INTEMPERANT

I have to admit it, I had an absolutely astonishing, entertaining, and fulfilling day today.

But I'm going to talk about last night... simply because if you'd been there to witness last night as it happened, by comparison you'd give much less than a rat's ass about what I did today.

It all started harmlessly enough, with several friends and I continuing a home-beautification project, namely, insulating my attic to prepare it for future tenancy. We performed such tasks dutifully and accomplished much, as seen here:



My trusty work crew and I, highly satisfied with our accomplishments, decided to reward ourselves with a little good food and a lot of pregaming:



And that picture was taken before we got drunk.

So, a drink or two later, we were driven to Whiskey, where we rendezvoused with several people who liked buying drinks for complete strangers. By the end of the night, I actually performed a one-handed cartwheel into a wall on purpose; this made sense to me at the time, and I hasten to assume it was because someone offered me a free drink if I performed the aforementioned task for the audience that was the entire bar.

Now, I'm pretty sure that if I were a bartender (and I am, from time to time) and I watched a drunk man make a bet with a drunker man that he should perform a stupid human trick (and a potentially injurious one at that, and not just for the perpetrator... and by the way, that doesn't count as referring to myself in the 3rd person) for a rum and coke, I would refrain from serving either of them for the remainder of the night. But then, I guess that's why I love Whiskey (the bar, not the beverage; I'm much more of a bourbon person when it comes to the hard stuff)... they tolerate the drunkards because they are drunkards themselves. For that matter, they're drunkards with a stiff coke (the illicit drug, not the archrival of Pepsi) habit, which, while it invokes the 'tu quoque' fallacy against me, certainly puts them in the least appropriate position to judge me.

Before this transpired, we managed to get my dear former roomie Mary away from a term paper for, as she put it, "one beer, and then I'm leaving." I love Mary, because 'one beer' means, she'll have a beer with us, and then turn to mixed drinks for the rest of the night. She stayed at Whiskey for a couple hours as opposed to the half hour she promised she'd have to leave by, but she only had one beer.

After we were chauffeured home, I spilled my will to live (cleverly disguised as my last two boxes of mac n' cheese) all over the kitchen floor as I attempted to pour the noodles back from the strainer into the pot. After a heartbroken five minutes of sandwiching slain noodles between steamed and gooey paper towels, my fellow roommate Joe took pity on me and offered me the rest of the noodles he cooked up earlier. Actually, it wasn't pity; they were supposed to be for my fellow roommate Eli, but he had inadvertently passed out on the couch atop a pile of tools and fiberglass-laden bunny suits.

I don't remember much after that, but I woke up feeling refreshed, but exhausted, requiring me to naturally assume that after I blacked out I ran a marathon and ate a smorgasbord upon finishing before retiring to bed. When I woke up, I most certainly was not laying atop a pile of tools and fiberglass-laden bunny suits, so I had a better night than someone, at least. To top it off, I don't believe I was entirely sober the following morning when I called home to wish my grandmother happy birthday.

It was a good night.

And just for good measure (and to keep you from shoehorning me into the 'predictable' category), I'm throwing in a picture of my ideal woman. If you look anything like this, call me and we'll go out for dinner: