Guest Post: Paula is drunk.
Paula (the wife) went out with the girls and came home shit-housed. This is what she posted to her blog, drunk:
Listen, I am drunk!
Greg thinks I am drunk. Just because I tried to draw on his face with a permanent marker! I just wanted to draw a little Hitler mustache... something subtle.
I just got home from drinking with the ladies. But I am not done partying for the night. Greg is opening a bottle of wine.
I got carded at the Mallard, and some chick came up to me and said "Amelia!" and when she realized I was not Amelia, she explained that Amelia is some friend of hers that is the life of the party or some shit. That's me alright. Life of the fucking party.
We almost got hit with billard balls many times at the Mallard. They whizzed by our heads. Crack! They hit the wall behind our heads. I am suprised I didn't get hit in the head with a billard ball.
I guess when I am drunk I say "Listen, Greg..." over and over.
Greg cannot find a bottle opener. He is a man. Men don't know where the bottle openers are. It's in the fucking drawer by the dishwasher! If you can't fucking find it, use your damn teeth. It's simple, really.
I have to go hiking soon. I better go to bed. But first, a glass of wine.
The ladies are great. We are planning a big hike. How is it that we are always hiking and planning more hikes? That's what we do. Hike. Or drink and make dinner. Or shop. Three things. Hike. Drink. Shop. In any combination. Tommorrow it's hike and shop. Jeremy's is slashing prices *again*. 20% off 50% off. You do the math.
Listen, I am drunk!
Greg thinks I am drunk. Just because I tried to draw on his face with a permanent marker! I just wanted to draw a little Hitler mustache... something subtle.
I just got home from drinking with the ladies. But I am not done partying for the night. Greg is opening a bottle of wine.
I got carded at the Mallard, and some chick came up to me and said "Amelia!" and when she realized I was not Amelia, she explained that Amelia is some friend of hers that is the life of the party or some shit. That's me alright. Life of the fucking party.
We almost got hit with billard balls many times at the Mallard. They whizzed by our heads. Crack! They hit the wall behind our heads. I am suprised I didn't get hit in the head with a billard ball.
I guess when I am drunk I say "Listen, Greg..." over and over.
Greg cannot find a bottle opener. He is a man. Men don't know where the bottle openers are. It's in the fucking drawer by the dishwasher! If you can't fucking find it, use your damn teeth. It's simple, really.
I have to go hiking soon. I better go to bed. But first, a glass of wine.
The ladies are great. We are planning a big hike. How is it that we are always hiking and planning more hikes? That's what we do. Hike. Or drink and make dinner. Or shop. Three things. Hike. Drink. Shop. In any combination. Tommorrow it's hike and shop. Jeremy's is slashing prices *again*. 20% off 50% off. You do the math.
Labels: Greg's Life As Nincompoop, Ripped-Off Content, The Wife
posted by Greg Mills at 11:53 PM
14 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Hmmm...not sure whether to comment on the post or the first comment...brain smoldering, smoke coming out of ears...must go find water....
Like I said, she was drunk. I think I'll do my now sober wife a favor, and delete that comment.
Aw, now I feel like I've come to the party late. :(
Jay -- It involved the negotiation over laundry duties, and my wife's willingness to negotiate aggressively using what was probably over compensation.
Ironic, since I do the laundry anyway without the pro-offered enticement.
She seems like a pretty good drunk. I do think it would be wise for you to wear a corkscrew around your neck in case she is in dire need of an open bottle of wine. Perhaps screw-cap wine is best at this juncture, some of the better wines are going to screw caps now to prevent "corkage" which spoils about 20% of the bottles and really costs the industry a buttload of money. As long as I am blathering on and on about drinking advice, I think Paula is better off in joints that don't have pool tables. Hope that hike works out well for her, but hiking with a hangover can cause profuse sweating, and that bullshit about releasing toxins is just that, bullshit. I think a couple of aspirin, two vitamins and a glass of orange juice and a pot of coffee are in order. Perhaps a Bloody Mary later in the day followed by a stiff martini in the evening, gin, not vodka, and don't forget the Eggs Benedict with extra Hollandaise.
Sorry folks, for the nasty comments about laundry and well, *that*.
My nickname is Poo, and now you know why.
I do feel like I have brain damage this morning, and I felt like passing out on the hike. My friend Janice is a nurse, so I am confident that if I ever do pass out on the hike she will be able to maintain my airway while someone else makes arrangements for a helicopter to transport me out.
But I made it through all 2.5 hours this morning and now I have the kids by myself as Greg is going for his walk. I am taking the kids out to get Chinese Food. I need grease for my hangover.
The fucking drawer by the dishwasher...
OF COURSE!
Friends don't let friends post drunk.
Not sure how it works with spouses...apparently not well.
I got wasted a couple nights ago, courtesy of the expense account of one of my hosts, here in Banff. The night was fantastic, until I realized that dancing constitutes aerobic activity.
G.
Pursey -- I'm a cheese burger and diet coke man myself. Paula eventually went and got herself a diet coke slurpee. Don't know it if had the desired effect. Slurpees are kind of bullshit.
Mamacita -- Don't change a thing, baby. I like you crazy.
Crackpot -- That's the thing. It was BY THE SINK. ON THE COUNTER. Shit!
G. -- Paula is a light weight, and she's been working like a goddamn dog, so I think the steam blowing off got a little out of hand.
I tend to dance, like DANCE, when I'm loaded. Like getting down on my side and doing Curly-From-The-Three-Stooges 360's. I'm completely charming and sexy as a drunk.
Greg, this Paula woman is no good for you. It's time you changed tyres. Hike. Drink. Shop? Never shop with a woman. Just don't do it. Let it shop with itself. Be a man. Concentrate on hiking and drinking.
Greg,
The cheese burger diet coke level of hangover is a higher level. Yes indeed, I am off to vote right now and then get a cheesburger and diet coke.
drunken writing is an art form
I cordially invite you and your strange and sometimes drunk wife, Paula, to visit a new hot spot I have just discovered. It is posted at my blog, and yes, I am pimping, but I am pimping for the President, and God only knows, he needs a new and better pimp.
Post a Comment
<< Home