I enjoy new and exciting places (to drink).
Jay took off Sunday night for Burbank to help supervise the voice-over recordings for the video game. He’ll be gone all week.
”I’d take you with me, but it’s…Burbank.”
“Yeah, no thanks. I’m cool.”
Which might not be entirely accurate. The last time Jay went down there, he was barely in the cab before I regressed into the disgusting little slattern I was before I met him. By the time he made it to the airport, I think I was already half passed out in the middle of a filthy living room, spooning a near-empty box of chablis and singing along to the “SpongeBob SquarePants” theme. SpongeBob SquarePants was not on the television at this time, nor do I know any of the lyrics to the aforementioned theme song. I let neither of these things deter me.
Basically, I’m saying that at any given moment, I am approximately 5 minutes away from Jay leaving me before I surrender to utter sloth and total inebriated devastation.
That said, so far this week’s been great!
Oh, the house is disgusting. Seriously, it’s gross. For the most part (despite my promises to Jay to stick to our diet) I’m living on frozen burritos, fistfuls of Cheetos, and boxed wine…but, unlike last time, I’ve been showering and leaving the house, and talking to people, and everything. I had a really nice cooking class/supper club thing last night, and tomorrow I’m going skiing with my friends Jeff and Paul!
Well, they’re going skiing. I’m going drinking.
While Jeff and Paul are up here:
Doing this:
Or maybe even this:
I’ll be down here:
Hopefully by this:
Drinking copious amounts of these:
I mean, I don’t know how to ski, I don’t have the proper clothing and equipment and little hats, or whatever it is you need to ski. But I definitely know how to drink, and despite what my last physical said (”You have the liver of a 78 year old Polish coal miner”) I feel fairly well equipped in that area as well. I’ve never been anywhere near a ski…club? Lodge? Resort mountain thing? However, since I assume most everything is as shown in the movies, I imagine while Jeff and Paul are freezing their asses off fighting international jewel thieves and Russian terrorists on the peaks of Mount Rainier, I’ll be drinking mulled cider by the fireplace of a charming Swiss chalet while enjoying the harebrained antics of the local ski patrol. I’m pretty sure hot tubs figure heavily into it too, at some point, so I should probably bring my swimsuit.
I’ll let you know how it goes.