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November 20, 2009
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I was patiently waiting for my happy pill from Keibar.  But I guess Amy4bird decided that her new dog needs it more than me.  Anyway, instead of wallowing in sadness, I decided to go out with a few friends.

We walked into the bar (and I ducked).  Three women greeted us by the entrance and were dressed as angels complete with wings and halo (one was wearing a red costume, another black, the third one white.)  What the fuck!  Are they having a Halloween party in November?  One of my friend and me looked at each other and giggled.  As we were walking towards the bartender she whispered, “I know what it is, it’s a bachelor party.”  I looked at the costumed ladies again and decided that it must be a very old bachelor.

This is great ~ we’re talking and shrieking with margarita on our hands.  This is life ~ booze, laughter and dancing!  After, a couple of margaritas . . . a few Heineken . . . whatever shots came to us, our laughter reverberated throughout the place.  The laughter got louder when the white “angel” decided to urinate in the middle of the dance floor! 

We decided to move our merry asses to another bar . . . and yet another.  Three bars later, I suggested for us to go to the hospital laboratory to have our blood drawn for alcohol level.  It’s always fun to bet on who has the highest alcohol level and reward the winner with more booze.

I am going to save you from the details of the blood draw.  All I can say is that my arm looks like of a professional cocaine shooter.  The blood got spun and sent off into the instrument. Everyone went to hang out at the parking lot and we waited for the call from the technician who is running the instrument.

I lost!  I’m disappointed because I did try to loose a few liver cells tonight.  The winner ~ blood alcohol level of 1.21!  That is a record for her too.  Since I have the lowest alcohol level, I am now the designated driver. 

Here’s the last hurrah for the night . . . The person who has the highest blood alcohol level started dialing on her cellphone . . . 3-8-2-5-9-6-8.  She shushed us and started telling the person on the other line: “Do you know that your phone number spells FUCK YOU!” and hang up.

Now, the main reason for this blog . . . Since I’m drunk and everything (my blood alcohol is higher then 0.08) I want to say:

“You are a fucking jerk for tampering with my heart!”  


NOTE:   And since we now have a PI in here, I have to add this:

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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