Dirty Jokes and Dirty Whores!

Drugs! Ticket! Drugs!

")
Current Reading: Meh. Who needs it.

It only seems fitting that I bust out the ol' Purple of the Deep, since their damn songs are all stuck in my head again after CF's act.

To top off one full week of riotous behavior, ranging from far too much drinking, to far too much of the rock music, and then some more drinking...

eh, throw in a few more beers just for excess's sake and possible OTC drug abuse...

and on top of that a night of stand-up comedy...

that about sums it up. Oh, and somehow I actually worked pretty hard. Almost a few honest days' work, really.

I feel like I should be hospitalized...

my poor internal organs.

Let's start at the beginning, on Monday, with Ali's jury duty. We drank a pitcher (plus a pint) of beer at Spanky's, I got a half a cow jammed between a tooth, before 5pm.

It gave me the courage to swear that finishing 'Spartacus' was just not going to happen, and never, ever should...

it's the single most tedious movie I've ever seen. Or, sort of seen.

Tuesday: Def Leppard.

I've already mentioned drunken animals, gale-force winds, flaming clutches, etc.

Wednesday: Met up with my old pal Swerdy. I haven't seen him in a couple of years due to mutual jackass behavior.

We drank excessively, and I'm absolutely thrilled to bits to have seen him, because, well, I missed him.

Thursday: This one escapes me. I think I just stared stupidly at the television and chewed on anti-histamines.

Friday: Jon's farewell bash. I'd like to give an entire play-by-play, if only for my own recollection, but I'll say that it really was a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful day. I watched the most ridiculous hour of television I've ever seen (Stargate SG-1's 200th episode.

Completely useless, and absolutely genius entertainment. Alas, Sam and Jack did not make out). My mistake on this particular evening was eating a bunch of pizza with onions on it, knowing full well I can't eat cooked onions and get away with it.

After the four or so beers I drank...

tragedy ensues...

when for once I finally behave myself well enough to not be stricken with a crippling hangover, I'm instead crippled by fricking onions (AND the Claritin. AND the ibuprofen. AND the Midol, of course.

But that's it, honest).

Anyway. After awesome Stargate, I met what could almost add up to every one of my favorite people in the world, if I had to top-ten them or something, at the Cherry Cricket, for Jon's Off-You-Go-To-Brown-U party.

In attendance were (only interesting to read if you actually know who I'm talking about) JR, John, Ali, Amy, Amanda and Ian, Matt was there, Scott showed up, Nathan W! was there..

. seriously. I was almost on the verge of tears all night, I was so happy to be with everyone, and I think Jon had fun.

I know I had a blast and will note it as one of the best nights of my life. I doubt I'll ever have all of them together like that again. Or at least, not soon.

Nathan and Ali slept on my floor after Ali gave him a whole bunch of tequila, and paralyzed the poor boy into an awkward angle on the floor. I woke up to a story of how Nathan got lost in the dark and was staring at Ali or something. I still don't completely understand it.

Saturday: After another absurd day of work (people. Seriously. Get your heads out of your asses), I put non-rain-soaked clothes on, Ali and I cooked dinner and watched 'Sid Nancy' (!

!!), and went to see Craig Ferguson at Comedy Works.

Pretty great stuff, extremely funny. My stomach was feeling no better, tho, and in the back of my mind I couldn't help but be constantly wanting to jump back and beat to a bloody pulp the most annoying people in the room (sitting just behind me, of course): the drunk girl who kept shouting, "Show us your cock!", and the old people who had to repeat all the jokes to one another because, apparently, they couldn't hear.

"Do you have your hearing aid in!?" "What?

"

But Craig was great fun, way more laid-back than I'd expected, in jeans and a t-shirt, the state wardrobe. I laughed myself senseless until I was pretty sure my poor rotten guts would explode. They very well may have done.

And I always enjoy hearing Brits gasp and pant at oxygen deprivation. Somehow it really warms my cockles.

I still love the bit about showing THE concert ticket to all your friends, because, well, I do it, I love it, it's amazing, and yes, I'm going to see Jeff Beck.

And you're not. Dum-dum-dum-dum-dada-dum..

.dum-dum-dum..

.da-da-dum..

..

Ali chickened out meeting him and stuff, so I let her drag my aching body around town to Nallen's pub, where we fought through drunken party hos (a couple of them barged in on me while I was peeing.

"Fuck off!" I shouted, slamming the door. "We all have the same parts!

" they shouted back. Sober Saturday night is much different than five-pint Sunday night, it seems.) to drink a pint.

I felt so rotten I finally had to beg that we leave to find our car in the tropical Writer's Square parking garage. Best parking deal in town. Amen.

Six bucks!!

Tomorrow I go.

.. back.

.. to.

.. work.

...

...

And then home, to do more work...

to compile the basics of applying for Federal Financial Aid programs. My. Isn't that exciting.

...

Actually, in the context, it kind of is.

So. I've swallowed an Immodium.

I'm going to sleep. Content and exhausted in a new kind of way: over-worked, over-drunked, over-entertained, dare I say it, even over-loved. I go to sleep with a stupid sloppy grin on my face.

-Mego.