I Hate That...

"Put mustard on that shit, eat that shit..." -Anonymous

I like leading off these things with a dumb quote or a musical line that was in my head. That's where the O.A.R. line came from in the last post, but I think it was appropriate for that post, which was done while I was extremely tired and slightly buzzed.

The title of this post, I Hate That, is how I feel after a weekend where there isn't a night that I have people calling me the next day and telling me how drunk I was and what I said to them, etc. It's usually after about 7 Red Bull and Vodka's and a few beers. For some reason, the RBV(I made that abbr. up. How cool is that?) makes me black out, and as long as I am in the comfort of my own home and with my dear friend Mr. CellPhone, then that's when the stories get going. For some reason, I have the tremendous ability to call people, even my parents, BOMBED!!! Why is that? What does that? Is it the fact that I miss all of my friends so much that I want to share with them that I haven't changed and I am still getting drunk at 28. Maybe it's the fact that I love my friends and family, that I want to share the happy drunkeness with them, even though they're not with me. I'm not really sure.

So yesterday, after not really "getting after it" on Friday night, I thought last night would be the night. It's like trying to prepare to hook-up with a girl, there's no real rhyme or reason why it happens, you just can't prepare for it. Either it happens or it doesn't, no real middle ground. So last night, my boy from Furman calls me up looking for something to do, and that is usually the proper ingredient for trouble, aka Cregan-black-out. He's with his girlfriend, who is wonderful, and wanting to do something. I really wanted to see "Wedding Crashers" to get me started and then get on the road to "blacker nights" (i made that one up too, don't know how much I like it, but I'll leave that for you to decide.) 6:20 movie in North Tampa with my boy from Furman, his girlfriend and the two girls mentioned in the previous post. (On a side note, the movie was absolutely hilarious. If it was an hour and forty-five minutes, I lauged for an hour and forty minutes straight, brilliant dialogue, and the ending is sweet and good for a date.)

Movie's over and my buddies girlfriend says, let's go get some food and beers at Leroy Selmon's a restaurant named after the first good player in Tampa Bay Bucs history. Good food, with a southern feel to it, and good, tall, cold beers, with a drunk feel to it. The two girls mentioned earlier decide that they don't want to go out, which is fine, because me and my buddy usually get after it by ourselves and end up at Taco Bell at 5 in the morning amongst other adult establishments that I won't name on this family-intended "BLOG." We get to the place and order some beers and some apps, and you know that feeling where it's just not working for you. The beer, although tasty, is just not going down right. It's like drinking rubber mixed with staples(don't know where that came from.) It just wasn't happening and then the food was there, and I chowed it down, and three beers later, I was yawning, ready to hit my bed. Long story short, it was 11:30 and I was seriously contemplating going to bed. Thinking about how great a good nights sleep was going to feel.

I was feeling it all day, wanting to have a few more than 20 beers and have good people to hang out with, and it turned into three beers, and home by 11:30 to be in bed, dead asleep by 12:30. What's happened to me. Whatever it is, I don't like it! I HATE THAT!!!