It was the crappening

I spent most of the evening laying on the couch, drifting in and out of deep sleep as I pretended to watch tv and fix my stutterfucked laptop, all while I should have been working out, mowing my lawn, and working on the computer I promised my brother I would fix 3 weeks ago. I'd start watching a show on my Tivo, get through about 10 minutes of it, click a few things on my laptop, then find myself waking up with a start with the playback of the program long over and my laptop in hibernation mode. I was tired, crabby, and antisocial enough that I was considering bailing on another cookout scheduled for tomorrow night. This will be the third weekend in a row of cookouts. Am I complaining? Hell, no! This is what this time of year is all about, but I've been partying pretty hard at those things. In fact, I eagerly volunteered to be the designated driver tomorrow night. It's one thing to stay out until 3 or 4 in the morning, but it's quite another to factor a hangover into your recovery time. Not that I get pisspants drunk every time I go out. It's just that these cookouts, rife with good friends, delightfully obnoxious guffaws, and ribald tales, lower my defenses. My brain says, "Drink up, Jeremy! You're amongst friends. They will still love you and respect you tomorrow even if you make a drunktarded fool of yourself tonight." So I obey the little drinking voice in my head, which turns into a thundering tympani in the morning. But not this time! I'm going to go, enjoy watching the stumbling drunks with a smug sense of superiority, then go home and marvel in how rigid my erection is when I don't have whiskey dick.

Oh, and remember my lolcats the other day? Check out the ongoing "thredz" over at MNspeak for more lol-icking fun. Comedy quicksand my ass, Bo. *grin*