And what did we learn?

Friday night’s experiment taught me that I don’t like getting ripped anymore. Buzzed, yes, but not completely faced. Power drinking is a young man’s game, and I don’t have the stamina to abuse myself like that anymore. It’s a sad night when I have to abandon saturating my system with chemicals as a means of entertainment. At least I still have violence and insanity with which to amuse myself.

I also learned, at the current phase in my life, it’s easier to quit than restart.

Saturday I lazed around, read, watched TV, and nursed a hangover. It wasn’t too bad since I slept through most of it. Saturday night I skipped drinking, attempted to turn in early, and failed miserably. I overslept Sunday, so I decided to resume my previous drinking regimen, namely having a few drinks before bedtime whenever I damned well pleased. Sunday night I drank a few beers, did a couple of shots of leftover whiskey, watched TV, stayed up a little too late which I figured would be okay since I slept past noon, then finally went to bed.

You know how you feel after you’ve had a few and you awaken in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, not as drunk as when you went to bed but still in the grip of the booze? I got out of bed, turned on the hall light, and blearily used the bathroom while I debated how early it was. I estimated between two and three while hoping it was only one A.M. since I could use another six hours of sleep. When I flopped back onto my bed I consulted the glowing clock face and found it was past seven, just minutes before the alarm would sound. I got back out of bed and tried to get dressed and ready for the day, but finally decided I didn’t want to face my cubicle in that state, so I called in sick.

New rules: no more drinking by myself on a night before a workday. When social drinking, quit an hour before bedtime and switch to water (this works wonders for warding off hangovers). And no more drinking anything stronger than beer.

After I spent this morning in bed I awoke feeling rotten and headachy but slightly peckish. I decided to kill some time with a few menial tasks: rent a movie, gas up the car, see NBD, and pick up a pizza. Even in my condition, these should be easy tasks, right?

Gas turned out to be a problem. The news has been informing the public that prices are about to rise again, so everyone is taking time from work to clog the gas stations. Even after 1:30 P.M. today I had trouble locating a station selling gas at $3 a gallon that wasn’t out of fuel or clogged with cars. On to the movie.

Every movie I wanted was out. On to NBD.

My last date with NBD really put a squeeze on my budget. I had been estimating my payments for our next date / torture session, but I decided to get a printout of our next encounter rather then relying on fantasy numbers. Really, I just wanted those numbers for my records. And if I happened to see her while in her office, so much the better. I took a position next to the front desk that allowed me to scan two hallways and mentally commanded the staff to take their time pulling my records. They didn’t take very long, but I still got a brief glimpse of my angel. I heard her walking from one of the offices, so I trained my eyes and watched her step across the hall into another room. At that point I realized that I had memorized her footsteps, those lovely soft taps her shoes make on the linoleum. Boy, am I whipped.

But I really did need that printout. I’m not stalking her. Not really. Not yet. :p

I had already ordered the pizza online, so I just needed to stop by the place to pick it up. Unfortunately there wasn’t a single parking place in the entire area, so I circled and tried again. Still nothing. I pulled into an apartment complex to turn around, my spidey sense tingling. I had a feeling like I was being watched, even though I didn’t see anybody. I pulled into an empty spot next to a moving truck and…

A crazy old woman materialized from behind the truck, running toward me, waving her arms, frantically trying to get my attention. I should have just slammed the car into reverse and backed the hell out of there, but I cracked the window and began to tell her I wasn’t buying anything. Instead she wanted my opinion on her outfit. She said she was forty-seven although she looked at least a decade older, had auburn hair from a bottle with an inch-long strip of gray at the roots, yellowed teeth, and wore cutoff overalls with no shoes. She said she was going to the drug store up the street and wanted to know if her seventeen year old daughter would be embarrassed by the way she dressed. She said she needed the opinion of a younger person – “You’ve seen MTV!” she shouted at me – so I looked at her and said I agreed that she could wear whatever she wanted, but at seventeen her daughter would most likely be embarrassed no matter what she did. “Especially in your case, freak,” I didn’t add. She refused to stop talking at me so I rolled the window up, put the gear in reverse, backed away, and waved goodbye.

At the pizza place where a parking spot finally opened up, the fat guy running the register griped a little about the fact that I was able to order a deal over the internet that they no longer offered. I couldn’t give a tin shit on a day like this, but my head was pounding so I silently paid and took it home. It was already getting cold. And that was my Monday.

Does anyone have a suggestion for another thirty day trial?