Brew Crew (and Other) Hangover

BREW CREW HANGOVER

They might never win another game. At least they are playing on the road this weekend, when I will be there. They have a puncher's chance on the road. At home, they can't do anything right lately. It is becoming borderline painful to watch. Schizophrenic as always. At least they didn't replace Doug Davis with Soup, which shows you how ridiculous it was that he was ever starting in the first place. But if you've got a guy who is only the 8th (assuming Villa is done starting) best starter on your team wasting space in the bullpen, why is he still here at all? Best to Doug Davis. The Brewers seem cursed this year. That Brewer-Cub game in September is looking better and better.

OTHER HANGOVER

My (Sports Bottle's) god. It is painful to type right now. I'm in BAD shape. This is in the top 3 worst second day hangovers I've ever had. And I can't really give you a good reason why. Everything went sort of as planned this weekend. I got really, really drunk on Friday. I wandered away about midnight and got yelled at (probably deservedly so). I blacked out and forgot how I got back to Schmock's house.

Saturday, I woke up with a hangover, killed it with an Excedrin and a screwdriver, and proceeded to get super ass drunk. I had a nice mixture of beer/caffinated mixed drinks, and somehow (I think, I'll be honest when I say I don't remember) stayed away from vodka/cranberry. Spent somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 straight hours at Pack R Place bar, ate a huge greasy burger, a brat and a chicken sandwich. Told a bunch of inappropriate jokes. Good times were had. Then we went to Schmock's parents, and things are a total blur. The only things I remember from the two hours or so we spent there were as follows: I was introduced to Code Red and Vodka, I ate a piece of pizza, we tried to set up my wife's perpetually single friend with another of our perpetually single friends via text message when said girl wasn't there and had never met the guy who was standing there with a three fingered chew in his cheek. I have no clue how much I drank in those two hours. Then we went back to the bar, where the only thing I know for sure is that I had at least one shot. At some point, we walked three miles (or one) back to Schmock's house. I think I immediately passed out.

And then....I puked. Alot, and without warning. I shouldn't say no warning. I had enough warning to get most of it in the toilet. Then I puked again. This time, I almost didn't make it to the bathroom, but thankfully I did. I have no clue what prompted the vomit. It has been awhile. I didn't miss it. Oh, and I blew all the blood vessels in my face and my eyes are yellow, so I look really, really bad. I got all sorts of stares and comments at work, but nobody came right out and said "What the fuck happened to your face?" Although I know they wanted to. Somehow I didn't fall asleep at my desk, or wind up in a ditch on the way home.

Did I mention that I'm doing this again (less one day) on Saturday night? It is a good thing the bars in Minneapolis close at like 10:45. On a scale of one to ten on levels of excitement, with 10 being most excited. I'm a negative 3. And it is only that high because I haven't seen Richard's sweet, sweet ass in like 6 months. But I've got to do what I've got to do. You are only sort of young once. And at some point I'm sure some kid will come along and ruin the opportunity to be completely retarded. And I've got a contract with Richard signed in blood to get blacked out every time I see him. So there is that.

"Just The Tip"

Well, I'm back at work this morning. And I'm just going to go ahead and say that I'm not all that happy to be here. I continue my streak of drinking coffee on a Monday morning after a long weekend of drinking, and regretting it. I sincerely wish I could just take Monday's after long drinking weekends off. But if I did that this month, I would only work like 8 days, which is probably unacceptable to the people that pay me.

ANYWAYS, successful weekend overall. Highlights included:

-Discussing how my friends and I never, ever see each other and not get completely fucking shitfaced. Ever.

-Continuing the streak of needlessly stretching these things out for two nights, and then starting by noon on the second day, just prove that we aren't old yet.

-A surprising number of discussions about kids, landscaping, cleaning and other old person shit, even though only one person has a kid.

-A chip in for par on the third hole by me.

-Open and blatant carrying on of alcoholic beverages to the golf course.

-Mark and I beating "Michael Jackson's Moonwalker", "The Simpsons" and "Double Dragon" on his sweet ass arcade machine.

-Open and obvious drunk driving by a relative of the bachelor, despite the fact that there was plenty of room in the cabs.

-An unattractive waitress muttering the following two things to Sports Bottle: "Surprise, Surprise, right in my eyes." and "Wanna play just the tip later?" Both statements were unwelcome (probably) and completely out of the blue.

-The pregnant bartender at Champion's Sports Bar.

-First trip to the Oval Office "Gentleman's Club"

-(story redacted) at the Oval Office "Gentleman's Club"

-Stiffing the "bathroom attendant" at the Oval Office. I refused to fucking pay to have someone turn on the sink for me. It isn't that difficult. Even though I was retarded drunk.

-A bunch of stuff happening at Cock & Bull which I don't remember.

-The chick fight at that other bar.

-Mark and Richard dancing their fucking asses off.

-Rest of the night was a blur. Remember playing golden tee, but don't know if I finished. Remember eating like two whole pizzas. I allegedly was dragged off of an air mattress onto a cement floor and I didn't even react. Woke up feeling like I was going to die. The End.

PS. Lets do this shit all over again this Friday and Saturday. Anyone? The 4th annual Orenthal James Simpson Football Association draft is sometime on Saturday. The dominance shall continue.

I'm Never Drinking Again...

I pretty much feel like I'm going to die. I just finished driving back from the place I passed out last night, and I nearly had to pull over on the interstate to vomit. Plus, I would say there is a pretty decent chance that I am still drunk. Weird night last night. About 10 p.m. I was sitting on a couch, getting full from drinking much of my Sam Adam's winter variety pack, with a small buzz, trying to stay awake, and seriously considering going home at 12:01. Then they put the baby to bed and started to play some party game thing, which was actually kind of fun. Then we busted out The Andre and it was all downhill from there. I ended up putting down about a bottle and a half of The Andre and was fucking WASTED. Anyway, the whole point of this lame ass story isn't about how drunk I was, it is that I am sick as fuck, and will never drink again. (Until my next excuse).