I have finally realized that there is a direct correlation between how many times I say I am not going to drink, I am going home, and how badly the night is going to end. From now on I will either just go home without saying a word or just accept my fate and start drinking. Because this trying to avoid my doom thing apparently just ensures it.
My night started out yesterday with me drinking to 2am and and being up to 4am talking when I had to be at work at 9am. I somehow make it to work and feel less than shitty, although I was in a crappy mood when I showed up and was kind of an ass to every one for about 30 minutes.
After that I was good but my patients were so stupid that I wasn't really sure that I wasn't on candid Camera.
So I go through 11 hours of hell and then get off 30 minutes late. And then I go to dinner with the matador. Which is always a bad idea unless I have the next 2 days off.
More to come but the synopsis is......
More underage women than you can shake a stick at, really strong drinks, two fucked up tabs, two bars, two girls, two alcoholics, a redneck, a rockstar, way too many drinks, way too many stories, me beating the Matador at bags, The rockstar getting pulled over by police, me getting pulled over by police, me realizing that it is not the police officers I know but the sheriff's dept asking me if I have been drinking, and me living to laugh and tell about it.
remind me to flesh this out.
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1 comment:
This is the part I particularly want fleshed out: "And then I go to dinner with the matador. Which always a bad idea unless I have the next 2 days off."
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