ASHLEY:

      I wake up, and instantly come to two separate conclusions: First of all, I'm definitely not in my own bed, and secondly, I've apparently been run over by a Sherman tank at some point, or by a delivery truck at the very least. Holy shit, even my fucking hair hurts!

      I finally force my eyelids up to about half-mast, and manage to figure out that I'm actually in my living room, on the couch. Then I realize that something is slightly different, so I open my eyes a bit more and figure out that I'm also not alone. I can't quite tell who's here, because he, or she, is sort of slumped over in the chair, so all I can really make out right now is a foot wearing a black canvas tennis shoe with winged skulls on the side, what looks like a pair of gray leggings, and a book draped over one leg.

      I close my eyes, and try to fire up my memory bank. The last thing I'm actually clear on is sitting in the lounge at the studio watching The Science Channel on TV and drinking from a bottle of Coldcock, then it gets kind of fuzzy. After a bit of thinking, I start to get bits and pieces back; losing my phone, talking to someone about getting a ride home, a quick flash of someone undoing my belt, and most weirdly, Big Bird, of all fucking things. I open my eyes again, and see my belt rolled up on the coffee table, but since I can tell that I'm still dressed, and so is whoever's in the chair, I'm reasonably sure that I didn't get laid.

      I decide to get a bit more sleep and stop thinking for now, because it's making my head hurt worse. But as soon as I close my eyes, I come to the realization that I really, really need to take a piss, so I convince my eyes to open again, and start to swing my legs off the couch.

      It immediately becomes obvious that this is my first bad decision of the day, because as soon as I start to sit up, my stomach rolls over like a hamster wheel and I feel everything start to come up. I know there's no way I'll make it to the john in time, so I look around, spot a wastebasket in the floor, and grab it. I get it up under my chin just in time, and expel the contents of my stomach into the bag. I pause for a second to catch my breath, then mumble, "Shit, I think that took care of stuff I ate last week."

      "Oh, that's nothing compared to when we first got here," a female voice announces. "Truthfully, I wouldn't have been surprised to see your boots end up in the toilet that time."

      I slowly remove my face from the container and see Stephanie getting up from the chair, laying her book on the seat. "Dude, it's only seven-fifteen, you can sleep a bit longer," she informs me. "You don't have to go to the studio today, so there's no rush."

      "Yeah, I wish," I reply. "But I need to..."

      I let the sentence trail off, because I can't quite bring myself to actually tell her that I need to go take a leak. But she seems to get the idea, because she sort of cocks an eyebrow at me, and says, in a mildly sarcastic tone, "Gee, couldn't imagine why. It's not like you've had any liquids lately." Then she moves a bit closer, holding out her hand. "Put the trash can down, and I'll help you up."

      I carefully place it on the floor, and let her help me extricate myself from the couch. I take a couple of steps, and I'm a bit wobbly, so she slips an arm around my waist and starts to lead me toward the bathroom off the front hallway. I hang back a bit, and point in the other direction, telling her, "No, I'd rather go to my bathroom. My toothbrush and everything is in there, and I'd kinda like to have that right now. I might even try to take a shower."

      "You sure you're up to that? It could be bad if you lose your balance in there or something."

      "Yeah, I think it'll be okay. There's a seat in the shower, so I can park myself there until I get my head cleared a bit. But do you think I could talk you into doing me a huge favor and making me some coffee while I'm in there? I'd really most sincerely appreciate it."

      She chuckles a bit, and says, "Yeah, I might be just about able to manage that. And you should probably have a bit to eat, too. Not anything too heavy, in case your stomach gets upset again, but you need something in there to soak up whatever's left of the booze. Just tell me where I can find everything, and you can have your caffeine fix as soon as you're done."

      "Okay, I'll give it a shot, anyway. And you can have breakfast with me, and maybe help me fill in the blanks, if you don't mind."

      I tell her where everything is in the kitchen as I direct her through the house to my room. When we get there, she makes sure I get into the bathroom, then heads back to the kitchen while I strip off my clothes, pull a lavender scrunchie out of my hair, and finally get to empty my bladder. I turn on the shower, and grab the mouthwash off the sink to rinse the horrible taste out of my mouth while it's heating up, then let the water pound me for a bit until I feel somewhat human again.

      I finally force myself to leave the shower, get dried off, and go back to my room to find some clothes. Then once I'm dressed, I slowly make my way back to the kitchen, where I find Steph rather vigorously stirring something in a mixing bowl. She glances up as I walk in and grins, saying, "Well, I see that you're back among the living. Grab a seat, food will be ready in just a sec."

