Posts Tagged ‘Drunk’

I have written all this before and am beginning to sound like a broken record.  If such is the case so be it.  You know what one of the definitions of insanity is?  Doing the same thing over and expecting different results.  At this point in my life I have stopped expecting different results.   Maybe that means I am no longer insane?  Or at the very least not in the that sense.   I think I still classify for the derangement of the mind meaning.

I am not going to lie to you people I have been blowing it hard lately.  You know that New Years proclamation I made about  drinking less and putting my efforts toward more positive actions.   As it turns out since the first I have been partying harder then ever and drinking like a fish.  I must say that at this point I am for augments sake a functioning alcoholic.  I guess it was only a matter of time.  Then again through out my entire life I have went through periods of heavy drink followed by periods of relative sobriety.  Maybe this is just an up turn on the drink side.

Last night I went out to the Wild Cat full on expecting to get shit house wasted and throw an after party at the palace despite the fact that I knew it was the first day of school Monday and that I had a 7am class.  End result of the festivities was finding myself doing vodka shots at 6am while Kooky prepared to go to work.  Needless to say I did not make it to class instead sleeping the entire day away.  The good news is I won the urban indoor golf game we played at 4am to the enjoyment of all my neighbors trying to get some sleep on a Sunday night for their Monday work days.

A few weeks ago I would have been shocked that I would do such a thing. Not this morning.  Nope, everything that went down all the way to this chick I was sort of into hooking up with another friend of mine right in front of me was not surprising at all.  I have truly become one of those Santa Barbara loser idiots I used to make fun of.  At this point I am working on becoming a complete waste of space.

I had this realization of how hard I am currently blowing it in life as I  stood there mid point this afternoon at El Capitan watching five guys enjoy small little waste high plus peelers.  I sat there holding my wet suit still a bit drunk taking it all in.  The green grass rock speckled ground under my feet, the setting sun and subsequent orange sky, the fact that I could not see anything around me but trees and rolling green hills with a llama ranch on it.  And of course the waves.  El Capitan is perfect.  I mean perfect.  Watching the waves break there is mesmerizing.  I don’t think there is a surfer alive who would shake a stick at it.

The cool wind felt amazing on my face.  I took a deep breath of the fresh air.  This is what life is really about I thought at that moment.  This is what I should be doing.  I am better then some alcohol swilling miscreant of the night in a vain attempt to drink my problems away.   Why had I let myself get to this point.  The in shape motivated 22 year old professional surfing Chris Lisanti would slap the shit out of me if he got into a time machine and saw me, himself and what I have let myself become.  I don’t know if I have found rock bottom yet, but I am for the most part at the moment  existing at the bottom of the barrel.

I tugged my wetsuit on and jumped into the water.  My head hurt a bit from both hangover and dehydration.  I stroked into my first wave, a clean waist high peeler and cracked off three solid turns.  Then I started catching a bunch of fun ones dismantling each with a solid backside attack.  Things made perfect sense out in the water. If only I felt the same way on land.  There in lies the problem perchance.  I have been spending far too much time on land and far too little in the water.

Towards the end of the evening as darkness was settling in Kooky and I post change stood there in solitude watching one last perfect little set peel down the point.  I looked at him and said “you know I am better then all this”.  He gave me an approving nod.   We turned away and walked through the dark to the car.  I don’t have answers right now, only questions.     I can’t promise anything.  What I do know is that I can do better…

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Lost? Get filled in by Reading Part I and Part II 

Have you ever seen that movie “The Hang Over”?  The last 36 hours I have been living it and let me tell you I still do not have any answers.  Instead I have a barely coherent tale pieced together from fuzzy logic, Kooky’s barely cognizant memory and lots of speculation.  Oh “ALCOHOL, CAN’T LIVE WITH OUT IT, NO DOUBT ABOUT IT”! How you have fucked with me since I started drinking at ten years old.

I have no idea what we were thinking.  I guess it all started with the strip club being closed.  On Christmas!?! How absurd is that.  Initially The plan West and I hatched on Christmas Eve was that we would all blow a lot of coke thus making it a white Christmas and then go to the titty bar from 7-9pm.  First we ruled out the cocaine for obvious reasons.  Remember I may be a drunk, but drugs have never really been my bag.

