Drunk, that is. After a particularly crappy day at work, in which I got my ass chewed at the end of it, I told Candyman, “I’m tyin’ one on tonight. I’m gettin’ drunk.” Period.
I’ve drank but not been exceptionally toasted or drunk-drunk, for over a year. I knew if I did all the shit I’ve shoved down inside of me would come out and play. Luckily, T-Bird can handle me when I get like that.
So, I had six Kaluha’s and cream, three Kaluha’s and Bailey’s, and four shots of tequila. The last seven drinks were at a local strip club. I used to be on good terms with the bartender, however, he got married and moved away. I still drank and checked out the hot chick with the nice ass and little nipples. And I got really drunk.
T-Bird, who doesn’t drink anymore, was kind enough to drive me around while I wailed and cried about the injustices of life and my feelings on just about everything from Jeff to Steve to Nate to her to the fire and beyond. She’s a good listener. She now knows how much I loved Jeff and Steve and how shitty it is that I can’t tolerate either of them now and how much it bothers me that some things don’t bother me, but I feel like they should.
Trust me, if something was bothering me on Saturday night, she would have heard about it.
I went to bed at 4, I think. I got up at 10 and was still bumping into the door frames and my back hurt and oh yeah, my head hurt. I was immensely glad to see that my bottle of “Holy shit, how much did I drink last night?” medication was sitting on my desk. I went back to bed. I woke up at 3 and decided that wasn’t long enough so I slept another hour.
T-Bird saw fit to remind me of how I argued with her and Bob about how much I drank. She said, “Girl, if you put three shots of Kaluha in a glass, that means three drinks, not one.” I knew that! I’m fucking bartender, I was just hoping she didn’t notice that little trick.
So, just keep that in mind if you’re ever out partying with Nanner… when I say, “I’m tyin’ one on,” yeah, I mean it.