I read the news today, oh boy ...
I really can't tell you where it all went wrong ... I didn't even get the chance to smoke out, that's the fuck of it all.
You're talking to a guy who ended the night wearing a puke-covered Amsterdam shirt over his torso, and who wore another T-shirt as pants covering his unmentionables. You're talking to a guy who now has his pants and boxers and shirt in a plastic bag. How do you THINK my night went?
So, I'm trying with great desperation to LEAVE the party before I can make a further ass of myself (as if spelling my name with my ass wasn't enough to achieve such great nirvana in that regard), and this really nice, pretty girl is trying with great desperation to get me to STAY at the party, and I'm doing a pretty good job of resisting with what might I have left, and all I'm thinking is: "OK, this just looks like the gayest thing in the world." Now, obviously this is Boulder's girlfriend (actually I didn't know this at the time, but let's roll with that one), and I obviously know that no one in my condition is prepared for anything sexual, so really, I'm not expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen if I return to the party. But, I listen to the voice of reason. And that's when Mt. St. Steve starts erupting.
No, it's more like a slow lava-flow spilling out of the top. No ash, nothing covering the air for miles but the stench.
Here's the deal, last night Lecturer Steve was on the prowl. I had the chance to read many people very separate, very distinct riot acts, reaching across the spectrum. Sometimes they were warranted. Sometimes I should've just kept my big fat word-hole shut. There was Bianca with the impression that David Michael Manni would've somehow been invited to the party. Like I don't know what was insinuated THERE! Hey, I'll admit it, I'm a nice guy. I like to invite my friends to parties I hear about. That doesn't mean I go out of my way to invite complete douchebags everywhere I go (present self-company excluded). So, yes, I'd like to say that was highly warranted. But, then again, there was Caitlin and the Junkyard Gang who somehow managed to send me the wrong signal that the pot party was moved to the outside of the building. I'm sorry, I don't understand sign language. Maybe some smoke signals or flag-waiving would've gotten the point better across. Nevertheless, knowing now what I should've known then, there was much foresight in keeping me away from the peace pipe last night.
Help me if you can, I'm feelin' down
So, to a point, I was pretty entertaining last night, right? I mean, I'm no Dave Attell or anything, but I'd like to think people got their money's worth.
I just feel like I let my boy down last night. I mean, I only had BEER! And Kon's going, "Oh, he only had beer, he's fine." Well, you learn something new about Steve every day if you hang around long enough (only problem there is there's a price to pay, mainly the hanging-around-long-enough part). I wanted to leave the party. Scratch that, I NEEDED to leave the party. And, what's more, they needed me to leave the party. When you get a One-Too-Many Steve who WANTS to leave your place, you should count your blessings. I mean, there's no greater gift one can receive on one's 21st birthday than my absence. Just ask Jimmy/James and you'll know what I mean. Thankfully, this time I didn't puke on any throw pillows.
OK, so the point is, I'm not sorry. Now, in (OK, I just got a phone call and lost my train of thought. How would I finish a sentence that started "Now, in" ...). All right, so I'm just gonna start this paragraph over, damn this hangover
So, I DO sort of have an excuse for my poor performance last night. Not having dinner was a poor way to go, though I've done it before with righteous results. Anyway, the puke was sort of coughed up onto myself, mostly attaching itself to my clothing. Funny, no one was so eager to keep me around after I erupted. Though, that was probably because I also erupted.
I don't anger easily. I'd like to think of myself as a pretty easy-going guy. Even last night, I was reasonable. Honestly, this LiveJournal is giving me a bad rep (who am I kidding, I'M giving myself a bad rep). People know with great prejudice that I'm one not to be trusted alone on the mean streets of Seattle while hammered into submission. I listened to Boulder's girlfriend's argument and without a backbone, I submitted to a return to the party. Honestly, though, when you're passing out in strange places, that's when you know it's become a problematic, intervention-necessitating so-called disease. I'm telling you, next time, I'm gonna have some ammo to help hone my drunk-debating skills. I perch myself in the hallway on the ground and within moments ...