The Strip club, well that was just plain good sense.  All those lonely strippers too embarrassed to go home for the holidays due to their profession.  Us, three lonely bachelors looking for love in all the wrong places.  Then we found out Kooky had never been to a strip joint before.  It all made perfectly good sense.

Around 9ish we got to the strip club and it was closed to our utter dismay.  I had $20 bucks set aside for Kooky to get a lap dance and another $40 in singles for the girls.  Christmas dollars for everyone.  If that is not wonderful spreading of the holiday cheer I just don’t know what is.  (discloser: I actually am not a fan of strip clubs and honestly would rather spend my time and money at the bar where at least there is a chance the women may come home with me. These days I am told Trader Joes is the place to meet women except I can’t stand that place.  So I figure anyone who shops there I most likely would not care for either.  The only thing worthwhile to come out of that place is their wine selection. Two buck chuck not included!)

Wow, that was off topic.   I need to see a therapist…an Asian message therapist that is.  “Sir, would you like the happy ending?”  You bet your ass I do.  Last time I went for an Asian message they beat the living shit out of me.  I mean seriously it felt like I had six people kicking and punching me while the seventh held me down.  It was rather disturbing, but that is a blog for another day.

No Strip club, boo hoo.  We decided to dry our tears with rum and cokes and tequila shots at the Wild Cat in dedication to Sancho Clause.  This is after a few shots at home, Kooky drinking some moonshine out of a jar his boss gave him and mini-shots at JJ’s.  Yeah, you know the definition of insanity. Sound familiar if not then you did not read Part II of this very saga.

Hold the phone!  Who is Sancho Clause?  Sancho Clause is this character my co-worker Kevin and I created and is the Mexican ghetto version of our Santa Clause.  He is 5’3” over weight has a white beard but a black mustache, wears a sombrero and a Mexican flag colored poncho.  Instead of reindeer and a sleigh he rides in a 1986 Chevy Monte Carlo low rider with rims pulled by a dozen donkeys.  You don’t leave him cookies and milk, instead a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a copy of Hustler.  He does not leave you presents opting to take your presents, beat you with a lead pipe and rape your wife.  Ole. (Disclosure2: I am not a racist I hate and make fun of everyone and actually find the company of Mexicans most times more enjoyable then most Americans.)

After that round of shots I don’t remember a Goddamn thing.  All I know is that I woke up to Kooky pounding on my door at eight in the morning.  “I don’t want to surf right now” I yelled to him.  “Get up West got arrested, we have to go get him out” he replied.  “What?!!!!!” Kooky I think I got punched really hard in the side last night cause my ribs really hurt” I got out of bed and was barely able to walk.  Apparently I hurt my knee as well.  I limped to the bathroom and screamed.

Running the length of four to five of my ribs was a giant bruise and it hurt when I tried to breath or raise my arm.  I had no idea how any of this happened, my injuries or West’s arrest.  It was off to the jail to hopefully get some answers.

By now I have become a pro at this morning routine picking up more then one friend there after a crazy night.  Nick the Kook was a member of that club just this past January.  That is another story for another blog too.  We get there and It turns out they can’t let him out till ten.  To add insult to injury Kooky accidentally locked the key to my car inside it.  At that point him and I are sitting outside the jail waiting for AAA to come and unlock my car.  Both of us still drunk from the night before.  Forget AAA someone needs to call AA and have them haul my sorry ass away.

In the interim I got a call from West which ended with “Lisanti get me out of this box!”.  Things were a bit out of hand.  By this point it was 9am and with an hour to kill I did the only thing I knew in such situations.  After triple A got us back in the car Kooky and I went to Denny’s.  Somehow no matter how bad things look they always seem better after a janky Denny’s Breakfast and right now they have this build your own Grand Slam breakfast for $5.  We coupled it with an order of Ice Cream and red velvet hush puppies. YUM!

Following a meal like that how could anything be all that bad?  By the time we scarfed down breakfast West got out and we even threw a three stack of pancakes in a doggy bag for him.  Turns out he got charged with drunk in public, a common offense around here and one yours truly has been accused of and theft.  The latter definitely threw us a curve ball.  What could he have possibly stolen at 2am?  Of course he did not remember anything more then I did.

