Satan's Water

This is the story of me and my inner demons...

so graceful, I am.

I don't know about you, but I find it weird when I think back to my prepubescent years, when I used to tell myself I'll never drink like the grownups around me. It smells, it tastes bad, and it makes you act like an R-tard.

Fast forward to the first time you actually tried the stuff with the sole intentions of getting drunk. I think it happened when I was about 15. It started when something went down between me & a friend that caused me to fall into a pit of teen angst. I was so upset that I stormed to my dad's mini-bar (a giant globe that opened up), and started taking shots of his favorite liquor: Fundador. It was worse than drinking cough medicine.

side note: When we were toddlers, my sister & I wouldn't get the nerve to drink our cough medicine unless the other family members were ready with a round of applause.

When college rolled by, the drinking became more and more frequent. The more I drank, the more I got used to the strong tastes & smells. In freshman year, I had a friend use his fake I.D. to buy me a large bottle of Sky vodka. I chose it because I didn't know any other brand, and Sky had frequented the pages of my Maxim magazines. Damn advertising. That vodka lasted me an entire semester. I soon became sick of screwdrivers. It was such a big bottle, that to this day I'll gag just thinking about Sky Vodka. *gags*

A few years later, following a bad breakup with my then-girlfriend, instead of dealing with the hurt in a civilized manner, I turned to alcohol. "Morphine" to numb the pain. That's when my drinking became over-excessive. I'd drink hard & fast (that's what she said) to the point of blacking out. The first blackout happened a week or two after the breakup. Pregaming at my friend's dorm, I chugged cups of "Purple Motherfucker". Its not supposed to THAT bad, but when you drink 5 in a row in 15 minutes....it's bad. I asked friends the next day why they didn't go to that party and they'd say, "Dude, we saw each other. You were dunzo!"

You would think I'd learn my lesson from that. Guess again. I began drinking the painfully strong Bacardi 151. Nowadays, I can't take shots of it without my eyes tearing, but back then I'd drink it right from the bottle...without chasers! The next few blackouts were primarily due to drinking fast on an empty stomach, each time failing. It wasn't the smoothest breakup.

As time passed, I quickly became a frequent party-going alchy to the point that it became uncomfortable to be at any event without a drink in my hand. I was soon known as the "beer funnel" guy. Yeah, that guy.

I think the lowest point in college years was on a night I randomly hung out at a friend's dorm. I think it was chugging the forty and consecutive shots that did me in. When I woke up and discovered myself on her bathroom floor, feeling less full of the beer I chugged, and after finding out the reason, I realized I was going to have to: 1. apologize profusely to my friend, and 2...buy her a new bathroom rug.

Unfortunately, the story doesn't stop there...

-To Be Continued-

Karma

kar·ma ('kär-mə) n. the force generated by a person's actions held in Hinduism and Buddhism to perpetuate transmigration and in its ethical consequences to determine the nature of the person's next existence.

Many people believe in karma. I think the simplest way to put it is: "What goes around, comes around". You do something good, something good happens to you down the road. Do something bad and...well, you probably had whatever coming to you.

Now I've had my ups and downs with karma throughout the years. I've dealt with my share of receiving pain and dealing it. Patience & impatience. Generosity and greediness. You could almost draw a line through my life and see precisely what I've done, and what's happened in return. Unfortunately, I myself cannot see the line. When something terrible happens, some people like to say "Oh, only good can come out of this." That might be true for most, but if you always feel like you're still owed something, it could lead to self-sabotage.

Which brings me to my little project of the day. My office tends to receive free lunches from reps, and more often than not, there is a huge abundance leftover. Well today I decided to save this perfectly good uneaten food from being thrown out, and bag it all up to give to the homeless.

I should've thought this through...

Now when hunting for hobos, one must take proper precautions. There are a lot of clearly homeless people in NY, but....there are also a lot of normal people who are just....unkempt.

Hobo #1 aka "Stinky" (53rd & Lex subway)
I almost walked by and didn't notice him. Its no surprise though. I've done that exact same thing for the past year without a thought. I backtracked and slowly walked up to him. He was just standing there, in clothes he's probably worn for months unwashed, leaning against a trash can, sipping on a cup of coffee.
Now there are many educated ways to go about this. Unfortunately, I didn't know any of them. I basically went up to him and bluntly asked, "Are you homeless?"

If there's a more subtle way of asking, while at the same time getting straight to the point, please please tell me.
He seemed to be a little taken back with the straightforwardness of my question, but (out of fear) I didn't flinch so he could tell I was going to talk business.

After an awkward second ot two, he stuttered "Y-Yes I am."

Opening up the paper shopping bag o' food, I asked, "Do you want food?" I've got beans-.."

"I'll take the beans!" He didn't even give me a chance to list the other things. I handed him the small tub, utensils, bid him adieu, and off I went. Who am I to get in between a man and his beans?

I was on a mission: I was hobo-hunting.

Hobo #2 aka "Number Two" (Roosevelt Ave/Jackson Heights)
As I rode the E train with the still heavy bag o' food, I started to notice that people kept looking at me, then at thr bag. Were the contents that interesting to them? Its just food.

It took me 15 minutes to realize that the bag had started to smell of....beans? WaitWhat?

As I knelt down to adjust the constant shifting tubs and foil containers, I discovered to my horror that I had NOT given Stinky his coveted tub o' beans, but beef stew instead. I really hope he likes beef stew. On top of that, the bean's tub's lid had opened up during my journey through the subway. No wonder people in the train kept looking at me and peering into my bag...

So as I was walking out of my train to the platform, I almost run into another hobo. My excitement quickly faded once I realized his pants were around his ankles, with one hand clutching his "goodies" (or should I say.."baddies") and the other hand's vice-like grip on half an orange. He hobo hobbled his way into the car as I was walking out...

Now I know I should be giving to the needy, and no one's needier than a pantsless hobo, in diar need of adult diapers...and half an orange. I was scared. He was scary! I was afraid he'd reach behind him, and smear me with his doo doo butter or something.

Okay, that's not what i thought (at the time). I friggin' almost hopped back on the train before I realized how weird it would look....Stalking a homeless man without pants, lugging around my big bean-scented paper shopping bag of food.


Hobo #3 aka "The Blur"
I rode the local train, feeling hopeless in my quest for hobos. And of course, as my train pulled past another stop...and that's the moment I see an actually hobo in need of my bag of treats.

Karma Cleansing Fail.

::Edit::
I haven't seen Stinky (Hobo #1) in over two weeks now.
I fear I may have killed him with the food.

::Edit #2::
Nevermind, he's back.
Maybe he went on some weird hobo vacation?

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