I Keep Forgettin'

Besides being a great Michael McDonald song from the 80s, this is how I feel about my relationship with my blog sometimes. I actually forget that I have it and that I have to keep the content fresh and new in order to keep it happy (yes, I just admitted that I think my blog has feelings). You'd think it would haunt my sleep or something.

If I had blogged about my weekend, I would have written about the vile black liquer known as Jager. I was about to have a button made for myself: "32.5 years without puking". From drinking, that is. But, thanks to a shot of Jager (with a little help from its lesser offender the Lemon Drop and 6 beers), I have to call the printers and cancel the order. Happy Hour started at 5:00, I was all puked out and in bed by 8:30.

After pickling myself on Friday, did I listen to the sober voice of reason telling me that alcohol was not my friend? Did Britney rush out and buy some new underwear at wal-trash? (that means no) I actually felt pretty darn good on Saturday but by my the 2nd beer on Saturday night, my throat started to close and I realized that I should keep a water in my hand to ensure no more malted beverages made it to my stomach.

And then...
Friends came in to town on Sunday and after a meal that took 2+ hours and 3 bottles of wine, we made our way to a local pub for some after-dinner drinks. I capped my weekend off by getting pulled over by Portland's finest because he thought that our car wasn't inspected (it was but MA puts its sticker on the right side of the windshield where ME puts it on the left or center). He also mentioned that I had "rolled" through a few of the blinking red lights but for some reason he spared me with a verbal warning and my weekend of self-pickling and drunken debauchery came to an end.