Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Filthy Tuesday: Mardi Gras Edition

Soundtrack to this blog/my life

Something over at Playing the Devil's Advocate that mitigated the smiting power of my hangover

Eyes open. Uncertain of where I am. Not an altogether unfamiliar condition to awaken to, but's been awhile. The more things change, the more they....blah blah fuckin' blaise.
Eyes scan the living room from the couch I am laying on in true derelict and hungover fashion. Ah. Like the beginning of every poorly written/predictable CSI or SVU episode, the context clues give answers hidden in plain sight.
I am at my buddy's place. Certainly worse mornings and certainly better mornings have been awoken to in my illustrious past. Grateful, I have time to go back to sleep before heading to work. I dream symbolic and random dreams as only the haggard/battered can. I think not of the hellacious sparring lined up for this evening. My shoulder still hurts from sparring in preparation for my upcoming fight. C'est la fuckin' vie.

I make my way to my favorite cafe. I stop en route only to purchase some Pedialyte, the pinnacle of resuscitation technology. If the silver surfer stopped me inquiring as to why mankind should be spared galactic excintction...I would point to pedialyte, porn, beer, and the writing of F. Scott Fitzgerald. That's about it.

I begin slamming down water as well. The need to piss/drink out my hangover proves unavoidable b/c of considerable training lined up this evening.

Shards of memory involving Tequila and cheap beer flit behind my eyes in fragmented order. I recall two bars and a number of humorous observations that I lack the energy to relate at this time. In particular, I recall a girl with sleeve tattoos who was too cool for school b/c she was from Virginia. Seriously. There was some weird tattoo one upsmanship occurring b/c she had sleeves and I didn't. Too bad tats didn't make her any prettier. I was being the dutiful wingman. She had religious tattoos but wasn't religious. Pure awesomeness in a bottle. Her dark-haired friend was fare cuter and had a superbly preferential body.

As it is, I grab my reliable coat and change of clothes in my car and head to work to facade my way through a day of appearing normal.
I'd ridden the wagon for awhile as of late. I'd managed to go out and function socially wi/out the consumption of booze. Somewhere between the first cheap beer and the 3rd shot of cheap tequila it all fell apart in catastrophic fashion. It's clear what I should give up for lent.

-With Greatest Affection

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