Not Your Typical Saturday Night

N.S.F.M

As much as I hate to admit it, my life is pretty lame. I wake up, go to work, come back home, go to sleep. Intermixed in there, I do some P90x, and I hit the bars on Saturday nights, usually with my buddy Sean. Now, as much as I love hanging out with Sean (he is one of my best friends), our nights usually are about the same. We meet up at Tim's, have a few drinks, flirt with the female bartender, close up the place (with usually just us), and head home to get some sleep.

This past Saturday seemed to start off like that, even though we did meet up a little later than we normally do (about 10:15 instead of 7:15). My thoughts were validated with this text message as well:

Sean - Let me know when you get there.

Me - Just got here. Beer pong?

Sean - Sure...

That is a very typical exchange between the two of us. However, when he got through the door, this wasn't:

Me - What's up?

Sean - I'm drunk.

Uh oh.

This never happens. I mean this never happens. We always start at the same time, have pretty intelligent conversations in the process, put some killer tunes on the juke box, and just chill. This night was going to be interesting, to say the least.

Back to Sean being drunk, he told me that he started in King of Prussia and drank his way back to Birdsboro. Starting at 3. And this is why he's late. I also get proof that he's drunk by him climbing the stone facade of Tim's. Granted, he does this for a living, but we he told me that he shimmied up 25 feet between 2 buildings in Phoenixville, that was conformation enough.

I would also like to say that while there were a few cute girls there, the talent sucked overall. This led me to only wanting to know 3 names, and I knew them before we got there: Sean, for obvious reasons, Zook, the guy who was getting me beer, and Mike, who runs the beer pong and is a nice enough guy for me to be decent with him. Pretty much everyone else sucked.

Of course, we started off playing the only two cute girls in beer pong. What did I say to them? Not a fucking word. Because their boyfriends were standing next to the table. And they were both bigger than me. So I kept my mouth shut. I've gotten myself into trouble in similar situations, but just saying "what?". I'm not travelling that path again. Not tonight. Sean isn't able to protect me, like he has in the past. Speaking of, he's usually quite tame, just being his charming self. Tonight, he's playing the distractor. And it worked. We one with only losing 1 cup. And by we, I mean Sean. He hit 5 cups. Which is the norm.

All awhile this game, we had a girl who felt like she needed to be a cheerleader. While she did have the spirit, she did not have the look. Take Kim Kardashian's ass, Pam Anderson's tits, the height of a redwood with the legs to match, John Daly's gut, and Carrot Top's face, and you get this girl. More on her later.

When I go up to ask Zook for another beer, he turns, walks towards the taps without my glass, and says "you know the drill." Well, yes I do. I just didn't think he as going to break it out tonight. I toss him my glass. He fills it up, act like he's going to throw it, which causes all the girls to scoot out of there. I'm a gentleman and laugh at them. While this happens, I say to him "I'm going to toss it from the door next time." His reply "That's what I'm talking about!" I've never seen condescending drunk bitches with a look of fear on their face quite like that. It was a thing of beauty. I did this twice more, and he yelled at me the one time:

Me - [glass thrown left handed underarm]

Zook - What the fuck? Down the middle! You can't throw me a curve!

Baseball references by drunk bartenders. Gotta love 'em.

Anyway, we get back to beer pong. It was double elimination and we got smoked our second game. Because I was carrying us. Because Sean couldn't hit a cup. Which is a theme that carried over.

When it's time for our third game, I ask Mike who we're playing.

Mike - Pinky.

Oh, just fucking great.

Pinky is 4' 8", blazing pink hair, thinks everyone in the bar likes her, with a face that looks like she was hit in the face with a frying pan. She was also annoying. Not a funny annoying either. Just annoying annoying. Earlier, she was asking about stupid rules in beer pong, like "If I throw the ball, and the person swats it away, but it bounces on the table and goes in a cup, how many are taken away?" and "If I get it in the cup their drinking, is it game over?" Just play the game! I don't want to deal with her, but I have to, so fuck it.

We get into the game, and Sean and I each hit a cup. They're also down to their last cup.

Me - We need to rerack, now.

Sean - (to Pinky) Gimme that super straight line. The long dick of the law!

Pinky - (to Mike) Is that even allowed?

Mike - [Blank, empty, "I can't believe you just asked that" stare]

Me - Just fucking rerack it!

