Okay, so the first step toward Funville has been taken, which is good, but I think I sprained my ankle in the process. (Metaphorically speaking, of course.) It takes a bigger toll on the old body to be out late drinking than it used to. I had a good time, though. I went out with some friends from work - we drank, shot some pool (I totally owned everyone), drank some more, and polished off the evening with that most wonderful of post-binge traditions, Waffle House.
Steak and Eggs, Baby. Steak and Eggs.
Anyway, I woke up today with a beaver chewing on my skull and napalm in my throat. Turns out that getting older makes it more difficult to bounce back from a night of frivolity. And, of course, my darling daughters decided to play "let's jump up and down on Daddy" this morning. Bonus.
But, the important thing is I had a good time. I spent too much money and nearly slept with someone who I have since learned is a bit of a psycho, but all is well. It's always better to find out someone is bat-shit crazy before nailing them in a moment of drunken inhibition-less-ness. I know. I've tried doing it the other way around, and it never works out.
And ladies (guys too, I suppose), why is it that you can't let the crazy hang out right from the beginning? Why do you always have to wait until we (I) develop an attachment or at least some small feelings for you before you wave the nutjob banner? Honestly, just be yourself. Even if yourself sucks, there is someone out there who is perfect for you. Someone who digs drama, trivial fights, jealousy, being controlled and watched like a hawk. It just ain't me, lady.
I'm kind of ranting now, so it's time to finish up.
In summation: Had fun last night. Dodged sleeping-with-crazy-people bullet. Check your drama at the door. Pass the aspirin. Steak and eggs, baby. Steak and eggs.
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