Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Aaaaaaaand NOW that Joke is Old
Do you ever step into an elevator and, for a split second, fear that you’re going to drop something through the space between the elevator and the landing? I think about that each and every time . . . usually fearing for my keys, which are usually safe in my pocket. Anyway, Thanksgiving weekend kicked off with me stepping off the elevator at my sister-in-law’s and dropping a stack of seven CDs (falling from a secured bag, no less) right on and in line with the opening between the elevator and the landing. So now I have six CDs. Sorry, Fiona Apple.*
The rest of our Thanksgiving trip was less eventful and much more-better. I finally got a guided tour of East Atlanta /
Duluth Decatur (“is greater”). It’s always nice and relaxing to get away from Tallahassee.
In other news, I’m gonna sidestep into Political Land and relate my latest nugget of Pre-Election Year water-cooler wisdom: If polls hold any ounce truth, we’re going to be choosing between a woman who can’t win and a guy no-one wants to win.
Democrats: Snatching Defeat from the Jaws of Victory ’08!
You’d think I’d have a blog for this kind of crap, right? Where did I put that thing?
* no, I’m not gay . . . for the thousandth time
Politics • Roadtripping • (0) Comments closed • Permalink
Monday, November 05, 2007
I Drive to Work
Driving to work can be frustrating. Especially as early as I’m currently making the trip. Like, this morning, I was driving behind this guy clogging the middle lane with his giant SUV, driving 10 miles under an already-too-low speed limit. It was one of those shifting-down-into-third-gear-to-make-some-progress moments. With swearing.
But there are moments of brilliance, too. Another SUV, later on, had one of those license-plate frames . . . at one time. All that was left of it was the top part between the two screw/bolts. The part that read, “Failure is not.”
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
You Know How to Tell You’ve Worked Out too Hard?
It’s when your wife calls the paramedics.
See, we recently picked up an elliptical machine on Craigslist. This was to replace the recumbent stationary bike I’d been using, which had been handed down to us by Michelle’s sister; the flywheel had cracked shortly after we got it and it was noisy as Hell to ride. Anyway, I was used to just kicking back with the latest Newsweek, jamming to my iPod Shuffle and maintaining my customary 16 or 17 mph. Michelle was starting an exercise routine, though, and hated the racket; plus, she doesn’t read while working out, opting to watch TV, which would be impossible to hear.
Anyway, I’d just finished my second session on it—a standard 25-minute “no-program” program. Right at the end, during my (very short) “cool down,” I started to feel queasy. Not light-headed, just a little nauseous. I sat down on the back of the machine and was trying to slow my breathing down. And keep from throwing up as the nausea got to a more FULL-ON state. Michelle happened to be in the same room, on the computer. She kept asking if I was okay, and I was responding. Until I apparently got up, started shaking, and collapsed.
I remember thinking, briefly, that it’d be better the lie down (on the floor) as I was sitting, trying to slow my breathing/heart rate. So when I heard her calling 911, I was, all, “WTF? I’m fine . . . just had to lie down.” Apparently, I was missing the part where I slumped over into the lamp next to our bedroom doorway and Michelle tried to catch me.
The culprit was seemingly low blood sugar, which worries me as I’d eaten breakfast. But I’d also been going at it pretty hard for those 25 minutes, so I must’ve burned up all THAT sugar and any reserves stored in my lard-body. Luckily, the “instant glucose” I was given helped me narrowly escape the dreaded IV “in the truck.”
In other news, I’ll be working out and socializing and drinking and interacting with my family/Humanity much less as I’m becoming addicted to Eve Online. Did you watch Firefly/Serenity and think, “Man, how cool would that be if I could pilot my own ship and do some smuggling and blow up some space pirates?” Well, you can. I’d been obsessively surfing the official messageboards for two weeks before finally ponying up for the trial subscription and downloading the game. I spent my first hours mostly flying around one solar system feeling lost, especially considering there are, what, THOUSANDS of other systems to be explore. The graphics are top-notch, BTW.
I won’t post my character’s name because, otherwise, someone will find and destroy my n00b ass. Seriously, don’t PWN me, PvPers. ‘Cuz I’m a total fucking carebear.
Games • Weekends • (0) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I keep telling myself that I’m not going to force my views upon Mia as she grows up . . . that I’m going to let her find her own Truths and chose her own path. However, these exchanges I’ve had with her while driving around town suggest otherwise.
