Who wants to race?

Wrote this tuesday but didn't get around to the proofread till today. I think it's still relevant though, possibly even timeless:

I wasn’t feeling very inspired today. Nothing catching my fancy if you will. Thought about maybe doing something for work to further my career or at least make life easier later. Couldn’t think of anything. Bust. So here I am. Thinking back over the weekend, I found one principle or should I say frustration to expound on.

Here’s the situation. A good buddy from college, lived with him my senior year, drove down the 95 corridor to see myself and others but mostly to woo his long distance girlfriend, who had flown in to town. Side note: writing at work sucks. I’m constantly getting interrupted. Can’t they see I’m doing something important here? Back to the post. He’s from Delaware, she lives in Arizona, they meet in Baltimore. I can’t explain. Some pre-gaming, no games just drink and talk but I think it still counts. Not to mention, the gaming in “pre-gaming” refers to game you throw at the bar, therefore my titlation of the activity is valid. What? There’s no way that’s correct? Oh, you don’t think titlation is a word? Agree to disagree? Ok.. Finish the beers, pack into two cars like clowns and we’re off. In an effort to keep this brief and get to my point, suffice it to say that we made a tour of the federal hill bar area. Good times.

Now for the crux of the discussion. And let me get this out of the way first. I don’t mind being designated driver. Would I prefer to get stupid off my ass drunk and do any number of a million retardedly idiotic things? Of course, I’m young, it’s what I do. But really, I don’t mind driving if I know at the outset those are the conditions I’m working under. I can pace, still drink some and have fun. It works. Also, I realize that some of the posts I’ve made come off a bit bitchy. It’s not my intent to make this a blog a bitchfest written by Bitchtofsky Mcbitch, but bitching is easy writing and like I said, I wasn’t feeling inspired. Cop out? Yeah, so what? If you wanted to read something witty, insightful, stirring or even intriguing you wouldn’t be here. Now sit down and pay attention. Digressing again, back to the crux. Crux, crux, crux. That should get me back on track. Sobering up, while at the bar, is a big irritation. It can happen for a number of reasons. You know, your buddy was supposed to drive everyone home but he’s passed out on the bar being poked by a midget on roller-blades or the girlfriend taps you on the shoulder and say’s sweetly either she’s tired or not feeling well. Either way she wants to go and you know, taxi, train or bus, you’re going to end up driving sooner or later. So, you stop drinking cold turkey, and there in lies the problem. No drinks at the bar is nearly unbearable. The whole atmosphere is screaming at you to get sloshed. You try to distract yourself with a round of golden tee, or a foosball match, but the entire time all you think about is how much fun these activities are whilst gripping a cold and frothy mug or your favorite happy juice.

I feel like a douche-bag standing in a bar without a drink. It harkens questions like, “What the fuck am I doing here?” I just want to leave the bar and go home. Fuck, at home I never have to worry about driving, walking is more of a concern there, but even that’s minimal at most. That’s it, I’m never leaving the house again. Problem is you can’t jump into the car yet because you’re still too inebriated to drive. You were pounding hardcore thinking that you could late-night it at a friends with a glass of aqua or find a place to curl up and sleep it off, waiting for the hangover dominated morning to come. Neither of these is now an option and you just got the short end of the shit stick. The dream has shattered into a thousand fuzzy little piece. Make a plan and stick with it people. The driving situation should be a carefully coordinated thing. Don’t put your man on the field and then change the rules on him at the half. You’re better than that.