And they did, quite angrily. And then I let the magic happen. I hit the 2nd cup, and Sean missed. They both missed. I hit the 4th cup, and Sean misses again. They both missed again. I hit the front cup, and Sean twirls the last cup.

Sean - I always hated a bad rim job.

Classy.

After they miss their last cups...

Me - (to Sean) What are the odds that I'll hit 4 in a row?

Sean - Pretty good, I'd say.

And then I hit it. A 4th cup. See ya, bitch! They were so pissed they didn't even shake hands. What poor sports.

The last game we played was against this kid who had a shot that looked more awkward than a Shaq free throw. The bitch of it is that it actually worked. I couldn't muster enough magic to get to the championship game. We got third on Saturday, losing to both the second and first place teams. I guess if you're going to lose, at least lose to the best.

And if that was the end of the night, it wouldn't be story worthy.

Zook - (of the Amazonian Mongol) I'm trying to get a little nipple action, but she's not budging.

Me - Of that?

Sean - Yes! I want to see something naked tonight!

Oh, boy. I can see it coming.

Sean - If he fails, we're going to Baby Dolls. But, we need to have everyone else come too. If we're going, it's going to be a party.

It appears that "nipple" was the fuel on the fire. Long story short, Zook fails. Miserably. And now, with Mike in charge, he's trying to get Mike to close down early.

Zook - You know, there is a new law in Pa that says last call is 1 on a Saturday.

Mike - Really? Wait, that's bullshit.

Sean feels the need to help out.

Sean - You know, if your uncle was here, he'd allow it.

Mike - Big Tim would be going with you.

Sean - So, why don't you shut down?

Mike - I don't know. I don't want to get into trouble.

And the Visual Ipicac decides it's time for her to leave.

Sean - (to her) This is all your fault! You don't have to make us do this!

We actually end up getting 2 other people to go with us, a couple in their late 30's. They seem like they want to have a good time, but I don't get their names, because at this point in the night, I don't really care all that much. I also get change for the $10 in my pocket to turn it into 1's.

As we walk out the door,

Me - I have 2 rules for my car. (points at Sean) He controls the music, and there's no fucking in my car unless I'm involved.

Dude - What about blowies?

Me - Not unless I'm involved.

Sean - And I can't drive stick.

Anyway, we make it to Baby Dolls. It's 1:30. They close at 2. They want us to pay a cover. We all think it's bullshit. After about 2 minutes of the dude talking to the bouncer, we get in for free.

Me - What did you say to him?

Dude - I just dropped a name of someone he'd know. I work with him.

Me - Ok.

Dude - I can't really go much further than that. Something with a Union. And the mafia.

Me - And you're putting my life at risk?!?!

Well, we're there for 1 second after that exchange, and realize that these girls aren't good enough to look at. These 4 quotes should just about sum it all up.

Sean - I don't even have half a chubby!

Me - (punch myself in the genitals) Yep, nothing.

Sean - [nearly falls over laughing]

Dude - Hey, man. I can get you a lap dance so good it'll make you cum in your pants. It'll only be $20 too. Great deal.

Me - No, man. Have you seen these girls?

Dude - The one's good looking!

Me - Compared to what, Shrek?

Me - I've never been more distracted by anything on Speed Vision in my life.

Me - (to Sean, in the bathroom) I don't really have to go. The stripper coming around wasn't even worth a dollar.

After all that went down, we go back to the bar, and sit down. The second hottest stripper comes over to me, and asks to sit with us. I say sure. After about a 5 minute conversation of me telling her why beer is better, and how she drives to work all the way from Hershey, this is end of the conversation:

Stripper - So, do you want a lap dance?

Me - No, I'm good.

Stripper - Is it because you don't want to pay? I could give it to you for free.

Me - No. I'm just content to sit here and drink my beer.

Stripper - Ok.

Me - But if you want to just chill with us for the rest of the night, we're cool with that.

Stripper - Cool. Let me just go get changed. I'll be back in 2 minutes.

2 minutes goes by, and she sits down at the other corner of the bar.

Me - That stripper thinks she's better than me!

Sean - You want me to go say something to her?

Me - No, she's just a stripper. I won't lose any sleep over it tonight.

And then we leave. Not because we really want to (which we did), but the bouncer comes over and makes us close our tab. At 2:01. What shitty customer service.

Should I have gotten the free lap dance? Probably. It was free after all. Would I have regretted it? Yeah, considering I probably would have stopped at the hospital for a penicillin shot. That wasn't on my priority list to end the night.

