Amazing what twelve hours of restful sleep can do…

I had no reason to be in my doldrums yesterday… but a few things just decided to resonate in my being yesterday, thus I allowed myself to slide down those all-too-slippery slopes of self pity.

I hate that I so completely comprehend that attitude and outlook are complete choices on my part yet I still can occasionally get miffed at the world. I will say that it is easily exacerbated by a mad hangover and very little sleep. Merely excuses, I know, but the truth nonetheless. But here I am. Better.

I walked into my bedroom last night, and beyond the wine glasses strewn about with empty wine bottles. I hadn’t planned on drinking the previous evening… but my newly-stopped-pounding-head and heavy eyelids reminded me differently.

I had started out the night before so well. We went to a local Mexican restaurant for dinner. I had a diet coke and coffee with dinner, while Da Bod and his friend, Ben , drank martini’s and then ordered a bottle of wine, which I had one glass of. After dinner I thought we would all be heading home, perhaps having a few drinks when we arrived.

Da Bod decided instead that he wanted to head down to the local dive bar and grab some cocktails… it was his birthday after all. When we arrived Ben ordered us each a beer and a shot… (note: goals of sobriety quickly being shot down) We had a few more beers while we were watching the local reggae band play, then decided to leave. Da Bod and Ben were out enjoying a cigarette prior to crawling into the car (and honestly waiting for the police cruiser that had parked in front of Ben’s car to move). I went inside escaping the cold, when I returned outside they had met some girl who was also celebrating her birthday.

Da Bod is the type of guy that will go anywhere and make friends, throw in some alcohol and he will quickly be making best friends. Ben and I wanted to leave, Da Bod wanted to stay with his new friend and so Ben and I left him. This is okay amongst our friends and I, no hard feelings ever if someone leaves or gets left by there choice.

On the way to the car I told Ben, “Last year when we hooked up, it was one of the hottest things ever.”

He laughed and said, “If you didn’t say something I was going to. I won’t lie, I have thought about that night many times… even when I have been with other girls… I have thought back to you.” Now with buzzed conversation like this, what do you think was going to happen when we got back to the house? Exactly. And let me tell you. Hot. Again.

Afterwards he proceeded to play the guitar for me singing me various Jack and Dave tunes, while I snapped a bazillion pictures of him… ahhhh yessss the drunk photographer, alive and well.

Da Bod returned to the house as wasted as always… I shit you not: When Da Bod gets wasted there is very little difference in between him and Homer Simpson. Ben and I actually joked about this. Voice and mannerisms are scarily similar. Ben hung out for a while longer, but had to head home to take care of his new poochie and Da Bod finally passed out.

Returning home last night in addition to the clutter of empty alcohol containers, my bed was a mess. Da Bod once again impressing upon me the fact that he has no brought-upsies. The last one out of the bed is supposed to make it. It just the rule. Right?

I didn’t care however and my head hit the pillow and I fell into my Sleeping Beauty mode, and was hardly able to even arise twelve hours later as I ran (yet again) late for work this morning.

But damn if it wasn’t worth it.