The downfall of drinking.

halfbakedBefore I get into this blog entry, I want to apologize for not being more active on the posting. I keep forgetting to post things and when I do get the urge and the giddy feeling inside my heart to do so, I end up inviting people over and we drink, get stupid, and inadvertently, get HR after us for hanging with married women. But that story is for another day and when I say another day, I mean never. I am an open book when it comes to blogging but ask me things, personal things, I clam up. That may be why I am angry all the time and why I hate the world. People say we need to express our feelings but I rather not open up about how I feel about people or answer you when you ask me if I am okay. My answer will be always be, “yeah, I am fine. Now go eff off and leave me be.” I don’t tell them to eff off exactly. I am nicer about it but to get my point across and to amuse me for the sake and keeping up the persona of being an asshole and a total 5’11 of douchebaggery, I will stick to the “eff off” scenario if you stick to leaving me the hell alone. Sound good? Awesome. Now let’s get to me explaining why drinking is a downfall.

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Stop, Drop & Roll.

I mentioned how my vacation was going to be all about drinking and sobering up. I talk a big game when it comes to drinking. While I do indulge in the occasional bottle or two, I don’t drink myself silly every night. I have had my fair share of drunken nights. I’ve blacked out before. Fourth of July is still a blur. I over did myself the other night. I drank far more than I should have.

It was around 2pm -3pm. I had no real plans that day. I was just going to clean and do some random things around the house. I was going to have a few drinks just to do it. No reason. I wasn’t craving the barley or the hops. I just felt like having a refreshing alcoholic drink. With an offer I posted on facebook for drinks in return of your help with cleaning, I had one person accept it. I wasn’t being serious at all. Half of what I write on facebook is garbage. I just think of the strangest, most off the wall crap I can imagine and post it.

He arrived. House was clean. There was still beer though. I only had maybe 5 in there. We got to drinking and playing video games. We quickly drank the beers up and figured since we were already drinking, why not go get some more? Why not chill longer and have a good time.

We went to the store for a full case of cold, refreshing bud light. Not everyone likes Bud Light. It’s a freaking joke to most people. But cool it. I like it.

It’s what I enjoy drinking. It’s not Captain. That’s my love. I feel bad for Mr. Morgan. I haven’t wet my whistle with his liver killing beverage in a while. I still love. I hope to one day get back to sailing the seven seas with him. His cousin Jerry is nice. We’ve met up a few times.

We get back to my place and decide to watch a movie. Still drinking. Maybe we should order a pizza. We don’t want to drink on an empty stomach. That is a bad idea. Drinking is a bad idea. I know. But doing the drinking and not doing the eating is foolish. We get our pizza. So good. We ended up watching three movies that night. I really had no plans on drinking all night. But I did. My friend and I just chilled. Played some video games and watched some movies. Part way into movie two, we notice we’re low on alcohol. We could call it a night and part ways but why? Why end the night when we’re having fun. We both felt fine. We weren’t stumbling around the apartment. We weren’t slurring our speech either. Again, we head out to grab some more.

Before you say anything, I am fully aware of the outcome that may happen if the pigs police pull me over. We grabbed another case of beer. I have no idea how a person my size was pounding these beers down like water. We kept watching the movies. After having a handful of these beers, I started to feel it. I wasn’t crazy drunk but enough where I was feeling it. I felt good. I felt relax. I felt tired. I began to doze off.

I don’t know how long I dozed off for but at some point, I woke up screaming. I was in pain. It wasn’t like headache pain. It wasn’t drinking all night long hangover pain. I felt like my chest was going to explode. I thought I was going to die. I was waiting for my heart to explode or worse, watch an alien pop from my chest a la “Alien”. My friend watched as I rolled about the floor. I clutched my chest. This was odd. This wasn’t just a normal pain in my chest. I have those often. It’s a sharp pain that last no more than a minute. This lasted longer. Much longer.

I stood up. I stumbled a bit. Drunken stumble plus I am dying stumble. The last thing I should do with a severe chest pain is smoke. I did. I took a puff and the ugly and nasty habit seemed to sooth me and put an end to the agonizing pain I was enduring. The pain was gone. I felt better. I reassured my friend that everything was okay. We went back to the movie and not long after I restarted the movie, the pain was back. It wasn’t worse. It felt the same and was not letting up. I clutched my chest. I clenched my teeth, groaning and cursing the unknown culprit for putting me through this.

