Shh...... why is it when you're hung over the world is EXTRA loud, annoying, and not needed. Even hours later as I type this, I feel as though I'm doing so as a "Mad Men" secretary- completely unnecessarily noisy and without actual purpose. I wont lie- I would rather be in bed right now smothered by pillows and blankets. Instead, I went on a walk.....
But let me back up. Last night "the girl with the dragon tattoo" and I went to the Uptown VFW after a whole day of drinking at Groveland Tap #SUMMIT EPA. I'll have you know, I won three rounds of Presidents and Assholes #may not have actual skill, but home girl got drinking game, game. SINCE I was watching Sage that weekend, I did break up happy hour at 6pm and leave to let him out (although looking back I'd say this minor break/sober time was my downfall as the girl and I had a whisky diet each). Moving on, Dragon and I played with him and his feline friends for an hour before heading to the VFW Uptown, known to us by their "ameteur" karaoke night....and by that I mean every overweight, crack-showing man in the tri-state area attends. Let's get to the point--- Dragon and I had three whisky diets filled a mile high for $ 2.50 each. Obviously this is where it becomes slightly blurry, if not a complete mind fuck.
Back to the main story-- as in the morning after. I woke up with a major headache and instant regret of the text messages I sent the previous night....did I really just try to reconnect with an old boyfriend from three years ago? Yeeeeep. Did I call my guy friend an mother f-- because he didn't buy me a drink--- vaguely familiar, but at the time warranted- yes. and ooops. Why is it that all of the confidence and reason of last night ends with the buzz? Why do well say what we want while drunk, but regret it while sober? And I'm not just talking about my pregnancy.
Sage and I walked the three miles from his house to my downtown condo the next day to 'retrieve' my car. If only I could have yelled "fetch" and Sage brought it back to me, this whole story could have been avoided. With the amount of smeared mascara in my eyes and blur of alcohol, I don't doubt that Sage would've handled the road better than me. But, as luck and bad breeding would have it, Sage is not a retriever....
.Since I was only equipped with my hooker books, I adorned his owners, the Doc's, hunting books, or as the locals say, hut' n boots. I, on the other hand, would call them torture foot holes with spike-ankle-holders. My ankles are still paying the price for wearing too big, too manly boots. In fact, the boots wore off a layer of my ankle tattoo (no joke, I have one, and no joke, its jacked up now). I knew it was trouble two houses into the walk. Sage turned around as if his feet were sensitive to the cold snow. We headed back (which he seemed fine doing) before heading away again. For the rest of the "torture walk" he was fine, if not happy perhaps. Me on the other hand? I was miserable, if not near death. Is it bad if during a walk you wonder how a passerby will find your dead, lifeless body lying in the snow?
The walk was going well. I felt revived, whisky free, and ready to start training for a marathon....okay maybe not, but I was able take two steps from the couch so I was pretty much cured. The major milestone came when we reached the U of M hill on the W Riverparkway. Its a significant hill. Runners stop to 'jog' it up or at best walk. When it came time for Sage and I to tackle the hill all I couldn't help but think about the "Big Bang"episode where Leonard and Sheldon try to move a box up four flights of stairs. Remembering this, I knew that if I were to lay parallel to the plane ( in this case the ground) i would be able to move up the hill with greater ease of strength. I tried to explain this concept to Sage, but he was NOT ABOUT moving my body weight up hill (even at a desirable incline). I huffed and puffed and made my way up, and eventually (1 hour later) to my apartment.
2 massive blisters later, 1 cold dog, and 1 day old hooker later, we were home. Damn VFW....I'll see you and your drinks tomorrow.
But let me back up. Last night "the girl with the dragon tattoo" and I went to the Uptown VFW after a whole day of drinking at Groveland Tap #SUMMIT EPA. I'll have you know, I won three rounds of Presidents and Assholes #may not have actual skill, but home girl got drinking game, game. SINCE I was watching Sage that weekend, I did break up happy hour at 6pm and leave to let him out (although looking back I'd say this minor break/sober time was my downfall as the girl and I had a whisky diet each). Moving on, Dragon and I played with him and his feline friends for an hour before heading to the VFW Uptown, known to us by their "ameteur" karaoke night....and by that I mean every overweight, crack-showing man in the tri-state area attends. Let's get to the point--- Dragon and I had three whisky diets filled a mile high for $ 2.50 each. Obviously this is where it becomes slightly blurry, if not a complete mind fuck.
Back to the main story-- as in the morning after. I woke up with a major headache and instant regret of the text messages I sent the previous night....did I really just try to reconnect with an old boyfriend from three years ago? Yeeeeep. Did I call my guy friend an mother f-- because he didn't buy me a drink--- vaguely familiar, but at the time warranted- yes. and ooops. Why is it that all of the confidence and reason of last night ends with the buzz? Why do well say what we want while drunk, but regret it while sober? And I'm not just talking about my pregnancy.
Sage and I walked the three miles from his house to my downtown condo the next day to 'retrieve' my car. If only I could have yelled "fetch" and Sage brought it back to me, this whole story could have been avoided. With the amount of smeared mascara in my eyes and blur of alcohol, I don't doubt that Sage would've handled the road better than me. But, as luck and bad breeding would have it, Sage is not a retriever....
.Since I was only equipped with my hooker books, I adorned his owners, the Doc's, hunting books, or as the locals say, hut' n boots. I, on the other hand, would call them torture foot holes with spike-ankle-holders. My ankles are still paying the price for wearing too big, too manly boots. In fact, the boots wore off a layer of my ankle tattoo (no joke, I have one, and no joke, its jacked up now). I knew it was trouble two houses into the walk. Sage turned around as if his feet were sensitive to the cold snow. We headed back (which he seemed fine doing) before heading away again. For the rest of the "torture walk" he was fine, if not happy perhaps. Me on the other hand? I was miserable, if not near death. Is it bad if during a walk you wonder how a passerby will find your dead, lifeless body lying in the snow?
The walk was going well. I felt revived, whisky free, and ready to start training for a marathon....okay maybe not, but I was able take two steps from the couch so I was pretty much cured. The major milestone came when we reached the U of M hill on the W Riverparkway. Its a significant hill. Runners stop to 'jog' it up or at best walk. When it came time for Sage and I to tackle the hill all I couldn't help but think about the "Big Bang"episode where Leonard and Sheldon try to move a box up four flights of stairs. Remembering this, I knew that if I were to lay parallel to the plane ( in this case the ground) i would be able to move up the hill with greater ease of strength. I tried to explain this concept to Sage, but he was NOT ABOUT moving my body weight up hill (even at a desirable incline). I huffed and puffed and made my way up, and eventually (1 hour later) to my apartment.
2 massive blisters later, 1 cold dog, and 1 day old hooker later, we were home. Damn VFW....I'll see you and your drinks tomorrow.
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