"Want to go out and get drunk?" I asked Dean last …
“Want to go out and get drunk?” I asked Dean last night in messenger window. I was in a foul mood after a terrible day at work (see the last entry). I just wanted to accentuate my mood by getting completely shitfaced, and Dean is usually ready and willing to accept such a mission.
An hour later we were at Peso, him drinking every-other-one-free beer and me dashing down Long Island Ice Teas. I don’t remember what we talked about; mostly the kind of thing most drunk people talk about and then forget the next day. By 1 or 2 in the morning we’d had enough, I guess, so we staggered out and began walking in the direction of my building. We walked right past my door and on up the street until Dean said “Isn’t this your building?”
“Nah, we passed it. It’s back there,” I pointed, drawing a sigh of exasperation from Dean. You just gotta love Drunk TC.
Last night I had one of those dreams where you think you’ve woken up but you really haven’t. I can usually tell when I’m dreaming, and in my dream I actually thought to myself “I know when I’m dreaming, and I’m definitely not dreaming.” I had woken up slowly and gradually realized that I was in some sort of dodgy hotel with vomit-colored deep-pile shag carpet and shoddy wood panelling. In the next room they were having a reception of some sort for prospective “Happy People” who wanted to work at T.G.I.Friday’s. They had even brought striped shirts and baseball caps. I walked in on them to try and ask just how the hell I had gotten there when I clearly remembered falling asleep in my own bed last night, but when I saw the Happy People dressed in their Friday’s uniforms, I beat a hasty retreat, muttering “That was a close one.”
Then I woke up for real, thankfully in my own room, but it makes me wonder if it was some sort of window to an alternate reality, my life-that-could-have-been, or perhaps even a glimpse of hell.
In any case, my head is still throbbing as I type this. I need to do some writing today, or at the very least something productive, or I’ll just feel even worse with guilt added to my hangover. Just now as I was looking at my referall stats, I noticed that this website development company in New Zealand of all places is presenting my site as a “great example” of “a quirky and personal web journal”. Of course, down at the bottom of the page they admit that “PWD has profiled the above websites as great examples for inspiration to our clients and to demonstrate what is possible and what PWD could deliver. However, PWD was not involved in the creation of the above websites.” How nice of them. Now if they could just spell my name correctly.