Now we went into crime solving mode.  The arrest took place at 7-11.  I assumed he must have walked in there wasted and waked out with a doughnut or something.  We rolled over there and the manager checked the tapes, called the night guy and came up with nothing.  We went to every government bureaucracy in Santa Barbara to no avail.  One cop told us not to worry and that it was most likely something stupid he would have to pay a fine for.

Here is what I have pieced together of what actually happened from 10pm on the 25th of December till 8am of the 26th.  According to Kooky another round of whiskey shots was done. Him and I danced on the cat walk while two gay guys attempted to put dollars in our pants (can you see the irony here cause I can).  In the process of dismounting from said place I most likely caused the injury to my knee.  We took a picture on my cell phone with some Norwegian girl, whose boyfriend was not amused.  Kooky and I signed out our tabs, collected our jackets and took a cab home.

Upon coming home we believe thanks to a testimony supplied by my roommate Ryan claiming he heard a scream, that I most likely fell entering my room and hit the corner of my night stand with my side. Judging from the shape, size and damage of the bruise it makes plenty of sense.  I remember waking up fully dressed in the middle of the night on the floor and crawling to my bed as well.  Kooky passed out on the little couch, which always seems to be the drunken choice for someone at the end of a “going hard” night.  As far as West goes we assume he got separated from us at some point stumbled around town lost for at least thirty minutes, got half way home eventually apprehended by the police.

Like I said all that is pure inference based on my gathering evidence over the last 36 hours.  Now my ribs are all busted up, my knee is fucked so I can’t surf at the present moment.  Poor West has to come back up here for a court date.  All as a result of being drunk and stupid.  For  me this was my wake up call.  Sure it did not come in the form of the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, but it was more then enough for me.

I am too old for this shit.  In three days it will be 2012 and I mean it.  I really am going to take my life back and this time I am going to make it count.  There will be no more lamenting about Adrienne.  I miss her like crazy, but I have to stop letting that pain ruin my life.  I registered for a full schedule of classes, will be working full time at Westmont and have already and should be done by early January with all the renovations on the Lisanti Palace.  Things are going to start picking up here in Lisanti Land in the positive.

Wild Cat Drunkards

Part of the evidence: Kooky, The Norwegian girl, Myself and half of West's face. Actually we wanted the bitch to take a picture of the three of us but then she decided to be in it making her bf take the pic, pissing him off and cutting off West.

Chris Lisanti is a dumb shit

There it is folks some heavy body damage courtesy of drunkenness.

 ****Post Script 12/29 1:33pm PST****
West hit me up today and it turns out he was arrested because he passed out in the back of a Taxi Cab.  The theft charge was  him not paying the fare.  All he has to do to get it dropped is pay for the taxi ride and he is in the clear.  The drunk in public like I said earlier is no big deal either.  Getting that offense is a  Santa Barbara right of passage.  I actually surfed today as well.  Check out the December ’11 Surflog for more on that.

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Merry fucking belated Christmas everyone.  How was your holiday? I actually don’t really care to be honest.  Wow I’m mean, maybe even a slight touch Ebenezer Scrooge in me.  I guess I am still waiting for the ghosts to show up and give the incentive I need to change my life.   In a way that did sort of happen this December 25th except it did not come in the form of apparitions, but instead rounds upon rounds of tequila shots.  Nothing says happy holidays like complete and total inebriation.

We are getting ahead of ourselves at the moment for there is a lot tell.  I do believe you will find it a rather entertaining yet somewhat disturbing read.  Then again that is the case with most of what I post here.  This is going to be a two parter as the amount of insanity and ridiculousness that has gone down in the last 48 hours even blows my mind.  Shit it may run three parts and grab one of the top ten for 2011.

Christmas as most of you know is far from my favorite holiday.  When I was ten I contracted phenomena on Christmas and almost died. My first girlfriend and love dumped me on Christmas Eve when I was 15 years old over the phone.  As a result I ended up cultivating an unnatural disdain for women folk that lasted for nearly a decade and most likely still lingers in my subconscious.  You can sure as fuck bet Adrienne did not help that case either.  I really need to move on.

