Posts Tagged 'excessive drinking'

Guys’ Night

There is one quarter of a pound of 100% prime black angus fighting its way out of my stomach.

Guys’ Night!

Jungle Cat is in B-town, which means a get-together is in order. Guys’ Night! I’m talking Jungle Cat, who is on a professional guy business trip, and Hot Lunch, who recently got delivered two simultaneous issues of Men’s Health… these guys are ALL GUY. So I am full-on prepared to guy it up. I suggest the Ram, where we can drink brewskis and watch sports. Guys’ Night! I instigate “Chicks, man” conversations such as “Chicks, man, they’re so unpredictable with their emotions.” Guys’ Night! And, “Chicks, man, why don’t they treat their cars better… would you leave old Burger King wrappers in your living room?” GUYS’  NIGHT! And, “Chicks, man. They pretend to be happy wives and mothers for 16 years and then suddenly start acting like teenagers and sleeping with random losers and playing the victim when you’re not totally ok with it.”

Guys’? Night?

Man, serious undertones and elephants in the room can really bring down Guys’ Night. Take two guys who were recently screwed over in the exact same way by their now ex-wives and add to it that one of them happens to be the guy who months ago tore my heart out and put it back in and tore it out again and put it back and– To battle the mindgame of talking about broken hearts with mine sitting right there next to me, I did what any guy would do on Guys’ Night. I stepped up my drinking.

Guys’ Night!

Guys’ Night ends at 9pm when Hot Lunch has to go relieve the babysitter and Jungle Cat has an early morning conference to prepare for and I’m tottering back to the car between them, confusing my words and talking loudly about personal things. Our waiter says more than once pointedly, “Have a safe night.” At the time I was confused as to why he was warning us about drunk driving when I was clearly the only one inebriated. Now, looking back on it I feel scandalized that maybe he was referring to the fact that I was the only one inebriated. Just drunk little old me in my silk dress and two guy friends and no panties. (Nothing ruins Guys’ Night like VPL.)

Guys’… Night?

Don’t worry, waiter, I choose my friends carefully. Even the dipshits like Hot Lunch are good guys. We dropped Jungle Cat off at his hotel and me off at my apartment, where I very calmly told Hot Lunch, “Not having you around has left a huge gaping hole in my life… …Welp, good night,” and then refused to let him walk me to my door. He still tried to walk me to my door (some nonsense about it being so DARK out) and so we ended up doing this awkward thing with me doing a fast drunk walk to try to leave him behind and him following along like a really sheepish predator.

Guys’ Night.

Sometimes, you just gotta be a guy and do those guy things, like eating meat and talking about titties and watching ball-related activities in HD and passing out from booze and sobbing at about 10:15pm, then waking up at 2 am too disoriented to know anything except that a large amount of alcohol-and-stress-soaked free-range beef is making up its mind which is the fastest route out of your body. You know, guy stuff.

Two rounds of Alka-Seltzer and a huge deuce is the Guys’ Night cure, according to Men’s Health. Then the hot, angry beer and burger bomb in your stomach might finally ease down enough from code red for you to fall back to sleep for a couple hours before you have to get up and go back to your job.

GUYS’ NIGHT!

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don’t make me get out my harsh language

I know, I’ve been slacking. No posts. No funny. No drawings. There are a few reasons.

Reason number one is, I am currently insane. Insane with lady hormones coursing through my system like never before. If you’ve ever been on birth control for a really long time and then went off, then you know what I mean. I forgot how INTENSE things get when not numbed by the pill. The day I shouted that I was on my period, at work in front of several members of the Public? That was just the start of it.

But at least I’m starting to get a handle on the crazy. I mean I’m still crazy. But fewer people are aware of it. For instance. I recently walked into work where they are conducting job interviews, luckily for a position I will have little contact with. I say luckily because today I see a member of the Public who creeps me out. And he is dressed all fancy. Almost as though he expects to be interviewed today. Pants sees my “ugh” face as I walk into the staff office.

Pants: “What?”
me: “So-and-so got an interview?”
Pants: “Ha! I love the disdain.”
me: “Whatever. Like you want to work at a place he has keys to.”

Sunday was Beerfest. The crazy was just starting to set in on that day, lurking underneath the sunshine, the drunkenness and the rejoicing with friends and sharing shade with the random vomit-covered unconscious man. Hot Lunch and I each bought 17 tokens worth of beer and did our best to drink them all. Score at the end of the day, me 7, Hot Lunch 27. Level of drunkenness, equal. Drunk Hot Lunch is flirty affectionate Hot Lunch, always an arm around me, a hand caressing the back of my neck, or his forehead pressed affectionately against mine, gazing into my eyes. I have to remind myself that there’s nothing rekindling between Hot Lunch and me. The arm around me all day was just to keep his drunk ass from falling down. Once home in my own apartment, the buzz is wearing off. And the crazy is rising.

The phone rings.
Hot Lunch: “Are you ok? You were kind of quiet on the way home.”
me: “Not really. I guess I’m kind of sad. And frustrated.”

A few minutes into the conversation.
me: “WHAT I WANT? I WANT YOU TO GET LOST! I’M BUSY DATING OTHER GUYS! YEAH! OTHER GUYS! AND THAT’S YOUR LOSS, DUMBASS! BECAUSE YOU DON’T WANT TO DATE ME! BECAUSE YOU’RE A FUCKING IDIOT!”

And the other reason I haven’t blogged is that my computer died. I think my sister’s wedding killed it. Or maybe it’s scared. Of the crazy.

Magritte, table for two

this morning, i am making the Long Walk from Distant Inconvenient Parking to work – the Walk upon which no fewer than 2 (dos) employees have already been struck by cars in the last year. i begin the perilous Street Crossing and realize a car is coming and about to make the turn onto the Street i am Crossing. i step back onto the sidewalk.

but the car is slowing to a halt. spy-movie style, the window rolls down. who else do i find myself face to face with but Hot Lunch, with Identical Twin at the wheel.

this is a surprise a) because it is random to run into anyone you know like that 2) because i haven’t seen Hot Lunch since our breakup almost a month ago (except for a brief awkward chat at the library last week) and MOST IMPORTANTLY iii) because to the best of my knowledge the two of them have been drunk in Twin Falls for the last three days.

after receiving a text at 1 am last night that read: “Goofdnigtht ud.I’mbhAngikb g with my durmnk ass cousins . oodnight byd.;)” the last thing i expected to find them doing at 10 am this morning was getting all up in my Long Walk while driving a green hybrid.

“uh. how are you feeling?” i ask. “hung over?”

Hot Lunch, unshaven and wearing the glasses he hates, squints at me from where he’s kind of crumpled into the crook made by the passenger’s seat and the door. “He’s hung over,” he says. “I’m still drunk.”

I get a muddled description of their uncle’s wake and understand very little beyond Hot Lunch almost making out with his old high school buddy, who i know has little going for him these days beyond the skullet and the WoW obsession.

then Hot Lunch starts rummaging in some paper bags at his feet, exclaiming, “DO YOU WANT CANDY?? I HAVE CANDY!!”  at last he produces a truffle. handing it out the window, he places it in my palm as delicately as if it were an egg. he says simply:

“You should eat that. It has peanut butter in it.”

thank you, fate. when it comes to running into exes, i’ll take surreal over awkward any day.