A Weekend I Won’t Remember

I’ve been wanting to update this little blog of mine. Unfortunately, I guess I wanted to get drunk more. So that’s what I did. And, for the most part, I did it somewhat well. I say somewhat well because there were parts of my weekend binge that I don’t remember. This is kind of disappointing to me if only because I may have missed out some great moments while I was sitting at the bar trying to talk to a girl who probably just wanted me to shut up (I’m probably being a little too nice here. She definately wanted me to shut up. Most likely).

So why did I chose to get blackout drunk? I don’t really know, but I’ve narrowed it down to a few options that seem to make the most sense to me. The first, which is at least partialy truthful, was that I was around good people. And getting drunk around good people is usually a good time. Even if you’re too drunk, well, it doesn’t matter to you. You’re friends may get kind of pissed at you (but they’ll forgive you because they’ve been in that position too) and the girl at the bar will hate you, but that’s OK. She was only kind of cute anyway (I feel the need to say that there were various places I drank, and this comment is in reference to my time at The Office. I doubt she’ll read this and if she does, well, I was only kidding about you being kind of cute. You were stunning).

Another reason I may have gotten as drunk as I did is because I’ve been holding back some emotions that I haven’t properly dealt with. This, is of course, a possibility. Humans have defense mechanisms and we choke back things we find threatening. It’s possible I heard some news this week that I buried down deep and proceeded to take the pickaxe that is alcohol and go to town (this statement sounds slightly sexual, something me being drunk definately isn’t).

It could also be that I just really like to drink. The most obvious answer is usually the correct answer and I am nothing if not predictable (or just predictable; whichever is grammatically correct). I would say that alcohol intake is a vice of mine, though not one that has impeded my life at all. Maybe just a Friday or Saturday night. Or maybe a slow Tuesday, the most overlooked best occasion to drink.

I have no real point in going into me getting very drunk, except to say that I did so without getting sick. Which is something of accomplishment. Sure, I have some bruises, my liver is probably a little fed up with me, and my brain is down to 50 functioning cells, but I didn’t puke. And as far as I can tell I didn’t really do anything too bad.

And if I did, please don’t tell me. I’d much rather just think that I had a good time with no consequences.

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