Sunday, December 12

5:30 am
My room i Hope

Just got back to my rom.  can't see straigt.  Room spinning.

I'm stupid stupid stupid stupid.....

fucking Sambora.  BAD Richie.  Bad Bad richie.  He alwys does this to me.... Fucker.

Ha ha hahahahahaha

but sure was fun

1:25 pm

Hell and/or Doghouse

My fucking head is going to fucking explode.  And I think somebody cut out my liver. Jesus Fucking Christ I'm too old for this shit.

Fucking Sambora.  WHY do I listen to him?  WHY?  After all these years I should KNOW better.  I know HE knows better.  He just likes to get me in trouble.  Stupid fucking piece-of-fuck prick of a best friend.

Hoping the sunshine will dry me out some.  But can't get dehydrated.  Water.  That's all I can take right now.  Workout is out of the question.  Can barely move, let alone run.  Just gonna lay here by the pool with my shades on until my head splits in two and my brains pour out onto the concrete or until Mikey comes and carries me back inside.

If that waitress comes over here and asks me if I want a drink I'm gonna puke on her feet.  Just more water, that's all I want.  Keep it coming.

Whoever said you have less of a hangover with expensive wine is a fucking LIAR.  The only thing better about expensive wine is it goes down easier.  Too Goddamn easy.  Just keep sipping and sipping and sipping and next thing you know there's a g-string on your lap and a pair of tits in your face and you can't stop grinning.

Goddamn Sambora.

And apparently I drunk-dialed last night.  When I finally found my phone today there was a text from Cate, sometime around 4 am local, saying 1) Are you okay? 2) How was the lap dance? and 3) Call me when you sober up.  Haven't been brave enough to call her yet but I'm gonna have to soon.  It's almost her bedtime and I can't let her go to sleep without telling her I love her and miss her.

And maybe that I'm sorry.... I should probably just start with that right up front though I'm not sure if I should be sorry?  No, I AM sorry.  I'm always sorry.  For whatever it is, I'm just.... sorry.

Crap.  Did I do anything she'd be pissed at me about?  I didn't black out -- I vaguely remember calling her and saying something about how sexy and wonderful she is before Richie took my phone away.  Shit.  If he talked to Cate I'm really sunk.  And I KNOW I didn't do anything out of line with the girls.  I was good, didn't touch anything I shouldn't... I don't think.  And I know they were very well-tipped.  Damned Davey was waving around bills like they were confetti.

Fucking Spearmint Rhino.  If there's one in a hundred-mile radius Richie will find it.  And reserve a private room.  And pay for lap dances all damned night.  Then he stays sober and laughs his ass off at the rest of us as we get plowed.  Evil Genius.

Jesus, there were some damned beautiful women in that club.  And they had skills for sure.  There was a blue-eyed redhead with full, pouty lips who was wearing some kind of cat-collar or something, and a green g-string.  She had perfect, beautiful tits.  I couldn't stop staring at her--she reminded me of my wife.  My wife hanging upside down from a pole, my wife swinging from a trapeze, my wife draped across my lap with her tits in my face, my wife straddling me and riding me like Secretariat...

Watching that redhead gave me one hell of a boner.  Like I needed that, with Cate so far away and me in no shape to get myself off.  Of course I wasn't gonna let that dancer do it for me -- I'm a married man, for Christ's sake.  I can look but not touch or be touched.  Well, within reason.  When you get a lap dance you have to be touched a little, ha ha.  And this chick had it going on--she just batted her lashes at me and made me hard.  Christ was she sexy.

Oh yeah, that's why I called Cate.  To tell her she was sexier than any woman in the place and that I couldn't wait to get home so she could dance for me.  I remember now.  Shit.  Great fucking idea, Johnny.  Good intention, bad execution.

Maybe it's a good thing Richie took away my phone. But Cate has a sense of humor, and she's not the jealous type... She's never minded before when I've gone to a Gentlemen's Club.  But then again I've never called her, drunk off my ass, to tell her how hot the dancers were, either.

Oh Hell.  I'll just keep practicing my "I'm sorry."  And I'll order flowers.  And jewelry.

God knows what kind of shape I was in when we finally staggered out of that place.  I do remember going out the back door through the VIP entrance, and getting in the car.  And for some reason I decided to take my shoes off in the car.  I remember walking into the hotel barefoot, carrying my boots.  WTF?

We all made it to our rooms and had a nightcap in Davey's suite.  I remember going to my room and trying to get my damned key to work and it wouldn't.  Tony heard me cussing at the door and came out and unlocked it for me, then made sure I went in.  He is his brother's keeper, apparently.  Thank God.

I remember going in my room and closing the curtains, and it was already getting light out.  Then I guess I passed out.  Woke up at noon face-down on the bed, on top of the covers, naked as the day I was born.  Good thing the Housekeeper didn't walk in on me.  She would have gotten the full moon, ha ha.

Ow.

Well, guess I lived up to the Rock Star image last night.  And today I'm paying the price.

God knows how much more it's gonna cost me with my wife.  Gonna have to man up and call her soon.

Fuck.

I need a nap.