So I'm not a huge drinker anymore and that is apparent as of late. I used to be able to put the shit DOWN, but now instead of being able to drink 10 beers, I can only drink 7.

Sunday evening, after the family shit was over, Chris, Blair and I went to see "Wolf Creek" which turned out to be the most boring/retarded movie of the year. Don't waste your money.

After the movie, feeling gypped, we decided to go to the Meridian Room to get some drinks. It was around 11 pm when the drinking started in full force. I had a glass of Shiraz and a shot of Jaeger (evil! Because it's gross). Find out my friend is bartending next door. I go to say hello.

EvilWells: You aren't drunk yet?
me: Nope
EvilWells: here, have this double shot of whiskey
me: Whiskey is my favorite! how did you know?

I drink the gargantuan whiskey shot because I'm not a pussy. I order a Fat Tire. I drink the Fat Tire.

EvilWells: Hey! Your eyes are glassy. You need more whiskey.
me: You're right!
EvilWells: and while you're at it, you should order another beer!
me: you evil temptress! (where I got her name) how right you are!

I drink another shot of whiskey, and get my second beer and sit at a table. Remembering that I have Tylenol in my purse, I go to the bathroom. Now I'm woozy. It's 12:15. I have consumed a lot in an hour and 15 minutes. I'm drunk.

EvilWells: you were in the bathroom for a while!
me: yyyup
EvilWells: you need whiskey!
me: uh-huh
EvilWells: want another shot?
me: shot in my face mouth
EvilWells: hahaha...yeah, you need another shot
me: and I want one of these cookies...to go with my shot. Wait, what? Oh yeah, whiskey in my mouth.

pours another double shot of whiskey. I drink the shot. I look at Blair who is being kind and drinking the rest of my beer that I left on the table. I sit down.

me: Blair, I'm drunk
Blair: no shit
me: I need to go home. You want that beer?
Blair: I just drank it for you
me: probably good ideas. All of them good ideas. That bartender...she wants to kill me!
Blair: yeah, we're going to take you home.

We get in Blair's car, I'm riding shot gun with the window rolled down. The inevitable happens. I'd like to say that my kindness and keen eye for uncleanliness came into full gear and protected Blair's car from what was to happen; I'd like to say that I'm a 27-year-old who knows better than to drink that much in less than an hour and a half; I'd like to say many things. They are all lies. The most projectile of all whiskey-vomit spewed forth from my mouth to the dash board, the door, my jeans, my sweater, and all over Exposition Park. We pull over...I puke more. As soon as I am done, I say, "Merry Christmas!" I apologize profusely for puking in Blair's brand new car. We get home and I'm feeling well enough to start cleaning. My OCD's and Donna Reed reflexes are coming back to me...their power strengthening...I get some Grease Lightning! (my favorite cleaning product ever. It cleans EVERYTHING.) and paper towels. Clean the car, clean the car, clean the car. Chris and Blair leave to get more drinks. I puke again...this time, in the toilet. I may have missed a spot, but I ask you to tell me of a person who could clean up their own puke while that drunk?

SO, apparently I'm a fucking teenager. I have NEVER puked in someone's car before. EVER. Merry fucking Christmas.

To Do List

Make a Christmas Wish List: Check

Masturbate with the Rotating Assmaster 3000: Double Check

Arrive Late to work: Check (see above)

Discover Cold Fusion: Pending

Harness Lightning Bolts for Wizardry Convention: You know it!

Become President of a Sovereign Nation: Paperwork under investigation

Start a Collection of David and Goliath action figures: OWNED!

Give a hand-job to a homeless man: Thrice

Knock over a lemonade stand: Every day. Those kids need to know about failure.

Make your first million off of hand made tin foil babies: $4.00 and counting!

Make a to-do list: Never in a million years. I don’t believe in itemized lists

Find a unicorn and have the wickedest sex with it: Legendary!

Audition for a strip club, cry, dance naked anyway, cry again, blame the crying on daddy issues, find a man who beats you regularly, quit crying so you don’t get beat regularly, and develop an eating disorder: Once a month for good measure.

Make a hat out of Styrofoam for the “Annual End of the Year Suicide and Alien B.B.Q Sauce-off”: too busy fucking unicorns…will get on this tomorrow.

Tell a skinny girl she's fat: done

Tell a fat girl she's fatter than the fat skinny girl: too confusing...will work on insults after done fucking unicorns