Original post date - Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Another Sunday...another erased memory.

As many of you know, Sunday is a day of rest. A day of repentence. A day of alcoholism? In my world...yes. The past few Sundays have been, all in all, complete and total drunkfests. And what's worse, I don't remember the last few hours of the night, which is apparently when I do all the good and funny stuff. Well, this is a big problem. So from now on, I am going to try to bring my video recorder or a tape recorder with me everywhere I go, so as not to miss any hijinx. That being said, let's review the weekend.
Friday night, I didn't go out after work because I was golfing in the morning. Do you know how fucking hot it gets in south Florida? Why do people golf? You pay good money to spend hours out doors getting frustrated over a little white ball. Ok, it's fun for 30 minutes, then I just want a beer and some wings or something. I got sunburnt to hell because I'm Brittish/Irish and me in the sun is like putting a fork in the microwave. I swear, I should just wear a bee-keepers outfit when I'm going to be outside for prolonged periods of time. Saturday night, I have absolutely no memory of. Sad, huh? I don't know if I went out or not. I remember going to work, it was fun, I think I went out, but my nights all seem to run together. I may actually have flooded my gray matter with jagermeister knocking out my short term memory. It's just a theory now, a hypothesis if you will, but it's possible. Sunday was the kicker. Plan was to spend all day with Woody Junior (no, that's not a penis joke; I'm referring to my son) and then after his mom picked him up, meet the crew at Bru's room around 7:30. Well, BabyMama had to pick junior up by 6:15, so now I'm ready to go an hour and a half before everyone else. So I go to Bull Bar to tailgate. Have a shot and a few beers, then the crew starts to show, so I go back to Bru's Room. First Tammy arrives, then Obi-Wan Canoli and his sis. Then J&J and a few others. By 9:00, the game was on, my wings were gone, and I was in rare form. I had found a pair of Buddy Holly glasses with no lenses in them while cleaning my room earlier, so I decided to bring them along as a goof. What followed was my brief, alcohol-fuled foray into paranoid schizophrenia. When the glasses were off, I was just plain ol' drunk Woody. When they were on, I decided I was Robert Goulet. I have no idea where this recent fascination with Mr. Goulet has come from, but I can tell you that it apparently is quite humorous to witness. That is when the wheels started to fall off. We left Bru's room, went back to Bull bar, where I proceeded to purchase shots for my good friend SpecialK, who was singing at Bull Bar that night. Legend has it that I went to and from the bar with a round of jagers for me and SpecialK 3 times in a span of 5 minutes, but I have no memory of this incedent, further fueling my belief that it probably happened. From there, I had numerous girls on my lap, had more of my two favorite friends, Miller & Jager, had no idea what happened past the first quarter of the game, and was driven home by NewGirl where I promptly made out with her in her car for a half hour (now that I remember!), before going inside alone and passing out. My life is a malestrom of hops, barley and German liquor. Can't wait to do it all over again this weekend...Without the golf, of course(wink...smile).