Monday, August 29, 2005

I drink alone

I drink alone, yeah,
with nobody else
You know when I drink alone,
I prefer to be by myself

That was my theme for Saturday. After spending a couple hours watching football with friends, pounding 32oz cups of beer, and having an old boss show up at the bar ( he is from out of state and somehow knew I would be there), I was by myself on Saturday.

I had accomplished some stuff that day too. Mowed the lawn, did some dishes, finally went to the store to get a watch band replaces as well as buying some new shower curtains. It was the walk through the Target parking lot that put reality in perspective. It was a beautiful day. Sunny, warm. I knew I wanted to do one thing then and there.

Find someone to sit back and drink with.

Hey, my work was done for the day. I earned it.

So I got on the phone as I drove away. Voicemail. Oh wait, he is in Bristol for the race. Got ahold the next guy who was already at some dude's party. He informed me that some others were going off to watch the same crappy band they had seen the night before

Sidenote: I thought only chicks were groupies? Is it possible for guys to be groupies? If ever see these guys with plaster on their hands, I am running away.


I made a 4th call to another answering machine. I knew a bunch of people were off camping- thanks for the call on Friday, the Jack and Coke was nice. I had one last call to make. And this call wasn't for someone to drink with.

This was my complaint call. I gave a co-worker a call just to tell him he sucks. Yeah, just what you want to hear when you answer the phone. There is no "hello" or "hey" or "What's up". Just a greeting of "You Suck!" This guy had chosen to go to his 10 year class reunion. Who the hell goes to these things anymore?!?!? On a day where I would have gotten a cold case of beer, some lawn chairs, and a radio to kick back and empty bottles, he was going to see a bunch of dorks he knew back years ago. Thus, he sucked.

So rather than sit at home, sulking, I got up and headed up to the bar. I knew I would run into someone up there. If not, I could shoot the shit with anyone. Sure enough, I sat down started yapping with the bartender. Soon, shots were lined up. One really drunk chick in the middle of the bar ran up and down clinking glasses. She was lit. I gave her maybe an hour before she was down.

The beer went down as fast as the Brewers did. Seeing how the Cowboys weren't going to be on, I decided that it was time to get out before the liquor stores closed. I got to Burt's with 5 minutes to spare and got a sixer of Smithwicks. Got home, fired up the pc and headed to the porn chat rooms poker tables and made a killing on the 3/6 tables before calling it.

I also had a musical epiphany. You know you are drunk when Kiss sounds really good. I have no problem with the band and enjoy their stuff. But when you are sitting there thinking and shouting to the cat "Man, Kiss rocks!!!", you know you are done. And when you think Winger is awesome, you are on the verge of passing out.

Seeing that I was heading out to catch the Brewers the next day, it was a good call to turn the music off and get to bed. Before I knew it I was standing in a parking lot enjoying the High Life.

I guess my weekend was basically like a bottle of shampoo. Drink, sleep, repeat. Nothing wrong with that.

Only 7 days to Vegas. Can't wait to spin the wheel. Somehow, somewhere, someway, I am hitting a big hand at a poker table and taking down some bonus cash!!!

3 comments:

Blonde said...

You should have called me ;).

You could have hung out with me, my slutty friends and thousands of other people looking to get drunk and screw on a beautiful Philly day.

The poor cat got tortured listening to Kiss AND Winger. That is abuse to animals. Ha!

Have a fabulous trip to Vegas. I am jealous! Don't do anything I wouldn't do!

Aleta said...

I have to tell you that you could have watched the show of a lifetime at camping...Big tall guy married to J claimed he had to go releive himself around midnight...off he went like a pong game between our cars. He was a lot like Bambi taking his first steps. ( and never to be seen again until the next morning.)

StB said...

and when did you send me a phone number, Blonde?