Wicked Retahded

Last night I was drinking at Thee Parkside, and wound up in a conversation with the bartender about Boston. During the conversation I had 3 vodka sodas and 2 shots of Jager on top of the two drinks I'd already consumed. At some point, I realized I was dangerously intoxicated and needed to leave immediately.

When I tried to leave, my feet didn't work and I zig-zagged across the room, holding onto a column just to make it the 15 feet out the door. Messy.

I remember that I ran home, which is something I used to do when I drank heavily in the dot-com days. It helps sober one up and process the alcohol. (Also, it gets you home quicker.) It's a wonder that I didn't get hit by a car since I could run but couldn't walk in a straight line.

Then I got slightly lost but found my way to Cable Car Pizza and had a couple of slices that I think I later threw up. My apartment this morning looks like hell- all things that used to sit on desks and counters are now strewn about on the floor.

Oddly, now that I write about booze for a living, I never get that drunk. I hope to keep it that way going forward, because too much booze last night is preventing me from writing about booze today, until this hangover goes away.