Your language...your future....don't let your meat loaf
Wow. More fucked up than at any point I can remember in recent history. I'd gone easy on the booze until the end of summer. That's when I'd sneak a single, exotic beer in the cooler and drink it during the Red Sox game that would be going all night during my shift.
I find myself back at school with a great deal of accumulated spending money. Tomorrow is a stupid school holiday called Founder's Day. A guest speaker comes and gives an oratory on an inspirational subject of their choosing. One year was Martin Luther King Jr.'s daughter...I think. Or was it Castro's?
Classes are cancelled until two o'clock, which is unfortunate, because my classes didn't begin until two anyway, so tomorrow will be even more work than I'm accustomed to. Hell...Tuesday, I slept through my first class at two o'clock. Evans made a comment about getting beer, so after dinner, we went to some wayside place called the Beverly Package Store. I've always hated the phrase "packie" and all this nonsense. Call it a fucking liquor store man, don't dance around the facts. A man in need of alcohol doesn't need a fucking lesson on the local obscure dialect.
Back at Stoneridge, we began consuming. Franz had asked for Labatt's, but when Evans failed to find it, got Moosehead. I got my first choice: a twelve pack of Samuel Adams Octoberfest. One of the more drinkable types of beer I've had as of late. You can get a poolful of Busch Light, but if you want some taste, something to put some hair on your chest, go for Sam Adams. It's thick, but the tastes are distinct and mysterious. And there's plenty of literature on the side of the bottle to embolden your resolve and help you gulp down that last, warm millileter of beer.
At some point, I traded an Octoberfest for a Moosehead, which worked out nicely. One beer started blending into the next beer and soon enough, we were smoking. We went outside and climbed a hill in back of my friends' dorm. Two bowls. Back inside for further beer-tasting.
Well, it was almost 11 by this point. Holiday or no holiday, I'd like to get back to Hale Hall and kick back with a nasty Zappa playlist (Peaches En Regalia - Fillmore 1971 right now). I loaded up my remaining beers into my backpack, as well as my bubbler and more items that could get me arrested and imprisoned. I made it a third of the way back to my place before I realized that my keys were back at Evans'. I have a bottle opener on my keychain, and so it had been left in a communal place. It was my fault; I knew I'd forget them.
Finally back home, I popped open another beer and started playing some Zappa. I closed my eyes, and I believe I fell asleep for about a minute. A loud horn noise or some such thing woke me up. I finished my beer and packed what would prove to be a rather copious and superfluous bowl.
I choked the smoke down, the THC having little to no effect on me at this point. My blood alcohol level must be obscene...I would not have allowed myself to drive about twenty minutes ago. Now, maybe, yes...probably. I could drive now and be quite comfortable. But for a while, I was unsure whether or not the marijuana would make me sick like it did one night when I was drinking heavily in 2005. It was the last time I was physically ill, and hopefully the last for some time.
Time to sleep soon. It'll be so comfortable.
I find myself back at school with a great deal of accumulated spending money. Tomorrow is a stupid school holiday called Founder's Day. A guest speaker comes and gives an oratory on an inspirational subject of their choosing. One year was Martin Luther King Jr.'s daughter...I think. Or was it Castro's?
Classes are cancelled until two o'clock, which is unfortunate, because my classes didn't begin until two anyway, so tomorrow will be even more work than I'm accustomed to. Hell...Tuesday, I slept through my first class at two o'clock. Evans made a comment about getting beer, so after dinner, we went to some wayside place called the Beverly Package Store. I've always hated the phrase "packie" and all this nonsense. Call it a fucking liquor store man, don't dance around the facts. A man in need of alcohol doesn't need a fucking lesson on the local obscure dialect.
Back at Stoneridge, we began consuming. Franz had asked for Labatt's, but when Evans failed to find it, got Moosehead. I got my first choice: a twelve pack of Samuel Adams Octoberfest. One of the more drinkable types of beer I've had as of late. You can get a poolful of Busch Light, but if you want some taste, something to put some hair on your chest, go for Sam Adams. It's thick, but the tastes are distinct and mysterious. And there's plenty of literature on the side of the bottle to embolden your resolve and help you gulp down that last, warm millileter of beer.
At some point, I traded an Octoberfest for a Moosehead, which worked out nicely. One beer started blending into the next beer and soon enough, we were smoking. We went outside and climbed a hill in back of my friends' dorm. Two bowls. Back inside for further beer-tasting.
Well, it was almost 11 by this point. Holiday or no holiday, I'd like to get back to Hale Hall and kick back with a nasty Zappa playlist (Peaches En Regalia - Fillmore 1971 right now). I loaded up my remaining beers into my backpack, as well as my bubbler and more items that could get me arrested and imprisoned. I made it a third of the way back to my place before I realized that my keys were back at Evans'. I have a bottle opener on my keychain, and so it had been left in a communal place. It was my fault; I knew I'd forget them.
Finally back home, I popped open another beer and started playing some Zappa. I closed my eyes, and I believe I fell asleep for about a minute. A loud horn noise or some such thing woke me up. I finished my beer and packed what would prove to be a rather copious and superfluous bowl.
I choked the smoke down, the THC having little to no effect on me at this point. My blood alcohol level must be obscene...I would not have allowed myself to drive about twenty minutes ago. Now, maybe, yes...probably. I could drive now and be quite comfortable. But for a while, I was unsure whether or not the marijuana would make me sick like it did one night when I was drinking heavily in 2005. It was the last time I was physically ill, and hopefully the last for some time.
Time to sleep soon. It'll be so comfortable.