georgeliquor

A post not involving a drunk story? Amazing!

It's odd. I've left my past life in a way. I've never been an "island boy" in any shape of the sense. Never had a lot of friends here, always spent a lot of my time overtown in Everett and such..but this was my home.
Lately..it hasn't been my home. I've found my home in Seattle (which in my mind I've called home since I was 15) but I finally found my home there. I've found a group of friends I love. I've found a group of friends who can put up with me (which, for those who know me is quiet a feat) I mean hell, after texting the day-after last wednesday, when I pissed on my pants in the bar, and smashed my face into a table I was so drunk, my bartender sends me a message saying "Love!" I mean, if I meet a better bartender..shit! I'll marry them! I'll even marry a man!

I've had a few, and I lose track and make tangents, so back to the point.

I drank my way into a hole of isolating myself from everyone around me on this Island. I call people here my friends, I invite them over for drinks, I have fun with them, but there's not a single person I would call a close friend. I pushed everyone close to me very, very far away. Some of them took the step back themselves, some I pushed on purpose, some I shoved on accident. Either way, there is nothing left on this rock for me. The only reason I will ever come back is for memories of the past and my mom. I plan on leaving this place, and not looking back. I don't really want to remember the time I've spent here, I've gained so little from experiences here outside of the culinary.

Yet, I wouldn't have been pushed to find a new home if it wasn't for this place, so I accept it and appreciate my time.

So enough bullshit, let's get to why I love my new home.

I've kind of moved on from my life here. I blow it off, as something unimportant. I realized, your home, and your family, is people who love you for who you are, and no matter what you do, and someplace you always feel welcome.

Last fall, I saw who my family was, and where my home was. My home wasn't my apartment, my home was at work, while..maybe not completely perfect, I felt safe there. When I was half drunk, on the brink of tears, I would walk to work and start cooking at 6 in the morning. I hadn't slept a wink, still smelling like a bottle of makers, It made me feel better. Sure, my boss sent me home once because I was so drunk I wreaked of whiskey so baddly you could smell me a mile away, but still, it made me feel safe there. Nothing could get to me while cooking in my chef coat. At my apartment I felt uneasy. I didn't like being there. My room mate was a traitor, my ex around when I wasn't, remnants of her presence there every time I came home.

Yet at work, I wasn't safe completely. It was a false security. My family had fallen to pieces. Strangers were my best friends. Bartenders my sympathizers. So when you have no home, and no family, what do you do? Find a new ones.

First, I found my family in Seattle, starting with Kicks, then Jimmer, Caroline and Cameron. Along with that, I found a home.

One at a time please

Kicks. That man invited a near stranger into his home so I didn't have to sleep in my van. I've shared beers, pizza, and pinball with this man. He is one of the nicest, and giving people I have ever met. He has a bigger heart than anyone I know. In a weird way he's my hero. He's the person I wish I was, but I'm not and won't ever become. Drunk, loud, abrasive, he loves me all the same. You'll see that theme. But he was the first person to remind me it was O.K to be that person after everyone I knew spat in my face for it.

Jimmer! While usually hasn't seen me quiet in my..amazing states of being. This man has shown me more friendship than I can even describe. He's almost always there to drink a bottle of wine with me, and chat. He's my down to earth friend, which I always need to have one. I need to have one person to always pull me back down from my chaos, without being a jackass. Andrew lives in London now, so Jimmer is now that man. He (not intentionally) keeps me in check a lot of the time, and it helps me keep my head at times. He also demolishes me and pinball and keeps me company and teaches me more about that devilish game.

Caroline. Now, that's a story and a half I suppose. First off Caroline is the reason I now know my extended family so to speak. Without meeting her, I wouldn't know Chris, Cameron, Greg, etc etc etc.
Aside from that though..Caroline is my partner in crime. We both drink a lot of whiskey. We both get way to drunk, frequently. She, like Cameron, have put up with me in my A-game. Which, means more to me than either one of them know. While, my two best friends in the world ditched me (after knowing me 7 years), labeled me an alcoholic (which..obviously I am) and decided I was some ass and kicked my ass to the curb, they put up with me. I've known Caroline and Cameron less than 7 months, and they put up with my drunken antics. I busted Carolines leg, drunk phonecalls, yelling at her boyfriend smashed, the things most people wouldn't put up with she has, and she still loves me. She's amazing, and a friend I will treasure for a long time. She's the female version of me, which is a terrifying thought there's another me somewhere.

Cameron, like Caroline, is a saint for putting up with me. This is a man, who after pissing on my pants, smashing my face at a bar, let me sleep on his couch, and gave me his keys. Would you give a blacked out drunk, with blood on his lips and piss on his pants, your keys to your apartment? Probably not, but Cameron would. Cameron has put up with an amazing mount of my drunken bullshit. I mean, when I smashed my face on my bike last fall drunk, all of my friends shunned me. Cameron and Caroline? We made jokes about it. I was pouring whiskey on my face at a bar! Cameron has invited me into his home, sleeping on his couch. This man, actually wants to live with me, after seeing the way I act. My lord! We made fun of a girl for an entire hour together, without her knowing, then, later (unluckly) I ended up sleeping with her. We played footsie. This is a man who's greeted me (while I was very drunk) to Carolines apartment mostly naked, with a condom in his mouth, a power drill in his right hand, and a tambourine in his left hand. I love my tambourine man.

So that's my family. My home?

I love Shortys, I love Pichet. I go there every week. I know the entire staff at pichet. I know most of the bartenders at shortys. At pichet...it's a respectable place. They know what I do, but never see it. I wouldn't dare. Shorty's? It's an inbetween, I play pinball there. A lot of really..really good people play there, I don't want to seem like the fucking drunk ass. It's not the place for it.

Funhouse...
Thats my home. A home to me is a place where you always feel welcome. You always feel safe, and when no where else will take you in, they will. When I get black out drunk, piss my pants, smash my face, get escorted out by the doorman, and I know the next week the bartender is going to go "EVAAAN!" and hug me, I know I'm in the right place. Sure, I might get over served to the point of blacking out drunk everynight...but thats my home! Thats what i want! When I got punched in the face, those guys took better care of me than some of my closet friends would. When I walk into the funhole, i feel like I'm home. I havent felt that way about any place except my bedroom in years.

that is my family, that is my home.
They're all in Seattle. I can't wait to live there, and make more family members, and find a new home or two.