So I finally took a night off after probably 50+ days of consecutive boozing.
It was not fun. Not only do other people like me more when I'm drunk, I like myself more, and I like everything more. Whaddyado? I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take one more night off because my body hurts, and then I'm going to go back to the boozeness. Until you think of something better, let me know. I don't mean to sound depressing, but that's just the way it is. Like my friend Jen used to say, "I'm not a bitch. I'm just being honest."
This is how I feel when I'm drinking: "I love you, I love me, and I love life. You're a cock, but that's okay. I don't care. You think I'm stupid? Haha! I probably am. That's hilarious. Life is great."
This is me sober: "Even these beautiful days are heartbreaking, because I don't know what I'm doing. Why do I have so much when others have so little? Why can't I just enjoy my life? You think I'm self-absorbed? Well I am. Maybe that car will hit me and everything will be over."
Let's move on to another equally spastic part of my life, from matters of the liver to matters of the heart. I invited Joe over for a sleepover Thursday night. It was way fun; we played cards for hours with Neighbor and her boyfriend, then watched a movie and snuggled like teenagers on the futon. Joe is a sweetheart and all, but there is something that is off about everything. One is that he isn't a big eater, and I've never been with a guy who doesn't love food. Two is that when I wake up next to him, I just want to get rid of him. The two times he's slept over at my house, I wake up and run away--literally. I go for a jog. Then I come home and make a fatty breakfast, but he doesn't want to eat. This makes me sad, because some of the best mornings of my life were spent fucking and then eating. What is better than laying in bed, sweaty and satisfied and hungry, and talking about the delicious things you are going to fry? Nothing, that's what. Oh yeah, unless you don't like eating. So it is pretty much over between me and sweet, harmless Joe, whose friends I adore.
I made a big fuss over Tyler the other night. Aside from the slapping, I was just trying to be a good hostess because he didn't know anyone else there, and then I just ended up being a spurned ho. I find it terribly amusing, but even more so, horribly embarrassing. On the spectrum of wonderfulness in life, there is hot sex, bacon, eggs, and orange juice on one side, and getting spurned by The Boy at your own house party on the other.
Fortunately, I have no shame, and so when I accompany Neighbor's Boyfriend to yet another BBQ where Mr. Tyler will be present, I will don my vodka cap and continue to pursue this spiteful little boy. Honey, I am the queen of that shit.