Mia: (pointing to a man panhandling at a red light) “What’s he doing?”
Me: “He’s asking people for money.”
Me: “Because he doesn’t have any.”
Me: “Probably because of the Republicans.”
Mia: “Hey, why’d you change that?”
Me: “Because daddy doesn’t listen to country music.”
Mia: “I like country music.”
Me: “You’d BETTER not.”
Thursday, October 11, 2007
The War is Over
A couple nights ago, I finally finished watching Ken Burns’ 15-plus-hour documentary, “The War.” I’d DVR’d it on the nights it was playing on PBS and was obsessively making time to finish watching it . . . in between episodes of “Heroes” and “Tell Me You Love Me” and “How I Met Your Mother” and “Reaper.” I remember how blown away I was when Burns’ Civil War series came out in the early 90s; I was working at a video store at the time and I used to put it on the monitors during my shifts.
All this war stuff has me thinking: My grandparents’ generation who came of age during World War II . . . they call that “The War.” What will WE call “The War?” Hopefully, there’ll just be Iraq, and it’ll be, y’know, “Bush’s war.” If we elect more Neocon-pandering automatons, there’ll be another war. A worse war.
Speaking of a worse war, I’ve just started reading World War Z, which is an account of a fictional world war against the zombies. It’s set in very modern times. Right about NOW, actually. You think there’s a zombie outbreak starting in central China right now?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Le Sigh . . . Le Quiz (It’s Great to be “Back” . . . For Now)
I’d talked about doing another “quiz” and what better gimmick than to ask you questions about what I’ve been doing for the past, oh, two months or so. Maybe YOU have some insights. See, because I’ve not been blogging, right, so if I HAD, you would actually know the answers to these.* Some of them.
Winner may get something mix-CD-like.
1. Which exclamation will get you quickly ushered into the Magic Kingdom before the gates officially open?
a. “Mickey! MICKEY! Over here!”
b. “Oooo! Pick me, pick me!”
c. “Yo, ho, yo, ho, a pirate’s life for me!”
d. “Jesus FUCK!”
e. “I got a hunger for some Disney princesses!”
2. Mia’s favorite ride at Disney World (that she rode) was:
b. Pirates of the Carribean
c. World of Imagination
e. Peter Pan
3. Which of the following Disney princesses did Mia NOT meet?
c. Sleeping Beauty (Aurora)
e. Perez Hilton
4. Fill in the blanks: We recently took Mia to have pictures taken, which coincided with her ________ birthday. The pictures were just of her this year because ________________.
a. third; I was bruised about the face from MMA fighting
b. fourth; it was hard enough to get her to smile when we weren’t in the picture
c. fifth; my lazy eye makes me look all a-‘tard
d. sixth; Annie Leibowitz was in a bad mood that day
e. seventh; “In a word, Brian . . . very bad.”
5. Who was the first person to introduce the concept of God/religion to our daughter?
a. Michelle’s father
b. Michelle’s mother
c. her 4-year-old cousin
d. a Disney princess
6. This Friday, Michelle and I are driving to Atlanta to see:
a. two hobos having sex
b. the Witts
d. the last vestiges of our youth
e. traffic . . . lots and lots of traffic. And smog. Don’t forget the fucking smog.
7. After years of relative inactivity, I published another poem, this time in ____________.
a. The New Yorker
b. The Atlantic
c. No Tell Motel
d. Yellow Silk
8. Fill in the blanks: This coming Tuesday is my mom’s __________ birthday, and Thursday is my __________ birthday. Typically, we celebrate on the day between. I think, this year, we’re going to lunch and then catching a showing of __________. Afterward, I’ll take her home and then go back to work, where I will __________.
a. 60th, 29th, Knocked Up, do something productive
b. 60th, 35th, Behind the Green Door, sleep
c. 58th, 32nd, Control, blog about Joy Division at MySpace
d. 61st, 36th, 3:10 to Yuma, brainstorm some more for a creative project I will likely never start and/or complete
e. Are you fucking KIDDING me, Capt. Quiz-Making Jackass?
BONUS QUESTION: What did I make on my SATs . . . which, starting at a community college, I totally did NOT need to take?