The funny thing about everything is that I waited until I was finished. I was puking off and on for a solid minute, maybe two, and I'm just sitting there. I'm not running for a toilet, I'm not rushing out the door to fend off the dozens of eyes glued on my mortifying ordeal. I honestly didn't know I was gonna puke until pretty much THE instant it started, so it's not like it could've been prevented ... unless they'd let me LEAVE. Say what you will about my drunken motor skills, but I know when I've gotta get back and go to bed. Something goes off in my head that tells me it's time to leave. Sometimes it doesn't get to that point and I don't lose control. Other times, I get out just in time and make it back to the apartment without many scratches. However, when the process gets circumvented from outside parties and I'm prohibited from leaving, only bad things can result.
Some of you can attest that I've been FAR more belligerent. At my worst, I'm not even listening to you. I'm off and running because OBVIOUSLY I always know best. So, if you can get me to listen to you, even with half of my ass, there's a good chance I'm not past the point of no return. I may be close, but I'm not all the way. But, I'll tell you what, some people in my vicinity learned that lesson the hard way when I finally completed my puking. Like I said, I waited until I was finished, and then it was, "All right, now that that's finished, it's time to get the FUCK out of here and I'm gonna say whatever needs to be said to get my initiative pushed through Congress." I said some things that I shouldn't have said I'm assuming. But, I was pissed. You're looking at the guy who's a borderline alcoholic. Nothing can be more embarassing than helplessly puking all over yourself over 10 or 11 beers and ONLY beers. Lord knows in my life people have seen many instances of Steve-Weakness. When you get me, you get a whole bundle of insecurities I obsess over ALL THE TIME. My entire life is one huge clusterfuck of suppression that I can't control. Any emotion I may be feeling that would seem out of the ordinary in regular situations gets bottled up with a fear of appearing somehow mentally flawed. So, when last night happens, I immediately go on the defensive. It's Steve Against The World and I turn into a true bastard in every sense of the word.
So, I'd like to take this opportunity to apologize and give a heartfelt "I'm Sorry" for puking in their apartment and the resulting beratement that followed. It wasn't called for. I'm certain, as in the case of Jimmy/James, I'll never live this one down either. There's something about going to a "house" party with a 4-West connection for the first time and me puking in their residence. Really, I know this would shock Bianca who assumes I'm puking on a weekly alcohol-related basis, but this is only ... number 2 and a half of me puking in someone's home and not making the toilet or garbage can (Bianca's stairs being that half, it was OUTSIDE!!!). I was on a REALLY good run, too. The last time I puked was Matt's 21 Run, and that was last summer.
everything's gonna be all right, everything's gonna be all right
Hey, at least it wasn't a repeat of last year's Pre-Super Bowl festivities. I still have two functioning eyes, just in case Paul McCartney decides to flash us a little scrotum on the halftime show. I tell you, though, it took all the focus of my being to get back to the apartment. There was one time, with my lone-walk home that I had a decision to make. For some reason, the streets weren't looking too familiar, and I REALLY had to focus to find my way towards 45th and the Ave and 47th and the rest (here on Gilligan's Isle). It honestly is, with me navigating myself home, like having Gilligan steering the Minnow for the Skipper. Luckily, this three-hour tour didn't end with me crashing my body into any icebergs or picking any fights with any ruffians who would surely turn my ass into mincemeat.
See, I don't need people on Steve Duty EVERY time I get plastered to the wall ... that is, unless I want to make it home with all my possessions. My fucking coat is still over there. I'm gonna have to return to the scene of the crime today, hangdog expression and all. Hopefully this time I won't walk into the room with people spooning on the bed again ... it's gonna be a long day
Current Mood: Give me shelter
Current Music: The Beatles - A Day In The Life
mikhiel
2005-02-06 09:22 pm UTC
meh, no worries. Last night was awesome. Next time we'll get really ridiculously stoned and all will be good
I blame KEYSTONE
dunderhead99
2005-02-07 06:17 am UTC
It may not give you that dreaded Bitter Beer Face, but it's hardcore rediculous for my system. Next time, ridiculously stoned and NO BEER.
No beer and no TV makes Homer something something
Go crazy?
Don't mind if I do!