I read some study on getting over hard break ups and it said the amount of time it takes to heal is about one month for every three you were together.  So I guess I am looking at around eight months.  Yeah! Just two more months to go.  Alright.  Enough of that this story has nothing to do with her other then the fact that it would not have taken place had she still been with me.  I promise I will not mention such again for this series.

When I was 18 I was coming up the stairs to my apartment during my tenure at Berklee in Boston and the strap to my saxophone gig back broke sending my priceless tenor saxophone careening down three flights of steps.  At 19 I was arrested for a certain unpleasantness I would rather not discuss on my blog.  All I will say is be smart and stay on the right side of the law.  It’s not worth it.

At 21 my apartment caught fire as a direct result of faulty wiring on my Christmas tree.  My ex-wife and I lost all of our belongings in the fire and had to move in with my parents for six months while we got back on our feet. When I was twenty three my ex-wife broke her back in three places.  Our Christmas present that year was that after a long road of rehab she would make a full recovery.  At twenty six my ex-wife and I decided to split up during Christmas time.

My string of Christmas bad tidings is ludicrous and the main reason I decided to sit this one out this year.  There is not one Christmas decoration in my home. I just could not handle going home to New Jersey.  Hold on what am I saying.  Home is Santa Barbara California.  The last three years I have been celebrating Christmas with my family whom I love and adore.  This year my head was not there.

I needed some time for myself for a change.  All fall between work and school I have been running myself ragged.  Add the many bouts with heavy depression and even heavier drinking, throw in a heroin addict roommate and you have quite the aperture to over come.  By December I was spent physically, emotionally and mentally.  Just the thought of going home and facing my entire family and the questions of how things were going was too much to bare.

I hate lying and I hate lying to my loved ones more.  If I were to tell them all the truth about things I would just get countless lectures about my poor life choices and how I should cut my losses and move back east.  Not to mention the fact that my cousin just got engaged.  Him and I are the same age and have been pitted against each other by our parents for as long as I can remember.

The two of us don’t compete, but I constantly had to hear about how great my cousin Rich was doing and how much I was blowing it.  I love my cousin and wish him the best in life.  We are different people making a comparison is completely absurd.  My sister is toting around her fiancé as well.  I just could not deal with seeing two happy couples on the verge of spending the rest of their lives together in what I hope will be both harmony and bliss.  Not after all I have been through.

I canceled my plans and decided to hang up in Santa Barbara with Kooky, Ryan and this dude West who decided to come up from San Diego, another recent New Jersey expatriate, to not spend the holiday alone.  Since I am off from work till January sixth I was really looking forward to kicking back, surfing and relaxing.  Just as most happenings in Lisanti Land things got exacerbated rather fast.

So now the stage is set for a tragedy or a comedy or maybe a little bit of both.  Tune in tomorrow to find out exactly how Christmas this year got even a little too gnarly even for me.

Christmas Van

Merry Christmas…I don’t think this guy is allowed to go by elementary schools and hand out candy canes.

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When I was a kid Halloween was all about candy and costumes.  Then I became a teenager and it was all about mindless vandalism (for whatever reason it seems to be the one night a year where its ok to break shit).  Then I became an adult…well I use that term in the looses sense of the word.  More in terms as I am physically a full grown human.  Mentally I am anywhere between that of a bratty ten year old and a 15 year old.  I guess most males fit into that category.

Being older Halloween takes on its scariest of entities: Grown people in costumes getting completely shit faced.  Women put on the skimpiest little outfits or a tiny cocktail dress and some type of animal ears.  I am not complaining its all in good fun.  I have spent plenty of Halloweens in my adulthood being that sloppy guy in a cheap ass $15 plastic Kmart costume.  As a matter of fact I was that guy last night.

This year Halloween falls on a mother fucking Monday which means its a five night party and five different costumes. Over the next five days I will chronicle exactly what takes place on this lurk, well what I can remember from it of course.  Lets start with last night shall we?

