Since the best way to describe my behavior this weekend is abysmal, a few people felt prompted to ask me, “What goes through your mind when you go out?”
A simple answer of “nothing intelligent,” would be insufficient, so here is my best effort to convey exactly what passes through my mind on any given Friday here at Fairfield.
Somewhere after 8 p.m. I want a beer. I want another beer. I want another beer. Man, those first three beers were tasty; I think I’ll have another three.
Did I shower this morning? I hope so. Does it matter anyways? Probably not. Whatever, I need to go to the fridge to get more beer. No more! Where am I going to get my hands on more of that delicious fun juice? It’s past 9 o’clock. Stupid puritan state. I guess I’ll go to the bar. I have twenty dollars, I’ll only spend ten of it.
I’m at the Grape. I’m going to the back bar to get my drinks from the hot chick. She and I have this relationship where she wears a low-cut shirt and leans over when she gets me my drinks and then I give her a good tip. It’s nice.
Time to take a lap. What is this girl’s name who is talking to me? I swear I’ve been introduced to her before, probably ten times. Is that a cold sore on her lip? Gross. Gotta go. Quick, how do I get out of this? Tell her I have to go to the bathroom.
This bathroom is funny. There’s vomit in the trough again. Use the stall. I wonder if anyone has ever been brave enough to go number two in this place during prime time? That would take balls. Don’t wash hands.
Man the bar is crowded. I am too sober for this. Hello ATM! Two more 180’s please. Go talk to my friends. My friends are cool. Did I already finish those drinks? I am superman.
I am now officially the best-looking kid in the world. Time to go talk to that girl I made out with last year. She probably thinks I am the best looking kid in the world too. Make sure you look at her face. Look at her face. Smile. Nod. Look at her face. Look at those boobs! Damn. Caught staring. Leave now.
The bar is closed? Already? What to do now? Go home for a minute. The chair in my house is talking a whole lot of smack. I better break it.
The next morning. . .
Where am I? Where is my cell phone? Why are my shoes still on? What is that smell? I feel awful. I’m never drinking again. Until tonight.
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