Oh man, I'm not gonna do anything, I think, except tell the truth.

Night the first:
arrive in SD. Walk up to Andy and without saying hello, shove phone with my mother on it into his face. This may have explained the next set of actions: the two of us devouring 20 beers in, oh, 2 hours. There was no breathing, only drinking. Until Andy broke out his airsoft guns.

Everything was fun and games and then the fucker shot my beer can (which dumped all over my crotch as I suckled as fast as I could). And then me. Of course we broke into a spontaneous gun fight. I totally won. His lip and arm were bleeding. Only my arm was bleeding. Of course, after I kicked him for falling asleep during the third Metalocalpyse viewing he woke up and threw a can of beer into my face that knocked one the lenses from my glasses about 15 feet.

Morning the Friday:
Woke up with a delicious taste of tecate (hint of tequila! and ass!) in my mouth. Proceeded to airport to collect Erica St. Louis that Andy did not know was going to be arriving. It was awesome. At lunch Andy was unable to speak for about 5 minutes. Which is hella impressive. Dude can chatter. Then we hung out on an air craft carrier and I though about shooting down Nazis. It was awesome.

Friday night was barhopping of doom. I was that guy with the camera in the fourth (fifth?) bar. However, in my defense, I totally blame Kara. She demanded I chug a pitcher of beer. Which I did, even after I reminded her it was her bathroom I was going to be vomiting in that night.

sadly, I didn't. I tried and failed. I needed that tactical.


Saturday the crying saw me shaking with I-don't-know-what through breakfast. But I did get a mild sense of reassurance when Kara reminded me they know where all of the nearby emergency rooms are. Sightseeing, blah, blah, Kara telling me not to be a drunk, blah, get to a party, down half a bottle of Jim Beam and 4 beers, kick both Andy AND Erica awake after they totally passed out at like midnight, if that late. Pansies.

Sunday was full of one breakfast, one airplane and one book on math.

In conclusion: my winter break rocked and I'm never forsaking beer again. Let's go get fucked up.

EDIT: just saw the post below this one. Check that time stamp. I have no recollection of writing that. heh, go me.

Labels: beer, booze, guns, kicking, Metalocalypse

- posted by Pat @ 9:07 PM

 
Dearest Me:
I am heading to San Diego today for drinking. Possibly on the beach. For certainly in bars. You may even stumble into a soon-to-be-empty bottle of gin. I ask that you try and take care of yourself. Yes, you have two kidneys, but only one liver.

Remember, you, 'accidentally' drank 50 beers last time you were in the big SD. Do be careful.

Sincerely,
Fucking me? Really? You feel the need to sign this? This is a goddamned letter to yourself. Who the fuck do you think sent this?

ps sorry for the anger up there. *sigh* I've been under a lot of stress lately. damnable Mr. Hyde

pps Mr. Hyde isn't sorry at all and wants to light things on fire. Like this bottle of syrup. Okay, he's a retarded Hyde. Hurrah!

Labels: booze, multiple personalities, San Diego

- posted by Pat @ 1:10 PM

 
On the upside, it turns out I can still drink myself into a coma. I slept for a solid 14 hours after mauling Dan(onthisblog)'s booze selection. I repeatedly called champagne, "candy" and slammed approx. one bottle's worth of the stuff. Possibly more. Then some cosmopolitan things. I don't know. It was bright green and contained a whole lot of vodka.

DOWN THE HATCH.

I *think* I blacked out around 1 am. Got home at 4. Guess what I did in the interim...

What, you're expecting me to answer? How would I know? I was blacked out!

Fool.

Damn, two posts in a row with no discernible structure. Hoo-rah.

Labels: bad writing, booze, vodka

- posted by Pat @ 5:57 PM