      I sit down, and she starts dividing whatever she's stirring into a pair of cereal bowls, placing one in front of me, and the other on the opposite side of the table. She then grabs a mug from the counter, fills it with coffee, and puts it next to my bowl, which I realize is full of Cream of Wheat. "I have no idea where you hide your sugar, so there's none in the cereal or the coffee."

      I point toward the pantry door, and tell her, "It's in there, in a blue container on the right side if you want some, but I'd rather have some maple syrup, if you don't mind grabbing it from the fridge." Then I notice that she doesn't have a mug, and ask, "Where's your coffee, Steph?"

      "I don't much care for it, so I'll pass, thanks just the same."

      "Well, there are some individual-size bottles of orange juice in the fridge if you want one of those, or there might be some milk, but I can't swear to it."

      She retrieves the syrup and juice, then brings the sugar from the pantry, dumps a couple of spoonfuls into her bowl, and stirs it in. I doctor mine with the syrup, and take a couple of bites, hoping that it doesn't wind up making a return trip on me. We work on our breakfasts for a few minutes, then she puts down her spoon and asks, "Ash, tell me something honestly. Are you gonna be okay when I go home, or should I call somebody? One of the guys, maybe?"

      "Hey, I know I was pretty well tanked last night, but I've been hung over before, I think I can manage it. I'll just power down some Tylenol and spend the day on the couch watching reruns."

      She gives me a look that I can't quite read, and says, "That wasn't exactly what I meant. I mean, are you...? You're not... going to try to hurt yourself or something, are you?"

      Okay, that question is the last thing I expected! "Hell, no! Why in the world would you even think something like that? Okay, yeah, I was a little bummed out about Jo, but it's hardly the end of the world."

      "I was just trying to make sure," she responds. "Because getting drunk is one thing, but as far as I'm concerned, sucking up three full bottles of whiskey practically qualifies as self-harm. First of all, you were flirting with alcohol poisoning, and secondly, what if you'd managed to find your damn keys before I got there, and wrapped yourself around a guardrail? Or worse, someone else's car? Or gotten sick without anyone around and choked to death?"

      I sit here and blink at her for a second, because I'm still sort of stuck at the beginning. "Whoa, back up a sec! What the hell are you talking about, three bottles?"

      "When I walked into the studio, there were two empty Jack Daniels bottles on the coffee table, along with a bottle of Coldcock, whatever that is. I'm not a drinker myself, but I've seen some of my dorm-mates in college do quite a bit of damage to themselves with just one bottle. Are you trying to tell me you don't know how much you drank?"

      This question sort of rattles me, and I finally have to say, "As much as it bothers me to admit it, I apparently didn't. Shit, this isn't good."

      She doesn't say anything right away, but then she sighs, and replies, "Ash, I know that you're a grown man, and that this is really none of my business, but I'd like for you to think about something for just a second. Most people who drank as much as you did last night would still be crouched over the toilet or passed out cold, if not in the hospital, but you're mobile, somewhat coherent, and eating. This tells me that you've somehow managed to build up some degree of tolerance to the shit, which kind of indicates that last night isn't the first time this has happened."

      "That's not quite accurate," I argue. "Yeah, I've been drunk on other occasions, I'm not stupid enough to try to lie about it. But I don't normally make a habit of drinking that much at one time."

      "Well, you don't remember doing it last night, so how do you know that for sure?" she shoots back. I can't frame an immediate answer to that, so she continues. "Like I already said, you're an adult, who's in charge of your own life, and nobody can order you to stop. But please, at least think about what you're doing to yourself, or what you could do to someone else. Okay?"

      I raise my head to look at her directly, and I don't see any signs of anger, or disgust, which is the usual reaction to something like this. All I see on her face is concern, which strikes a chord in my brain, and makes me ask myself, "If my behavior is worrying someone I've only known for a short time this much, how does it make the guys, or my other friends, feel? Or Pop? What would Nan think if she could see me right now?"

      I reach across the table, take hold of her hand, and say, "You're right, I've let myself get into the habit of using alcohol to take my mind off of things that bother me, instead of actually dealing with them, and I need to get that under control. Thanks for actually being willing to say what you think, instead of sugar-coating things, I genuinely appreciate it. I guess this means that we're officially friends now, since it takes a real friend to tell you what you need to hear, instead of just what you want them to say."

      She smiles, and gives my hand a squeeze. "You're welcome, friend. And thank you for actually being willing to hear something you didn't really want to, and not just burying your head in the sand."

