mirror, mirror, on the wall

Does anybody else wake up every morning with a flat, lithe, teenageresque tummy, only to find that the mere act of walking into the kitchen causes it to pop back out again like an early morning hard-on?

Ok, sorry, gross analogy. I suck at those, I freely admit it, but I need practice because it’s the in thing. All the cool, hip cats are doing the analogy these days.

Anyway, this sucks for me because I’m wearing a very revealing top out tonight, so I can’t eat anything all day and I have to go burn about a thousand calories at the gym to make up for all my not-eating. Pledge: While making chocolate pie I am so “not” going to lick the bowl! (Ha, mistyped bowl is blow. There’s some significance in that, don’t know what.)

Going out with the people I am going out with tonight (Jebus, that was clumsy, but you get the point) is always dangerous. We tend to get in a bit of trouble; of the digestion-variety after imbibing perhaps too great a quantity and variety of alcohol. Especially at our annual Christmas parties. Like the time I drank too much white wine too fast and spent the better part of the evening barfing in my friends’ bathroom. At least she was due to get it remodeled soon, and at least I made it in there. (Editor's note: The author did it on purpose because she wanted to get out of playing Pictionary, which she sucks at; despite being a past, actually paid artist – didn’t know that, did ya?)

Then there was the time that my friend was on diet drugs, and drank of course, and then got heart palpations all woozy and just about bloody passed out at the fancy Christmas Dinner table.

Hmmm, I wonder what it will be tonight.

We are doing a house to house thing and then going to the pub to see the Indulgers play; different food and drinks at each house and then some whiskey and Bass at the Pub... yeah, somebody’s blowin’ chow tonight. No doubt about it. I only can pray to the Beer Gods that it ain't me.

One time a couple of summers ago we were out and we’d hit the town in a big way, barhopping and not one of us legal to even look at car keys. We ended up where everyone ends up: the Catacombs. The smoking room is huge there (Boulder has “smoking rooms” because Boulder is a “clean air” town.) and everyone there is always trashed and drinking warm beer and smoking and trying not to barf. (Editors note: Once the author very nearly barfed in one of the Catacomb bathrooms, but she managed to keep it down... only to look up and find that it was the men's room.)

Anyway, on this jaunt the guys made the bad and particularly repercussive decision to play quarters. We are always playing Quarters. I know, it dates us, and sometimes we even play Chandeliers, but by the time we decide to play a drinking game it’s too late in the evening to learn some new, hi-falootin’, fancy-schmancy drinking game. The ole standby works fine by us; and gets us shitfaced in the bargain. That’s because PHF is awesome at quarters and ruthless at spreading the wealth. If someone is sitting back, trying not to be noticed, then he’ll choose that kid ten times in a row. This night I knew he was goin’ for broke because he was smoking, and I’ve only seen him do that a couple of times. -- Goddamn that man is sexy when he smokes.

Anyway, this particular game was played with rum and coke, heavy on the bad rum, and PHF was golden that night. He couldn’t be stopped. Speed Racer, whose birthday it happened to be, was the target of course. I guess he was p-r-e-t-t-y crabby on the way home.

I have only a vague recollection of what the Catacombs looks like, having seen it through the fog of smoke, the haze of drunkenness and also since it’s always packed to the gills after midnight. But I do know it has a bar (I’ve bellied up to it), and some good quarter playing tables, and it has mirrors all round. The Night We Played Quarters With Rum and Coke I was so pissing drunk that I looked around at the crowd, saw some chick standing there (she was wavering a bit and her eyes were all droopy), and I thought to myself, Self, well at least you’re not that drunk.

Only I was. Because I was looking at my reflection.

7 comments:

Anonymous said...

You are fucking hysterical today. Hope you have heaps of fun.

se7en said...

unbridled hedonism is all i can say

not to mention totally silly, and i love silly women

i always laugh when i read your stuff

btw i sent you an email a couple weeks ago from your novel page and asked a buncha dumass questions, i guess you don't check that email anymore lol or u just totally thought i was a nutsack and blew it off

sex scenes at starbucks said...

Anon: Hey! You're only s'pose to say rude stuff anon. Who are you??

Seven: I'm just sort of rude that way. I ended up blowing it off due to holiday madness and a brief stint of single parenthood. I probly still have it - I'll take a look and respond. (But no promises, as the madness ensues.)

Anonymous said...

Anon: Ok - I will say something rude. --> Your blog is juvenile and immature. That's why I read it. And have a great day!

GoodKing Alan said...

Mirrors should be banned from binge nights..

Greg said...

that was an excellent analogy sex. If your tummy popping out is as discouraging as daytime boners that won't go away then i feel your pain.

btw, your prose is like a child wandering through the forest, whatever that means.

sex scenes at starbucks said...

Thx, Greg- I guess. I think it's quite an apt description, actually.

Didn't know they sometimes don't go away. Huh. TMI!!!