On Vodka And Pizza And Other Evils Of The Universe

Last night, I ate pizza for dinner.

GASP.

And the evening only went downhill from there.

I know it's against the rules, but the list of 10 Foods from last week has been ringing in my head and I broke down and ordered Domino's. I fell weak to the temptations of "30 Minutes Or Less" and "Look At That Cheeze!"

I heart this dude.

When I headed out to drink with my friends later that night, I was feeling guilty about the massive number of calories consumed out of a cardboard box. I decided to drink vodka. You know, to be calorically (?) responsible.

Knowing that the Red Bull / Stoli O packs a heavier punch than our old friend Miller Lite, I paced myself pretty well all night, and even refrained from the Jager. I was feeling pretty good at the end of the evening. Lucid. Having fun. This is me and my friend Gary The Garbage Dude moments before I left to go home:


I heart this dude, too. He lets me ride in the trash truck at sunrise.

I chatted on the phone with a friends and laughed on my way home. Texted with another buddy until I knew he was home from his gig safe and sound (I love me some texting when I'm buzzed) and crawled into bed ready to get some much-earned rest.

Then the bottom fell out. I had forgotten that the last time I drank Vodka, I had a total meltdown... trying to talk buddies into breaking into my bar (I have a key? Breaking in?), didn't recognize my best boys in a crowd ("Brad! I can't find my friends!"), and my therapist threatened to put me in AA. God, I wish I was kidding.

At 8am this morning, I was sobbing on the couch, making plans to move to Wilmington, NC, get a job at a grocery store, and get a dog I could walk and who would be my only friend.

Awwwwwwwww.

I'm talking BATSHIT. CRAZY.

Now that I'm a little more "with it" I can recognize that I was completely out of my gourd. I've spent the day in bed with my laptop resting up for work tonight. Also, I gave myself a redneck pedicure which makes me feel happy too.


Only the best for The Hig. Soak those puppies!

I guess I'm going to have to concede to the evil nutritional value of beer. I can't stomach bourbon, rum makes me weepy, gin tastes like a goddamn Christmas Tree, and now my old standby From Russia With Love has let me down.

At least all shots have no calories whatsoever. Seriously.