After little convincing we headed to the hospital. This was around 3am. I don’t know what condition he was in. I didn’t feel drunk. If I were, the alcohol swimming in my veins was overshadowed by the fiery pain inside me. I curled myself up in the fetal position in the car. I was still gripping my teeth. It always seems to work. Usually when you’re in pain, you just clench your teeth and the pain goes away. Or at least, it seems to lessen.

I arrived at the hospital. We didn’t wait long. My friend however thought differently. He approached the night shift nurses multiple times asking where the good doctor was. My name was called. I kid you not. The nurse came out. She was carrying a clipboard. She looked around. There was only us two in the waiting room. She glanced around and called out my name. She called it again. I don’t know if don’t realize ma’am, but I am the only one here. There are no other patients waiting. Why act like you’re bewildered as to who I was. Procedure. I don’t give a flying [censored] about your so-called procedure. I am curled up in the chair. I am the only one here. Don’t came out carrying an over sized magnifying glass and act like you’re searching for the Lindbergh baby. You never passed med school and aren’t a full-fledged doctor. Please don’t take it out on me.

I am taken to a room. I am asked to strip. I could hear Donna Summer playing in my head. While no bills were tossed around me or stuffed in my boxers, I did get stuck with a giant needle. If you’re taking blood samples, you’re in for quite a surprised. I wonder what my BAC was that night. She never told me. If I had been arrested, at least I would have known. Did I beat my old record of .12%? 

I was pulled into another room and further test were done. The caressed my body again. She rubbed her hands all over my chest. Thankfully it wasn’t a large man like before. The lady wasn’t attractive but she was rubbing me down like a wannabe porn star waxes a car. 

After the numerous test, I am wheeled back into the room I started in. I am told I can dress myself. I pull up my britches and lay back on the table. The waiting is awful. I couldn’t do anything but wait. I couldn’t walk out. I wanted to. I wanted to leave and just say ‘screw you.’ If I left and the trouble started again what would I do? I couldn’t walk back in there and ask to get tested all over again. Eventually, the good doctor walks in. He hands me some papers and some pamphlets he says I should read. The said pamphlets sat on my coffee for days. I never read them. I did some cleaning and tossed them. The results were in. What was ailing me? 

Speaking of ailing. Did you hear about the two brothers who each swallowed an ink pen. When they started feeling pain, one leaned over to the other and said, “I think we’re suffering from a pen inside us.”

I had a bad case of acid reflux. Yeah. A simple tums would have cleared it all up. Instead of spending four bucks on a pack of that, I am probably gonna spend hundreds of dollars on a visit. This still doesn’t match the amount of money I spent the last time I drank foolishly. DUI’s are expensive. Drinking is expensive.

That was a pretty exciting night. I drank far too much. I should have sucked it up and not made that trip to the ER. But I didn’t really like rolling around on the floor screaming in pain. Here’s also a little bit of excitement I had that night. We got back to myself and turned the movie back on. He grabbed another beer. I passed. I had enough fun for the night. I think I’ll smoke instead. It is after 4. We step outside. I see my neighbors car lights on. The door is open. It isn’t them. There was someone breaking into their car. We scared him off. We didn’t say anything. But he saw us. He slammed the door and bolted. I don’t know who he was and cannot point him out in a line up if you asked me. 

I don’t want people to worry about me. Don’t set up some crazy intervention. I just drank more than I should have that night. I am waiting on the bill to arrive. When it does, I will see the damage it caused. Maybe seeing the number and the endless zeros will change my mind about the next time I agree to drinking myself to near death.




My Vacation Plans

I love vacation. I love being away from work and all the headaches that place gives me. I don’t ever make plans for vacation. I always say I’ll do this and I’ll do that but I don’t. I sit at home and do nothing. I waste away my time sitting at my computer reading the same articles over and over. I did chronicle what I did last vacation. Read it here and here.

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System 1.0 Needs An Upgrade.

