Today marked the end of another weekend stocked full of mild panic attacks, intolerable hangovers, and the inevitable shut down by countless women. Some of you reading this may think that the brief description I just gave you could only outline the awful weekend of a hopeless alcoholic/manic depressive burned out ex cop. Well, you might be correct if somewhere in that sentence I added "I'm getting to old for this shit." Unfortunately I am not a cliché 80's movie detective, I am a struggling college student/mortgage clown in the giant farce that is orange county only trying to make my way through life and stay on course with the rest of my overly ambitious colleges/peers who apparently are all going to have a "million dollars" within the next decade.
This blog is my attempt at showing the thoughts of an indecent degenerate through the overwhelming sea of fronts and lude conduct that an orange county native is forced to deal with on a day to day basis. Anyway, before I go into some inconsequential rant I should probably get back to the main point of this blog. Why do I feel it a necessary to drink and smoke my life into oblivion every weekend? The answer is....(drum roll).. I have no idea. Maybe it is the constant need to escape the charade that is my life at this very moment. In this repetitive act of self destruction itself I should find no solace because I am simply reproducing this cycle of self defecation that I inevitably throw myself through on a weekly basis, Right? I couldn’t be more wrong.. Let me break it down for you with the brief description of my own personal hell,
My average week consists of Monday through Friday -school and work. My classes are twice a week, which might seem easy to the average college graduate. The problem isn’t that it is too difficult, it is that in all actuality the course material seems as though it was composed for middle aged, life long victims of downs syndrome. Combine this frustrating lack of intellectual stimulation with the almost psychosis inducing job that I have (witch pretty much comes down to telemarketing to the scum of the United States), and you get five days of disillusion with a dash of an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I'd like to keep this short so I’m not going to get into all of the details regarding my classes and job, I’ll save that for later posts.
After a week of loathing I am driven to the bars as soon as I can go to my shoe box size room located on the second story of my mothers house (which is in the heart of suburbia mind you) and change/"put my face on" . This past weekend was no exception to that; I began my night with a bloody bowel movement and a tall Coors light at my usual hang out Hennesseys. Henneseys is the local Irish pub where the ex community college students and aging hipsters like to assemble. Don’t get me wrong, I love this place because of the great staff and upscale dive bar scene that they've got goin on there, but there aren’t many "hotties" there on a nightly basis if you catch my drift. The night out began with several of my pals and I shoveling sliders, cigarettes, and cocktails down our throats. There was an unusual twist to this evening however. After a quick peep at the dance floor upstairs we proceded back down to my usual spot in the back corner of the patio where i normally suck down a pack and a half of Marlboro lights each Friday night. As we made our way down a women and her friend grabbed my arm and asked if they could share our table with us. Like any half drunk overweight college student would i agreed without hesitation. As time passed i discovered that the women who had reached for my arm was a 27 year old "PROSTITIST" from Michigan. I had gotten the impression that this conversation was going to cost a little bit of money, possibly my integrity. She soon cleared this "Prostitist" thing up however by telling me that she actually did not want to charge me 200 dollars for an over rated hand job. She casually let me know she made plaster molds for lamps (?). This made perfect sense to me because she was a mechanical engineer who graduated from Michigan State University. I felt that after a few conversations, some jokes, and a handfull of cocktails that she could be "the one". Of course i was shot down when she told me that her 7 foot 300 pound ex marine boyfriend was back at her apartment up the street. I mean, what was i supposed to do invite her to sleep with me under my star wars blanket at my mom’s cottage? The jig was up, and i had failed. We had a few more drinks together and called it a night.
Saturday consisted of similar aspects except i was about 10 times more plastered and I actually managed to complete a second pack of Marlboro lights compared to Friday’s 1.5 packs. I made one fatal flaw Saturday, i broke an ashtray.. Not just any ash trey, but a prized piece shaped like a life sized bowling pin. The consequences of breaking this timeless piece were that Jon (fellow degenerate) would make me drink a shot of what ever alcohol he wished, whenever he ordered a drink. I realized i was fucked when he came out onto the patio with a turkey baster sized plastic syringe filled to the brink with bottom shelf liquor. One press of the thumb later and i was shitting booze out of my mouth. That night i had some success conversing with women, but my body took a substantial beating and i ended up as lonely as the night before. Except this night i had my 6 foot 5" Abercrombie esque friend passed out spooning some college student on the couch next to me, and i had some sort of dead wildebeest Jon had given me as a blanket.
The next morning was Easter Sunday. That day ranked in the top ten worst hangovers of my life. I hugged the toilet half the day for fear of vomiting all over my mothers moderately priced rug and or making her realize her suspicions of me that i was going nowhere fast. I was no happier that day than when word hit the office that i had paid a hooker far too much in Vegas for an average bang.
