Monday, June 21, 2004
my shitty weekend
In an amazing show of self-control, I didn't do anything this weekend. I talked it over with my accountant, and we decided that it would be better to take one for the team (read: bank account) and not spend my usual $300 on Budweiser and Ketel One.
The good thing is that I manage to get tons of sleep when I stay in (bear with me - I know nothing's funnier than someone talking about how much they sleep). Friday night I went to bed at midnight, woke up at 11am, ate a gigantic breakfast burrito, then napped from 12:30pm until 3pm. Diagnosis: awesome.
But aside from getting sleep, the whole "staying in to save money" thing never works. This is because I'll wake up refreshed and not hung over in the morning/afternoon, with no sign of pizza on my bedroom floor or half-finished cans of Natty Ice on my bathroom sink, and think, "Since I didn't go out last night, I should go out and spend some money today." One hour later, I'm at the guitar store with a banjo in one hand and a mandolin in the other, thinking, "Well, $400 isn't a big deal. After all, I didn't spend my usual $200 last night on booze, so that's like getting a banjo and a mandolin for only $200! What a fucking bargain! I should probably go to Burger King and get a Hershey Sundae Pie to celebrate."
Also, I have nothing good to say when I get the "how was your weekend?" question from friends, because dropping $50 on different jump ropes that I'll never use at Modell's isn't very exciting.
So since I was a complete loser this weekend, I present a story from my roommate Brian, who went to his home in N. Jersey for the weekend. One important detail: long story short, Brian's dad always sleep on the couch in the living room, much like I will someday.
On Saturday night, we started drinking at like 2 in the afternoon, so, needless to say, at the end of the night I was out of my mind. It didn't help that I also smoked pot, so I was a complete mess. So my buddy drops me off at my house on Saturday, Father's Day eve, and it's like 4:30 in the morning. I stumble up my driveway and finally get to the door, and I'm having a major, major problem getting in. My keys are dangling, and I'm really struggling, poking them at the lock in vain, and I just know that I'm waking my dad up. Finally I get in, and he's not up - or at least he's not obviously awake.I can't wait to have kids someday. Hopefully soon, because that means I'll have to have sex. Nice.
I make it up to my room, when in my high state of mind, I think one thing: I need some sweets. So I head back downstairs, walking high as a kite through the living room where my dad is sleeping like three feet away, and I'm knocking over chairs and just a fucking mess. When I get to the kitchen, for some reason I decide that instead of turning on the light, I should use a flashlight. So it's now almost five in the morning, I'm in my kitchen, all fucked up, knocking into things, and now I have a flashlight beaming through the house, while my dad is "asleep" ten feet away - tops. I definitely looked like a fucking burglar, but a really bad one.
I had to pull a chair over to stand on to get deep into the pantry, and I hear, "Brian?" Sure enough, it's my dad. I'm like, "Yeah?" and he's like, "What the hell are you doing?" Wasted, I think of my best excuse: "I just wanted to get a Devil Dog." I hear him say something under his breath like "Jesus Christ", and go back to sleep.
So Happy fucking Father's Day, dad. I wake him up at 5 in the morning, probably scaring the shit out of him thinking I'm robbing the house, just because I was fucked up and wanted a fucking Devil Dog. What a great son I've become.