Tuesday, July 27, 2004

I’m honored to be guest blogging today at TRL: The Rob Log, while Famous Author Rob Byrnes devotes his considerable energy to work, for a change. Why am I honored? Well, first of all, because Rob has been somewhat of a mentor to me, helping me polish my writing, which was admittedly pathetic until our blogging paths crossed.

But also, because I greatly admire him and respect his considerable success. I know that we joke around a lot, but he really doesn’t think of me as a rival. He reserves that for Alan Cumming. True, Alan Cumming and I have a lot in common: we are both actors, write poorly, claim to be bisexual, and have a crush on Lisa Kudrow (his in a movie; mine in real life). Still, I think our differences are greater than our similarities.

The main reason I’m honored to be blogging here, though, is because Famous Author Rob Byrnes never discusses drugs. I also don’t discuss drugs on my own blog (which you can find at Hot Toddy’s Toaster Oven, but you probably already knew that), but because it’s important to discuss the un-discussable, I think I’ll take advantage of Rob’s absence and write a little something about my first experience with cocaine.

Shortly after I escaped the cult, when I was living back in Texas, I had a crush on a bartender who I’ll call ‘Wayne Earl,’ because that’s his real name, and calling him simply ‘Wayne Earl’ is much less invasive of his privacy than if I called him ‘Wayne Earl Hunnicutt,’ which may or may not be his name. Wayne Earl tended bar at “The Circle Q,” which was probably the only gay bar within 50 miles, which meant that ‘The Q’ had a captive audience.

And I was one of the captives.

That was fine with me, though, as long as Wayne Earl was behind the bar. He was young, but rugged. And he wore a big Stetson, and you know what that means. Also, he was almost as freakishly tall as I am.

One night I was in The Q sipping my Brandy Alexander (this was before I discovered Maker’s Mark!) and listening to the jukebox play Vince Gill over and over and over again – and admiring Wayne Earl’s biceps; which, come to think of it, were an awful lot like The Rock’s – when he swaggered over to me and asked me, “Wanna party?”

Wayne Earl was inviting me to a party? All 6’9” of that rugged manhood was inviting Hot Toddy to a party? I was so enthusiastic that you just know what I blurted:

“Uh… Maybe.”

He nodded and grinned, either slyly or with a bit of contempt. I wasn’t really sure.

“Take this,” he said, pushing a tiny piece of crumpled foil into my hands.

I looked at the tiny piece of crumpled foil. That was a very small party invitation. Wayne Earl cocked his head and stared at me.

“You know what to do with it, right?”

I stared back, not saying a word.

“Shee-it,” he drawled, in a very stereotypically Texan sort of way. I can imagine President Bush or even Molly Ivins drawing out the word exactly the same way. Not Ann Richards, though. She prefers to draw out the word, “Fuuuck.”

Since I still wasn’t reacting appropriately, Wayne Earl decided to speak to me as if I was a child. “Take it to the bathroom, and put it up your nose.”

“The foil?” I asked.

“The foil.”

I excused myself and went to the bathroom. After locking the door, I stared at the crumpled piece of foil, and tried to remember Wayne Earl’s directions. Then, swallowing deeply, I did as directed, unlocked the door, and returned to my bar stool.

“So when’s the party?” I asked him when I took my seat and ordered another Brandy Alexander.

“Party? Shee-it, what are you talkin’ about? You had your party!” Then he stopped at stared intently at my face. “What’s in your nose?”

It turns out that you’re not supposed to inhale small pieces of crumpled foil up into your nose. According to Wayne Earl, that’s like trying to eat Spam through the tin. I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat meat. Or even Spam.

So, yes, my first attempt to do drugs was an embarrassing disaster. Much like all my first dates. But I learned, and later became so adept that my best friend JuJu and I used to shoot heroin between each others’ toes. Life is like that, though. You learn from your humiliations and move on.

Blogging as well as drugging.

Posted by Guest Blogger Hot Toddy on July 27, 2004

UPDATE: As we used to say when I ran with the Capone Gang, the jig is up. Hot Toddy quickly figured out that he did not write the above entry... nor did he guest blog for Chrisafer, Michael, BoBo, Jeff, Patrick or Crash. He is a clever, clever boy.

Now, the perpetrators -- and I'm not saying that TunaGirl organized this, but you can draw your own conclusions by her "non-involvement" and "innocence" and "ignorance that this ever occurred" -- are biding our time. Waiting for payback. Which, we hear, can be a bitch.