Back from the dead...

As promised, and not without some hesitation, I here by man up and allow the more, well - realistic and mature, and the less, well --- Frat-Boy-esque version of what happened that night to be told.
You may read it from the source right here.

Here's to more responsible drinking in the future, and more remembering of the near past after the fact.

The Weekly Picture column

This week's picture features the Saints & Sinners bar located less than a 5 minute walk from our house on Tilden Avenue. This is one more bar on the list of bars I can't show my face in for a long, long, long time. There are other ones on this list, like the Phoenix Irish Bar in the Mission district of San Francisco, where my 23rd birthday was spent alone at the bar with beer and Tequila shots. After I almost returned all the items I bought from the bartender, I managed to get to a toilet and do it the right way. Later that night, I woke up at 5 AM on a filthy sidewalk in a Mexican SF neighborhood, because some guy was trying to get my money. He was nice though, not a gang member.

So, somehow, after searching up and down the area, I found my car and started driving back home. Oh yeah, I pulled over after a while to puke on the shoulder of the 101 South, and finally made it home safely. I never looked at that highway the same way since. There were other things I did that are just as bad, if not worse. The whereabouts are too many to list here, but I'll just say they are scattered all over this planet, from Kibbutz Na'an and Tel Aviv, to Amsterdam and California. And somehow, I always managed to make it home safely...

But, what happened in the bar you see in that picture is...well, let's just say I think this is the last bar to be added to the list.

Why was this night different than any other night? Well, first of all, to get the really juicy story, you'd have to ask my wife, or her father, or his new wife, or our neighbors Mark and Risa. Or the Paramedics on duty that night, or the LA Fire Department who were there too. Because, for the life of me, I just can't remember shit. And I usually remember, no matter what I've been drinking. But not this time.

I'll start from the beginning. Around 6 PM I decided to go grab a drink before it's too late. I came home about 15 minutes earlier so I didn't have much to eat at all. I stopped on the way there and got a chocolate croissant. I sat down at the bar and began surveying the mirrored wall of bottles. One Budweiser and a glass of Glenfiddich later, I see Nick at the other end of the bar. Nick The Greek, as he is now known in our household. Nick just moved back to Los Angeles and is a hard working middle class kinda guy. Nick loves Israel, has an Israeli cousin or something, and says zoobi all the time. In other words - he is the PERFECT drinking buddy for someone who doesn't want to think about the end of the night. For the next hour or so, we became best buddies. Nick even told me about his latest epiphany about getting older and not giving a shit about what other people think (he is just 52 years of age). It worked out great, since I am such good listener, especially when leaning against the edge of a bar.

Nick The Greek was downing Vodka Martinis and could hold his liquer much better than me, as you are about to find out. So, there I am chatting it up with this stranger, drinking more beer and more shots (I think I had some Brandy in there too, which was a BAD move -- a VERY BAD move). After getting drunk enough to realize I may have passed my limit, I paid the bill, and went to the bathroom to take a huge "throw me a life wheel, I'm drowning!" type of piss. Nick The Greek followed me, which meant that he followed me back to the bar, which also meant that he insisted on having one last Martini with me before he leaves. That last martini may very well have been the last push to throw me overboard. I walked out (if you could call it walking) and phoned my wife to tell her that I was about to embark on one of the most difficult, challenging and uncertain journeys. That's where my memory shut down for the night.

I woke up at about 7 AM, wearing my jeans, my shoes, and a hospital gown. I had a bunch of medical tapes on my arm, and of course - the splitting mother-fucking headache I ordered the night before. I was in the ER. I was freaking cold. I had lost my shirt, my phone and any knowledge of what the hell happened. That's when I heard someone say "Oh, he's awake!" and I looked around to find nurses, Dr. Eisner (Sarah's new best friend) and a reception telephone. I quickly called 'headquarters' and realized that Sarah didn't think I was dead (at least not anymore) and actually knew where I was - which is more than I could say for myself.

From here to there, I ended up getting a ride home with Rick and Rebecca (who were up most of the night making new friends under less friendly circumstances), And again, I finally made it home safely.
Luckily my wife didn't kill me either.

So, my friends, live long and prosper, and please, please - don't go drinking alone. I know I won't.

P.S - the complete version is coming soon...

Speechless...

Wow. Just...wow. This is probably the one post when I actually sit down and spend a considerable amount of time thinking before typing. No, this isn't the Pulitzer post. I think this is the one that has to be published. I wouldn't be able to look my blogger self in the face again if the next post I wrote wasn't about this amazing moment in life. Anyone's life.

