Everything is wrong with me
Friday, September 03, 2004
 
ah, drinking on a week night
God, I am so fucking exhausted.

And it's not because I went to the gym this morning, or went for a brisk run in Central Park before work, or got up early to go volunteer at my local soup kitchen.

It's because I got drunk last night.

And it was fucking glorious.

My friend Abby had a "I quit my job so yay for me" party last night at a cool bar in Soho. My roommate Brian joined me at this party, because, well, it was at a bar, and bars have booze, and Brian loves him some booze.

This party had all sorts of wonderful people in attendance: Abby, the estimable Ericka, Don Fiedler of Slack LaLane and his lovely girlfriend, Irene, among others. I also had the opportunity to meet some readers, Carolyn, Kerri, and Steve.

Meeting Carolyn and Kerri (and Steve) was an epiphany for me, as it gave me great succor to see that not all of my readers are either a) stoners; b) unemployed; c) ugly; or d) morbidly obese (not that I have anything against those people; I am a, c, and d, and it's only a matter of time for b).

Two things about this meeting:

1) I need to clear something up: I can date girls who smoke. I wrote that I couldn't marry a woman who smokes. This doesn't mean I can't date a woman who smokes. Please read the language more carefully. Carolyn said something like, "It's too bad you don't date girls who smoke, because we both smoke."

At that point, as Carolyn is attractive, I was ready to retract everything I had ever written, said, felt, or thought and sell my infant cousin into slave labor to prove that I am ready, willing, and able to date a girl who smokes. Shit, if she's hot enough, I'll date a girl that's a murdering, cannibalizing, Nazi-sympathizer who has a dick.

Whoa - sorry - I didn't mean to write that "has a dick" part. Damn.

Anyway, so really, it doesn't matter. Forget all the stuff I wrote about who I can or can't marry or whatever. I'll take anything. Please help. Please.

2) Kerri's first words after meeting me were "You're not, like, obese."

This echoes a sentiment expressed via email by Jennifer Perkins, of Ann Arbor, MI:
Hello,

I have been reading your website all day today at work and I have to say that it is pretty damn funny. I have a question though - when you make fun of yourself are you like being serious or do you like really think that about yourself? I looked at your friendster profile and I have to say that you aren't bad looking and you're not like totally fat. Anyway I was just curious.

- Jennifer
"You're not, like, obese" and "You're not like totally fat" have to be the two greatest compliments I have ever received. So therefore, I am formally inviting Jennifer, Kerri, and Carolyn to move in with me - this weekend. Give me a call as soon as you read this, because we have to rent the moving van as soon as possible. I guess this means I'm going to have to change my sheets, but that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make as long as you all promise me that we'll live in a gorgeous and Bacchanalian foursome for the rest of our lives (well, until I die at 27 from a pork overdose).

*****************************************

But I was proud of myself: knowing that I had a meeting "first thing" this morning, I kept my composure, drank at a steady pace, and still had a good time and got a nice drunk on. I managed to make it home by about 1:30 or so, and ate two slices of pizza in under thirty seconds.

Brian, however, was not so lucky.

Brian recently got a job in at celebrity news show as an associate producer. This is huge news for him, because now he can tell women he's a producer on a TV show, when really all he does at work is send me emails like, "God, I can't wait to get fucked up this weekend" or "God, I am so fucking hungover."

Brian's been reporting to work at 6am, and finishing at 4pm. So, during the week, he has to get up at 4:45 in the morning to go to work. Therefore, he usually doesn't go out during the week.

Well, last night he went out. And this morning, instead of waking up at 4:45am, he woke up at 9. Ouch.

He had eleven missed class on his cell phone, and we had three messages on our land-line. The first was from his receptionist:

"Hi Brian this is Linda. I'm just calling to see where you are because you were due in at 6 and now it's 7:30. Please call when you can."

The second was from his boss:

"Brian, Tom here. I'm wondering, frankly, where you are. It's 8:15. Call immediately."

The third was from his friend and co-worker Tina:

[whispering] "Brian, please call me as soon as you get this. I'm worried about you. What's wrong and where are you?"

Fortunately, Brian made it into work, but the three-year contract he was supposed to sign to work for this show will now remain unsigned for two weeks, as Brian is now on probation.

I would like to congratulate Brian for being himself and keeping it real. Just when things were starting to come together and he was getting a taste of success, he jeopardized it by getting wasted and oversleeping by four hours.

So I am going to dedicate tonight's drinking to Brian, and I hope that you all can find it in your heart this weekend to have a drink for my craptacular roommate.

Have a happy and safe Labor Day weekend, and save me a hot dog.

(Seriously, I don't have any plans, and may just show up at your barbeque)



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