Let me rant for a moment. I have mentioned numerous times on this site about my hatred about being touched. I don’t want you to place your, filthy palms on me. I don’t want to succumb to whatever disease you’re carrying around like you don’t have a care in the world. I cringe. You place your finger on me and my body goes limp. Every inch of it. I said before about the stipulations regarding the “touching and being with a woman” thing. Look, that’s fine. I’ll be with a woman. I’ll let her touch me all over and treat my body likes it’s braille. Every inch of me is fair game when baby making is at stake. Then again, I don’t want kids. But we can pretend we’re making babies but please keep your fingers crossed. Who really wants a little me running around?

When I am sober, the touching freaks are out in full force. The USS Enterprise has nothing on me. My shields are ten times greater than that crappy ship they fly around picking up Vulcan’s and blind, PBS has beens actors…but you don’t have to take my word for it. It seems when I get a little bit of alcohol in me, my shields become weak. They tend to not work as fast. A random stranger can walk up to me and place their arm around my shoulder. I won’t coil in fear. I won’t shoo them away with a wave of a stick. People that are aware of the shields gasp. They cover their mouth and point at me. It’s like they are watching a car crash into a group of small children. They can’t look away. They want to see the terror unfold. They want to see some sort of reaction. They want to see a beat down. But with faulty shields and they presence of alcohol filling my stomach, I am free to be violated. I am free to be treated like a kid with a ‘kick me’ note on the back of his shirt. I am fair game. Do what you wish. Ride me. Stroke me. Run your fingers over my bald head. Without the power of my shields, I am open to whatever they can unleash on me. With the knowledge of my weakening shields, I am beginning to think that my shields are in need of a tune up. I am still running on 1.0. Hell, windows 95 is more powerful than my OS. It is time I go in for an upgrade.

Damn you, alcohol. You turn this OCD guy into a billboard offering free sex. Why most alcohol be my Kryptonite to my OCD? I can usually last a few rounds. After the fifth or sixth beer, I forget about the defense system my body has and welcomes, most graciously, the handshakes, the head rubbing, hugs and god forbid, the kisses. From my ordeal last night, I noticed my defense system is in need of a huge overhaul. You people make me sick and if you keep it up, I’ll be really sick. They weren’t down. I was still detesting the groping. But nothing I said stopped them from taking another spin on the ferris wheel. If I were drunk, the story would have been different. But I was sober. I was well aware and knew very well that they were seeing if they could tear down the shields. You know what? They succeeded. The shields are now on back up generators. It’s only a matter of time before they fail completely. I will need to avoid human contact for a few days till I can fix it or at least MacGyver it to work for a while.

I should make note that the alcohol intake can vary depending day to day. I had six last night and the shields were still up. They just weren’t working properly. I noticed the failure in the defensive system but I chose not to act on impulse and run away like the kids in the Soul Asylum song. Me telling you that it takes six beers to bring the shields down is as bad as a Bond villain tell 007 the weakness in his device that could destroy the planet. I don’t have a specific number of beers that will alter the shields. There is no exact science to this. It will never be a set number. If I did know the number, I won’t tell you.

I need to be careful. I really need to get my system up to 2.0. If I am not safe, I will suffer the same fate the PlayStation Network had. I don’t need that. I  don’t need some grubby hands with their hands all over my genitals or any general area on my body. My body is a temple. It’s a safe haven. It’s a place that no virus is allowed to crash at.

I will start looking around for an OS upgrade. Maybe Apple can develop one for me. They are pretty crafty at keeping their system free from unwanted viruses. Microsoft on the other hand, will never be aiding me in my search for 2.0. I just cannot deal with the grabbing. My body goes in to sort of diabetic shock.

To the people that take advantage of my impaired state, shame on you. You’re fully aware of the alcohol running rampant in my veins. You giggle, you call your friends over for shits and giggles. I don’t need that. I don’t need the poking at me with a perplexed look on their face with them thinking, “I wonder what he’ll do if I do this…” Two options. My fist in your face or the cruel words that spill off my wicked tongue. You decide. Don’t treat me like I am a side show in a traveling circus.

I want to end with a plea. I am on my knees. I am begging you to stop this foolish game of touching me and let me drink my beer and enjoy the company of Hawaii Five-O and his merry men. If you cannot stop, at least wait till I can fix the shields and get them back into working order. Don’t take the deteriorating shape of my shields and rub me, hoping to get a genie that’ll grant you three wishes. Cause folks, that isn’t a genie that pops out. And if a genie did pop out after your rub down, the only think you’ll wish for is a towel.