So I woke up Tuesday morning, went straight to the bathroom, and threw up. Let me assure you, it was not fun. Regurgitation is something I try to avoid as a general rule, mainly because I have a really hard time breathing right after I violently vomit and expel the contents of my intestines. Totally not cool.
To figure out why I was hunched over my toilet praying to the porcelain gods at 9:30 in the AM, we need to rewind a bit to Monday. That’s right, New Years Day. I did not go out on New Years Eve, mainly due to the fact that I’m a huge loser. Personally I don’t consider myself a loser, but if you stay in New Years Eve and go to sleep nursing a cold you caught from your father while visiting the family for Christmas, then by default, you are a loser. And no, I’m not bitter at my dad for giving me his cold just in time for Christmas and New Years. Nope, not bitter one bit.
So here we are on Monday, January First. Or, as I always remember it, Company Holiday Party. We have our party a little bit later than most companies, but trust me, it’s totally worth it. The boys upstairs set up a nice dinner at a hotel, hand out usually five to six tickets for free drinks per person, and get the hotel to offer rooms at a discount for people attending the party. That last little part is especially nice, because after about three fourths of a bottle of bourbon I do not need to be getting anywhere near my car. And that’s something that I can’t stress enough, I drink good old fashioned American Whiskey. I buy domestic and thereby support the hardworking American.
So after a nice sit-down dinner of filet and shrimp (the filet was much better going down Monday than it was coming up Tuesday, trust me) I headed out to the hotel bar to start drinking with the rest of the alcoholics. Well, it wasn’t starting so much as it was continuing. I think I was the first person to show up before dinner so I could hang out at the bar, get the whiskey flowing, and watch some of the Rose Bowl (Unfortunately, I missed the Fiesta Bowl with Boise St. beating Oklahoma 43-42 in an overtime spectacular). Being there that early gave me the opportunity to talk the party organizers into giving me a few extra drink tickets. What can I say, I’m a sucker for free drinks. Now apparently after dinner, while I was at the bar, I missed my name being called out to receive a door prize (an Ipod, I think), so they gave it to someone else. I didn’t get an Ipod because I was busy drinking. C’est la vie. That’s pretty much the story of my life.
Do you mind if I take a break from my current storytelling to ask you a philosophical question? Is it ok to watch a 17 year old girl making out with a 19 year old girl? Or more importantly: Is it ok to enjoy watching a 17 year old girl making out another girl? And I ask for absolutely no reason whatsoever. …except for the fact that the previously mentioned event happened Monday night not three inches from my face. And truth be told, I enjoyed watching, very much so. That doesn’t make me a dirty old man, does it?
There’s a trick to drinking at the company holiday party. Well, there’s a trick at my company party at least. When everyone is hanging out at the bar after dinner, you’ll usually find me drinking with the general managers. Now why would I be spending my time with my bosses at a party where there’s underage female to female tongue action going on? Mainly, my bosses are almost as big of alcoholics as I am. And that’s saying something. So every time I see the big boys trying to decide what shot to order, I quietly slide on over and suggest Red-headed Sluts (Jager, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice). Because really, who doesn’t like red heads?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Three fourths of a bottle of bourbon and several shots, I should probably not be surprised that I ended up getting sick. I mean, alcohol is not the healthiest of substances. Well, let me assure you that I have discovered, by means of my uncanny intellect and astounding analytical skills, that beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was the steak that made me sick, not the alcohol.
To be perfectly honest, alcohol and I go way back, especially whiskey. We’ve had a very long and fruitful friendship, and I am very reluctant to believe that alcohol would betray my trust like that and cause me to get ill. This is why I choose to believe it was the food at fault. Armed with that knowledge I can now go out this weekend and continue my relationship with alcohol unimpeded by any needless worries.
Luckily I had the foresight to make sure I didn’t have to go into work Tuesday. The last thing I need is to be working with a fragile stomach and light head. Well, actually, the last thing I need is group of ninja assassins stalking me at night. But the being sick at work thing is still pretty bad. I feel sorry for the guys who actually had to go in today. It must suck to be them.
Well, I think that’s pretty much the highlights of my night. I drank a lot of whiskey, watched some indiscretions, and took some shots. How many shots did I have? …no seriously, how many did I have? I don’t have a clue. And this seems like it might be relevant information taking into account the first sentence in this passage.
Although, I have to say, I am proud of myself. I made it to my room, all on my own, and got into my pajamas and into bed. That’s quite an accomplishment. Usually at one of these things, I wake up the next day sitting up in my bed, fully clothed (shoes and all), with the lights still on. I have no idea why I would need to go to bed in a sitting position with the lights on and my pants still unremoved. Apparently, I usually have very good reasons, though I’ll never quite know them fully.
You know what, I just had an epiphany. It is completely ok for me to enjoy watching underage girls making out with each other. No worries there. And yes, I do realize I’m going to hell. I’ve come to terms with that.
So here’s hoping that you had a wonderful holiday season. I hope yours was packed with as much wonder and excitement as mine was. And always remember, just because the holidays are over, doesn’t mean you have to stop having a good time. Getting out and enjoying yourself is a year round affair as far as I’m concerned. As I always say: eat, drink, and be merry!
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