* I know the lame excuses are just that (lame . . . and excuses), but almost every day, I was, all, “Man, I should write about that.” (Whatever “that was.) But I knew I was working on a quiz idea. And then, of course, the longer you let something linger, the better it has to be when you’re done. AND the longer you go without blogging, the easier it is to stay away.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Note to Self
Dear My Blog,
Well, it’s been more than a month now. I can’t say I’ve really missed you. Actually, it’s gotten to the point where it pains me to stop by here, even to surf my own blogroll. However, I should let you know: I haven’t been cheating on you with Vox. Okay? I promise.
So a lot has been going on. Yes, I realize the “I’m busy” excuse is as old as the list of Republican anti-gay anal-fornicators is long. But I really have been. What? You don’t think a Disney “vacation,” a daughter’s fifth birthday, and the same daughter starting kindergarten—all within two weeks—is enough?
Maybe it also has something to do with that ongoing beaten-down feeling. For years, I’ve had this dull psychic/karmic ache thing happening. A semi-permanent weight. It keeps me from doing important and/or creative things. Lately, I’ve been thinking I have mild depression. No, no . . . nothing too soul-crushing. And nothing I want to medicate myself for. Anyway, I was researching on the Internets and decided maybe an energy boost was in order, so I’ve started a regimen of ginkgo and ginseng. Perhaps upping the caffeine, too.
I also realize you’ll be going away soon. Not my choice, per se, but my gracious host is only holding this domain for me and it’s set to expire in a couple months. Because I’m so committed, I’m visiting you less frequently and doing things like taken month-long breaks, and I probably shouldn’t try and hold onto it. So, I’ll probably be going back to someplace free. I doubt I’ll quit you all together. Really, I can’t. Quit you.
Okay, before I make another reference to those fun-loving gaybos, I guess I’ll go finish that PowerPoint presentation, which I’m giving today at lunch. The one that has “I’m totally motherfucking WINGING this” written all over it.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Okay, Mr. Crunchy emailed me a couple weeks back to tell me he’d tagged me for the latest Eight Things meme. He couldn’t leave a comment because it had been more than 10 days since my previous post, and my comments had closed. There are some rules to put here, but I’ll just say blah-blah-blah . . . on with the show:
1. When playing games, or participating in some light “sports,” I like to play be the rules. Sometimes to a fault. SOMETIMES to the extent that it’s no longer fun to play games with me (I’d imagine). Funny example: On the last night of our Beach Meetup, a group of us were playing a couple trivia-related games. Michelle wouldn’t play because she knows me too well. We were drinking, of course. CW was there, but not playing. He knew all the answers to the questions being asked (because he’s smart like that, at least as far as the 1990s are concerned) and was, apparently, “helping” people who didn’t know the answers. On both teams. Which all resulted in me turning into a Rules Nazi. We finished the game, but it was a very muted, quietly raging affair. I’m convinced all people involved actively dislike me now.
2. For sports, I pretty much stopped playing anything (organized) once I hit high school. Prior to that, I played three years of baseball (I sucked and my dad was the coach) and two years of football (not counting that first year I quit). I was patently below average at both. The only sport that I probably COULD have been okay at was soccer. On the day they were having tryouts one year, it conflicted with some stupid popularity-based club meeting and I didn’t go. And that was that. (I just remembereId that I also joined the tennis team for a week in tenth grade . . . until my parents told me I had to quit because that was the [ONLY] year I was making Ds and Fs on my report card.)
3. I’m a thumper, not a shaker.
4. We (er, I . . . this supposed to be about me, right? Whatever, I’m multitasking.) Anyway, I went to Atlanta this weekend (with my family) and it was a really good trip, even if we didn’t see CW (probably BECAUSE though). In the interest of product/cultural evaluation, here are some semi-related one-line reviews: Ru-San’s (nighttime home of shouts of “SAKI BOMB!”) was great and never have I had so much fun eating sushi in a punk-rock establishment . . . or being surrounded by punk rockers in a sushi establishment; it’s funny (but tasty) to order Asian food on the outside patio of Cheesecake Factory in the very shadow of P.F. Chang’s, although I really wanted more peanut-butter cookie dough in my slice of chocolate cheesecake; and the new Interpol album is at least as good as Antics, while the new Editors disc does not quite rise to the bar set by The Back Room.
5. On that topic: As you know, I’m all about “alternative” music, and I like and respect Nirvana, owning all of their albums (either on vinyl or CD). But the only song of theirs I have on iTunes is “Moist Vagina.”
