Is It Friday? Drink Posting Meeting Place.

I have a few rules when drinking hard. Funny enough, one of those is I don't drink schnapps or hard cider. Sure fire hangover. If I'm going hard its vodka, rum, or whiskey. Never beer and never ever wine.

 

I get the schnapps and cider and wine, but beer? Beer is good for every drinking occasion

 

Three IPAs is a dam good time, 6 IPAs is a serious hangover. For a nice solid buzz, beer is amazing, for getting wasted its not worth it.

 

Guess it all depends on the drinker, I've been good on straight beer for too long to remember, throw some shitty vodka or sugar liquor in there I’m fucked though.

 

I remember those days, I miss them alot

 

Thank you, this is why i like this place, no shit.
Music?


I am a wee bit drunk so my grammar and spelling may not be the best

 

It does go away. A lot of people start of their drinking careers thinking they are immune to hangovers, then one day-- like Joe Jackson... it hits you.

There is no hangover like wine. Part of the reason I;m not a big fan of wine is because it installs in me a hangover where vertebrae in my spine are sticking out of my back so far they're picking up sandlot games from Radio Havana. That was the true "never again" hangover where you're just hoping a passenger plane will land on your house and end the suffering. You want to crawl to the bathroom but air molecules are violently slamming against your body like shotgun beanbags and preventing your brave quest so you just lie down on your back. That would be the cue for your dog to sit curiously six feet from you and engage in extremely loud personal hygiene for a magical 45 minutes that's all about the journey, not the destination.

 

for me that was kamchatka vodka and cranberry juice, anything cranberry still makes me gag

 

The worst hangover that I still remember was 4 years ago in London. I drank fosters and gin. I couldn't sleep and was in too much pain to stay awake. So instead, because I was in a hostel, I went into the bathroom, into a stall, closed the door, and sat on the crapper with my head leaned on the stall wall.

 

Yep, we can all agree fuck hangovers.

 

Tonight, I met a guy who looked exactly like James Deen, only instead of doing porn he was a software engineer for Google and a painter. We had been talking for an hour with his hand on my hip and doing that close-talking-in-your-ear-cheek-to-cheek thing and I had already named our future children in my mind when he casually slipped in a reference of his girlfriend. And then I promptly killed myself.

Also,someone spilled their beer all over me and i feel like I smell like a giant yeast infection.

Also, I almost got knifed on my walk home because I was walking too close behind the guy in front of me and he didn't know I was a girl. He felt really bad about it. I might have peed myself a little but I can't really tell because I'm still pretty damp all over from the beer. My heart's also still pounding real hard somewhere down near my knees.

So, yeah, it was a good night.

 

When I was 16, on a night when my prior drinking experience was a single night with 4 Smirnoff Ice and a faceplant, I was invited to a house party. I tried Bud Light. Then I tried Alize. Then someone brought Apple Pucker, which I tried straight. Then I smoked some weed I'd brought with some people I'd never met. I will not shame myself by sharing what happened after (or at least what was told to me because the last thing I remember was crawling under a pool table to pass out, and holy shit I wish blacked-out me had stayed there), but I woke up the next morning hating all of creation.

Agonizing headache that would have alone blurred my vision had I not still been slightly drunk with the kind of vomiting that makes your very soul hurt. And of course dear old dad came downstairs with a Bud Light in hand to offer me as I slouched over the toilet, eyes teared up and nose gushing from puking with enough force to create the kind of splash that waterpark attendees only dream of.

Oh, and plans had been made to go to Kings Island, which my dad adjusted to "Make Frosty ride every ride there". And he fucking meant it, at least until we stopped for gas and he came out to see a busy gas station full of people watching as I projectile vomited out of the side of the car. I'm assuming he didn't want to risk dealing with police, especially as I probably should have been hospitalized. After all, when your son is blacked out and only intermittently responsive despite lying under an ice cold shower spray, normal parents seek professional medical help instead of getting a few seconds of response and then dumping you in your bed. Right?