Night One, College Costume Night at the Wild Cat

Kooky and I rolled out, him dressed as a red crayon and myself as Casanova, which was interpreted as either a vampire or a pirate.  I did not give a fuck.  I just wanted to an excuse to wear a cape. I liked it and it may become a regular thing for me.  Everyone thought Kooky was an orange crayon even though it clearly said the word “red” on the front of his costume.  On the way down some chicks yelled out the window “Dude your a fucking Cone, Whoooo, go cone!”.  That in itself set the tone for the evening.

Down town was packed as usual.  Halloween is sort of a big deal in this town.  Shit what excuse to get drunk and make a fool of yourself is not in Santa Barbara?  We had to wait on line for about thirty minutes, not bad considering.  There were these two basics in front of us who in my opinion looked no older then 16, but then again I am a bit older now and young looking twenty one year olds do look very callow to me at times. Lucky for us they bailed to go back to IV (no surprise there) allowing us to make the next twenty people in cut off.

Inside the usual Wild Cat insanity ensued.  I got piss drunk thanks to my bar hook up, did a bit of dancing and a bit of socializing.  We were hanging outside on the patio when this very attractive women came up to us.  I figured she was selling something.  There is no way a smoking hot chick is going to walk up to a guy dressed like a crayon and a pirate/Dracula looking guy other wise.  She asked me what I was drinking and I replied “Bacardi, what else”.  Turns out she was a promo Bacardi girl and impressed by the fact I was drinking a tall (little did she know it was more like half a bottle poured into a glass with a little coke for color) and hooked Kooky and I up with free Bacardi T-shirts.   Its about time those guys give me something back for all those handles I have consumed over the years.

It was a good evening but by one we found ourselves over it and decided to do the drunken stumble home.  about at the half way point we ran into this guy dressed as a Rastafarian across the street from us.  He looked at us and yelled “hey I’m not a Rasta, but a Mexican.  You guys want a bowl hit”.  Thinking I was going to get a smoke we walked over.  The dude pulls out a handful of weed and puts it in Kooky’s hand.  Then cruises on.  We got easily two eighths worth.  Then we ran into a Kiwi working the night clean up shift on SBCC’s campus and hooked him up with a fatty nug as well.  Got to share the wealth after all.  Upon getting home we packed it into an apple and smoked that shit.  All and all I would say it was a rather fun first night.

Halloween is always Alfie's favorite holiday.

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Sit back and let an expert explain all...

This week’s UCB makes a victor of my boy Brennan whom I believe is claiming his first win ever here at SurfingRuinedMyLife.net, although he did win a few back in the Myspace.com days.  He proposed I write a blog about when one should pull the plug on an out of control drunken relationship, be it with a significant other or a close friend.  This topic is one that I definitely have authority over considering I personally have been on both sides of the coin, the out of control drunken friend and victim.

I use the word victim because it is what one becomes when he is on the receiving end of the drunk shenanigans.   About two years ago when I first moved here to Santa Barbara I was a bit of handful.  I went from going out a few times a week, getting buzzed and trying to pick up chicks to going out nearly every night of the week and getting black out drunk.  Most of the time when I get drunk I don’t get all that crazy (unless Im partying with one of my two friends: Tequila and Bacardi 151.  If they are involved then there is no telling what is going to happen) and usually if anyone is going to be victimized from my drinking it is myself.

I know at one point the bearer of this blog and my greatest wingman ever Brennan had just about had it with me.  He claimed by that point it was not fun for him anymore and that he felt more like a baby sitter then a friend when we were going out.  Also I was not a good wingman to him when I was so sloppy drunk I could barely stand straight and talk with out slurring my speech.  Ladies surprisingly don’t find that very attractive.

He approached me about it and at first I was really angry and did not go out with him for about a week.  Then I realized what a jackass I was and eventually came around.  In most circumstances that is the best way to handle the problem.  Before completely giving up on the person in jeopardy confront them and explain to that person just what is going on.  Some people don’t even realize that they are “that guy” until a close friend brings it to light.  I know I didn’t.  Ultimately if things stay the same I would then break off all contact and get off that sinking ship.

This leads me to two separate situations.  The first happened back in New Jersey circa 2002.  I used to go get drinks with some friends and this dude Mike (that wasn’t his real name, for his sake I have changed it to mike) who had just moved back to the shore from a couple of year stint in Oceanside California.  Mike was a great guy, good surfer and an all around fun friend.  When we went out for a party things changed really fast.