      "Now, I was wondering whether you might be able to help me clarify a few things about last night, if you don't mind? Like first of all, why were you at the studio in the first place?"

      She tells me about Feldy's call, how she was basically covering for Macy, and then recounts our conversation at the studio, very little of which I actually remember. "So I noticed that I have my phone, but I'm guessing that my keys are still at the studio, right?"

      She looks at me like I'm an idiot, and says, "No, they're in the living room, on the little table by the front door, I just wasn't dumb enough to let you get ahold of them. How do you think we got in here? Your car is still there, though."

      "No worries, I'll just get one of the guys to run me over to get it later. Whenever this last company of Irish step-dancers decides that they're tired of practicing on my frontal lobe, that is. Not to change the subject, but I have kind of an odd question for you. Why the hell do I keep thinking of Big Bird? Was fucking 'Sesame Street' on the TV or something?"

      She nearly chokes on the mouthful of juice she's just taken, and after finally managing to swallow it, bursts into raucous laughter. After she's calmed down enough to actually speak between giggles, she says, "No, it wasn't. My best guess would be that this particular thought came from when you were rummaging through the shrubbery looking for your phone and keys."

      I consider this for a second, and have to laugh myself as I acknowledge, "Yeah, I can see how those bushes might look like Big Bird when someone's as fucked up as I was."

      We work on finishing our breakfast, but after a few minutes she puts her spoon down again and blurts out, "What?"

      "What, what?" I inquire, completely confused.

      "You've been looking at me weirdly off and on all morning, and I was just wondering why," she informs me. "Do I have paint on my face, or is my bra showing or something?"

      I stop to think for a second, and realize what's probably happened, so I explain, "I hadn't realized that I was staring, or whatever I've been doing, and I apologize if I've weirded you out. But from the first day we met, I've had the strangest feeling that I've seen you somewhere before, and it's been kind of bugging me that I can't figure it out."

      She gives me sort of a puzzled look, then shrugs and says, "Not the first time I've heard that. I guess I just have one of those faces."

      She gets up and carries the dishes to the sink, while I work on finishing my coffee. "Want a refill?" she asks, holding up the pot.

      "Yes, please," I confirm, as I hold out the mug, allowing her to top it off. She puts it back in the coffeemaker then comes back to her seat, and I give in to the urge to say, "Steph, we're friends now, and friends can be honest with each other, right?" She nods, and I tell her, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I'd like you to give me a totally honest answer, even if you think I won't like it, okay?"

      "I will if I can. I mean, if I actually know the answer, that is." 

      "It's not exactly that kind of question, it's sort of more of an opinion, actually. From a woman's perspective, I'd like to know exactly what the hell is wrong with me?"

      She cocks her head to the side, looking totally bewildered, and replies, "I'm guessing you mean something other than the fact that you're epically hung over, but I'm not entirely sure that I follow you."

      I shake my head, and try to elaborate on the question. "No, that's not what I mean at all. What I'm trying to understand is whether there's something about me that draws in people who are only interested in money, or fame, or fucking my friends. Because it seems like that's all I can manage to attract, so I'm just wondering if there's something about myself that I need to change."

      She appears to be a bit startled, and opens her mouth like she's going to say something, but then closes it again. "Come on, Steph, spit it out," I encourage her. "I already said I want you to be honest with me. I'm a big boy, I can take it."

      "No, it's nothing bad," she replies. "I'm just trying to figure out the best way to explain it."

      After a minute or so, she asks me, "How long did you know Joleen before you actually started dating?" Before I can answer, she holds her hand up and says, "And I don't mean when you slept together, that would be TMI. I mean how long did you know each other before you considered yourself a couple?"

      I think back, and finally say, "I'm not entirely sure. A couple of weeks, maybe?"

      She nods, then responds with, "I kind of figured it was something like that. Now, since we're being honest here, I think I'm probably safe in assuming that it's not an uncommon occurrence for someone to tell you that you're... Well, 'easy on the eyes', let's say. Correct?"

      I feel my face heat up when she says this, and I just nod in acknowledgement. She grins slightly, and continues speaking. "Okay, we'll accept that as fact, but you're also an intelligent, thoughtful, decent human being, so the packaging is just a bonus. But what I think might be happening is that you get so entranced by the wrappings that you don't take the time to figure out if there's actually anything worth having inside the box. You just assume that what they show you is what you're actually getting, without considering the fact that most people only show you what they want you to see."

      "So, you're basically saying the same thing that the guys have been accusing me of, then? That I only care about what they look like."

