It's Debi's Fault

Of course, you all know her as Ville, but it’s still her fault. Friday was her birthday, which we celebrated on Saturday night...

I met Ville right before her 20th birthday and I don’t think I’ve missed one of her birthdays, except the two when we lived in different parts of the country. You see, Ville moves to wherever I live. That’s her job: follow me around. We met in California (our home state) and I later moved to Denver in November of 1992. It wasn’t two weeks later that she turned up on my doorstep informing me that she’d just moved to Denver too.

In 1996 I went back to the coast, but she didn’t follow me because there was shit going down in her life that just wouldn’t allow it. Besides, I was in a relationship with a woman who just didn’t “get” whatever it is that’s between Ville and me. Ville then moved to Kansas City and I went back to Denver.

Then I moved to Stillwater and guess what? She followed. Ville and I are like toilet paper stuck to each other’s shoes.

Anyway, Saturday night we went to her birthday party and I have to tell you I was amped to play hard. I walked in the door carrying my guitar case and wearing my old friendship bracelets just like the old days. You know the ones–those braided things we all gave each other in the 80s. Well, I still wear them and I still wear a lemon chrysoprase power bracelet for balance.
I told you I was an old hippie.

The problem is, I believe that I can drink like I did all those years ago. And I can. The problem is, the hangovers are worse than I remember. But we had a great time sitting in the back yard singing songs and making up stupid shit.

Ah! Is there anything more magical than the private jokes that old friends can come up with in situations like these? I confess that I live for this shit. Ville is a Gemini and I’m a Libra and when we’re on a roll there are very few people who can keep up with us. We’ve left a lot of people spitting our dust through the years. Sorry about that.

But back to the party: I didn’t mean to get that drunk. Really. I was doing just fine with my wine, then Ville had to bust out the champagne. She can’t drink it anymore–all she really wanted was the bottle–so she gave it to me. I gave a glass to Nettl and one to Lauren, but I drank the rest all by myself. Then when that was gone, I went back to wine.


I remember asking Nettl if I could spend the night and she was fine with that, and sometime in the wee hours I went to sleep on the couch. Around 8:30 I woke up and stumbled to the fridge for some water and for something to eat. You know how it is when you’ve been drinking. You don’t want a meal, you want some basic plug. Bologna works, or leftover cold spaghetti. All that was left of the BBQ was one lone hamburger patty, so I took a bite. Bad idea. I went back to the couch. Around 10:30 Nettl came over and woke me up, sweetly telling me that I should come home and go to bed. I gathered my stuff and we went outside to the car and that was when the first wave of nausea hit me. We turned the AC on full blast and drove home.

My sweet and darling wife! After I got in bed she went to the store and bought Fideo makings. If you’re ever hungover, this is the cure. After we ate, I went back to sleep and by 3:00 I was feeling fine again. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve Nettl. She simply understands that I work hard and then I play hard. She understands me, doesn’t judge me, doesn’t try to change me. She loves me just as I am–unconditionally. I never take her love for granted and not a day passes that I don’t thank the gods for her, or tell her that I love her.

Still, it’ll be a long time before I play that hard again.