As I leaned against the kitchen wall just now, fixing myself a cup of coffee and swallowing my second helping of Advil to counter my early afternoon hangover, I thought to myself, when will I learn? When will I learn that staying out half the night drinking ends the same way EVERY TIME? A small voice in my head ventured never. I may NEVER learn to curb my thirst in the interest of not feeling like pond scum the following day. I’m sure we’ve all sworn after a particularly bad night that we were never drinking again (see St. Patty’s Day 2007). I certainly have no intention of following through to a state of teetotalism but a little restraint might go a long way. Developing the ability to say “I’d love to go to another bar for more drinks after dinner, but it’s a weeknight and I’m broke” instead of “Hells fuckin’ YEAH I want a shot of tequila” would be advantageous at this juncture of my life.
Instead, here I am squinting under fluorescent lights thinking of how that plate of nachos from the Cask & Flagon circa 10 pm will manifest. Perhaps as another dimple on my already ample bottom? A third chin to keep the other two company? A pooh that waits until my commute home to try to leave the mother ship? It is a mystery.
Besides the weight gain and the hangovers, my wallet runs dry as my poor, desiccated bladder (something to keep in mind since I’ll be officially unemployed as of September 1). Yet this trifecta of reasons NOT to get drunk enough to pinky-swear that I will reread Wuthering Heights is somehow not enough to sink into my brain.
Lately, I’ve actually grown bored of the boozing lifestyle but you wouldn’t know it, would you? I whine that I want to go out for a nice adult dinner but then I’m the first one to order a rumndietcoke… or seven. I make plans for innocent day trips but then cancel on account of a hangover. If I wasn’t too lazy to go out most nights, I’d be an alcoholic by now. Apparently, sloth is my saving grace.
So, I returned to my desk with my coffee and my obstinate refusal to learn from my mistakes. And also the memory of Grasshoppah buying a steak and cheese sandwich for a homeless guy sitting outside the 7-11.
3 comments:
its cool, at least you guys made a night of it.
i, on the other hand, went home (closely following kfc bucket guy, but not too closely!) and immediately upon arrival, cooked a celeste pizza for one. so much for dieting.
A poo leaving the mother ship?
Snort!
That visual is beyond awesome. Thank you for sharing.
Now, darlin', my best advice on how to curb the boozing/hangover cycle is to have a baby.
I know, clearly NOT the best advice for you at this time in your life, but speaking from experience, it is the only thing that stopped me from binge drinking about 4 nights a week. My husband and I snapped to attention and I didn't drink until a year and 1/2 later when I was done with breastfeeding.
Until then, either your nice boyfriend will have to chain you to the wall of your home or you'll have to give your friends a bat to beat you over the head with whenever you suggest going "out". And that sentence structure sucked. Sorry.
You hear that Beau??
BUY THE MOO COW!!!!
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