No excuse needed

As I sat in dead stopped traffic on the approach to the freeway tonight, any last remaining willpower to not drink vanished.  Horrendous traffic?  Wine!  Giants lose?  Beer!  49ers win?  Vodka!  You see how it goes...

Now I should preface this by saying, in all honesty, that I have a drinking problem.  God that sounds so intense.  I'm an alcoholic.  Wait no that's worse.  How about "I fucking love drinking now get the fuck out of my way unless you want to stick it in" ("it" being a penis and "in" meaning any vague direction I gesture to with my hands).  That being said...

Here are some excellent reasons to drink that I've employed over the last two weeks.  Feel free to borrow them - they are foolproof (which I just proved by googling how to spell that word!  Blogging + wine = excellent)

1) While you wait for food: "One mejor pollo asado burrito with black beans and guacamole.  To go.  And can I have a Stella for while I wait."  This one requires you to own it, as the cashier will undoubtedly smirk... since it takes approximately 3 minutes to make a burrito.  Whatever, what the fuck else am I going to do?
2) I got dangerously close to shedding one artful tear in therapy... so obviously needed 3 beers to shove those emotions back down under the liver where they belong.  Of course, they do find a way of coming out eventually (just like me - ZING!) - recently my "allergies kicked in" when I caught the end of Homeward Bound on tv.  Shut up.  They made it home - so amazing!  Also pollen and dander and whatever.
3) Work party... aka every day, aka there is a stocked bar 10 feet from my hallway cube.  I used to not drink at work, because I get comfortable and start saying inappropriate things ("You had a booger hanging out your nose during that meeting and we all talked about it after," "I call you babe behind your back because you look like a pig" etc. etc.), but then I relaxed a bit.  And I haven't gotten fired (yet).  Win win.
4) Presidential debates!  I mean this is a no brainer.  I actually made it like 10 minutes in the other night before turning to my dear friend vodka, so I was nice and buzzed by the time the whole binder full of women shit happened.  In my stupor I internet-ed that phrase immediately, and definitely think I can take credit for that meme.  As soon as someone explains to me what a meme is.  My mom actually probably knows.
5. Thursday through Monday, aka the gay weekend.  Fridays and Saturdays are for amateurs - Thursday and Sunday are where it's at.  Of course that usually means I need to hair-of-the-dog it on Monday, and I always end up going out Friday and Saturday anyway.  I mean come on, it's Friday and Saturday.
6) Pitch Perfect.  Since I don't smoke weed anymore (now that I have severe anxiety issues and my heart starts to pound super fast and I give myself a hernia [wait what's a hernia (just googled it, that's not what I meant.  Ulcer?  let's go with that)] it's just not fun) I need to liven things up at funny movies. I maybe had Ainate smuggle a Sam Adams Light into the movie theater in her purse.  I'm classy, so I wouldn't put it down my pants like she suggested (just kidding, I totally did) (just kidding, she didn't suggest that) (at least not out loud).

Okay that's it for now.  I have to go mow on this burrito and see if the wine decanted (see above re: being a classy lady).  Lemon out!

That thing where you drink for 9 hours.

In hindsight, I probably should have stopped drinking when I realized I was lost, but only 6 blocks from my house.  That would have been the responsible decision though, and lord knows I don't make any of those.  Hasia's birthday went from fun daytime drinking to sloppy twilight drinking to downright nasty nighttime holy shit-ness... and that's where our story begins.

Location: Beauty Bar.  Sample Yelp reviews: "dingy" "disgusting" "Super Hipsters" "smells like ass sweat every time."  Needless to say, we had a great time.

We were maybe 15 strong at that point, but had collectively drank enough to subdue 24 frat boys (including pint-size margaritas that I can safely call "rape in a glass").  I, for one, was doing my patented "turn around" dance move that involves a full circle.  Correctly executed, you do a 360-turn without missing a beat (literally!).  Not done correctly, you stumble around in a circle for a few minutes and then find someone new to dance with because you can't even remember who was in front of you twenty seconds ago.

After I slapped a random ass but before I got freaky with a black girl, I got up on a tiny stage to dance.  Because nothing says "nice to meet you" to a coworker than booty-dancing her on a stage in front of her new boyfriend.  We only lasted one song.  I'd like to say I had an agressive dismount from the stage.  Others might call it falling off.  Either way, I plowed into a group of tiny Asians like I was the bowling ball and they were the pins.  (Sidenote: is Asian bowling a thing?  I kinda think it should be??)  Only a firm grasp from Sully kept me from the strike I was clearly going for.

