Some Vacations Are Best Not Taken It should come as no surprise to most of you that I'm rather fond of drinking. Hell, who am I kidding, I loves me some boozing! Which is why it came as quite a surprise to myself when, at the beginning of this month, I decided to slow down the hooch wagon for a little while. Part of it was thanks to the horrifying resource drain that is Christmas/New Year's/Best friend's 30th birthday, but that's only really a problem until I get paid right? Well, not really. Drinking, when you're a pro like me, can be a damn expensive proposition. I'm not talking about a couple of beers with your friends after work here. I'm talking setting up base camp at Dysfunction Junction with a crack team of co-dependant functional alcoholics. That's money I could use for vacationing or buying a new TV or eating. But I digress. The point is that I'm on the semi-wagon and quite happy about it. With one exception. You see, one thing that's easy to forget is that it doesn't take long for somebody to become, how shall I say, a bit more susceptible to the effects of drinking in large quantities. So it is that I have had some occasions, when having evenings of revelry and leaving the wagon behind, that I find I'm just not as professional as I used to be. I'd like to say it's not that embarrassing given many of the evenings I've had in the past with my friend liquor, but it's kind of tough when you find yourself blurting out things like: "You don't need to card her! She's 31!" or "Whooooooo! Go for it! Make babies!". I think I'm going to have to go back into training. You know, I kind of feel like Rocky. Only fatter, lazier, and far more prone to sleeping on the sidewalk because it does feel comfortable sometimes.
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