Watch your grill!

Woof! Well I got old-school stinko, last night. Been a long muthafuckin’ time since I did that, doctor. It all started when I finally finished the last book of Stephen King’s Dark Tower series. The oeuvre of Monsieur king has been a guilty pleasure of mine for some years, however I think the Dark Tower books are genuinely well written. I first started the series about ten years ago, so I was pretty excited when King finally released the last volume. The ending was entirely appropriate for the series, but also mighty depressing. I went downtown to buy the newly released The Life Aquatic to try and cheer myself up, but I decided that I would need company to truly buoy my sprits. So I called up a buddy and we were off to the races. Me and this dude have a long and storied history of drinking together, so we fell back on old routines pretty quickly. Well, after he finished crafting a bong from an old beer bottle, that is. I am generally not too impressed with stonercraft, and I find head shops really annoying, but I was pretty impressed with his handiwork. We got another dude and bounced around the city for a few hours, scrounging liquor, food and pants where we could. I am truly an alcoholic, because I am rarely happier (or approximate happiness better) than when I’m wandering, drunk, without any appreciable goals. It’s like swimming; you leave all your earthly concerns back on the surface, and just let the current carry you where it will. Yesterday, it carried me to my local pub where I ran into some girls my friend and I met on St. Patrick’s day, at that same pub. So we joined them, and as I recollect it, I was quite charming and personable. Of course…
You see, I can moderate my drinking up to a certain point; up to, let’s say, drink #X. After I drink drink #X? All bets are off. Last night? All. Bets. Were. Off.
So I think I was charming and personable but who the fuck knows? A curious note: At the end of the evening my friends had left and it was just me and the ladies. As I’m a chivalrous drunk I insisted on walking them home (they live just up the street from me). They insisted that I not, to the point that they walked me home. Now, the neighborhood I live in has a reputation for being kind of dangerous (which is part of why I love it), so I’ve never encountered girls who would refuse a walk home. So what’s the deal? I figure that either a) they thought I was hitting on one, or both, of them and I was going to try and segue the walk home into an invitation into their apartment where I would attempt some sort of "move, " and they were heading me off at the pass. Now let me just say that that was not my intention, I am simply a gentleman. Let me also say that the above is a great move which has met with success in the past, and I would likely have given it a shot. So it was either that or b) I was too drunk and embarrassing for them to deal with any further. I’d kinda put my cash on this one, as I can be sort of a handful when I’m pretty drunk; they likely (and correctly) thought that I was more of a risk to myself than any potential attackers, and that’s why they declined my gallant offer.
Of course there’s option c), that I was neither charming nor personable and was, in fact, an obnoxious drunken ass and they wanted to be rid of me. I hope to hell it’s not this one, but you never know. Ultimately, I think my only agenda was to not be alone, but I needn’t have worried as I fell asleep immediately as soon as I got in my apartment. All in all, this has been an excellent reminder of why I should get a handle on my drinking. I don’t think I was an ass last night, but I would really love to know for sure, so that I wouldn’t have to dread seeing these girls again.