Alcohol => Awesome Judgement

Here's the story. Tonight I went out drinking with some peeps. Dave wasn't feeling well and Pace was out of town so it just me. I drink a few drinks and whatnot. I took it somewhat easy. Anyhow, I come back and I realize I don't have my keys. I ring the doorbell and Dave for some reason isn't answering. Fine, I'll use the garage door. I use the code and roll up to the door that separates me from the ole homestead. Of course it is locked. I make a frowny face. I try the doorbell and banging on the garage door to no avail. I weigh my options:

• Sleep in Dave's car. This was probably my smartest option. However, this would not be terribly fun and I'm not even sure if his car is unlocked. Given Dave's apparent affinity toward locking things this option might not have even been possible.
• Call my good friend who I was out with and see if I can crash at her place. This was a reasonable and smart option. I would've felt bad asking to stay over and she was still out. Also, I would've had to make the trek to her place and back in the morning.
• Quit being a bitch and somehow climb up onto our deck-like thing and hopefully gain entry though the sliding glass door.

Guess which one I chose! If you guessed the dumb choice, then you are correct. Let us go through the sequence of events. At first I thought option 3 was very reasonable because I knew we had this step ladder type thing in the garage. So I find that thing and set it up underneath our deckish thing. Let me give you a quick idea of our deck so you can understand the circumstances I faced. Our deck protrudes roughly 5 feet above the road and is 10-11 feet above the ground. It is a lot higher than it looks.

So there I am drunk and ready to tackle this monstrosity. Even if I do conquer this beast the door might not even be unlocked. Then I would be really fucked. But it's cool because I has gots this ladder. I set up the step ladder and the Goddamn thing is seriously 3 feet off the ground at the maximum. My spirit is broken. I can get my paws on the bottom rung of the deck but that's it. The task of getting up there was quite daunting and I was appropriately scared of falling and hurting myself. For the next 5 minutes I waffle between trying to wake Dave up and seeing if I have a chance to make it up on the deck. In a wondrous stroke of brilliance and gall (read: irrational exuberance due to intoxication) I hype myself up and decide to really try to get up there. I get my hands on the bottom part of the I-beam that supports the deck and then reach up to grab the vertical metal bars of the deck. At this point my feet are completely removed from the ladder and I am past the point of no return. I make my way up the structure inch by inch by alternately sliding up each hand up the rails. Eventually I get high enough to where I can put my knee inside the I-beam and use that as a leverage point. Game over. I pull myself up, exhale and put my hand on the sliding glass door handle. If I can't get in I'm screwed. Getting down might actually be more dangerous than getting up. As expected the door is open and I gain entry. I was ridiculously pumped that I was able to get inside after being stuck in the cold and seemingly without a prayer of getting in. I then performed, truly by reaction, an NFL touchdownesque celebration. I recall ripping off my jacket, slamming it on the floor, and doing other ridiculous motions.

You need to understand, my veins were running with adrenaline and testosterone. They needed to be in order to do get up on this deck. A calm, rational person would not and could not do this. Of course, as soon as I get upstairs to my computer Dave comes out of his room. Nice timing Dave.

PSA

I think I found my calling. I'm going to travel around to high schools and such to talk to kids about alcohol. I'm not going to tell them not to drink or to drink moderately, but to handle their biz. The gist of my message: "Little Johnny had too much to drink one night, drove home, and ran over an orphanage. Johnny, I don't care if you had 20 drinks. Quit being a bitch and handle your shit, son!"

iWar

Apple and Google are growing at tremendous paces and moving into new realms. I predict that eventually the two are going to take over everything in the world. And when they realize that there is nothing else to assimilate, they will turn on each other, spawning World War III.

The Apple side will use iGuns. Positive- you can listen to MP3s while blasting the enemy. Negative- Overpriced and frequently jams. Breaks after 1 year.

The Google side will have handy java-based online tools such as http://bombs.google.com where you can use their convenient hybrid map/satellite view and drop bombs on various locations. Ironically, there is a add for the iPhone painted on the bombs.

Payback Time

Thanks to my good friend "Anti-Beer," I found a site that involves rating high school teachers. Lucky for me, my ole alma mater was on the list. Sadly, the character limit is a measly 2 bills, so the comments aren't as developed as I would like. I made ends meet however. My posted comments:

Stoce: A god among mortals.
B^2: I endured 3 years of this "teacher". Her class is easy (read: you won't learn anything) but she is caustically condescending due to a deep-seated inferiority complex. She also dresses inappropriately.
Goodin: This man is illogical and takes things way too seriously. If you have your shirt untucked you will be caned.
Leinhart:In between the coughs she is really nice and very lenient. However, it's debatable that I actually learned anything. Btw, almost everyone mispronounces her name.
Camille: Dictator-in-Teach "Camillionaire" Panich has a Stalinesque style which is beautifully illustrated in her crack-pot rules and the intellectual Holodomors she calls "class."
Ramstein: Ms. Alexis "Ramstein" Salantro could bore a brain-dead turtle.
Stanton: Stanto the Amazo will own you at Candystand Golf. He is also a reasonable and logical teacher.
Zimm: Awesome teacher. David Zimmerman touched me in ways I cannot describe. His actions as a teacher and coach sent tingles down my spine- especially on the bus. Whoo!
Tonya: The pop-quizzes are insufferable and pointless. She treats you like a child and is amazed when you act like one.

New Year's Eve

A few notes from NYE for documentation's sake:

-People named Boris can drink. Especially Vodka.

-I caused a scene. Thankfully, there were other scenes and occurrences that diluted mine. Such as karaoke breaking out, obsession over polar bears/parachutes/gold dresses, puking over balconies, double death cups, inappropriate ass-slapping, dancing on objects, etc.

-I fell asleep way too early. I was up at 9 that day and forgot to pound out vodka and red bulls.

-It was a good party because sometimes I feel really old and it depresses me. I try to keep it as immature as possible, and that was at least partially accomplished.

Oh Sevon

I had a dream that I ate my pillow and when I woke up my giant marshmallow was gone.