This may be long winded and cover a cluster fuck of topics so if you aren’t in the mood for irrelevant bs I suggest you stop reading. If it’s right up your alley than by all means continue. Basically I had no plans this labor day weekday. I had a list of things to do that included buying some new clothes and some other easy to accomplish items. The only agenda item of my list to get crossed off was
beer. I bought a variety pack of Stoudts which I thought was pretty decent. It was a bit pricey and made my shit really dark but they were quality beers if you like IPA’s. I also purchased a handle of goose and a fifth of aged Jameson. There’s probably no reason to spend this much on alcohol considering I can get just as bombed off a 20 dollar fifth of Captain but I reasoned “my body has grown acquired to the good stuff.” So that’s kind of a lead in to where my weekend was headed on Thursday night.
We played golf on Friday at Neshaminy Valley which was an OK course. Not to pricey but kind of laid out close together. I ended up with a 96 even though I struck the ball what I thought should have got me in the 80’s (this will be proven later on instead of all talk). The greens were unusual I thought and I probably 3 putted at least 9. The wagon beat me too which was obviously wtf.
I got bombed on both Friday and Saturday night. I honestly can’t recall any details from the later parts of the night. Blurs here and there but nothing concrete. I finished reading Tucker Max’s book and I just have to wonder how the hell he can be so descriptive in his drunken stories. My stories would be like “i started pregaming at 5, played some drinking games at 8, did some shots at 10 and then I woke up on the couch in my clothes and contacts at 11 am.” I’m dead serious my book would have to be told by other people. If I had a camera on my head going through the night and I watched it the next morning it would be like a brand new episode instead of a rerun. I used to feel embarrassed cause I probably say and do stupid shit that I couldn’t remember but now after reading Tuckers book I’m not even in the same ballpark of crazy shit. If this guy can wake up each day feeling fine, I’ll continue. I’ve sort of adopted 2 philosophies that won’t make me popular. 1) If I was drunk and don’t remember it, it didn’t happen. 2) I can’t change the past so lets forget it happened and move on.
I’m reading Artie Lange’s book now and I like reading about these fucked up people who I guess you could say made it pretty big. I don’t aspire to be like these guys. These guys are one of kinds who are smart enough to turn their stupidity into a job. I’m not in this category. I fall into the category of drunk, jackass who is lucky enough to have not done anything stupid enough to get him into real trouble. This may be a bit harsh but the booze definitely holds over me. I’m the player and it’s the house, it doesn’t lose. It’s funny because I realize it, but once I get it in my head to get smashed, there’s no stopping until my body forfeits (usually it’s my mind that quits first). I can’t remember if it was in Tucker Max’s book or somewhere else but you have to find the “zone” when your drinking. It’s in between sobriety and retardation. After 10 beers or so, if I just quit altogether and I could maintain some decency to myself. However the zone can be easily pushed through into black out. If someone could create something that shuts off your ability to consume more alcohol after being too loaded, you could become a millionaire.
I couldn’t even bring myself to drink on Sunday night. I shot an 84 at Limekiln playing white-blue which is somewhat legit. I’m driving the ball well and there was a hole I snowmanned which should have been an easy bogey. To say that I was nearing the 70’s may be a stretch as I caught a lucky break here. It’s a shame it’s so late in the season as I think I could throw up a number.
Finally an update on softball to the people on the team who read this post. I told you I wasn’t kidding about throwing the ball. I think I really surprised people with my throwing accuracy of a blind man firing at a target. This is my theory on how this happened. I stopped playing competitive sports when I was 16 or so. Basically when I started running track in high school I stopped all baseball, bball and everything else I played competitively. When I was 16 or so I grew from like 5-3 to 6-0 in one summer. Without really realizing it, there was no transition from the way I used to play sports to how I would have to relearn to play sports. With a new body, I never practiced sports. I never played baseball past 16. In middle school I was a point guard who liked to gun up 3’s. When I grew I was an undersized forward who couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, my shot never redeveloped. It was the same thing with throwing, I never threw a baseball in the past 10 years. So you can try to hide me at first and hope I don’t have to throw home, but don’t get your hopes up. I sort of break it down like, I could be better at these sports if I really wanted to by practicing, but what’s really the point. I don’t care about winning leagues or being the best, all I really care about is not getting hurt. I’m happy to contribute if I can but if you think I’m going to be in tip-top shape at 10:30 on a Saturday morning for Softball, (to quote Tucker) Hahahahahahahhahahahahhahahahahahahahaah. Now I know where you got this from Jeff.
I like to end with a good song because I think my taste in music is better than yours.
Re-check the one from the last post as I think that song is majorly overlooked.