6. This isn’t about me, per se (I’m running out of things), but I think it’s obvious that, considering the country seems split between fighting (the REAL) Al Qaeda and “cutting and running,” wouldn’t it be GAME, SET, MATCH for the Democrats to put forth a plan wherein we’d rotate soldiers to Afghanistan (remember that place?) and work toward getting soldiers home for longer stays? Bush is really pounding the “victory over Al Qaeda” drum quite a bit and, y’know, maybe we should actually engage THEM. Where they are. So, rather than looking like defeatists, maybe the Democrats can frame their proposed “redeployment” as actually engaging the enemy, RATHER THAN having Al Qaeda hanging out with their Taliban friends and kidnapping and murdering innocent South Koreans?
7. Remember when I’d do quizzes and give away mix CDs to the person/people who did the “best?” That’s a lot more fun than this, and I’ve been thinking of doing another one. It’s just time-intensive and, lately, my job (and the ominous pressure to get things done and/or prove I’m not just slacking off [i.e., blogging]) hasn’t provided me much time for that. And when I get home, all I want to do (after getting Mia to bed and IF I don’t have band practice) is drink beer, maybe eat a popcicle, and watch Olbermann.
8. Is this the last one? I think it is. Hey, we’re going to DISNEY in two weeks. It’s a trip we’ve been planning for months now. The in-laws are going, too (driving and staying separately, though). We’re gonna be there three nights. I’m excited, but kinda afraid. Pray for me . . . er, us.
Here’s the part where I’m supposed to link eight other people. I’ve seen this meme on a couple other blogs I read, so I’m feeling that maybe there’s no-one left for me to link. Seriously, this Eight Things meme is akin to fucking Paris Hilton’s mouth or hitting the almost-even money on Ho-Han’s chance of ending up back in “rehab” . . . everyone’s done it. So, I’ll just tell my wife to do it on Vox when she takes a break from Guitar Hero: The 80s. She’s been playing three days and I think she’s about to start the “expert” level.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Unless I’m Killed by Pickled Particulates
So, some friends of ours are getting married and, during the pre-wedding planning party (yes, the bride is very organized), we found out that the reception location (her parents’ yard) was gonna need some cleaning/attention. Volunteering for cleanup duties was strongly encouraged. The first* cleanup event was Saturday. It was real work, but fun. And hot.
The highlight had to be the part where we found three full-size coolers buried beneath junk in the outdoor storage area. Coolers jam-packed with liquor and wine. As the bride’s father tells it, their older daughter was drinking all their booze so he put it all in coolers and hid them outside. Twenty years ago. And then forgot about them. That’s how I came to be in possession of some aged-in-glass-bottles quantities of Jack Daniels (1.75 liters!) and Crown Royal. I’ll be hoping this isn’t my last post ever over a tasty Crown and Ginger.
* There will inevitably be others . . . based on what’s left to be done.
Drinking • Weekends • (3) Comments closed • Permalink
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
I Never Do This, and I’ve Never Done THAT
I know I really don’t do politics very often (*coughcough*), but I gotta say I was blown away by yesterday’s late news that Bush had pardoned (ooops, commuted the 30-month prison sentence for) Scooter Libby. My initial reaction was surprise that Bush’s statement was two pages long . . . rather than just two words (“Fuck” and “You”). His approval rating is hovering below 30% now. Guess to whom he’s governing? That’s right, the same sub-30% crowd.
In other news, this application process to get Mia into kindergarten is quite . . . involved. Birth certificate, social security card, shot records, physical form, two proofs of address, DNA sample, Purity Test results, and multiple application forms. Okay, so a couple of those things are optional. But, yeah, as we were gathering the materials to submit, I realized that we had never gotten Mia’s birth certificate.
I had a sneaking suspicion a while back that this might be the case. One day, for whatever reason, I’d been half-searching for it and found some half-letter-sized, blue carbon of Mia’s birth information and some vague instructions about obtaining additional copies of the certificate. Was THAT the birth certificate? (No.) The last time I saw it was at my office, and I’ve yet to see it since switching offices. I did another search at home for the same blue paper, but I couldn’t find it. However, I DID find some social-security instructions that mentioned not being able to get a card until we name our child (which we did right at the get-go . . . and we got the social security card [which I managed NOT to lose]). But on the second page of the social-security instructions, there was a paragraph that said our birth certificate would not AUTOMATICALLY be provided. See, I don’t understand that. You figure with all the pointless forms and pamphlets and copies of pointless forms, you’d get a birth certificate from the hospital. I even found some keepsake thing with Mia’s foot prints and lots of blanks for us to fill out her birth info.