The next morning I woke up smelling of bad decisions, regret, and fear. I'm going to try to never go there again.

A Guide for Women and the Super Bowl

As all of you are well aware, the Super Bowl is at 6:30 tonight. I thought, that since so many of you are going to be paying attention to the internet instead of the game, I'd post a few pointers for you so that you can follow the game, and not bug the guys you're with. This guide is also for gay men who know nothing about sports, and straight men who know nothing about sports, however, if you are part of the latter group, I'm revoking your man card. It's inexcusable.

1) Ben Roethlisberger will rape you.

Ben Roethlisberger, number 7, is the quarterback for the Steelers, the team wearing Black and Gold. He got away with rape this past year. Twice. Don't think he'll let you go.

2) Troy Polamalu will probably cry about his hair getting pulled.

Troy Polamalu, number 43, is a safety for the Steelers. He is a great player. I have respect for him in his playing abilities. However, in the rulebook, it states that if your hair is grown out of the helmet, it is considered part of the outer layer of the uniform, like the jersey, and will be treated as such. Any time he gets an interception, and gets tackled by his hair, he is most surely to complain, because he doesn't seem to understand the rules.

3) Hines Ward plays dirty.

Hines Ward, number 83, is a wide receiver for the Steelers. When ever Roethlisberger throws an interception, Ward will hit a player on the opposite team from the blind side. This is dirty. Watch out for him when Roethlisberger throws up a duck.

4) Brett Keisel and Clay Matthews will kill somebody.

Brett Keisel, number 99 for the Steelers, and Clay Matthews, number 52 for the Packers, are flat out monsters on defense for their respective teams. If they don't put someone in the hospital today, I'll be impressed with the amount of restraint each man controls.

5) Sometimes, men don't understand the rules either.

If it's confusing as to the ruling on the field to you, it might be to us as well. For example, Hines Ward may have just made an amazing catch, and it's ruled incomplete. Greg Jennings, number 85 for the Packers, may have made the same exact amazing catch, but in the end zone, and it's ruled a touchdown. Don't ask us. We don't know either.

6) No cheerleaders.

Apparently, there are only 2 teams in the NFL that don't have cheerleaders. They're both playing today. Go figure. The guys you're with actually will be paying attention to the game.

7) Who to root for?

In this Super Bowl, it's easy. If you're from the Pittsburgh area, root for the Steelers. If you're not, understand that rape is not acceptable, and root for the Packers.

8) When in doubt, watch for the commercials.

If you get frustrated with the game, just watch the commercials. Most years, these are more entertaining than the game itself.

C. D.

2011 Goals

Taking a cue from my sister's blog, I've decided goals for 2011 would be appropriate. I know it's the end of January, but that's just me. I didn't see hers until about 30 seconds ago, so I figured what the hell?

1) Average a blog post a week. For those mathematically dumb, that's 52 posts this year. This makes 2. I'm already behind.
2) Go on 2 trips to somewhere I've never been. I know I stole this from my sister, but I'm saying 2 because 1 is already in the works with Sean, Kameleon, and K. I'm thinking another after June, when this one is.
3) Go a full day without saying "No", even sarcastically. I need to let myself go. I'm thinking on that trip. Go with the flow, I say.
4) Get to Philly once a month. I love the city I live near. A lot. And I don't get down there nearly enough. January is done.
5) Get promoted. Once is 99% definite. I'm gunning for twice.
6) Pay off something. I want to get some sort of debt paid off. Anything would be an accomplishment in my eyes.
7) Make 3 new quality friends. There have been a few quality friends come through my life. I'm glad to have them all. But I have 6 that I would say that are of the best. They all should know who they are. 3 is a good number. And when I say new, I don't mean that I met them this year. It could be someone from my past that fell out of touch.
8) Do something I've always been scared to do. Bungee jumping. Sky diving. Cliff diving. I haven't decided yet, but I definitely want to do something like that this year.

Well, 8's been my number since I was 4, so we'll stop there.

C.D.

How To Guide for Dealing With Sentient Robots

N.S.F.M.

Robots have been coming along to do some pretty cool stuff lately. No doubt, sometime in the near future, we'll start having robot butlers like they did in the Jetson's. Personally, I'm hoping for before 2030, but that's just me. When that happens, they'll have a "brain". Not the kind in which they are allowed to think for themselves, mind you. But one where you can input a bunch of commands, and get the proper, pre-programmed response. But what happens when they become sentient? This is a prospect that is scary. As fuck.

