How many times in my life have I sprawled out across the floor of a barren room and passed out? Answer: too many to count. How many times have I done so while sober? Answer: Once.
Meaghan’s in town. She and I went down to Howie’s house last night to check out his new digs (it’s a pretty swanky house, by the by). After about four hours of just hanging out, watching TV and other general bullshittery, I decided it was time to go home. Small problem—I left my keys in the ignition, and not turned all the way off. Don’t ask me why, because I have no goddamned clue why I did it. So, turns out, when the battery in your car has been in there since it was new (6 years ago), that’ll drain it pretty quick. As a matter of fact, it’ll drain that battery so much that you can’t even jump the friggin’ thing. So, welcome back to Oregon, Meaghan. You get to sleep on the floor with me in some unfamiliar place, since Howie doesn’t have much furniture yet.
We got up at 4am today just so Howie and I could get to work on time. This is what we refer to as The Always-Exciting, Yet Exceedingly Mundane Adventures of Jeff Kennedy’s Life. I should write a book.
We’re throwing a shindig for the roomie’s birthday tonight. He was a little disappointed that he didn’t get “birthday drunk” on Tuesday, so we’re making up for it tonight. I’m the DD/W/C (designated driver/walker/carrier).
Something just hit me. I can’t remember for the life of me the last time I was a designated driver. Maybe this month is my karmic repayment for the numerous people I’ve called between the hours of 2-4am and said “Haehhhhh, I’m at de bar. Kin ewe come git me? I had a bit to drunk. Boooooooooooooooooooooobs.”
Yesterday was “Ugly Pants and Uglier Mustache Day” at work. Howie and I both wore our loudmouth pants to work, and he shaved off the bottom of his goatee to show solidarity with his moustachioed brother. And by “show solidarity,” I mean “show how much better he is at growing a mustache than I am.” Dick. Sadly, we didn’t get a photo of our horrendously awesome mustaches and pants before we had to change and do that work thing. They’re $90 pairs of pants! We couldn’t get them all greasy/dusty.
I’m down a notch on my belt since I started this bet, which is a good thing as I was thinking about having to buy a new belt. I’m not weighing myself, because then I’ll start charting things. I’m an engineer—charting things is what we do. Go ahead and judge, I’m not ashamed of it.