This is all why I didn’t post about Scooter Libby earlier (timelier). Because I had to drive across town to the County Health Department to get Mia’s birth certificate. The OFFICIAL one. And, finally, Thursday, we can turn in her kindergarten application.
Right after she finishes taking the Purity Test.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
When Corporate “Specials” Do Not Rely on Your Dishonesty. At All.
This past weekend, we had no obligations whatsoever. No shows or band practices. No recording. No plans with friends. No parties or dinners. Nothing.
This happens about two times a year.
I can’t say we really took full advantage of our “free” time, but we did get SOME things done around the house. And visited with family. Spent time with Mia. Saturday felt like such a long day that, going to bed that night, I couldn’t believe we still had Sunday. It, seriously felt like a three-day weekend. Love me.
In other news:
- Went to the dentist yesterday. It looks like I may have a cracked tooth. They’re supposed to look at the x-rays to see if I need a crown or just a big filling and then call me with the verdict. Or they might not call me at all and just let me ride my cracked tooth out for another six months. (But if I’m gonna fix the motherfucker, I want it to be THIS year because I’ve already ponied up my annual deductible.)
- You know what’s messier and more cluttered than our house? My car. Thankfully, we’re preparing for a garage sale this weekend with friends, so we’re getting rid of some clutter. From our house (because no-one wants daily progress reports from Mia’s school or Mia’s “art projects” . . . well, besides us). Maybe I can park my car nearby and haggle it away. “No, Gramps. You can’t have my 2003 Mitsubishi Lancer for 25 cents. Sorry. I won’t go lower than a buck.”
- Do any of you REALLY spend money making altruistic/political statements. Buying a red iPod or Coach bag during that RED campaign? Only shopping at Democrat-supporting companies during the Blue Christmas? Like, when that whole Dixie Chicks thing was happening, I thought about buying their CD even though I hate country music. Well, I’m finally putting my thoughts into action. Even after Erin’s mini-rant about Gwen Steponme, I feel compelled to tell you that I bought the new Kelly Clarkson CD. Now, I realize that doesn’t sound like it qualifies on the SURFACE, but it does in the scope of artistic integrity and creativity. [edited to remove a bunch of blather] I know I’m not presenting my argument in a compelling way, especially considering the argument AGAINST me that is Avril Lavigne. Perhaps I’ll report back once I’ve listened to the CD.
- On a semi-related, conspiratorial theme (wherein the Government [through their Corporate Rulers] is controlling our thoughts and ideas [to which I’m growing more sympathetic . . . the idea and not the Government]), there’s the whole fluoride-in-the-water fear. Remember that? When we were growing up? (“We” means anyone between, say, 28 and 42.) Well, I think the argument FOR fluoridating the water is so you don’t hear your dentist say you have six cavities because the town in which you live does not put fluoride in their water and you should really do a separate fluoride treatment, every day, on your own. So, if you’re drinking only bottled water and brushing your teeth with baby tears, you should do a daily fluoride rinse. FYI.
- Yesterday, when I purchased that Kelly Clarkson CD, Best Buy was running a buy-two-get-one-free special. Apparently. At the checkout, I handed over my three CDs. During the “Do you have one of our membership/discount cards?” interrogation, I started blocking stuff out. Which is probably why I didn’t immediately realize my total (for three CDs) was just over $21. Granted two of them were $9.99. Which kind-of sucks, because the two discounted CDs I PAID for were on major labels. I’m sorry, Metric and Last Gang Records.
Music • The Media • Weekends • (2) Comments closed • Permalink
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Jack Bauer Says We Can Have Our Lives Back
I’m trying to remember when, exactly, Michelle and I started watching 24. Compulsively. Doing little else . . . often spending an entire evening in front of the television. We completed the first five seasons in a matter of months (that’s 120 episodes, folks). I’ve already vowed that I won’t (CAN’T) watch the next season live, even if we somehow get to see Season Six before Season Seven starts. It will be simply IMPOSSIBLE to watch one episode a week. The urge to exit to the menu and queue up the NEXT episode will be too strong . . . and futile. See, Entertainment Weekly . . . serialized dramas are the reason Americans are buying Network programming on DVD, rather than watching it live. (So, ironically, the Networks are shooting themselves in the feet by making compelling television.)