Name me any robot in any movie that, after becoming sentient (or programmed as such) is not dangerous.

We'll start with the big guns: Star Wars. You might be naming R2-D2 and C-3PO here. Firstly, they are not robots. They're fucking droids. They also can be outfitted with restraining bolts, as shown in the first movie (Episode IV, I know, but it was the first one that Lucas made, and it's not shitty.) They have their movements restricted. But what does R2 do? Tricks Luke into removing it. And goes off on his own. Now, try this on for size: R2 is a killing machine. He's a fucking menace. He's got, as shown in the movies, a cattle prod, jet pack launchers, oil slicks, a hack saw, and a fire extinguisher. You might chalk up the fire extinguisher to something good, but then you realize that there's a good chemical burn from those bad boys. Fuck that.

Next, we'll touch on the next droid you were thinking: Data. Again, droid here. And he actually does become sentient in one of the shitty Star Trek movies (I'm guessing an even numbered one). He inserts the emotion chip. And, in another movie, it malfunctions, and he goes on a murderous rampage against the crew of the Enterprise. I don't need to go on, but he actually kills twice more after this, once in the last 2 movies. So, yeah, bad.

And I'm still not done. I know you're thinking Sonny from I, Robot. Fucker killed the CEO of the company. Short Circuit? It's a killing machine manufactured by the army, and it actually takes at least one man hostage. It could have crushed his skull. Bicentenial Man? Any shitty robot movie where Robin Williams is the main character is bad news from the start. He just wanted peace, you say? Fuck that. He's planning his upheaval of society as we know it.

So, the debate is not whether robots will be dangerous or not if they become sentient. They will. The problem is, when we're in the middle of the robot uprising, what do we do? I never thought you'd ask.

Other than kill them, and kill them all, there's not much you can do really. It all starts with destroying anything that could possibly go wrong years in advance. SkyNet from the Terminator movies? Yeah, they should have nuked the facility in the 80's. There's no way that anything good can come of letting robots go.

As far as killing them is concerned, take your pick. You just need to get them in the "brain" we gave them. Grenade up the ass? Fine by me. Shotgun blast to the dome piece? Will work.

Even a kids move (Robots) had bad mojo associated. I'm telling you, get rid of them. All.

C.D.

Still Kickin'

NSFM

I just wanted to pop on here and let you all know that I'm not dead. There's just not that much excitement going on over here. I do have a vacation coming up in March. I'm planning on heading down to Murfreesboro, TN to visit some cool people. And I also have one, for 2 weeks, coming in June, which I'm using for a road trip with Sean, Kameleon, and K. We're not quite sure where we're going just yet, and won't until we get there, which makes it that much more fun. We're also planning on just camping to keep it cheap. I should smell like a bunch of roses when I get back.

I have, however, created a new Facebook game. Pretty much how it goes is that I post a line from a song as my status, and the first person to guess it correctly gets a drink on yours truly. And, while some of them have been guessed right away, there have been a few that have snuck... snuk... snuk... how the fuck do you spell that word?... sneaked... SNEAKED! I didn't even know that was a word... Anyway, sneaked through for no one. If you want, go ahead and guess. I hold up my end of the bargain.

C.D.

P.S. I just checked with Word. Snuck is actually a word. Mozilla can suck it.

Random Night Out

NSFM

So, my buddy Kameleon and I like to hang out and drink at this one bar called the Audubon Ale House. Unlike Good Ole Days from my 21st birthday story, this place is actually nice. I know 4 of the bartenders well enough to get away with shit most other people can't (i.e.: relentless flirting with the female bartenders). Last night, we went there (yes it's a Monday, but I'm on vacation, so back off) for the Denver-San Diego game. He's from San Diego, so he was enjoying himself at the massacre. However, the night wasn't story worthy, so I just present a bunch of quotes that I can remember:

Me - Did she just say that the Beatles were overrated?
Random Guy - Yeah. She doesn't know what she's talking about.

Kameleon - (about bartender) She clearly was not hired for her brain.

Kameleon - My dad was a defensive coordinator. He told us to keep our head up so that we don't tackle the grass.
Me - I'm sorry, I was distracted. (I wonder what I was looking at)

Me - It's a good thing you told me to come out when you did. I was doing so bad at Black Ops that I probably would have snapped my disc in half had I played one more game.

