this morning was one of those mornings where you wake up and wish you did not remember so clearly the events of the previous night.  Due to the overwhelming amounts of snow that has fallen in the last few days, I have been homebound with my social interactions existing of text messages, emails, and the exchange of waves and “can you believe this snow” conversation with my various neighbors during shoveling shifts.  As such, when I was invited to go to the DL’s place for a power hour last night, I quickly agreed.   I filled my college backpack with Miller Lite cans and headed on my way.  What I did not think about was the fact that I have not really drank in over a month, I haven’t done a power hour in over ten years, and even during my heyday as a partier, massive consumption of liquids has never been a talent of mine.  

Sixty shots of Miller Lite later and I was feeling pretty good. Full, yes. Buzzed, oh yes.  But I felt moderately under control. That is, until I wiped out, not once but TWICE on the balcony and sustained serious bodily injury.  I have five total bruises on my right leg, one that is approximately the size of my fist.  Ouch.  These wounds will likely heal, although I am sure it will take some time.  What will not heal so quickly is the hits my ego took last night when I basically propositioned one of the DL’s guy friends to “walk me home.”   And yes, that was a euphemism.  He was simply trying to enjoy his late night Chili Mac when my inebriated self started talking and could not be stopped.  And there may have been more than talking.  Dang my wandering hands.  Even writing this is proving rather painful as I am replaying the unfortunate scene in my head and have to stop to cover my eyes.   I am hopeful he is a nice enough guy to keep this to himself.  I mean, he should be flattered that I blatantly came on to him.   Or at least, that’s the story I am sticking to.

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