Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
 
six things you need to know
1) I am hungover. Big time. I'm actually pretty sure I'm dying. If I were a doctor (which I'm not, even though I occasionally tell women I meet at bars I am), I would guess that I'm already about 70% dead. Every time the phone rings it's like I'm being stabbed. Every time I breathe my chest hurts. When I stand, I need to sit down immediately. When I sit down, I need to lay down immediately. When I woke up and peed this morning, I peed Guinness. I am in bad, bad shape.

An example: in the morning, I take either the 4 or the 5 train to work. They are almost the same train, running along the same tracks with the same stops, the difference being that while the 4 train goes deep into Brooklyn, the 5 train terminates at my work stop (sometimes - I needn't bore you with the details). The first train that came this morning was a 4 train (the one that goes into Brooklyn), but even though there was room on it I didn't get on, because I realized that there was a 50-50 chance that I'd fall asleep on the train, miss my stop, and end up somewhere in Brooklyn. Instead, I waited for the 5 (the one that terminates at my work stop) and took that to work because if I fell asleep (or more appropriately, "passed out"), at least I would be awoken by the conductor at my stop. That's a pretty good sign that you are having a rough morning.

[Fortunately, I didn't fall asleep on the subway: I was too busy riding a rollercoaster of emotions while listening to my iPod. I nearly cried when listening to "We Are The Champions". When Rod Stewart's gorgeous version of "The First Cut Is The Deepest" came on, I started shaking with sadness. I was saved by Sheena Easton's "My Baby Takes The Morning Train", which had me chuckling to myself as people stared at me in wonderment. I don't really know if "wonderment" is a word. Maybe it's just "wonder". I don't know.]

The point is that I drank enough this weekend to kill a small-ish adult or a full-sized Amish person. And it was pretty fucking awesome.

2) On Sunday night and last night, I've had four girls staying at my apartment, friends from Philly in town for a hairstylists' convention (they are all hairstylists). I gave them my room and bathroom and I've been sleeping on the couch and defiling my roommates' bathroom. As a thank you, they took me to Pastis last night for dinner. Being hungover from Sunday, I wanted to do dinner 6:30 or so so that I could sleep well and be rested for work today. Reservations were made for 9:30. After dinner at 11, we went to have "one" drink. At 11:30, we decided to get one last one before calling it a night. After about eight "last" drinks, we got home around 3:30 in the morning, and only left the bar because the bartender shut off the lights in our section. Hence #1.

3) I'm developing a dangerous taste for dessert drinks. I'm not talking about port or dessert wine, I'm talking about alcohol that tastes like dessert. I've been drinking a lot of Sam Adams Cherry Wheat, a delicious beer that satisfies my post-meal sweet tooth and my desire for alcohol, and last night I had a shot called "Chocolate Cake" for the first time, and I kid you not when I say it tasted exactly like chocolate cake.

I can not understate the potential destructiveness of this development. My two main vices are sweets and booze. To combine them would be dangerous, if not fatal. I barely lived through it when I started adding crumbled up Double Stuff Oreos to my Cookies 'n' Cream ice cream, nearly sending myself into Oreo overdose. But booze and sweets...I don't even want to think about this anymore. Let's move on.

4) I was supposed to meet my friend Heather for drinks tonight. However, due to my condition, I will not be able to do so. Rather than be honest with her, I emailed her and told her I couldn't meet because "work is crazy". Heather will most likely read this. I am sorry Heather. I am truly undeserving of your friendship, and I am a coward. Please forgive me. I am weak.

5) Three of the biggest scumbags I know are in medical school (of course, I use "scumbag" lovingly - I am a scumbag too and I'm pretty awesome). One example: my buddy Cuse from college (so nicknamed because he was from Syracuse). He regularly referred to himself as "The Kid" and would talk ad nauseum about this mental, athletic, musical, and romantic capabilities. For example, he was a member of our college softball team, Iron Sheik. Cuse played shortstop and I played third. When a routine grounder would be hit to me at third, Cuse would dart over from the SS position, call me off, and make the play (and admittedly, would do so well). Then, after making the play, he'd say something like, "You know baby you can go relax if you want - The Kid will cover this whole side of the infield" as I shook my head in confusion. Yet he was one of my closest friends in college, and once you got to know him he was a great guy. But still a scumbag. And now he's studying to become a doctor. God help his poor patients.

I met another scumbag who's studying to become a doctor, my buddy Jeremy's friend Chris. A bunch of us went out on Saturday night and got shit-canned, and I watched Chris drink a bottle of Bud in about three seconds and then have about ninety more. I think he suddenly disappeared at the end of the night, but I really can't verify that. Congrats on med school Chris, you magnificent son of a bitch.

6) I would love to write more, as I have more to say, but I simply can't. Go read about the new pope instead. And pray for me.



<< Home

Powered by Blogger