Kameleon - I'm buying shots for that whole side of the bar. Him, me, Kas, [redacted], De, Other Bartender, Her B/F, Do, Sean. So 7.
Bartender with Assets - (confused look)
Me - 9
Kameleon - Oh, shit. Your right. 9
BWA - (shakes head and walks away)

Friends in Low Places comes on the jukebox.
BWA - (to Random Guy) Did you place this shit?
Me - It was me.
BWA - I used to like this song. I would sing it in my car, and people would think I was crazy. Until they overplayed it in bars and what-not. (starts walking away) It's ok, I still love you, though.
Me - (to Kameleon) Did she say that she loved me?
Kameleon - I think she said she still loved you. I heard it in retrospect.

Me - So, we've been talking here for a while. What's your name?
Random Girl - Christin.
Me - Oh, awesome. That's my mom's name.
Christin - How does she spell it?
Me - With a K.
Christin - Mine's spelled C-H-R-I-S-T-I-N. Like Christine, but without the E. My parents were weird.

C.D.

P.S. - I'm sorry I lied to her, mom. She just really wasn't that bright, and I wanted to screw with her. And thank god she's never seen I Love You, Man.

The 21st Birthday Shaming

So, I recently had a conclusion. It was today, in fact. Right as I was getting back from lunch. This is a conclusion that I needed to come to, sooner or later, to take this blog in the direction that I feel that it should head. I need to declare this blog Not Safe For Minors To Read. That's right. I had to say it. As involved in a youth group as I am, I feel it necessary. I want to be a good role model for them, but at the same time, there's some stories that I would like to share that really aren't all that good for them to read. Therefore, in the beginning of those blog posts, I'll have written NSFM (not safe for minors) for various different reasons. Most of them cussing. And that's because, if I want to quote people, I want to do it accurately, and I can't do that without the cussing. Also, I will modifying people's names. I don't want people to be identified without their consent. So, now that that's out there...

NSFM

It's time to write about my 21st birthday.

I would like to preface this story by saying that I suffer from foot-in-mouth syndrome. I have this uncanny habit of saying things that will come back to bite me in the ass later. You'll see what I mean, as illustrated by this story.

I would also like to preface this story by saying that preface is the least manly word you can say without having a vagina.

If you want to know anything about me, it's that in college, I could drink. I could hang with anyone, drinking anything. My Achilles heal is tequila. I was not afraid to let anyone know, especially the week leading up to it. This is an actual conversation:

Me - Don't give me tequila. I will puke.
Guinea - Ok.
Me - I'm fucking serious. Don't do it.
Guinea - Duly noted.

Well, we'll flash forward to my 21st. We decide to go down to Good Ole Days. It's basically a little shit-in-the-hole bar in a college town that specializes in helping college students become alcoholics. The place was decrepit and always smelt like a mixture of stale beer, urine, and vomit. I loved this place.

We got there at about 11 on a Wednesday night. My actual birthday was a Thursday. Standing outside with the bouncer holding my ID, he continuously looked at me, then my ID, then me. And he kept doing this until:

Me - I know. I turn 21 at midnight.
Bouncer - Then come back at midnight.

Foot. In. Mouth. I did get slapped in the back of the head for this. We then went to Naps.

-SIDE BAR-

If you're ever in Bloomsburg, go to Naps and order a chicken cheese steak big mouth. Your heart might explode from the cholesterol coursing through your veins, but at least you'll die happy.

-END SIDE BAR-

A couple slices of pizza were ordered for me, and were placed in front of me with a shit eating grin. I can't remember who got the pizza, but judging by the grin, it was suspicious. I was worried. With good reason. Foreshadowing is a bitch.

We decide to head back to Good Ole Days at 11:30, because fuck that bouncer. He was still there. He looked at us, shook his head, said "If you come in, you're not leaving until after midnight", and let us in.

The group that entered the bar was as follows: Reed, Choate, Kola, Kivs, Guinea, Merz, CB, and Dermes.

I can't remember all the shots in order of how they came, but some of them were your just pour-and-serve (Jager, vodka, rum, etc). I know there was a kamikaze in there somewhere. There were also some shitty ones, like a Prairie Fire. The beers flowed, the shots went down.

There's 3 unspoken rules about turning 21: 1) The person who's birthday it is CANNOT refuse a shot, for any reason; 2) The person who's birthday it is must keep a list of what shots he/she took, in order, to watch that person's handwriting get sloppier and sloppier; and 3) There's always 2 shots purchased: one for the birthday boy, one for the purchaser. Rule #3 will be ignored here.

