Hi, My Name is Dionysus And I’ll Actually Have A Seltzer

Hey, Dionysus is here! Let’s get this party started! No. Kids, the party is over. No longer will I be the trained monkey pouring wine for you while my life falls apart.

Yeah, the life of the party and actual God of wine and revelry is fun for a couple hundred years, but I’m pushing a few millennia and I need a break. I’m not saying, I won’t ever make any wine (no, I will not bartend at your daughter’s quinceanera)but can I be the God of sommeliers? Fuck, Lacroix even?

Frankly, I’m embarrassed to be the old guy at the party. I’m starting to think all those 19 year old girls only want to hang out with me for the free wine and don’t even listen to the mix cds I make. Doesn’t anyone appreciate fine lyre playing anymore?

Yes, at one point I enjoyed teaching generations how to play kottabos but in those days there was nothing else to do other than drink and fuck yourself to death.

At this point in my life I’d rather take a train through Napa Valley than wake up covered in vomit on Aphrodite’s front yard. I’d rather hike through Tuscany alone than go to one more party and hear some Satyr playing “Santeria” on his pipe all night.

Now is the time for me to to build relationships with my known children and locate the thousands I walked out on, but so much time has been lost. I have apologized to hundreds of Goddesses, nymphs, and handsome animals for my poor behavior and have come out stronger for it.

I see now that life can be meaningful without guzzling copious amounts of delicious wine until I have to get my stomach pumped.

I can get to know woodland creatures as critters before jumping into bed with them.
I made the most incredible birdhouse yesterday. I’m even learning how to make pasta.

They’ll say, Dionysus used to be fun. It’s true. I was down for anything and now I owe millions of dollars in child support, have one kidney, and am riddled by a legion of genital warts. Enjoy your party, kids.


Reasons I Didn’t Kiss You On New Year’s Eve

You turned your head at an improbable angle where I would be kissing your sternum.

You had cheeto dust on your lps.

The kiss would be too magical and I’m not ready to get married.

You sent me mixed signals by staring at the ceiling and turning your body slightly away from mine.

I just finished an amazing red onion salad.

I am a passionate lover and wouldn’t want to leave you in a state of delirium at a house party.

You told me not to.