I have evolved. Physically and emotionally. It is a mixture of some primal instinctive guide that just got jump-started and is now in full throttle, and the most over-the-top, conscious and clear self-role model staring at me in the mirror, marching my new self ahead to the next hour. Life has shifted for me, and my priorities have shifted too. I am on autopilot. I AM the autopilot.

Life has become so intensely magical that I must live it from hour to hour. From asleep to awake. From staring at the ceiling in amazement to crying out loud for attention. From feeding from a bottle to the changing of a diaper.

I have 5 days and 4 nights under my 'congratulations, it's a girl' belt.

I'm the proud new father of my baby daughter.

I'm completely in love with her.

We named her Maytal (morning dew).

She is my life investment.

Been busy

Hi all (if anyone's reading this blog at all....)

This one's a "catch up" post, so no special features for you guys. Just a boring "here's what's been going on" post to my blog, at 2:35 am.

So I'm in LA. Still. Matter of fact, I'm really liking this city. I like it better than Frisco, or Berkeley.
Why? I think the warm weather is familiar to me, and the neighbors here actually know your name and even spend time talking to you and sharing their lives with you.
Shit, I even knocked on our good friend's door the other day and got a couple of eggs and some flour for my cooking.

I've been cooking more and more lately. I think it's good practice, what with the baby coming and all. By the way - it's going to be a girl. My baby daughter. Freaky. I'm still a 16 year old brat in my mind...I'm still a miserable dude who can't wait to get out of the army already...still drinking too much and smoking too much. Well - actually that's not true, I've quit smoking completely (yes, completely) and even though there's an empty beer bottle by my typing hand, I don't get drunk anymore.

I make pancakes. Pretty good ones too (ok - they're masterful!), with chocolate chips in them and stuff.

I finished my photography website. check it out here. Even if the photography business could use a little pick up, its still good to have a portfolio.

What else? Got a few more weeks before the baby's here. I mean, it could happen any minute, like - right now, before I even finish typing this sentence......

.....Nope. Still quiet in the House of Love.
Also, my mom's coming to help out and live with us for a while, and my aunt and more family members are dropping by soon. It's gonna be a mad house....in a good way, of course.

That's it.

What's new on your end? How about leaving a freakin' comment for a change ?
;-)

Here's a plug -
my wife has an awesome new blog about at Crazy Pregnant Lady. It's also called Expecting Insanity (what ever is easier to remember...)

cya

Bye Bye Bay...

It's time. I'm having no second thoughts, and that hasn't happened in a long time...

I'm thinking - the biggest tsunami wave ever is pushing towards my little beach hut. Nah, that's way over-dramatic. I might be thinking - holy crap! Every day to day comfort that I've finally reached maximum capability in is being wiped clean off the slate. There's a baby brewing, there's University coming up. There's living with my mom, my father in law, my wife and a brand new outa the box little screamer in a 2 bedroom house. In 3 weeks, I'm saying goodbye to Frisco, Oakland and Bezzzerkeley, and moving to "the city she loves me...".

Every other time that I can remember myself moving from old to new, like a new job, a new city, a new country, I would have second thoughts. What if's, what if not's, or - when will I... how will I... and always - how much, many or little will I...? But this time is really different. I quit my job today, took my final check and said goodbye. I've had that job for almost 2.5 years. That's the longest time on one job in the US for me so far.

Change really is for the better. I remember going back to the civilian life after 4 years of ironed olive green shirts and a third metal arm that went BANG every once in a while. Now THAT was a big change, and from worst to best, too. Bleached my hair, put on clubbing t-shirts in the day time, smoked weed every day (ok, ok - I was doing that long before I got out da army...). A few months later and I was on a plane to SFO. Now, sure that was exciting and new enough to dwarf the uncertainty, but the worries were still there ( thank god for good old Black&White's liquor).

All I'm saying is that knowing I'm about to become a daddy for some little creature is somehow giving me more energy and focus. I've had an issue with putting aside the worries and just shifting into gear, letting the engine do the pushing. Maybe it didn't show that much, but that's what was going on in the back of my head many times. I don't know why really, or how, but I'm just not worried. I'm not. I just can't wait to see what this kid will look like, and hear what he or she will sound like.

Sure - getting older and more grown up had me in a "Oh SHIT !" phase for a while, but then I realized that's mostly because of two things - TV (or movies), and some bitchy folks here and there who just want to increase their drinking buddy options. It took one look at an ultrasound monitor for me to feel that awesome feeling of "I did that. That's mine !", and that sticks.