      "No, not at all, I think the problem is that you find these women attractive, so you take them at face value, because you want to believe that they're good people. Otherwise, you have trouble justifying your attraction."

      Suddenly a voice comes from the doorway, saying, "Y'know, I think you just nailed it, Steph. That's probably the best explanation of Ash's relationship history that I've ever heard."

      We both look around, and see that CC and Macy are standing in the kitchen doorway. "When did you get here?" I ask. 

      "Just a couple of minutes ago," CC replies. "Jinxx called, and told me about last night, so I figured I'd check up on you. I was gonna call Steph and find out what was going on, but I figured out that I don't have her number, so I called Macy instead."

      Macy turns to Stephanie and adds, "Yeah, and I'd just gotten your message about hanging out here last night when he called, so I asked him to swing by and pick me up on his way. I figured you probably didn't get much sleep, if any, so I really didn't want you to try driving home."

      Shit, I hadn't even thought about that! "You didn't stay up all night watching out for my sorry, fucked-up ass, did you?" I question.

      "Well, I tried to, but I think I may have dozed off," she admits. "The last time I remember looking at the clock before you woke up was a little after five."

      "So you got about two hours of sleep, crunched up in a chair, then. Shit, I'm sorry, Steph! I guess this kind of proves your point about my behavior affecting other people, doesn't it?"

      "That's not what I was trying to say at all!" she protests.

      "I know you weren't, because you're too nice of a person to point that out," I reply. "But that's how it turned out, anyway, and I apologize."

      "Well, I'm here to take over babysitting duty, so why don't you head home and grab a nap?" CC suggests. "Letting yourself get too tired can be just about as bad for you as the dumbass stunt he pulled last night, y'know."

      She seems to be about to say something, but then can't hold back a yawn, so Macy holds out her hand and says, "Okay, that settles it, you're definitely not driving. Keys."

      Steph points toward the living room and tells her, "They're in my purse in the other room. I need to grab that and my book before we go, so give me a minute."

      She gets up and leaves the kitchen, and the rest of us follow. When she gets to where she was sitting when I woke up, she rummages in her bag and pulls out her keys, handing them to Macy as she slings it over her shoulder. I pick the book up off of the chair to give it to her, but pause as the cover catches my attention. It shows some sort of weird-looking creature, which seems to be mostly limbs and teeth, with an arm pointing a shotgun at it, and the title reads, in big orange and yellow letters, "Monster Hunter Memoirs: GRUNGE"

      "So, can I take it that you're a horror fan?" I ask.

      "Absolutely! Macy never really likes it when Lylah or I pick a movie to watch, because she doesn't care for horror."

      "Excellent! It's definitely official now. I have someone else to watch horror movies with; this is the beginning of a beautiful new friendship."

      She laughs, and reaches out to hug me. "I'll definitely take you up on that, sometime when we're both a bit more alert. But right now, I think I need to go take that nap, because I have some firing to do later. And you should probably find yourself some Excedrin or something, because if your head isn't pounding like tribal drums now, I'm sure it soon will be."

      I return the hug, and say, "No, if you recall, I already told you that it's Irish step dancers. And yeah, I probably should take something to shut 'em down. And thanks again, Steph. I'm honestly not sure what would have happened if you hadn't shown up, and I really do appreciate you looking out for me. I owe you big time."

      "Hey, that's what friends do, right? Just try not to put yourself in that situation again, okay? She wasn't worth risking your life for."

      CC and I watch them get into Steph's SUV and drive away from my house, then I turn to him and say, "Okay, where is it?"

      "Where's what?" he queries.

      "The lecture, I know I'm gonna get one at some point today, and I guess I probably deserve it."

      "Probably, but you forget, I'm not the lecture dude. That's Andy's or Blasko's thing, or maybe Jinxx. The only thing I'm gonna say about it is to repeat what I already said earlier. I think that she was spot-on with what she was saying about why you pick the women you do, and maybe you should take it under serious advisement. Now, since I'm probably gonna be hanging out with you most of the day, what have you got to eat around here?"

      He heads back toward the kitchen, and I grab the bottle of Tylenol I keep in the hall table before I follow him. It seems that I have a lot of things I need to think about now, and a pounding headache isn't exactly conducive to getting that done. And maybe later I should call Jazy or Markie, and talk this over with them, too.

      I guess this means that I'm not completely unlucky with women. I may suck at picking girlfriends, but I do a bang-up job at finding female friends: Jazy, Markie, Shannon, Macy, and Lylah. And now Steph. Now if I could just find a chick that could be both, I'd have it made. 

      I wonder if I'll ever be that lucky?