The day has finally passed

Hard drugs, soft drugs, and alcohol are not singularly bad for you, within reason, of course. However, I can assure you a cocktail of the three is bad… very, very bad. Against better judgment, I decided I could handle all three – within about 90 minutes of each other. Again, this is bad, very, very bad. After a couple lines, some weed, and a few very stiff mixed drinks, I was ready to party; I even made it downtown. Unfortunately, forty-five minutes and ½ a drink later, it hit me. I don’t know what “it” is but “it” is bad, very, very bad.

At this point, I told my friends, “I’m pretty messed up. I think I need to go home.” They responded by buying me another shot. This decision was bad, very, very bad. Normally, I have an extremely rosy complexion (thank you, ye olde country) so when my face turned the shade of my white top, they finally began to listen to my pleas for mercy… and for transportation to a critical care center. Then came the sweats.

So, there I sat – eyes barely open, ghostly white face, sweating like a pig, and listening to my friends talk about me but not quite being in the moment enough to respond – have you seen those HBO specials? Yeah, I was “that chick.” Sadly, this is how the birthday celebration concluded and there is no one to blame but myself... work – church (post about that later) – and getting too messed up to have fun.

As for Sunday, the actual day of my birth – as I said, I went to the baseball game alone and the Twins played like crap. On a bright note, I received a call from two of my friends who previously weren’t speaking to me. (An incident that if I spoke about here could result in my prosecution in 17 states.) All has been remedied and they are solely responsible for saving me from my pity party and salvaging the birthday. I should’ve left well enough alone but I checked my email… thanks to my complete dickhead ex-whatever, he managed to mar the day and round the weekend off miserably.

Thanks to most of you for the birthday well wishes. Only 364 days until I can feel sorry for myself again. I’m sure I’ll find some other ways to keep myself overweight, undersexed, and completely fabulous until then.