I’m Sorry. Wait, I Didn’t Do Anything Wrong?
After like a day of missed phone calls, Cake Woman and I finally actually talked to each other. The fun part of blacking out is when you recover memories and it stops being a black out. Unfortunately for me, I’m still missing huge swaths of dick in the mashed potatos style partying, and honestly, who wants to hang out with a guy who drinks to that kind of excess every few months. On a whim. With his boss?
Back in the dizay, like, 1999 or so, my boss at TCF (in the Computer Operations department that ran the mainframes that calculated the overcharge fees) and I donated blood on a Thursday. On Friday, still a pint or so low, we went out drinking to celebrate some ficticious budgetary milestone. At some point I tried to pay a stanger on the street for a cigarette with my bus card. Lisa had to drag me home and shoot me with a hypodermic dart to get me to sleep. The lesson that I should have learned was that I should never drink with my boss. Saturday was probably lesson two, because we unleashed mayhem on Northeast. Parts of me really want to be embarrassed that we were so out of control, but (miraculously) nobody got hurt. I mean, not to put too sobering of a slant on the evening, because it was a fucking blast and a half. I was super crabby all morning and afternoon, but once I started to get the makeup on my face it was like the sun started shining and the clouds parted. When we were on the streets mobbing cars it was like being on stage doing improvisational comedy again, only without the stage, and everyone was part of it. I vividly remember one guy in a beat up truck who could barely drive he was laughing so hard. That’s fucking amazing. I could have gone home after that.
So Cake Woman and I talked for a long fucking time on the phone about a bunch of shit tonight. We talked and then Lisa, Stan, and Noah came upstairs for dance party awesome. Noah likes to dance on my bed, so we played mp3s and he danced. Eventually I called a stop to the dance party awesome so that I could work on my math homework, but Cake Woman wanted me to call her back so she could continue whining about how terrible she felt for having fun on Saturday. I talked her back to the reality that she was super fun and nobody hated her. Really, I was giving her the advice what I would have wanted to hear if I would have been man enough to say that I felt like I had been a rampaging monster of out of control drunkenness. I even confessed that I operate under the premise that nobody actually wants to hear from me. Since she and I are BFF there were stacks and stacks of the foulest humor ever. Imagine impossibly shaved areas of the body and crunchy socks, and you are on board.
Her pictures are here: crawlllll!
Oh yeah, my cell phone blows and I hate Verizon, so if anyone has any cell ideas, I would appreciate them. Also, no one should feel weird for reading my blog. I don’t put anything personal on it — only things that I would tell strangers over a beer, only with less detail.
You have to go with Sprint because you can get the reception here at home. Even in the fucking basement, for god’s sake. Go with AT&T or T-Moblie only if you want to be stuck making phone calls outside or on the deck. I know that Sprint doesn’t have friends or whatever that shit is you pay an extra $5 a month for, but it all comes down to reception.
zombie pub crawl….
sounds like my 20’s