2003-10-13

2003-10-13 - 9:18 a.m.

Almost forgot to say that things went fine with Geologist. Better than fine, in fact. I'll update about it later.

The other thing is that I'm seriously considering a blog migration over to Typepad. The food site's already there; it's paid for, and DLand's driving me batty. If anybody's willing to help, I can reward you with yarn, yummy baked goods, tips on picking up women...just name it.

Loobylu has holiday cards on sale! I ordered mine this morning. And look at the Batgirl cape I scored on Ebay. Oh yeah, baby.

2003-10-13 - 8:17 a.m.

Before I say anything else...thanks to everybody who left comments last time. I heard you all loudly, clearly and in most cases, with a big dumbass grin. Athena, I was worried about you. Don't stay away so long. And Spoon...welcome, my man. Ya lurker. ;-)

*****

One very stupid night in college, Whoolie and I bought a liter-sized bottle of Montezuma brand tequila. We also bought a gallon of orange juice. We went back to my house, set up two shot glasses and a plastic A's souvenir cup for the OJ, and went to town.

I was still hung over two days later.

Saturday night wasn't quite as bad, but it was as close as I ever want to be again. It started off so well. I had dinner with Scratcher, Miss Beek and Sassy K. (That reminds me; must update Cast List.) Went with Scratcher to Second Saturday, a monthly night where all the local galleries stay open late and host new shows. Very cool idea; very unfortunate art this month. Met some unusually annoying artists. Then we headed into Old Town to drink and talk at one of our favorite bars. Had a few there, ran into some friends. No big deal yet.

The problem started when we ended up at the Round Corner, a frequent hangout for both of us. He knew half the people there (hell, WE met there); I knew the other half. We both know the bartender, who set us up with Maker's Mark and PBR pitchers (hey, at $5, who's complaining?). The real problem? I cannot drink whiskey. At all. But somehow this slipped my mind. Ugh. I ended up at Scratcher's place, passed out, with no memory of leaving the bar, coming home...any of it. He remembers everything, can even count the drinks - and if I'd been safely with My Man Vodka, things would've been cool. It just wasn't that much alcohol. I had maybe five, six drinks over a six-hour period. I'm a size 14. You figure it out. Why did my stomach and head go to war like Genghis Khan invading Turkey?

We didn't go to San Francisco yesterday; instead, I cleaned his bathroom (don't ask - no, really, DON'T ASK), went home and slept. Washed some dishes and slept. Did some laundry and slept. Answered the phone when he called to make sure I wasn't dead. Slept some more. It'll come as no surprise that I'm not drinking for a while. Whiskey...never again. Even today, food consists of rice, chicken noodle soup and water.

A more interesting point comes up when you consider that Scratcher, in the space of a month, has now seen me at extremes. We had sex against a fence outside during a party. He hauled me out of the bathtub at 4:00 a.m. when I was done heaving. And somehow the man still likes me. I'm not sure why. Hell, I'm not sure I like myself right now. But he seems fine with the whole thing. In fact, he's talking about not seeing other people.

That I need to think about first. I have a date Wednesday with someone new; he seems interesting and extremely sweet-tempered. Maybe a little too serious and grown-up, but worth meeting anyway. And there's one more person I'd like to meet, just in case.

So according to y'all, I'm not a bitch. But dumb and slutty seem likely. Heh.

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former / latter