Violet & Drinks

A Breakup, Ordinary — Part V

Life changes, and thus, partying changes, and what it means to party evolves as well. — Andrew W.K.

Saturday, cont’d

Saz is buying me Gs and Ts. Thanks to a ten am to six pm nap, an LD50’s worth of antinausea and antidiarrheal medicines, and enough Pedialyte to keep my bladder in business for the next six weeks, I’m upright and surprisingly not dying. That and shotgunning the Diet Red Bull Saz got me.

Saz is pampering me.

“Only the first round,” she said earlier, trying to reneg from losing the bet she put herself up to. This was after I show up to the bar, and except Terry and Jacob, everyone from the show is here. And they’re wearing kindness, gentleness, distance. Vultures waiting to catch me wanting to talk about it, to talk about Daniel.

Saz needs to learn when to shut up.

Geoffry’s at that weird middle-step between dead and busy. You can still walk without bumping into someone, but you can’t really hear anything anyone says. But it’s nice. Not the bar. Not the gig’s setup either. I should thank Saz for dragging me out, not under the dominion of Daniel’s homebody attitude. It’s not terrible, staying home all the time, but it did kill my social life.

That or I outgrew it.

I certainly smoke less and drink less when I’m not here.

The karaoke setup is pushed off to the side of the stage, and Sakke is carrying up a drum kit while a man who looks 80% homeless tunes a guitar. I lean over to Saz. “You think he took out a title loan on his bindle to buy beard oil?”

She laughs. “Did you know Ms. Estevez threw him out of a book club?”

I don’t know who that is, but I don’t ask either. “Like, he crashed and got thrown out of a suburban housewives’ book club?” I say. “That sounds pretty alpha.”

“Yeah. He shows up, uninvited. At first all the housewives took him because he bakes the best gluten-free vegan lemon squares, like these are orgasmic, and they’re good. That and he’s a househusband, twenty-first century and all that jazz.” I nod, imagining this man whose cardio consists of chasing box cars sitting in a manicured living room talking poignantly about L.J. Shen’s the Kiss Thief. “Well, turns out he’s a hardcore men’s right’s activist and all that shit.”

I take a long drink from my G and T. “He stayed too long on the internet,” I say. “Rookie mistake.”

“Yeah. You should check out his YouTube channel. It’s crazy. Well, he starts spouting up and down how househusbands aren’t respected, how men aren’t equal when it comes to divorces and something about an epidemic of false rape claims is destroying lives, and circumcision ruins sex for men forever and how he was undoing this feminist mohel conspiracy with a tool he bought on the internet. Ms. Estevez ended up having to call the police on him after some of her poodle’s pain meds go missing.”

“Class act. So is he in the band or something?” I ask.

“No, he just moonlights as their roadie.”

“That guy,” I say, putting my empty glass on the table.

“That guy,” she says in response, taking another drink.

Speaking of people who got lost on the internet and turned up in the sewage runoff, I check the messages on my phone. Terry lost his mind earlier when I suggested having Julia on the commentary track. Why would I even suggest that? That’s completely unprofessional.

cuz shes a kid n we maek a kids show??? makes sense 2 me, I finally text back, letting him freak out on a Saturday night. Saz hops down from the stool. “Last round I’m paying for, freeloader,” she says.

I yell back, “Shouldn’t have been charitable. You’ve created a system of dependency. Teach a man to fish, Saz!”

“Bootstraps, young lady!” she hollers back, heading onwards away towards the bar in her ‘fuck me, please’ boots and dress. I’m sitting here in some jeans that didn’t pass the smell test and an ironic 80s video game t-shirt. Saz stops, gabs for a minute and points this woman to our table. Oh shit, she showed up and she’s coming this way.

“I hope I’m not interrupting or anything,” she says, plopping her bag on the table. She looks plague chic.

I smile at her, friendly and all, and I look at the pawnshop diamond ring on her left hand. “You’re not,” I say.

“So, this is kind of awkward. I’m Ashlyn.” She puts her hand out to shake mine, but I draw mine back. Don’t touch me.

She looks taken aback. Was she the one Daniel went longingly on about her breasts. How will he memorialize me in his so-called psycho syndicate. Probably just girlfriend, bitchy (former).

She keeps talking. “So I recognized you from your show, and I heard that you and Danny split earlier. It sucks, you guys seemed so cute together.”

“Thanks,” I say.

“How’s Josie taking it? Sorry, Danny told me you had a kid.”

“It’s fine. She doesn’t know yet,” I say. “Still with her dad’s. I honestly don’t know how she’s going to react. She’s kind of possessive, y’know? But who knows. She’ll either think of it as nothing or cry endlessly. But you know kids, she’ll forget it the moment she finds some toy unboxing vid.”

She looks at me and beneath the veneer of makeup covering her acne-scarred face. I can see her scowl, not saying but meaning ‘Fucking breeder.’ Instead, she says, “Yeah. I hope she’s okay. When I saw Daniel earlier today, he started crying and wanted to get back together with me. Dude, I was literally there to grab Kevin some vape juice.” Probably a lie, but whatever.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I think you should know something. I’m not saying you and I should make a coalition of Danny’s exes. Might be too much for his ego. He told me his side and there’s always two sides to any story. Best advice I got is you’re the only constant in relationships. And when I hear that your exes are crazy psycho bitches, then it’s probably not them. It’s you. Not you, you. But you know what I mean.”

Christ, how long is the line for drinks?

“When Danny and I broke up,” she continues, “we were both so stupid and immature. We were fucked up. He accused me of the same thing he’s said you’re doing.”

“Oh?” I ask, tipping my empty glass and shaking out melted ice cubes, hoping to get a taste of gin to wash this conversation out of my mind. But it’s just tonic.