Oh, and I'll second Crown on wine hangovers. Worse, every time I've had wine, I don't get a good buzz. If I feel anything at all, it's simply reduced motor function. So instead of "Oh hey, good buzz, blah blah blah", it was "I feel stupid and my hand isn't going where I tell it to". Then I would wake up and feel like I'd somehow survived a night with Norman Bates. So yeah, fuck wine.

 

Took the kid to a roller skating rink out in the middle of rural methland tonight. The place was packed with gormless adolescents, heavily-tattooed teens with gauged earlobes and dark hoodies, trashy women, fat middle-aged men with greasy ponytails, and a few downtrodden dads in dated workout clothes who just stared dejectedly at the rink and only offered up half-smiles to their screaming offspring whenever they raced past. If the clientele wasn't depressing enough, the place was supposed to mimic a county-fair type of aesthetic...that is, if the county fair were left to rust and rot and collect dust for a decade or so. It was festooned with those strings of triangular flags that you see at low-quality used car lots, but they were so caked with grime that I couldn't tell what color they were supposed to be. Half of their Christmas lights were out, the paint on the cinderblock walls had been haphazardly chipped away in huge swaths, and the place smelled like your grandparent's home after a sudden death. Honestly, if someone told me that yesterday this place had been reopened for business after being padlocked shut for five years, I wouldn't hesitate to believe it.

Predictably, the kiddo loved it. I was doing a great job of being her #1 fan (she wanted me to stand at the edge of the rink and hold a cup of water for her to chug as she blew by...you know, "like when you ride a bike on TV") until I noticed we were being watched. It wasn't hard to find out what tingled my creep meter--he was standing in the center of the rink staring at me. As soon as he noticed me looking at him, he winked at me and started skating really fast around the rink, doing all of these maybe-complicated twists and foot movements and twirls. He even did an ice-skating move where he jumped up and then landed with one leg extended behind him...some weird Michelle Kwan shit that I've never seen anyone do in real life. It was absurd, because this guy was easily 50 and pushing 300 lbs. and he was entirely bald except for a ratty ponytail that went halfway down his back. I studiously avoided eye contact with him for the rest of the night, but he somehow managed to corner kiddo in a conversation on the opposite side of the rink after the last song.

I seriously thought he might be a pedophile and I was pissed. You do NOT single out a 6 year old girl, away from her peers and parents, when you're a complete stranger. Also, by the time I pushed through the hordes of teens feverishly mashing their faces together and grinding pelvises in the middle of the rink (great idea to make the last song a couples song!), he was kneeling down in front of her and trying to put something in her hand. God bless the child, she wasn't having any of it. She kept her fist clenched and looked right at me the entire time I was stomping up to them. He saw where she was looking and he turned around right as I got close enough to them--I don't know what my face looked like, but I do know that I felt like grabbing the nearest set of skates and bashing his sweaty face with them for approaching the kiddo. Anyhow, somehow my demeanor or expression intimidated him. He shot up like a rocket, only he forgot that he was wearing skates and he busted his ass immediately.

Guess what spilled out of his pockets when he fell? Oh, you'll never guess. Here, let me tell you: candy. All of his cargo pants pockets were stuffed with candy. So much candy spilled out onto the rink floor that all the nearby kids noticed, screamed, and made a mad dash for our vicinity. It was like a busted piñata, only the paper-mâché donkey was a creepy middle-aged man. He literally couldn't get up because he was being pummeled by a stampede of children in skates and rollerblades trying to elbow their peers out the way for a pixie stick.

I pulled the kid out of there so fast I didn't see what happened after that. But my adrenaline is still pretty high from all of that righteous anger and now I can't sleep. Fuck that guy.

tl;dr: Possibly identified a pedophile at my local skating rink.

 

And this is why I've sent my 23 yr. old to counselling.

 

And they're 48 and you're sending them birthday cards asking why they hate you, and why they haven't talked to you in 9 years. (you know I'm teasing you girlfriend - I shouldn't need to say that, but just in case...I'm mocking my reality...buzz kill).

 

Didn't you also brag once about not getting a hangover after six drinks? It's pretty easy to avoid them if you don't step up to the plate.

 

It's okay, it was my mom's motto and hey, guess what!? We don't speak either.