Since there's 8 guys out with me, and their sense of timing sucks, I kept getting the shots backed up. They kept buying, but they were buying faster than I could consume. I would take a shot, they would buy another, and put it behind the next. One shot that got placed in that mix was a Cement Mixer. I was allowed to not take this one because it had curdled waiting for me to take it. That's how long the wait was. Fucking guys.

I don't remember much of my list, but I do remember a few right in the middle of list:

No. 9 was a Minesweeper. For those who don't know, you get 1 shot of vodka, 1 shot of gin, and 2 shots of water. You're supposed to mix them up, so you don't know what order you're taking the shots, much like the computer game, Minesweeper. For maximum effectiveness, you should have at least 3 people mix them up. We did that. I mixed it up 2nd. As I took them, I got commentary, just judging by the look on my face:

Kola - "Gin... water... Vodka, fuck!... water... You lucky bastard, you got the luckiest combo!"

Not really. The best way to do it is gin, vodka, water, water.

The rest of the memory is 10) 3 Wise Men, 11) Dirty Girl Scout, 12) Red Headed Slut, 13) Purple Haze.

It was 12:15 at this point. Oh, yeah. I didn't mention that before.

So, it's a little after 12:30, and I've already downed 20 shots, and at least 3 beers. I had the list to prove this somewhere, but unfortunately, with the many residential moves I've made in the past years, I've misplaced the list. There's empty shot glasses and pitchers strewn across the table. And over walks Guinea with shot number 21.

Me - What is this?
Guinea - Just take it, you pussy.
Me - (slams shot) What the FUCK was that?
Guinea - I think you know.
Me - (reaching for a pitcher before he says "you") You mother fu--- BLLLAAAHHHHH!

Remember how I said foot-in-mouth. Well, as I was told in the future, Choate, Kola, Reed, and Guinea all huddled up, and were actually concerned for my safety, since I downed 20 shots in an hour. I called their bluff, and they were legitimately worried. Since it was Guinea's turn to make the purchase, he went for the kill. I was busy with 19 and 20. I didn't see this. You already know what the shot was.

As I'm walking to the bathroom puking in a pitcher from the Cuervo Guinea used to save my life, Kola walked with me so that I wouldn't walk into shit, but mostly so that he could take a piss. As I get into the bathroom, and puke into the toilet, I use my awesomeness to pour the contents of the pitcher into the toilet WHILE I WAS PUKING AND DIDN'T GET SHIT ON ME.

And then it happened. I saw a rainbow come out of my mouth. Purple, then Red, then Green, then Opaque Brown. And then nothing. I just stopped. This baffled Kola. He looked over at me.

Kola - You all right, man?
Me - Yeah. What's next?

That's right. A lot of people do the puke. I manned up and did the fucking rally as well. We went to a few more bars, but every time we left one, a few of the group tapered out. And, at the end of the night, I went home, by myself, and passed out watching SportCenter and eating Ramen at 3:30 in the morning. That's right. The person who's supposed to be unconscious first was the one who lasted the longest. I was the fucking man.

Until the next day, when I tried to wake up for my 11 AM class.

And preceded to go back to sleep. Because I felt like I would have died had I gone.

I then tried to get up for my 3:30. Because I'm retarded or something. I didn't feel up to walking to class, so my buddy, J-Crew McFly, borrowed Kola's car to drive me to class. The problem is that this is early September. It's still hot out. And he has leather seats.

At the time we leave, I only really have a headache. After we get to campus, it's much worse. Screw class, I'm going to the closest bathroom. In the Student Services Center. And I don't have to piss.

Needless to say, I didn't make it to class. It took me over an hour to get back home. Why? Because I stopped at every bench I could find, to sit on and put my head between my knees. And this was only the second worst hangover I've ever had (another story). I got home, and took a 3 hour nap. When I woke up, I was to get to the kitchen and make a Hot Pocket. I was feeling fine enough to go out again, so I did. When I got to the bar, I was greeted at the door with a drink.

D Hard - Drink this.
Me - I'm hungover as shit.
D Hard - I don't care. You said it was your birthday weekend. You're drinking this.

Oh, did I mention I told people that it was my birthday weekend, and if they saw me out and bought me a drink I would drink it? Yeah. Ooops.

Nothing really of note happened throughout the rest of the weekend, but this taught me to think before I talk.

C. D.