One short car ride later, and we were at Toad Hall.  I think I lasted 10 minutes.  I tagged out after I realized I was standing alone in the corner, awkwardly staring at people that walked by and hoping that one of them would magically decide to make out with me.  I made it to the pizza place and successfully bought two slices of pizza.  I walked as far as my barbershop where I decided to eat the pizza, standing against the wall like some kind of grifter (who has pepperoni all over his shirt).

When I woke up, my mouth was open and so dry that my lips were stuck to my teeth.  I momentarily thought I had developed West Nile or Ebola and was dead.  Sadly, still alive.  I scanned my room - clothes on the ground (standard), wallet hanging out of my dresser drawer (interesting), everything on my dresser half on the ground (wait what?).  Judging by the angle, it looks like I fell as I entered my room and knocked almost everything off my dresser.  But the pizza paper plate (great band name!) was grease-glued in place, so that's cool.

All in all, a happy birthday was had by everyone!  But mostly me.

Things I've hated today.

In roughly chronological order...

- Ugh, myself.  Why did I drink that blueberry beer last night?  It was gross, and now my mouth is super fucking dry.
- Idiot in the Jeep Wrangler.  All your darting back and forth on the bridge got you... three cars in front of me.  There's a time and a place for the dodge and weave, and that wasn't it.
- Girl, those pants.  No.  NO.
- I don't care if it's your birthday, we all know you only have those bangs to cover up your huge forehead.
- Sourdough croutons??  What the fuck?!  Oh wait.  These are delicious.
- I get the attention to detail and everything but this meeting is excruciating.
- You turned off the frozen yogurt machine to clean it?  Who cares, I'll eat dirty froyo!  Eww, banana and vanilla swirl?  I don't want biracial froyo.
- Girl every time you open your mouth, all I can think is that you look like a pig and don't believe in evolution.  Keep it moving.
- Oooh, free chocolate chip cookie!  Why does this taste kind of... aahh!  Cranberry pecan??  Fuck you cookie.  Fuck.  You.

Resurrection

I turned down a job offer recently.  I'm pretty sure it's the first time I've ever turned down a job, which I'm sure says something about me but I'll leave that discussion for therapy.  Ultimately it was just not the right job for me for right now.  When I told the guy I wasn't taking the job, he said "I wish I was a bigger man, but when I see you at our events and you realize you made a mistake, I'll have a little smile."  Which, you know, fuck you.  But also... I can appreciate the honesty.

So I thought, okay, I know that this was not the right move for me.  But what can I do to really prove it to him that I will not think I made a mistake?  So I'm using his words to motivate me to write every day.  Whether it's an email of substance (more than the usual "hey did you see what that bitch is wearing I can't believe she has a boyfriend fuck my life let's get drinks later"), a therapeutic "diary" (gag) entry, something creative, or a blog post, I want to put my words onto paper/screen once a day.  And so here I am, resurrecting this blog.

Is this the same blog as it was 3 years ago?  Probably not, considering that my last post was about Oscar nominations.  But I know I had some winners in there.  What it will be moving forward, I have no idea.  I'm sitting here with my glass of wine (small aside: how the fuck do you pick wine if you don't really know anything about wine?  If I'm in a restaurant, I choose the second least expensive option [though my friend Lauren once told me that restaurants count on suckers like me and that the cheapest wine is usually just as good if not better than the second least expensive one]; if I'm in the supermarket, I look for something that's on sale [normally $7.99 and now $5.99 - I'm buying a case!); and if I'm in a wine shop, it's straight up what's cheapest and has a funny label.  Right now it's Hey Mambo "Bistro Style Wine" [I'm not kidding] from the grocery store and it's hitting the spot.  Oh shit.  Where was I??), and ... yeah.  That parenthetical really took it out of me.

So get ready for funny anecdotes about people deleting their okcupid profiles when I message them, making out with tiny Asians in a drunken stupor, and any and all racist fun I can get into at work.  And for the English majors out there, yes, I too hate that I couldn't get that list to work grammatically, but I'm too drunk to care.

Mazel Tov! (ew... Jews)