“No. We weren’t good for each other. He’s this well-spoken awkward man-child. I was a spoilt brat all about the tantrum. Neither of us wanted to do anything good for each other. I like to think I’ve grown up, but it’s heart-breaking to see him in stasis. Between Sarah calling me way too early to tell me, like she was giddy about the news, and then I run into him, it feels like he’s a haunting more than a person.”

“We should get an exorcist,” I say. Why can’t I just enjoy Skanksterella in peace? Not that their sound is peaceful.

“I know what it’s like to be with Danny. You don’t want to get rid of him because he’s totally this fragile pathetic thing. But he gets under your skin and drags you down to his level, and I just wanted to tell you you’re better than that. You probably know it, but I figured you needed to hear it from someone who’s been through it before, just so you know there’s world outside of Danny.”

Thank you for that whole speech. I won’t get those five minutes back. “You know, he asked for split custody of my cat?”

“I want weekends with Persian,” Saz says, returning with our drinks. The two start talking.

“I’m going to have a smoke,” I say, getting out of the chair and head outside. It’s cold out, the sound of the river and the occasional car passing by clashing against the cramped din of people inside. I look at my phone, new texts. One from Saz, the other Daniel.

I read Saz’s first. A screencap of a review. Omg look at this bullshit that hobotimus prime wrote about Skanksterella. I skim it.

“I feel with The Skank Album, Skanksterella really didn’t push themselves to evolve beyond the sound that they established on their first album. Tracks like, Skunk Skank, and Albino Wizard feel like the beginning of something fresh, but fail to push the envelope as much as you would expect. Of course there are crowd favourites, Electric Crow Hustle Blues is as anthemic as anything on their first album. Here’s hoping that sebastian is in prison will exceed our lofty expectations,” he wrote.

From Daniel: I’m sorry I went off on you. I was being inappropriate. I wanted to make this weekend special and when it didn’t go how I hoped. I freaked. Make it up to you?

Ew.

Between crawling back to Ashlyn the minute he saw her and trying to keep himself involved in my life with Persian, he now says something I wanted to hear before he accused me of cheating?

Sure, yeah. He could come back, I might say. I’m still in a relationship if Facebook is to believed. I asked him to leave, despite what everyone is saying. But I haven’t corrected anyone either that it’s over.

No. Hell no. He can’t come back. If he does, how long is it going to last? It’s not like this is the first blow-up we’ve had. But something’s different about it. I know we were being honest and flamboyant and emotional, but I’d rather keep look back on the argument when my head’s on straight and think, ‘that’s fucked up.’

I can’t take anything back. He can’t either. Will he appreciate me the same way he appreciates all the crazy psycho bitches he’s dated? Maybe when he’s telling some new girl about the Royal Psycho Syndicate of Daniel’s Ex-Girlfriends. We’ll have cards and everything, like a union.

I go back to Saz’s test, reading it again to clear my head. Footsteps and I’m worried it’s Ashlyn trying to inflict herself on me some more. But it’s Sakke. “Mitä kuuluu, Violet?”

I don’t know much Finnish except he’s asking me how I’m doing. He’s taught me few words on the show, and I try to remember. What’s the first thing anyone learns in a foreign language? Cusswords. “Paskaa,” I say.

“Sorry,” he says with a smile. “I’m sorry. I’m glad you made it. But it wasn’t necessary.”

“It’s alright, I needed to get out anyway” I say, to both things. “How do you think the new trombone player’s gonna hold up?”

“Look, I wanted to talk about what’s going on with you and Daniel,” he says.

“Can you cut the paska,” I tell him. “I really don’t want to hear anyone else’s relationship advice. Between Saz’s distractions and Daniel’s ex talking my ear off, I’m sick of it. Every conversation is so dominated by Daniel that I’m experiencing a Bechdel test failure in perpetuity, so can we just talk about something else?”

He leans back. “Can I just say this? You will be fine and — ”

“Seriously, Sakke. I don’t want to talk about it,” I say. “Yeah, I know. Three years together and it sounds like I’m immediately trying to move on, but it’s not that. I don’t want to think about it. I just want to be me.”

“You are you. You have always been you. You haven’t changed. You’ve grown? Yes, but stopped being yourself? No. I wanted to say, if you like, you can join Nina and I tomorrow for dinner? I think she’s making cabbage rolls,” he says.

“Is she making lingonberry pie?” I ask, forgetting everything. She makes the best lingonberry pie. Ooh, maybe there’ll be cloudberry jam. He nods. “Thank you,” I say, turning to go back inside. “Good luck with the show. Hope White Trash Skywalker doesn’t steal the spotlight.”

“They won’t.” Sakke laughs.

I make a bee-line to Saz, hoping that Ashlyn’s gone. In a way, she’s right. The reason I’ve been with Daniel as long as I have is his immaturity. Picking out good clothes, good cologne, helping him with his finances. And I guess he tried to help in his own little way. We were so focused on trying to improve one another, investing in each other, we forgot about ourselves.

But getting his shit together, being motivated and caring and responsible? It’s like Mark all over again. And if I’m the constant and I’m dating loser man-children, is there something fundamentally wrong with me?

By the time I get back to our table, Saz is telling the homeless-looking dude and Ashlyn, “So yeah. I bought a drum kit today. Gonna start learning. Something I always wanted to do.”

I pick up my drink, nodding along.

“Hey, cool Zelda shirt,” the man says to me, turning to me.

“Link. Zelda’s the princess,” I say, rolling my eyes like Josie does when I call any pokémon Pikachu.

He holds his hand out. “I’m Kevin.” His voice is pleasant and he smells like homemade wine and cloves. “Ashlyn’s husband.” And he puts the other arm around her.

Wait, who the fuck is she to give me advice?

Breakup, Ordinary returned with Violet & Commentary.