(no subject)
Wednesday night. Car show. Dive Bar. Drinks with the owner shooting the shit about hockey and rugby and soccer and baseball and football. Normally I'm not into sports but we were talking about which professions whine the most vs how much damage they actually take. So, 3 hours later, baseball game ends, my chicken sandwich is long gone, 6 or 7 bottles of beer are downed, shots are drank, I feel fine. Head home, feeling perfectly fine. Walk in the door. 15 minutes later, holy crap now I feel hammered. It's like it hit me all at once after 3 hours. I am woot woot good! Why don't I worry I ask myself? Because it's 10:30 and I've been home for 20 minutes. I didn't sit there until close like I know I could have and I think that says something.