Now I have a pretty high tolerance for bullshit.  For starters my sense of adventure is a bit more warped then most.  My motto in most situations that would have regular folks running for the hills has always been “lets see how things play out”.  Truth be told I have been rather lucky that things never played out in the worst case scenario although bad.

Mike was the kind of guy who loved to do crazy drunken feats of strength, whether he was challenged or not.  When we first started drinking together he used to say things like “you think I am going to punch myself in the face?”  And then he would do it.  I found it rather amusing.  Then it steadily began to escalate.

Another time we were sitting at the bar having a good time, when all of a sudden he would be like “you think I will pour this pitcher of beer over my head” as he was pouring it over his head.  Then the bouncer would throw us out.  From there it was “hey I just ripped the urinal out of the bath room wall” or “lets throw this full beer bottle at that cop car over there”.  For me that was the final draw.  One of my fine lines is police interference.  I don’t like jail.  I spent a little time there once for being an idiot and it was enough to scare me straight.

That was it for Mike and I.  The other incident happened out here in Santa Barbara.  I met this 21 year old train wreck downtown about two years ago.  My first indication to stay away should have been our meet cute, which happened when the drunk bitch stumbled into me and fell flat on her face on State Street (an occurrence I would later find out happened way too often) a block from the Wild Cat.  Lets call her Emma for ease of story.  I found her rather amusing and the sex was good.

This crazy bitch got me into so many compromising situations it was not even funny though at times somewhat exciting.  She got into a bar fight with a group of my Jersey friends, had me jumped by her 19 year old brother and two of his friends downtown, had sex with a few of my other friends behind my back, caused a scene and a half in front of Tonic that had me slink off into the night and had me take two unnecessary kicks to the back in two unrelated incidents.  All of which happened while she was completely wasted and I literally had to carry her home on numerous occasions.  The only the thing she was not was a vomiter.   If she were that would have been the final straw right there.

Still that was not enough to turn me off.  The last incident that sent me packing went down at 3:30 in the morning. I found myself in the street in front of a crack house in Isla Vista, where she was trying to satisfy a coke binge inside. Meanwhile I got into a brawl with a coked up black dude, then ended up forfeiting what was left of my money to keep one of Emma’s friends from getting molested by a shady cab driver, finally saving the same girl from being raped by another random drug addict at which point I was ready to get out of there.

I went looking for Emma only to find her popping a handful of non descript pills to off set the coke as she put it. I walked into the room to retrieve her and get the fuck out of there upon this request she told me to go fuck myself as she was sitting spread eagle and all three guys in the room were looking at her exposed panties courtesy of her stained hocked up mini skirt.

I lost it, called her a drugged out whore and (not far from the mark) walked out of the house leaving her to get ganged rapped by the three guys there.  I had to walk the streets of IV till 4:30 am till I finally stumbled upon a friend who was able to give me a place to crash for the night and a ride home in the morning considering there was no more money left in my wallet and I left my plastic at home.  Condition three personal safety is another consideration.

So there you have it.  When is enough, enough?  You need to ask yourself three questions:

  1. Am I really having a good time: If the answer to this is yes at least fifty percent of the time Im still on board, but you can set your own parameters.
  2. Will hanging out with this person eventually have me ending up in prison: For me this is a deal breaker after the first close call.  The moment our relationship has me ducking in the bushes from the cops at 3am its over.
  3. Will this partnership lead to my life coming to a hault or me maimed, disfigured or dismembered: Like I said in the Emma example, personal safety.  Im ok with cuts and bruises, but when we are talking potential hospital stays or worse, well I don’t have the proper medical coverage to handle any of that.
  4. Bonus: Your mental health is another brief consideration.  For me this is never really a concern, but if you are a logically thinking person then you probably have a limit to how much bull your brain can take.  Then again your reading this pathetic excuse for a blog so your tolerance for bullshit must be quite high after all.

These are just some guidelines that I personally follow with the drunken insane.  So far they have kept me alive for over 15 years of heavy duty partying with some of the craziest drunks you will ever meet.  In my case I guess it takes one to know one.

I think this falls into the personal safety category and the jail one.

Is this enough? Your call.

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