| "Tisk, tisk, Jeffy. How many times were you beaten with the ugly stick?" 12.01.2002 - "Tisk, tisk, Jeffy. How many times were you beaten with the ugly stick?" Last Saturday: These two events are not related.
The causal onlooker might put these things together and think creating a diversion by having several attractive young women flash me so someone can hide my shoelaces, belts and Jets To Brazil CDs might be in order. It's not, but if all it takes is a little moping to get some live hoo hoos in my living room, someone get me a black sweater and a poetry journal, stat. Fortunately, I'm pretty happy. I've been getting out of the house frequently and wanting to kick people in the vagina less, which is surprising, especially seeing as how the Holiday Season is already upon us. So, yeah, last Saturday. Someone coerced Jackson into hosting a potluck for our newspaper's managers at our place. This is cool and all, but even after two months of living here, our house wasn't quite ready for entertaining. For example, we were still rocking our TV trailer park style, and we didn't think having a mammoth early 1980s set plopped in the middle of our living room floor would give the best impression on our guests. Also, the 70s yarn art we tacked up on our walls to cover up holes left by the previous owners' Thomas Kinkade prints (which are tacker? you be the judge) when Jackson's parents came over gave off the "I live in a pediatrician's waiting room" vibe perfectly. This, though not ideal on a permanent basis, we could live with. We had to find something to support our beast of a TV, buy some food and do some minor cleaning before people started coming over at five o'clock. The answer to all our problems, more often than not, seems to be "haul ass to Woodland." Before we left, however, I decided to look longingly into the mirror I used to keep on the bedroom wall. I spend a lot of time on an average day doing this because I am obviously so god damned attractive. I can't get enough of this face and the steaming pile of man meat attached to it. SERIOUSLY! I AM TOTALLY NOT SHITTING YOU! If that were actually the case, I would have an easier time chalking the fact that the mirror crashed to the ground and shattered while I looked into it up to random unfortunate incident. There was no earthquake. I didn't accidentally breathe too hard on it. It just fell off the wall and cracked with nothing more than a glance on my part. This is obviously Jesus' way of confirming my uglytude (The management at Jeffy's Diary Shack and Dry Cleaning Emporium reserves the right to make up words to suit the needs of the business and its patrons). So, I picked up the pieces, threw them away and was thankful that I was in good enough spirits to laugh at the whole thing rather than take a jagged piece of glass and run it lengthwise along a vein in my forearm. After I settled that, we jumped in my van and drove out to the Thrift Store Outlet, where Jackson bought an old, beat up piece of furniture actually large and sturdy enough to handle our TV. We then headed to the Thrift Store Outlet where we bought supplies, including several bottles of Wine-Like Substance for the evening. Everything is in order. Bring on the guests. Now, I am not a lush by any means. I can count the number of times I've been drunk on one hand. There have been, however, a few occasions in the not too distant past when I might have enjoyed being less than sober. I made several attempts at making this happen over the past two weeks, none of them working. Saturday, however, was a day for setting goals and achieving them. After the potluck, a coworker was throwing a party, so I figured it might be nice to have a good meal and do some prepartying. I've never been even close to inebriated at a party, so I thought it might be a nice change of pace. Having some wine and some food would put me in a good place for socializing. That would have been true had I not drank a little too much of the Blanc de Blanc (which, by the way, sounds like a hardcore French rapper). After everyone had left and Alyssa had shown up, I sat on the chair marveling at the fact that after too many attempts, I had finally achieved drunkitude. I was giddy for about twenty minutes before I hit a wall. It was about that time I said to myself, "I don't feel like I need to vomit, but I'd probably feel better if I did." I then voiced this to the room because everything is more fun when you share-- apparently even inner dialogue. I kneeled by my toilet for a good five minutes, but I couldn't conjure anything up. Frustrated, I got up to leave, but when I shut off the light, I once again realized my purpose. See aforementioned remark about setting goals and achieving them. Quickly, I emptied my stomach, washed my face, changed my clothes, drank a half a bottle of Powerade and informed Jackson and Alyssa that I would not be joining them at their party. I then promptly fell asleep atop my covers. Unhealthy behavior? Yes. Regrettable? Surprisingly, no. I guess I'm just making up for lost time. |
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