Wanderlust


i’m going to apologize now.
for the convoluted bullshit that will follow.

my weekend was filled with poor choices, revelations, and vodka.

oh, and cupcakes and pork.

it never fails that i make the bold statement that i will go an entire weekend without drinking.  but then that gets totally fucked because someone simply asks me if i’d like to go grab a drink.  which turns into six drinks and three shots.  and then golden tee.  and then home.  to drink more.  and then watch mortal kombat.  i know.

at the time, it makes perfect sense in my head.

but if that happens on friday night (which it did this weekend) then i’m fucked for the entire remainder of the saturday.  because it involves me going to work at foy’s and laying there feeling sorry for myself while trying to trap the cat that smells like a diaper so i can snuggle him.  and then i go home.  and shitler says something along the lines of, “we should really clean out the fridge.”  and i don’t know about anyone else, but when shitler says “we” he really means “me.”  which is total crap.

it usually goes something like this:

“we should really get caught up on laundry.”
“we should really vacuum up all the dog hair.”
“we should really clean the kitchen.”
“we should really go grocery shopping.”
“we should really go clean up the pillow that mac destroyed in a fit of rage.”

and then i respond with this:

“yea, i’ll do it tomorrow.”

except i rarely do it.  and in shitler’s defense, the fridge really did need to get cleaned out.  mainly because the stench that was living in there was so bad that neither one of us ever wanted to go into the fridge to get anything (which is why i moved my vodka to the cupboard) and in the event that one of us did open the fridge the other would frantically yell “CLOSE THE FUCKING FRIDGE!  GOD!  WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”  

but i digress (plus that’s just an example of what usually happens every weekend).

i responded with my normal answer.  which did not sit well with shitler.  and he snapped at me and claimed, “you only do what you say you’re going to do 3% of the time”  and i was like, “no, that’s not true.”  but then i thought about it.  and it is true. so in an effort to improve my stats i did clean out the fridge.

not bad for a 3%’er.

the fridge is sad.  and we look poor.  which we are.  but there’s tabouli in one of those containers.  so it’s like i’m attempting to be multi-cultural on a budget.  but then shitler comes over and he’s like “did you do the doors of the fridge?”  and i looked at him and said, “yea, i’ll do it tomorrow.”  but i never – did so now i’m back down in the 3%.

but in my defense – i was hungover and i just wanted to nap.  which never happened.  

the truth of the matter is that i had no intention of drinking that night after work.  until b and the super fox showed up and we dined and then hit the bar with shitler.  which was a shitshow.  please enjoy:

the super fox loves to anally rape with a pool stick

but the super fox hates titanic.

a tender moment.

the super fox must have caught a whiff of shiter’s fart.

shitler suggests they laugh about it.

the super fox has other ideas.

*a quick aside –  the series of the super fox and shitler reminds me of the neverending battle between good and evil.  which means in this case that the super fox represents everthing good and kind and shitler is the epitome of everything oppressive and tyrannical.  end of aside.*

shitler is a fucking creep.

the cunt. and the super fox.

so things look enjoyable, right?  it was.  and then it got a whole lot more enjoyable.  at least for me and b.  please see below:

shitler: i think i need to shit.

me: uh, you can do that here.  they do have a bathroom.

shitler: but i forgot my phone at home.  what am i supposed to do – stare at the wall?

me and b: *silence*

time elapses and shitler emerges from the bathroom looking fucking pissed.

me: what’s wrong?

shitler: you would not believe what just fucking happened to me.

me: what?

shitler: so i was taking a shit.  and two guys were standing outside the stalls and one of them says “dude, watch this.”  AND THEN HE KICKED IN THE FUCKING DOOR.

me and b: HYSTERICAL GODDAMN LAUGHTER.

moral of the story: shitler wasn’t happy.  not with the door getting kicked on him when he was taking a shit, nor with my mine and b’s laughter at his expense.  but c’mon – that’s fucking hilarious.

but my night ended much like friday.  going to bed way too late, getting up way too late, drinking too much coffee and then feeling like my heart is going to beat out of my fucking chest because coffee is coursing violently through my veins.  and with that much coffee in me – i get wildly obsessed with things.  like making three batches of cupcakes and pork.

i know.  it didn’t make sense at the time and in hindsight – it still makes no sense.  and looking back on this post it has absolutely no point.  so i guess if you go away with anything you should maybe go away with this shredded pork recipe.

ingredients:

pork shoulder (however fucking much you want)
a jar of pepperoncini
a can of beer (for us poor folk, i used nati light)
a shitload of cloves of garlic

directions:

throw it all in a crockpot till it’s done.  shred it and throw it on a fucking kaiser roll.   

i need to wrap this up.  because it has been a complete and utter waste of your time.  so i leave you with the cupcake recipe if you would like and this:

today at work i got the urge to sneeze while sitting at my old manager’s desk.  i manged to have my hand make it to my nose in time but unfortunately the snot flew straight threw my fingers onto the floormat:

you’re welcome.

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