I’ve been saying so little on this thing recently. Sorry about that. I hope to do better, but a lot of the ideas I have to post about show who I really am. I don’t always like who I really am or at least would prefer to hide him from my friends who know me and don’t want to see me being foolish.
Well, here’s the news: I am foolish. I’m obsessive. I’m compulsive. I’m a sinner.
Last Monday, I had a really good time. I went to the bar to hang out with some friends. My friends went home by 10PM, but I stuck around to hang out with my bar friends and kept drinking. I talked with Jess for quite a bit about random stuff like grandparents, life ambitions, where she met her boyfriend Rob, and probably other things I don’t remember. Rob was playing pool with another off-duty bar employee (he and Jess both bartend).
I didn’t play any pool that night. I drank a lot of Captain Morgan’s (rum) and Coke. Somehow in there I also drank a Jägerbomb, a red-headed slut, and another concoction I don’t remember. Impressive, huh? (Sarcasm is in here somewhere.)
My big accomplishment for the night consists of me taking a couple clumsy, drunken drags from a cigarette. As if I don’t have enough problems in life anyway, I thought it would be cool to try smoking. I’m 24, but I guess it’s never to late to let the peer pressure get to you. All the cool people at the bar smoke… and what am I supposed to do on smoke breaks if I don’t smoke?
Maybe I could try being a man. Perhaps hold back and not drink to excess. Perhaps not smoke death sticks.
Can you hear the guilt? The shame? It’s kind of what I’m going for in this one. The sad part is even though I’ve got some of that going on, I can honestly say I still enjoyed it. I like drinking alcohol. I like being around people.
It sure as hell beats sitting around in my apartment, using my computer, and posting on my blog. Sure, it’s got its uses, but why am I here?