Whew! What a weekend. So much went on that I don't even know where to begin, but I guess the beginning would be a good point.
Jueves - Thursday Night League. After an exaggerated inhale and deep exhale, I found myself walking up to the BG with Salvatore as is customary for any Jueves noche. Slammed a few Heineys while dominating the front nine of the GT before Mickelson-esque implosion on the back. Tommy took it down, again, although Sal put in a good effort. A quick shot of the good Doctor then off to Stats. Whiskey, shot, beers, shot, leave for Oliver's to hit the Pez. Red wine, inhale, dizzy. Repeat.
Grinded through Friday at work, counting the hours....minutes...seconds...BOOM!!! Home for some much needed rest in anticipation of the night's tomfoolery. After a stop by the evening Harpoon Gala we settle on the customary taprooms and lounges. Debauchery ensues, especially when Tobal and I jump on the ever-so-dangerous Johnny Walker Black wagon. This won't feel good tomorrow, but fuck it, that's another day. Cab ride home with Tobal yelling obscenities at the driver while I hit 1 on the speed dial - Nanning Wok.
Saturday - wake up with that awesome feeling. Shampoo effect and I'll be good, but its gonna be a long day. After all it is Harpoon St. Patty's Day festival and quite frankly I never remember much of these things. But judging from the pictures they are pretty fun. Pregame at Oliver's (yes, a popular spot for all things self-indulging) then to festival. Last for a while, eyes glossy, legs wobbly, head pounding...bar, O-bombs, home...pass out.
Sunday - oh boy. Really, this is day #4? Is this happening? Brunch, bloodys, Broadway shuffle. BG is picking up, talented yet sophisticated. I think everyone had the same game plan which is, well, have fun. My plan doesn't change week-to-week. I'm here to do my best Hunter S Thompson impression, the one with the suitcase full of barbituates and lousy jokes. Yeah Chuck S, you wouldn't hold a candle to Dr T. Night ends with me stumbling home amidst a great deal of anxiety and hatred, and self loving and self loathing. What a weekend! Wait, was this different from last weekend?
Truth is none of this happened...at least not to me. See last Sunday, as I was doing my best hate-fuck of the world, I said some pretty stupid stuff to a very good person. And I did some very stupid shit, although I don't remeber exactly what. So I took the week to be sober, to remember, to be productive. I was sober, I remember everything, I was somewhat productive. I saw the people I wanted to see and I avoided seeing those I didn't. I slept, ate, smoked, and drank (mostly water).
I usually wake up Monday mornings trying to delay the inevitable 9-ride to Hell, but today I embraced it. I was at the gym by 8 and the guy on the treadmill next to me even looked surprised. Not surprised to see me at all, or even that early, but surprised that my sweat didn't smell of Jack Daniel's and Tangueray (those Tom Collins' are deadly). I feel less morally bankrupt, but more uptight. My foot isn't in my mouth, but I also conversed mostly with walls and the Sunday crossword. There are pros and cons, as with everything. I'm not nervously checking my online bank account but instead feel financially capable of supporting a rebel uprising in a North African nation (which may or may not be a good joke these days). How long will this last? Well hopefully forever.
So what's better - a sober Zack or a drunk-as-fuck Crash (and no, studies show there is no in-between yet)? You Make the Call.
No comments:
Post a Comment