Whatever, dude...

This post will be a mess. I can't be bothered to work it into any kind of structured thing. Deal with it.

-Friday night is a blur. I went to The BAG to see CHUMP, and I remember most of it. The drinks were copious and varied. The band rocked. I saw many people I dig, many of whom I haven't seen in a while (Alison, Greg, The Zute fellas, Rob [no, wait- I see Rob all of the time]). I had several interesting conversations of an enlightening nature. I know I got up and jammed with CHUMP, but only because everyone told me so on Sunday. I honestly barely remember it. Drinky Shawn made it home (thank The Maker) and had a conversation with Laura that he barely remembers, as well. Apparently, she called me (being a bit buzzed, herself) and words were exchanged. Some good, some bad, most (probably) slurred.

-I woke up Saturday feeling like someone shit on my soul. "Hangover" is too innocuous of a word for how I felt. I could barely function. The previous night's booze, Rock and Roll, and riding the emotional rollercoaster that I like to call "Talking To The Ex" had conspired to render me useless. Unfortunately, I had to get my shit together because Duty called. I had a gig with Down To Earth at The Old Forge. Fuckshitpiss.
The gig was decent. The crowd was light, but I had a good time regardless. Jamming with Matt and Lou is always fun. They're both top notch musicians who don't take anything too seriously. I appreciate that. The only problem was, my left hand was "all swole up" like some sort of cartoon character's mitt. That's the admission price for riding "Talking To The Ex." Random, self-inflicted knuckle damage may occur when one's only (drunken) recourse is to Punch Anything That Won't Break (as opposed to Punch A Door That Will Cost You $300.00 To Replace- a course of action I can't afford to repeat).
I'm not proud of the "punchy bit." I try to be all Jedi and shit, and I feel foolish when I let my temper get the best of me. This is what happens when Sicilians and Irish people mate. Pure rage. I blame my folks. Incautious breeding tactics (which would be a great band name, by the way).
So, yeah, my left hand is fucked up. Pretty much because I fucked up my right hand last week (same ride) and decided (in my whisky wisdom) to switch it up. Note to guitarists- don't punch concrete walls. Bad idea.
I actually stayed sober Saturday night, and talked to Laura again late night. No big resolution/revelation, or anything like that. We're just two people who don't know what the fuck to do about each other anymore. In fact, barring either an Engagement or a Restraining Order (I'm a man of extremes), I'm not going to write about it anymore. It's pointless. Everyone is quite bored of it. I apologize for my incessant ramblings, mostly to Laura herself, because she has shown much more restraint and maturity during this time than I have. She's barely written about it on her site, and I should follow her example. It's nobody's business but ours. (Let's see how long I can actually go without writing more about it. I give it two days.)

-Sunday. Epic. The Helping Hand For Herman benefit was a rousing success. Those of you who are reading this who didn't attend should promptly go and fuck yourselves. Everyone had a great time. The food was delicious. The drinks were plentiful. MENTHOL BOX and CHUMP rocked. All in all, a little over $9,000.00 was raised for Herm and Ashley. That's a drop in the bucket compared to what their medical bills are going to total, but every bit helps.
It was great to see everyone there. DeanO showed up with his kids, who are awesome (I hardly ever get to see them, they rock). There were tons of prizes that were raffled off. My BAG Crew showed up, and Rob came up and jammed with us for a few songs. I tortured several people with pilfered ammonia inhalant. I drank all of Kenny's Sparks Plus (I owe you, man). Bob bought me many shots of Jameson's. Aside from tearing up the place with Spunk (whom I hadn't seen for weeks), I got to indulge my inner frontman by hopping up on stage with CHUMP to sing some PANTERA. Inappropriate balloon sculptures were created. A small, but lethal, mosh pit generated towards the end of the night. Much fun was had by all. I only hope that when my liver implodes, the "Helping Hand For Hendge" benefit has a similar show of support. Conservative Estimates give me about a month before my major organs liquefy.

-After the benefit, Ginny, Bob, Rob, The Haldy Gals, and myself absconded to the BAG, where Kelly made sure we would all rue ever deciding to go there by destroying what vestiges remained of our sanity, our sobriety, and our dignity. I met a few new people, watched Saw II, and ate some Junior's Pizza. Good times.

-Today was horrid. Even though I got a decent amount of sleep (my usual five hours) I felt like a walking Melvins concert all day. Slow and sloppy. Upon taking mental inventory, I realized it's probably due to the fact that not only did I drink for ten hours straight Sunday, the liquid menu consisted of:

Keg Bud
Jameson
Sparks Plus
Yukon Jack
Sparks ("Classic")
Coors Light
Wild Turkey
MGD
Cappucino (with Zambuca)
Tequila

Ouch. No wonder I prayed for death all day.

-Now, it's 2:30 am, and I think I'll go to bed.


After this drink...