Be Prepared

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Just so you know- I’m too damn old to be hungover on a Thursday morning. But sometimes you just need to have 8 drinks in 3 hours because your unreasonably ethical psychiatrist won’t give you the good stuff. Well obviously I’m going to turn the streets to calm my shit down.

You see the thing is I have to have a conversation that I don’t want to have in roughly 12 hours.

You know how when you’re at the dentist (and if you’re a lazy asshole like me when it comes to dental hygiene) and it comes to the part where he or she has to scrape all the plaque off your teeth with that medieval torture thingie (I’m too lazy to google) and the dentist is admonishing you for not cleaning your teeth properly as he “accidentally” jabs you in the gums with that sharp little fucker – accident my ass – they’re all sadists. Well I would rather be scraped for 40 days and 40 nights than have the conversation I’m about to have to have.

So since my psychiatrist won’t hook me up and my dealer found Jesus , I had no other way to calm my ass down than good old fashioned booze. Because I’m hiding from my problems I went to this ramen joint and sidled up to the bar. I ordered some grub and complimented it with 3 different Japanese beers, 1 signature wine cocktail and an abomination called a Lycheetini (it was pretty good). So I’m 5 drinks in and I grab a Lyft home. As soon as my fat ass hits my desk chair I pop open the first of 4 consecutive Budweiser tall boys before I begin scanning Facebook for people who are bragging about how great their lives are while I suffer from jock itch and my only weekend plans are to sneak in edibles when I go to see Paddington 2 by myself. Unless your are 8 years old you need to be altered to watch that stuff.

So 7 drinks got me calm enough to beach myself face down on my bed fully dressed in my work clothes with my damn shoes still on and I pass the fuck out.

I wake up with the usual suspects: cotton mouth, a splitting headache, and self loathing.

I realize there’s a problem with my strategy to booze my way into serenity. I can’t drink for 20 hours straight and now I have to go to work. I don’t think my boss would care if brought in a pony keg to the office and , like a wildebeest drinking at the water hole, sipped from it all day to maintain a soothing B.A.C. But then I realize the pony keg store doesn’t open till 10 and I need to be at work at 8.

BACs and ABCs and DUIs oh my!

Well that only gives me 3.5 hours to drink so I’m gonna get out of bed now at 4:50 AM and start pounding some bloody Marys (man is my Lyft driver in store for an annoying conversation). I’ll catch you all on the flip side. I need to go find some vodka.

Oh and one last thing – if you’re in my hood and hear about some drunk dude attacking his shrink during a family therapy session, that sure as fuck wasn’t me.

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