Oh, well. This should help me move more freely through my mom’s Netflix queue. And watch that borrowed copy of V for Vendetta. Thanks to our DVR and HBO, even during the summer hiatus, we’ll NEVER run out of
distractions movies to watch (currently saved: The Break Up, Match Point, and Dragonslayer).
Friday, June 15, 2007
Maybe There Can be an Orchestra of Acoustic Guitar-Wielding Old Men
I know you’re not coming here for positive reinforcement, or positivity in general. Or anything on par with “optimism.” So I’m just gonna come right out and say it.
I fucking HATE The Eagles.
Like, I don’t actively care about who’s better between the Beatles and the Stones, although I recognize their intrinsic value to pop/musical culture. And, seriously, I put Elvis on about the same level as Avril Lavigne. Sure, the “artists” I rail about incessantly (e.g., Blues Traveler, Jimmy Buffett) are as bad or worse, but The Eagles are OMNIPRESENT. If I have to listen to the radio, they’re bound to pop up anywhere.* The “classic rock” station. The “adult contemporary” station. And it’s always the LIVE version of “Hotel California,” too. Oooooh, so all 14 of you old fuckers sat around with acoustic guitars in front of an audience and that makes it UPDATED?
The tipping point was when I was just at CVS picking up Father’s Day cards. And there was a muzak version of “Hotel California.” Which was an improvement.
* I’m now defaulting to our college station . . . even when Mia’s in the car. Because there’s not a station on the dial that hasn’t been INFECTED with country music. It’s insidious.
Misanthropy • Music • (6) Comments closed • Permalink
Thursday, June 14, 2007
“I’m Gonna Need You to Back Off.”
I’m generally not a supporter of big businesses like Comcast, the cable/media giant who has a near-monopoly on our city’s televised entertainment. I don’t know a lot about Comcast, other than the fact that, when built-in DVR technology became available in our area, I disassembled our entire entertainment center and drove right the fuck down to the not-at-all-close-or-convenient Comcast office to trade in my box for one with the DVR included. The dual-tuner DVR. The only other thing I really know is this guy from my old neighborhood grew up to be a Comcast technician; he was arrested a couple years ago for exposing himself to an adolescent girl. While working.
Somewhat surprisingly, given my apparent lust for distraction, I don’t spend a lot of time on You Tube. But where You Tube and Comcast come together, we have the Slowskys*—stars of the best commercials on T.V.
* I’ve linked the “outtakes,” which is made up of footage from the commercials with additional voice-overs from the, um . . . turtles. The individual 30-second spots should be there on the right-hand side. Lazy ass.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Wrath of the 80s, Indeed
I’ve long said that the two most valuable things I learned during my college years were my social security number and how much I could drink. Of course, how much I could drink at 22 and how much I can drink now are very different things. That, and being this far along in my drinking career means I stopped “keeping score” long ago. (Which is slightly different that keeping TRACK. I’m sure you understand.)
But I really pushed the limits this weekend during the Wrath of the 80s party (a benefit). The Girls were supposed to play a couple sets (but only played one . . . a COMPLETELY different story). It was billed as an 80s prom, and I was on the fence as to whether I should dress up. So I half-assed it. Just like high school.*
Anyway, limits. In recent years, I’ve mostly stopped drinking liquor (yes, even my beloved kamikazes) in favor of beer. Easier to handle, easier to track. I’m safe across the board at four beers, but five seems to be the grey area. This weekend, I sort of lost count of how many I had exactly. Factor in a shot of Jager somewhere in the middle and add an ill-advised cider at the end, and you have me. Going over a fucking cliff. Here’s right about the time I (along with 75% if those present) was singing along to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
Needless to say, I was wrecked the next day (er, yesterday). I really considered going the “Purge All” route navigated (with great success) during the beach trip at 3:30 a.m. after the combo of Erin’s ziti and grape vodka. But I decided to ride this one out because, as I told Michelle, I’d seen my father drunk and/or vomit-y many times growing up, and it didn’t improve my overall impression of him.
For my family’s sake, I’ll try to stay on the RIGHT side of the limit. Until the next time.
* Enter The Sadness. Because when you’ve got women 20-plus years removed from high school sluttin’ it up in short-short skirts working overtime to cover their sun-leathered hides, and they’re hootchie-slammin’ their hips to music from “back in the day” . . . it’s just a sad sight to behold. Sad, sad indeed. I was really depressed. Thus, the heavy drinking.