Things I Think I Can Do When Wasted

I was a shitshow at blogger happy hour two weeks ago. A complete, and utter SHITSHOW.

After vomitando-ing up the delicious pizza, eight glasses of wine, one martini and one lemon drop shot I had consumed, one would think I'd be ready to call it a night. (Mind you, it wasn't even 11 p.m. at this point.)

Not so much.

For starters, while The Hoff attempted to hail us a cab, I proceeded to jump over a huge mound of snow. But instead of jumping feet first, I decided it would be much more effective if I soared, a la Superwoman style, over the block of slush/ice. I later asked why my hands were scraped and covered in dirt.

When The Hoff and I finally got into a cab, I started making small talk with the cab driver. "I promise not to puke in your car, Mr. Cab Driver, sir" were my first words to the poor soul chauffeuring us home.

Next, I asked him where he was from and begged him to teach me his language. He said Afghanistan. Side note: Is that language called Afghan? I have no idea. (I know, I know-typical ignorant American.)

Apparently, I butchered everything the guy tried to teach me, and I definitely don't remember any of it. But at least Mr. Cab Driver, sir was a good sport and didn't throw me out the first block of the ride.

One would think that at this point I would go upstairs and pass out. Logic isn't part of the wasted Miss Procras' repertoire.

The Hoff's roommates were up drinking, and I deemed it absolutely necessary to join in the fun. When The Hoff would hand me a glass of water, I'd immediately start scavenging around for a beer. Didn't matter if I picked up an empty bottle or someone else's beer, so long as I had one in my hand.

I then harassed his one roommate long enough that he let me play Call of Duty on Xbox live. Now, I've never played this game nor Xbox 360. The guy on the other end of the Xbox antennae was trying to help me, but I had my own agenda.

"Let's kill some bitches in this plane! I know they're in there!" (FYI-it was a helicopter not a plane, and it was completely empty.)

Somehow, I managed to stay up til 3 p.m. watching "Training Day" with one eye open. Anyone else have trouble watching t.v. while wasted? I'm incapable of not seeing double unless I keep one eye closed.

Note to self for future drunken occurences: I can't fly like superwoman, learn a foreign language, play Xbox games or watch television. Damn, what CAN you do when intoxicated???

Queer Eye for the Straight Guy Chrstimas Edition

The Hoff and his roommates crack me up. They're the epitome of guy's guys. Football watching, farting, burping, beer-guzzling twenty-four year olds. And I heart them.

They've become some of my closest friends in D.C. and I couldn't ask for a better group of guys to party with and test my lackluster cooking skills on.

And I have to admit, they surprise the hell out of me. You'd think a house occupied by four 24-year-old guys would be equivalent to a frat house. But it's always decently clean.

In fact, they've got me beat on the Christmas decor front.

They purchased a well-shaped, full Frasier Fur Christmas tree (I feel like I'm describing a glass of wine or attractive person. Promise I don't have a tree fetish-ha!) Lights are strung, ornaments have been borrowed from yours truly, and the real shocker: the tree is color coded!

Only red and silver ornaments are hanging from the tree, with a few gold ones mixed in. It's like Queer Eye for the Straight Guy came through for the holidays.

See for yourselves. (Sorry the quality isn't so great, but you get the idea.)

And don't worry, that tree will have tons have presents surrounding it soon enough. They're all buying gifts for each other. Bromance at it's finest.