steering the wagon

I was so happy that I saw an entire rock show with out a sip of alcohol that I decided to go out and celebrate by getting really drunk.

Well, not really drunk--as drunk as you can get in an hour and a half without trying to kill yourself. I have no interest in killing myself. Don't believe the hype.

Two rum and cokes at the skanky ass snowboarder dude bar. What's up, bro? Fresh powder at Sugar Bowl. Whatever. We're face to face with Spring Break, so trying to get a drink was a pain in the ass, especially if you're like me and you don't have tits. It's okay, though. Seeing a lot of people out kinda validates me being out. It's that mob mentality. I feel like I'm a part of something--no matter how ridiculous. Besides, they'll all be gone next week, all the pretty co-eds, and I'll kinda miss them for a little while as I stand in short lines for drinks.


Plastic boobs and Spring Break--as American as the bald eagle.

Kids need to get drunk, too, though for them it aids them in getting laid, and for me, it only serves as a much needed sleep aid. I'm rather drowsy now, in fact. And that's good, because I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.

Two shots of Jagermeister at the basement bar, the effects of which failed to surface until the pint of Guinness a the local watering hole just a few minutes later. I talked to some woman about messy roommates. My sink is full of dishes, by the way, and I don't think any of them are mine. I don't make a big stink about it, because I'm not the neatest person myself, and I'd rather not leave myself open to similar criticism. Besides, I find washing dishes theraputic, and seeing as we're poor folk, doing the dishes never takes more than 20 minutes anyway.

The pint of Guinness was the one that put me over, but of course, that wasn't evident until I was about 10 minutes into my walk home. After that, things got blurry and I had to muster every bit of my will power not to punch a tree. I'm not an angry drunk; on the contrary, I can be a huggy drunk or a loud happy drunk. Both of which are kind of embarassing, but neither of which will result in injury. Never the less, punching a tree seemed like a good idea, because I thought it'd be funny--to shatter ever bone in my hand. Cooler heads prevailed, though, as I turned goofy aggression into hollering, and I sang unintelligibly the rest of the way home.