I realized today (Monday) that this never ending cycle of self destruction certainly isn’t healthy in any sense of the word, but it is all i have to hold onto at this point of my life. Maybe that is why i do it, because it gives me some sense of hope. Perhaps i might meet a beautiful big breasted princess at the beach ball this weekend, only time will tell.
This blog is my attempt at showing the thoughts of an indecent degenerate through the overwhelming sea of fronts and lude conduct that an orange county native is forced to deal with on a day to day basis. Anyway, before I go into some inconsequential rant I should probably get back to the main point of this blog. Why do I feel it a necessary to drink and smoke my life into oblivion every weekend? The answer is....(drum roll).. I have no idea. Maybe it is the constant need to escape the charade that is my life at this very moment. In this repetitive act of self destruction itself I should find no solace because I am simply reproducing this cycle of self defecation that I inevitably throw myself through on a weekly basis, Right? I couldn’t be more wrong.. Let me break it down for you with the brief description of my own personal hell,
My average week consists of Monday through Friday -school and work. My classes are twice a week, which might seem easy to the average college graduate. The problem isn’t that it is too difficult, it is that in all actuality the course material seems as though it was composed for middle aged, life long victims of downs syndrome. Combine this frustrating lack of intellectual stimulation with the almost psychosis inducing job that I have (witch pretty much comes down to telemarketing to the scum of the United States), and you get five days of disillusion with a dash of an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. I'd like to keep this short so I’m not going to get into all of the details regarding my classes and job, I’ll save that for later posts.
After a week of loathing I am driven to the bars as soon as I can go to my shoe box size room located on the second story of my mothers house (which is in the heart of suburbia mind you) and change/"put my face on" . This past weekend was no exception to that; I began my night with a bloody bowel movement and a tall Coors light at my usual hang out Hennesseys. Henneseys is the local Irish pub where the ex community college students and aging hipsters like to assemble. Don’t get me wrong, I love this place because of the great staff and upscale dive bar scene that they've got goin on there, but there aren’t many "hotties" there on a nightly basis if you catch my drift. The night out began with several of my pals and I shoveling sliders, cigarettes, and cocktails down our throats. There was an unusual twist to this evening however. After a quick peep at the dance floor upstairs we proceded back down to my usual spot in the back corner of the patio where i normally suck down a pack and a half of Marlboro lights each Friday night. As we made our way down a women and her friend grabbed my arm and asked if they could share our table with us. Like any half drunk overweight college student would i agreed without hesitation. As time passed i discovered that the women who had reached for my arm was a 27 year old "PROSTITIST" from Michigan. I had gotten the impression that this conversation was going to cost a little bit of money, possibly my integrity. She soon cleared this "Prostitist" thing up however by telling me that she actually did not want to charge me 200 dollars for an over rated hand job. She casually let me know she made plaster molds for lamps (?). This made perfect sense to me because she was a mechanical engineer who graduated from Michigan State University. I felt that after a few conversations, some jokes, and a handfull of cocktails that she could be "the one". Of course i was shot down when she told me that her 7 foot 300 pound ex marine boyfriend was back at her apartment up the street. I mean, what was i supposed to do invite her to sleep with me under my star wars blanket at my mom’s cottage? The jig was up, and i had failed. We had a few more drinks together and called it a night.
Saturday consisted of similar aspects except i was about 10 times more plastered and I actually managed to complete a second pack of Marlboro lights compared to Friday’s 1.5 packs. I made one fatal flaw Saturday, i broke an ashtray.. Not just any ash trey, but a prized piece shaped like a life sized bowling pin. The consequences of breaking this timeless piece were that Jon (fellow degenerate) would make me drink a shot of what ever alcohol he wished, whenever he ordered a drink. I realized i was fucked when he came out onto the patio with a turkey baster sized plastic syringe filled to the brink with bottom shelf liquor. One press of the thumb later and i was shitting booze out of my mouth. That night i had some success conversing with women, but my body took a substantial beating and i ended up as lonely as the night before. Except this night i had my 6 foot 5" Abercrombie esque friend passed out spooning some college student on the couch next to me, and i had some sort of dead wildebeest Jon had given me as a blanket.
The next morning was Easter Sunday. That day ranked in the top ten worst hangovers of my life. I hugged the toilet half the day for fear of vomiting all over my mothers moderately priced rug and or making her realize her suspicions of me that i was going nowhere fast. I was no happier that day than when word hit the office that i had paid a hooker far too much in Vegas for an average bang.
I realized today (Monday) that this never ending cycle of self destruction certainly isn’t healthy in any sense of the word, but it is all i have to hold onto at this point of my life. Maybe that is why i do it, because it gives me some sense of hope. Perhaps i might meet a beautiful big breasted princess at the beach ball this weekend, only time will tell.
3 comments:
Excellent first post...
Now if you can just learn some spelling and grammar (and don't jump off a bridge), this blog might go somewhere...
I will link to it from my own piece of shit blog...
COLIN...
IT'S TIME FOR A NEW ONE...
THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR YOU LOVERS...
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