado mountain town and led a rather isolated existence.

I think whatever the cause of death was I would have been devastated by this news but the fact that alcohol was involved has hit me really hard. We drank together, obvs, because everyone I hang out with drinks, but I never saw any signs of alcoholism. But that might be because anyone who hangs around me automatically does not have a drinking problem when compared to me.

I am not so full of myself to think that had we remained friends her drinking might not have been so destructive, but I cannot help but wonder what would have happened to both of us if we’d continued those late-night hours-long phone conversations.

RIP, Kimbers.