The Good Old Days...
I must say, I absolutely love reading each and every blog story that starts with a large consumption of alcohol and ends in a bloody nose, self pity, or new tattoos. (Sometimes all three.) No bullshit or sarcasm; I really do. It's a lovely way to be involved in a good time without the consequesces of clouded judgement and the burning crotch-itch that often follows.
Its been a good long while since my last public debauchery. Responsibility can be a motherfucker. Sure, the job is great and the kid is awesome, but sometimes I long for those good ol' days where a care-free Big Bad stalked the night looking for a bottomless gin and tonic and loose brunette. (Also bottomless.)
My younger-years are filled with stories of drunken goodness and questionable choices in both activity and company. Lately, the "craziest" thing I've done on a weekend was fingerpainting in a Sesame Street colouring-in book WITHOUT a plastic bag to protect the table finish. (Fucking extreme....right?! No bag!!)
Now, don't get me wrong. I wouldn't trade my shit in for all the care-free nights of booze and good times the world has to offer. But, is it too much to ask for one...possibly three...nights of crazy, fuck-drop debauchery and good times?
According to my schedule, it is.
I can't go out drinking like I used to with the old pals. Friends tend to stop calling when you have to tell them over and over that you can't go out because you're either working at that time or have to start early the following morning. (Other job related restrictions often play into what they still consider 'fun', anyway.) Old friends who remember you at your worst don't want to drop by for coffee and a marathon of Blues fucking Clues; they tend to pass your name by in the telephone index. Responsibility to family often comes second with these people (having no kids of their own), so they either don't understand or don't care. (Some of them still live at home....at 28!) Either way, it means a dull night of movie watchin' for me... although I did just sit through a wicked-awesome Tremors mini-marathon, so that was cool. (Kevin Bacon was pretty fucking sly with that cliff move....don't dispute it!)
I can't go out and party....I can't go out and toss about.....too many things to do. Besides, who the fuck wants to babysit on a Friday night? The main priority is the well-being and (realitive) mental stability of my kid; I know all that 'fun stuff' is secondary, and treated as so. But still.....
So please, fellow bloggers of the bloggy section, go out, get into a fight, drink until you fall down, kick a horse, spit on a midget, argue with a tranny about the importance of Captain Needa in "Empire", just please, please don't forget to write about it the next day when you're safe in your own homes and the bleeding has ceased. (Or at least slowed.) Its a fantastic time-killer for me and countless others stuck at home, wondering where Michael Gross' career took a down-turn while the microwave bag of popcorn is still popping.
Four fucking Tremors movies? Really? The dad from "Family Ties" sure has made a few poor life choices.
Thanks for putting up with my 'poor me' boring blog; the next one will involve unspeakable acts of nakedness.....I swear.
Thanks for reading,
-The Big Bad