and she said.. "how you interpret the dream is probably more important than the dream itself"

The problem with having friends who read your blog is that when you write a particularly long email to them and then cannibalize it for a blog post, they know. Oh well, fuck 'em.

I was what you might term "verra, verra drunk" last friday night. My non-drinking friend was around so I had a designated driver and another good drinking buddy had the night off. We installed ourselves at the bar at 7:30 pm at which point my friend pointed at me, eyebrows raised in question, and said "Are we getting drunk?". To which I replied "why the fuck not?"

A number of things followed, many of which I am no longer privy to as they have either been a) stricken from the record to protect the less-than-innocent or b) shrouded in a dark dark fog which some people refer to as "a drunken blackout". I prefer dark dark fog.

So while I was journeying through this dark dark fog (tripping over many a screwdriver poured with a heavy hand on the way - we were being classy lassies with the fruity drinks) I happened upon The Girl (tm) - she is a tall glass of water at 5'10" which, as you all know, is far more woman than this little cowboy can handle. She is, on occasion, what I call "smoking" or "hot" or sometimes even "edible". Needless to say I was pretty sure my chances with her were slim to nil despite her friendly nature.

So I told her the situation with the dude she was sorta-sorta-whatever with was going to end badly. It was one of those annoying fatherly-advice kind of things, only delivered by me in a state of inebriation that only a few have seen. Not only that but I was, as a friend of mine reported the next day, "whiter than a ghost, barely able to form words let alone sentences, and having trouble standing." In short: exactly the sort of person you hold out for when seeking out answers to life's many questions.

My drinking buddy taps out around midnight after dropping his cigarette while trying to light it. He then bends down and picks it up, drops his cigarette while trying to light it again, bends down to pick it up, drops his cigarette standing back up, bends down to pick it up, drops his cigarette while trying to light it a third time, and then steps on it while trying to bend down and pick it up. I, however, make it to last call.

Score one for the gipper. Total bar bill: $160

Then? Two days later I see The Girl (tm) and make half-assed apologies about my "advice" and how it was not my place at all. She graciously insists it was no problem and then informs me that things with the other dude... drum roll please ... ended badly.

Score another one for the gipper. I have shown this girl that I a) can hold my liquor even if it means forgetting my own name to do it, b) have a sixth-sense about how boys can be shitty, and c) own a motorcycle, which makes me a "bad boy" (which in 20-something girl speak means "man who is attractive to me because he has a big vibrating machine he sticks between his legs too, I can relate to that")

So speaking of motos she wanted a ride so yesterday I go over to her place and pick her up and we cruise around for a bit, then go for dinner...

...Speaking of being verra, verra drunk guess who was last night? No, surprising as it may be it was not I! I was in fact what we will term "mildly tipsy" -
which is to say I was fairly drunk but coherent and pleasant to be around (I think?). The Girl (tm) however was _not_ quite as lucky. Her bar tab: $75.

A bunch of us return to her house after last call and I discover my motorcycle has been stolen. Or towed. Whatever. Vodka and olives appear out of nowhere as if the very chemical mixture of the air conspired against us, and we smoke verra, verra many cigarettes.

Wrestling in the McDonald's Express parking lot ensued.

(yes, an "express", though it's been shut down now)

End of the night, our match-making efforts are rewarded as my friend settles in with the hippy-free-love-girl on the couch and my fatherly-advice is rewarded with a spot next to The Girl (tm) in her bed, though it is less than exciting since drunk passed out girls don't put up much of a struggle.

JOKING - Taking advantage of drunk girls is verra, verra inappropriate and if you do it God will hate you more than that time you experimented with a beer bottle up your ass.

Still, it was still verra, verra nice to listen to a cute girl sleep next to me.

After searching out my bike and paying the tow company I got to work at 2pm today, in the same clothes I had on last night (jeans and a t-shirt). The top half of me smells like bar and the bottom half of me smells like the bog of eternal stench. I'm 6 cups of joe in and though I am not hungover my toes are tingly, my liver feels furry, and I can't feel my face. Lunch menu today? Tums.